The Doldrums: the Sailor and the Virgin Ch. 10

She was out there --- what was she doing? Was she thinking on him too? Was she asleep, his wee lass... in a big fancy bed, her dark hair tumbled upon the pillow, her long lashes upon her cheeks...would she dream of him?

From inside his pea coat, he drew out her folded nightgown and pressed his nose and mouth to it. Above the white cotton, his eyes remain fixed upon the cluster of lights as he breathed deeply. He smelt the elusive, sweet scent that was upon the ulster, but mixed with it was the haunting trace of something different --- something more elemental and erotic --- the scent of her cunny, of their love-making. His burning eyes stared over the five miles between them, his heart straining to feel an answering throb. Anya, Anya --- I'm here love. I'm coming to rescue you.

They had shared only six days together --- and just three days of amorous congress, but his heart and mind were full ensnared by her. He could still feel her --- her small, curving figure in his arms...she fitted herself so snugly, so trustingly, against his powerful body, her cheek pressing against his chest...had she heard how fast his heart was beating? When he bent his head, he could press his lips to the top of her head.

His fingers tightened round the bunched fabric as the memories flooded him. The feel of her exquisite breasts yet remained in his hands...so round and buoyant, quivering eagerly as he stroked and squeezed them...her slim waist and pert white bottom...and when she spread her legs and showed him her beauties...oh sweet Jesus...the loveliest rosy cunny and wee pink arsehole...'twould make a dead man spurt his seed. Liam shifted upon the deck, tugging the folds of his trouser front to accommodate his hardening organ.

But what made his heart now pound and his cock throb was the thought of how this shy, quiet lass blossomed under his touch, how she sighed, moaned, squealed and, aye, screamed in pleasure when he fucked her. Oh Anya... he gripped his rigid cock through the trousers.

He froze --- there was a motion along the pier --- he was not alone. Two shadowed figures were approaching. When they were near enough to see that it be a man and woman, slightly tipsy, he relaxed. He watched curiously as they made their way out to the end of the pier, speaking in low voices. They turned onto the dock where the Selkie was tied up, completely oblivious to his presence in the dark a few feet away, and stepped onto the boat on the opposite side of the dock, the man assisting the woman. 'Twas a small steam powered fishing trawler with a long open cockpit and a partial cabin, open in the back, that served as a screen against the elements for the pilot. As they made their way forward to this shelter, the man murmured something to the woman that made her giggle, then say, "Hush!"

A few more stumbling sounds, then the sudden flare of a match as the man lit a lantern. "Someone might see," Liam heard the woman whisper. In the meager light, Liam could make out the unassuming garb of working class folk, and could see that the woman was fair haired and pretty. "There's no one to see us," the man replied, but he bent to set the lantern upon the cabin sole, below the level of the windows. He produced a bottle from a locker next to the steering wheel, uncorked it, and took a swig. He handed it to the woman. Back and forth they passed it for a few minutes, speaking in unintelligible whispers and moving closer and closer together. At length the man set down the bottle and suddenly pulled the woman hard against him.

Liam sat motionless as he witnessed their frenzied kiss. The man's hands moved over her, grabbing her arse through her skirts, then shifting to her bodice, where he fumbled with the fastenings, pulling at her dress and undergarments till her large, firm breasts were swinging free. He seized them, greedily squeezing them and rubbing his palms over her nipples, then pressing one mound upwards to latch on to it with his mouth. During all this, the woman had unbuttoned his trousers and pulled out his tackle. Liam watched unselfconsciously as she frigged his sturdy, curved tool, lit by the lantern below, capping and uncapping his foreskin over a purplish crown.

The man raised his head and released her wet nipple, swollen like a voluptuous thimble. He wrenched his coat off and tossed it to the floor, then pulled her down atop it. Up her skirts went and her thighs opened, revealing simple black thread stockings upon her pretty, rounded legs, and a comely blonde thicket upon her mound. Her plump pussy lips showed below. His hand was upon it, rubbing her vigorously, while he smeared spittle over his cockhead. There were few other preliminaries: they be a randy pair bent on fucking. The man got over her and Liam saw the sudden thrust of his cock up her pussy, heard her gasp. Then they were at it like animals in heat.

