Shock made me drop the knife in my hand and desperation made me drop his necktie and scramble toward the fireplace. I was sure I didn't look at all lady-like but at that moment I didn't give a damn. I made a mad grab for the burning piece of paper but it crumbled in my hands, scattering sparks and ash on to the hearth. My anger crumbled with it, leaving only a gaping sense of loss and despondency. I stood slowly and turned to face my own knife pointed at my face. The room was deathly quiet as I flicked my eyes from the knife point to the man holding it. He was a singularly unattractive man, a lazy sneer covering his earlier humiliation and the reek of rum permeating the air around him. The good Doctor wasn't the only sot on board it seemed. He reached a hand out toward me.
"You don't want to do that, Randall," it was Styles, stood warily on my right, "She's a Lady." As if that were some kind of shield.
Randall just continued to sneer and took a handful of my dress in hand, fingers grazing my breast.
"I was gonna be content with yer stockings, but I canna turn down the real thing." An Irish accent, slurred with drink but definably Irish. For a moment no-one seemed to breathe, and I began to panic. I could take the knife back, easily, and probably Randall too, but what if his friends, assuming he had some, joined in.
"Release me or I will make you," I affected my best upper class English accent in the hope propriety would permeate his foggy brain, no such luck. My moneyed twang just seemed to infuriate him. The hand merely grazing my breast now squeezed it painfully, a lecherous look on his face. I ran out of patience.
I took a swaying step closer to him, he looked confused then pleased, thinking I was accommodating.
"That's right lass, go ea...ooofff!"
The wind blew out of him as I drove my knee into his most sensitive spot. As he doubled over I drove my elbow into his chin and snatched my knife from his hand. I grasped his chin with my left hand while I pressed the stiletto blade to his throat. Both of us were breathing hard, him from his winding and me from sheer annoyance.
"What's all this?" A voice boomed from the entrance to the mess. I turned my head to see a tall officer, closely followed by Mr. Kennedy and Mr. Hornblower entering the room. Expressions varied from surprise to anger, and just about everything in between.
"Get 'er off me, sir!" Randall whined.
"Coward," I snarled, nudging him away from my knife with my foot.
"I have yet to receive and answer," the officer boomed.
"She attacked me, sir! I never did nothing!"
The officers turned to me as one. The nameless officer looked incredulous, Hornblower looked impressed and Kennedy looked troubled. I balled my fists, only now noticing now how they stung, I must have burned them trying to get my letter. My letter. I turned back to the fireplace to see nothing but a few small scraps of charred paper on the hearth.
"He stole from me, rifled through my belongings and stole a letter," I looked back at them, "and a pair of stockings. Pervert," I spat verbally at him. Why steal a letter from me? What was it to him? Could he even read?
He seemed to take offence to that. He puffed up like rice in a hot pan and a red flush spread up from his chest until he resembled an angry autumn apple.
"No point puffing up like that," I said tartly, "you can't deny it when I caught you waving them over your head."
"What's this about, Mr. Bush?" A gravely voice made just about everyone jump and turn to the door once more. It was turning into a bizarre tennis match. I almost laughed until I saw the Captain standing in the doorway, I breathed a sigh of relief.
"The lady is accusing Randall of theft, sir." The officer called Bush addressed the Captain.
"Is she now? On board five minutes and already causing trouble, eh?" The man who had, not a hour ago, been praising the hue of my hair, now wore a scowl of contempt. Randall's objections only deepened the scowl the Captain was directing towards me. When he heard I had threatened Randall with a knife he turned an ugly shade of puce.
"Causing descent upon my vessel, it will not be borne, it will not!" At this point the Captain was just shy of stamping his feet and throwing his dinner on the floor. It would have been funny had it not been so alarming. He ranted for a further five minutes at least, any protestations on my part falling on deaf ears or adding fuel to the fire. Finally the Doctor hurried into the room, no doubt summoned by the sound of the Captain's ravings, which seemed to recall the Captain to his senses. He ended the tirade with a final warning to me about my behaviour, before being ushered from the room by the Doctor. I stared, open mouthed, at his ambling back, utterly humiliated. The man called Randall made towards me with a satisfied sneer on his face, stopped only by the barring arm of Mr. Bush who gave him a warning look.
I felt a hand gently shut my mouth for me, looking up to see Mr. Kennedy's sympathetic eyes on me. He took my arm and lead me back along the corridor to my room, once inside he closed the door.
