Treasure

by W. A. Hoffman

  I shook my head sadly and left him. As I walked into the street, I realized that I would still have to kill him if his love – once he realized it would truly always be unrequited – turned to hate, as love always seemed to do under that circumstance. Oddly, as long as he yet loved me, he was not a threat, merely an annoyance.

  Hannah greeted me with a warm smile and led me in silence past Theodore’s closed office doors: apparently he was with a client. The ladies and babies were in the back room, as usual. Jamaica was napping in a small crib upon the floor, and I squatted to examine her. I was acutely aware of the fact that she did not resemble Sarah’s son. I made no mention of that to Vivian, though, as she was gazing at her daughter with pride.

  “Where’s Gaston?” Vivian asked. “Or should I refer to him as Lord Montren?”

  “Call him Gaston,” I said. “We had a busy night. Hush!” I chided Rachel before she could voice whatever was behind her smirk. “My nephew was born and the Virgin Queen arrived.”

  “Oh! A boy! How wonderful!” Rachel exclaimed. “How is he? How is Mistress Striker? What have they named him?”

  I grinned. “He is fine. Sarah is fine. I do not know what they intend to name him; no mention was made of it.”

  “I would imagine Captain Striker was quite pleased,” Vivian said with a glum smile.

  “Aye,” I sighed. “He was delighted to have a son.” I shrugged in an attempt to let her know she should not fret over it. “The Marquis’ ship also arrived, so he will be sailing soon. I assume we will also.”

  Vivian frowned at that. “How long will you be gone?”

  “Probably six months or so,” I said.

  She sighed.

  “I have… um… made arrangements,” I said and looked to Rachel. “For the wellbeing of all we value here. The details will need to be decided upon; but five good men from the Queen have chosen to stay here in Port Royal and watch over everyone while we are gone.”

  “Who?” Rachel asked. “Do I know them?”

  I listed the names, as she did indeed know Liam, Davey, and Julio.

  She nodded thoughtfully. “Do you truly feel it to be necessary? Will they walk around the houses with arms?”

  “I do not know. I would prefer that Vivian not go anywhere in town without escort.” I looked to her as I realized how she might have interpreted that.

  She shook her head with pinched lips. “I will not be going to the market or…”

  “There has been no mention of a price on your head,” I said carefully. “But I feel that is largely because my father thought I would put you out.”

  She nodded. “I understand. I will not go to the market because… people will stare, and I do not wish to see them.”

  “All right. I… do not wish for you to think it is for any reason other than your safety,” I whispered.

  She smiled. “Thank you for saying so.”

  I turned back to Rachel. “Beyond Vivian’s safety, our largest concern is that Sarah will be abducted once Striker and Pete have gone. The men will be living in her house; however, if any feel there is a need for someone to watch this house as well…”

  “Of course,” Rachel said. “We have another spare room.”

  “I also think it would be best if you all learned to at least shoot pistols.” I looked back to Vivian. “You especially. I want you armed at all times. Agnes and Sarah carry pistols about in their skirts. They can show you how they suspend and conceal them.”

  “Will you teach me?” she asked.

  “If we have time; if not…”

  She shook her head with a stubborn look I was beginning to know well.

  “Vivian,” I chided. “They are good men. I will introduce you before we sail. None will judge you harshly.”

  I bit my tongue a little on that: Liam judged all women who might come, or had come, between matelots, harshly. Julio would probably be the best to handle her, but I worried that she might be inclined to bigotry due to his being a maroon. I sighed.

  “And you must understand they are not servants,” I added. “No matter how coarse some of them might appear or speak, and no matter the color of their skin, or their nation of origin, I consider them my peers, which means they are your equals as well.”

  She frowned at that, but nodded, and then regarded me with guilt. “I am not so… high and mighty as I once was. And, aye, I know I am no longer a Lady.” This last was a trifle bitter.