From his slightly elevated position atop the cabin, Liam was afforded a perfect view into the dimly lit neighboring boat. He stared mesmerized at the man and woman fornicating nigh fifteen feet from him, trying to smother the sounds of their panting and grunts. 'Twas a wild fuck. At first the man lay full on her, and he could see only his pumping hips between her thighs, and her heavy breasts jogging up and down, but soon the man knelt up and held her legs as he continued to plow her. Now Liam could see the swollen cock plunging in and out of her reddened split.

He knew not who this pair be --- whether they be man and wife, lovers, or a lonely tar and a whore --- it mattered not. He was awed by the intensity of the primal human need to fuck...and he was stiff with his own need.

The scene before him was rapidly reaching a fever pitch. The woman was gripping the lower handles of the steering wheel above her head, and her hips were arching up and down; the man's pistoning rod was a blur. There was a sudden, low "Ahh, ahh, ahh!" then the man pulled swiftly out of her, holding his jerking penis and groaning as he shot rope after rope of spunk onto her belly and smoking gap.

After a few moments of panting, the man collapsed to the cabin sole next to her, his arm over her. Of a sudden, Liam felt himself an intruder on something even more private, and he silently slipped to the other side of the mast, from thence to the far side deck where he crept to the cockpit and down the companionway ladder.

He climbed into his berth, his body tense. In the dark he held beneath his nose the candle Anya had frigged herself with...he could smell the traces of her sweet cream upon the shaft. His tongue swabbed over the wax, his spittle reactivating her intoxicating essence, and he was overwhelmed by the pressure in his pelvis and heart --- sick with longing for her. He had to put the candle aside, if he were to have any hope of sleep. Tomorrow would be a day of action.

But he allowed himself her nightgown close by his face, where it comforted him sufficiently that he was presently overtaken by exhausted sleep.

Monday

Liam was startled awake by a sharp rapping upon the deck. 'Twas morning. The knock came again. Hastily he pulled on his trousers and pea coat and climbed the companionway ladder. He squinted against the sun and saw a man in a suit standing upon the dock next to the Selkie --- a wiry man with bushy light brown mutton chops, whom he recognized as the city dock master. This was immediately confirmed when the man spoke.

"Good morning, sir. I'm William Pierce. I'm the municipal dock master."

"Good morning, sir" Liam said stepping into the cockpit.

"I believe I missed you when you arrived yesterday."

"Yes sir, 'tis sorry I be. I had urgent business in town when I arrived, and forgot to stop by your office."

"No worries, young man. Let's get you registered now." From under his arm he produced a ledger. He walked down the dock to look at the boat's name upon the transom, then wrote in the book. "You're in from Rochester?"

Liam nodded.

"How long will you be staying in Toronto?"

Liam pondered the question, unsure of the answer himself. "I'm waiting for a fare...maybe three days, I'd wager."

They squared the business; Liam paid the port entry tariff and for a foreign citizen commercial maritime permit. Pierce shook his hand, saying, "Enjoy your stay in Toronto. Good luck in finding a fare."

The irony of the comment struck him as he watched Pierce walk down the pier. He noticed that the fishing trawler was gone from the neighboring slip --- likely out at work upon the lake. He grinned, remembering the bawdy romp he had witnessed.

Glancing at the sun, he realized 'twas past nine o'clock; 'twas high time to set about his mission. He changed back into his more respectable clothes and made a quick mug of tea. The lockers were nigh barren of food, so he grabbed a piece of hard tack and headed for shore. As he walked through the busy downtown, his mind raced: a plan, a plan, a plan. So intent was he in his thoughts that he nearly ran smack into a trolley, causing the conductor to lean out and curse at him.

He hurried on. The plan was this: first discover Anya's and Nicholas' surname, then hire a horse and ride to Brock Hall. Uncertain what he would there find, he had no next step. But now he would work on item one. He recalled Anya's story: she had said that her aunt tried to send a telegram to Nicholas...during the time when Anya had been secretly contacting her with the help of the seamstress at the dressmaker's shop in Rochester. Aye, the telegram.

He made his way back to the Bourget neighborhood, but steered clear of the house proper. 'Twould not do to be noticed loitering about there. Nigh a block away, he enquired of a passerby the location of the nearest telegraph office. So directed, he found the office a block south. A skinny young man in shirt and vest stood up from a desk behind the counter and asked how he could assist him.

