Ram; being the tale of one Ramillies Anstruther, 1704-55 ..

by Taylor, Winchcombe

  One shopping day, Dorotea confided: "How sad the baron dislikes

  you islanders so! If only he permitted, my darling could make acquaintance with young gentlewomen of her own age. For Dios, the child's most lonely!" She brightened. "But soon he leaves on a journey. Perhaps then I could find some young ladies who would call upon us. Do you know of any such, senof?"

  He didn't. So the baron would be traveling!

  A week later, he sat in the small walled garden of the baron's house, patiently correcting Senora Mejia's stumbling English. The adventure thrilled her deliciously. It would be most improper, of course, for her darling to be present; but, she confided, the girl was listening from her room—there, with the French windows giving upon that small balcony.

  "Say, 'I wish we could take a coach into the country,'" he instructed, and the widow dutifully repeated the sentence.

  "Are there orange trees and vineyards in this dismal land?" she asked, when he had explained the phrase's meaning. "We have seen nothing but dirty streets, streets, streets."

  He said that only in rich men's gardens were there oranges and grapes, but the countryside was green and lush, with quiet streams and wide rivers.

  From somewhere within came the petulant whine of an invalid. Dona Dorotea sighed. "Will the senor forgive? The baroness requires me. Madre de Dios, I never have a minute of my own." Grumbling, she went inside.

  He waited, conscious of those French windows. Yes, a slim hand was opening one leaf wider. Rising, he bowed. "Senorita, since you already understand English, you must think these lessons stupid," he insinuated. The hand was followed by the face. The girl was as shy as some wild forest thing, ready to fly at the least danger. God, she's lovely! he had to admit. Black hair and blue eyes are devilish attractive.

  "You are so good, Don Juan, to take this trouble with my dear Dorotea." Then in English: "Eef ees not im-modest, I would like lessons also to 'ave." She was on the balcony now.

  His heart pounded. Careful, don't frighten her, she's entering the trap! "Senorita, I would give much if you could be my pupil."

  But Dorotea had returned. ''For Dios, how the poor baroness suf-

  fers!" She sank upon a bench, fanning herself. "Now, Senor, what must I learn next?"

  "We spoke of the countryside," he reminded. "It is not like Spain, yet it too is beautiful. Ah, the pity you cannot see it!"

  Her eyes grew speculative. It would be a great pleasure, she admitted, and would have said more. But Erinne cried that her father had returned, and fled back into her room. The duenna paled. "Ay de mi, so soon? Senor, you must go. Quickly, to the garden door!"

  He had no wish to meet the baron at this point. "We meet at the chapel as usual?" he asked as she was closing the door, and she agreed.

  Next day, he arranged for bouts with the best fencing master in town. He must get his wrist back, must practice his thrusts. The Irishman had killed Father by a trick of fence. No sense in being o'er-confident.

  August was almost oer before he was again invited to the garden. The baron had gone on some other mission, probably to Rome, Dorotea hinted, and might not return for months. The heat was now stifling and Ram spoke again of the cool country. Erinne had overcome her shyness enough to sit beside her duenna and share the lessons, and was an apter pupil.

  "A rich friend has gone visiting into Kent and left me his coach," he told them. "Were it possible. Dona Dorotea, I'd be most honored to take you and the senorita for a short jaunt. I know of a lovely spot by the Thames, not ten miles away, so discreet that no one would see you."

  "If only we could escape this wet heat," the duenna cried. "It's so unlike our dry Spanish summers." Pulling the sleeve from one perspiring arm, she looked at the girl. "Would it please you, my dove?"

  "Oh, yes!" Erinne exclaimed. "It would be heavenly."

  "Pepe and Ema could take care of the baroness," Dorotea thought aloud. "I can say that my darling wilts and must have fresh air. Yes, it can be arranged."

  In her excitement, Erinne dropped her needlework and both she and Ram bent to retrieve it. His arm brushed her breast. She gasped, blushed and bit her lip.

  Dona Dorotea, not noticing, said that two days hence would do.

  Would Don Juan, however, remain in the coach when it stopped outside the garden door?

  Promising to bring them back by nightfall, Ram left. The girl was ripe; a little skill now at the right moment and he could pluck the fruit.

