The Last Broken Promise

by Grace Walton

  The Duke of MacAllister looked pointedly over at McLeod. The man stiffened and frowned under his regard.

  Finn didn’t like the idea of Jess belonging to someone else. Another man might not be gentle with her. Another man might cause her undue pain from his lack of generosity and faithfulness. Another man would surely love her as he himself loved her. That thought was the most gutting of them all.

  But he knew her brother was right. Jess was made to be someone’s adored wife. Someone’s kind and loving mother. He just cursed the circumstances that eliminated him from her circle of admirers. If the situation had been different, he would have wooed and won her as an honorable man. But all hopes of that desired outcome were dashed the instant he’d entreated the Almighty to save her, no matter the cost to himself. And he had no regrets on that score. For even if they could not be together as man and wife, he’d always know she lived, safe and secure in some small corner of the world. It was enough.

  “The storm’s increasing again. We need to get everyone off your ship, Griffin,” Finn was suddenly all cold business.

  “Aye, you’ve the right of it,” the other man answered.

  With little effort, her brothers and the only man she’d ever love all turned from her. They began the monumental task of transferring every soul from one vessel to the other. Jess was left to her own devices. She decided to go below and prepare the cabin for her aunt, and those of her brother’s crew who would need medical aid. A little solitude would be healing for Jess. She wanted to pray. She wanted to petition the Lord to change this fate that seemed to smother her. She wanted to weep in private. For it was truly no one else’s concern that her heart was breaking.

  Chapter 12

  “Charleston harbor!” yelled the boy high in the crow’s nest atop the mast.

  It was good they’d finally managed to limp into port. The last few days had been harrowing. At least they had been for Jess and Dorcas. All the men had shown a rare united front in banning the ladies from the decks. The storm was too dangerous, they’d said. And it was. Jess could easily agree with their assessment of the weather conditions. The ship was too crowded for the women to be anywhere other than safely tucked, like so much treasured cargo, in Finn’s spacious cabin. The young woman knew this to be true, as well. She had no desire to run into the midst of any of the competing crews. Especially since Saul told them some of the sailors were stubborn in their misplaced loyalty to their former first mate, Hellwise Smithe. According to the old man, there had been several attempts to release the dishonored ship’s officer from his makeshift confinement in the hold.

  Jess shuddered when she remembered her close call with the madman. She touched the healing raw wound at her throat. Her voice was still hoarse from the combined effects of her near drowning and being abused by Smithe. She took some comfort in knowing her brothers would summon the watch to the ship’s berth almost as soon as they’d tied the ship to Charleston’s docks. Smithe would face a judge and jury for what he’d tried to do. Treason and mutiny upon the high seas were both hanging offenses. She’d been amazed and grieved when Finn had told of her the extent of his brother’s perfidy.

  So Jess was relieved when news of their approach to the premier southern port city was relayed to her by Saul. She and Dorcas set about packing their trunks. Charleston was not Dylan’s home. But it was very near the Savannah home of his wife Rory. She owned a plantation on a sea island off the Georgia coast, along with her older brother. And they shared a shipping company, as well. They were considered odd in that they employed instead of owned their workers. Jess always wondered if that fact influenced Dylan’s regard for her when he came to Savannah. The St. Johns also courted local scandal in Virginia for their adamant refusal to own human beings.

  “Take a few minutes to get yourself tidy, Jess,” instructed Aunt Dorcas.

  The older woman bustled about the cabin. In one hand she held a dripping wash cloth, in the other a bar of fine French soap. She lifted up both to the girl standing staring out the tiny porthole. “If you’ll just take one second to right yourself, I’m sure you’ll make a much more advantageous impression upon the good folk of Charleston.”

  Aunt Dorcas was about as subtle as a broadside blast. Since Jess’s impending trip to London and marriage to McLeod seemed doomed, the old biddy had focused all her attention upon the rich planters of the Low Country. Even she would not see her niece leg-shackled to an itinerant circuit rider. No matter how rarified his antecedents were.

