Windsong

by Valerie Sherwood

  But Aunt Pet was too worked up to worry about the proprieties. ‘I have been attacked by pirates!’ she cried, aggrieved. ‘Coming back from Philadelphia our ship was set upon and sunk and we were all cast adrift in small boats. It was that terrible Captain Kells who did it!’

  There were exclamations of dismay but they were overridden by the deep voice of the bridegroom.

  ‘You were not set upon by Kells,’ he said with flat finality. ‘I am Kells.’

  In the stunned silence that followed that revelation. Aunt Pet fell back a step. Then she peered forward, staring at the tall man who stood - from her direction - with his back to the light, almost in silhouette.

  ‘If this man is Kells,’ she gasped, ‘what is he doing here, Letty?’

  ‘He is the bridegroom, Petula.’ So far Letitia had managed to keep her composure save for a tightening around her mouth and an ominous gleam in her dark blue eyes. ‘And you must be mistaken in saying that he - ’

  ‘The bridegroom!’ bleated Aunt Pet, her voice rising upscale in incredulity with every word. Her stained travelling skirts fairly quivered. ‘You would allow your daughter to marry this - this corsair who attacks English ships?’

  Rye’s voice rang out, cutting into her tirade.

  ‘I have never attacked an English ship, madam. Buccaneer I have been, but I have attacked no ships save those of Spain.’

  ‘You attacked the Ophelia, that poor little coastwise vessel that was carrying me here - and you sank her!’ cried Aunt Pet scornfully. ‘Indeed, ’tis your fault’ - she pointed an accusing finger at Rye, who was regarding her in amazement - ‘that I have nearly missed Carolina’s wedding!’ In her overwrought state, the incongruity of being aggrieved at that last did not occur to her. She spread out her plump hands and turned dramatically to the assemblage who, like the bride standing frozen at the head of the stairs, were hanging on to her words. ‘I tell you this man’s ship attacked us at dusk, his men swarmed aboard and herded our crew and passengers into open boats! They tossed us some ship’s biscuits and water casks and laughed and said that these were compliments of Captain Kells!’

  There was a growl from Rye at that point and Aunt Pet threw him a burning look. ‘We looked back as we rowed away and we saw the Ophelia burning and the grey shape of the Sea Wolf pulling away from her! Four days I have been in an open boat gnawing stale biscuits and drinking foul water! Had the weather been worse we would never have made the coast at all - we would all have been killed!’ There was a rising mutter among the crowd and dark glances were cast at the bridegroom.

  ‘Ask him - ask him where he has been! For I can tell you he can’t have been here!'

  ‘He has been on Barbados, Petula!’ cried Letitia. ‘Oh, can’t you be silent? You are ruining the wedding!’

  ‘I have been in Bermuda seeking a king’s pardon from the governor there,’ Rye corrected her, stepping forward - which brought him a little nearer to the door as he confronted his accuser. ‘Which I have now secured.’ His face was dark with anger.

  ‘Ha!’ cried Aunt Pet, no whit convinced. ‘And anyway, Letty’ - she swung upon Letitia - ‘this man cannot marry Carolina. He already has a wife - I heard them say so!’

  ‘I had a wife!’ roared Rye, and from the top of the stairs Carolina felt her world blow apart. ‘But she is dead in Spain.’

  Midway down the stairs Virginia crumpled into a dead faint. And Carolina felt as if a cold wind had passed over her breast, for Rye had told her there had been a woman once - he had never said she had been his wife.

  ‘What?’ screamed Letitia, losing her calm at last. ‘You had a wife, you say? How do we know she is dead? How did she die?’ For it was well known in the Colonies that many a man who landed upon these shores chose to forget that he had left a legal wife back in England.

  ‘She died of the hatred of her kinsmen,’ grated Rye. ‘Their hatred of me!’

  ‘He lies! There was a blonde woman on the ship with him!’ cried Aunt Pet. ‘And one of his men said she was his wife. Oh, arrest him! Arrest him, I say!’

  ‘This “pardon” Evistock speaks of will not hold good if what Petula says is true!’ roared someone. ‘For this attack on Petula’s ship would have taken place after the pardon was issued. Seize the blackguard, I say, and let the law deal with him!’

