by Claudy Conn
They moved slowly into the hub of the town and stayed close to one another as they hid their faces. They did all the right things, hugging when someone looked their way, and keeping to the shadows.
Bunky spotted someone he thought gave them too long a glance and he pulled Heather into yet another alley. “Let’s just stay here a bit…ye catch yer breath.”
“Yes, yes,” Heather agreed, but then they heard someone at their backs.
“Eh, what are you two up to?” a man shouted in French as he poured out a pale of dirty water.
“Naught,” Heather answered in French. “We are leaving now.”
They picked up their pace as they rushed away with no clear notion where they were going. Finally, the two fugitives came to a fork in the road and stopped.
“Which way, do you think?” Heather asked.
“Not sure, ye see, I never have a chance to go farther than the bake shop,” Bunky answered, and grinned. “I’m always hungry.”
She laughed. “You must be hungry now as well. Oh, I promise you, Bunky, when we get home, you will work for Godwin and me and never be hungry again.”
He smiled. “I would work for ye forever and go hungry to do it.”
She pulled him along, taking the left fork, which she thought a darker better avenue. It turned out that it led to a quieter wharf overlooking a less traveled but deep canal.
Only one vessel slapped against the padded docks. It looked like all its crew was on leave. Bunky and Heather gave each other a look because at their backs they heard Colin screaming. They also heard the sound of two Frenchmen that Colin must have enlisted to help him in his search.
Bunky’s voice held desperation as he said, “We can hide on that boat…come on.”
There was no one about as Bunky led Heather across the plank, onto its deck, down its waist, and into the storage hatch. The hatch door clanged above their heads and Heather sank to her knees, exhausted and wishing that Godwin would suddenly appear and come to their rescue.
Bunky fell upon sacks of grain and put a finger to his lips for quiet, realized Heather could not actually see him in the dark, and whispered, “No talking.”
Above them, they realized the boat was not empty as they heard Colin speaking in French and asking if the seaman had seen anyone nearby. The crewman told him no, apparently asked yet another crewman who agreed they had seen no one.
Bunky whispered, “What are they saying?”
“Colin wanted to know if they had seen us—they said no.”
The boat went quiet then and Bunky whispered, “We better stay put for another hour. Colin will have to set sail by then. He’ll make enough on the brandy…so he won’t keep looking.”
The boat gently rocked and Bunky said, “I can still hear Colin shouting at those Frogs. I can’t believe he is bothering about us this long.”
“He is angry, Bunky, not only about losing a fine purse, but because he feels you betrayed him for a woman. That he cared for you was evident to me. That might make him look hard for a bit longer than you think.”
“Aww, that can’t be. Colin don’t care for no one but himself. That much I have always figured.”
“Well, at least for now, we are safe here. We’ll give it another hour and then see if we can slink off in the dark with no one the wiser.”
“Aye, agreed.”
Heather sighed and put her head back. Hope filled her mind and heart. Another day and she would return to Godwin and he would know the truth. Whatever was she going to do about Sara? That woman would always pose a threat.
The sound of scurrying little feet made Heather begin to squeal. She clapped a hand over her mouth and then tugged at Bunky’s wool seaman’s coat. “Bunky…rats, rats!”
“Aye, I know. Don’t think on it. I’ll kick ‘em off if they come near us. Don’t ye worry none, miss.”
“Oh, oh, I don’t know if I can bear it sitting here in the dark with rats.”
He patted her hand. “They won’t bother us. They have enough food down here…grain bags everywhere.” He sighed. “I think we best stay here ‘til the wee hours…just in case.”
“Yes, I quite agree, but I think we can stay out of sight…only let’s get out of here,” Heather said.
“Well, at least not yet,” Bunky disagreed. “We’ll lope off and see how much coin we have between us later. If we don’t have enough, there is no telling, but we might stowaway on a boat headed for…”
“Stowaway? Back to England? Do you think we could manage that?”
“If we don’t have enough coin, we’ll have to, aye, miss,” Bunky said, and sighed.
“Oh, Bunky, I have embroiled you in a mess, haven’t I?”
“No, miss. I did that to m’self when I accepted to follow Colin’s orders. I should have ridden off with ye, right off. I should have taken ye to town for help. This is on me.”
She patted his arm. “We’ll find a way.”
“Aye, that we will,” he agreed.
* * * * *
Godwin returned to his castle near the hour of midnight. He was weary and looking forward to climbing into bed. The day had been overlong and his thoughts were for Heather. He longed for her arms, her voice, her smile. Tomorrow couldn’t come fast enough, he thought as he shrugged off his blue superfine and dropped it on a nearby chair.
How had he been so lucky as to find her? It was as though their spirits were bonded to one another. She was his dear-heart and she was carrying their child. He wished she was in his room, waiting for him…in his bed. They were meant.
Oh god, he thought jubilantly. Was such happiness possible? Was it really true? Had life finally turned around for him? He had his true love and would soon have his very own child.
It was at that moment, at that very moment that he discovered a folded paper propped on his nightstand. For some reason, the sight of it filled him with dread. He reached for it and a shiver scurried up his spine. Something was wrong.
