For nearly a minute the two women glared in silence at each other. Alicia stood aloof and patronising, Tiola, rigid with fury. How dare he invite his doxy aboard? How dare he!
Alicia broke the awkward silence. “Are you not to introduce us, Captain Acorne?”
Clearing his throat, Jesamiah indicated Tiola. “May I present my affianced, Mistress Tiola Oldstagh – Madam van Overstratten as was. Tiola. Mrs Phillipe Mereno, Alicia.”
~ I know perfectly well who she is. The whore you swived last night, you fuckster. ~
The words slammed into Jesamiah’s mind; he winced at the force of her anger – her hurt – hit him like a cannon ball. Tiola so rarely used impolite language.
Retaining her outward dignity, however, she dipped a slow and elegant curtsey. “Mistress Mereno.”
Returning the formality, Alicia masked a flare of intense jealousy. She had heard this woman was comely – no, girl, not woman, for surely she was barely seventeen? And ‘comely’ was an understatement. Miss Oldstagh was a beauty. Beyond the two spots of red anger dimpled into her cheeks she was unflawed; perfect, apart from the lack of a rounded bosom, but even Alicia had to concede that as she was so petite, little more than a few finger-widths above five feet and as slender as a willow, full bosoms would have spoilt the faery image.
Her eyes were black and wide with long, thick, lashes. Not a hint of lead paint, cochineal rouge or coloured makeup anywhere on her face. Her bold stare, a direct challenge, had a fearless intensity that belied the apparent fragility. Alicia had the distinct impression that Tiola Oldstagh merely appeared to be the sapling willow, but was as indestructible as oak – and as potentially dangerous as yew.
Defiant, Alicia tipped her chin higher and fingered the gold crucifix dangling into her cleavage. Beneath this girl’s piercing gaze she felt vulnerable and utterly exposed, as if she were standing, skirt and petticoats hauled up to the waist, lower half naked, waiting for the obligatory monthly examination by the pox-men. Even the experienced, tired old whores dreaded those intimate brothel inspections. Oh, she did not wish to go back to that kind of degrading, brutal life!
She forged a light, careless laugh and walked further into the cabin, and indicating permission, settled herself beside the table. “I have merely come on business,” she explained. “Captain Acorne’s unwarranted disposal of my husband has left me in somewhat of an altogether unacceptable position.”
~ What position be that? ~ Tiola snapped into Jesamiah’s head. ~ Flat on her back, legs waving in the air as she screamed her ecstasy? Or did you thrust in from behind? ~
He blanched. “Look,” he protested, “I’ve known Alicia a long time, Tiola. This is not what you think.” He patted the air with both hands, trying to dampen the sparks that were shooting, invisibly but none the less potently, from Tiola’s eyes.
“I know what to think, Jesamiah Acorne.” Tiola yanked his sapphire betrothal ring from her finger, tossed it to the table where it rolled and settled in front of Alicia. “I know full well what to think, and do not you dare lecture me contrariwise!”
A gust of wind swirled through the cabin and caught her cloak that rustled like bats’ wings as, without a backward glance, Tiola swept out. Neither of the two remaining occupants noticing that the skylight and the stern windows were shut firm, that no wind could possibly have wafted in.
Jesamiah heard Tiola calling for Rue, his quartermaster and second in command. Through the windows a moment later, saw the gig heading for the Fortune of Virginia, Tiola in the stern, her back upright and towards the Sea Witch. She did not turn around. His heart was thumping, throat dry, and his stomach felt hollow, sickness in his guts. What in all the names of idiocy had he done? He’d had an itch and he’d scratched it; where was the harm in that? But women viewed it differently, he knew. How could he have been so utterly, totally, stupid?
~ Tiola? I am sorry, love. So sorry. ~
Silence. Jesamiah had never been able to initiate their private conversations, and even if he had, he was acutely aware that she was too angry to be answering him.
Five
Alicia Mereno smoothed the pink petticoat of her gown that was rouched and ruffled into delicate frills, the pleating held in place by tiny bunches of yellow roses, the colour exactly matching the over-gown. At the hem, a glimpse of lace from the under-petticoat, and protruding beneath, leather slippers and fine-knit stockings. Jesamiah knew full well those stockings would be held in place by yellow or pink ribbons halfway up her thighs.