  And sadly, in the matron’s opinion, Finn McLeod was pursuing that career path with the fierceness he’d formally used to hunt and track down miscreants for Arthur Bassett. The man was nothing if not relentless, she’d give him that. But, even though she was a dedicated Christian herself, she still mourned what she saw as the loss of an acutely eligible marital catch for her dear niece. The kinsman of a powerful duke was not the same as a penniless and homeless cleric with no prospects.

  Jess smiled over at her aunt. She took the warm, wet cloth and did as the woman requested. It wasn’t that she felt the need to primp in order to snare some hapless rice planter’s son. No, Jess just wanted to get this whole wretched episode over with. She’d be glad to sit in a few over-flounced parlors and sip tepid tea. She’d be willing to smile mindlessly as some pimpled scion of a rich family awkwardly tried to court her. She’d even acquiesce to being trussed up like a holiday goose and paraded before the gentry like a prized auction filly. None of it would matter. For she’d made her mind up never to marry. She knew now she couldn’t be a nun. Differences in religious, notwithstanding, she had no desire for such a constrained life. But she could still do a lot of good in this world. She could become a favorite spinster aunt. She could work in Rory’s orphanage. And she most certainly could warn other young women of the downfalls of losing one’s heart to a Bible-carrying, verse-spouting rogue who felt he had a higher calling.

  Oh, she couldn’t argue with him about his vow being sacred. And she’d never try to sway anyone into spiritual disobedience. But she had questioned God, on several occasions during the last few hellish days, as to the rightness of His plan. She’d wept. She’d fasted. Until Dorcas realized she wasn’t eating and forced her to resume taking meals. Jess had even laid a fleece before the Lord. In that particular faith effort, the girl prayed all night in the hopes that God would change her circumstances. She’d told the Almighty she’d know He was going to come through for her, if they over-sailed Charleston altogether and landed instead in Savannah.

  The boy’s excited shout from the crow’s nest dashed the last of her romantic hopes. So, now she must summon her strength. Stiffen her resolve. And get on with the rest of her life. It wasn’t the first time she’d been compelled to such measures. And she supposed, with a deep gusty sigh, that it would not be the last.

  “What’s wrong with you, girl?” Dorcas asked with no small amount of suspicion in her voice. “You’re not planning some new mischief, are you?”

  “No, Aunt Dorcas,” Jess answered dutifully and truthfully.

  The old lady nodded. She grinned. A gesture that seemed to be, at least to Jess, entirely inappropriate.

  “Wear the indigo paisley, dear. It deepens the hue of your eyes. A wise woman is always prepared. One never knows when one will step down from a carriage or into a crowded ballroom and meet one’s destiny.”

  At the moment, Jess had no use for either. She just wanted to get as far away from Finn McLeod as was humanly possible, in the shortest amount of time. Thankfully, she’d not had to face the man since she’d practically begged him to marry her on the deck of his ship, in the middle of a hurricane, with scores of men watching her humiliation. She could quite nicely live the rest of her life without experiencing that sort of rejection again. And she planned to do that very thing. No man would ever be allowed to get close to her again. She’d never, never let herself be vulnerable in such a way.

  But she didn’t articulate this opinion to her broody hen of a relative. No
, Jess just concentrated on changing her gown, braiding her hair, and pulling on her cream-colored gloves. A cunning straw bonnet was placed on her head as if it was the king’s own anointed crown, by Dorcas.

  “Let us make our way up,” Dorcas said with a great deal of maternal satisfaction.

  But all her happiness was short-lived. Both women turned in alarm as they heard the pounding of many feet running through the narrow corridor outside their bolted door. Then a cacophony of rough shouting and cursing followed soon afterward. Several long, tense minutes followed. Both women stilled, like a deer when it catches the scent of a hunter. The pandemonium continued unabated. The repeated sounds of fists striking flesh were especially brutal. Then it grew calm. Like the sea directly before the storm commences.

  Dorcas gasped in terror as the iron latch on the cabin’s door rattled with menace. Jess calmly drew a small jewel of a pistol from the brocade reticule dangling by silken strings from her wrist.