"It's rather unseemly for you to be in my room unchaperoned," I said, feeling utterly detached, staring into the cold grate of the fireplace and seeing nothing but the charred remains of the letter I burned earlier. I could have laughed at the irony, but all I felt was loss.
"Let me see your hands," he said quietly.
"What?"
"Your hands, they're burnt."
I looked down, it was just about dark by now but even in the gathering gloom I could see they were red and blistered.
"I tried to get my letter," I said stupidly as he took my hands, "I thought to save it."
"What was so important as to risk fighting with Randall?"
"Nothing." I was in no mood to share my troubles with Mr. Kennedy, no matter how pleasant he may be. His brow creased briefly.
"I will return," was all he said as he marched from the room.
I sat down heavily on my little chair, hands cradled in my lap, they really did hurt now. I doubled up as the pain of what just happened hit me. I felt violated. I hadn't even had a chance to grab my stockings before I left the mess, chances are Randall still had them. I shouldn't have been so rude to Mr. Kennedy, he was only trying to help. Fat tears of anger, pain and frustration rolled down my cheeks and splashed onto my battered hands. This wasn't how it was supposed to be, this was supposed to be an escape, a distraction from all that had happened, instead I was curled here weeping for loss of my husbands letter. I mentally chided myself for this foolishness and straightened up just as the door opened and in walked the three Lieutenants.
I'm not entirely sure who was more horrified at this point, the gentlemen or I. Mr. Hornblower made an immediate and awkward bolt for the door, nearly upending the basin Mr. Kennedy was carrying and tripping over Mr. Bush's foot. The result was so comical I snorted through my tears and had to make a delicate dive for my handkerchief. Nose safely stanched and eyes dried I turned back to the gentlemen.
"If it was unseemly before, I'm not sure you have improved matters, Mr. Kennedy." The lieutenant in question was setting the basin upon my desk while Mr. Bush closed the door. With four humans inside the room seemed tiny and cramped. Mr. Kennedy smiled as brightly as the situation allowed and took my hands again. Apparently propriety meant little here.
"We shan't tell if you don't," he whispered conspiratorially, soaking a rag and pressing it to my hand. It was at once stinging and soothing.
"Well, do you see now Bush?" Mr Hornblower addressed the lieutenant as he bent to set a fire in the grate.
"I concede that he may have been somewhat overbearing..." Mr. Bush's statement was stopped by a loud snort from Mr Kennedy.
"Overbearing? The man is out of his tree! We haven't even left harbour yet and the man is ignoring ill discipline and berating women!" Mr. Kennedy was standing now, hands forgotten. The impassioned discussion between lieutenants continued for sometime, but I was getting tired and my hammock was starting to look truly inviting.
"Gentlemen!" As I shouted they turned as one to look at me, it was rather alarming as they had yet to school their features and all looked rather ferocious.
"I appreciate you coming here, but I don't see why you couldn't have this "discussion" elsewhere?"
They exchanged significant glances and Mr. Bush came forward.
"We have come to offer our escort, should you wish to leave the ship. We would not wish harm to come to you from our failings." I was touched by this, they all seemed to be genuinely good men.
"I thank you, but I will not be leaving," again the significant glances, " I know it may seem foolish but I have my reasons for being here; and I have my orders."
"Are you sure?" Hornblower asked, "This may be more dangerous than you thought. Even we have underestimated the Captain, I feel."
"I'm sure, I have a job to do and I shan't fall at the first hurdle."
"Very well, come gentlemen," Mr. Bush turned for the door, Hornblower in toe, "let us leave the Lady to her rest."
Mr. Kennedy made a move to leave but doubled back, hand in his pocket. He withdrew his hand to produce my stockings, neatly folded, and pressed them into my hands. I was rendered speechless by his kindness and bent my head to hide my welling eyes. He clasped my shoulder in understanding and turned to follow his shipmates. I noticed when he withdrew his hand that the knuckles were freshly reddened, making me suspicious as to how he had retrieved my undergarments. Nonetheless I was grateful and said as much before the door closed. I slid from the chair and turned the key in the lock. I would have no one else disturbing me tonight.
I changed quickly into my nightdress, grateful for Mr. Hornblower's fire, and clambered into my hammock. I was fully prepared to mull over the day's events but I was asleep by the time my head hit the pillow.