Removing her bonnet Alicia lightly shook her head, evocatively jiggling the cascade of elaborate blonde ringlets. She had another ribbon laced into her hair. A blue one. Royal blue – Jesamiah blue.
What in the world had possessed him to give it to her last night as a keepsake? Had Tiola seen it?
Of course she bloody had!
“Your bruises are not troubling you this morning? I had no opportunity to enquire, leaving as you did before I awoke.”
Jesamiah swung away from the windows and lifted his hands in exasperated surrender; “Very well, Madam, you have succeeded in embarrassing me and outraging my woman. What is it you want? Money? An apology for my killing your husband? I assure you neither will be forthcoming.”
Again she smoothed her gown where it fitted trimly into her waist and across her stomach. “I could say I wanted to conceive your child, but as you have so eagerly obliged, I may already have done that.”
Opening his mouth to protest Jesamiah firmly shut it again. With child? From the one bedding?
Seeing his doubt she fixed her gaze on his eyes, held their dark depth with her ice-blue. “Men have this misguided notion that they cannot father a child with but the one poke. A notion that suits them admirably in order to sidestep their lack of responsibility. The fault is always the next man’s. Or the woman’s carelessness.” She inspected a broken nail, her forehead creasing into an annoyed frown. “You impregnated me before. The time you took me in my son’s nursery. In Virginia; at la Sorenta. Do you recall? You were playing the part of a Spanish gentleman. The Spanish disguise was most convincing. You could never pass as a gentleman, however.”
If the jibe was meant to sting it missed its target. Jesamiah recalled the event very well. The spending of lust with Alicia and the delight of cuckolding his brother in his own home had been a triumph at the time, but something had jogged Phillipe into recognising Jesamiah’s true identity and the hatred between the two men had burst into the clash of a sword fight. Jesamiah had never discovered how Phillipe had seen through the disguise. Alicia, the bitch, had been about to betray him anyway, so cause was irrelevant.
“I should have run the bastard through there and then,” Jesamiah said with a snarl. “You too. For some unfathomable reason my soft heart bade me spare the pair of you. I’ve hardened somewhat in the months between. If you expect me to believe I fathered a cuckoo on you, expect again, Madam. You enjoyed the encounter; you were and always will be a whore. You flutter your lashes at any fellow who can serve your purpose with loose buttons and a hard prick.”
The bluster was to mask his doubt. How soon did a woman know she was carrying? Immediately? One month, two, three? He had never asked, never bothered to find out. Such things were women’s matters, women’s business.
Moving to sit on an upright chair, Alicia crossed her feet primly at the ankles, rested one elbow on the table and balanced her chin on thumb and finger. “Your daughter died soon after birth. I trust your seed is not weak, Jesamiah Acorne.” She tossed a contemptuous glance at the bedchamber alcove, “From what I hear you and the Dutchman’s widow have not been virgin-pure together, yet I do not see her belly swelling.” She patted her flat stomach again. “The little one I may be nurturing in here as consequence of our liaison I will claim as Phillipe’s, not yours. I need his son because I want la Sorenta.”
Jesamiah laughed as he sat on the red cushions topping the lockers beneath the windows, his fingers curling into the blue shawl Tiola had left there.
Her favourite. She would be sorry to have forgotten it. “A son? You already have two! One by your first husband and one of Phillipe’s. I gave the child a gold coin as a christening gift, you will recall.”
Alicia shook her head, dabbed at a genuine tear. “Yellow Fever took them both. Phillipe also nearly succumbed.” Her sorrow changed rapidly to bitter venom. “He survived only for you to tip him overboard to drown.”
Jesamiah shook his head, folded his arms. “Not so. I strangled him. With one o’ those.” He pointed at the blue ribbon in her hair. “They ain’t just for prettyin’, darlin’.” He stood abruptly, walked to his desk that fitted neatly into the curved shape of the bulwarks, yanked open a small drawer and removed a pristine length of ribbon. Swiftly his fingers tied a killing knot at its centre and striding across the few yards between them he was suddenly behind her, had it looped around her elegant, ivory-pale neck. He crossed his elbows, wedging one into the other for purchase and with the ribbon ends clenched into his fists began to pull, the pressure on the silk squeezing against her windpipe.