  From the head of the stairs, with one white satin slipper sticking out stiffly before her as she prepared to take her first step down the wide stairway, Carolina was goaded into action. She had been stunned by Aunt Pet’s words but now she put former wives far away into the back of her mind, for in a flashing vision she saw what would happen next: The wedding guests would seize the bridegroom, he would be dragged off to jail, his men aboard the newly rechristened Sea Waif - short-handed and without a leader - would hear of it and promptly up anchor and sail away, heading, leaderless, for Tortuga or God knew where else. But they would leave Rye here, his story would not be believed, and he would be forthwith hanged, amid general rejoicing, as the notorious Captain Kells!

  At that moment her gaze fell upon the sword standing so near her hand. She swooped upon it and dragged it from its scabbard.

  ‘Kells!’ she called upon a sharp carrying note.

  The wedding guests looked up in time to see a blade flash against white satin. Then the sword Carolina tossed described a wide arc over their heads - to be caught deftly by its hilt by the bridegroom.

  Rye’s smile flashed upward in gratitude to his lady.

  ‘Thank you, Christabel,’ he murmured, using the name she had called herself on Tortuga.

  And then, as he felt the familiar grip of that serviceable basket hilt, as his strong fingers closed about the weapon that had made him master of so many slippery decks, the crowd milling about saw him transformed: from Rye Evistock, indolent country gentleman of Essex, he became of a sudden the legendary Captain Kells, whose name resounded throughout the Caribbean.

  ‘Ye’ll give me room, gentlemen,’ his cold voice rang out. And a practised gesture snaked the gleaming blade in a swishing arc around him that drove everyone back.

  ‘Carolina!’ he called peremptorily and waved her to join him.

  Carolina’s foot was on the top step but the heavy train of her cumbersome bustled gown was dragging her backward. She knew in panic that she would never make it, that she would hold him back in her high-heeled slippers if she tried to run across the lawn encumbered by that long train.

  ‘Go without me!’ she cried desperately. 'Oh, don’t wait!'

  ‘To the door!’ cried someone from the crush. ‘We can block the way out with our bodies and others will lay hands upon him and seized him from the rear!’ There were screams from the women as several men pushed forward. One or two ladies fainted.

  ‘Back, gentlemen!’ A new voice joined the din and this one held such a note of menace that the commotion was suddenly stilled. In surprise, heads swung about to see that Sandy Randolph’s ice-green form now commanded the door and that his bronze-headed ebony cane had suddenly been transformed by a flick of a lace-frothed wrist into a sword, for a long ‘damascened’ blade inlaid with silver had snaked out of it. And the bronze-headed top had become of a sudden a small wheel-lock pistol which he waved in his left hand. ‘Back, I say! The bridegroom is leaving!’

  Carolina felt weak with gratitude as Rye spun through the now-confused crowd and bounded past Sandy with a nod of thanks. Then he was through the front door and running down the lawn towards the river.

  ‘Steady!’ warned Sandy grimly, waving his pistol. ‘I’ll shoot the first man who follows!’

  His face convulsed with rage, Fielding Lightfoot leapt forward.

  Even as he moved, his wife threw herself upon him, seizing his arm to hold him back. Aunt Pet shrieked.

  ‘Sandy, don't shoot him/’ cried Letitia in an agonized voice. She was trying desperately to keep the two men she loved from killing each other.

  From the top of the stairs where she was now leaning over, gripping the banister
the better to see, Carolina was vaguely aware of all that. Aware that Aunt Pet had sagged against Ned Shackleford, who had bounded forward and was now sharing his burden with Dick Smithfield, who was calling out for smelling salts. Aware that on the stairs below her Virginia - ignored in the general excitement - was now sitting up dazedly. Aware that servants were rushing in from other parts of the house. But her heart was with the absent bridegroom, running down the lawn beyond her vision with his blade flashing bright in the sun.

  ‘How dare ye help the fellow get away, Randolph?’ Fielding’s voice, almost a bellow but choked with fury, rose above the clamour. ‘And in my house, to boot!’

  He lunged forward, dragging Letitia with him, and Sandy’s pistol swung towards him. And Sandy’s cold face was above it. There were more screams, people fell back, fell silent, sure they were about to see murder done.

  But it was not to be.

