Convictions (12 page)

“You have wounds that aren’t healing properly,” she said. “I’ll be back.”

Jennie headed to the surgery, but when she pounded on the door, Dr. Weymss wasn’t there. What medicine did Lizzie need?

A warder stood in the shadows at the bottom of the hatch ladder.

“Can you get the surgeon for me?” she asked.

“What’s ailing you?” he asked, stepping out of the gloom.

Jennie’s heart sank. It was Walt. Good luck with him doing anything to help, but she tried anyway.

“Not me. It’s Lizzie,” she said firmly, hoping he wouldn’t see her quaking.

Walt snarled. “He’s not likely to come for that hellcat.”

“Please, you have to get Dr. Weymss.”

“Is it an emergency?”

“Yes!”

He snorted. “Unless that vermin’s dying this minute, I’m not fetching him.”

“She
will
die, if she doesn’t get some attention right away.”

“Pah! It would be good riddance to bad rubbish.”

Another warder came up from the passage behind her. Jennie turned to find Nate staring at her. Concern flitted across his face.

“Please, can you get the surgeon for Lizzie? She’s really ill.”

Nate looked uncertain.

Jennie pleaded with her eyes.

Nate turned to Walt. “Where
is
Superintendent Surgeon Weymss?”

“Having a chat with Captain Furlee. If you disturb them to help that doxy tigress, it’s on your head.”

“If she doesn’t get help, she’ll surely die.” Jennie pleaded with Nate.

She turned back to Walt. “You don’t want another dead
convict, do you? How will the authorities take that at journey’s end? No bonus for your captain and probably not for you.”

Walt shrugged his shoulders and turned away. She looked to Nate again.

He pressed his lips together, seeming to have made up his mind, and scuttled up the ladder.

Jennie slipped into the surgery as Walt wandered away down the passageway. She scanned the labelled bottles on the low table, trying to figure out what would be best to use. She picked up a bottle and tried to make out the label.

“Away from there!” Dr. Weymss yelled from the doorway. “Do you want to poison her?”

Jenny jumped. “No, I want to heal her. Her wounds are festering. So tell me what’s needed.”

“Saucy, aren’t you?” The surgeon raised his eyebrows.

Jennie faced him defiantly.

“Fine, if you want to learn more than stitchery, then watch carefully.”

As she stepped closer, she caught a whiff of rum on the
surgeon’s breath. He’d been doing more than chatting with
the captain.

Dr. Weymss selected a jar containing some dried, white flowers.

Jennie strained to make out the label.

“Achillea millefolium,” he said, without turning to look at her. “Yarrow.”

He measured a little into a small mortar dish and ground it up. Into the powder, he spilled a few dried orange flowers from a tin and crunched them up too. “
Tagetes
– marigold.”

Jennie’s mother had grown marigolds in her flowerbeds, and yarrow grew wild in the nearby fields when they lived in the cottage before her father died.

“I didn’t know flowers were good to make medicines.”

“They will suffice in this case because we don’t have any maggots to suck out the pus.”

Jennie grimaced, sure that if they looked around the ship they could have found some. But she wasn’t going to suggest it. She wouldn’t be able to put slimy fly larvae into Lizzie’s wounds.

“And that?” she asked, as Dr. Weymss poured a clear liquid from an amber bottle.

“Fish oil.” He added, “We’re out of linseed oil.” He stirred it into the dried flower concoction.

“And that’s it?” she asked, as he set the containers back onto the table.

“And lard of course.” He reached for a bucket, added a small lump of lard and stirred the mixture into a creamy paste.

“You’ll need to apply the liniment on the infected areas just as you’ve done before.”

“Me! Aren’t you going to look at her?”

He shook his head. “You are quite competent to go down there and do it yourself.”

Jennie’s mouth dropped. “Aren’t we bringing Lizzie here?”

“No. Captain’s orders. She might attack the warders again.”

“But she can barely move.”

“All the more reason to leave her where she is.” He shoved the salve at Jennie, along with some cloth strips. “Slather it liberally.”

“Can you at least get the guards to open the jail cell?” Jennie asked.

“No. There are too many dodgy convicts to control.” He grunted. “Some are too dangerous for the likes of you.”

He followed Jennie out the surgery door, shut it firmly and climbed the ladder, muttering in annoyance. “Disturbing me for the sake of a woman who’s going to die soon anyway.”

Incensed, Jennie made her way down the hushed passageway. Although there was no more seasickness, lethargy and weakness had set upon most of the convicts. They stayed in their bunks when they didn’t have to do chores or their daily routines, so she met no one in the passageway, not even children playing pick-up sticks with slivers of planking. As she passed Sarah’s berth, the grandmotherly woman asked if she could help.

“I’ll manage. Thanks.” Jennie patted Sarah’s arm. “There really isn’t much room to move back there.”

The jailed women were mostly asleep when Jennie returned, and Lizzie hadn’t moved.

Jennie shook Lizzie gently through the bars to awaken her. “Can you move your back a little closer to me?”

Lizzie opened her glassy eyes partway, and shifted a little, but collapsed.

A light hand touched Jennie’s shoulder. She looked up.

“I can help.” Alice squeezed next to her and knelt on the floor.

Jennie nodded, and again peeled the cloth from one of Lizzie’s wounds. Lizzie whimpered.

“It needs to be lanced and drained,” said Alice.

Jennie looked at her in surprise.

Fanny pressed in beside them. “And how do you come to know that, wise Alice?”

“A mouser cat at the big house got infection from a dog bite on its back, and that’s what had to be done,” said Alice. “We need something pointy like a knife and some hot water.”

“But how can we ever get those things?” asked Jennie. “The surgeon won’t be bothered, and the warders won’t help.”