Assuming his Yankee accent, Liam said, "My mistress sent me to enquire the date of a telegram she sent. She hasn't received a reply and is worried."

The man pulled a ledger out from under the counter. "How long ago?"

"She reckons two or three weeks ago."

Flipping the pages backward, he said: "From and to?"

"From Mrs. Elizabeth Bourget. To her nephew Nicholas at Brock Hall, Markham."

Liam watched as he scanned down the entries with his finger tip, turning back several pages. "I'm in mid October now. I don't see it. Are you sure it was sent from here?"

"Hmm. I'm not certain. The stable boy was sent with it. I reckoned since this is the closest office to the house...where's the next closest one?"

The clerk told of him two telegraph offices: one four blocks west, and one about a mile north.

Liam went to both, repeating the same tale, and coming up empty handed. At each office he was directed to additional possible establishments, and he pursued each lead without luck. There be no record of the telegram. After the seventh telegraph office --- now three miles away from the Bourget house --- he stood upon the sidewalk in frustrated thought. He checked his pocket watch: quarter to four. Time to abandon this line of pursuit. There must be dozens of telegraph offices in Toronto...if she had even sent it from Toronto.

He stared at the watch face, hearing the faint tick, tick, tick.

His head snapped up. Thrusting the watch into his pocket, he turned south and legged it to the downtown district.

With directions from a gentleman passing on the street, Liam found the Adelaide Street Courthouse, and hurried up the steps between the massive stone columns. Inside, the dark marble lobby was lined on both sides with closed doors. In the center was a desk with attended by a young clerk. Liam approached.

"Good day, sir. Where does one apply for a marriage license?" he asked.

"Second floor, first door on the left." He pointed behind him. "Stairs are there."

Liam took the stairs two steps at a time and found the door with the brass plaque proclaiming "Marriage Licenses." Stepping inside, he saw a fair sized room with a row of desks, each occupied by a clerk in a suit. In front of the desks was a tall counter; here a young man and woman were being waited on by a clerk. He heard the clerk instructing them where to sign their names. He waited impatiently, looking at the couple's clasped hands, as the clerk explained to them how to file the certificate. In his head, he rehearsed the tale he had spun on his way here.

At last 'twas his turn. The clerk looked up, pushing his spectacles up on his nose, as Liam stepped forward. "Are you here to file a certificate?" he asked.

"Ummm...no, sir. I'm hoping you can help me with a...rather delicate matter." Liam continued his efforts to conceal his brogue. What was issuing from his mouth sounded odd, he knew; but he hoped it would be sufficient to forestall any chatter from reaching Strachan's ears about a young Irishman unusually interested in him and his fiancée.

The clerk raised his eyebrows. "What is it?"

Liam's face took on a serious and embarrassed expression. "Well, you see, my sister has gone missing. My parents believe she eloped with her beau --- a young rogue. I told them I would see if they had applied for a marriage license."

The clerk shook his head sagely. "Young ladies today...I don't hold with this modern way of life." He opened a large, leather bound book. "When did she go missing?"

"About two weeks ago."

"What are their names?"

"Hers is Mary Kent and his Jefferson Carter. But my mother believes they may have tried to use false names. Would it be possible for me to have a look? Perhaps I may recognize them."

Nodding, the clerk turned the book around. "Have a look." Liam pulled the book closer, and the man gathered up the papers from the previous couple and took them to the first desk.

Liam started scanning the entries, starting with the most recent and working backward. The names swam by...he flipped a page...no, no, no...he flipped a page...John, Mary, Clarence, Josephine, David, Rebecca, James, Gertrude.... Page after page he read, then all at once he saw it. There plain as day it be:

Groom: Douglas Edward Strachan, 41 years

Bride: Anya Natasha Boniface, 18 years

His heart was beating rapidly; he swayed slightly with a wave of tenderness to see her name written out...and what a lovely lilting name it be. The application was made exactly one week ago. He noticed Strachan's bold, angular signature, and that upon the line next to "Bride" was the signature of Charles J. Bourget, guardian.

"Did you find them, young man?" The clerk's voice startled him.

"Uh, no. Alas no. Is there any other place in town to obtain a license?"

"No. This is it in York County."

