The Doldrums: the Sailor and the Virgin Ch. 12

Leaving the general store, Anya walking beside him in her new boots, he held her hand firmly lest she walk into an oncoming carriage. He found a market and stocked up on food provisions. The last stop was the chandlery where he purchased charts and tide tables for the Saint Lawrence. On a street corner on the way back to the dock, they passed a young lad hawking the Toronto Star. Upon the front page of the newspaper, Liam briefly glimpsed "Strachan" in a headline; his gut lurched. Stopping, he gave the lad a coin and took a paper, striving to maintain a calm demeanor.

Back aboard the Selkie, he stowed the purchases, and with his heart racing, sat down in the cockpit with the paper. He saw from the date that twelve days had passed since they had fled Toronto. The story was below the fold, with the headline: CORONER: MINISTER STRACHAN'S DEATH ACCIDENTAL. Liam's eyes flew over the words. The inquest had concluded yesterday afternoon in the matter of the mysterious death of the Honourable Douglas E. Strachan, Commerce Minister of Ontario, and proprietor of the Great Northern and Erie Shipping and Transit Company, whose body had been found in a burned office at his marina very early Thursday morning, November 12^th, when the fire brigade was summoned to a conflagration. He read on:

According to the testimony of one Mr. Hugh Gosvenor, Mr. Strachan's private secretary, upon the night of November 11^th, Mr. Strachan had left his home on Beaty Avenue to retrieve some documents from the safe in the office at his marina upon Queens Quay West. Mr. Gosvenor had ordered Mr. Strachan's horse from the stable, then after his employer's departure, joined a poker game in the stable with other men in the employ of Mr. Strachan: Mr. Francis Fusco --- groundskeeper, Mr. Jack Higgs --- coachman, Mr. Jake Barbon --- seaman, and Mr. John Burgess --- seaman. These individuals subsequently took the stand and corroborated these events.

Detective Sgt. John Larue, lead investigator of the case, and Fire Marshall Herbert Roscoe provided testimony as to the scene at the marina. Notably, the interior of the office showed evidence of an explosion and subsequent fire. The source of the explosion was determined to be a faulty gaslight upon the wall near the safe. There were no signs of foul play. The deceased's wallet and gold watch were upon his person, and his bay gelding was found at the hitching post behind the office building. Mr. Gosvenor indicated that the light had had problems with gas leaking in the past, but had been repaired several months previously.

The watchman at the marina, Mr. Billy McCrea, gave his evidence: Mr. Strachan had arrived at the marina shortly after midnight, and had gone into the office building. Some fifteen minutes later, Mr. McCrea heard the explosion and saw the flames engulfing the office. It was he who summoned the fire brigade.

Dr. William Brandt, the examining surgeon, testified to the injuries evident upon the deceased's body, including grisly wounds to the limbs and head, and extensive burns, all consistent with a gas explosion.

The story concluded with brief commentary about the inadequate safety regulations of gas fixtures, and some lines about the temporary new commerce minister.

Liam stared at the paper in complete bafflement. What the devil?! He read it again. Clearly there be some conspiracy afoot to conceal the true events of that night. Strachan's body had been moved and the explosion staged. But who had orchestrated it and why? 'Twas evident that the "secretary" bloke who had been at the dock, and who had tied him up, was part of it. But why? Who benefited? He and Anya certainly did, but surely that be not the intent of the whitewashing.

By and by it came to him that when Strachan's plans for that evening had gone awry with Liam's and Anya's escape, all the men who were complicit in the torture and attempted rape stood to lose should the young lady choose to make charges. Could there be a more sympathetic witness than this beautiful, shy, dainty girl who had been abused in such a dastardly manner? A girl, moreover, from a family of wealth and position who had the power to see justice done. The bastards had all the motive in the world to bury the truth --- and they couldn't point the authorities to Liam --- not because they were likely to believe such a tale from an itinerant Irish sailor, but because he had the star witness in his possession. The unspoken understanding be that Liam and Anya would not step forward to offer up the truth when the whitewash benefitted them right well.

Liam sat pondering this for some time, striving to parse the morality of these developments. He felt inclined to take pragmatic approach to vengeance. Justice had been served to Anya's two chief tormentors, and if some accessory bastards escaped scot free, he could accept that, if pursuing them meant putting at risk his chance to be with Anya.

