Emerald’s breath caught. “Beatrice, dead?”
Geneva’s shoulders sagged. “Yes.” She turned away to look toward Mathias. “I’ve lost my sister and my cousin.”
Emerald swallowed and could say nothing.
Geneva knelt again beside his bunk and began her Anglican prayers from the little book she had brought with her.
Outside, the morning sun was now blazing in a blue sky.
Emerald stood there. Now that Uncle Mathias and Jonah were gone, there was nothing left on Foxemoore she cared about except Minette. Jette would soon be gone to England. Who knew how long her father would be away with Henry Morgan? The voyages took a year and, if they went far enough on the Main, nearly two. She suspected that Morgan would go far.
There were no more tears to weep. She walked wearily to the waiting buggy. Well, she too would go far. She would take to sea with Jamie Bradford for a new life in the colony.
But her father! An ache rose in her heart. She must see him again before he sailed. She must tell him about Mathias, about Beatrice, and Jonah.
She picked up the reins and looked toward the lush Blue Mountains, her eyes glinting.
“At least Ty made it safely,” she told Minette.
She turned the horse to ride away. She wouldn’t look at the slaves swaying in the breeze. She must find out where Jamie was waiting for her.
As she rode back to the Manor, her emotions spent, new grief over the loss of Mathias set in. She reached to lay a hand on the satchel containing his prized translation work. “And at least I have this,” she said aloud.
She sat up straighter. And just where had Baret Buckington been all this time?
Geneva said that Grayford defended the women in the house. Emerald was certain that if Baret had been there he would surely have done the same. By now he would know of the evil that had taken place last night, yet he hadn’t shown himself. Was he with Lavender, trying to solace her?
She recalled that in the garden square he had made mention of some urgent business. Had he left Foxemoore last night before the uprising? If he had, then, like her father, Baret didn’t yet know about the tragedy that left its mark on Geneva’s wedding eve.
She thought of Lord Felix Buckington. What did he think of all this?
When she arrived back at the bungalow, the long-awaited message from Jamie was waiting. He had bought passage on a ship sailing to the American colonies, and she was to go to the lookout house and wait. If all went well, when the ship was ready to set sail he’d signal her and send a longboat.
Later that morning she located Minette in the cook room, seated at the table and staring at a cup of cold black coffee.
“Grandfather made it yesterday,” Minette murmured.
Emerald laid a hand on her head, pushing back the mussed ringlets from her soiled face. “We’re leaving Port Royal,” she told her. “We’re going to the American colonies.”
Minette looked up, new hope born in the depths of her eyes. She stood and threw her arms around her, and amid their sorrow they laughed.
Emerald’s eyes fell then upon a blue head scarf sitting on the table. She came alert and snatched it up, turning it over in her hands. On the cloth was an African lion decorated with beads and woven pieces of dyed hemp. One word was written in blue dye: “Ngozi.”
Emerald looked at Minette. “Where did you get this?” she asked, clutching it.
“A slave brought it.”
“Brought it here?”
“Yes. A big man. Said his name was Ngozi. Said to tell you he won’t forget.”
“He’s alive,” breathed Emerald, eyes brimming. “He wasn’t one of the twenty men after all.”
Understanding dawned in Minette’s face. “Was he the slave you told me about?”
“Yes. Oh, Minette, this scarf means more to me than you can imagine. I shall keep it always!”
Emerald stood beside the newly dug graves with Mathias’s Bible in her hands. A dozen slaves had slowly gathered, one and two at a time, keeping an eye out for Mr. Pitt.
“Dear mercy, here he comes now,” whispered Minette.
Emerald looked up, her face white with the sorrow and tension of the last several days, and saw Pitt astride his gelding, riding toward her. If only Viscount Baret Buckington would also ride up, she thought.
She prayed for courage and stood with shoulders straight and head unbowed, feeling the hot Jamaican sun.
