Upon Your Honor - Chapter 1 by Marie Lavender
August 27, 1891
Chloe
Waverly made her way along the gangway of the dark ship, trying her best to
look as inconspicuous as possible in a pair of brown trousers, a matching coat,
cap, and boots. The starch in the fabric made her skin itch, and the clothing
felt large on her small body. She had always cursed her size. She hated that
she wasn’t as tall as other women around her age. At nineteen, she was very petite
with a cloud of blonde tresses flowing around her heart-shaped face and hazel
eyes. It was difficult to hide her hair underneath the cap she wore. She needed
to look like a sailor or at least a man that belonged there. This was the last
place she was supposed to be and, fortunately, the last place Lamonte Beckett
would search.
The
man she was betrothed to would be angry when he discovered her missing. That
house was the last place she wanted to be. Ever since her father’s passing a
few months before, she had been trying to dodge Lamonte. His advances had
become a tiresome yet fear-filled reality. He was a scoundrel and she simply
couldn’t understand why her father would entrust her protection and the rest of
her life to that man. Chloe had heard rumors of his behavior from the maids,
not to mention that she had once witnessed him ravaging one of them, only a
young girl of fifteen. And of all times, during her father’s convalescence.
Of
course, she’d intervened. She had outraged against the injustice then, and
swore he would not carry on so with such indiscretion in her house. He had been
angry with her, but she was far too distracted with caring for her father at
the time to heed his threats.
Her
plan now was to get as far away from Lamonte as possible without drawing too
much attention. If she could reach New Orleans, then she could locate her
grandmother, who would take her in. A few days before she left, Chloe had sent
a letter off to Nana to warn her of her possible arrival. Nana, her father’s
mother, had always been kind in her occasional letters she sent to the house
and she knew very little, if anything, of the arrangement between her father
and Chloe’s fiancé. She didn’t know what kind of reception she’d have if her
grandmother knew she was affianced and to marry within the next few weeks.
Leaving
had proven to be very difficult. Chloe had no allies in the house. All of the
servants worked for Lamonte now, so she couldn’t enlist the help of any maids.
Her own nursemaid, Veronica, had quickly become controlled by her fiancé after
her father’s bout of pneumonia. He made it clear that it was better to be loyal
to him than to Chloe. Therefore, when she began planning her escape, she did it
alone. She had to wait until Veronica had gone to her own quarters and everyone
else in the house was asleep as well. Of course, as she’d assumed, Lamonte
would be preoccupied with his own pleasures and so he wouldn’t notice her
leaving.
She
gathered what she could and wrapped it in a makeshift sack that she slung over
her shoulder on a pole. She had retrieved the items while observing the
gardeners a few days before. That was also when she had discovered the extra
men’s clothing lying about. They were clean and simple, but they would do. She
hid everything under the bed so that a maid wouldn’t find them. She had left
the house tonight and had taken one of the spare horses to the docks. Luckily,
the boy who guarded the stable was asleep.
Chloe
chose a ship called La Voyageur. It was large enough and it appeared to
be a cargo ship of some kind, but she could not be sure. She figured she could
hide easily enough among the shipments or pretend she was a sailor at least for
a while until she could find a way off.
Now,
on the ship, she tried to look busy or move out of the way of the sailors
moving crates around. She ducked her head to avoid eye contact with any of the
men. She feared that if enough attention was drawn to her, they would notice
she was not who she claimed.
Chloe
moved towards the back of the ship and went down the companionway below only to
shrink back when a massive form came into view. His dark auburn hair was
rakishly drawn in waves over his head and he had the darkest eyes she’d ever
seen. Her heart raced, and her breath came in small gasps. Stunned, she tried
to get control of herself, but she came to the realization that she wanted to
drown in that gaze.
“What
are you doing there, boy? Get some cargo moved in here. We have work to do.
We’ll be leaving shortly, as you know.”
She
tried for her best sailor dialect. “Aye, Captain.”
One
eyebrow rose sardonically. “You know damn well I’m not the captain, sailor.
But, you still have to follow my orders.”
“Aye.”
She discreetly discarded her sack, saw some small crates nearby and bent to
pick one up. Aware of the heft, she struggled under its weight.
“I
don’t think I’ve seen you before. What’s your name?”
“Uhh…Charlie,
sir.”
“Well,
Charlie. I suppose you’ll learn soon enough. Did Captain Hill recruit you?”
She
had to seem convincing. She tried to look as if the question was natural. “Aye,
found me down by the harbor poking around, he did. A fella can’t help where he
finds a meal.” Chloe grinned, feeling
silly.
He
nodded. “Like I said, you’ll learn soon enough. Those crates will do good in
the back store room. It’s nearly full. I’ll let the others know there’s no more
room there.” He looked her over once more. “I’m keeping an eye on you, boy.”
“Aye,
sir.”
