Orphan Ch. 01-04

This story was originally posted, unfinished, some time ago under my Frederick Carol nom-de-plume, but I withdrew it until I could finish it off and offer a complete tale. That plan was somewhat scuppered by the loss of my beloved wife, very suddenly, in November 2019, when writing suddenly seemed trivial. However, my wife was a writer herself, although not on Literotica, and I think she would have encouraged me to continue. Be that as it may, I have now finished it and offer it again, hopefully, for your reading pleasure. It is a novel-length offering and I plan to submit it in segmented form, in eight parts, four chapters or so at a time.

Chapter 1

She was lost, she knew that now. A wrong turn taken somewhere in the unfamiliar lanes, the track under the mare's hooves little used, certainly not by wagons, not any time recently. The trees had closed in on either side, and she had two choices. Forward, or back. From the sun, forward was her best option. If she could find the creek again, she could follow it back to the village, and once there, she knew the road well enough to find her way back.

Back, she mused. There's no going back, because there's nothing to go back to. Her home destroyed, her parents killed in the flames. Thank God for Uncle Silas, she thought. She almost laughed. Never married, her uncle was uncomfortable with young people, especially so with girls, but he was unfailingly polite to her, and she knew that she owed her present state in its entirety to the generosity of her mother's brother. She'd barely even known of his existence until Thomas Marget, the lawyer, had read her father's will, and she found that in the event of her parents' death before she reached her majority, her uncle had agreed to provide a home for her until she was one-and-twenty. The journey to join him had been long, first the long journey south to Devonport from her Tyneside home, and then the trip to Guernsey, to her uncle's house.

Silas Le Tessier had made her welcome, but had passed her quickly on to his housekeeper, Mrs Trevelyan, wife of his steward, John Trevelyan. In her middle years, her children married and moved away, she was glad to fuss over Silas Le Tessier's orphaned niece, and had quickly made her welcome. The mare had been a nineteenth birthday present from her uncle, and he had made it clear that a simple 'thank you' was enough.

Through the trees, Roxane caught a gleam of light. The creek! Pray it was so. She urged the mare forward, emerging from the trees onto a little promontory overlooking the water. She couldn't see far up or down stream, but she never even looked, for there before her in the creek was a schooner. A little battered, paint a little faded, she could see that even so the vessel was well maintained. Consequences of being a boat-builder's daughter and only child, she supposed, for her father had always welcomed her to his workshop after her schooling, answering her childish queries with patience and humour.

She could see no presence on board the schooner, and she found herself wondering what it was doing this far up-stream. Hiding, almost. A sudden thought struck her. Smugglers! If they saw her? She reined the mare around, and drew her to a stamping halt.

"You're not thinking of leaving now, are you, my dear?" Ragged, scar-faced, tall, there was an air of contained brutality about the figure.

"Would you make way, please? I wish to leave here." She kept her voice controlled, but inside was fighting the urge to scream, for there was no mistake, the man frightened her.

Surprising her, he laughed, but the momentary surge of optimism she'd felt faded when he took the mare's bridle. "You can't leave yet, my dear. We haven't been introduced."

"Nor will we be," she said, coldly. "I do not wish to know you, sir, so kindly release my horse and let me leave."

Any trace of humour that may have been in his face vanished instantly. "No, I don't think so. Know me you shall, and I shall know you." Still holding the mare's bridle, he moved to her side and with a quick lunge, had lifted her foot from the stirrup, continued the lift and she found herself falling, falling with a thud that took her breath away, flat on her back. Now, he released the bridle and yelled, and the mare, startled, bolted. She looked up, and hope drained from her, seeing him removing his belt, and begin to unfasten his breeches. She braced herself, trying to roll away, to get to her feet, looking wildly around for a way to escape, but his foot on her stomach stopped her. She screamed, as loudly as she could, knowing it was hopeless even as she did it. That it was the man's thought, too, was apparent from the amused smirk on his face.

"Now, why make so much noise, girl. There's no-one but me to hear you, for now." He laughed. "You never know, you might even enjoy it."

"Never, not with you," she hissed. "I'd rather die."

The smirk faded. "That can be arranged," he said, "and I can amuse myself with your corpse, but it's so much better when the girl co-operates, you know?"

"Never!"

He knelt between her legs, his breeches falling, and she stared, appalled, frightened, at the sight of his erection. She couldn't help herself, she whimpered, and he laughed again, reaching for her skirts, to raise them, to reveal her. She was startled when he paused, wondering at the look of terror on his face, until she saw the blade at his neck, and heard the chill in the quiet voice.

