Buccaneers Series

by Linda Lee Chaikin

The morning grew late, the sun hotter. She hastened to draw the letter to a close, sealed it, and addressed it to the scholar. Then she dug a coin from the small money pouch she and Minette kept in the desk drawer. She would find a half-caste at the turtle crawl near the market to bring the letter inland to Foxemoore.

  If the Lord blessed her efforts, perhaps within a day or two she would have the company of Sir Cecil Chaderton at the lookout house to aid her in the matter of Minette.

  It was Friday, and the fish market would be busy. The sky was blue with a few clouds left over from yesterday’s storm, and the humidity was not as noticeable. In order to get her mind off her cares, she tied the mare a block from her destination, having decided to walk the rest of the way. The locale for shopping was visited by the gentry and was safe during the day.

  Walking alone without Minette and Zeddie reinforced her loss, and a sudden pang of sorrow over Zeddie filled her heart. In the past he’d been close at hand, sauntering behind her with his purple-leather bandolier slung over his shoulder, sporting his huge pistol. What evil had befallen him that dreadful night Pitt and Jasper had come to the lookout house? According to Minette’s brief account, poor Zeddie had been knocked unconscious. And Emerald had seen him carried away toward the beach. Had they dumped him into the bay?

  She assumed him to be dead. Had he survived, he would have found her soon after she’d been locked up at Brideswell and would have gone for help to the town house on Queen Street or Foxemoore. By now, Geneva or Earl Nigel would have known of her plight and the death of her father. Instead, they’d been told the tale circulated by Sir Jasper and Lord Felix that she’d evidently “run away again with another buccaneer.”

  Zeddie’s silence meant the worst had happened. I won’t think about all this now, or I’ll become so morbid I’ll be good for nothing but weeping parties. She would take one day at a time and leave tomorrow with the Lord.

  Holding tightly the letter addressed to Sir Cecil, Emerald quickened her steps past the familiar markets, grog shops, and businesses belonging to rich merchants only too willing to scoop in the loot and contraband that the buccaneers harvested.

  The fort guarded the entrance to the harbor, and cannons bristled between the crenels. She noted King’s House and the private residence of the governor, sitting dominantly on a green slope facing the Caribbean at a prime location for receiving the cooler trade winds.

  The market was near the northwest corner of the harbor. There fishermen and turtle harvesters did their nightly business in small boats with lanterns. As she drew near the open stalls, she found herself close to the fenced-in turtle run that belonged to Hob. Again she fondly remembered him and hesitated by the fence before walking on. If by chance Baret had slipped out of the harbor on his way back to Tortuga, Hob might have once again joined him.

  Not that it mattered about Baret any longer, she thought numbly. After what happened at the hacienda, she doubted if she would ever see the viscount again. The betrothal, a precarious entity even at its best, was now once for all out of the question.

  She tensed, remembering the document Felix had in his possession. What would Baret and Earl Nigel do when they discovered that she was the “witness” who had signed it?

  Then there was the official letter affirming her innocence in the matter of Mr. Pitt. Felix had gotten what he wanted and wasn’t likely to bother her again. But Pitt was another matter. And Pitt had Minette. But Baret had taken her copy of the letter! Without it, she would remain vulnerable to any new threat that might come her way, especially after the shooting at the hacienda. What if Carlotta swore to the authorities that she had been involved?

  A hundred desperate thoughts ran through her mind, renewing her fears as she stared blankly at the turtle run, thick with olive-green shells partially buried in the white sand.

  “Emerald! Emerald!”

  Surprised, she turned and saw a fine carriage parked on the cobbled space near Kings House. Why, that’s Lavender’s carriage, she thought, seeing Jette seated inside. He’d lifted the window sash and leaned out, waving and grinning.

  Emerald hesitated, not wishing any contact with Lavender, but she did not see her inside the carriage. A guard of red-coated militia was also on the square. Emerald wondered what might be going on and why Lavender would be there at all—and with Jette.

  “Emerald, come here!” he called anxiously.

  The carriage driver turned in his seat to lean down and see what the new heir of Earl Nigel was up to.

  Emerald recognized the driver as Percy, the head groom at Foxemoore, a friendly Irishman who had thought well of her father. She saw the perfect opportunity to have her letter delivered to Sir Cecil, and, glancing quickly down the street, she darted out into traffic, lifting her skirt hem.