He opened the paper and began searching the other stories. 'Twas upon page 5 that he found the second story, this with the headline: NEW LEAD IN GRUESOME WATERFRONT MURDER. It concerned the investigation into the shooting death of one Mr. Godfrey Irwin, a visiting businessman from Rochester, New York. Initially suspected to be a robbery gone awry in the dangerous dockside neighborhood, the untouched valuables left upon the body led Detective Sgt. John Larue to explore other leads. In cooperation with the police in Rochester, it was discovered that Mr. Irwin and several other flour mill owners were under investigation in New York for collusion in setting flour prices, with attendant bribery and blackmail of certain government officials. There was some evidence that Mr. Irwin's trip to Toronto was for the purpose of meeting with a Canadian co-conspirator, thus suggesting the possibility that his murder was related to this unfolding scandal. The coachman had not yet been discovered. Anyone with evidence to give was urged to step forward, etc.

Liam nodded briefly to himself. 'Twas unlikely that any connection would be made to Anya. Anyone who could offer up the link --- the stepfather's henchmen, her mother, Nicholas, the Bourget's --- would scarce do so either because it would implicate themselves in the questionable proceedings, or out of a wish to protect Anya's reputation. Given the violent nature of the death, certainly the story of a falling out among crooked businessmen was a much more plausible explanation, even among those who knew of the man's pursuit of Anya.

He stood and looked about. Anya was curled up upon the foredeck with the Audubon book. He made his way forward and held the newspaper out to her. "Ye might want to read this," he said, pointing at the front page. She looked up at him blankly, then slowly sat up and took it from him. Liam stood by the bowsprit watching the confusion overspread her face as she read. When she was done, he flipped to the second story. At last she gazed up at him, all bewilderment.

"I don't understand," she said. He hadn't heard her voice for several days, and the sound of her soft sweet voice, now restored, made his heart thump a little. Pacing back and forth, Liam shared his train of thought on the matter in both cases. She listened attentively, her eyes wide. When he was done speaking, there was a long silence during which she looked out over the water. At last she spoke, her voice very small. "Perhaps I should go back and confess the truth about my stepfather."

He stared at her. "What are ye saying, lass?!"

Her eyes were downcast, but he could still see the tears gathering. "I killed him...I killed him and he was only trying to..."

Squatting in front of her, he gently raised her face to his. "Look at me, lass. Please, look at me." He stroked her hair as they stared into each other's eyes. He took both of her hands in his and cleared his throat. "If ye want to go back to Toronto, then I will take ye. But listen right well: that man was about to commit an act of bodily harm upon ye, an outrage upon ye, against your will, and what ye did was justice pure and true. If ye hadn't done it, I would have done it five seconds later." Her eyes searched his. "A very wise and esteemed poet once said: 'Self-defense is nature's eldest law.' So it is. There be not man, nor woman, nor judge, nor jury, nor priest, nor God himself who would find ye guilty of a sin."

He held her gaze intently. "Ye are innocent of any wrong-doing, so ye are."

Her big eyes were all uncertainty.

He squeezed her hands, looking down at the deck for a moment. "Will ye think on this hard, Anya? Let's get off this cursed lake. If, when we get to Boston, ye still want to go back and confess, then I'll take ye back upon the train, so I will." He had a vision of her in the opulent surroundings he had witnessed in Toronto, and added in a wistful voice, "I ken that life upon a boat is not well suited for a lady... ye may want to go back to your aunt regardless, or ye could make your own life --- if ye sell your engagement ring ye'd be set for a long time."

She responded not, her eyes averted from his. Eventually she gave the faintest of nods.

The rest of the day was spent in the anchorage, it being too late to embark on the next leg of the sail, he decided as he perused the new chart. Anya remained absorbed in reflection, and upon several occasions picked up the newspaper and read the stories again. After supper, he showed her the chart and made banal chatter about the strategy for sailing up a narrow corridor.

After she retired to his cabin, Liam remained in the main cabin, searching the bookcase, struck with an idea. Presently he pulled out a book: A Journey to the Center of the Earth by Jules Verne. Aye, a likely choice; she had liked Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea. In the cabin, she turned away in the berth as he stripped off his clothes and climbed in.

"Turn round, Anya." He tapped her shoulder. She twisted round. "Story time," he said smiling and holding up the book. There was no outward response; she hesitated, then her lashes lifted and her amber-brown eyes met his. He cleared his throat and began reading aloud.

