Perhaps the humiliation she had felt when he exchanged his willingness to marry her for the rubies had been the chastening hand of her Lord revealing her waywardness. She should never have laid out her plans without seriously seeking His purpose first in prayer.
She stared at the letter Jamie had sent to her after the slave uprising. How bright their plan had shone then! It had seemed the door of escape to a new life and happiness. But even if Jamie had not flown his true colors when Baret “bought” her from him, she now doubted they would have found peace in the Boston colony. Marriage to Jamie would have been a dreadful mistake.
Both Jamie and the letter appeared a shabby counterfeit for what she was inwardly seeking.
“At least I owe Baret Buckington my gratitude for that,” she murmured. “Truly the Lord has His way in the whirlwind and in the storm. The worst of situations can turn out for our good.”
And in a decisive movement, she tore up a future that might have been and tossed it through the window to the trade wind.
Even here may Your hand lead me, O my Father.
A polite knock sounded, and a key turned in the lock. Expecting Hob, perhaps with tea, it was with astonishment that she greeted Zeddie, who poked his head in, his familiar white periwig well groomed and his black eyepatch in place.
“Zeddie,” she cried, rushing toward him.
“Aye, m’gal, ’tis me!”
“Oh, Zeddie, I’m so happy to see you.” She grabbed him, as he grinned. “I was beginning to think I’d never see you again. Your presence brings great relief.”
“But your presence, lass, ’tis a sore grief to me. Yet ’tis a boon that you didn’t run off with that jackanapes Maynerd after all. ‘Bradford,’ so he calls himself. An’ all the while of the same pirate blood and disposition as old Charlie himself.”
“Never mind that now. You are here safe. That is what matters. Vapors! You’re wearing your baldric!” she said, pointing to his pair of dueling pistols in the leather sling. “I’m surprised the infamous Captain Foxworth has let you carry it,” she said coolly. “Oh, Zeddie, you are all right? He didn’t harm you during your imprisonment?”
“Harm me?” he scoffed. “Wooden idols be tossed to the flame! Why—” he grinned “—I’ve been treated well indeed. I’ve been serving the Cambridge divine himself Sir Cecil Chaderton. A grave Puritan, no less. And once a good friend of the deceased Cromwell, though he says he exiled in France with the boy viscount until King Charles was restored in ’60. It seems you’re not left to the rascally mouthed renegades entirely, not with Sir Cecil aboard lending his studious grace of the Scriptures.”
Emerald was quite sure she didn’t have the slightest notion of what Zeddie was talking about. Sir Cecil Chaderton? Who was he? A Puritan? On board the Regale? If there was anyone on board the Regale who took delight in the Scriptures, he must surely have boarded in grievous error.
“That you were treated with dignity, at least, is a consolation,” she said, willing to forget her digruntled feelings toward Baret. “Yet you must be mistaken about this man Chaderton.”
“No mistake, no indeed. You shall meet him soon enough. He says he knew Mathias in London before the Civil War.”
Sadly she told him about Mathias’s death and Jonah’s.
“That odious Mr. Pitt,” he said furiously. “Would fate that I’d been there! The shark ought to be hung by his thumbs! But ’tis good news that Ty escaped to the Blue Mountains. And Minette?” He looked about.
“She escaped when Captain Foxworth’s nasty crew abducted me. By now she has surely notified my father.”
“Sir Chaderton insists they waren’t the viscount’s crew, but he only used them. He says the captain is a divinity student! Fan me, ye winds! I ask you, since when does a man trained in the Holy Word at Cambridge wield a sword and attack a treasure galleon? Sink me if I can understand that one!”
“Surely this man Chaderton is exaggerating. Yet there is a minutia of truth to it,” she confessed, remembering that little Jette had told her the same thing about Baret’s attending Cambridge. The thought that he had spent some years studying the Scriptures was unfathomable. She felt quite certain that Baret was a pirate—and his father. But she couldn’t think on that now. “What did you find out about Jamie and Levasseur?”
“They’re on board. And another vile shark hath appeared—a big man with the ways of the devil himself. Sloan, he calls himself.”
“On board? Levasseur and Jamie?”