  Percy had once sailed with her father to the Virginia colony to buy horses when Karlton ran Foxemoore for Lady Sophie. Eventually, Karlton made him trainer of the fine line on Foxemoore. In an arbitrary fit over Karlton’s “buccaneering,” Lady Sophie dismissed Percy from his position and contracted for the indentured servant Mr. Pitt, whom Sir Jasper had convinced her came from England with an exceptional record. Her father had managed to keep Percy on as head trainer, despite Mr. Pitt’s wish to get rid of him.

  Emerald rushed up to where the carriage was parked beneath several palms. “Wait, Jette,” she called to the boy, “I need to speak to Percy,” and she ran to the driver’s side.

  “Percy!”

  The brawny Irishman had thick black hair, bristling with gray, and wore an oil-stained jerkin. He turned at her voice. “Why, Miss Emerald, they’re saying you was living wi’ your mother’s family on Tortuga.”

  “I never went there, but I’ve no time to explain now.” She lowered her voice. “Is Lady Thaxton in town with Jette?”

  “Aye, she is,” he said. “And so is—”

  “She mustn’t see me. Here—” she pushed the letter at him “—please take this and see it reaches no one except Sir Cecil Chaderton. He’s at Foxemoore?”

  “Aye, and so’s his lordship the earl himself, and Lady Geneva. But she’s sick, so I’ve heard, and in a weak way.”

  The news was disturbing. “Will you see that Sir Cecil gets this as soon as you return?”

  “Sure, Miss Emerald, and all the serving folk heard about Sir Karlton. ‘Tis a sad day for all of us, and our prayers be wi’ ye.”

  “Thank you, Percy. Do—do you know if a proper burial was ever arranged?”

  He shaded his piercing dark eyes with a gnarled hand and looked at her, troubled. “Far as I know, he’s buried at sea.”

  Her anguish must have been visible—she had wanted a Christian burial. He looked at her kindly. “It was a sorrowful thing that happened to him, getting arrested like that. No one can convince me he was guilty of piracy, or that he escaped the gaol.”

  “Did the militia tell Lady Sophie about me—about my going to Tortuga?”

  “I’m not rightly knowing that. The news came through a groom whose sweetheart is Lady Thaxton’s serving girl.”

  “Oh, I see well enough. The story of my running away to Tortuga makes sense if it came by way of Lavender.”

  “You mean you didn’t go on the Madeleine to Tortuga?”

  “On my father’s ship?” she asked, bewildered. “No, not since we returned nearly two months ago! But there are few who’d believe me, any more than they believe my father was innocent. Anyway, what happened since I arrived is worse, so I’ll not be making an issue of the tale where Lavender is concerned.”

  “‘Tis none of my business, Miss Emerald, but does anyone at Foxemoore know you’re here in town alone?”

  “The letter to Sir Cecil will explain everything.”

  His bronzed face softened, and he touched his cap. “I be sympathizin’. No need tellin’ you how to be careful till you hear from him. Is Zeddie with you now?”

  Her eyes filled with tears. “Zeddie is missing—and may be dead too.”

  “Why, how ca
n that be?”

  “It happened the night my father was killed.”

  He frowned. “Now, miss, that can’t be, seeing as how he was seen weeks ago boarding the Madeleine and going with the new sailing master to Tortuga.”

  “What!” Joy flooded her heart. “Zeddie is aboard the Madeleine?”

  “Aye, I’m sure of it. It was said you were aboard too—with its new captain, that buccaneer friend of your father.”

  She knew of no such buccaneer, nor did she care at the moment how he’d gotten control of her father’s ship. Zeddie was alive! And that meant he’d eventually be returning to Port Royal in search of her. Had he been led to believe she and Minette had been abducted to Tortuga, perhaps by smugglers serving Sir Jasper? She was sure he would have an explanation for leaving her forgotten in Brideswell. Only his own death or an outright lie would have lured him away from her side.

  “If Zeddie’s on Tortuga, he’ll soon be coming back with the rest of the buccaneers and pirates,” said Percy, nodding toward the militia and the Kings House. “It’ll be a fine gathering, I’m told, all vowing allegiance to the king and Henry Morgan.”