Mr. Pitt stopped some distance back and from beneath his panama hat watched her. She could not see his expression, but she was certain his countenance was scornful. No doubt he wondered how she had ever gotten Geneva to allow her to do this. Emerald herself wondered, when she remembered back to the moment. There had been times in the past two days when she had expected a message to arrive forbidding her to go through with the burial.
The slaves moved uneasily, casting glances in his direction, but they did not leave.
Emerald walked to the earthly remains of Jonah and read the various Scripture passages she had gathered and written out on a sheet of paper the evening before. She read clearly and reverently, and for the first time in her sixteen years she felt as though heaven itself had come to robe her with dignity and grace.
“Let not your heart be troubled.
“I will come again, and receive you unto myself; that where I am, there ye may be also.
“Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his saints.
“And as we have borne the image of the earthy, we shall also bear the image of the heavenly.
“We are willing … to be absent from the body, and to be present with the Lord.
“For the trumpet shall sound, and the dead shall be raised incorruptible.
“O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?
“I am the resurrection, and the life: he that believeth in me … shall never die.”
Mr. Pitt turned his horse and rode away.
Emerald paused and looked after him from beneath her wide hat. She breathed a silent prayer of thanksgiving and held the Bible tighter, feeling its worn leather and pages. The Jamaican wind caressed her damp cheeks, and her eyes shone.
Beside Ngozi, another small victory had been won.
22
TREASURE AND TREACHERY
Strong wind gusts lashed rain against Emerald’s face and pulled at her hood. She squinted to see ahead as her buggy hastened down High Street toward Fishers Row, its wheels rattling over the stones until coming to a shuddering halt near the lookout house.
“Maybe Jamie won’t make the harbor in this weather,” cried Minette nervously.
Emerald refused to consider that possibility. “He won’t fail me. We’ve been planning for months. And now he has our passage. He won’t let a rainstorm stop him. Anyway, I shall know soon enough if the ship is in. I’m going up to the crow’s nest. Sound the buggy bell if anyone comes.”
Minette snatched the reins, glancing about. “Do hurry. I’ve bad omens creeping up my spine.”
Emerald climbed down and ran toward the lookout. Above, its high-paned windows gleamed with lantern light.
Rushing through the door into the small downstairs room, she threw back her hood and climbed the steep staircase that led to the topmost floor, lifting the hem of her wet skirts as she did so, her feet sinking into the woven carpet taken from some Spanish galleon years earlier. The wooden banister gleamed. The stark empty walls on either side had once displayed paintings of ships. Now these were to be sold to the Earl of Buckington.
At the top of the steps, she climbed through the small door into her father’s crow’s nest and tossed her cloak upon an old sea chest. Plucking his telescope from the shelf as she passed, she rushed to the glass window that faced the Caribbean.
She held the glass to her eye, searching. Her heart pounded. A ship flying His Majesty’s colors was anchored out beyond the stone seawall. A dim yellow light glowed in the darkness from its upper galley.
The ship was in. She smiled
with eager anticipation. Jamie had kept his word. She knew he would.
Unexpectedly, from outside on the street the buggy bell rang. Emerald tensed and whirled from the window, gripping the telescope. Could her father have come?
Her feelings tugged in opposite directions as did her conscience. She must see her beloved father again before she left, in order to inform him about Mathias, but how could she keep her plans from him until after she married Jamie? She hurried from the crow’s nest to the top step and leaned over the banister, looking straight down into the narrow room below.
Minette dashed in through the front door, her eyes wide.
“Someone’s here. I saw a horse! I knew trouble was on our heels!” At the sound of boot steps her head twisted toward the door.
Emerald’s hand tightened about the banister. If it wasn’t her father—was Jamie bold enough to come for her himself?
The door flew open with a bang. Captain Rafael Levasseur entered with a gust of wind, a tall, vigorous man in a black periwig. He was haughty, handsome, and dangerous.
He stopped in an arrogant stance, not bothering to remove his wide-brimmed hat. His restless black eyes darted about the cramped room, past Minette, and then up the stairs. His gaze confronted Emerald, and his thin lips tightened.
“So, cousin!”
