Dark Journey Home (5 page)

She ran from the room, as she heard weak laughter
behind her.  “What is the matter with me,” she muttered as she shut the door then
breathlessly leaned against it.  “It’s obvious the poor man is delirious.” 

Olivia stiffened her spine, tilted her small perky
little chin, then patted her tight golden blonde bun, tucked a loose strand
behind her ear, then took a deep breath.  She thought, “Why have I reacted to a
very ill person’s mutterings like that?  I am usually a very calm and collected
person.”  And with that thought in mind, she felt to see if her very prim bun
was still in place.  Satisfied, she once again opened the door then hesitantly
stepped inside.

Raspy even breathing told her that the ‘patient’ was
once again sleeping, or pretending……or well whatever.  She approached the bunk,
and lightly put her cool hand to his temple, which she found to be still very
hot to the touch. 

Feeling that he was feverish, she then moved to a
small end table, which was secured to the wall, and which held the pitcher of
cool water.  Pouring a bit of the cool liquid into a basin, she then took a
clean cloth from the stack that Maria had left there for that purpose, and
after dipping the cloth into the water, she wrung it out and returned to the
patient.  Carefully she laid the folded wet cloth onto his forehead. 

Her wrist was caught in a steel grip, pulling her hand
and cloth away, and in a low, raspy and weak voice, he said, “Throw away the
damned rag, sweetheart, just touch me with your cool soft hand again.  I’m weak
as hell, but your cool touch sure feels like Heaven!”  Olivia quickly looked
down into his face, and noted his eyes were still closed, but his bruised and
battered face was grinning dreamily.  “Oh…….you……you’re awake.”  She sputtered.

“Just barely, honey.”  He whispered, then, “but a
sweet kiss would sure wake me up in a hurry, it’s been many a year since.............”

“Oh……”  She pulled her hand quickly away from his
grip, and breathed, “That’s it!  You insufferable lout!  You can just lie there
and die for all I care.”  Her chin tilted straight upward, and her back
stiffened as she marched from the room once again, this time slamming the door.

Just as Olivia entered the small parlor of the suite,
there was a light tap on the outer door, and she quickly walked over and
angrily unlocked, then jerked open the door.  Her uncle strode in and smiled,
as he said, “I wasn’t that tired, and thought I’d stay with the patient for
awhile.”  Then noting her agitated expression, and fearing the condition of the
patient had worsened, he sobered quickly and asked, “Olivia, what’s wrong?  Has
he taken a turn for the worse?”

“No!  He’s awake, and I’m glad you returned Uncle,
because now you can throw the lout overboard.”  With that she marched stiffly
into her bedroom, and slammed the door.

Lord Beckford stood there staring at the slammed door,
then with raised eyebrows, a slow smile suddenly lit up his face.

<><><> 

The eerie blackness was receding and the pain
returning.  The blackness had been welcome and the pain more than he could
bear.  His head was killing him, along with bruised ribs, injured shoulder, and
just about every other inch of his body, but otherwise Logan was fine, just a
little bit short of dying, that is.

A cool soft touch to his temple had awakened him. 
Where was he?  His head was either spinning, or he was on a moving ship, or
both.  He wasn’t sure.  He tried to turn over, but his shoulder hurt too damn much,
his ribs felt bruised, then his stomach growled.  Well, that part of his body
was working anyway, if nothing else.  Suddenly he thought, “Damn, am I back on
the ‘Red Dragon’?”  Did Devlin’s thugs recapture him, and haul him back? 
“No!”  He relaxed then, realizing he was lying on a bunk.  If he was back on
the Dragon, he would more than likely be down in the belly of the thing, lying
in stinking filthy water, or possibly tied to a mast, and beaten for jumping ship,
or hanged and dead by now.  But where was he, and who had brought him here? 
His memory was foggy, but he did remember escaping the Dragon, and staggering
through the foggy narrow streets of some town, he thought possibly London.

