Romance Novel (Untitled)

Chapter Two

         The bright flames of happiness and joy give way, in short time, to warm embers of contentment; but they can not last long in their first intensity. It is the same with grief and anger; they settle into a simmering bitter brew of wish-I-mays, and should-have-said’s…but settle they do.

         Susannah’s feet bore her racing head and throbbing heart through familiar streets of their own accord. East, and south, and ever downward, following memory rather than sight along dark streets. For before her eyes burned haunted, haunting images: her weary father, recounting a horrid tale of betrayal; her beloved snickering behind her back, under sheets with painted, tattooed women; friends and family shaking their heads in shame for the foolish little girl so cruelly used by the men she loved.

         And as she wound her way closer to the sea mists, the grief cooled into confusion. The white-hot glare of her indignant rage merged with the thickening fogs to a dull red pain, like the irritating scar of an old burn.

         Susannah drifted out onto the quays and piers which had been familiar to her all her youth, and her angry silence broke into wracking sobs. She fell to her knees to absolve herself of her naïve, blind love, pray for her willfulness to be borne with these damp airs and creaking, foreign ships back across the water away from her. She wept the pain of her heart and the shame of those hateful words she hurled at her father into the sea.

         She wailed, shedding tears and pain alike, pleading for—

         “Could you use a hand, then, miss?”

         An unexpected voice from somewhere behind her instantly turned her holy place into a horrid scene from a hundred forgotten nightmares. Her sobs were forgotten on the instant, pain set aside, fear setting her body on a knife’s edge of fight-or-flight. She was on her feet without thinking about it, reacting with a reflex born of many a throw from a horse.

         “It’s only that we hear ye sobbin’ so, ye see.” This voice from her left this time, still in shadows—a different voice, thicker: more dangerous.

         “Aye, a young lady in distress—“

         “Go yer way, boy,” the second voice growled menacingly. “I’ll see to the care of this lassie.”

         “But—“ the second voice was meeker, almost pleading.

         The response was not words, but a snarl that raised the hair on Susannah’s arms. Perhaps it raised the hair on the owner of the first voice, as well, for Susannah heard dwindling footsteps running from that quarter.

         “Now, dearie, there there…” the second voice curdled from the shadows.

         “N-no need to trouble yourself, sir,” Susannah managed in a voice she knew at once sounded quick and frightened rather than the measure and control for which she strove. She backed toward the street which led out onto these piers, astonished at far away it was, and how far she had come without even realizing it. She was out of eyesight and ear-shot of the dockmaster’s hut; and the watchmen rarely roved this far toward the piers’ end. She was on her own.

         “Ohhhh, no trouble at all, young miss,” the voice leered. “Dressed so pretty and cryin’ so hard, ye sound lonely as the devil in church on Sunday, so ya do. I’ll lend ya comfort and comp’ny, dearie, what say?

         With all of her self-control (which was considerable, even at her young age), Susannah replied in calmer, more confident tones: “As I have already said: no, thank you. Good evening.”

         She turned and walked as quickly as she could without running. She managed the breadth of one ship; Two more stood between her and the connecting boardwalk of the dock-proper. Once around those, she would be able to be seen by the watch, heard by the dockmaster.

         But before hope could truly begin to bloom its flower of betrayal in her mind, she heard heavy bootsteps and an angry, hungry panting behind her.

         “Haughty young tramp!” flowed over her shoulder on lurid breath, through clenched teeth. A hand like a vice bit into her arm before she could break into a true run, and she was whirled round. “I said I’ll keep ye comp’ny, and so I shall! Although ye might not get the comfort, now, eh?”

         The fear sizzling in her nerves sparked into anger in a flash, and Susannah swung backhand, quick as a snake, striking the ruffian on his cheek and eye. Her anger brought her voice out in an imperious, commanding tone: “You shall not!”

         Susannah was lean, but she was fit and strong. Years of training on horseback, grooming and saddling her own horses, lent her a wiry strength more common to the young men of her age. Her surprise, fear, and emotion gave the release of her blow even more force. The owner of the putrid voice was caught entirely unprepared for such, and wheeled away, off balance.

         Susannah, too, was quite unprepared for the force of her blow. Her hand went instantly numb, and as the thug struggled for balance, the clamp-like grip on her arm slewed her in same direction of her swing. Already twisted off-center by the momentum of her own blow, Susannah lost her own struggle for balance, falling to her right, and slightly backward, still twisting. She had time to think: “That man’s face must have been made of stone--!” before the back of her head collided with a wet thud where one of the tall ships was dogged to the pier.

         And for Susannah Claverly, a total blackness like a stale blanket brought the night to a dull, numb end.