Page 5 of The Pirate Lord
— LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU, ENGLISH SOCIETY FIGURE, LETTER, 22 JUNE 1752
Aweek after Sara’s discussion with her stepbrother, she stood on the deck of theChastity.It was early morning, when the ocean looked like a fluid carpet. Such a marvel it was. She’d never even glimpsed it until two days ago when they’d passed out of the Thames into open water, but already she loved its changeable nature.
The first day it had been like a spirited dragon carrying ships on its sharply undulating back. Its breath had sprayed mist over the rails into their faces, and its watery claws had slapped furiously against the hull, forcing the three-masted frigate to roll and pitch on each fresh swell.
Today, however, it was gentler, more like a rocking horse thumping the ship along in a pleasing motion. She breathed in the salt-drenched air, so different from the cloying stench in London. Thank goodness she’d escaped the seasickness thatplagued some of the convicts. It was as if she’d been meant to sail.
“’Tis a lovely day, ain’t it, miss?” said a voice at her side.
She whirled to find one of the sailors standing beside her at the rail. She’d noticed him before, looking at her as if trying to make her out. Something about him struck her as familiar, but he looked like nobody she knew. A wiry man of about thirty years, with big ears and skinny limbs, the only thing he resembled was an organ grinder’s monkey. Though he seemed harmless enough, the intensity of his interest disturbed her.
And he was standing far too close. “Yes,” she murmured, edging away from him along the rail. “It is indeed a lovely day.” Turning her face toward the ocean, she pointedly ignored him, hoping that would make him leave her alone.
But he only moved closer. “You’re the one what’s teaching the convicts, ain’t you? Your name’s Miss Willis?”
“Yes, we begin our classes this morning.”
When he leaned toward her, her heart pounded, and she scanned the ship for some sign of rescue. But despite the sailors scrambling about the spider’s web of rigging above her, no one was within hailing distance. Not that she would hail any of the twenty-two crewmen. She didn’t trust them one jot. Already, she’d had to chastise a sailor she’d found sneaking into the ship’s prison quarters late at night when she’d left her tiny cabin, unable to sleep.
But where were the captain and the ship’s officers this morning? Or the surgeon and his wife?
“I been wanting to speak to you—” the man began, and she braced herself to give him a sharp set-down. Then the ship’s bell rang, signaling the beginning of the next watch.
As the men scurried down from the rigging and others came on deck, she used the ensuing bustle to escape the strange sailor. But her blood thundered in her ears as she hurried to the saloonwhere she and the ship’s officers breakfasted. Perhaps Jordan’s concern for her had been warranted, after all.
Don’t be silly,she told herself.There are plenty of people around. Just don’t stroll about the deck alone anymore.
But that wasn’t so easy to do. She couldn’t bear to stay in her cabin or below decks all the time, and there was no one to stroll with her on deck. She watched glumly as Captain Rogers entered and took his seat at the opposite end of the breakfast table. The good captain would never escort her. A blustering, gruff man in his fifties, he was more interested in sailing his ship than in talking to the troublesome woman the Ladies’ Committee had sent aboard.
She glanced around the table at her other companions. The officers were all too busy to walk with her. And although the surgeon and his wife would probably accompany her, she’d never seen such a somber pair, full of dire predictions about storms and shipwrecks. Why, the surgeon had already terrified one of the convict women’s girls by claiming that her protruding forehead proved she would lead a life of crime like her mother. The girl had calmed down only after Sara had pointed out that the surgeon’s wife had a similar forehead, though it was hidden by corkscrew curls.
The ship’s cook thrust a bowl of oatmeal in front of Sara, and she grabbed it to keep it from skittering along the table with the ship’s movement. She would simply have to content herself with her work. Thankfully, there was plenty to keep her busy, what with the eight children of school age aboard theChastity, in addition to the 51 convict women and the thirteen younger children. She suspected that everyone—except the two babies, of course—would need some sort of schooling.
Thus, an hour later when she went below to the prison cells on the orlop deck, she found herself eager to begin. Oddlyenough, she felt safer with these convict women than she did with the sailors.
With the cell doors open and the women milling around preparing for the day, she could almost forget they were criminals. They were divided loosely into eight messes. At night, two messes of women and their children were locked in each of the four nine-by-twelve-foot cells, but during the day, they had more freedom. As they moved in and out, stowing their belongings on one of the three levels of berths and washing up at a barrel of sea water, they looked remarkably like any other traveling women.
Except for the tattoos that peeked out from beneath some of the women’s coarse cuffs. What possessed a woman to adorn her body so permanently? Probably the same thing that drove civilized women in past decades to wear powdered wigs and hoop skirts. Convict fashions were probably no more bizarre than any fashion.
In truth, only the most hardened criminals wore tattoos, the women who’d been in gangs of burglars or who’d mixed prostitution with thievery. The dairy maids and shopgirls who’d been sentenced to exile for stealing pies and used clothing would never dream of defacing their bodies.
Grabbing onto a post when the ship dipped, Sara surveyed the lot of them with a critical eye. Their clothing was pitiful. As usual, the Navy Board’s regulations were idiotic. Some fool had dictated that wool and flannel carried disease and thus were unacceptable materials for convict uniforms. As a result, the sad wretches wore cotton gowns that proved no protection at all against the wintry air of the North Atlantic. Even the children were allowed only cotton.
Something must be done about that. In addition to the summery muslins she’d packed in anticipation of warmer climes, she’d also packed five inexpensive wool gowns. But shedidn’t need all of them. Two would suffice, though it meant washing every day. The others could be made into warmer clothing for the little ones. As for the women, perhaps she could prevail upon the captain to allow a stove to be placed in the hold, at least until they neared the tropics.
But that could be dealt with later. Now it was time to set her little school in motion. Releasing the post and spreading her feet wider to allow her a better balance on the rolling bottom of the ship, she clapped her hands to gain the women’s attention.
As soon as they settled down and faced her, she ventured a smile. “Good morning. I trust you slept well.” When they murmured responses, she went on. “Many of you already know me as one of Mrs. Fry’s ladies who visited at Newgate. But for those of you who don’t, I’m Miss Sara Willis. I’m your teacher.”
The women grumbled. They’d been told they’d receive instruction, but the idea clearly didn’t appeal to some. After much prodding and whispering, one woman stepped forward.
The poor dear’s face and gloveless fingers were chapped and reddened from the cold. Nonetheless, she wore a haughty air quite at odds with her situation. “Some of us know our letters and sums already, miss. We won’t need instruction.”
Sara didn’t take offense at the woman’s insolent tone. The convicts had gone through many disturbing changes recently and were bound to be suspicious.
She smiled at the woman. “Very well. Those who already have an education can help me with the ones who don’t. I’ll be pleased to have your help, Miss—” She broke off. “What is your name?”
Her amiability seemed to take the woman aback. “Louisa Yarrow,” she blurted out, then scowled as if she’d been tricked. She tossed her head, making her cropped-short blond hair bounce. “I don’t know if I want to help you.”