He ran a hand through his hair and closed his eyes before he unfolded the notepaper. As he read the words, the room began to spin.
He sat on the edge of the bed and reread the words. It was in Heather’s own hand. They had exchanged enough love letters for him to know.
He wouldn’t believe it. Heather would never leave him, not of her own accord, and she would never write such a cold, unfeeling letter. She was with child, with no means to support herself alone. She would not do this to herself and to him. They loved one another. They loved…
“No!” the shout was torn from his gut. “No.” He turned to his door. He knew whose real hand was in this. “Sara!” he shouted as he marched out of his room. “Sara, you devil.” He meant to wring a confession out of her.
He put distance away as he raced down the long hall to her suite of rooms. “Sara!”
He slammed her bedroom door against the wall and yelled, “Sara!”
Sara sat up in bed and she looked frightened. He was on her, dragging her out of the bed by her arm, tearing her nightdress in the process as he forced her to stand and face him.
He couldn’t bear the sight of her.
He knew what she had done. His heart told him that she was behind it all. He was in a fury and even as he looked at her, he pushed her, thrusting her away from himself. He knew a moment’s madness, and thought if he had his pistol, he would have shot her.
He had to control himself. He took a moment and shook the note at her, finally telling her, “This is your doing!”
“What are you talking about, Godwin?” she feigned ignorance, but he was not fooled. Her attitude enraged him once again.
He took her arm and shook her violently. “Are you trying to tell me you did not put this in my room?”
“No, I don’t know what it is,” she said, but her voice trembled with her lie.
He was enraged beyond anything he had ever felt before. He slapped the note from his hand into hers. “Look at it and tell me you are not behind it.”
She didn’t look
at it but put up her chin. “I had nothing to do…”
He cut her off, taking the note back and shaking it in the air. “Shall I call out each and every servant in the castle, Sara? Shall I ask each one if they delivered this note to my bedroom? Shall I, Sara?”
He could see the fear enter her eyes and screamed, “Shall I do that now, Sara?”
“I…I…”
“How did this find its way to my room? Answer me now,” he demanded.
“If you must know, Mrs. Abernathy delivered it to me, and then yes, I put it in your room,” she said.
He saw the lie behind the words. “Mrs. Abernathy,” he scoffed. “What farfetched tale is this?”
“The vicar found out about your sordid little affair with his niece. He convinced her to go away. She gave the letter to him, he gave it to Mrs. Abernathy, who then gave it to me!”
Godwin heard the tale and decided some of it was true, some of it was not. He shoved her away and said, “Liar! Do you take me for a fool? I have learned your style, and your methods over the years. You and Mrs. Abernathy had this arranged between you. You made certain the vicar would know, and he, this marvelous man of God…what has he done with Heather?”
“I am certain I have no notion. Now let me be,” she said tremulously as she tried to bypass him and leave her room.
He thwarted her efforts by grabbing hold of her shoulders and forcing her to stand before him. “Look at me, Sara. Look and see not a man, but a man goaded beyond his humanity. You have trampled on my youth with your lies. You won’t do so on my future.”
“Oh, but I shall,” she said, and smirked.
“Bitch! What have you done?”
“What cannot by now be undone,” she said.
For a moment, Godwin thought he was looking at a devil. “I shall see you in hell!” he said, and turned. He knew, all at once he knew Heather was in serious trouble.
He made for the stairs and stood there at the landing as she chased him and grabbed his arm. “Godwin, you can’t do anything to help her. It is over. Your horrid little affair is over.”
“Is it, by god!” he shouted. “We’ll just see about that. I will trace her movements. I will find her, and I will expose you for the demon that you are.”
“But…what of Roderick? You can’t do this to him,” she pleaded. “He is your son!”
The words were out before he could stop them. “My son? Your bastard…not mine!” The words tasted ugly on his tongue, but they were out, and in that moment, his fear for Heather prevented him from seeing himself.
He was on the first step, Sara was on him, holding his shirt sleeve, yelling for him to stay. “No, Godwin, you can’t do anything. She is gone…”
Her words frenzied him and he yanked out of her hold, shouting, “Get thee gone from my sight!”
It all happened so fast, too fast.
He heard her screaming hysterically as he stood in mute shock and watched her bump and roll down the entire length of stairs to the marble floor below.
He took frantic steps after her, bent over her. “Sara?” he called her name, and knew he had sunk to her level. He wasn’t relieved when he saw her lashes flutter, and realized he wished her dead.
“Mama?” a young boy’s frightened voice came from the top of the stairs.
Godwin stared with disbelief to find Roderick glancing accusingly down at him. How much had the dear lad heard? He looked into his son’s eyes and had the answer, and he felt a storm of self-hatred engulf him. What had he done? His boy? Had Roderick heard him disclaim him?
He knew that his son, his heir, was too young to understand all of what he had heard, but he had a notion of what it all meant. He would understand in later years and for that, Godwin felt wicked and low.
Roderick had heard his father disclaim him. Godwin knew Roderick adored him. Godwin knew that Roderick, who depended on him for attention, attention he rarely got from his mother, had heard him shun him. What had he done?
