Savage. Part 10

She chewed and swallowed. She looked into my eyes. All I saw in hers were tiredness and pain. She didn't say a thing. She didn't try to boss me or scold me or nothing.

It was just awful.

Whittle hadn't killed Trudy, but he'd sure taken the starch out of her.

When the last of the old stew was gone, she turned onto her back and covered herself to the chin. She stared up at the ceiling.

"Everything will be all right," I told her.

I knew it was a lie. So did she, more than likely. But she didn't tell me so, just lay still and gazed.

Back in my bed, I licked the stew gravy and grease off my hands. Then I spent a while licking my wrists, which were pretty much as raw as Trudy's.

I gave some thought to having another go at Whittle. But remembered all of what he'd done to Trudy after my last try.

If I should attack him again and muck it up, she would be the one to pay.

I decided to call it quits and behave.

Reckon I'd lost near as much starch as Trudy.

CHAPTER TEN.

Patrick Joins Our Crew By and by, Whittle came in. His arms were full of clothes, and he left the door open. "Good afternoon, my friends," he said, sounding wonderful chipper. "I trust you slept well."

With that, he commenced to split up his bundle, tossing garments and shoes onto our beds.

"You'll have free reign of the s.h.i.+p for a while," he explained. "We're anch.o.r.ed at Plymouth, and I've sent Michael ash.o.r.e for all we'll be needing."

He stood with his back to the doorway, watching as we sat up and dressed ourselves. He'd brought heavy sweaters for both of us, trousers for me, pantaloons and a skirt for Trudy, along with stockings and shoes. The clothes were too large for me. I reckoned they belonged to Michael or to Trudy's dead father. Michael, I hoped. It didn't set well, the idea of wearing a dead chap's duds. Why Whittle hadn't returned my own trousers to me, which would've fit properly, I didn't know. I allowed I wouldn't make a nuisance of myself, however, by asking.

He watched me cinch the belt tight.

"Should you consider using that to strangle me, please remember what came of your previous mischief."

"You needn't worry," I said. "I'll not attack you again."

"It will go very hard with Trudy, should you forget yourself." With that, he patted the handle of the knife at his hip.

Trudy'd managed to get herself dressed, but she just sat on her bunk when Whittle told her to stand. He pulled her up. She hobbled, stiff and moaning, as he ushered her past me. I followed them out of the cabin.

He let her go alone into the lavatory. He shut the door and we waited in the narrow aisle. I saw he'd changed his bandage. The new one was fresh and white, without blood and such leaking through.

"I take it you've grown rather fond of Trudy," he said.

"I shouldn't like to see her hurt, is all."

"Such a gallant lad. I was quite impressed with your efforts to save her from hanging, last night."

"You could've lent a hand."

"Oh, but I had such a merry time watching."

"We might have perished."

He laughed and clapped my shoulder. "Not allowed, my boy. n.o.body dies while I am captain of the True D. Light. True D. Light."

Trudy finally came out, and I got my turn. In a mirror above the wash basin, I took a gander at my face. It was a frightful sight, all puffy, dark with bruises, stained with dried blood. I cleaned off the blood, then sat down to relieve myself. I'd had no opportunity for that since setting off for Whitechapel. Two nights ago? Three? Sitting there, I realized I had no certain knowledge of how much time I'd spent aboard the yacht. I was aware of two nights pa.s.sing, but others might have been missed while I was asleep or unconscious. Though I'd had little to eat and nothing whatsoever to drink during that period, the toilet proved itself welcome.

Done, I stepped out and was surprised to see that Trudy and Whittle had wandered off. I spotted them beyond a narrow doorway at the far end of a room considerably larger than the one where we'd so far spent our captivity. This, I supposed, must be the main saloon Trudy had mentioned last night.

It had berths along both sides which were more s.p.a.cious than ours. One looked as if it had been slept in. No doubt, this was where Whittle had spent the night after returning Trudy and I to our beds.