  The morning was hot and clear as they rolled westward past Hyde Park and through Kensington village. The duenna kept staring out and was garrulous. Erinne said little, but her eyes sparkled.

  Watching her, Ram wondered. 'Twas said some girls remained virgins overlong, while other merely pretended a chastity they'd long lost. Among which was she? He'd heard gay tales of convents.

  They clattered through Hammersmith and Chiswick, close to the river, drawing up at last at the Fish and Bait Tavern. Young Joe, as advance guard, had made all arrangements and Mine Host was most deferential. A cold collation awaited in a private room, and with the food were fine Spanish wines from Ram's own cellars. The ladies enjoyed every moment and Dona Dorotea, knowing good wine, appreciated what she was served. But then she hadn't seen Ram's signal for the lad to pour laudanum into her third glass.

  Erinne, though gay, seemed restless. "It is charming here," she praised. "But, oh, if we could only see the fields and the river!"

  "I was about to suggest it, sefiorita." Ram was watching Dorotea closely. Another glass should do it. "Permit me to give orders."

  Soon they were back in the coach, which turned down a lane toward the Thames. Dorotea's face was flushed and she kept fanning herself. "Hot!" she complained. "Hot, but most pleasant." She closed her eyes.

  The coach halted abruptly and, while Young Joe ran to hold the lead horses, Williams climbed down from the box, swearing loudly.

  "Sir, the off rear wheel—'tis loose. All must step down."

  The women were dismayed and Ram pretended annoyance, but they got out and stood in the shade while Williams began tinkering with the wheel. Joe placed rugs on the lane's grassy verge and produced wine and glasses. Dorotea sat and soon was sipping some pre-doctored Amoroso. As for the wheel, Williams said he must send Young Joe back in search of a blacksmith.

  Ram apologized profusely, but Erinne accepted everything gaily,

  while Dorotea, with a coach cushion for a pillow, began snoring.

  "I had so much wished to show you the river," Ram regretted. "The vista there is very lovely."

  "Is it too far to walk?" Shyly Erinne displayed a small foot. "I am strong, seiior, and I was quite used to walking with the other girls at the convent."

  Half an hour more and they sat together on the river's bank, sharing his spread coat. Save for the occasional rise of a fish and the distant scything of harvesters, there was no sound. A river! He thought of Carla and the Danube. It had seemed so natural then, so right. But now? He gnawed his lip. Then he remembered the aftermath of that glorious day: clashing swords, flaming hatred in a stranger's face. Father's amazed expression as the blade transfixed him. "Damn you!" he swore.

  "You said something, sefior?" The query brought him back to the present.

  "You are very lovely, senorita." Was this the right approach? "But it is futile for me to say so. Many others must have told you that."

  Blushing prettily, she turned her head aside. One of her hands lay close to his. He touched it. She started, but didn't pull away.

  "Erinne!" His voice was thick. Ecod, she was lovely!

  She turned slowly until her eyes looked full into his. Her breasts rose and fell tremulously. "Sefiorl Don Juan!" She seemed almost to weep. As he slid an arm around her waist and drew her close, her lips parted.

  He kissed her.

  He tried to remain calm, to do this with hate and contempt, but passion swept him up and communicated itself to her. Once she moaned, "No! No!" and tried to fend him off, but both had passed beyond control. Th
en she cried out in pain.

  Afterward, as they lay close, she seemed dazed. Tears welled from under her closed lids. "Juan!" she whispered. "Mf corazon, yo te amor

  "I love you too, dear heart," he lied, stroking her cheek. A fish rose, making a widening circle of rings. Across near Kew, a barge was about to land. But here, shaded by the bushes, they were two in a world of their own.

  Later, when once again he took her in his arms, she gave herself with utter passion, clinging to him, murmuring soft words in Spanish.

  The sun was low when he helped her to rise. Slipping on his coat,

  he took her arm, pressing it close against his side as they started back to the coach.

  I've won! Damn you, del Lago, now you'll fight! Virgin she is no more!

  Dona Dorotea still snored. The wheel was "repaired," Young Joe reported, smirking. Ram scowled. The young rogue knew too much, damme! They hoisted the duenna inside and propped her up with cushions. Ram and Erinne sat facing her. Dusk had already fallen as they started back.