“For what cause, I’ve not been able to find out. Perhaps we shall learn a thing or two at dinner.” He frowned. “And that’s why I’m here. The captain has asked you to show yourself.”
“Dine with a pack of pirates? I won’t go, Zeddie. I want nothing to do with him, and that now includes Jamie Maynerd. I shall have supper here in the cabin, though I’m not a bit hungry.”
He frowned. “A bright and breezy decision. But I fear the captain has his mind made up, m’gal. An’ I’m in no fair circumstance to refuse him. He knew you’d decline. It was his reason for sending me.”
“Thinking I’ll feel safer, no doubt. Perhaps, but that doesn’t make up for his ill treatment and disregard of my wishes. He put me to humiliation aboard deck in view of all his nasty crew, and I’ll not favor a pirate captain by eating with him.”
Zeddie straightened his periwig. “Sink me! I never thought the earl’s grandson would be dueling for you before witnesses!”
“The blackguard—he didn’t mean it, of course, but what could he have in mind? Hob insisted it was for my protection, but I wonder.”
“The viscount is a hard one to understand, m’gal. If Sir Chaderton knows him as well as he says, the earl’s grandson is only behaving the scoundrel for reasons of his own. And what they are, I’ve no notion. ’Tis enough to try to outthink the French bloke and the lyin’ tongued Jamie Maynerd.”
So her cousin Rafael Levasseur was still aboard the Regale. What could it mean?’
27
THE YARDARM
The following day passed quietly enough, and no scoundrel came to loiter about her cabin door. As evening fell softly upon the water, and she began to accept the unpleasantness of her dilemma as from the hand of her heavenly Father, a rap sounded on the door.
Emerald approached cautiously, for Hob was never rude and always called to her first. Nor did she think the rap came from the viscount. She had not seen him since that dreadful moment on the quarterdeck when she had lost control of her emotions and slapped him. She winced as she remembered. In England, a viscount could send her to the women’s prison for such behavior.
Impatient knuckles rapped again.
“Har! Open up, Cap’n’s orders!”
Emerald smothered the desire to wince. “I cannot. I don’t have the key. And even if I did—”
Voices outside interrupted. Zeddie was speaking in protest, but his words were drowned out as a scuffle broke out. Oh no! What was happening to poor Zeddie?
She stepped back as a key rattled in the lock, and the door was flung open. A cry died on her tongue as she stared at a huge man with a fringe of greasy black curls beneath a gaudy head scarf and lurid brows above pale eyes. Over the head scarf was a floppy black hat bearing a caricature of the devil. He wore a gaping black shirt and loose breeches of rawhide, and in the belt he bore a brace of pistols and a cutlass.
She’d never seen him before and backed away in fear.
He leered, inspecting her. “So, now. You be Jamie Boy’s pretty wench, eh?”
She grasped at dignity. “Sir, you are no gentleman.”
He threw back his head and roared. “D’you ’ear the wench, Poke,” he called over his shoulder. “I be no gentleman.”
“Who are you!” she demanded. “Who gave you license to break into my privacy?”
“Break into your privacy, she says! Har! Clever, isn’t she?” he said to the ruffian with weapon in hand who stood like a hound at bay just outside.
“Some calls me Sloane
. What you calls me don’t matter, gal.”
She retained her courage, praying silently that Baret would soon appear.
“Who sent you here, Mr. Sloane?”
“Har! ‘Mister’ Sloane, she says! I likes it. ‘Mister.’ Mister Sloane oughter be cap’n, says I. What say you, gal?”
“Where is the captain!”
Somehow she couldn’t imagine Baret’s sending this ruffian to her cabin. Her eyes darted past him and fell to where Zeddie sat rubbing his head. Once again his periwig lay disheveled on the deck.
She started toward him. “Zeddie—”
Sloane blocked her way. Aware of his awful presence and odor, again she stepped back, scanning him distastefully.
He gave her quick appraisal with bold eyes.
Emerald drew her cloak firmly about her.
“Ah, you mean Foxworth,” he said with a hoarse sound that turned to ironic laughter. “He’s no cap’n of mine.” Then, “Well, so you was the bride of Jamie Boy Maynerd. Now I be wondering where the merry groom might’n be keeping himself? T’aint pretty manners to keep an anxious bride waitin’.”