Frantic, terrified, she clawed at the ribbon, panic storming through her; breath and spittle gurgling in her choking throat. As rapidly, he released her, opening his fists and throwing the garrotte aside. She collapsed onto her knees, hands clutching at her bruised throat, unable to speak, gasping air into her restricted lungs.
“You bastard!” were the first croaked words she managed.
“That’s me,” he said with a nod. “I’m the bastard, you’re the bitch. We’re even.”
As she scrambled back onto her feet he turned away from her, bored with the charade. Watched as the Fortune of Virginia dropped canvas and began to glide with the tide towards the narrow channel between the sand bars that formed the entrance to Nassau harbour. Without a telescope he could not clearly see the figures scampering on deck, but he knew they were only crew hurrying about their business to get the ship under way. Tiola would not be there, looking back at him.
Swinging round he turned his attention to Alicia. “So what is it you want? You’d best tell me now and tell me quick for I have things to do – and playing Tom Fool to your self-indulgent games is not on the list.”
“I told you; I want money. The law of inheritance is inconvenient. Without specific arrangement a woman cannot receive her husband’s estates, they may go only to the nearest male relative. The plantation and all its assets have therefore passed to you. They should be mine. La Sorenta is my home. I want you to give it to me, or pay me suitable recompense.”
Head tipping backwards, mouth open, Jesamiah roared with laughter.
Not understanding the jest, Alicia scowled. She did not like being mocked. Too many men had used, abused and humiliated her. And she needed money. Desperately.
“There are official papers waiting for you in Virginia. Your father’s lawyer holds them in Williamsburg. He will legally cede the land to me when you sign them.”
Sobering, Jesamiah wiped his left hand beneath his nose, displaying the tattooed letters of Tiola’s name arrayed across his knuckles. “Let me get this right: you want me to come to Virginia to sign some bloody papers so you can get the estate – and no doubt immediately sell it?”
Her throat was aching, she could feel the uncomfortable bruising every time she swallowed, all the same she lifted her head high and stated, “Sell it. Yes.”
Striding to the cabin door Jesamiah flung it wide; “I’ll ask you politely t’leave m’ship.” As often, when aboard or agitated, Jesamiah lapsed into a seaman’s vernacular: “You ‘ave the choice to do so under y’own sail or I’ll ‘ave Finch ‘aul you off. I ain’t p’tic’lar. You will not get one penny piece from me. Even do you put a noose roun’ me neck and ‘ang me, you will not get a penny.”
Obstinate, she plumped herself down on the chair beside his desk. Folded her arms. “I will not leave here, Jesamiah. By right of marriage la Sorenta is mine. I want it.”
Nostrils flaring, Jesamiah raised one hand and tapping each finger counted off a list of objections.
“One, I have no desire to sail to Virginia. Two, I cannot sail without approval granted by Governor Rogers’ office. Three…” He paused. Three. He strolled to her side, put both hands on the chair arms and leant forward, his face close to hers. To her credit, she did not flinch away. He smelt of rum, wet hemp, tar and masculine sweat. He needed a shave: bristles sprawling above the black hairs of the short-trimmed beard that framed his jawline, were making his moustache ragged.
“Three,” he repeated slowly. “Phillipe was never my brother. He was a bastard foisted on my father by the woman who spawned him. He has never had legal claim to that tobacco plantation.” He paused, whispered, “And therefore, darlin’, nor do you.”
Alicia was a survivor. A Port Royal whore who had dragged herself from the gutter to become wife, and widow, to two men in succession. The husbands and children she could manage without. Her home, or more accurately, the wealth its sale would generate, she could not.