*****

The Selkie made her way up the Saint Lawrence, the progress in the narrow channel dependent upon wind direction. On a few days when the winds were truly unfavorable, Liam waved down a steam boat and paid for a tow. Liam had never made this passage, and jotted down notes in his journal. The scenery about them was truly beautiful: the bluffs covered in trees of vivid shades of red, orange and yellow, studded with the occasional quaint town or cottage. The days passed much as before. Anya's mute abstraction persisted, but her eyes seemed less haunted. Seeing how the Audubon drawings had captured her attention, Liam gave her his sketch book and a pencil, and was gratified to see her tentatively plying the pencil to the paper, even if it be only intermittently as she stared out over the water. In the evenings, they anchored and Liam made supper.

He kept a close eye upon her, dismayed by her continued troubled state. For the first time in his young life, here be a problem that he could not solve, neither with his muscles, his skills, nor his wit. The one thing he had to offer, that he desperately wanted to do --- to take her in his arms and hold her against his large, strong body and kiss her --- he could not, for she went stiff and fearful every time he tried. He wondered if he should bring her to a church the next time they made port in a town. He realized that he ken little about her in this regard --- was she religious at all? Although he himself had ceased to be actively religious, he was not dismissive of the possibility that a priest might be able to ease her soul.

At night he read to her, propped up upon pillows side by side in his berth. He held on to the glimmer of hope offered by her response. The warm, deep sound of his brogue seemed to act upon her like a tonic: her body relaxed and her eyes became peaceful. And best of all, her nightmares were becoming a rarity. 'Twould usually happen that she fell asleep as he read, and that the next night he would have to re-read part of the previous night's text. But he minded not; indeed, he liked to tease her about how often he had read a particular sentence about the three travelers going deeper into the earth.

As the days passed, Liam felt himself nigh restored to full, robust health. There yet remained a twinge of pain in his chest when he used his left arm, but 'twas lessening daily. The rhythms of his body reestablished themselves, as he abruptly discovered early one morning, a week after they left Kingston. They lay abed and Liam was dreaming...a lush, erotic dream about Anya. He felt her warmth near him, and the curving shape of her body. His cock was erect and he pressed himself against her bottom, his hips undulating in his sleep. Suddenly a sharp jab of her elbow in his chest woke him, and his confused eyes found her cowering against the hull, as far away from him as she could put herself in the berth. Realizing what had happened, he murmured, "I'm sorry, lass." He turned and faced away from her, but too riled with his longing for her, he soon rose and left the cabin.

He watched her during the day, his yearning for her mixed intimately with his concern for her state of mind. His eyes lingered upon her face: her lovely eyes and her soft lips. He admired her in her new clothes: the better fitting trousers and her jaunty coat showed to advantage her lithe, curvy figure. As she moved about the deck with the sketch book, sitting, kneeling, lying upon her belly, his eyes covertly adored her slim waist and pert, round buttocks.

In the shared spaces of the cabins below, his male body was increasingly attuned to her, even in ways he sensed but could not consciously identify. He felt her femaleness even when he did not actually smell her faint, beguiling scent, and it made his heart beat a little faster and his cock stir. He hungrily drank in any glimpse he was permitted of her in her white nightgown, before she was under the blankets or left the cabin. With any light behind her, he could see through the delicate fabric...see the alluring silhouette of her body...and with the light before her, the cotton betrayed the subtle pink spots of her nipples and the small dark shadow at her groin.

Sometimes at night she would climb over him to get out of the berth to use the commode. He initially rose himself to allow her egress and ingress, but she insisted it be not necessary, she would do her best not to wake him. He minded not, either way. When he did wake to feel her already climbing over him, he lay still and happily abandoned himself to the moment --- her breath crossing his neck or face, the soft spring of a breast bumping his chest, her warm legs momentarily straddling him, and even the occasional tickle of her cunny hair brushing across his cock as her nightgown rode up.

Now, he woke every morning with his organ stiff as an anchor shaft. After the second time he frightened her by pressing it against her in his sleep, he took to wearing long drawers to bed. Although he would dearly love to find that fate had thrown them together in their sleep, and had put his rigid cock at the portal of heaven, he ken that Anya's reaction would not be favorable. He saw the relief in her eyes when he came to bed in the drawers, and so continued the practice. In the mornings, when he woke before she did with his raging cockstand, he usually opted to rise and get started with the day, too frustrating it be to lie there and linger over the remembered details of their amorous encounters.