He’d caught a glimpse of an angel’s face a few seconds
ago, or was it minutes or hours ago?  He wasn’t sure.  Logan didn’t think he’d
died, as he wouldn’t hurt so much if he had, nor have such hunger pangs.

So who was the angel then?  And where was she?  Her
cool touch sure had felt good, though he felt a bite of food would possibly be
just what he needed about now, if that were at all possible.  He heard a door
open, and, turning, could just barely make out an older man, white haired, but
regal in stance, tall and stately.  A gentleman, no less.  Logan sighed, a
raspy sound, and relaxing, he felt safer than he had felt in over eight years. 
Possibly eight?  Maybe. 

Lord Beckford approached the bunk where the injured
young man had lain for over four days now, and said, “I hear you have come back
among the living, young chap.”

Logan
rasped, “Not
sure if I’m living or not, but sir, could you tell me just where I am, and how
long I’ve been here?  You remind me of my pa, but he smells like horses, and
you don’t.  So you can’t be him.”

Beckford laughed in relief.  The young man certainly
would recover now that he had awakened.  “From what I hear in your dialect,
young man, you must be an American.  Tell me, just how did you come by all those
injuries?  Some bruises look like they’ve been acquired quite some time ago. 
And I’ve a feeling that I know just about what you’ve been through.  Before you
answer though, this is the ‘Silver Queen’, an ocean liner, of which I am the
owner.  You collapsed in the doorway of one of my warehouses on the docks of London, but we are over four days out to sea from there now.” 

Logan
waited a full
minute before giving his answer, then in a low raspy weak voice, “The ‘Silver
Queen’?  I’ve heard of her.  Luxury liner.  Before I tell you my story, may I
ask why you didn’t just turn me over to my captors?  How come you’ve taken me
in?  I’m sure there is a reward out for my hide.”

“Well, I certainly don’t need any reward, and besides
my niece wouldn’t let me turn you in.”  Lord Beckford chuckled, then, “Anyway,
I wouldn’t have, in all good conscience, turned you in to that blackguard.  I
think I know pretty much your circumstances anyway.  And if the captain of that
slave-trader ship is the one you escaped from, I would have done everything in
my power to escape that devil ship too, young chap.”

A key turned in the outer door lock and Claude heard
Maria’s voice calling out from the entry that she had brought lunch.  And right
about that time, Logan’s stomach growled again. 

Lord Beckford patted the patient’s hand, and said,
“We’ll continue this conversation after you’ve eaten.  We will have a lot to
talk about then.”  Maria walked into the patient’s room carrying a large tray
full of hot steaming food.

Olivia answered the light tap on her stateroom door,
and smiled as she greeted her uncle.  “I guess I’m not in the best of moods
today, Uncle Claude,” she began, “and I’m really sorry.  I must have
over-reacted to the mumblings of a half-conscious man.  I was so used to the
peaceful life I’ve been living at the manor, then all the turmoil of this sea
voyage, and finding that bondsman at the warehouse has gotten to me.  I heard
Maria return. So after lunch, I believe I’ll stroll the deck for awhile, that
is if she is with the patient.”

“At the moment, niece, Maria is feeding the poor man. 
He looks like he hasn’t had a decent meal in years, and although the man
appears to have strength in his arms and shoulders, his body certainly hasn’t
had much nourishment for awhile, along with his clothing being in tatters.  It
really doesn’t speak like a bondsman, and I’m not so sure that he is one, as he
appears to be more like an unkempt slave. 

“There are certain vessels that use nothing but slave
labor, mostly men who have been taken captive from some of the ports around the
world.  They call it ‘shanghaiing’, and I know of several notorious ship
captains who practice this, thus saving themselves a few coins to pay a crew. 
They only hire a small crew to keep the ‘bondsmen’ in line, and I know of one
captain with the reputation of being the worst of the lot.  His name is Devlin,
Captain Devlin that is.  I’ve heard that he has forged papers for these
supposed ‘bondsmen’, although they are more than likely, most of them at least,
just some innocent chap who has been kidnapped, thus forced to work at slave
labor for the captain, until they die, or jump ship, most of them are never
heard from again. 

