Had he not known Jennings' sentiments to be exactly like his own, their meeting would have been an anxious one under the circumstances. Aaron quickly informed him of his new identity and brought him to Juliet. The contrast between the petite young woman and his friend was laughable. It was like seeing a gazelle beside a bull water buffalo. Jennings could hardly take his eyes from her, several times remarking on Aaron's incredible luck. She fed the two old friends, glad to see Aaron with a warmly regarded companion. Only she knew how lonely he must have been at sea. Sometimes in their lovemaking Aaron would lose himself, and the bitterness would pour out of him in cries more of agony than ecstasy. Juliet had learned much from Aaron and was never afraid of him, even on those infrequent occasions when he was rough with her while they made love. She never quite understood his violence, but she never reproached him.
Juliet sat by the two as they talked into the night, eventually falling asleep. Aaron soon carried her gently into the other room and put her into their bed.
"God! Can't believe that beautiful thing you have there. Andrew. What's she doing with the likes of you?" said Jennings as Aaron returned to the room.
"Perhaps my luck has changed. And the name's Aaron," he said, filling their mugs again.
"Yes. Yes. I won't forget," he waved a pledge at Aaron. "Listen, I have a proposition for you. I told you about my ship, but not my cargoes. I took a page from your book, friend. It seemed to me there was a lot of illegal stuff floating on the waters, and those bastards making too much profit on us, not to mention those poor black devils they herd worse than sheep. Anyway, me, and a partner who owns the ship, by the way, are making a tidy profit―pirating, if you'll pardon the expression. I feel I'm collecting some back wages. It's exciting as well. Could use a bitter old man like you aboard. We run a tight ship, but conditions are far better than some of the service you've seen―for a fact. It's dangerous, but we keep her hidden and it'll take 'em a while to get on our wake. In the meanwhile, there's money to be made and we can get out whenever necessary."
Aaron could not say he was surprised, but only said he was presently reluctant to come aboard.
"I can understand it, my friend," said Jennings, sighing heavily and motioning to the bedroom door. "But give it some consideration. I'll be around a few days. I do legitimate cargoes, too. Not so profitable, but safe."
Aaron could not refrain from laughing heartily over Jennings' tale of scuttling one of the Vanguard's particularly disgusting ships, all hands converted to the pirate fleet, the officers set adrift in life rafts. At one time, he 'could have seen himself readily joining Jennings, 'but now he had too much to lose in such a venture.
They talked into the early morning as they had in times past. Both men had dreams they would never realize. Jennings possessed an education, surpassing most aboard any ship, including any gentleman captain. But he preferred life at sea above any other. He was often an outcast in other circles due to his enormity, but at sea he was in his element, his size and strength highly regarded. He had broadened Aaron's education with books and conversations that were veritable lectures, to the extent that Aaron could be described as an educated man.
The friends bid each other good-bye, Aaron imagined forever. He joined Juliet, disturbing her slumber to hear her speak amazedly about his friend, but more to fill himself with the joy of loving her, to recall, should he ever forget, his reasons for staying close to London.
Chapter Twenty-five
SHORTLY after dawn, Aaron left Juliet for the docks. He left her reluctantly, his mind filled with bitter memories of his loneliness at sea. Their lovemaking at sunrise had been urgent and full of need, again easing Aaron's pain. Juliet smiled while she lingered in the warmth of their bed. Even though he had gone, the taste of him and his scent clung to her, prolonging her pleasure. She rose and dressed, tidying the previous evening's clutter, remembering Aaron's jovial friend. She was happy to have met him, wondering briefly about the experiences the two men had shared, glad to know there was at least one person Aaron could remember happily from the years he'd spent at sea.
Juliet finished her work and went out to shop before the streets became busy. She filled her basket with soft cheese and fragrant dark bread and a fat sausage. She bought red apples and plump yellow pears, then stopped to choose some yardage for a shirt for Aaron, examining some unusually pretty material for herself. She thought Aaron would like the pale blue flowers against her skin. The fabric was more expensive than she liked, but she thought Aaron would approve her purchase readily. She then searched the now-crowded market stalls for ribbons and thread to match, thoroughly absorbed in her pleasant task, totally unprepared for Jake's rough capture of her arm. Shocked to see him, terrified by the hatred she saw in his eyes, she struggled with him unsuccessfully as he dragged her out of the market through the noisy, unresponsive, unseeing crowd.
