Sweet Vengeance
Page 23
Wind whipped through the coconut palms. With her handkerchief, Abby dabbed the perspiration on her upper lip, the suggestion of Simeon’s imprisonment and Davenport’s power over her. She was a Rutland. Never would she be beaten. Unflinchingly, she stared into his cold grey eyes but spoke to the governor’s sister. “Mrs. Cornish, did you know my father is a cousin to King George, a very close cousin.”
“The King? I had no idea,” Mrs. Cornish squealed. She had been asleep during the interview. Davenport blinked and drew away from her. He was not as confident as he portrayed. Good. Right where she wanted him.
Jacob’s gaze slid unwillingly to that golden witch−her slim, lovely body, her blue eyes flashing into his. Dammit! Women that beautiful ought to be thrown to the sharks. The force of it slammed into Jacob. The sting of her lies, the love of his life brought a deep cutting misery in his chest. She was an aristocrat to the highest degree. Why did he expect anything less?
To think he was in love with her. To believe she felt something for him−that heartless lying bitch. Time he faced facts: like better men before him, he could not change the heart of a soulless highborn creature that she was destined to be. He lowered his head against the rough planking of the ship, letting it scrape against his forehead, realizing he let the sun burn his back and the wind beat against his face. He had dared to foolishly dream, to have a wife and a child. To think he gave up his ship, his men and his life to protect her. The gallows awaited him.
His hands curled into fists. Visions of her kept him alive, yielding to haunting dreams that staved off the hopelessness and despair of endless backbreaking work. He developed a talent to discover the joy in pain. Long into the night, wrapped in chains, he fought off the insects the hunger and the despair. He thought of her, longed for her, that glorious ghost of the past that haunted him. Did the pain she cause outweigh the tender moments? Could the pain make him stop loving her?
It was as if the curtain fell. All emotion passed from his mind.
“Don’t let Davenport get to you. She isn’t worth it, said Enos.
Jacob snorted. “I wasn’t thinking of her at all.”
“Sure you were. That mind of yours is working overtime on her.”
“Worse than death is betrayal. I can conceive death, but not betrayal, Enos.”
“Get rid of those thoughts and concentrate on escape.”
Jacob laughed and Enos looked sharply to him, considering his sanity. They were trapped on this hellhole and there was no way to escape.
“We have much work to do tonight so keep your wits sharp about you,” Abigail whispered to Simeon, procured a glass of wine from his tray with one hand, while she worked her Chinese silk fan with the other. She smiled and nodded to guests at a late evening dinner social, held in her honor by a wealthy merchant and where everyone of significance in town had been invited. With a tray of crystal glasses, Simeon, graciously on loan for the night, served the elite of Nassau and moved into the crowd.
A thin gentleman, well-dressed in a white frockcoat, breeches and powdered wig approached. “Lady Rutland,” he murmured in perfect French. “I am Monsieur Joubert; your compassion for my slave speaks volumes of your character.”
“Honored, Monsieur Joubert.” His words articulated the opposite of his intention. Abby had requested her host, Mrs. Swain to put the Frenchman on the guest list.
“Philippe. I insist. And the honor is mine.”
“Philippe,” He kissed her hand. She shuddered. “What brings you to the Bahamas?”
“Business. The uniqueness of which would confuse your ladyship. I own a plantation on Haiti; perhaps you could one day afford a visit to my island. I’d be happy to show you my home.” His dark eyes darted over her.
She gritted her teeth at the Frenchman’s insult, his manner no different than Davenport’s. Of course, she had gone to the governor about the English captain’s behavior which precipitated orders for him to patrol the Bahamas while the Vengeance was repaired.
Simeon approached and she savored her wine. She stumbled then. Her red wine spilled onto the Frenchman. “How clumsy of me, Philippe. Your beautiful white coat. Simeon, please take Monsieur Joubert’s coat for the maids to clean.”
His dark eyes flashing, the Frenchman ripped off his coat and threw it. With garment in hand, Simeon reached into the pocket, smiled, flashed a thumbs-up, and then vanished out the rear door. Abby exhaled. He had the key. If the key were not in Joubert’s pocket, Simeon would have had to search his hotel room. If only the rest of the evening could pass as smoothly.
