Stranded with the Butler

"Lady Carrabelle, jump! You must jump!" George Branson shouted. In sheer terror, the lady nearly fainted in her tight corset and gown. They were coming. Pirates were coming and would surely kill the lady, daughter of Lord Eldren. George leaped toward the her just as cannons rang out in the crisp sea air. The pirates had overtaken the ship. It would be demolished. He scooped her into his arms and jumped with her right over the edge of the ship, into dark waters below....

--------The Previous Week--------

The year was 1899 and Lady Carrabelle was enjoying her last week at her family's magnificent England estate. She was eighteen, and having completed her studies, was set to travel to South Africa with her family, who had set out one month prior for business reasons. Her lady's maid and butler would go on the voyage on a fine ship with her. Lady Carrabelle was ecstatic.

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The lady shrieked as she tumbled into the water, heavy skirts weighing her down and water filling her lungs. As she gasped for breath, strong arms held her fast.

"I've got you, m'lady! Try to hang on!" His thick Irish accent was pained. George struggled to keep her in his grasp. Her dress was too heavy. Hurriedly, he tore at the fabric, which led her to scream more as she thrashed about in the waves.

"I can not support you, m'lady!" He ripped off her outer dress, petticoat, hoop, and bustle. The slip, corset, and pantaloons were much lighter. Shrapnel was raining from the sky as he swam with her.

"Hold your breath, m'lady!"

"What?!"

"Hold your-dammit!"

The ship burst into flames before their eyes and George plunged them both underwater to avoid the planks flying from the wreckage. He grabbed ahold of a blackened white board and hauled Lady Carrabelle across it. It was then he saw the blood streaming from her light brown curls. Her eyes were closed. He rushed to take her pulse as the water lapped at them. She was alive, but knocked unconscious by the debris.

George looked up to see the smoldering ship drifting away from them. The pirates must have had a vendetta against the English captain, for it was destroyed. The ornate ship capsized and sank slowly. The pirates were off with the captain's gold. A rush of dread hit George as he thought of the lady's maid, Sarah Grant, and of the crew. They were assuredly dead.

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The sun was hot, and Lady Carrabelle Eldren's damp clothes blew languidly about her. She felt odd, and drew herself slowly to a sitting position. Her head spun. It was throbbing dully, and she reached up to feel some fabric tied around her forehead like a tourniquet.

"Branson!" She called out in horror as the ocean, sand, cliffs, and ship wreckage amongst island greenery came into her view. She hyperventilated and fell back to the sand, but was caught in the bare arms of George Branson.

"I've got you, m'lady. You were unconscious." He spoke calmly. His dark blond hair was messy and he was shirtless. His shirt was tied around her forehead. Lady Carrabelle stared at the strange sight, then suddenly brought her arms across her chest.

"I've only got my undergarments!" She was flabbergasted.

"And I've less clothing total than that." George remarked.

"Where are we?" She demanded,

"Where is Grant?"

George looked at her hard. "Dead, m'lady. Everyone is dead."

Lady Carrabelle covered her mouth. "I-I didn't realize...oh how horrible!"

"Yes, m'lady." His eyes were dark. "Well, I believe a trunk has washed ashore. Stay here and I'll come up with some way of survival...." He walked away from her briskly. Lady Carrabelle let a tear fall silently.

"We're stranded, then." She whispered. She was correct.

Lady Carabelle felt ill in the humidity and torpid heat of the island. She simply sat upon the sand, grateful to be alive, but mourning the loss of her maid and the crew.

The young lady got shakily to her feet and began to stumble across the sand to the shore. It was then she realized her shoes were missing. She groaned. She had never felt the sand in her toes. Her corset was hot with the slip and skirts she wore. Finally she managed

to trudge to the water and dip her feet in.

"Branson! Branson, what are we going to eat?" She called to the young butler who was looking through the wreckage of the destroyed ship.

George Branson turned and called back morosely, "I dunno, m'lady, I see trunks and barrels. Your trunk may've gone down...Hopefully the food isn't in ruin!"

The young lady sighed and preceded to walk back onto dry land. She removed her slip and folded it like a pillow for her throbbing head, which had stopped bleeding. She fell asleep in the shade of the trees. George glanced from the water, and for an instant he wanted to hate her.

George sighed, "It's all she's ever known...the luxury. This is hell t'er."