Wild Bells to the Wild Sky

by Laurie McBain

  "You and I will meet our deaths, Raymond, because we will be tried and convicted on very damning proof. Basil Whitelaw's journal."

  Sir Raymond Valchamps paled slightly. "Journal?"

  "Yes, the one he was taking notes in while visiting Santo Domingo. 'Tis obvious he saw us, or he would never have told the children that fable. He knew. He knew everything. Somehow he learned even more of our plans, or being the intelligent man he was, he guessed what we were about. He was far smarter than we, my friend. Whatever the case, he wrote down everything he saw while visiting Santo Domingo. Lord knows what else is in that damning journal of his. Basil Whitelaw was a very conscientious man, and he took his duties very seriously. I am certain, had I access to that journal, that I would discover both of our names inscribed neatly there."

  "I seem to recall you mentioning, after Valentine Whitelaw had rescued the brats, that there was a journal, but that it had been destroyed with Basil Whitelaw when he died."

  "Yes, I did."

  "So?"

  "So the girl lied."

  Sir Raymond Valchamps got slowly to his feet. "She lied? Lily Christian lied?"

  "Yes. The journal Basil Whitelaw kept of his travels and of his life on that island he was so cruelly abandoned on was not destroyed. Lily Christian solemnly promised Basil Whitelaw that she would hide his journal and keep its existence a secret. My God, the man was on his deathbed and all he could worry about was that journal. Makes one wonder what information could be so very important that Basil Whitelaw would be so concerned about its safety. Lily Christian kept her vow to him and hid the journal, and she never spoke of it to anyone. And now it is just waiting to be found and brought back to England. After so many years of believing ourselves safe, Raymond, the truth is about to be revealed. Basil Whitelaw has indeed had his revenge against us. As Geoffrey Christian has as well. He at least died quickly and with honor, while you and I have been hiding all of these years. Can you hear his laughter, Raymond?"

  "You seem very well informed. How do you know all of this?"

  "I've just come from Riverhurst, where yesterday evening I and several other privileged individuals--all trusted friends of Valentine Whitelaw--were privy to some rather startling information concerning you. All highly confidential, of course. Naturally, Valentine Whitelaw is at Whitehall this very minute informing Burghley of those suspicions you have been so contemptuous of. We were all properly shocked. No word will leak out concerning this, however, since Valentine Whitelaw wishes to catch the conspirators before they can escape the net he is spreading."

  Sir Raymond Valchamps sat brooding, thinking of all of them sitting there at Riverhurst listening to Valentine Whitelaw's damning words. He could see them all. Valentine Whitelaw, with his host and hostess, Sir William and Lady Elspeth, and their guests--Thomas Sandrick, George Hargraves, Sir Rodger Penmorley, Sir Charles Denning, and others, perhaps even Walter Raleigh, for he'd become very good friends with certain people of late.

  Sir Raymond sat back down. "Whitelaw will be sailing, won't he? He's going back to that island to find the journal. What are we going to do? There is no hope of keeping our identities secret now," he said, glancing toward the window as if he could already hear the sound of the queen's guard banging at his door. "We will have to flee. Damn, they are probably already watching my house. You took a chance coming here. Walsingham has spies all over London."

  "Valentine Whitelaw sails with the tide on the morrow. But you needn't worry, at least not yet," the man said.

  "Not worry? A fine reassurance coming from you. I'm surprised you spared the time to come and warn me. Or that you found the courage. I am a marked man, but you, you are still safe. At least," Sir Raymond added with a cruel twist to his mouth, "until I'm under torture. Then your name will come screaming from my lips."

  "I said I have taken care of the matter."

  "You?" Sir Raymond asked incredulously. "Well, I am reassured. What did you do, pray for us?"

  "No," the man said quietly, "I sent word to Don Pedro Villasandro."

  "My God! You what?"

  "This very morning, I wrote a letter to the Spanish ambassador, explaining the seriousness of the situation, without mentioning names, of course, and asked that he would forward my letter to Don Pedro," he explained.