Liam sighed. "I think now it's time to go to the police. Thank you for your assistance, sir."

*****

His elation at discovering her true name was short-lived. 'Twas now past five o'clock and few livery stables remained open: those that were did not have horses for hire. He pleaded, he offered enormous sums...but no, the only horses they had belonged to customers, and to their credit, no stable proprietors were bribable.

Again finding himself standing thwarted in the street, with night falling, Liam cursed in frustration. He now knew what livery stable to go to, but chafed at the prospect of delaying his departure till the morn. Should he walk there? Nay, 'twould take too long to get there, and get back with Nicholas, should he succeed in finding him. He even contemplated stealing a horse, but as he walked, he did not come across an unattended animal that was not harnessed to a carriage.

Shite! My kingdom for a horse, he thought with bitter irony. He had to do something, anything to further his mission. Finally he decided to return to the boat, where he kept himself busy preparing for the possibility of a sudden departure. He went to the nearby market and bought foodstuffs and kerosene. He filled the cisterns with fresh water. He greased the sail hanks and made sure all the sail ties were fastened with slip knots. He attached the tow line to the bow cleat and coiled it neatly upon the deck.

As he worked in the dark, agitated thoughts consumed him. What if Strachan had already fetched Nicholas, and Liam was too late? What if the wedding was going to proceed without waiting for Nicholas? What if Strachan was even now importuning Anya for her favors? His eyes again and again were drawn northward to the cluster of lights. Damn it all! He had to go there and discover what was passing. He grabbed the ulster and headed out into the night.

The first clue that something was up he noticed as he approached along Roxborough Drive from the east: where yesterday the streets had been virtually empty, now there be large, elegant carriages parked along both curbs, one after the other, starting nigh a block from the mansion. Milling upon the sidewalk were uniformed coachmen, chatting and smoking in small groups. Liam made his way past them, striving to control his rising panic. Was he too late?

The enormous house came into view, blazing with lights from the windows. The wrought iron gates were open, and the driveway was lined with glowing lanterns. His mind was racing and his heart pounding as he neared the gate. Now he noticed a uniformed attendant standing by the gate post --- an idea sprang into his head. He slowed his pace and began looking about as if he be lost. When he caught the eye of the man, he halted. 'Twas a young man, nigh his own age, with curly brown hair and a shaving nick upon his cheek.

"Good evening," Liam said to him, launching into his fake Yankee accent.

"Good evening to you."

"I wonder if you can direct me --- I've gotten myself turned around. I'm sent with a message from my master for the Carlisle House." He used the name he had seen yesterday upon a plaque at the gates of a house a few doors east. "Am I on the correct block?"

The young man nodded and pointed behind Liam. "It's four houses down that way. There's a sign upon the gate."

"Thank you." Liam pointedly looked about at the carriages and the glittering mansion. "This looks to be a grand affair for a Monday evening...what's the occasion?"

"It's the engagement party for a young lady of the house and the cabinet minister Mr. Strachan."

"She must be one of this year's debutantes...with all of this." He motioned around at all the splendid trappings, hoping he was using the proper term.

"I can't say about that. Not in Toronto at any rate. She's the Bourget's niece, just arrived from New York."

"Oh?"

A gleam appeared in the young man's eyes. "She's the most beautiful girl I've ever seen. Mr. Strachan is a lucky man."

Liam eyed him, trying to quell his jealous irritation. He thought quickly, then spoke as if hit with a sudden realization. "Oh is this the Bourget residence? Is young master Nicholas returned from school?"

The servant looked at him with more interest. "Are you acquainted with the family?"

Liam shook his head with a little smile. "Not myself. My master's son is a good chum of master Nicholas."

"Ah." He nodded. "No, he's not arrived yet."

Liam took a deep breath. "When is the wedding to be?" he asked in an offhand manner.

The man unexpectedly snorted. "I wish they'd tell me! First it was this Sunday, now I hear from the cook that it's been moved up. And they want me to trim all the carriages with flowers and ribbons, of all things!"

Shite! Moved up to when?! "Moved up, eh? How much time does that give you to get the carriages ready?"

"I don't know. They haven't told us. And it's Monday already."

Liam shook his head sympathetically. "They're always after us with new orders, with precious little understanding of what we need to see it done."