Fanny whirled away without a sound and tapped on the guardroom door.

Red Bull yanked the door open. “Whaddya want?” His expression changed from anger to pleasure when he saw Fanny.

Jennie bent her head back down and watched Fanny from the corner of her eye.

Fanny swung her hips, and, brushing her body against Red Bull’s, she whispered something in his ear.

Running her fingers down his chest, she said aloud, “I can make it worth your while.”

“Hold this for me, please, Alice.” Jennie shoved the bucket of salve toward the girl.

The door squeaked closed, and Fanny was gone.

“Perhaps we could squeeze the wound open to drain it,” Jen
nie suggested.

Alice shrugged. “It might work.”

As Jennie took up a piece of cloth, Alice set the salve on the floor and stroked Lizzie’s arm. She sang quietly. Jennie pinched a small swollen area.

Lizzie shrieked.

“Sorry,” Jennie said. She sat back on her heels and fretted over the angry red wounds. What to do next?

Crazy Mary began shrieking and banged her head against the hull in the cell.

“I don’t think it would hurt as much if we could use a knife,” Alice said, wiping Lizzie’s perspiring face with the hem of her dress.

All at once, the door behind them opened and Fanny emerged from the guard’s quarters. Her clothes were rumpled and her hair mussed, but she had an air of triumph about her. She held out a gruel-sized bowl of steaming water. When the door closed behind her, Fanny pulled out a penny knife from the folds of her dress.

“He gave you a knife?” asked Jennie.

“Not exactly,” said Fanny slyly.

Jennie gave Fanny a grateful smile, though her heart felt heavy. She knew what Fanny had done to get the items that would save Lizzie.

Alice took the small folding knife. Carefully she poked the sharp tip along a tiny edge of a festered wound. Lizzie didn’t seem to notice.

Jennie tried to keep herself from gagging at the putrid smell.

While Alice continued to pierce the infected wounds, Jennie mopped away the pus. Fanny handed her strips of cloth dunked in hot water. Jennie cleaned and soaked the wounds with the hot compresses; then she and Alice applied the salve. Fanny piled up the pus-soaked cloths, along with the soiled bandages. Jennie was amazed at how well the three of them worked together, cleaning and rebandaging Lizzie’s back.

When they were done, Lizzie looked up with grateful eyes, before slumping into delirium. She mumbled something about blackmail and getting back at Red Bull.

Jennie turned to Fanny with a questioning look.

Fanny shook her head. “Don’t know what she’s rambling on about.”

“Maybe it has something to do with Red Bull being a convict too,” said Alice.

Jennie and Fanny stared at the young girl.

“I heard Lizzie telling him she knew about his crimes.” Alice looked at them in all innocence. “One day ages ago, when we were on deck.”

“Out of the mouth of babes,” said Fanny. With a little chuckle, she moved closer to Alice.

Jennie smiled. “Did you hear what crimes?”

Alice shrugged. “Not about that.”

“What
did
you hear?” asked Fanny.

“Nothing that made sense. Just talked about some old codger. Bailey, I think they called him. Old Bailey.”

Fanny mouthed something at Jennie. Jennie nodded. It had to be the courthouse in London. Intrigued, Jennie quizzed Alice. “Did it sound like they knew each other before being on this ship?”

“It was hard to tell.”

“Did they mention any other names?”

Alice shrugged again. “Not really. Other than Red Bull called her Maggie, and Lizzie kept insisting that was her sister’s name.”

“That’s it?” asked Fanny.

“Yes, other than something about Red Bull owing her money.”

Fanny and Jennie exchanged glances as Alice knelt back down to smooth the mixture remaining in the bucket.

“Will we have to put on more salve later?” Alice asked.

“Indeed we will,” said Jennie. “Would you like to help later as well? You’ve done a fine job here.”

Alice looked pleased.

“We’ll come back before bedding down time,” said Fanny, kneeling down to straighten Lizzie’s crumpled dress over her bandages.

“See you then. I’m going to Sarah now.” Alice scurried away.

“So, maybe Red Bull is a convict too,” murmured Jennie.

Fanny agreed. “There’s probably lots more to that story.”

“Do you know her sister Maggie?” Jennie asked.

Fanny shook her head. “She only has a half-brother that I know of.”

“Then who’s Maggie?” Jennie asked.

“Not a sniff,” said Fanny, shrugging. She picked up the knife, made a small slit at the bottom of her dress and slid it into the hem.

Jennie hardly noticed Fanny conceal the weapon. Was that Lizzie’s other identity–the one that Mary Roberts had quizzed her about? Had Red Bull somehow suspected Lizzie had used another name? Had he threatened to go to the authorities to get her an even longer sentence? Jennie’d keep that question to herself – for now.

“Lizzie said something about Red Bull telling lies,” Jennie said. She crinkled her brow in thought. “What if he lied to get this job, and Lizzie threatened to tell on him? So then Red Bull made up the story about her planning a mutiny and told the captain to keep her from talking.”

Fanny picked up the thread of the story. “She’d be wild when she found out he was one of her guards. This would be the first time she’s come across him since she saw him at the Old Bailey.”

“That would make sense,” Jennie agreed. “But why would he beat her so cruelly?”

Fanny shrugged. “Because he could. Because he’s nasty.” She paused. “Or maybe Lizzie tried to blackmail him for money, and he wanted to keep her quiet.”

“She’d do that?”

Fanny gave her a scornful look. “What better hold to have over a guard?”

“Well, it didn’t work out so well,” said Jennie.

“Pfff, that’s for sure,” said Fanny. She set the bowl of water on the floor beside the guardroom door and gave a light tap, then moved away quickly.

Jennie hurried to return the salve to the surgery. She wondered if Lizzie and Maggie were the same person–and what crime Red Bull had committed.