The
man moved past her. When he took the companionway to the upper deck, Chloe
breathed a sigh of relief. She carried the crate to the back room he’d
indicated and set it on a stack of other crates. Then she transferred another
two crates to the same room and set her pack of clothes hanging on the pole
near the door. She closed the door to the room and set about to find a space
where she could hide that wouldn’t be too closed in. She needed air too. Near
the back wall, there was a porthole and after moving some of the crates around,
she made a space where she could lie. She then made a pallet out of the clothes
she’d brought.
Chloe
hoped the man who confronted her would forget he’d seen her. She could only
hope his memory wasn’t perfect because if he searched the ship for the boy he’d
spoken to, he’d eventually find her. With any luck, that would take several
days. If he did find her, she would still need to look like a boy. And what if
someone did discover her sooner? Although they were finished loading crates in
the room, that did not mean that they would not enter it.
If
that man did discover her true identity, she didn’t know what he’d do about it.
Did they punish women for stowing away on ships like they did with men? Perhaps
it would be worse for a woman. She wasn’t that innocent. She knew it was
dangerous for a woman to be aboard a ship full of men who hadn’t had a woman
for months, maybe even years. Perhaps by the time they reached New Orleans,
which she knew might be on their agenda based on the sailors’ talk that she’d
heard on board, she wouldn’t have to worry about any of that. Perhaps it would
be a good idea to block the door besides. She moved some crates around and
brushed her hands on her trousers. Then she returned back to the pallet.
She
could still hear the bustle of the men above moving around the ship and doing
chores. It seemed like hours before the ship pulled away from port. She could
feel the groaning and creaking of the wood around her. Chloe lay down,
satisfied that even if she was found in the storage room, they would be well
away from New York and returning would not be likely. The gentle rocking of the
ship began to lull her to sleep.
Chloe
dreamt of that large man who’d confronted her before, only this time he was
dancing with her in a waltz. They were in a large ballroom drenched in shades
of burgundy and gold, and people stood watching the couples dancing. Soon, with
every dip and turn they took, the spectators seemed to just fall away and
disappear. Chloe and the stranger were alone.
She
turned her head up towards him and his face lowered by degrees, and then he was
kissing her. She was so lost in his kiss that she didn’t notice that he tensed
until he gripped her arms, nearly pulling her down with him to the floor. It
took a moment to realize that he had collapsed, unconscious. Chloe knelt,
wondering what had gone wrong.
Her
gaze drifted from the stranger as something else caught her attention. Across
the empty ballroom stood a man in an old war uniform with a bedraggled
appearance.
It
was Lamonte and he held a pistol up towards the couple.
Chloe
gasped. “Oh, God.” He had found her. She looked down at the stranger who had
held her in his arms just minutes before. A red stain spread slowly across his
chest. Was he dead? She couldn’t tell. Before she knew it, Lamonte was behind
her, fisting a hand in her hair, his words grating out their own punishment,
spittle flying to her cheek.
“You’re
mine. You’ll never be free.”
With
a racing heartbeat, she turned and saw that it wasn’t Lamonte, but her father
instead. The same stain was spreading across his chest and then she looked down
to see the pistol in her own hand.
Chloe
shot up from the pallet, choking on each breath. Gradually, the room became
apparent, and the gentle jostling of the ship alerted her to her location. The
effects of the nightmare slowly fell away. The torment and fear from the night
had gotten to her. For several moments, she pulled her knees up, hugging them
into her body.
She
recalled the day her father had died. It wasn’t like she’d ever really forget.
He’d gone riding a couple of days before and had stayed out too long. He caught
a chill and got sick afterwards.
He
had seemed to always advocate for Lamonte, begging her to submit to his wishes.
When she would not, he did not press further. The day he passed on, Lamonte
held a private office with him. Gradually afterward, her father became weaker
and weaker. For a while, everyone thought he was improving. Even the physician,
who had come a long way to see him, thought as much.
Phillip
Waverly just got worse though. Nothing could cure him, not even his daughter
whispering words of love and encouragement at his bedside. He got progressively
worse and sometime in the night, he moved on to another place. Through her
tears, Chloe had seen how peaceful he looked and she knew it was better than
the world he had been in. Life had been so hard for him after her mother’s
death. He never seemed happy again after that; strong perhaps, but not a happy
man.
An
hour had barely passed before Lamonte confronted her about the marriage.
Outraged, she banished him from her father’s room. Days later, he presented a
signed certificate stating her father’s wishes for them to be married, as well
as a demand that Lamonte would be in control of things if anything should
happen to him. Later, the will would reinforce that decision. She had never
believed that her father would knowingly place her in danger if he knew any
better. Perhaps Lamonte had simply waited until the old man passed on to show
his true character. In any case, Chloe quickly realized she couldn’t trust him
to treat her well and she was alone in her predicament.
Now
she began to wonder if something had happened between Lamonte and her father
that couldn’t be accounted for, something malevolent. What did he need her for
anyway if he already had money and a position? Was it possible her father
simply didn’t die of natural causes? These questions weighed on her mind until
she began to grow hungry. She needed sustenance.