"You were warned, Josiah Scrogg, warned that the next time you touched a woman who spurned your touch, I would hang you. Do you remember, Josiah?"

"Mercy, Captain," her attacker whimpered, not daring to move because of the weapon at his throat. She raised her eyes, meeting the cool, level gaze of a pair of cold, grey eyes.

"He attacked you, madam?" the man asked, his voice courteous, educated, a hint of an unknown accent. His hair was dark, unruly curls escaping from under the crown of his battered tricorne, his face saturnine. She managed to nod, unable to give voice to her agreement. "You did not invite his advances?"

"No," she managed to whisper. "He struck me, knocked me from my mare."

The man nodded. "My bosun will fetch it for you in a moment. Your mount bolting free, and then your scream, were what alerted us. As well we returned earlier than we had planned. Can you stand?"

Roxane scrambled to her feet, trembling, looking around in alarm as two more men came into the small clearing, one of them leading her mare.

"Help the lady to her horse, Jenkins."

"Aye, Cap'n," said the one addressed. He turned an open, friendly face to her.

"Ma'am? Cap'n says to help you. Will you take the reins, ma'am?" She did so, moving almost numbly, and the man, Jenkins, smiled again. "Right, ma'am," he said, cupping his hands, "You put your foot in there, and I'll lift you." A moment more, and she'd settled into her sidesaddle. She looked again at the scene before her.

The dark man spoke again. "Jenkins, Tabor, take this - scum - away. Hang him."

"No!" It was a piteous wail from her would-be rapist. He turned a tear-strewn face to her. "Miss? You won't let them, will you?"

She stared at him, then turned to the dark figure holding the blade. "He has raped before?"

"Aye."

"And the woman? Women?"

"Women. Ruined."

She nodded, a cold conviction in her that the dark man told only the truth. She took a deep breath, and when she spoke her voice was cold, controlled. "Hang him."

The man gestured with his free hand, and Jenkins and Tabor dragged the rapist to his feet, and away, disappearing into the undergrowth. The dark man sheathed his blade, a knife, but long enough almost for a short-sword, she realised, a longer blade in place on his hip, and turned to her, doffing his hat.

"Allow me to introduce myself, ma'am. Alexander Gilroy, captain of yonder schooner, the Pelican."

"Tyne-built?" she said, immediately berating herself for the inane question, but Gilroy looked at her, with a surprised smile.

"Aye, ma'am. Harrison's yard."

Unbidden, the tears sprang to her eyes, and she fought a sob. Gilroy stepped forward, alarmed.

"Ma'am, what is it? Have I offended you?"

She shook her head, dashing tears away with the back of her hand. "Nay, sir, not so. Harrison's yard was destroyed by fire three months ago. John Harrison and his wife perished in the flames. My parents, sir. I am Roxane Harrison."

There was instant concern on his face, distress, too. "Ma'am, my condolences, my sincere condolences. He built a fine ship. But ma'am, what do you here?"

"Lost, sir. I am staying with my uncle, Mr. Le Tessier, and I do not know the lanes as yet."

"Silas?" There was surprise in Gilroy's tone.

She nodded. "Aye, sir." Surprise in her own, that Gilroy should know her uncle.

"The lanes not known yet, eh? Did you take a right turn in the woods back there? And ended up on this bank?"

"Aye, sir, I did."

"Had you continued straight on, then you would have seen your uncle's house as you left the wood. Go you back to the fork, and turn right, and you will be on the road."

"Back to the fork, and turn right?" Gilroy nodded. "I thank you, sir." She reined the mare around to leave, but his hand caught the bridle.

"Miss Harrison?"

"Captain Gilroy?"

"May I ask you to say nothing of what you have seen here? Particularly, the Pelican?"

She looked at him, then back towards the creek, but she had agreed in her mind almost as soon as he asked her. "And if I do speak of it?"

He smiled, rueful. "It could cause me some bother."

"I owe you my virtue, Captain, perhaps also my life. You have my silence, my word on it."

"Thank you, Miss Harrison. I ask only your silence on this, and I give you my word that my presence is honest, but best not noised abroad." He bowed. "I bid you good day, and God speed."

"Thank you, Captain, thank you, on several counts." She reined the mare around, and was away, leaving Gilroy staring after her. Owe me your virtue, girl? Would that I might take it, too, but only with your every cooperation. And the chances of that are exceeding slim. He shook his head, rueful, but the image of the beautiful girl, the copper-red hair, the level grey eyes, stayed with him.