“I do hope you can put it in your heart to forgive me, Monsieur Joubert. Perhaps you can be my dinner companion this evening. Later I will be playing the pianoforte for everyone’s amusement. I’m sure you will enjoy the entertainment,” Abby demurred.
Some of the air was taken out of the Frenchman, mollified to be seated next to the guest of honor. Putting up with Phillippe’s intolerable arrogance for the evening was a trial, made worse when she moved to play the pianoforte and he pushed the host aside to stand over Abby. Across the keys, strains of Bach and Mozart flowed from her fingers. Her gaze flitted around the room, her mind racing along another track. The heat was punitive. The humidity made it even more difficult to bear. Even her light silk dress was soaked through with perspiration and clung uncomfortably to her damp petticoats. Where was Simeon?
With a strained smile pasted on her lips, she charmed the Frenchman and those gathered around her. People were fatigued from her playing but too politic to complain. Mr. Swain, the host looked to his wife who nodded admirably because Lady Rutland chose to spend the most time in their home, precipitating a rise in their status. The clock in the hall chimed eleven bells. Her fingers ached. How much longer could she play? Why was Simeon taking so long? Something must have happened. Would soldiers burst onto the assembly and arrest her?
Simeon rushed in, a bit disheveled, the Frenchman’s coat grappled in his hands, murmuring apologies for the time it took to clean the garment. He winked at Abby and slid the garment onto the Frenchman’s shoulders. She bowed her head, finished the melody. Applause rent the room. She stood on wobbly legs, inattentive to the congratulatory remarks and praises and begged departure due to exhaustion.
At Governor’s House, all were settled in for the night. A soft tap sounded on her door. She yanked Simeon into her room. Pascale followed. “What happened?”
“I unlocked Pascale and we headed to the beach. There were two guards posted on the munitions from the Vengeance and that presented a bit of a problem. Pascale took care of them quietly. They will have a monster of a headache coming morning. We loaded a cask of gunpowder into a dingy then rowed half mile north, came ashore buried the cask like you told me. We capsized the dingy, shoved it onto the outgoing tide and walked back circling the town.”
Abby wanted to fall to her knees and thank the heavens. “I can’t imagine what tomorrow will bring but we’ll deal with the ramifications as they come. It was good the guards saw him. With the dingy missing they will presume he escaped and if the boat is discovered washed-up on shore, everyone will assume he has drowned. Monsieur Joubert will be in a terrible temper. Regardless, he will have the island turned upside down to hunt for Pascale.”
“He will be upset but he will not be able to venture out of his hotel room.”
Abby narrowed her eyes. “Why are you grinning?”
“From the locals, I discovered a noxious tree on the island called, “Poison Wood”. With great care, I collected the oil from this tree and lathered it on the inside of the Frenchman’s coat. He will suffer a burning rash in the days ahead and will be unable to leave his bed.”
Abby laughed. “You didn’t.”
“I’m sure he is scratching up a storm. But we have one problem. Where to hide Pascale?”
“In my wardrobe room, it will be the last place anyone will look. I’ll keep the door locked. For now, go into the kitchens and get Pascale food and drink. He needs it.”
Simeon left and she translated everything in French to Pascale.
“Merci, my lady. You take great risk,” he bowed. “I do not know how to repay you.”
Abby waved a dismissive hand. “You have done much for me. Now I return the favor. In two weeks, the Vengeance will be ready to sail. At the right time, I’ll need your help to free Captain Thorne and his men. You can sail to the Colonies a free man.”
Simeon reentered with a tray of sweat breads, sausages, fried chicken and papaya. Pascale attacked the food like a starved man was meant to do. Abby locked the door.
“Now for the rest of my plan.”
Abby ran her finger across several dusty bottles on the shelf of the apothecary. “I need a sleeping draught. I have trouble sleeping and a great fear of the sea. With my impending departure, I’d like to obtain enough of a supply for my long voyage.” Abby said to the pharmacist. Inadvertently she bumped into an older man. “My apologies, sir.” He didn’t look at her and ran from the shop.