  She quickly discovered it was difficult to pray while aiming a firearm. But somehow she managed. She was fully prepared to defend both her aunt and herself. So it was a great relief when she heard Saul calling to them from behind the solid oak door.

  “Miss Jess? Miss Dorcas?” his voice quavered. He sounded odd.

  Jess tucked the pistol back into her reticule and went to the door as fast as she could. She jerked the thing open to reveal a bloody and beaten Saul. The girl grabbed his sleeve and hauled him into the sanctuary of the cabin. She slammed the door behind the wounded man and quickly settled the latch.

  “What’s going on out there?” Jess asked as she ushered Saul to the bed. She carefully helped him lower himself to the counterpane. She reached out a hand to Dorcas for the wash cloth still sitting in the basin of water.

  Dorcas immediately fetched the scrap of fabric for her niece. As the girl began to dab at the blood trickling down the sailor’s face, he began to speak, “It was Smithe. Somehow he rallied the men against Captain McLeod. A few jumped to the dock before we’d even tied off. Before I knew what was happening, they were back with the watch saying they’d captured a pirate. Seems they knew of a bounty being offered for Captain McLeod. That cursed Smithe must have lied to them with promises of gold in exchange for their loyalty. There’s only me and the cook left. The rest either scattered into the wind or were pressed to the gaol by the watch.”

  “What of my brothers?”

  “They were arrested along with the captain, ma’am.”

  “These vulgar provincials had the temerity to arrest a duke?” Dorcas asked aghast.

  Saul looked over at her. He shook his head. “None of your men-folks told who they were. When I tried to speak up, I got cuffed for my trouble.”

  “Get down to the street and find out where the gaol is located,” Jess ordered. She threw off the confection of silk flowers and straw that perched atop her curls.

  “You’re going to bail them out?” Dorcas began to fan herself. “If you do such a reckless thing, Jess, what little is left of your reputation will surely be destroyed.”

  “If I don’t, they’ll hang him.” The blonde girl ripped at her gloves. Once they were off, she threw them to the floor. She turned to address the man. “I need britches and a shirt.”

  “Br... britches?!” shrieked her aunt. “You will make yourself into a social pariah. The Quality will turn their backs on you when you pass them in the streets!”

  “Aunt Dorcas, I’ll need horses, lots of them.” The girl threw open the lid of her trunk and feverishly fished around inside. With a yelp of triumph she lifted the small leather sack of coin Mother Marguerite Marie had given her. “Take this and buy mounts. Have them sent to the Cotton Exchange. I’ll meet you back here as soon as I can.”

  “What? No!” the old woman cried.

  “It’s a good plan, ma’am.” Saul nodded. “The men can ride for Savannah and we’ll sail the ship after them. No one will think about an overland escape. The watch’ll come back here thinking the ship is your menfolks’ likely way of running. But how will you get into the gaol?” he asked the girl.

  “No, wait, this is not a good plan. What are you two thinking? This is madness!” Dorcas caterwauled.

  “We’re thinking to save your kin, ma’am. And Captain McLeod, as well. Or are you content with having their murders on your head?” the man said succinctly.

  “M… murders?” she answered weakly.

  “Aye, they’ll all swing on the trumped-up charges Hellwise Smithe has crowed. They’ll hang and he’ll get this ship as a bounty.”

  “But they haven’t done anything wrong,” she argued.

  “Neither did Christ, but innocence certainly didn’t help him much when the crowd went wild with blood lust, now did it, ma’am?”

  “Sacrilege,” she hissed. “You would compare mortals to God?”

  “No, ma’am, I’m just saying we don’t have time to debate faith and reason right now. We need to get our men free.”

  “He’s right, Aunt Dorcas,” Jess said as she kicked off her dainty, dyed India slippers. “Saul, go fetch the britches.”

  Before he left, he repeated his last question to her, “How are you going to get into the gaol?”

  “A holy sister is going to pray with those poor condemned men before they meet their maker,” she answered with a wide grin.

  “No,” moaned her aunt. “You can’t impersonate a nun.”