  With a quick look at Letitia, whose dark blue eyes held a wild appeal as she sought to hold her husband back -and indeed he had now come to a stop, faced with a pistol pointed at his heart - Sandy Randolph waved the gun languidly at his host.

  ‘Faith, you should thank me!’ he retorted coolly. ‘For I have rid you of a problem, Lightfoot. Did you want to see your daughter weeping outside the jail, demanding to be wed to a man about to be hanged? Screaming to him from below the gibbet?’

  ‘No, of course not,’ growled Fielding, mindful of the pistol. ‘Nor would she have!’

  ‘Then you don’t know women,’ said Sandy bluntly. ‘Look at her.’ He gestured towards Carolina on the stairs. Had she been able to divest herself of that train, I dare say she’d had run away with him!’

  ‘That is true!’ cried Carolina - and caught her pearl circlet just as it slid off her head.

  ‘And where do you think she would have gone with him?’ mocked Sandy. ‘Letitia, did you want to lose your daughter to the hellholes of the Caribbean?’

  ‘No, of course I didn’t!’ Letitia had been clinging to her husband’s arm but now he shook free of her. But his expression had changed for he had realized the good sense of his rival’s argument.

  ‘I take your meaning, Randolph,’ he said in an altered voice. ‘But there is another course you have not thought of. We will seize the fellow before he reached his ship and have him transported elsewhere to be tried! Carolina’ - even now he could not bring himself to call her ‘my daughter,’ Carolina noted - ‘will not be involved.’

  ‘And have you lose a wedding guest or perhaps your own life to a man who’s known to be the best blade in the Caribbean?’ was Sandy’s grim retort. He waved the pistol at the eager crowd who fell back once more. ‘Not a man of you here can match the fellow with either sword or cutlass! You’d be signing your death warrant! Indeed, I’ll not stir from this spot until I’m sure he’s got away.’

  ‘Sandy speaks the truth,’ said Ralph Wormeley soberly. ‘To catch up with this buccaneer is to die, most like.’

  Sheepish looks were exchanged among the well-dressed planters. They were brave enough in defence of home and hearth, and many of them had fought marauding Indians, but this mad pursuit of a desperate and fleeing buccaneer would be sheerest folly - it would be throwing one’s life away!

  From high on the stairs with her wedding circlet clutched in one tense hand, Carolina closed her eyes and silently prayed that the longboat on which Rye had told her they would slip away during the festivities, despite what anyone might think, had arrived early and was waiting for him. Fervently she thanked God for Sandy - and made desperate silent promises to God of all the ways in which she would improve if only He would let Rye make a safe escape.

  She opened her eyes to see that Virginia, somewhat revived now, was being borne away from the stairway on the arm of Lewis Burwell, who had managed to keep his head though others had not. Several fainting ladies were having smelling salts waved beneath their noses, others were being carried away to couches. One or two crying children were being comforted by excited mothers. Outside a dog was furiously barking. Sandy Randolph still commanded the door - only turning his head slightly when one of the servants who had been ‘borrowed’ from Lewis Burwell for the wedding festivities, burst in from outside. His weathered face was pale and he was out of breath and indignant.

  ‘A man went runnin’ by me just now waving his sword. And when I’d have had a word with him, he knocked me aside!’ he reported, aggrieved, looking around for his employer to complain to. ‘I came in to see what’s about?’

  ‘That was our late bridegroom,’ Sandy told him ironically. ‘Gone now, alas.’

  The servant stopped stock still and stared in disbelief. ‘Lor’!’ he burst out, forgetful of all the imposing company about him. ‘But that was the gentleman who offered me a gold coin the night o’ the big ball at Fairfield if I’d clear out of my room so’s he could bed one of the serving maids! And he’s the bridegroom?' he marvelled.

  From the stairs Carolina found her voice. She might be no help at all in clearing Kells of piracy charges, but of this slur at least she could clear him.

  ‘No, Rye didn’t want the room for a serving maid,’ she corrected the man before she thought. ‘It was for me.’ She stopped. For the moment Kells was forgotten. All heads had turned towards her, and a sea of faces was staring up at her, open-mouthed at this frank admission in a day when aristocratic girls were sheltered and led virgin to the marriage bed.

  ‘Oh, God,’ moaned Fielding, and Letitia shushed him and moved swiftly towards the stairs.