Curious,
Chloe began to pick through the crates, tearing at the hinges with a nearby
crowbar until they opened. After a few failed attempts that resulted in her
finding frivolous items or cotton bales, she located a container filled with
dried meat, one with boxed tea biscuits and another with rum. Though she wasn’t
used to liquor, she needed something. When she couldn’t get one of the bottles
open, she broke off the top against the wall to access it.
After
she had eaten her fill of food, she rose to look out the porthole. Light
streamed through. It was definitely morning. She must have slept for some time.
She couldn’t see any land so it was obvious they were on the open seas. Storms
might be possible, eventually, and she’d have to allow for that. After a while,
another situation arose with a pressing need on her abdomen and she rushed to
find relief somehow. An empty bucket in the corner provided an option. It was
little more than a chamber pot. These were horrid conditions, she knew, but it
was all necessary to get where she needed to go, to get away from Lamonte. She
just hoped it wouldn’t be the end of her.
As
the day wore on, Chloe thought she would go mad inside with nothing to keep her
mind occupied. Why hadn’t she thought to bring a book from her father’s
library? She had a few books by Lewis Carroll in her room that her father had
given her as a child, and occasionally she liked to revisit them and escape
into those fantasy worlds.
With
little else to do now, she napped off and on. When evening came, she contented
herself, sitting on a crate beneath the open porthole, listening to the sailors
sing sea shanties. Sometimes the words were slurred, as if the singers had had
too much rum. She shook her head and giggled at the lyrics.
“As
I walked out on South Street, a fair maid I did meet, who asked me please to
see her home, she lived on Bleecker Street. And away, you Johnny, my dear
honey. Oh you New York girls, you love us for our money.
I said, ‘My dear young lady, I'm a stranger here in town. I left my ship
just yesterday, from Liverpool I was bound. And when we reached the barroom,
boys, the drinks was handed round. That liquor was so awful strong, my head
went round and round. When the drinking it was over, we straight to bed did go.
And little did I ever think she'd prove my overthrow.
When I came to next morning, I had an aching head. And there was I,
Jack-all-alone, stark naked on the bed. I looked all around the room, but
nothing could I see but a lady's shift and apron which now belonged to me.
So come all you bully sailormen, take warning when ashore. Or else you'll
meet some charming girl who's nothing but a whore. And away, you Johnny, my
dear honey. Oh you New York girls, you love us for our money. Your hard-earned
cash will disappear, your rig and boots as well. For Yankee girls are tougher
than the other side of Hell. And away, you Johnny, my dear honey. Oh you New
York girls, you love us for our money.”
Original, she thought, though the situation
occurred all of the time, she imagined. Prostitutes around the harbor were
common enough, as were female con artists. Sailors were easy prey due to the
long trips at sea, and once they were on shore they had a hankering for the
ladies. Ladies though they weren’t. Chloe was familiar with it all. She had
spent enough time around the harbor. She had seen many men taken in by scantily
clad women.
She
thought of that man with the striking dark red hair, and wondered if he had
ever been with that kind of woman. Then she chastised herself. How silly to
wonder such a thing, as if she had a hold on him or should even care what he
did. She didn’t know the first thing about the man, but there was something in
his eyes that made her want to trust him. However strong he was, he looked
safe.
Chloe
shook her head. She was being fanciful, that was all. There was little else to
do in the cargo hold but eat, sleep and listen to the sailors working or singing.
When they worked, they sang. When they ate, they sang. When they rested, why,
she assumed they sang then too. She wondered if at some point, she could trust
any of them. It didn’t matter. Soon enough, she would be in New Orleans or if
they reached a port before then, she would find a way off of the ship. That was
the plan, and it was good enough for now.
She
moved to her makeshift bed, however uncomfortable it was, and settled in. With
the sound of male voices in the distance, she drifted off.
* * * *
Chloe
came awake with a jerk. The ship was tilting. She slid over the floor. She
struggled to her feet, tried to get upright. When she was standing, she
assessed the situation. The ship was moving erratically, and the cargo hold was
filling with water. She raced to the porthole and closed it.
Cursing
because she was soaked from the waist down, she tried to put the crates back
where they’d been as well, but they fell anyway. As she looked out the
porthole, she could see rain and waves. The loud crack of thunder shook the
ship. Dear God, she thought, a storm at sea. What day was it? She tried to
think of how long she had been there. Not more than three days surely. And
suddenly there was a storm? Great. Just great. Her stomach rolled with
unexpected nausea. She had handled being at sea fairly well, thus far, but
being tossed around wasn’t helping matters.
Chloe
latched onto the nearest wall, but there really wasn’t much to hold, just the
hinge of the porthole. And she feared if she pulled too hard, it would come
undone and flood the room completely this time. The storm was turbulent,
thrashing the ship around like a young boy demonically terrorizing his sister’s
doll.
The
ship tilted and she stumbled once more. She heard a sudden crash and then her
world collapsed. As she lay there, trying to discern what happened, everything
went black.
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