Jake had followed her from her door as she did her marketing. He had watched her, his malice rising as he recalled his disgrace at her sudden departure. He had boasted of his conquest of the pretty young girl, filling companions with secondhand knowledge of her charms. He bragged of their plans and took bets on the certainty of their open union. When she had disappeared months ago, he vowed he would see to it that he would run across her one day, and she would pay, not only for the wagers he'd lost, but also for the shame and ridicule he'd borne among his peers. He had brawled and drunk more heavily than usual since his disappointment, making himself an unwelcome patron in even the meaner public places. His inclination for brutality had magnified, and he was nearly obsessed by thoughts of hurting Juliet.
He quickly dragged her back to her new home, flinging her through her doorway to stumble breathlessly against a chair. Jake quickly looked around the tidy, pleasant room, and in the same instant struck Juliet violently across the face, knocking her to the floor. He picked up a chair and shattered it against the cot, which collapsed instantly, then swung the dismembered chair like a club, scattering shattered dishes and paraphernalia from the hutch throughout the' room. Then he turned his attention to Juliet, who lay stunned in the center of the room. The blow he'd struck left her dazed but all too conscious of what he was doing to her body. He raised her limp form with one hand crushing her upper arm, and slapped her face several times, causing blood to stream from her nose and from a gash above her left eye. He beat her viciously and ripped at her clothes, raising her skirt to enter her unwilling, helpless body with excruciating pain. He crushed her mercilessly, thrusting into her relentlessly, until he was finished. Blood ran slowly down her thigh as he pulled himself from her. But he was not yet through. Her blood excited him anew, and he shoved her roughly onto her stomach, entering her where no one had ever known her. Her agony was unbearable. She thought her own screams would deafen her, and she wondered why no one heard and came for her, feeling the warm blood begin to flow more heavily from her even in her torment. Jake took his satisfaction from prolonging her torture, and when he was done, she was unconscious. "Cunt," he yelled to her unhearing form, satisfied he'd left her with a lifelong memory of him. He took a small gold ring Aaron had given her from her right hand. "Something to remember you by, bitch."
Juliet lay there, semiconscious and unmoving, that long day, hemorrhaging periodically, seized even in her stupor by unbearable pain from inside her violated body. When darkness and cold covered the little room, Juliet was awake, but still immobile. She desperately wanted to get up. "I must lay the fire," she resolved aloud. "Aaron will be cold when 'e comes in. Why aren't the candles lit?" she wondered in confusion.
When Aaron came to their door, he was alerted by the total darkness of the room. Even in the dimness, he saw instantly that the room had been tom apart. "Juliet," he called when he saw her, afraid he would hear no answer. He stumbled to her, touching her reassuringly warm body, feeling the faint murmur of her pulse. "Juliet, oh, Juliet," he called helplessly.
He went to the fireplace, searching in the blackness with his hands for the matches h
e knew to be there. He struck one and lit a discarded candle, unwilling to believe the condition of the battered woman lying at his feet. She was soaking in her own blood. Aaron held her gently, not certain she even knew he was there. The horror overcame him with the realization that she would surely die, and tears ran down his face as he lifted her into their bed and covered her. "Juliet! Juliet! Who? Who did this to you?"
She stared at him, as if she did not hear, then slowly whispered, "Jake ..." Her eyes looked out of her bruised, distorted face, almost reproachfully.
Aaron was covered with her blood, nearly immobilized by his rising grief. He doubted anything could be done to help her, but wanted no opportunity to go unpursued.
"Juliet, I will get a doctor," he said slowly, hoping she'd understand, "so I must leave you now. I love you, Juliet." It tortured him that she didn't seem to know what he said, though she looked back at him. Aaron ran to a neighbor, people they knew well, questioning in his anguish how they had not heard. Immediately, the old man set out for a doctor, and the wife returned with Aaron to Juliet, horrified by what she saw.