  He felt strangely empty. Though he'd played the lecher, he had no sense of triumph. Small fingers groped for his and he thought, God, she loves me! Better she hated me, for then, when he returns, she'd tell him.

  "Juan—John!" she whispered. "You are very beautiful."

  Suddenly he wanted to jump out and flee. Other girls had loved him, but none had given him their first love. Contritely he slid his arm around her and drew her to him. Sighing, she rested her head against his shoulder. Dorotea still snored.

  When the coach stopped outside the walled garden, he removed his lips from hers regretfully. How tenderly responsive she was!

  "You must help me," she whispered. "She is a pig to drink so."

  "And if she hadn't?" he challenged.

  A low sob escaped her. "I don't know! I don't know—John!" But she stepped out lightly and unlocked the wall door, while he and Young Joe lifted out the duenna who mumbled unintelligibly.

  "Make no noise," Erinne warned. "Pepe and Ema must not know she is—drunk. Leave her on the bench. When she recovers I will take her in."

  Sending Joe back to the coach. Ram caught her to him. "Dearest one!" he murmured, and her arms went around his neck passionately.

  "Love me, John, love me always!" Her eyes were wet. "Oh, my soul, come to me soon, very soon!"

  Outside, he dismissed the coach and walked slowly to his lodgings. No, he mustn't see her soon. He'd wait for her to confess to her father. But suppose she didn't? Women were secretive, he'd found. Better see her at least once more. Besides, perhaps the first time might not count. He laughed harshly. A bastard! Will you claim diplomatic immunity then, del Lago?

  When he did meet them again in chapel. Dona Dorotea admitted

  contritely she had made her confession for gluttony. These Papists! Had the girl also run to the priest? It might be awkward so soon; though later, if she dared not tell her father, perhaps the priest would. But when he caught her eye, she looked nervous, but shook her head slightly.

  Late that afternoon he visited the garden. Dorotea stumbled tediously over English, but at last tapping on some window sent her inside to attend the baroness.

  "Poor, poor Mother," Erinne sighed. "She was so beautiful, and now she has become hideous, even to herself. The surgeons can do nothing but tap the water from her. Oh, my John, why must humans suffer so?"

  "Do you suffer?" he asked gently.

  "Not for myself. Oh, yes, I have sinned; yet it did not seem wrong, only wonderful." She touched his hand timidly. "You, too, are happy?"

  He glanced up at the windows and, understanding, she smiled daringly. "Pepe and Ema never come to this side, save to call Dorotea or me."

  Their kiss was brief, but he knew that, for her, it was a confirmation. "If only we could go into the country again!" he suggested.

  "Dorotea would never again drink like that," she sighed. "The priest gave her a penance." Her voice was almost inaudible. "I— I can get a key to the door."

  "Tonight?" His own eagerness surprised him.

  She blushed. "Ah, no. But next week."

  In the ensuing days he became nervously impatient and found an outlet only in playing for high stakes. One night, at Will's Coffee House, he was introduced to a shifty-eyed ensign named Cromley, who said, surprised: "Another Captain Anstruther? I met your brother in a gaming house only tonight."

  "I have no brother," Ram retorted coldly. "Perhaps he's one of my Scots kinsmen. There are some, I think, in Anstruther's Foot."

  "This one's no Scot. But he's a devilish fine fellow, for I won fifty guineas from him."

  Shrugging, Ram left him, wondering if Rob had come secretly to town and was passing as a captain. But, no, for he'd written only

  last week saying they'd found a coal seam almost next to one of the lead mines and money was needed to sink a shaft into it.

  When he met Erinne and Dona Dorotea again, the latter felt it quite proper to invite him into the garden for some wine. Hardly had she gone inside to fetch it when the giri pressed a key into his hand,

  "But very late," she murmured, her eyes lowered. "She often comes to read holy books to me before she retires."

  It was moonlight when he entered the garden and climbed to the balcony. He scratched on the darkened panes and at once the doors opened and a hand drew him inside.

  "We must be very quiet," came a whisper. "Oh, my John, how I prayed for this! Now we can tell each other about ourselves."