Emerald straightened her shoulders and looked down at him, hoping her alarm was concealed. What had he come here for? Had he somehow learned of her previous intention to board his vessel?
She said with deliberate calmness, “A fine spectacle you make, barging into my father’s house, Cousin Rafael. And what would you do if he were here to demand you knock first?”
He strode to the stairs and stopped, one boot on the bottom step, and looked up impatiently. “I will take your father as one pierces a rabbit on a spit, mademoiselle. The silver box of jewels you stole from my ship. Where is it?”
Confused, she stared down at him. Impossible! She had not boarded his ship!
She lifted her chin and folded her arms. “You are mad with rum, Levasseur. Just how would I board your pirate vessel with its malevolent crew to take anything?”
“Mon petite, do not goad. I am in no mood for kindness. Do you ask how it can be, when you and the half-French wench here—” he waved a hand at Minette “—and the one-eyed blackguard Zeddie are thieves of the vilest sort?”
Emerald’s gaze narrowed. Had Levasseur not been her cousin on her mother’s side of the family, she would have feared his ruthless nature. As it was, it had always taken both courage and patience to handle his reckless moods.
She smiled ruefully. “Silver and jewels? You surely jest. My frock is darned, my slippers are worn. You mock me, Levasseur.”
His dark eyes hardened as they swept her. “I’ve heard how you are going to England. I know your dreams of becoming a nobleman’s woman,” he accused. “The men of Port Royal are not good enough for you. You’ve stolen to buy silks and satins—or is it to pay Karlton’s debts to the English earl?”
She tensed, fearing he would threaten her father. “He has nothing to do with this. If you go to him with wild accusations, he shall turn on you.”
His teeth showed beneath his narrow mustache. “He’s deceived into believing his daughter is fit company for only nobility. We know better, do we not, mademoiselle? Like it or no, you have my blood and are destined to be mine, and your thievery while my crew was celebrating their victory ashore proves it, yes? In the meantime I shall look in your trunk. Where is it—in the coach?”
She hurried down the steps. “Ruin my trunk, and I will never forgive you.”
He whirled on his boot heel and, ignoring the downpour, walked outside to the buggy, where two of his men waited.
Emerald was swiftly on his trail. “Rafael, no! That trunk belonged to my mother. If you break—”
“She was a thief, the vixen of Port Royal.”
“How dare you insult her! She was your aunt!”
“Heave it down!” he ordered the two crewmen.
“If you scavengers ruin anything, I shall have you for this! I need every frock in there for my voyage!”
Emerald ran to stop them, but Levasseur grabbed her arm and pulled her back, holding her beside him.
In a rage she watched the brutes use swords to break the rope that held it to the buggy. It landed with a thud.
Lavesseur unsheathed his blade and struck savagely at the straps until the trunk was laid open to the torrential downpour. He searched through her frocks and other personal items, tossing them aside carelessly.
Infuriated, she rushed to retrieve them from damage. “You jackanapes! You will pay for this despicable treatment of Harwick’s daughter!”
“Perhaps it is hidden in the house—in her room, yes?” suggested a crewman.
Levasseur looked thoroughly disgusted. “No, if my cousin had it she would take it with her. But search to make sure. And look inside the buggy—search the driver’s seat.” He turned toward Emerald, who clutched several of her best frocks in her arms. “It is too big to be hidden on you, mademoiselle, so I shall let you go.” He glanced about for Minette. “Where is that vile urchin?”
“Gone! She has more sense than to hang around when a band of cutthroat pirates comes barging in.”
“Perhaps you have told the truth after all, mom petite. Perhaps I have been too hasty.”
“Too hasty! After you’ve destroyed my trunk and the only decent frocks I had to wear? You are a cad, Rafael!”
With exaggerated gallantry he swept off his hat and bowed low at the waist. Then he straightened, flung his cloak over his shoulder, and before turning to walk away reached beneath his jacket and pulled out a small cloth pouch. He carelessly tossed a dozen gold pieces atop the broken trunk. “Au revoir, Mademoiselle Emerald! We shall meet again.” He smiled coolly. “Perhaps sooner than you think.”