The servants appeared and he shouted, “Fetch the doctor…at once!”
Sara had attempted, perhaps successfully, of robbing him of the lady of his heart and now…now his son.
Sara opened her eyes. “What…what happened?”
“You fell, Sara,” he said kindly.
“I…I want to get up,” she said suddenly. “Help me, Godwin, help me get up.”
He attempted to do so when she screamed, “Godwin…my legs. I can’t move my legs!”
~ Nine ~
THE LIBERTÉ CHISELED ITS PATH through a choppy bay. Its sails were full with the wind. Its captain, Maurice de Brabant, stood bent over the bulwarks staring at the receding shoreline, now barely visible in the night.
The moon lit up his face and he saw that his men exchanged glances with one another. His sadness was all over his countenance. It was difficult for all of them, he knew. This was his, and because of their loyalty, their last break with France. He had been given no choice in the matter. Robespierre, who he had once called friend, had given his captain no alternative.
Thus, the Comte de Brabant and his men would never return to their homeland. His ancestral home had been savaged and absorbed into another way of life in France. The government had taken the small estate he had as a second son, and thus, he and the people who had always served his family had become homeless as the ‘new regime’ took over.
No matter, he told himself. His home now was in Barbados, well out of the Reign of Terror’s reach. He sighed into the wind. Indeed, he had jumped at the opportunity when his older brother had gifted him with his schooner, Liberté, eight years ago. He had, in fact, relished the idea of creating a life on the tropic isle.
Barbados! His brother had made certain he was granted a charter from the English King to begin a sugar plantation, and he had luckily been successful and his plantation thrived.
When the letters from home, from his beloved brother began slowing down, he had become concerned. He knew what the political climate was in France and he was filled with fear for his brother, his family, and all their close friends.
When he received the news that his older brother, the comte, had gone to the guillotine, he had been devastated. Thus, he lost no time in making sail for France, as he still had a dear and beloved sister in danger. He could not allow her to go the same route as his brother.
As it happened, he and Robespierre had an old friendship—and he was determined when he went before the powerful man. So it was he stood before Robespierre, who held the blade between life and death. He fought for his sister’s freedom, he drew on their long friendship and in the end, Robespierre granted him his sister’s life. One condition had to be met. He and his sister had to leave France forever. Gladly, he accepted. After all, his sister had been made a widow by the guillotine, and both their ancestral homes had already been deeded to the citizens!
He had no choice. He agreed.
Thus, it was, the present comte and his widowed, childless sister, made for the haven of an English island.
What would become of France, he thought as his schooner cut through the sea and into the open ocean.
* * * * *
“Bunky! Bunky!” Heather whispered directly into her companion’s ear as she nudged him. “Wake up!”
“OW…no need to shout,” he grumbled as he ran a hand over his face and then rubbed his eyes.
Heather was beside herself.
They had talked long into the night, telling each other about their lives, their pasts, and their hopes until they had each fallen asleep.
Something, she wasn’t sure what, had roused her.
As she stretched, she realized with a sinking heart it was the slapping of the waves against the hull. The boat was on the move!
“Not shouting, but, Bunky…we are in trouble,” she said on a hushed note.
It was still too dark to see anything in the storeroom, but Heather was certain because of the strips of light filtering through the cracks above that it was day.
Bunky
came to life and exploded with, “What the devil?”
Heather smacked a hand over his mouth. “Hush.”
“We are moving!” he said on a groan as she slowly removed her hand from his mouth.
“Indeed, and I rather think we have been for some time,” she said on a heavy sigh. She had lost all control of her life. Nothing she had done had brought her any closer to Godwin.
“Saints preserve us,” Bunky said woefully. “They’ll throw us over, they will. Make no mistake, ‘tis what they do with stowaways.”
“But we are not stowaways. We are here by accident. We can explain it all…oh, Bunky. If we explain that you saved me…that we only wish to get back to England, perhaps the captain will be kind?”
“Nay, ye be daft if ye think that. Ye don’t know the ways of these things. If this is a Frenchman’s yawl, they’ll never set us in Cornwall. What’s more, they might do much what Colin had in mind,” he said, and shook his head. “They might sell us into servitude.”
“We fell asleep. I can’t believe we didn’t get off before we fell asleep,” Heather said, and put a hand to her eyes. She had to be strong. Crying would not help. She put up her chin and said, “Time we faced them above and beg for some mercy.”
“No…they ain’t got mercy in ‘em. Don’t ye see, Miss Heather? They ain’t never had it easy. They give what they got, the seamen. No…no, we won’t see mercy. Not blaming them either. It’s a hard life and they work and work for their bread, they do. I know.”
“And yet you are good and kind,” she said softly.
He shuffled in place. “If I had been good and kind, I would have run towards town with ye when I had ye on horseback…that’s what I should have done.”
“No matter. Here we are and they will find us when they open the hatch for supplies,” Heather said matter a fact. “So, I say, let’s open it ourselves and face them with our story.” Godwin would never find her now. Would she be able to find her way back to him? And if she did, how long would it take? Then there was Sara. Would Sara attempt to murder him if she returned?