Chapter 2

Gilroy's instructions were true, and shortly after leaving the creek bank, Roxane was in sight of the Le Tessier house, approaching it from the rear. The lane led to the east, joining the main access just outside the gates to the house, and moments later Roxane was handing over the reins to Andrew, Le Tessier's young stable boy.

"Did you fall, Miss Roxane? Your habit is quite muddy."

She forced a laugh. "Aye, I did. Exploring, listening to the birds. I tripped over a tree root. I can be exceeding clumsy at times."

"I doubt that, Miss Roxane, but 'tis easy to trip, that I know."

"And trip I did. I had best ask Molly to brush it down when it's dry."

"Aye, my sister's good at that, Miss." He nodded, friendly, and led the mare away.

She made her way into the house, and at the sound of her boots in the hallway, Mrs Trevelyan came bustling out.

"Miss Roxane? Your uncle asks that you attend him in his study." The housekeeper frowned. "Mayhap you had best change first. Leave your habit on the chair in your room, and I'll have Molly take it for cleaning."

"Thank you." Roxane smiled at the older woman. "Was my uncle's summons urgent?"

Mrs Trevelyan frowned. "I don't think so, Miss Roxane," she said, but her tone was hesitant.

"I'd best just wash my face and hands and change, then. Would you tell my uncle I'll be with him in five minutes?"

"Of course."

And five minutes later she tapped at the door of her uncle's study, entering at his invitation.

"You wanted to see me, Uncle Silas?"

Her uncle nodded. "Aye, I did." He frowned. "Mrs Trevelyan tells me me you came home muddy. Did you have a fall?"

She smiled. "I dismounted for a moment, listening to the birdsong. I fear I paid no attention to where I stepped, tripped over a root, and fell in a puddle."

A smile, quickly suppressed, twitched her uncle's mouth. "We have a guest for dinner tonight. Have you the skill to play hostess?" he said abruptly, surprising her, as there were usually only the two of them, and the meals were quiet, for Silas was no easy conversationalist.

"Hostess, Uncle? I think so. I will not embarrass you."

Her uncle gave her a wry smile. "It would take more than a lack of skill at your acting hostess to embarrass me, Roxane. I thought only to introduce you to someone."

"May I ask who?"

"A captain who does some work for me with his vessel. Captain Gilroy."

Roxane fought to keep her face calm, but her mind was whirling. "I shall look forward to meeting the captain, Uncle Silas. At what hour do we dine?"

"At eight, but I would like you to attend me in the parlour at half-past seven, if you would. I have little small talk, as you know," said Silas, his tone dry, and Roxane fought a sudden smile. "I feel sure the Captain will be delighted to meet you, rather than having to suffer my company."

"You do yourself an injustice, Uncle." Silas lifted his eyes to hers, one brow quirked, and again she fought to keep her face solemn. She contented herself with a nod. "At half-past seven in the parlour. Now? If you'll excuse me, Uncle Silas, a bath would be welcome."

She waited until she heard the clock in the hallway strike the half-hour before she left her room, freshly bathed, with clean linen. She had debated with herself as to which gown to wear, and had settled on the more modest of her choices. Molly had helped her pin up her hair after her bath, and she flattered herself that, even with the modest cut of her gown, she did perhaps look good.

The parlour door was ajar, and she heard low voices. Taking a deep breath, she pushed it open and entered. Her uncle and Alexander Gilroy were standing near the fire, each with a glass of wine in hand. Her uncle turned as she came in, and a faint smile came to his face.

"Roxane, my dear. There is someone I'd like you to meet. May I present Captain Gilroy?"

She bobbed in brief curtsey. "Captain Gilroy."

"Alex, my niece, Roxane Harrison. She lives here with me now."

There was no suggestion of recognition in Gilroy's face as he bowed over her hand, but she sensed the sudden tension.

"Miss Harrison."

"You are my uncle's friend?"

He glanced at Silas, but there was no hesitation. "I trust that I am." Silas nodded.

"Then I bid you welcome, Captain."

"Roxane, my dear," said Silas. "Pray, be seated. A glass of this fine claret, perhaps?"

"Thank you, Uncle. A small one, for I fear I must keep my wits about me if we have company."

He turned away from her to pour her wine and her eyes went to Gilroy. He was looking at her, and he arched his brows, his eyes indicating Silas. She shook her head, no, and he nodded, mouthing a silent 'thank you.'

"You are a ship's captain, Captain Gilroy?" she said, to fill the moment.