  Sir Raymond stared at the man as if he were mad. "Don Pedro can sail into hell as far as I'm concerned, and I suspect he feels the same sentiments about us. Why on earth contact him? He's not even in England that I know. What good will it do to inform him? I'd do better trying to flee England aboard a fishing boat stinking of salmon. Of course, by the time Don Pedro arrives, he might be able to collect the various parts of my body after I've been drawn and quartered. Might be difficult getting my head down from Traitor's Gate, but I'm sure he'll manage. At least I might get a hero's burial on the Continent, having died for my beliefs. However, if that is your idea of escaping Elizabeth's wrath, then no thank you."

  "Have you forgotten that it was while aboard Don Pedro's ship that we sank Geoffrey Christian's ship? Don Pedro knows where the island is, Raymond. I've sent word to him that he must get there in time to stop Valentine Whitelaw. Oh, I do not believe that he would sail just because we are in danger, but I do know that he hates Valentine Whitelaw as much as we hated Geoffrey Christian. They are two of a kind, and our Spanish captain would not hesitate to get rid of this enemy of his the same way he did the last one. He will sail to that island, and he will sink the Madrigal. Don Pedro is very capable at setting traps for his enemies. He will sail. He will not be able to resist the challenge I have given him, nor the opportunity of surprising his enemy. Don Pedro is a man who likes to have the odds in his favor before he acts."

  "What if he fails?" Sir Raymond asked.

  "We must have faith that he will not fail."

  "That may satisfy you, but it hardly sets my mind at rest."

  "We can do nothing else. I am an Englishman. I could never live on the Continent in exile. My life is in England. I have never known as much happiness as I know now. And if I were to flee today out of fear that Don Pedro might fail, how could I possibly explain my absence? Whether Whitelaw returns or not, my life would be ruined. I can do nothing but await my fate. It is out of my hands now. I've had to act to protect us all. I do regret what may happen because of my actions, but I had no other choice."

  "On the Continent you would at least be alive. But I can see that you are determined to become that martyr. I, on the other hand, shall be preparing for my escape should Valentine Whitelaw return to England with that journal."

  "Oh, I am no martyr, Raymond. I have no wish to die. So let us both pray that Don Pedro does not fail. For he is the only one now who can save us. He is the only one who knows where the island is. A special messenger has already been sent to Madrid with my letter, and within the week, Don Pedro Villasandro will be sailing for the Indies."

  Sir Raymond Valchamps smiled. "And in the meantime I am going to settle the score with Lily Christian. Because of her, the life I've come to enjoy is finished. She owes me. I will see her dead before I leave England," Sir Raymond promised.

  "I do not think you need worry about Lily Christian. For now, at least, she has escaped us. She is sailing with Valentine Whitelaw."

  Sir Raymond stared at his friend in disbelief, then his shrill laughter filled the room.

  Come unto these yellow sands,

  And then take hands:

  Curtsied when you have, and kiss'd--

  The wild waves whist--

  Foot it featly here and there.

  SHAKESPEARE

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  FROM THE DECK of the Madrigal, the island seemed quiet, basking peacefully in the late afternoon sun. Fluffy white clouds drifted over the low hills of pine and palmetto that seemed little changed since last Lily had viewed them. The gleaming crescent of sand ringing the bay was untouched except for the foaming surf spreading across its smooth surface.

  The lone pine still stood
sentry at the tip of the rocky headland, and Lily wondered how many times she'd sat beneath its sheltering boughs and stared out to sea, hoping to spy the white flag bearing the red cross of St. George. Lily glanced upward, past the tall, swaying masts to see the flag fluttering in the gentle breeze that caressed the isle that had been her home, and where she had known such happiness and sadness.

  "O where have you been, my long, long love,

  This long seven years and more?"

  "O I'm come to seek my former vows

  Ye granted me before."