“Too, it has been suspected though never proven, that
Devlin also deals in the selling of slaves, those of whom they capture off some
island, then transport to a southern seaport in the new land, some other
countries also.  They hold secret slave auctions then.  I have always hoped
that the scoundrel will at some point in time, be exposed and arrested for his
crimes on the high seas.”

“Oh mercy,” Olivia exclaimed, “what a horrible life
that must be, Uncle.  I’ve heard of such things before, but it’s hard to
believe none-the-less that anyone can be that cruel and heartless.”  She
paused, then inspected the tray of food that was setting on the small table,
“You know uncle, I’m not really hungry yet after all, and I believe that a walk
on deck in the cool air is what I need. “

With that, she started for the door, but Claude
touched her arm and said, “I’ll walk with you Ollie.  Just let me tell Maria
that we’ll return in about an hour.” 

Ten minutes later Olivia and Claude were standing at
the railing of the main deck, and breathing in the fresh salty air of the sea. 
Olivia had taken a light wrap with, and was glad as she gathered it close.  The
sea was calm, though the breeze a bit chilly, however refreshing.  Just as they
turned to continue walking, Olivia grasped her uncle’s sleeve, and gasped,
“Uncle Claude, did you see that man who just entered that stateroom on the far
end of the deck, near to the dining hall?”

Claude answered, “No, Olivia, I caught sight of
someone, but didn’t notice who he was.  Did you recognize him?  Was he someone
we know?”

She hesitated then, but said, “I can’t be sure, but
just from a glimpse of him, I’d swear it is that loathsome cad, who was
courting me a few years back.  You remember Henry J. Adams?  It certainly
looked like him, though slightly older, but I could be mistaken.”

Claude’s expression turned serious, as he spoke, “Well
Olivia, if he is on this ship, we’ll soon find out, that is if he is going by
his own name, you never know what a bloke like that will do.  I’ll have a
little talk with our captain just as soon as you are back in the stateroom.  If
he is on this ship, I can assure you that he will not in any way be anywhere
near you.”  With that, he took her arm and walked her to the winding stairway
that would lead her to the safety of her stateroom suite. 

<><><> 

Henry Adams, alias Henry Birch, the name he was
traveling under, and had used off and on through the years whenever it suited
his fancy to go incognito, stared in the gold-plated hand mirror at his aging
face, and mused aloud, “Maybe she likes older men now, well we’ll see about
that.  How lucky can I get?  Just when I had just about given up my search for
a wealthy bride, who do I see on this voyage?  Well, if it wasn’t my beautiful
Olivia Worthington.  Ah, but I have missed her.” 

“Well, she’ll be glad of my companionship once she no
longer has the old uncle to squire her around.  My, what a pity. I owe his
Lordship, and that brother of hers too, so much for the ungainly way I was
treated during my last visit with Olivia, and I shall enjoy every minute of my
vengeance once my plans are made… and carried out.  

“I wonder where they’re going.  Well, it shouldn’t be
too hard to follow and ‘accidently’ run into my lovely former fiancé.  However,
I’ll keep a low profile during my journey to the states, then when she needs a
friend the most, I shall just happen to appear.”

When Henry looked into the mirror these days, he only
saw what he wanted to see.  He never noticed the sagging jowls or the bags
under his eyes, gained from too much night life and fancy foods, nor did he
notice the thinning hairline with the gray streaks, nor the stomach paunch he
had grown.  Those attributes never showed in his gold-plated mirror.  He saw
himself as an older distinguished gentleman, of whom all ladies would swoon and
beg for his attention.  He also felt that Olivia had cared for him, but had to
do as her uncle and brother told her, and probably grieved over losing his
ardent courtship.  He never knew of the many possible suitors she had turned
down, and would not have believed it anyway.  He felt that he was the only one
for her.  His ego was beyond belief, and he had no inkling that Olivia couldn’t
stand the sight of him or that she had caught a glimpse of him as he had
entered his stateroom.