The pharmacist smiled. “Lady Rutland, don’t mind Albury. He’s a recluse but one of the three best pilots on the island. Lives by himself in a small cottage near the docks.”
“Pilot?”
“Ships can’t get out of the harbor without a pilot to guide ‘em. Albury knows the shoals, reefs, tides like the back of his hand. Deadly without him aboard. Once the ship is safely out to sea, they drop Albury down in a dinghy and he returns to shore.”
Abby gasped. She had never considered the dangers of the harbor.
“Forget about your fear of the sea. Don’t worry. With Albury aboard you’ll be safe. He handed her a weighty package. “I put enough draught to put ten elephants to sleep.”
Once outside, Abby stood beneath the shade of a frangipani, heavy with luminous white blossoms and intoxicating fragrance, waiting for Simeon’s return to share this new revelation. To get Jacob free was one thing, yet the dangers of the harbor created another prison.
Again, Jacob’s thin, ashen face emerged, the ugly bruise on his cheek, and the men standing over him with raised fists. She cringed at the memory. Ever since she had returned from the beach with Captain Davenport two weeks before, the all too grim picture of Jacob at his captors’ hands had flashed before her eyes repeatedly, until she wanted to scream as if someone had cut her heart open with a dull knife.
From the sawmill, a rider galloped up the road, the horse’s hooves kicking up puffs of dust. He stopped in front of her and dismounted. “Lady Rutland.”
“Captain Davenport, your company of late has been in short supply. What do I owe this honor?” His manner was circumspect−enough to freeze the tropics. Governor Gambier must have given him a severe tongue lashing. Abby smiled.
“I’ve been patrolling the Caribbean.” His eyes were stony. “The Colonials have finished cleaning, caulking and overhauling of the Vengeance, and along with the Solebay, resupplied. As a formality, I’m to inform you of our departure in two days.”
“I’ll be ready.” From her exploration, she already knew the rebel vessel was rolled off the beach and anchored in the bay.
Keep your friends near, keep your enemies nearer.
“Captain Davenport, I’d like to make a peace offering. Since we will be traveling together…I think we should call a truce.”
He choked. “I am at your disposal.”
That bit of humility cost him. “There is one last party tomorrow night and it is my hope you would attend.” To gain his trust was important.
He narrowed his eyes. “Are you sure the governor would approve?”
“I don’t see why not.” She took his arm in hers and promenaded a few steps.
He withdrew his arm. “What do you want, Lady Rutland?”
I want you to stop the hangings. “A dance.” He stood there staring at her. Too quiet. Was he mentally running through every suspicion in his head? Her hands grew clammy.
His tone of voice fell flat. “A dance it will be. Did I mention a witness has put your servant, Simeon at the same locale and time of Monsieur Joubert’s escaped slave, an offense that carries harsh punishment?”
Abby forced a smile. He was bluffing. “A mistaken identity. My servant was on loan at a soiree that evening. Mr. and Mrs. Swain, the hosts would have recollection and numerous townspeople could affirm. Of course, you were at sea, so how could you know?”
“Have you seen the gallows?”
Touché. Abby did not change her expression. She had seen the gallows. She raged and trembled with the construction. “I’ve reconciled with the governor’s judgment.”
“Why the sudden change?”
“Everyone makes life choices and those choices are sometimes punitive. Unfortunate for the Colonials…they are to suffer the penalty of their bad decisions.” Did his shoulders drop?
“Your servant, Lady Rutland.” He swaggered to his horse. “Until tomorrow evening.”
She patted the parcel from the apothecary in her hands. “Until tomorrow evening, Captain.”
Chapter 22
“Are you going to the lynching, tomorrow?” Mrs. Sawyer said, her fingers groped primly in front of her in a fat, meaty ball of flesh then fluttered upward, signaling the orchestra to begin.
Abby’s stomach clenched, the grisly scene of Jacob swinging from the gallows appeared before her eyes. No. The execution had to be stopped. She fixed a smile on the old harridan. Mrs. Sawyer beamed, determined to make her send-off for Lady Rutland, Nassau’s event of the year.
