Dark Torment Read Online Free PDF Page A

Then, turning back to Sarah, he added
in the same tone, “You’re getting too headstrong, girl. No wonder
you haven’t got a husband. You’d badger the poor man to his
grave.”
    “Thank you, Pa.” Sarah ignored her father’s
exasperated aside and smiled at him as, wincing, he counted the sum out of his
purse and handed it to Captain Farley, who did not appear mollified. Instead of
returning her smile, Edward Markham glared at her.
    “I’ve a feeling you’ll soon rue this day,
daughter, and no doubt I will, too!”
    Sarah did not reply. Instead, she turned her attention to the two
sailors who were, on Captain Farley’s orders, sawing through the thick
rope that bound the convict’s irons to the hook. When the rope was cut,
the man’s arms dropped heavily around the pole. For just an instant, as
his legs struggled to bear his weight, he stood upright, leaning heavily
against the pole. Then his knees buckled. Groaning, he sagged to the deck. Only
his arms, which were still shackled around the mast, prevented him from
pitching forward onto his face. His forehead resting against the smooth wood of
the mizzen, he half-crouched, half-slumped. The flies, which had swarmed upward
in alarm at his sudden movement, settled in once more to continue their meal.
One broad, bloodied shoulder twitched in silent protest.
    Sarah stepped forward, meaning to shoo the flies away, but her
father’s hand on her arm stayed her.
    “Don’t get carried away by kindness, daughter. The
man’s naught but a convict, remember. And dangerous.”
    “That may be true, Pa, but he’s nearly unconscious.
And something must be done for his back. We can’t possibly transport him
to Lowella in that state.”
    “You’ve saved his life for him; that’s enough.
If he’d had the full two hundred lashes Farley had ordered, he would
surely have died. I have not the slightest doubt that he’ll survive until
we can get him back to Lowella and Madeline can tend him. Curse the
luck.” This last was an irritated mutter, but Sarah heard.
    Frowning, she considered. Madeline, an aborigine who had lived on
Lowella for as long as Sarah could remember, was a very good nurse. It was she
who cared for the convicts when they were ill or injured. Sarah, as the virtual
mistress of the station, was almost as well versed in the arts of healing, but
she practiced only on her family and the house servants. She had never nursed a
man—her father had never been ill a day in his life—and certainly
never a convict. Their neighbors would have been scandalized if one of
Lowella’s ladies had so demeaned herself. But, under the circumstances,
the only humane thing to do now was to administer at least rudimentary first
aid to that grievously injured back.
    “If that man’s back isn’t cleaned and covered
before we set out, you’ll have wasted a considerable amount of money. If
he doesn’t bleed to death, which looks to be entirely possible, those
wounds could putrefy. In either case, he’ll die.”
    Edward Markham stared at her for a moment, then turned his eyes to
the convict, now sprawled face down on the deck. His expression registered
doubt, then disgust. But still he didn’t release his hold on
Sarah’s arm. He turned to look at Captain Farley, who stood several paces
away, his arms folded across his chest, disapproval plain in his face as he
stared at the convict.
    “Farley, give him a dose of the rough-and-ready. My
girl’s right, we can’t take him like this. He’s bleeding like
a stuck pig.”
    Farley glanced over his shoulder at them, scowling.
    “Going to mollycoddle him, are you?” he said with a
snort. “Well, he’s your problem now, and if he lives it’s
your lookout. I won’t be giving you your money back a second time,
that’s certain.”
    Edward’s mouth tightened in response. Farley shrugged, then
turned back to the sailors who hovered over the convict.
    “Give him a dose of the