Crude laughter bubbled from the throat of the crewman watching Zeddie. The man now poked his scarfed head in through the door to stare.
A kindled gleam of hungry interest sprang up in the depths of Sloane’s eyes. “Ol’ Jamie Boy ain’t no fool after all.”
“Stay away!”
“A shrew, eh? But a rare wench! Too bad ’bout Jamie.”
“What have you done with him?” she asked anxiously. “Where is he?”
“Me?” he asked innocently. “You’ll see ’im all right if you have eyes in your head. He ain’t goin’ nowheres soon.” And he gave a laugh. “Suppose I take you to him?” He leered and caught her, one arm about her waist.
Emerald struggled to free herself from an iron grip as he carried her from the cabin onto the quarterdeck. “Put me down!” She tried to turn her head from his calico shirt, reeking of rum and old sweat. Lord, help me—
All at once a hand latched hold of Sloane’s shoulder, and a pistol muzzle rammed behind his ear.
“Put the lady down, Sloane, or they’ll be swabbing up your brains—what there is of them.”
The calm but cutting voice brought an end to Sloane’s bawdy laughter, and as he released her, Emerald caught her balance on the rail.
“Alas, Sloane, you have no manners.”
With relief, she saw Baret.
Compared to the unkempt crewmen gathered about the deck, he stood out as the image of excellence, however arrogant, and his disposition suggested that beneath his suave restraint lived a man every whit as dangerous. As though proving her measure of him justified, a quick movement of his fist landed a vicious blow to the man’s belly, and when the pirate staggered like a bull, Baret struck again to the back of his neck.
Sloane thudded to one knee with a curse hissing between his teeth, his hand fumbling for his dagger. As he withdrew it, Baret stomped his hand to the deck. When his grip released the blade, Baret kicked the knife across the deck and over the side into the sea.
Sloane swore. “I’ll kill you for this, Foxworth!” He struggled to get to his feet, but Baret’s booted foot pushed him backward to the deck. He aimed the pistol, and Sloane grew still, his eyes narrowing into pale slits.
“Where is your captain?” demanded Baret. “You could be hanged for this, Sloane! This is not the Venture but my ship! And you’ll mind my laws while you walk my decks! And if I catch you near the girl again, I’ll throw you to the sharks.”
Sloane said nothing, and the pirates who had congregated about him were also sullen and silent.
Baret walked closer to where Sloane was lying on his back. He looked down at him, his dark eyes cold, the wind touching his dark hair tied back with a leather thong. “Who told you to disturb the lady’s cabin? Levasseur?”
“Aye, the Frenchman’s our captain. We follow his orders, Foxworth!”
“On my ship you’ll follow mine. Or rot in the hold with the rats. Understood?”
The pirate Sloane snarled something inaudible.
“Where’re Levasseur and Maynerd?” demanded Baret.
Sloane turned his big head and leered across the deck to several of Levasseur’s pirates. They grinned, eyes shrewd. They folded their arms and remained mute.
Emerald’s mind swam in confusion. What were they doing still aboard the Regale? Surely Baret had known they were aboard before he left Port Royal harbor! But it was also clear that he had not expected the pirates serving her cousin to risk his wrath in coming to the Great Cabin.
Some of Baret’s crewmen gathered, hearing the commotion. Levasseur’s pirates glowered at them, but she sensed that despite the circumstance Baret Buckington was in command. Neither group of men reached toward their swords.
Emerald’s nervous glance swept past Baret, took in the unsmiling faces, and saw that their attention was now riveted on the angry captain of the Regale, who stood, one hand on hip, the other holding a long dueling pistol, demanding answers that none of Levasseur’s pirates wanted to give.
She saw their grudging respect. Knowing they were cautious restored some of her shaken confidence.
“Where is the rogue who deigns to be your captain?” asked Baret. “Call him!” he ordered a sullen black-eyed Frenchman. The pirate muttered in French and sauntered away to call Levasseur.
“Does he hide himself below like a rat in the darkness?” asked Baret.
