The Ladys Pirate

by The lady's pirate (lit)

  FitzWilliam straightened and smiled again. Hal had the impression of a mask being put on.

  "That was all a long time ago, though. Now, I serve my lady as all us do. Thought she'd stay here at Greymere, seeing as she ranks her husband." The steward caught the harness and helped the boy while he talked. "Bad 'un that one is. Is it true?" He fastened the trace and turned back to Hal. "Did he break the girl's arm?"

  "That's what I assumed," Hal said.

  "He's a devil."

  "Don't suppose you would be sorry if your Countess became a widow?"

  FitzWilliam grunted. "Be willing to do the job meself if I could, but him a peer and me a simple man..." He shrugged. "Still, seems like the Lords would do something about it, her being one their own. Not likely though. My wife says it's because the men have all the power." He chuckled, his charm returned. "Not in my house."

  Hal smiled with him.

  The stable boy checked the harness. "All ready, Mr. FitzWilliam."

  "On yer way then, sir. God be with you."

  Hal climbed into the driver's seat and picked up the reins. It had been a long time since he'd driven a team.

  "At the end of the drive, turn them right and let Thor and Loki do the navigating. They been to Lancaster a time or two, so they'll get you there. Put 'em up at the Cock and Bull and I'll go fetch 'em home in a day or two."

  Hal nodded, but before he could snap the reins, he heard her voice.

  "Mr. Merritt!" The Countess ran down the drive in a billow if green skirts.

  "I'm glad I caught you. Cook prepared you a lunch," she said through heavy breaths, and handed him a package wrapped in a fine linen napkin.

  Was he a fool to hope this might not have been Cook's suggestion?

  "And I want you to have these. They might bring something." She handed him a velvet-covered box. Opening it, he found a double strand of freshwater pearls surrounding a matching set of pearl earrings.

  "I can't-"

  "Nonsense," she said. A smile he could only call impish lit her pretty face, dimpling her cheeks. "These were my wedding present from Richard." She closed the lid, then folded his fingers around the case. "Get what you can for them." She turned back to her steward. "FitzWilliam, perhaps you can suggest an honest person Mr. Merritt might deal with in Lancaster?"

  FitzWilliam tipped back his hat and scratched his head. "I'd go to Dovey Lovelace. She drives a hard bargain, but she's honest. Her shop is right along the docks, sir."

  Hal nodded his thanks.

  The Countess stepped away from the wagon. "God go with you on your voyage," she said as she backed onto the lawn. "Goodbye, Mr. Merritt."

  Did he imagine sadness at his departure? Maybe he saw what he wanted to see.

  "Farewell, Countess. Be well."

  Hal forced his eyes forward. He'd better keep his mind on his other obligations. He snapped the reins. Thor shook his head and nickered. Loki lowered his head and they began to pull. The wagon lurched and rolled. Finally, he was on his way to his crew.

  * * * *

  Hal drove the horses hard all day, stopping only twice to rest them and one longer time to eat half the food the Countess had given him and allowing the horses to graze. The Lancashire countryside gleamed green all around him, the small river Wyre burbled its way toward the Irish Sea. It reminded him of home, though there were no mountains to speak of, certainly none like the Blue Ridge. And, of course, there were way too many British.

  He bit off a hunk of cheese and savored its nutty flavor, sighing as Lancaster came into view. His thoughts wandered ahead. Once the wagon was unloaded and the horses were settled in the livery, he could put Spring Moon out to sea again. He sniffed. He could smell the salt already. He felt his legs bow in anticipation of the rolling deck. The breeze picked up, bringing him the scents of the docks. The tang of fish in all stages of decay. The sulfur of hot pitch. The snap of fresh lumber.

  The wagon rolled on, the horses plodding, then picking up a little speed as they sensed a tow, a good feed and rest at the end of a hard pull.

  "I'll take good care of you, laddies," Hal told them. "Oats and a clean stall and maybe some feminine company." He leaned down, peeking as Thor's tail swished. "Oh, sorry, old men. I suppose feminine company is something you've left behind. Too bad. Maybe I'll avail myself of the local wares and I'll tell you all about it. How would that be?"

  Even as he said the words, they left a bad taste in his mouth. He'd known her a day, less, in fact, but already Elspeth, Countess Greymere, had made an impression on him not easily put aside for recreation.