"Oh, pray God, laddie," she cried, looking at Juliet. She uncovered her. "And the blood!―'Ad she told you she was having a baby?" she asked him sadly, knowing Juliet had fallen unconscious again. He did not reply, as if he hadn't heard her, but she saw in his eyes that he had not known. "Aaron, poor child, there's nothing to be done." She wept, touching Aaron, whose face looked suddenly sunken. He sat helplessly with her, crushed as if the blows that had been struck had fallen directly on him.
The old woman picked up the broken room, muttering and crying, touched by the stillness and the devastation. She had been fond of these young people whose love for each other had spilled over to the few persons with whom they had even briefly associated. Aaron and Juliet had kept mostly to themselves, but their seclusion had not gained the animosity of anyone. The evident brutality was beyond her comprehension, even in the face of the frequent violence and madness in this world.
Aaron sat by Juliet, nearly blinded with agony for an hour. He heard the old woman speak of an unborn child, and could not cope with any more suffering. They hadn't spoken of the possible consequences of their union, for it had been a union of selfgratification, lived day by day with the future only dimly foreseen. Now he found himself weeping for the sudden loss of their child and their newly promising future. What promises had Juliet made, to be repaid with her precious life, he wondered.
The doctor looked at Juliet, wondering why they had bothered to summon him. "There's nothing to be done, except make her comfortable." He touched Aaron on the shoulder. "Sorry, son."
The old woman hovered about unseen while Aaron watched Juliet into the night. Numbness overcame him as he struggled with his loss of her, his loss of hope for his life. He saw her slip into final sleep while he told her he loved her. "Don't leave me!" he cried finally. And somewhere, before the dawn, she left him alone, in the blackness.
Chapter Twenty-six
AARON sat until sunrise, then collected a few items of clothing and his money. He came across a small gold locket he'd given to Juliet. She had loved the tiny engraved flowers on its face, never expecting to own such a lovely item. Now he tucked it into his pants pocket, then unfolded the bolt of fabric Juliet had purchased the day before. He wrapped her tenderly in the dainty blue-flowered cloth. She had never dreamed it would be her shroud.
Lifting her gently, as if she were sleeping, he carried her into the morning, her shining black hair flying into the wind. A shadow had fallen over Aaron's face as he stared out blankly at the day. He saw nothing, but moved heavily as if carrying an enormous load. It was not the weight of Juliet's small body that burdened him, but what he felt was the loss of his own life.
He moved doggedly toward the Hound's Ear, kicking thunderously at the entrance when he arrived. He heard Joseph Wright grousing as he came to answer, and when he opened the door, Joseph comprehended without asking. His grief was immediate, though he had foretold his own sorrow. Aaron had no comfort to give him, for what comfort could there be? "We were happy," was all he said.
Aaron placed Juliet gently in her old bed, not wanting to look at her again. If he remembered, he wanted only to see the gentle life-filled eyes, the soft unbroken skin, the young eager body giving love and life. Then he sat in the tavern again after these few months and drank ale with Joseph. "Where can I find Collins?" he asked after several minutes of silence.
" 'E'd be down the river. Try Chancey's. 'E's been seen there lately, I 'ear. 'N' if 'e's on the river, 'Ank Cornby shud know where to find 'im." He watched Aaron finish his drink, and he worried about what he saw on the young man's face. It was wrong, he thought, for one so young to have so much bitterness and anger to reckon with. " 'Ave you told the officers about it?"
"No. It's my score to settle. No one else's." He rose to leave, giving Joseph his hand. "I'm sorry. I meant to take better care of her."
Aaron went out of the tavern as he had come nearly a year before, and again the rain ran furiously into the streets. He walked the distance he had already come that morning, this time hurriedly, more for his purpose than for any concern about the downpour. He arrived at Chancey's in time to pass the lodgers stumbling out into daylight. By some invisible instinct, Aaron knew Jake was inside, and he seized one of the lodgers demanding information. There was such menace in Aaron's face that the patron could not refuse to reply. Aaron dropped his small bundle of possessions to one side, preparing to face Jake. He anticipated the battle, his blood stirring, his eagerness for vengeance overwhelming.
