Windsong

by Valerie Sherwood

  ‘Oh, yes. I was afraid to ask you about him when you arrived with a new man in tow.’

  ‘Lord Thomas jilted me,’ said Carolina calmly. ‘Perhaps it will comfort you to know that.’

  Virginia was looking at her round-eyed; her large dark blue eyes seemed like black spots in her pallid face. ‘I can’t believe it, Carol!’ she gasped.

  ‘Well, it’s true,’ asserted Carolina. ‘I loved him so much I thought I would die of it but’ - she shrugged - ‘as you can see, I got over it. And found a better man.’ She waited while that sunk in on Virginia. ‘And it’s obvious that Emmett really didn’t care for Penny or he’d make some effort to find her. And Mother - ’ She hesitated. Virginia looked up alertly. ‘What about Mother?’ Carolina took a deep breath. She would never tell Virginia this except in the hope of saving Virginia’s life. ‘We’re only half sisters, Virgie,’ she said quietly. ‘I am Sandy Randolph’s daughter.’

  Virginia took a deep breath and expelled it slowly. ‘So that’s why . . .’

  ‘That’s why Fielding hates me and Sandy usually avoids me. And why people look at me as they do - and mutter behind their fans. But you mustn’t let on that you know. Mother doesn’t even know that I know. I only told you so you’d see that Mother - as beautiful and as devastating as she is - has trouble where men are concerned. You don’t have a corner on that kind of trouble, Virgie!’

  With the words she silently proffered Virginia the bowl of soup. Virginia ignored it. She was looking almost in disbelief at her beautiful sister.

  ‘But - but you and Mother have had trouble with only one man,’ she pointed out at last. ‘And there was another right there to take his place. But with me’ - she gave a helpless shrug - ‘I used to dream at night that I’d end up like the heroines of the books I read: married - and happy. To someone who would love me madly. And now I know that no one is ever going to love me.’ Her face looked pinched and sad.

  Carolina ached for her. She fought back the feeling. ‘Virgie,’ she said sensibly, ‘there are hundreds of men in this world who could love you. All you have to do is meet them. Meantime, if you don’t eat this soup I’m going to overpower you and pour it down your throat!’

  To her astonishment, Virginia bent meekly to Carolina’s stronger will. She began feebly spooning up the soup. Carolina sat and watched her.

  It seemed to her as she watched that life was like a ride in a jolting coach. Virginia’s coach had lost a wheel and she wanted to get off - she wanted death to rescue her from life . . . Carolina shivered, thinking of Tortuga and the buccaneers, of men she had seen die. Death reached you soon enough without whipping the horses to make the coach go faster!

  ‘I really think you should have another bowl of soup,’ mused Carolina when Virginia had finished.

  From the bed Virginia shuddered. ‘I’d throw up!’

  Confronted by a situation she’d never met before and where no one seemed able to guide her, Carolina hesitated. ‘All right,’ she agreed at last. ‘But I want you to forget all this mooning about. I’ll be back in an hour with more nourishment. I’m determined to take you to England with me and you can’t go unless you build up your strength! Did I tell you,’ she added soberly, ‘that Essex is just bursting with eligible men?’ It might not be quite true but it was important for Virginia to think so. She had to have something to hold on to, to look forward to! ‘You’re sure to find someone you like,’ she added firmly.

  ‘Oh, I’ve had no trouble finding those I like,’ said Virginia bitterly. ‘It’s just that they didn’t care for me!'

  ‘You’ll find someone who likes you in Essex,’ Carolina promised solemnly. ‘Remember, I’ve seen them for myself!’

  Virginia gave her a derisive look but there was a little colour in her cheeks now, Carolina noted.

  ‘Besides, we’re all invited to a ball at Fairfield a fortnight from now,’ Carolina told Virginia, hoping it sounded enticing. ‘You must get up your strength if you’re going dancing!’

  ‘Mother will think I shouldn’t go,’ Virginia said with a sigh. ‘Too tiring. She said that the last time we were invited to a ball. And so of course I didn’t go.’

  Too tiring? Or did proud Letitia want to keep the world from seeing what her jilted daughter looked like? Was she putting off Virginia’s re-entry into the world until she looked more able to face it? But that might never be!