Then from above on the high poop came a familiar voice ringing with haughty French disdain. “Monsieur, you will yet provoke me to a duel! Oui! But I deign to believe the two of us are destined to mingle our cause as one! And like the Frenchman L’Ollonais who has sacked Porto Bello, I too shall overwhelm the Spaniards with burning arrows of pitch!”
Levasseur gave a clear laugh as he leaned his arms on the taffrail. “And you, monsieur! You are as ruthless as I!”
Emerald looked up. Levasseur stood in purple taffetas and a white ruffled shirt, his immaculate black periwig curling at his shoulders. What was he doing still aboard the Regale? Did he not have his own ship?
She glanced toward the sea and saw the dim outline of Jamaica far behind. Where they were headed was anyone’s guess.
Levasseur left the taffrail to come down the companionway. In the silence that held them all, Emerald heard the rigging creak and groan in the wind.
“Are you looking for Maynerd?” called Levasseur. “You need not look far, my captain, and—” he bowed at the waist toward Emerald “—Mam’zelle Emerald! He is somewhere about.”
Sloane and the dozen pirates serving Levasseur chuckled.
Emerald glanced at Baret and saw that, whatever he was thinking, he did not look intimidated. His confidence strengthened her own, and she took a slight step toward him.
Levasseur’s gaze shifted and latched hold of her.
Baret caught her arm as though he owned her and drew her to his side.
Her first impulse was to pull away.
“I bought her for twenty thousand pieces of eight, have you forgotten? The damsel is with me. And anyone who wishes to either paw or gape will have more to contend with than her claws.”
“There is no quarrel over Mam’zelle Emerald,” said Levasseur shortly. “It is my stolen jewels I sent my lieutenant Sloane to find.”
“From henceforth you’ll send none of your crew to my cabin. Is that clear? Anything that now concerns her, concerns me. You will come to me, not to her.”
Levasseur shrugged. “As you wish, monsieur. We are friends in one cause, are we not?”
“You’d betray me in an instant if you could. Let us forget pretense, Levasseur. Get on with what ails you.”
Levasseur strode toward Emerald, and for the first time she took solace in Baret’s closeness. She turned her head away.
“Ask mam’zelle what ails me. It is stolen jewels I concern myself with. Can it be, fair cousin, that you have taken them to run away not with Jamie Ma
ynerd but with Baret Buckington Foxworth?”
She was taken off guard and turned to face the Frenchman.
His black eyes sparked.
The jewels! she thought. He still believes I have them. She also remembered with a twinge of guilt that Baret knew something Levasseur did not–that she had once intended to board the Venture and take treasure to buy freedom for Ty and Jamie. She glanced at Baret, but his rugged profile showed nothing, and he was watching Levasseur.
“I have none of your jewels, Cousin Levasseur,” she stated. “I vowed as much in Port Royal when you barged into the lookout and ruined my trunk. You did not find them then, and I do not have them now.” She gestured to his scurrilous crew. “If you are missing jewels, you should ask your own foul pirates. I suggest they had access to your booty.”
Levasseur mocked a bow. “Pardon, mam’zelle, but I believe otherwise. And I suggest that if you forbid me to search your cabin—”
“It is I who forbid,” interrupted Baret smoothly. “If there is any searching of my cabin, it is I who will do so.”
“I assure you,” said Emerald, “I have no jewels belonging to my cousin or to anyone else.”
Levasseur smiled thinly. “Perhaps the abduction was planned. You both agreed together to deceive Maynerd but then, having stolen my jewels, also expected to find out from him where the treasure of the Prince Philip is kept.”
“This is absurd,” said Baret.
Levasseur lost his good mood. “Monsieur! You sorely try my gallantry. The stolen jewels are a family disagreement between me and my cousin.”
Baret waved a hand. “As you wish. To end the matter, however, I alone reserve the right to search her trunk.”
Emerald was on the verge of reminding him that he had already done so, looking for a letter he had previously accused her of taking from his cabin, but something in his gaze silenced her.
“As you wish, Captain,” she said coolly. “But I do not know why you must have my blackguard cousin on board your ship when he has a pirate vessel of his own.”
“An unpleasant situation, I agree,” said Baret easily.
Buccaneers Series Page 32