There were cabinets, seats, a table, and even a gas burner which accounted for the warmer air in this section of the boat. Through portholes, I glimpsed other crafts anch.o.r.ed near ours. Thoughts of escape set my heart to pounding, but I pushed them away, fearful of the outcome for Trudy if I should arouse any suspicion or anger in Whittle.

I joined them in the kitchen-or galley, as Trudy had called it. The room was as wide as the main saloon, but not so long. At the far end, a few stairs led upward to a closed door.

The galley was equipped with a stove, a sink with water pumps, counters and cabinets. Whittle sat at a small table while Trudy stood at the stove, preparing ham and eggs.

Whittle gestured for me to sit down across from him. I did so.

"I'll have a dab more tea," he said.

I filled his cup from the pot on the table, and eyed the cup in front of me.

"Do help yourself, Trevor."

I poured steaming tea into my cup, and sipped at it.

"Had I known we'd be embarking on this little adventure," he said, "I should've asked Elsworth to join us. However, I fear I'll be forced to get along without his services. A fine fellow, Elsworth. What's to become of him? I didn't even find an opportunity to provide him with a reference."

"Shall we go back for him?"

Whittle laughed. "I think not."

"Are you certain you wouldn't prefer to...return home?"

"You've made that rather impossible for me," he said, and lightly fingered the bandage where his nose used to be. "Besides, I've long had my heart set on America."

"Why?"

"Just the place for a gentleman of my tastes. Particularly the Wild West, don't you know? Why, with any luck, my various depredations will be laid at the feet of the aborigines, the redskins. They're really quite keen on a wide variety of mutilations." Whittle put down his cup and leaned toward me, his eyes agleam. "I understand that they not only scalp their victims, but have been known to skin them alive, dismember them-oh, they have a jolly time of it." He patted his lips with a napkin. "Perhaps I'll join up with a band of marauding savages and show them a few new tricks."

"Perhaps you'll find yourself scalped."

That set him to laughing again. "Oh, Trevor, you're marvelous. A fellow of infinite jest."

I didn't care much for the reference to Yorick. After all, he was dead, nothing more than a skull, when Hamlet made that remark about him. Nevertheless, I judged I ought to count myself lucky that Whittle found me so amusing. It might help to keep me alive, at least for the duration of the voyage.

Trudy brought the food over. She sat down and joined us. We ate in silence for a while. It was wonderful to wrap my teeth around the hot eggs and ham. Trudy merely picked at hers. She seemed just as tired and gloomy as she'd been when I first woke her up.

"Why so downcast?" Whittle finally said to her.

She didn't answer. She just stared at her plate and pushed around a bit of egg.

Whittle smiled at her. Then he jabbed her arm with his fork.

She flinched and tears filled her eyes.

"Speak when you're spoken to."

She nodded.

"Am I to take it you're not enjoying your voyage?"

"I...I'm not feeling well."

"You must must take better care of yourself." take better care of yourself."

"You're going to kill me."

"Not at all. Perish the thought. Perish it," he said again, and tipped me a wink. "Even should I face a sudden urge to-how shall I put this tastefully?-slice your sweet flesh, why, I should most certainly resist it. I've already explained how important you are to the success of our venture. I must keep Michael cooperative, don't you know? Now there's a stout fellow," he added, turning to me. "I doubt he's slept a wink since we set sail, and I'm sure it's been no easy task to skipper this yacht single-handed. He's made quite a fine account of himself, all in all. And, unlike some I might mention, he's given me not a moment of aggravation." your sweet flesh, why, I should most certainly resist it. I've already explained how important you are to the success of our venture. I must keep Michael cooperative, don't you know? Now there's a stout fellow," he added, turning to me. "I doubt he's slept a wink since we set sail, and I'm sure it's been no easy task to skipper this yacht single-handed. He's made quite a fine account of himself, all in all. And, unlike some I might mention, he's given me not a moment of aggravation."

When we were done with the meal, Whittle set us to work. I pumped a bucket full of salt water at the galley sink, and went off to scrub the stew off the floor of our quarters. While I was busy at that, Trudy washed the dishes.