What did he mean?
She watched him mount his horse. “Where are you going now?”
“If you did not take the box, then your father has done this deed. I shall call him out for his treachery!”
“My father! You are mad!”
“We shall see who is mad, mademoiselle.”
She closed the trunk, then watched them ride away until they disappeared. “Knaves!” she breathed.
Like everything left from her mother, including relationships, the trunk was now scarred. Emerald ran her hand over the gashes. Then she secured it the best she could with a rope while the rain soaked her. She had no time to waste. Jamie would soon be waiting for her. She picked up the coins, considering. She wished nothing from her cousin but what was rightfully her own, and yet … she and Jamie could use this in Boston.
“Minette!”
The girl climbed out from beneath her hiding place under the steps. “The rake,” she said.
“Quick. Help me load the trunk again, then we must find Father. He’s to meet Henry Morgan at the Spanish Galleon tonight. Levasseur will go there!”
“You don’t think he’ll call Uncle Karlton to duel?” cried Minette.
“Rafael? I put nothing past him! Come!”
Baret strode along High Street toward the Spanish Galleon. There he would join the captains of the buccaneers of English, French, and Dutch blood who were gathering to meet Morgan and sign the articles that bound them together as Brethren of the Coast. Would Maynerd’s brother show himself?
He knew he must move cautiously, not only with his contact but in order to gain the confidence of the other buccaneers.
Morgan’s destination on the Main was unknown, and he wasn’t foolish enough to declare his daring plans until far out on the Caribbean—spies for Spain were everywhere.
Perhaps half the buildings of Port Royal were built of brick, and the rest were wood. All had red roofs and no chimneys, for most cooking was done outdoors because of the heat. Most of the houses were two stories high, and a large number were three- and even four-story buildings. The ground floor of each generally served as
a shop of some sort.
Port Royal resembled the shape of a pan with an extended handle, the pan nearly surrounded by water while the narrow handle was connected to the Palisadoes sand spit by a dry moat and a bridge. Strategically situated, the seaport, once considered of little value to Spain, was now a coveted all-season port with the best harbor on the Main. Any ship attempting to enter the harbor must come from the east, and Baret knew that the overbearing winds, along with the perilous shoals and reefs lying offshore to the south, made an attack by Spain foolhardy.
It was also fortunate that Port Royal’s channel was narrow and close to shore on the south side, he thought. Any ship intending to reach the harbor was forced to sail under the guns of Fort Charles and, when turning the point and entering the harbor itself, would then confront the cannon. Only a few soldiers garrisoned the fort, however, and the governor-general had to rely on the local regiment of Port Royal’s militiamen, made up of sugar planters and merchants.
Arriving at the Spanish Galleon, Baret was met by glittering chandeliers smuggled from France and a rowdy din. He glanced about the throng of adventurers, his intense dark eyes centered upon a certain gaming table across the room, where Sir Karlton sat totally engrossed.
Baret was about to walk up when Karlton groaned and said, “By fire and smoke! My luck is as uncanny as a sea witch. You should know better than to gamble with me. ’Tis a good thing I’ll be going with Morgan to the Main.”
“You are in error, Monsieur Harwick,” came the voice of a third man, reeking French arrogance.
Baret recognized the voice, and his gaze swerved to see Captain Levasseur standing a few feet from the gaming table. He wore a spotless coat of fine camlet with ruffles at wrist and throat and stood in a confident stance, one hand pointing at Sir Karlton Harwick. With catlike movements that reminded Baret of Levasseur’s use of the sword, the French pirate circled the table until he faced Karlton.
This man wanted to marry Emerald. Baret could understand why, and his eyes narrowed with unexpected irritation.
He watched as Levasseur lifted a lean, tanned hand in a cloud of lace and waved the pirates in the room to attention. “Hear, one and all! I, Captain Rafael Levasseur, buccaneering arm of the king of France—”
Buccaneers Series Page 27