  Lily listened to the melodic voice that drifted from above. Shielding her eyes against the glare off the water, she continued to gaze upward, searching the masts for the balladeer. Through a maze of ropes she spied a sailor clinging to a ratline, the toes of his bare feet holding him firm on the rope rung while he worked at some task high in the topgallant shrouds.

  "I might have had a king's daughter,

  Far, far beyond the sea;

  I might have had a king's daughter,

  Had it not been for love o' thee."

  When the call of Land-ho! had been sounded by the lookout high atop the foremast, the deck, rigging, and yardarms had suddenly been swarming with hands as the ship had closed the land and they'd prepared to lower and furl the sails, paying out the cable to drop anchor just beyond the reefs.

  "I have seven ships upon the sea,

  The eighth brought me to land,

  With four-and-twenty bold mariners,

  And music on every hand."

  "Hand over hand, lads!"

  "Heave well and heartily!"

  "Avast ye, there!"

  She set her foot upon the ship,

  No mariners could she behold;

  But the sails were o' the taffetie,

  And the masts o' the beaten gold.

  They had not sailed a league, a league,

  A league but barely three,

  Until she spied his cloven foot,

  And she wept right bitterly.

  Lily's eyes searched the uneven line of the forest fringing the shore. A tall tree rose above all others. At its base, in the cool shade, were the greaves of her mother and Basil Whitelaw.

  "O what hills are yon, yon pleasant hills,

  That the sun shines sweetly on?"

  "O yon are the hills of heaven," he said,

  "Where you will never win."

  "O what a mountain is yon," she said,

  "All so dreary with frost and snow?"

  "O yon is the mountain of hell," he cried,

  "Where you and I will go."

  He struck the topmast with his hand,

  The foremast with his knee,

  And he broke that gallant ship in twain,

  And sank her in the sea.

  Lily looked away from the island to where Valentine Whitelaw stood on the upper deck, his gaze raking the isle and the bay. He turned to starboard, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully as he stared out to sea for a long moment. He seemed to sense her eyes upon him, for he suddenly glanced down to where she stood against the rail. His turquoise eyes were a dazzling reflection of the sea and sky, ablaze with the brilliancy of the sun, then, as if a shadow had crossed before it, he had turned away.

  "Lower handsomely, lads!" Valentine Whitelaw called out, following the progress of several seamen who were struggling to lower a sail. "Away aloft, Master Turner. Bear a hand there, that's a good lad!" he said as the young man responded quickly to his captain's command and climbed the mast without question.

  "I always wondered what this island looked like," Simon Whitelaw said, coming to stand beside Lily by the rail. "I've dreamt of it since hearing your stories, but I could never quite envision it. Now that I see it, I realize that I never came even close in my imagination."

  "I sometimes think it truly is a magical isle. It cast a spell over us when we first set foot ashore. It protected us from danger. It kept us well-supplied with food and water, and it gave us a happiness. And then, like most enchantments, it showed its cruel side. It took from us, perhaps because we broke the spell by letting strangers come ashore. Or maybe because we stole from the sea its bounty of flesh and gold," Lily said, remembering the bodies they'd pulled from the surf and the doubloons they'd hidden beyond its reach.

  Hearing the seriousness in her voice, Simon Whitelaw stared down at her, a curious expression on his thin face, which was bronzed from weeks at sea. "I think you really believe that."

  Lily glanced over to where the Turk stood watching the shore, a frowning expression on his dark face. "I do not think I am the only one who feels so strangely about this isle."

  "From my own memories of my father, and from what I have gathered from others, I cannot quite believe that my father would have felt that way," Simon declared, unwilling to believe in such fantastic lore. Next she would be asking him to believe in mermaids and winged horses. "He was a very practical man," he reminded Lily.

  Lily smiled, remembering Basil strutting along the sands, proud as a peacock in the feathered cape and headdress. And when she thought of the love that Basil and her mother had found together she knew that Basil had known of the enchantment.