  She wondered what he meant. “The buccaneers are returning to Port Royal? What about Gallows Point?”

  “That’ll all be done away with, so I heard Lady Thaxton saying.”

  “Percy! Would you mind telling me what’s going on in King’s House to bring Lavender here? And what is the militia doing?”

  “You mean you don’t know? Why, it’s all over Port Royal. The earl’s grandson—Captain Buckington—is being commissioned by the king.”

  She stared at him, dumbfounded.

  “You mean arrested!” she corrected.

  “No, not arrested. Commissioned as the king’s agent.”

  Still she stared, completely bewildered.

  Percy laughed. “After him and that other buccaneer Farrow saved English Barbados from the Dutch, the earl’s grandson won’t likely be arrested. Hardly, miss!”

  Surely Percy had his facts in error, but before she could ask, Jette called, “Emerald, are you coming back with us in the carriage?”

  She looked at Jette, her mind in confusion.

  Percy placed the envelope inside his jerkin and nodded toward Kings House. “Captain Buckington and Lady Thaxton is coming now. She’ll be telling you all about his heroics, if you give her half a chance. I’m wondering what Lord Grayford will be saying about them. Heard her tell the viscount he was coming to the governor’s house with the rest of the buccaneers.”

  “I must go now, Percy. Don’t forget the letter to Sir Cecil.” She turned to leave, taking only a moment to grasp Jette’s extended hand. “I’ll talk with you later, Jette.”

  His olive-green eyes searched her face anxiously. “Where’ve you been, Emerald? When Grandfather sent the carriage to Uncle Karlton’s lookout, you were gone. Some say you ran away with a pirate.”

  Her heart squeezed with pain. Somehow the speculation hurt even worse coming from a child. Jette’s affection and respect meant a great deal to her.

  “I didn’t run away,” she assured him. “I wanted to come and help with your schooling. I’ve been here all along, but I can’t explain now.”

  “But why not? Baret will be glad to have you ride back with us.”

  The longing in his eyes tugged at her heart. “No, your brother wants to be alone with Cousin Lavender now.”

  “I don’t know why,” he mumbled crossly. “They don’t say much.”

  “I’ll talk to you again,” she said. “Just as soon as I meet with Sir Cecil.”

  “He’s coming to see you at Karlton’s old house?”

  “I hope so. Good-bye, Jette.”

  “But, Emerald—”

  Percy’s warning voice alerted her: “They’re coming, lass.”

  She must get away before Baret saw her! It would never do for him to think she was trying to use Jette as a wedge to come between him and Lavender. Not answering the boy’s childish protest of disappointment, she hurried away, crossing the street to the turtle crawl as though bent on shopping for supper.

  A minute later, with her back toward the square and the Buckington carriage, she glanced cautiously over her shoulder, her emotions unable to resist a fleeting look at Baret. Was he recovering?

  He did not look wounded, she thought, sizing him up, and decided his jacket still covered a bandage. He was handsomely dressed in green and black, a white ostrich feather in his wide-brimmed hat. He appeared to be on his best behavior for Lavender’s sake. Even so, there was no misinterpreting the spirit of the buccaneer about him. Well, she had lost him now.

  A dart of jealousy burned its way through her heart. He thinks the very worst of me, and I’m innocent. Whereas Lavender wears the betrothal ring of Lord Grayford! So what’s she doing being escorted about by the viscount? As if I didn’t know well enough her plans to get him back!

  She knew it was wrong, but a well of self-pity bubbled up in her heart. Her fingers clutched the front of her dress, ruined by the rain of the night before, and her eyes narrowed as she watched him being attentive to her cousin.

  Baret escorted Lavender by the arm as though she were a duchess entering a carriage to visit the king. Perhaps in future years they would be doing just that.

  Lavender was, as always, the image of sweetness and gentleness garbed like a fragrant spring blossom in frothy pink and white lace and frills. Her golden hair gleamed like a halo. She gazed up at him, a smile on her heart-shaped face.

  In a moment the goose will be in a swoon, Emerald thought.

  She watched how carefully he handed her into the carriage. Yet he had left Emerald alone at the hacienda to make her own way back to Port Royal on a borrowed horse in a squall. He hadn’t even cared! It was Erik Farrow who had returned to help her.