The emerald-colored watered silk, Abby wore, cut in the latest French court style, molded snugly to her narrow waist and pushed her breasts high enough to mound impressively over the bodice. The sleeves were tapered to the elbow and from there flared to allow the falling cuffs of her chemise to spill forth in a fine profusion of creamy lace. She smoothed her hands over the straight shimmering folds, her fingers gliding over a vial concealed in a pocket. Soldiers and officers from the fort, the governor in his ceremonial dress, ladies garbed in their finest gowns; seemingly the entire town was in attendance.
“I’ll be busy preparing for my journey,” Abby said.
“Have you heard of the strange malady affecting Monsieur Joubert? The hotel owner wants him gone. No one will stay there. Too bad his slave escaped and drowned.”
Abby nodded, the mundane chatter making her head pound. Courtesy of the Governor’s sister, Denise, a medicinal cream had been sent to the Frenchman to cure his inflammation. Of course, Abby had Simeon deliver the restorative after mixing in poison wood oil. To add to the Frenchman’s problems, Abby confided to Denise that the Frenchman had procured an incurable disease that swept across Haiti. The rumor spread like fire through a cane break.
“Too bad about the slave,” Abby concurred. “To be eaten by sharks. What a horrible fate.” Abby fueled the dire consequences of the slave’s escape. As predicted, the capsized dinghy had been found washed-up on the beach. Wouldn’t they be scandalized to learn he dwelled in her wardrobe room, eating his fill of the governor’s largesse? Wouldn’t they be shocked to know he was helping her with an escape that would rock the island?
Everything hinged on this night. Abby had introduced a secret campaign, implementing the tactical intelligence of a military commander. Over the past weeks, Simeon and she had done reconnaissance. Dressed as Abe and under cloak of night, they had counted the number of guards at the fort, shift changes, when the gates were locked then timed the villagers’ movements and when they went to sleep.
“May I beg this waltz?” Governor Gambier bowed.
“I’d love to.” Abby curtseyed. The governor moved with the grace of a gorilla.
Abby danced with an endless stream of partners. Her feet ached where the governor had stepped on them. Minutes ticked by. Hours. Perspiration beaded on her upper lip. Where was Davenport? Simeon angled his head to the clock. She clutched the vial in her pocket. Was Pascale caught? Stay calm. She fought to feign interest in her host.
“You trade in sugar?” Abby said.
“Of course, Mr. Sawyer. Molasses. My apologies. I’m thinking about going home.” I’m thinking that Jacob will die tomorrow and I cannot do anything to stop the execution.
Servants rushed to open the door. Simeon straightened. Captain Davenport had arrived. He came straight toward her. She turned to her side, pretending she had not seen him. Abby took a deep breath and slowly exhaled—to get him alone.
“Lady Rutland,” Davenport droned.
She whirled from a deep conversation on the price of molasses. “Why Captain Davenport, I’m surprised to see you.”
“What else did you expect?”
His answer was too clipped. Her throat grew dry. “I’m so glad you came. I did promise you a dance but to tell you the truth, I need some fresh air. Care to escort me to the gardens?”
“Your servant,” he bowed.
“Would you like refreshment? The host’s wine stores are excellent.” She motioned for a servant and ordered wine to be brought to the terrace.
When the servant deposited two glasses on the table and left, Abby turned to Davenport. “I can’t wait to see my father and brothers.” Lanterns dangled and blinked like fireflies.
“What are you really about, Lady Rutland?”
How to get his attention diverted from the wine? “With our journey ahead, I’m offering friendship. If you don’t care to be in my company then I shall leave.” She started toward the house. He grabbed her arm.
“Not just yet.”
She stared at where his hand lay. He dropped her arm.
“Forgiven,” she said not waiting for his apology then turned away to allow him to see her profile. A crescent moon rose in the western sky, enough to provide some light on a dark night, enough to hide in the shadows what needed to remain hidden. “I will miss the Bahamas. The turquoise waters and bright sunshine by day, giving way to dark velvet sky at night, a myriad of stars like so many diamonds, so unlike anything I’ve ever known.” Three steps to the wineglass. Three seconds to pour in the sleeping draught.