  "I am curious, Lily," Simon said, trying to recapture her attention. "Would you really not have told Valentine where the cave was if he hadn't agreed to take you on this journey?"

  Lily eyed Simon speculatively for a moment. "What do you thing?"

  Simon grinned. "I think you put on a false bold front and dared Valentine to take the risk that you might be serious."

  "False?"

  "Yes. I know you too well, Lily. Valentine, however, must have had some doubts. You might be willful and stubborn, but you would never put your own desires before another's needs. You are far too conscientious to risk Elizabeth's life to satisfy a childish whim. You would have told him, wouldn't you?"

  Lily glanced around, gesturing for him to bend low so she could whisper in his ear. "Yes, but that is our secret," she made him promise, placing her finger against his lips to seal them.

  Simon caught her hand in his and shook an admonishing finger at her. "You dare what I would never have the courage to do. I could never have faced Valentine with that challenge, risking his anger and disapproval. He does not like to be defied. My knees would have buckled beneath me."

  "He is well used to giving orders, even to those he has no authority over," Lily remarked. "I fear he was captained this ship far to long. 'Tis about time someone sent a couple of shots across his swaggering bow."

  Simon laughed. "Lily, you are a far better adventurer than I."

  " 'Tis the challenge I like. And had he left me behind, Simon, I would have found the way to have gotten aboard before the Madrigal sailed," she added with a glint in her eye that had Simon believing her claim.

  "How?"

  "I would have masqueraded as the Madrigal's new cabin boy and gone aboard in Falmouth. Valentine might have thought to leave me at Ravindzara, or," she said with a grimace, "at Penmorley Hall under Honoria's hawkish eye. I would have raced the wind back to Falmouth and boarded before Valentine returned. I would already have been aboard, safely hidden behind a barrel of pickled herrings in the hold. Then, when well out of port, I would have surprised my captain with my true identity. I'm rather good at that," she said with a low laugh that had Simon laughing in response, although he did not understand the full meaning of her statement, for he'd never learned of the chance meeting between Valentine and "Francisca."

  "Damn, I wish I'd half the nerve, Lily. Valentine swears you are much like your father, and I suspect he is correct. I, on the other hand, am overly cautious by nature, like my father."

  "But you are too harsh on yourself, Simon. You confronted Hartwell Barclay and my accusers with great courage, then you came in search of us. And you are aboard the Madrigal, are you not? When at Riverhurst, I heard you speak most eloquently for the right to accompany us."

  "Well, how could they deny me when you were going? And you are, after all, ju
st a female," Simon said with an apologetic look, making light of his own attributes, as well as of his persuasive speech.

  But Lily remembered it, and, earlier, the angry confrontation she's had with Valentine Whitelaw while still at the in . . .

  When questioned, she had remained silent about the location of the cave where the treasure chest and the journal had been safely hidden all of these years. She refused to be intimidated and met Valentine Whitelaw's incredulous stare with a bold one of her own. And had the Madrigal received a broadside across her beam Valentine Whitelaw could not have been more surprised by the challenge.

  She told him that it was her right to return to the island and retrieve Basil's journal. Once before, when he had deceived her into coming out of hiding on the island, he had deprived her of the chance to bid farewell to her mother and Basil. He might not understand her feelings concerning that, but now was her opportunity to return to the island and she was not going to be cheated this time. After all, she and her family had been the victims of Sir Raymond's treachery. And there was a treasure to claim. With a chest full of golden doubloons, they would never have to fear Hartwell Barclay again, despite what Valentine had promised he'd do to the man for his abuse of them. Nor would they have to be beholden to Valentine Whitelaw either. If Valentine wanted to know the location of the cave, he would have to take her along. Besides, she added, even if she did tell him he most likely would not be able to fine it for he was unfamiliar with the island.

  Valentine Whitelaw remained silent, then he smiled that slow smile of his. "very well," he said. "Where is the journal?"

  He capitulated too easily, Lily thought.

  "I will go with you when you sail?" she asked.