  I snorted. “You will ever be a Lady, as you will ever be a lord’s daughter, for whatever dubious worth such a thing possesses.”

  She awarded me a grudging smile. “True.”

  There was frantic knocking on the back door. Hannah let Samuel into the house. He looked as if he had run the distance here.

  “Master Will!” he exclaimed with relief upon seeing me. “They said to get you. None of them knew where Master Theodore’s was. The women be fighting.”

  I followed him without question, or even bothering to excuse myself, and we ran home. I saw no women fighting as I slid to a halt in the atrium, but I did see a number of worried men.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  Alonso chuckled. “The blonde one,” he pointed upstairs, “came down and went to the stable after you left. There was quiet for a time, and then they were at each other like cats. The brunette is in the wash room with the maid. The blonde apparently has a good right.”

  I swore and ran to the stable. Gaston regarded me groggily from the hammock with a pistol in his hand.

  “I heard yelling,” he said.

  “Apparently Christine and Agnes,” I muttered and looked about. Agnes’ sketch pad was sitting on the medicine chest, open to a very nice nude portrait of my matelot. The medicine chest and the trunks with our clothing were open. I frowned at that, but picked up the picture and showed it to him. “I left Agnes here to watch over you, as you were sleeping like one dead. Christine apparently came down after I left.”

  He looked at the sketch, and then at his nakedness, and frowned. “Christine walked in…”

  “I suppose she did. I will discover what occurred. She struck Agnes.”

  Gaston swore quietly in French and struggled to sit up.

  “Non,” I said and pushed him back. I handed him the water bottle, and closed Agnes’ sketch book and set it aside. “Stay here, drink, eat.” I indicated the cold food. “And leave the matter to me.”

  He nodded with guilty eyes, and I kissed him lightly. He pulled my mouth to his for a true kiss, and I accepted it, even though his breath was horrible.

  I grinned as he released me. “Drink the water, you taste of soured rum.”

  He grinned ruefully. “I feel as if I drank a keg.”

  “You did not, but…” I bit my lip and sighed. “It is the turmoil of the last days, my love; you have been fighting your Horse very hard, and you become very tired when you do so. I have seen it before. Rest.”

  “I know,” he sighed. Then he was frowning and trying to rise again. “Have you spoken to my father?”

  “Non, but with what has occurred, I am sure I will shortly. Do not trouble yourself. Lie down. Rest.” I pushed him back onto the hammock, and this time he acted as if he would stay.

  I left him. There were still no women visible in the atrium, but five people pointed me toward the bathing room, and another five toward the top of the stairs. The bathing room was closer.

  I knocked on the door and Henrietta opened it. “Oh, Lord… Sir…” she sputtered.

  I waved her off and stepped in to find Agnes regarding me with wide teary eyes above a split lip. “What happened?” I asked kindly.

  “I said something stupid,” she sobbed.

  I smiled, even though my gut was curdling as I imagined all the stupid things she could have said. “Well, that happens, my dear. Start at the beginning.”

  “Christine walked in while I was sketching Gaston,” she said. “She did not knock, and it is not as if there is a door, but she just walked in and I had no warn
ing. She just stared at him for a long time with her face all screwed up in a grimace. And then she realized I was there, and she stared at me for a moment, and then at my drawing, and then she demanded to know what I was doing, as if she were blind. I told her I was watching over him while you went to the Theodores’. She became enraged. She began to look about for a blanket, claiming she wanted to cover his nakedness. He was lying on one, but she did not try to take it up. I told her it was no bother. I had seen him that way many times before.” She shook her head ruefully. “She was not pleased with that at all. She said she could not believe he would show himself to anyone or want me drawing him when he was so scarred. And I tried to tell her that he liked it, because I showed him how handsome he was. And she slapped me. She called me a deluded little girl who liked ugly things and had no sense of beauty.” Agnes sobbed anew. “And so… and so… I told her he was not ugly, and you found him beautiful and I found him beautiful, and if she could not see he was beautiful then she was a mean-spirited bitch. And then she tried to hit me again, and I hit her. She said I was never to speak that way about her husband again. And then…” She looked up at me with guilty eyes. “I told her he was never going to marry her. And then she tried to hit me, and we began to punch at one another and pull hair, and I ran outside, because I was afraid she would hit me so hard I would swoon and I would fall on the puppies. And then she ran off.”