  That Thor agreed was clear from his definitive snort. He emphasized his opinion by shaking his huge head, jangling the tack like sleigh bells.

  "Point well taken, friend. Your Countess isn't a woman easily forgotten. But I am a pirate. An Indian. A Scot, for God's sake. I would do better to find a pretty lady on the street and spend a few mindless hours and forget Lady Greymere."

  Thor nickered, then he and Loki stopped in the road. Thor turned, his egg-sized brown eye fixing on Hal.

  "Well?" Hal asked after a long moment. "You look as though you're about to give me a piece of your mind."

  Thor shook his head and turned back to the road, giving his harness mate a silent signal that had them moving forward again, but Thor snorted and snuffled all the way to the docks.

  "Faith, you sound like my old grandfather, mumbling and complaining like that."

  The horse wagged his head. No, no, no. What an idiot. Hal could practically hear the words and laughed at his fancy. Then there was Spring Moon.

  Hal smiled. "Ah, the only woman in my life. Hello, me beauty."

  A buckskin clad man dropped from the sky into the seat beside Hal. "Where the hell have you been?"

  With a glance at his first mate, Hal pulled the horses to a stop at the gangplank. "Up near Giggleswick."

  "And where is that?"

  "You should have studied your geography with more earnestness in the white missionaries' schools, George," Hal told his friend. "Giggleswick is up near the Yorkshire Dales."

  "I'm a seafaring redskin, Hal. Don't need no geography of land. How come you to be there?" He fixed Hal with a narrowed gaze. "I suppose you went on your assignment. Did you do it?"

  "No."

  George sighed in relief. "Good. At least we won't have the Royal Navy chasing after us for murder." He glanced behind him into the wagon bed. "Where did you get all this stuff?"

  Hal chuckled. "I made a deal with the Countess."

  "Her money or her life?" George grinned. "And how did she react to the offer?"

  "I didn't threaten her. Her husband took care of that. She was running away and I helped her. She rewarded me with provisions for the ship. Is the crew ready to shove off?"

  With a snort, George sat back and spread his arms along the back of the driver's seat. "You know your crew better than to have to ask that. Of course, Isaac used your absence to get roaring, wild-assed, thoroughly, disgustingly, dangerously drunk. So we've got a sea-sick cabin boy to nursemaid for a day or two until he gets his sea legs back under him. Oh, the man who hired you to do that little job for him sent word."

  Damn his devil's bargain. "What did he want?"

  "He said he was waiting for the proof he needed before he paid you the second installment."

  Hal's stomach twisted into a knot at the thought of the proof the man had demanded. The Countess's head. Maybe if he just returned the money, he could forget he'd ever seen the man in black.

  He stopped the team at the foot of the gangway to the ship.

  "Get the crew together and unload this. Then make the ship ready to sail. I've got some business to attend to, and as soon as I'm done, we're shoving off."

  After leaving Thor and Loki at the Cock and Bull's stable, noses comfortably snuggled in feedbags filled with oats, Hal patted his pocket, where rested the velvet box the Countess had given him. He headed toward the shops near the docks where he hoped the pawnbroker suggested by t
he Countess's steward would be interested in such a lovely bauble. Maybe he could get enough to repay the man in black and escape his agreement with no harm done.

  Whistling a sailor's working tune, Hal walked the streets of Lancaster. Nothing could ruin his good mood, not the mud sucking at his borrowed boots or the stink of the side streets where the contents of a thousand chamber pots daily flowed down to the harbor.

  When he arrived at the shop of Dovey Lovelace, Pawnbroker, he pushed open the door, glancing up at the tinkling bell announcing his arrival. As his eyes adjusted to the dim interior, he listened.

  "Hello?" He approached the scarred counter.

  "Comin'." A blowsy woman peered from behind a curtain. "What is it, ducks?"

  "I have goods I would like to sell."

  "What kind of goods?" She pushed the curtain aside and eased out into the front of the shop.

  A shadow crossed the doorway before the curtain fell again. A man, Hal thought, from the height and sound of heavy boots heading to the back of the building.

  "I didn't interrupt anything, did I?" he asked, displaying his most charming smile.