  Jess dug into the trunk again and pulled out her threadbare, rusty-black habit. “I can. I will.”

  “But… but…”

  “Saul, take my aunt to the street. Secure her a conveyance to the nearest hostelry. Aunt Dorcas, get as many mounts as possible. Have them sent to the Cotton Exchange. I’ll meet you both back here as quickly as I can. Saul, can you get us together enough men to sail for Savannah?”

  “Aye, Miss St. John,” he said. “They may be a motley lot, but there’s always sailors prowling the docks looking for a berth.”

  “Then have the ship ready to set sail when I get back. Aunt Dorcas, do you want to sail with us, or wait here? I warn you, I believe once I free the men, they’ll head into the wilderness. You’ll be here alone until I can send the ship back for you.”

  “I’ll go with you,” the old woman muttered. She didn’t like any of what they were set upon doing. The risks were immeasurable. But chances must be taken, if they were to save their menfolk. “I’ll get back to the ship quickly, as well.”

  “Good. I’ll pray for you both,” Jess said as she ushered them out of the cabin.

  Once the space was still and quiet, Jess sought God’s blessing, “Lord, help us do what we must. Please save all from violence and harm. Please let justice reign this day. Amen”

  Twilight- The Charleston Gaol

  “I done told you, Sister,” the dirty man huffed. He scratched at the straining dirty shirt that barely managed to conceal his massive belly. “I done told you. You can’t go in there to pray with the prisoners.”

  Jess kept her face lowered. The tattered wimple hid her features well. “But it is only an act of Christian kindness to let the poor men pray. All of Charleston knows of their grievous misdeeds. They shouldn’t be forced to enter eternity without the chance to confess their sins.”

  The man thought on her logic for a moment. He dragged his hand through his greasy hair. He sorely wished his superiors were here. But they weren’t. None of them. They were all either safe at home in their warm beds or they were at a tavern.

  “Think, sir,” she said with a low tantalizing voice. “Think how well you will be lauded for the saving of these men’s black souls. Why, I’m sure you’ll be promoted to a better, more impressive post. Why, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if you were made warden.”

  He thought on that. It was a fine idea. He would make a good warden. And the increase in his pittance of a salary would most certainly please his slattern of a wife. He rubbed his oily nose. At length he nodded.

  “I can let you back there for only
a few minutes. They’ll need to git all their confessin’ done quick,” he warned as he opened the squeaky door further to allow her inside.

  Jess’s nose twisted at the sour, rancid smell of the place. But she smiled up at the behemoth who’d just been tricked into allowing her in. “Oh, I’m sure I can lead them to the way of redemption in that amount of time. Bless you, sir. Your reward in Heaven shall be great.”

  “I ain’t worried about Heaven. I’m looking for my reward in the here and now,” he grumbled as he ushered her deep into the dark stinking hall that led to the prisoner pens.

  Charleston’s gaol was not an elaborate affair. In fact, Jess had seen better accommodations tendered to livestock. The gaol itself was a mere shack. Once through its dank interior, Jess realized she was being led out into the mire of an open, fenced stockade. Nothing separated the prisoners. Some of whom were presently engaged in fighting and other low violence.

  The muck of the makeshift courtyard sucked at the soles of the sturdy boy’s boots she wore under her habit. The voluminous thing also hid the breeches and boy’s shirt she wore, as well. She’d need to move fast to get back to the ship, once she set this rescue in motion. She planned to lose the voluminous skirts and make her escape disguised as a boy.

  She didn’t recognize any of the men milling about in the pigsty that passed for a municipal gaol. They banded together in twos and threes. Some looked to be dicing in the mud. Others seemingly smoked tattered rags. She knew them to be rough cuts of field tobacco, rolled into facsimiles of cigarillos. Jess quickly turned her head aside when she realized harlots had somehow gained entry to the prison yard. They were doing a brisk business against a far wall. She shuddered over the filth, and utter evilness of this place.

  “What are you doing here, Sister St. John?” Finn McLeod, Lord Maitland, stood a few feet away eyeing her.