Jake was obviously worse for the night that preceded this day, but when he entered the street, he saw Aaron immediately. He had never seen his successor before, but he saw the hapless lodger signal to Aaron, and instantly recognized the look on Aaron's dark face.
Aaron saw Juliet's ring on the smallest finger of Jake's right hand. It glistened in the rain, delicate against the ugly swollen flesh. The sight ignited him, and the two men began to circle each other like animals, the rain showing them no favor as the sky opened up mercilessly. Jake saw passionless control and deadly malice in the man who faced him. He sensed Aaron cared nothing for his own life. He would willingly lose it, and he would give Jake no quarter. Jake smelled his own fear. He had faced death many times but, remarkably, his vision was clear this day, and he knew the battle was lost. Yet this recognition did not prevent him from charging first. Taller and broader than Aaron, Jake leapt at him with considerable force, but his opponent was agile and had the edge of will, spurred by unsurpassable hatred.
Aaron took the blow readily, countering with a vicious attack, memories of Juliet's bloodied, shattered body flooding his heart. Savage screams came from his throat as a crowd gathered even in the rain. Aaron battered Jake's face, gouging his eyes when the two men fell and rolled in the flooding streets. Jake aimed a deadly kick to Aaron's groin, Aaron taking it in the hip as he dodged. He flew at Jake's throat, grasping him with uncontrollable rage. Jake gagged, suffering for his breath. He drew a knife from his boot, sinking the blade deep into Aaron's flesh. Agony seized his body, but his brain was fully absorbed in the act of strangling the life from this murderer, and as Aaron held on, Jake lost his grip of the knife. It slipped from his hands and he blacked out for an instant. Aaron retrieved the weapon, while Jake came to, sputtering momentarily, at the same second leaping at Aaron's disabled shoulder. They rolled in the slippery street until Aaron, blind with a kind of madness, repeatedly and viciously thrust the knife into Jake's groin.
Aaron collapsed exhausted over Jake, heaving for air, slowly overcoming his rage, with no great satisfaction in his deed. He had done what he felt he must, but found his grief no less. He rose awkwardly, then stooped, twisting violently on Juliet's slender ring which was now nearly embedded into Jake's gnarled finger. Then he took up his possessions and staggered into the torrential rain, numb and weak from the loss of blood, moving inexorably toward the river and Mason Jennings.
THE wound from his battle with Jake had left him weak and unstable, yet he trudged unfeelingly, surely toward the docks where he knew he would find his friend. Warm blood oozed steadily into the threads of his clothes, to mingle with the stains from Juliet's life, and as he walked the narrow streets, he looked like a mortally wounded but not yet felled animal. His eyes were cavernous, and shock-filled. He attracted attention, but passersby shrank from him. No one stopped or assisted him, and he sought no aid. Finally, he came to the wharf where yesterday he had agreed to meet Jennings for one last conversation and probably one last entreaty to "quit the land."
He still had time before the hour they had agreed on, and he slumped gratefully against a post on the pier. Resting seemed to stem the flow of blood from his wound, but he knew it needed looking after. "I don't give a damn," he muttered, closing his eyes. He must have lost consciousness then, for some minutes later, he felt as if he'd awakened from a long dream.
The storm had cleared and he heard laughter, coming from a small party of young people heading in his direction. They were no older than he was, but of another class entirely. His presence caused few comments: a broken man in the streets was easy to overlook, it seemed. The party was boarding a fine pleasure yacht, moored perhaps twenty feet from where Aaron lay propped. He watched a pretty young woman ascend the boarding ramp, and he reasoned what he saw was an illusion. Possibly he was delirious, he thought, but he saw Louisa's face, or what could now be Louisa in the years that had passed between them. And the young woman saw him, a look of astonishment passing over her. She hesitated as she started to board and stared at him, as if she also recognized him. She seemed pained by his agony, a look of indecision crossing her brow.
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