The scrubbing didn't take long. Whittle carried my bucket topside, going up the stairs and out the door at the rear of the galley. Then he came down and ordered Trudy to bake some loaves of bread.

"We'll be having company this evening," he told her.

I saw some life come into her eyes. "Michael will be eating with us?"

"More than Michael, I daresay. He's to fetch along an ablebodied seaman."

I rather hoped he might fetch along, instead, a troop of constables. Or perhaps a concealed revolver.

"He was all done in, actually. I realized it would be the height of folly to attempt our crossing without an extra hand."

"It's no less the height of folly," I said.

As usual, he laughed.

"We'll all find ourselves in Davy Jones' Locker."

"Full fathom five, is it?"

"Make sport of me, then. You'll be whistling a different tune when we capsize in a gale or fetch up on an iceberg."

"We should take the southern route," Trudy said, all at once showing some more interest in matters. Maybe my talk of going down had stirred her up.

"A southern route?" Whittle asked.

"Instead of making our way west, we should sail south to the Canaries."

"A foul idea." He eyed me, but I gave no hint that I'd caught on to his wordplay.

"This is just the best possible season for it," Trudy went on. "We'd have fine, sunny weather for our crossing, and ride the tradewinds and currents all the way."

"All the way to where, might I ask?"

"To the West Indies."

"I've no use for the West Indies. Nor for the Canaries. The Canaries! Unless my schooling has been for nought, those islands lie off the coast of Africa! Africa! And they're in the control of the b.l.o.o.d.y Spaniards. Isn't that correct, Trevor?" And they're in the control of the b.l.o.o.d.y Spaniards. Isn't that correct, Trevor?"

"Lord Nelson lost his arm there," I pointed out.

"You see? That's no place for an Englishman. I'll have none of it."

Trudy knew better than to push him. So she hauled out the flour, after that, and got started on the bread. Whittle stayed with her.

I went into the main saloon. It had a small library. I found a collection of tales by Edgar Allan Poe, set myself down and tried to read. Couldn't manage it, though. Here I'd been a day or two on the rough seas of the Channel without so much as a touch of sickness, but trying to keep my eyes on the lines of a story while the boat was rocking ever so gentle put my breakfast in jeopardy. By and by, I gave up.

I just sat there thinking and worrying. When the nice smell of baking bread came along, it made me just so lonesome for home I near cried. Later on, Trudy staggered by. She didn't give me a glance or a word, but went straight to the forward cabin and plonked down on her bed. Whittle went topside.

He was up there for a long spell before he hurried down. He locked the door on Trudy, then said to me, "Come along. Michael's returning."

I followed him through the galley and up the stairs, coming out on a section of deck toward the rear of the yacht. I glimpsed the wheel and a pa.s.sel of instruments. Didn't give them much of a look, though. It was the harbor that caught my eyes. Every sort of boat and s.h.i.+p was moored around us, plenty near enough to reach with a good, quick swim. The sh.o.r.e itself, with all its docks and markets and crowds, was less than a quarter mile off. The water looked gray and cold, but calm.

Well, I was sorely tempted to plunge in. I didn't have a single doubt but that I could make an escape. I'd be free of Whittle for good, I'd miss out on drowning in the Atlantic, I'd find my way home and be safe and Mother'd weep for joy at my return.

And Whittle'd likely open Trudy with his knife.

I told myself he'd do it anyhow, sooner or later.

But if he killed her on account of me...I just couldn't stomach the idea of that.

Besides, I judged that sooner or later, one way or another, I might somehow get to save her. Couldn't do that if I jumped s.h.i.+p.

That all went through my head as I went with Whittle to the stern and we stood there waiting for the skiff to reach us.

It had two men in it, so Michael'd found himself a hand for our trip. The broad-shouldered fellow had his back to me. A seam of his sweater was split. A tweed cap, tilted at a jaunty angle, topped his scraggly red hair.

The other sat at the stern, his head down. I took him for Michael, as he looked so thin and beaten-down.