  Carolina’s face had gone scarlet. ‘But we didn’t actually use the room,’ she hastened to add. And to their disbelieving expressions, ‘No, you don’t understand. On Tortuga, we - ’

  ‘Not another word, Carolina!’ cut in her mother’s crisp voice. ‘He is gone, you can stop defending him!’ Gathering up her wide lavender skirts, Letitia sped up the stairs and stepped in front of her blushing daughter. ‘Carolina is obviously distraught,’ she told the company. ‘She spent the entire night last night in tears at my bedside, wondering if she should marry the brute who has just departed! Her feeling of loyalty to him is quite unfounded and I will not have her tell lies to save what shreds of reputation Rye Evistock may still possess. Rye Evistock . . . Captain Kells - indeed I do not know what to call him! - has fooled us all. Come along, Carolina!’

  Letitia moved inexorably forward, dragging a dazed Carolina with her.

  As her mother was about to drag her down the corridor, Carolina turned to call down to the servant who had seen Rye leave. ‘The man with the sword - where did he go?’

  ‘Into a longboat, last I seen,’ was the response and Carolina heaved a deep sigh of relief before her mother jerked her forward, train and all, down the empty upstairs corridor.

  ‘I was about to say that Rye and I were married in a “buccaneer’s wedding” on Tortuga before we left there,’ complained Carolina when they were alone at last in her mother’s room and she had tossed on to the bed the long strand of island pearls that had been her wedding circlet.

  ‘Carolina, I know what you were about to tell them.’ Letitia whirled to face her daughter. ‘And believe me, it was best to keep silent!’

  ‘But - ’

  ‘I know all about your “buccaneer’s wedding” on Tortuga.’

  ‘Sandy told you?’ gasped Carolina.

  Her mother nodded grimly. ‘We have few secrets from each other, Sandy and I. Especially about you. He also told me the wedding was not legal. It does not count!’

  ‘It counts to me!' cried Carolina. ‘I vowed to be Rye’s wife in Tortuga and his wife I will be forever!’

  ‘Nonsense,’ said her mother in a weary voice. ‘Can’t you see that what just happened downstairs changes everything? Stay here - I will say you are indisposed. Latch the door, talk to no one, while I try to get rid of our guests. Then I will think what to do.’

  ‘No, I can’t just sit here and look at four walls,’ objected Carolina restlessly. ‘I have to know what is goin
g on, whether Rye made good his escape . . .’ And if he did not, I must hasten to his side. With a pistol hidden beneath my skirts!

  ‘He will have got away clear.’ Letitita was managing to hold on to her temper, but only just. ‘Sandy saw to that. But if you come downstairs, you will be forced to answer the questions of the curious - are you ready for that?’ she shot at her daughter.

  ‘No.’ Carolina shuddered.

  ‘Then don’t come down,’ she said sharply. ‘I will send Virginia up to you. And I will come myself if there is any news.’

  Virginia arrived in a dither, to tell Carolina that Lewis Burwell and Ralph Wormeley had been telling everyone they really ought to clear out, that the family needed to be alone at such a time. People had been departing, some reluctantly, for this was as juicy a scandal as anyone could remember. But most of the river barges were already pulling away, taking with them the wedding guests. There would be stories told at the Raleigh in Williamsburg this night!

  Carolina ignored Virginia’s meant-to-be-soothing chatter. ‘Any word about Rye?’

  Virginia, with a pitying look, shook her head. ‘It’s too soon.’

  Of course it was. Carolina knew that. But she couldn’t help asking, and she knew she would go on asking. Until she knew he was safe.

  ‘I’m going downstairs,’ she told Virginia, for indeed she was so upset she could hardly keep still. ‘I don’t care what anyone asks me. I’m going to be where I’ll know what’s happening.’

  Virginia accompanied her anxiously down the broad empty stairway where they found that the last guests, the Montrose family, were just leaving. Sally Montrose, in her pink bridesmaid’s gown, was just going through the door, and she turned and gave the distraught bride an avid look that said plainly. Not only a buccaneer but a buccaneer with a wife! Then Sally’s frowning mother was jerking her through the door and Carolina and Virginia were alone in the great festive hall, decorated for a wedding destined never to be.