Clamping her nails into his wrist she removed one of his arms from the chair and with her other hand pushed him aside. “One,” she retaliated as she stood up, “you will not be permitting your little bedmate to scamper around Bath Town unprotected because, as you are well aware, Bath Town is where Edward Teach has decided to anchor his flatulent backside. He does not treat women well and is attracted to a pretty-faced wench. For all I dislike her, if your doxie steps within range of his pizzle she will be used and dumped dead into the sea faster than you can get a hard cock. So you will be wanting to go after her. Two.” She reached into the linen poke she had left with her bonnet, handed Jesamiah a folded and sealed parchment. “I took the liberty of asking Captain Jennings to write you a Letter of Marque. He was more than willing to grant it when I told him you were planning on going pirate hunting.”
Before Jesamiah could protest that he had no intention of doing anything of the sort, she raised a hand for his silence. “Three. Among those papers concerning the estate and waiting in Williamsburg to be signed over to me, is a sealed letter from your father addressed to you. It reads: ‘To be given to my son, Jesamiah Mereno, upon the death of Phillipe Mereno.’ Your birth name was Mereno, I therefore take it that this intriguing document is for you. I wonder if the contents have aught to do with that scandalous statement you have just made about Phillipe?”
“If it is for me,” Jesamiah snapped irritably, “why did you not bring the damn thing with you?”
To his annoyance, despite thinking he did not want to have anything to do with this, he suddenly realised he desperately did want to know what was written in that letter. What his father had to say to him from beyond the grave. It had to be about Phillipe. Had to be.
Alicia walked to the door, her hips swaying provocatively, and paused a half pace over the threshold. “The letter is sealed and addressed to you. The lawyer would not give it to me. As for Phillipe, he was recognised by his father as his firstborn son. So whatever you claim, until you can prove otherwise, la Sorenta was legally his and therefore mine. Shall I have Finch bring my baggage in here, or have you another suitable cabin? I expect comfort on a sea voyage.”
“You’re not bloody sailing on this ship!”
She laughed coyly and sashayed back to him, sensuously kissed his mouth.
“Oh but I am. You are going to run like a lovesick boy after your black-eyed, black-haired mistress. And you want that letter as much as I want the estate.”
Six
Tiola Oldstagh. A name chosen by herself, for rearranged it spelt all that is good. Created at the dawn of time with other entities of power, she was adept at hiding her feelings and at showing a bland mask of indifference to the world. She’d had eternity in which to practise.
Most of those of Power were gone, either forgotten and faded into non-existence or destroyed, for their abilities had not been so immense after all. A few remained, among them the Gods of Belief and Faith, their names used in wondrous variety, and the Old Ones of
Wisdom – the Immortals of Light. Their purpose: to defend human life against the cruelties and hatreds of the Dark Power; to protect against the Malevolence that sought to destroy without qualm or pity.
Her ability of Craft enabled the full control of her body; she could govern every muscle, every nerve. The flow of blood, the pace of her heart and the breath in her lungs. She chose to repress her fertility, and although her present form was not immortal she could, in certain instances, cheat death. She was able to stand as still as stone for hours, or run for miles with the stamina of an ox and the speed of a gazelle. Had the strength of iron tempered by the delicacy of a cobweb. What was to be seen she could see, what was said, she heard. The wind obeyed her command and she could make the earth be stilled or quake. She had the Craft, a wisdom that bound and united the elements of nature – air, earth, fire and water. But not the salt seas. She had no jurisdiction over the ocean worlds where one of the few surviving Elementals from that early Time, Tethys, ruled with selfish indifference.
Tiola’s inherited skills and wisdom had passed down through the alternate female generations, her limits were an inability to observe the future and to commit any action of intentional harm or hatred unless she was in mortal peril. There were few who possessed the old gifts of Craft now, for although the soul was immortal, the body was not, and too many of her sisters had failed to survive the predations of the Dark.
The Dark Power had always been strong and it so easily manipulated the frail and vulnerable human emotions of jealousy, hatred, spite and greed. So easily manipulated superstition and the fanatical beliefs of religion. All her sisters had died in the name of a God – along with the many innocents condemned wrongly as witches. Poor wretches who had no gift, beyond a knowledge of the healing herbs or of Sight, or were merely old, their only crime to live alone with a cat or a goat as a companion. So much suffering and misery caused by those corrupted by the unseen influence of the Dark.
Bring It Close Page 3