  ‘Nonsense, of course you’ll go!’ Carolina felt her indignation rising. How could her family let Virginia slip away from them like this? How could she herself have been so fatalistic a short time before, with Rye? Virginia had had several tragic experiences but this was not the end for her - she, Carolina, wouldn’t let it be!

  ‘All right, I’ll go.’ Virginia sighed, as if she wasn’t up to arguing. ‘If I’m up to it.’

  And when Carolina, true to her promise, came back upstairs an hour later wearing a grim expression and carrying a silver porringer containing hot gruel and a glass of milk, Virginia sat up and ate almost half of it and drank all the milk.

  ‘You’ll have your hands full keeping the girls at the ball from flirting with Rye!’ she told Carolina with a flash of her old self.

  ‘They can flirt all they choose.’ Carolina laughed, happy that Virginia had not had to be coaxed to drink the milk.

  ‘Yes, but suppose he flirts back?’

  That was a possibility Carolina had not considered. On Tortuga she had had no cause to be jealous of the flaunting bawds who swarmed the waterfront - women whom Rye had largely ignored. And he had, she remembered, shown no interest other than friendship in Katje, his handsome young housekeeper, although she had never been sure how Katje felt about him.

  ‘He won’t flirt with them,’ she said confidently.

  ‘Want to make a small wager?’ Virginia said with a chuckle from the bed.

  ‘Food has given you a wicked tongue!’ chided Carolina, delighted to find a spark of life left in her sister. ‘Get some sleep and digest that gruel - I’ll be back with more for dinner and then a late snack - and you are going to eat it, Virgie, make up your mind to it!‘

  ‘You sound like Mother,’ murmured Virginia. She executed a mock salute. ‘Yes, Colonel! Your troops will obey!’

  Carolina smiled at her but she thought she had best not stay lest she wear Virginia out. For leaning back against the pillows, Virginia had begun to look tired and pale again.

  She closed Virginia’s door softly behind her and met Rye as she started downstairs.

  ‘Where were you?’ he asked. ‘I’ve been looking for you.’

  ‘I have decided to bring Virgie back from the dead,’ announced Carolina in a vigorous voice. ‘She’s been starving herself because some fortune hunter jilted her. Pining away because she thinks no one loves her! And everybody’s been letting her go downhill! Well, I won’t! I’m going to move a cot into her room and make sure she eats almost hourly!’

  Rye gave her a fond look. ‘Ever intemperate!’ he murmured. ‘But I love my headlong wench.’ He pulled her to him for a long kiss, savouring the sweet touch of her lips, the flutter of her breast as his hands roved down her back.

  ‘Rye - we’re on the stairs,’ she protested breathlessly. ‘Anybody who comes into the hall below can see us!’

  ‘Let them!’ he said hoarsely. ‘I must take what crumbs I can from your table, now that I’ve been moved next door to your mother.’

  Laughing, Carolina tried to pull away. ‘Oh, there’s another advantage to moving in with Virgie that I haven’t told you. Her room is closer to yours and her door never squeaks like mine does! And Virgie’s very discreet - she knows I spent last night with you but she’ll never tell!’

  ‘Minx!’ He laughed, but he let her pull away from him and followed her down the stairs.

  4

  Carolina went down the wide stairway to discover that Ralph Wormeley had been persuaded to stay to luncheon. Ralph was good company and the conversation was spirited as they all sat down to a hearty meal of stea
ming pumpkin soup, fat Chesapeake Bay oysters, sturgeon and wild rice and Sally Lunn bread and hominy pudding.

  ‘Had we known you were coming, sir, we would have prepared a great tart,’ said Letitia, who got on famously with broadminded Ralph Wormeley. She had changed into an amethyst taffeta gown for lunch, and the ruffles at her elbows rustled faintly as she talked. ‘As it is, you have got an impromptu meal set before you!’

  ‘Ah, but who could fault this Damson trifle?’ he cried merrily as a smiling serving girl in a white apron brought in a handsome dessert of spongecake soaked in brandy and loaded with Damson plum jam topped with custard and swirls of vanilla-flavoured whipped cream. ‘Or this wondrous dark fruitcake? Impromptu indeed! Mistress Lightfoot, I marvel at your culinary wizardry!’

  ‘Rye cannot hope for food like this in Essex - when we are established there,’ sighed Carolina.