  "Nothing that warn't already done, ducks," the woman replied, smiling back. A hint of peppermint teased Hal's nose, covering the smell of decay. "Maybe you're lookin' for more than just selling? Maybe you'd also like to buy a bit of fun?"

  "Alas, fair lady, I am bound to sail as soon as we complete our transaction. Would that I had more time." He pulled the velvet case from his pocket. "How much for these?"

  The woman picked up the pearls, scraping them against her discolored teeth. Hal turned away. Those pearls had touched Lady Greymere's throat. It seemed sacrilege of the vilest kind that they now glistened with spit from this hag's mouth.

  "Genuine," she proclaimed before turning her attention to the earrings still mounted in the box. Her black fingertip flicked a sliver of white peeking from under the packing.

  "What's this?" she asked, pulling out a slip of paper.

  An instant before she started to read, Hal drew in a breath. How stupid could he possibly have been to not search the box for an incriminating bit like that?

  Dovey glanced up at him then back to the scrap. "'To Elspeth, Countess Greymere, on the occasion of our marriage, October 22, 1839, from Richard March, Viscount Sandgrove.' Blimey." She raised her head, her eyes wide. "How'd you come by these?"

  "They were a reward for a job well done."

  The woman's canny eyes narrowed as she thought. Hal reached forward to take the pearls from her. She jerked her hand away.

  "No so fast, ducks." Again she studied the pearls. Hal's stomach twisted as he thought of her options. "Twenty pound," she finally offered.

  His stomach unwound itself. He'd feared Dovey would raise an alarm and bring the Sheriff, but it appeared she was merely a crafty businesswoman, set on getting the best price she could.

  "One hundred," he countered.

  She laughed. "Come on, ducks. That gentl'man you noticed back there what just left, he told me what happened to the poor Countess. Taken from her home by an American with copper-colored skin." Her sharp eyes studied Hal's face. "And here you are with the lady's weddin' pearls. Her husband, poor man, 'as been searching high and low for the lovely Countess. Thirty."

  "The Countess is at Greymere," he said, feeling as though he were compromising a trust. "Fifty."

  "You murdered the poor lady, didn't you? Thirty-five."

  "Now, Mistress Lovelace, do I look the kind of man who would kill a woman?" He fixed her with a glare, trying to look the picture of just that kind of man. "Forty-five."

  The woman held her ground. "Aye, you're a grand man, aren't you, threatening an auld woman. Did you violate her before you cut her throat? I heard you savages like to violate white women. Forty."

  Hal reached over the counter, grabbing the woman by her fleshy neck.

  "Done." He released her so suddenly, she fell backward against the rickety shelves behind the counter.

  All the while she counted the money into his palm, her eyes stayed on him, watching as a rabbit watches a fox, knowing it's only a matter of time before the attack comes.

  "Thank you, madame. I cannot say it has been a pleasure doing business with you." He turned from her and made his way to the street.

  A sour taste settled in his mouth from the doings of the last couple of days. George had better have Spring Moon ready to raise anchor and set off for home, tide or no.

  "Ho, there, sir."

  So fixed had he been on getting to his ship, he hadn't seen the two tall men step onto the boardwalk, blocking his way. He side-stepped one, but the other cut off his escape. Hal lowered his shoulder, ramming into the second man.

  Pain shot through his arm and his fingers tingled as he bounced off the hulk and fell backward. It was like running into a damned oak. Both men fell on him.

  "It'll really be best if ya' don't fight, lad," the first man said. "The master wishes a word wi' ya."

  They got off him, grabbed his arms and dragged him into the alley. Hal drew a deep breath as they straightened him up against a wall.

  Then a beefy fist connected with his belly, driving all the air from his lungs.

  Chapter Seven

  The man in black stepped out of the shadows, gazing down his nose at Hal.

  "Oh, no." Hal cursed his rotten luck.

  "Why have you been avoiding me, Hal?" He grabbed Hal's chin, turning his face upward. "Is the bitch dead?"

  Hal jerked free from the man's grasp. "She was already gone when I got there."

  The man coolly withdrew and nodded at one of his men. The hulk landed another blow. Hal doubled over and gasped for air.

  "You failed? How is that? She is missing. I had assumed you snatched her and dealt with her as I instructed. Richard March has riders scouring the whole of Yorkshire and Lancashire seeking the baggage. Where is she?"