  I embraced her. “It is all right, it is all right. All will be well. It was bound to happen. She was to be told today, anyway. I thank the Gods she will not marry him.” I truly thanked the Gods that Gaston had not heard what was said.

  I found Henrietta watching us with quiet concern.

  “It sounds as if it is a fine thing she will na’ marry ’im,” she said.

  I nodded and passed Agnes to her. “I must speak with the Marquis and Christine.”

  I ran up the stairs and began to knock on the Marquis’ door, and then I realized Christine was already speaking to him.

  “Why will he not go to France?” she was asking.

  I slapped the door twice and opened it. The Marquis was sitting at the edge of his bed, looking every bit as disheveled as we had left him the night before. Christine was pacing. A bruise was forming below her left eye, and her hair hung limply from where it had been arranged atop her head.

  “Because he is mad,” I said. “Civilization of that order is difficult for him.”

  The Marquis pointed at me, as if to say that that was what he would have said.

  Christine turned to me, closing the distance between us like an angry dog. “I will marry him. You will not stop me.”

  “You stupid girl, I already have,” I said.

  “Why? Are you afraid a woman will show him how to be a man, and he will no longer take it from you?” she hissed.

  I was incredulous, so much so it took several seconds for me to discover how to reply.

  She turned back to the Marquis. “He just wants to keep your son as his boy and not allow him to be what he rightfully is.”

  “Gaston bestows in our relationship,” I said at last. “Nine times out of ten, perhaps nineteen out of twenty, he is the one with his cock up me, not the other way around. Ask any man down below. They have seen us at it.”

  The Marquis covered his smile with the back of his hand and found the corner of the ceiling of great interest.

  Christine whirled to face me, but she blushed. She attempted to cover her discomfiture with a disparaging snort. “Well, then, you are even less a man than I thought you were.”

  I chuckled. “You stupid cow. I know very damn well what I am. I am a man who will not allow the man he loves to be forced to share a bed with some witch who cannot bear the sight of him.”

  She flinched. “That is not… I do not know what that little bitch said, but that is not true! I was… You said he was scarred. You did not say… How did that happen?” she demanded. “It must have nearly killed him! I cannot imagine how much pain and suffering he must have endured. And there she is drawing him, like he was something of amusement to her, like a thing under one of her lenses!”

  If she was sincere, I could see how Agnes and she had come to such an impasse of ideologies at that moment.

  The Marquis had blanched.

  “You will never know how that occurred,” I said firmly. “You have not earned the right, and you never will. He will not marry you. You will cause entirely too much havoc in our lives, and not because I fear he will love you. Nay, it is because I fear he will hate you, and his madness will… You simply do not and cannot understand.”

  “It is not your decision,” she growled and turned to the Marquis.

  “It is not mine,” he said quietly.

  “It is mine,” I said.

  She shook her head and walked around me and out the door.

  I looked to the Marquis. “He is still haunted by events of that night. He has discovered that… there are difficulties with women. He does not trust them. He fears his madness if alone with one under those circumstances. We have been addressing the matter with… the girl, Agnes, and as long as I am with him, he is… somewhat well with it, but…”

  He held up his hand to stop me, and stood. When he reached me, he laid his hands along my face and smiled. “My boy, you need not explain. He cannot marry that one, even if…” He sighed and shrugged expressively. “Can he marry the girl? I believe you both suggested her, and I said no because of her lineage, or lack thereof. I am a foolish old man mired in traditions and… perhaps a lifetime of dreams I myself have destroyed. I am grateful I have a son who will acknowledge me, and not shoot me,” he added with a moue and a smile, “and I will be happy with any wife he chooses to take, and I will be delighted simply to have grandchildren. I can see he gets on well with the girl, he is comfortable in her presence, and she is talented and intelligent. I am a God-damned fool to ask for more than he can give when I have done so much to…”

  “He loves you, you know?” I said. “He truly wishes to please you. He wanted me to tell you about the matter of the marriage, because he was afraid you would be disappointed and…”

  He shook his head. “I need to have a long talk with him before I leave.”