  ‘Perhaps Carolina’s mother can be persuaded to visit us there and impart her culinary skill,’ said Rye gallantly.

  Letitia laughed but Carolina, watching her, knew she was pleased for in the Tidewater her mother had never been considered much of a housewife - a mirror of fashion, yes, a sparking wit, yes, and a good manager - perhaps a better manager than the agent Fielding employed. But a housewife - no.

  ‘My mother is a woman of many talents,’ Carolina said, leaning towards Ralph Wormeley. ‘Just now she is showing me how a big wedding should be managed.’

  ‘And a beautiful bride you will be,’ he told her warmly, his approving gaze encompassing her slate-blue broadcloth gown so heavily trimmed in black braid.

  When lunch was over Carolina promptly excused herself to see if she could not get at least some pumpkin soup and nourishing oysters into Virginia. But she found her asleep. Lying there in the big bed, Virginia looked so tired, with blue circles from sleeplessness under her eyes, that Carolina could not bear to wake her. Instead she set the food down. Virginia would find it when she waked - and perhaps eat a few bites.

  Carolina stood silently contemplating her sister. In the warm room with its roaring fire Virginia had thrown back the green and white coverlet. Curled up childishly, her too-thin form looked young and very vulnerable.

  Virginia never quite grew up, divined Carolina, looking down at her sister tenderly. She fell in love, she ran away, she married, she conceived a child, she lost her husband and then her lover - and yet her viewpoint is still that of a child. I used to think she was shallow but it isn’t that. She has never really accepted responsibility for her own life. And now, childishly, she is going to strike back at life for disappointing her - by leaving it.

  Lest Virginia grow cold when the fire burned lower, Carolina gently pulled up the coverlet.

  Virginia needed help. But how to help her? Virginia was a romantic. She yearned to have some gallant swooning at her feet for love of her.

  Carolina had known someone else who had yearned for something - and had tried to achieve it. Auburn haired Reba Tarbell, her roommate at Mistress Chesterton’s School for Young Ladies in London, had yearned to be a marchioness - and lost her virginity in a wild attempt to reach her goal. And Reba too had been left by the wayside.

  Carolina’s head went up. She didn’t know exactly how she was going to accomplish it but Virginia wasn’t going to be left by the wayside! Not if she had anything to say about it!

  Quietly Carolina stole out, closing the door behind her.

  As she was returning downstairs, through a window she glimpsed a yellow barge coming upriver. Yellow . . . Sandy Randolph had a yellow barge. Guessing that he might have come to discuss Rye’s pardon for buccaneering, she hurried downstairs and made a dimpling entrance into the drawing room where they all sat on comfortably overstuffed furniture and sipped after-dinner wine.

  ‘I have come to borrow this gentleman from your company,’ she told them, smiling as she indicated Rye. ‘For he has not yet seen the rose garden Mother planted and I would have him see how nicely it is laid out before the snow comes in earnest.’ She cast a significant look out at the greyness of the sky above trees still dusted with yesterday’s fall.

  ‘We must hurry,’ she told Rye when they reached the hall. ‘I thought I saw Sandy Randolph’s barge coming upriver and we’ll want a private word with him before he reaches the house - we might not get a good chance later.’

  ‘Perhaps he won’t be stopping,’ suggested Rye as he helped her on with her tall pattens and adjusted her red velvet cloak about her shoulders. ‘Perhaps he’s going on.’

  ‘Oh, of course he’ll stop! I know what you’re thinking but there’s never been any open break. And remember, Sandy’s a cousin.’

  Rye shrugged and took her out the front door, apparently to tread the winter-bleak paths of the rose garden her mother had so meticulously laid out. Their walk took them past the windows where her parents sat entertaining Ralph Wormeley. As the yellow barge tied up at the wharf below, they left the fashionable geometrical pattern of mounded roses and boxwood to hurry down the slippery lawn half glazed with ice. Carolina had her slate-blue skirt tucked up, and her white chemise ruffles fluttered around her flying legs. With her scarlet cloak blowing, she made an attractive vision of red, white and blue that the men from the barge noted appreciatively.

  Twice she slipped but both times Rye’s strong arm beneath her elbow held her footing for her as, taking long strides, he dug his booted heels into the slippery surface. I wonder if he has ever fought on an icy deck in the sleet, she thought suddenly, and decided that he had not. His battles had been fought beneath the blazing tropical sun of the Caribbean or in the soft dangerous darkness of the Spanish Main with the trade winds blowing death towards him.