  "I don't know. I told you I missed her."

  The man made a motion to his lads. Each took an arm and stretched Hal, forcing him to stand. A blade appeared before his eyes.

  "That's too bad. Really it is."

  He rubbed the edge of the blade along Hal's throat. One stroke and it would be over. Hal prayed George would wonder what was taking so long and get the ship the hell out of here.

  Feet pounding on the boardwalk caught the gentleman's attention. "Jones, see what the ruckus is."

  One of the thugs dropped Hal's arm and sidled to the corner of the building. He watched for a moment before turning back to his master.

  "The sheriff, looks like, sir. Run into the pawn shop, he did."

  Hal groaned. The pearls. The doxy at the pawn shop had called the sheriff. He didn't know whether to be glad or to worry.

  "Damn. Take him out to the harbor and finish him there. Meet me at the Cock and Bull after. If it weren't for the sheriff, I'd show you myself how I handle men who can't keep their part of a bargain." With that order, the man slipped his knife along Hal's neck, a sting marking the thin cut his blade left there, then he faded into the dim twilight.

  Hal blinked. Had the bastard actually vanished right before his eyes?

  "Come on, laddie," one man said. "We've no urge to be carrying a corpse all the way down to the docks."

  "Making a man walk to his own murder, fellas? Not very sporting." Hal made a big show of catching his breath.

  "Stop yer bellyachin'. Git moving." Jones, who did all the talking and apparently had the brains of the pair, such as they were, prodded him with a pistol.

  "Hey, lads, I've got some money-"

  "The master would cut us up like paper dolls if we was to cross 'im."

  "And I have a ship."

  "We gets sea-sick, don't we, Bertie?"

  Bertie grunted as he shoved Hal forward.

  Hal glanced about for an avenue of escape.

  Bide your time, Hal. Since they didn't want to be seen carrying a corpse down to the harbor, they probably wouldn't kill him until they got him down ther
e. Maybe.

  But what then?

  "You a prayin' man?" Jones asked.

  "Sometimes," Hal replied.

  "You might want to start now."

  Bertie chuckled. Hal spared him a glance. Capital lads, they were, he thought wryly. Too bad he'd have to figure out a way to kill them both. Soon.

  The three walked out to the end of an empty dock. The nearest ship stood at anchor half a mile off. This area had been abandoned for years and it wasn't hard to see why. This was where the filth from the city washed into the sea. The stink from the slime and sludge and shit floating on the water hit him in the face.

  He peered over the edge of the dock to the water. His stomach turned as dozens of pairs of beady eyes returned his examination. Rats. Damn, but he hated rats.

  "How do you want it? Shot to the 'ed? Knife across the throat? Blunt object? Maybe ye'd like to be strangled? We can do as you want, seein' as 'ow's it's your death and all."

  They were asking him? A spark of hope.

  "I was wrong about you boys, Jones. You truly embody all that is best in English sportsmanship." Hal set his finger to his chin and frowned up to the sky. "Hmmmm. Let's see, gunshot, knife, blunt object. They all leave marks on the body, don't they? Even strangulation would make me all purple and have my eyes bugging out." He snapped his fingers. "How 'bout drowning?"

  "Hah, laddie, you are a caution. The master told us you's a seaman. You can swim."

  "Not if you hold me down. And I don't swim very well anyway. I'm an Indian, you know, and we savages are terrible afraid of water." He hung his head. "Actually, you see, I wish to avoid any disfigurement if possible. There's a young lady..." Raising his eyebrows, seeking understanding, he shrugged. "Call me vain, but if I must die, I would prefer to leave a good-looking corpse for her to weep over."

  Jones looked over at Bertie. "What you say, Bertie? Should we throw the lad over and drown 'im?"

  Bertie shrugged, glanced over the edge of the dock, grimaced, then nodded his agreement.

  Capital lads, indeed.

  "Only, Bertie and me, we don't swim. How're we to 'old you under?"

  Hal glanced around him until he saw a wrecked rowboat tied to the dock. He went over and looked. "Ah, the very thing." Lying on his belly on the dock, he reached in and hauled out the oars. "Here you go. Push me under and hold me there until I don't fight any more."