The days passed. They were between Montreal and Quebec City now, at anchor. At bedtime, Liam climbed into the berth and opened the book. She snuggled against her pillow and looked up at him as he teasingly recounted what he had read to her the previous night. She gave him a nettled look, which had become part of the routine. He found his place and started reading. He particularly enjoyed doing the characters' voices, amusing himself with his attempts at a French accent. Anya's smile at his French-Irish accent --- the only smile he'd seen from her in over a month --- had given him all the encouragement he needed to ham it up.

After a half hour or so of reading, he felt her body lean against his left shoulder and saw that she slept. 'Twas a common occurrence now, and he usually adjusted her head so that she didn't put pressure upon his rib cage, easing her head down to his lap, to continue reading a little more, then simply to relish the moment of closeness before he put her back upon her pillow and blew out the lantern. He did this now, gently shifting her head onto his thigh. Setting the book aside, he savored the sight of her.

Her shoulder was against the side of his thigh, and her head lay upon it, the back of her head touching his belly. Her long, dark hair was tumbled, some upon his lap, the rest upon the mattress next to his leg. Studying her profile, his longing eyes traced over her tender rounded eyelids and long lashes, her plump lips and soft ear lobe. He put his hands lightly upon the mattress to still their urge to touch her...wanting to stroke her hair and shoulder, then down to the incurved waist and rising hip where it disappeared under the blanket.

'Twas usually at this point that he put her back upon her pillow and went to sleep, but tonight he indulged himself by letting the moment linger. She shifted her head in her sleep with a soft sigh, rubbing her head and neck more closely upon him. Her parted lips were next to his organ, and through the thin cotton of his drawers, her warm breath tickled over and over upon the sensitive skin. He didn't even endeavor to fight his body's reaction: the pressure grew in his pelvis and his cock swelled, lengthening and thickening till it be tight in the drawers, curved against her cheek. The ridge of his crown was cradled by her soft lips, and it nudged into the space between them, separated by the fabric. With her every breath, the warmth flowed over his skin and the light pressure of her lips subtly moved. If he unbuttoned the drawers in this position, his cockhead might just push into her mouth. Anya, Anya, Anya, he groaned to himself.

Christ, he had to put this to an end. Gently he lifted her over to her own pillow; she made a small noise of protest in her sleep. Liam pulled the covers over them, sighing deeply and plucking at the fabric of the drawers where it was too tight round his organ. Eventually he fell into a restless sleep --- only to awake again with the early morning light. His erection was back with a vengeance --- if it had ever gone away.

He felt her against his left side; the berth was not overly wide, and despite their efforts to maintain space between them, 'twas a common occurrence to find her body touching his. Resisting temptation, he lifted the covers and slid out of the berth. As he turned and replaced the covers, he caught a brief glimpse of something too wondrous to pass by. Very slowly, doubting what he had seen, he raised the covers again and peeked under. Sweet Jesus! His eyes had not deceived him. Anya's nightgown had ridden up above her waist! She was lying partially upon her belly, partially upon her side, facing away from him. Her beautiful bottom lay fully exposed to his gaze, the cane marks completely vanished. His cock throbbed in his drawers and his heart began to thump.

Scarce breathing, he adjusted the covers with the most careful of movements so as not to wake her, pushing them into a U shape in the middle such that her upper body and legs were covered, but her bottom from waist to upper thigh was left bare. She slept on, nigh three feet from his straining organ. Leaning over the berth, he devoured the vision, his hand gripping his erection through the drawers. Her buttocks be so round and succulent, rising up from her tiny waist. And where the cheek met her svelte thigh, the gentle concavity was so tempting...he wanted to kiss his way along it to her center. And Christ what a center! Her upper knee was slightly bent and drawn up, granting him a breathtaking view between her thighs. Up front he saw the dark shadow of her pubic fuzz pressed against the white sheet. The scant hair trailed away to show her pouting pink plaything curving back in neat little lines as her soft outer lips snuggly enclosed the dainty inner lips and clitoris --- like a shy rose all furled up for the night. A portion of the pretty pucker of her anus was visible above.