  “Oui,” I said. “I will entrust him to you,” I teased.

  He grinned and embraced me. “Thank you. I appreciate that. Now, what is my future daughter-in-law’s name? Do you know anything of her?”

  “She has been using the name Chelsea as a surname, but I am not sure if that was her father’s or one she has adopted. Chelsea is a place name in England, and also the name of a Lord I once knew in Paris. Her father attended a university, so there was either money or thrift involved there. Her father died and her mother married a planter, sight unseen, and came here. Her mother then died of the flux. I know little else, other than what you have seen. She is young.”

  “All good wives are,” he said with a dismissive wave. “If they get too old, they begin to think for themselves.”

  I chuckled. “I am afraid this one has already set herself on that path, and it is a thing we value in her.”

  “Then good,” he said with a little shrug. “Speak with them, and have my son come and speak with me. I believe I shall… attend to my toilette.” He frowned at the empty cot beneath the window. “Where is Dupree?”

  “The last I saw him, he was drooling on the table downstairs when we carried you to bed. I shall send him up if I see him.”

  He sighed with amusement. “I do not often drink to such excess.”

  “How is your ship?” I asked with a grin. “I hope full of more of that excellent cognac.”

  He sighed again, this time unhappily. “Sadly, I feel he has but few bottles of that. Non, the ship is well. The captain has provisioned and filled her with cargo and is quite anxious to sail.”

  “Well then we have much to do.”

  “Oui, oui, now go and find my man before I ask you for the chamber pot.”

  I left him, closing the doo
r behind me. Agnes was ascending the far stairs with Henrietta. I went to meet them before they entered Agnes’ room. Her lip had swollen quite pronouncedly. I was sure she would look lovely before the clergyman.

  “I must speak to Agnes in private for a moment,” I told Henrietta.

  She left us, and I followed Agnes into her room.

  “Would you consent to marrying Gaston?” I asked.

  She sat on her bed and studied the floor. Her hands were surprisingly still at her sides, and her face was only creased by a single line across her brow. “What would I be expected to do?”

  “Well… the Marquis wishes for grandchildren.”

  She nodded with resignation. “I would be the Comtessa de Montren? Would I have to go to France? I don’t speak French.”

  “Aye; nay; well, I do not know; I doubt we will ever live there for any length of time; and it might behoove you to learn it.”

  She nodded again. “I suppose.”

  I knelt before her. “You have many qualities we feel we would value in a mother, and you care for him; and he, even in his madness, has little difficulty with you. I actually considered marrying you myself if I had put out Vivian. And, you were Gaston’s first choice, but his father was interested then in obtaining a bride of noble French lineage. Christine’s uncle on her mother’s side is a Duke.”

  Agnes frowned. “My father’s brother is a duke: the Duke of Chelsea.”

  My jaw dropped. “God damn it, girl! Why did you not tell anyone that months ago?”

  She wrinkled her nose with annoyance. “No one asked! And it is not as if it matters. My father’s family shunned him when he married my mother.”

  I sighed. She was correct. We had never asked, and it was probably not a thing one spoke of, if one had never been raised to be a noble and been reduced to the status of a bondswoman.

  “I have met your uncle,” I said.

  She shrugged and spoke bitterly. “I have not. Can he draw? Father could draw, but he could not even afford art supplies, they left him so poor. They did not approve of that, either.”

  I smiled and kissed her forehead. “You need never worry about that.”