  Lavender’s no more a real lady than I, she thought bitterly. She fed her frustration by staring, trying to see Baret’s expression. Was he as mesmerized by Lavender as she was with him? But his cocky hunter-green hat was in the way.

  I hate her, she thought, her nails digging into her sweating palms. O God, forgive me. I don’t hate her, not really. I don’t want to feel this way, so full of jealousy and resentment—

  Scalding tears spilled down her cheeks, and she was helpless to stop them. Emerald, you’re a silly fool to feel so broken about this. You’re only hurting yourself.

  Baret turned her way, but she saw no smile on his face. Then Jette took hold of his arm and said something, pointing anxiously. He saw Emerald then, but if there’d been no smile on his face when he’d turned from Lavender, neither was there a hint of interest now upon seeing her at the turtle run. Emerald found the cool, restrained expression of a stranger more devastating than any outright scowl. It was as if he did not even recognize her. He entered the carriage and closed the door.

  Emerald walked briskly back to where she’d tied the horse.

  A moment later the Buckington carriage drove past her. She ventured a glance and saw Percy touch his hat in her direction. Jette was watching, bewildered, but the one who mattered most did not favor her with a glance. She swallowed hard as the carriage moved down the street and turned toward the town house on Queen Street.

  So then. It was over, once and for all. And Lavender had him back.

  Mercifully, her feelings had withdrawn into a shelter of self-preservation, and she felt numb. It had to end, she told herself. Buccaneer or not, he was a viscount. But did it have to end this way?

  I won’t think about it.

  She would wait for Sir Cecil and anticipate a plan by which she could gain Minette’s release. After that, she didn’t know. Her father owned shares in Foxemoore, and the bungalow would have been left to her, so the possibility of returning remained viable. But the strength to enforce her rights was lacking.

  There was some legal document her father insisted had come from the elder Earl Buckington, proving his right to the sugar shares. Now, if the document truly existed, those s
hares were hers. She would need to go to her father’s chamber in the bungalow and search through his trunk. Perhaps she could find it. She could not think of doing so now.

  At least there was the lookout house, she told herself. Humble though it was, it was a roof over her head, and she could count on the fact that it wasn’t worth the conniving of Lord Felix to snatch away. There was reward in the humble state of things after all. The ambitious usually left one alone among rats and cockroaches!

  She mounted the mare and rode to Fishers Row. She would need to have the horse returned soon lest she also be accused of being a horse thief as well as a murderess and a strumpet!

  How bitter she was beginning to sound. Please, Lord, do not let me become hard and cynical over the injustices of life. Keep my heart tender, my faith young and brave.

  She turned her thoughts away from negative things to her blessings. As much as she found fault with life in Port Royal, she could at least manage to live here on her own, especially if her beloved Zeddie returned. For the foreseeable future she felt more comfortable with just trying to make ends meet.

  Perhaps she could go into the turtle business. Who was to say that Emerald Harwick couldn’t develop the humility needed to sell turtles herself? A few times when younger, she had gone to Chocolata Hole with Great-uncle Mathias to buy turtles from Hob. She could catch her own and sell them on the better streets. That way she could avoid going inside the taverns, brothels, and gambling dens. She could make the rounds of the back doors of the gentry instead.

  When she arrived back at the lookout house, her weariness from lack of sleep and the long ordeal of the past weeks hit her all at once. Wearily she climbed down from her mount and led the mare safely to the back where there was shade and grass.

  “Oh, I know you’re spoiled and used to sweet hay, but we’re together in this for now. If I can sell turtles, you can eat sea grass.” She gave a few pats to the strong, glistening neck as the soft brown eyes looked at her. “Cheer up. I’ll send you home as soon as Zeddie can take you.”

  Emerald removed her hat and shook out her damp, dark tresses. The scorching sun beat down upon her as she walked around the narrow house to the front steps. The glitter of the bay jabbed painfully bright at her eyes. She climbed the stairs to the door, entered, and, too tired to worry whether some rogue had entered during her absence, went up the steps to the crow’s nest. She ducked through the small round door and, tossing her hat to the desk, fell across her father’s bed.