“Hush! You don’t have the right to an opinion now. I’m taking the risks.”
“P-p-please don’t!” She reached for his hand and held it in a vise grip. “I don’t want you hurt because of me.”
“What makes you so sure the captain will have me flogged? I’m the ship’s physician. He needs a doctor.”
“A man like him doesn’t care. He whipped me, didn’t he?”
Jackson examined the half dozen or so tears in her shirt and trousers. The skin beneath was broken in only a few places. Travers wielded the whip not to scar her, only to frighten her and cause pain. “These are nothing,” he replied. “I know they hurt a great deal but they won’t leave marks. Just let me treat them so they don’t become infected.”
“N-n-no. You don’t understand. I didn’t mean what he did recently. My b-back. You’ve seen those scars?” Jackson nodded. “Who do you think put them there?”
Before the doctor could utter a response he heard a sound in the companionway. Quickly he doused the lantern and took his jacket. “I will be back later with something for you,” he whispered. He peered out the door and left, locking it behind him and successfully avoiding a confrontation with the approaching guard.
When the door opened again, Alexis cringed at the sight of the towering figure in the doorway. The man said nothing as he lifted her less than gently and carried her out of the room.
“Gawd, you smell,” he said when he deposited her in the captain’s cabin.
She wanted to retort that he would smell the same after being locked in a room for three days, but she was too weak to do anything but nod abjectly.
“Bath’s ready for you,” he said, pointing to the copper tub on the far side of the room. “Captain sent word you are to join him soon. He said you’re to clean up and make yourself presentable. I put what you’re to wear on the bunk.”
Alexis glanced in the direction of the bunk. On it lay a simple cotton day dress. It had short puffed sleeves edged with lace and a rounded bodice. She stared at the sugary yellow confection and wondered who Travers had purchased if for.
“A sister, or cousin, I think,” the guard answered, reading her thought. “You can be sure it wasn’t for his mistress.” He thought that seemed to please Alexis. He took another look at her matted hair, dirty face, and the blood splattered at intervals on her trousers. “I’ll be back in two hours. You should be able to do something with yourself by then.”
Alexis found her voice. “May I have something to eat or drink?”
“Captain didn’t say anything about that.”
Alexis refused to plead. She eyed the bath water, hoping it was not brackish. “Where are you taking me?”
“To the captain.”
“I know. But where is he? Where are we?”
The man chuckled humorlessly. “That is the captain’s surprise.”
As Lafitte predicted the spiced ham was excellent, but Cloud, also true to his word, found eating it a tedious chore. He concentrated on the mechanical procedures of lifting the fork to his mouth, chewing, and swallowing. It was easier to concern himself with procedure than to be drawn into the conversation with the man seated across from him.
Cloud offered nothing to the topic when it centered on women but he listened with interest to the banter between Pierre and the captain of theFollansbee.It kept his mind off the impending negotiations.
“And while you were in New Orleans,” Pierre was asking “did you have an opportunity to attend a quadroon ball?”
“No. But I have heard a great deal of the beautiful women who can be purchased there. Is it a common practice?”
“Common in New Orleans.”
“And the women? They do not object to being sold?”
“On the contrary,” Pierre answered. “These women have it better than most. They will be purchased by men who desire them as a mistress and probably treated better than most wives. Their mothers supervise the bidding, and I assure you it is discreet.”
“The women are of mixed blood, then?”
“Quadroons or octoroons. Skin the color of café au lait a dusty gold,” Pierre said dreamily “They are indeed beautiful.”
“You would be interested in such a woman?” asked Travers. He hid his anxiousness. The young woman was getting ready to join him shortly and he wanted to make sure his instinct about the Lafittes were correct—that they would not turn down such a gift as he could offer them. He almost regretted hitting her, but that could easily be explained.
“Pierre already has a mistress,” Jean broke in. “What is the point, Captain? I would hardly expect you to produce such a woman.”