  They did; she ingenuously about nothing, he lying and hating himself for it. Yes, he was a gentleman, though not noble. Good families in England often entered trade. Why let only clerks and artisans become great merchants? One day he, too, would have wealth.

  Had he brothers, sisters; where was he born? She wanted to know everything. For she'd only have thoughts of him to hug to her heart until they could persuade her father that all the English were not mere heretic brutes.

  Uneasily, he told her of his fictitious family, thinking: Damme, she truly expects marriage! Bah, it was a bastard he hoped to give to del Lago's daughter!

  Soon her timid pliancy grew into a fervid passion that met his own. Later, as he walked through the silent streets to his lodgings, he felt the lash of self-loathing. Poor lass! When he'd said that business must take him away for several days she had wept, but silently and without complaint. Perhaps it would be best if he saw her no more.

  He really did leave town, for Holton invited him and others down to his estate, where they rode, shot and gamed for two weeks.

  Back in London, he pondered what to do. The new season was starting, yet the prospect failed to stir him. If only del Lago would come! This reminded him that "John Ro)lston" still kept his lodgings. Young Joe must pay the landlady and bring away his things.

  This he did, and also brought a letter. "Mrs. Sparling says a young female kept calling to ask when ye'd be back. She left this."

  The note was written in Spanish. Erinne revealed stark fear. Surely her Juan had now returned? She had prayed day and night for his safety. When could he come? He still had the key.

  Good! It sounded as if she were caught. Now, del Lago!

  But remembrance of her loveliness assailed him with an almost physical pain. What need to torture her? It would be kinder to see her just once more.

  It was a raw November night as he let himself into the garden and gained the balcony. Upon his tapping, she flung open the windows and drew him within, clinging to him with an abandon of joy. "Ah, dear love!"

  This time there was no pretense of talk. She wanted the comfort of his arms, to lie beside him, to stroke his hair. Dawn was near when he stole away, after promising to come again very soon. Her father's last letter had come from Rome, and he would not return for some while. Too, there was something she must tell her John—though not now.

  So she was with child!

  CHAPTER 14

  THE FLEET PRISON

  1732

  He was awakened by sunlight streaming t
hrough a chink in his bed curtains. His head throbbed and he had a cursedly dry mouth. Groaning, he pulled the bell rope, gradually remembering the night's events. It had been long past midnight when he'd fallen into bed, not a little drunk, but pleased because, for the first time in months, he'd left the table a winner. Yes, he distinctly remembered sweeping a pile of gold into his pockets. Good, his luck must be changing.

  Young Joe was slow this morning. Morning? Damme, the sun's too high. He groped for his watch. Past four! Where was the rascal? He pulled the rope again. At last there was a knock and one of the maids entered with a tray. "Where's Young Joe?" he demanded irritably.

  "Please, sir, I don't know. 'E ain't bin in all night, Mr. Bland says. 'Ere's 'ot choc'ht, sir, and will ye be wantin' anything else?"

  "No," he said fretfully and, when she had gone, he got out of the bed. Curse the lad. Out wenching, sure. He needs a touch of my cane, damme!

  He shaved and washed. His head felt no better. Air! Perhaps a stroll in the park. . . .

  Mrs. Bland met him when he went downstairs. "Oh, Captain, I'm sure I don't know what to say about Young Joe. The Sergeant's looking for him. I'm so afeered—cutthroats, the press-gang—anything!"

  "He'll be back," he reassured her. "Now about tonight. There'll be ten. Tell Joseph to decant enough wine. I'll return anon."

  Outside, Peg-Leg saluted. "Two men was demanding to see ye. Captain, names of Colton and Squilp. But they looked beggarly rogues, so I said ye was gone."

  "I don't know 'em." Turning south out of the square. Ram crossed Pall Mall and entered St. James's Park, to which the spring air had brought many other strollers. My head bursts! he winced, walking toward the Horse Guards Parade.

  "Cap'n Ramillies Anstruther, sir?" demanded a burly man in a riding cloak, whose bulbous nose separated two unblinking little eyes. He carried a heavy cudgel and was accompanied by a sallow fellow in black.

  "Yes. What do you want?"

  "For you to pay me what ye owe!" The sallow man stepped forward.

  "What do I owe? I don't know you."