"Indeed I am, Miss Harrison. A fine Tyne-built schooner called the Pelican. Built in Harrison's yard." Gilroy smiled as Silas passed her a glass of wine. "Harrison. A family link perhaps?"

She frowned, knowing that he already knew, but answered readily enough. "Indeed, sir. My father's yard. Destroyed by fire, my parents lost in the flames. I owe my own life to the fact that I was staying at a friend's house that night." She could hear the bleakness in her own voice.

Gilroy grimaced, obviously troubled. "My apologies, ma'am. I should not have mentioned it."

"You were not to know, Captain." But you did, so why mention it now?

"Was it accident, Miss Harrison? Or arson?"

"So far as I know, sir, accident." She was about to say more, when Silas interrupted.

"Alex, please, let Roxane be. Can you not see that the question disturbs her?"

"Indeed, Silas, I do most humbly beg Miss Harrison's pardon. I should have changed the subject. I trust you will forgive me, Miss Harrison?"

"Indeed, sir." She took a deep breath, and forced her tone to lightness. "Pray, tell me, what is it your ship carries?"

Gilroy again exchanged a glance with Silas, but there was no hesitation in his answer. "In faith, almost everything, Miss Harrison. Your good uncle manages to find me cargoes most times that I land here."

The conversation became general then. Gilroy was a good raconteur and had her laughing with his anecdotes. The clock struck eight and the echoes were still in the air when Mrs Trevelyan announced dinner.

"Roxane, my dear. Take Captain Gilroy to the dining room, if you will. I must see Trevelyan for a moment."

"Of course, Uncle Silas. Captain? This way, if you will."

Gilroy followed her into the dining room. For a moment, they were alone, and Gilroy turned to her, his face anxious. "Miss Harrison, I beg again for your pardon in mentioning your parents. Believe me, I am not so callous or careless of another's feelings to be deliberately cruel."

She gazed at him for a moment. "So, tell me, pray, what was your motive?"

He frowned. "Miss Harrison, to be perfectly candid with you, I fear I am unsure."

Roxane stared at him. That he was embarrassed by his queries, she doubted. Alexander Gilroy had demonstrated nothing except a level-headed sensibility in her brief encounter with him earlier.

Gilroy shrugged. "I had mentioned my vessel's builder. It seemed natural to enquire if it was a relative."

She nodded. "I understand." She gave him a wry look. "I fear the thought still haunts me."

"And quite understandable. I'm afraid that I also have some bad news. Scrogg? That would-be rapist?"

"What of him?"

"Jenkins left him in Tabor's charge while he passed my instructions to hang Scrogg to my first officer, but when Jenkins went back, Tabor had been stabbed and Scrogg was gone."

Roxane gasped. "What of Mr. Tabor?"

"He will live, but will be excused duty for some time, I feel." Gilroy frowned. "Please, Miss Harrison, promise me this - that you will not ride deserted byways alone? Your uncle knows of Scrogg's escape, but not of your involvement, and will raise the matter with the watch, but we have no way of knowing where he goes. He is most probably still on the island, but we do not know."

"I shall take care, Captain Gilroy. You have my word on that."

He nodded, and smiled. "Please, let us change the subject. That mare of yours. A spirited beast?"

Roxane smiled, appreciating Gilroy's effort. "A little. Enough to make me take care, but not enough to make me fear I might lose my seat." Her ear caught a step in the hallway. "I think my uncle may be rejoining us."

"Indeed. May I seat you, Miss Harrison?"

"Thank you, Captain."

The meal was enjoyable, the conversation light, Mrs Trevelyan's service efficient and unobtrusive. Roxane found Gilroy's anecdotes interesting, amusing, and responded to his attempts to relax her with appreciation. Finished, her uncle stood.

"If you will excuse us, Roxane? Captain Gilroy and I have business we must discuss."

"Of course, Uncle Silas. If you'll excuse me? Captain, it was a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"The pleasure was mine, Miss Harrison." He bowed over her hand. "Your servant, ma'am."

Chapter 3

Alone in her room a little later, Roxane wondered about Alexander Gilroy. Why was the Pelican hidden in the creek? Was he a smuggler? Was her uncle involved? A knock at the door startled her.

"Yes? What is it?"

"Your uncle would like you to join him, Miss Roxane." The maid, Molly.

"Please tell him I shall be straight down, Molly."

"Yes, Miss Roxane."

Unusual, Uncle Silas wishing to see her apart from at meal times. Only one way to find out why, and she made her way downstairs, to her uncle's study, and tapped on the door.