  ‘I marvel that you can keep your footing on this stuff!’ she gasped.

  ‘One learns - in Essex,’ he told her laconically, and she flashed him a smile for his words had reminded her that when he was growing up he might have tramped through a bit more snow than she!

  They had not reached the pier before Sandy Randolph, a handsome figure in orange tawny and a gold-trimmed cloak, and sporting a silver-headed cane, was hurrying across the pier towards them.

  ‘What news?’ asked Rye curtly for he detected a certain tension in their visitor that even the brilliant smile Sandy gave his daughter could not hide.

  ‘The governor is gone to Barbados and will not be returning to Williamsburg for some time,’ Sandy told them. He was not wearing a hat against the weather and his hair, even on that grey day, seemed to have a glow - a perfect match for Carolina’s own misty blonde locks. ‘We already knew that,’ said Rye.

  ‘But Mother says he is expected any day!’ protested Carolina.

  Sandy shook his head. ‘Word arrived this morning that the governor’s mother has been taken ill. No one knows the seriousness of her condition but it is plain that he will be detained on Barbados for some time. And that,’ he added bluntly, ‘holds up everything, for I do not trust the lieutenant governor.’

  Rye looked thoughtful, but Carolina cried, ‘Why not?’

  ‘He is deep in debt,’ explained Sandy with a frown. ‘Hard pressed by his creditors.’

  The full meaning of that crashed in on her and her face whitened. He was telling her that Rye - pounced on in the night and spirited away - could be sold to Spain for forty thousand pieces of eight!

  ‘But - but surely he would not - ?’ she gasped.

  ‘No, I do not think he would,’ said Sandy, seeing how his words had upset her. ‘But when a man’s back is to the wall, it is best not to dangle salvation before his nose and expect him to ignore it!’

  ‘Well, no one here knows Rye is a buccaneer,’ said Carolina quickly. ‘I think Mother and Virginia have guessed but they would never tell.’

  ‘No,’ said Sandy quietly. ‘Letitia would never tell.’ Somehow his confidence in her mother buoyed her up. ‘It must not appear that you came here to see Rye,’ she cautioned Sandy as they strolled back to the house over the crisp slippery ground. ‘I mean’ - she bl
ushed - ‘I had to tell Mother that we all returned from England on the same ship but it must not seem that we are - conspiring,’ she finished unhappily. She was worrying about the effect on Fielding, and Sandy guessed her thoughts.

  ‘Oh, I have a good reason for stopping here,’ he told her grimly, looking up at the massive expanse of Level Green stretching out before him - a baronial expanse. Fielding Lightfoot’s American barony. He turned to Rye. ‘Tis indeed a good thing you did not come prancing in announcing yourself to be Captain Kells, here to claim the king’s pardon - for Fielding Lightfoot is a close friend of the lieutenant governor and might have seen nothing amiss in mentioned your true identity to him!’

  Rye shot him a look. Fielding Lightfoot was also deep in debt and desperate for money.

  Carolina did not catch the inference. Telling herself there could be no danger so long as Rye’s true identity was not known, she had recovered her aplomb. ‘But since no one knows Rye is also Kells, we can all go where we like,’ she said lightly. ‘Including the ball at Fairfield to which you will doubtless be invited!’

  The two men exchanged glances above her head.

  ‘You might be asking too much, Carolina,’ said Sandy bluntly. ‘Many a trader comes to these shores who has also visited Tortuga.’

  ‘I will take Carolina to the ball,’ said Rye, ‘since she desires to go.’

  ‘Let us hope your men anchored outside Yorktown do not drink too much or wench too much and as a result talk too much,’ muttered Sandy.

  ‘They will not,’ Rye assured him grimly. ‘They have as much to lose as I have.’

  Their lives, thought Carolina with a sinking feeling. ‘Perhaps we should make some excuse and not attend the ball,’ she said in a troubled voice.

  ‘No, I am taking you to the ball,’ Rye said flatly.

  She skidded along between the two men, telling herself that anyone could surely seek a pardon for past deeds now that there was a general amnesty declared to all who sought it. Or could they? Must one give one’s self up in order to be pardoned? She did not know.