Treasure

by W. A. Hoffman

  “Hello?” I croaked.

  The door swung open, and Agnes stepped into the light, followed by Theodore and Striker. I smiled at them and they seemed very pleased to see me.

  “Water,” I rasped.

  Agnes sat on the edge of the bed and raised my head to help me drink from the tankard of cool water she proffered. I gulped it greedily, thinking it was the best I had ever tasted. To her surprise, I drained the cup dry.

  “Should I get more?” she asked.

  “In a moment,” I said with more my usual voice. “What is being discussed?”

  Striker and Theodore pulled up chairs and sat: Theodore like a proper gentleman, Striker straddling his with his chest to its back.

  “Morgan has sailed for Cow Island. The Oxford should already be there,” Striker said.

  It took several moments to remember who Morgan was and what an Oxford was, and then determine why either had any bearing upon me. “So we should sail soon.”

  “Aye,” Striker said and pointed at my matelot with a questioning look.

  “He will be fine,” I assured him.

  “To be elected surgeon?” Striker asked.

  “To be married on the morrow?” Theodore asked.

  The calm of the dream still lapped at me, and I thought of my matelot’s earlier behavior – with Agnes, and more importantly before she returned.

  “We will manage,” I said with surety.

  “And how are you?” Theodore asked. “I told the priest you cannot possibly go to the church… But can you go downstairs?”

  “I will manage. Now, however, I wish for a little food and more of the drug.”

  Agnes gave me another dose: carefully measuring the amount Gaston had indicated before. Then she hurried out in search of food.

  “So they will marry?” Theodore asked once she was gone.

  I nodded. “She saw him at his… well, not worst, but she surely saw his madness, and still she wishes to proceed. And so does he.”

  Striker sighed with relief. “She will be so much better than that damn blonde.”

  “What happened with Christine?” I asked.

  “Pete hit her good,” Striker said with a sigh, “and then trussed her up in the parlor. The Marquis had his men take her to his ship, bundled up on the floor of a carriage. She is good and angry.”

  “We all think it is best if she simply disappears,” Theodore said.

  “I would not have her dead, unless there is no way to calm her…” I said with unease.

  “Nay, nay,” Theodore said quickly. “From the island: disappears from the island. The Marquis will take her to France with him. And then… Well, he did not say what he would do with her there. I suppose it will depend on whether she calms.” He sighed. “I am curious as to what I should tell Sir Christopher, though.”

  “I do not know,” I said sadly. “I suppose he should be told the Marquis is taking her to France – after they sail.”

  “To what end?” Theodore asked. “If Gaston will have married Agnes, it will be obvious he will not marry her.”

  “We will have to speak with the Marquis, but I would have you tell that fat bastard Vines that the whereabouts and deportment of his daughter is the Marquis’ business now.”

  “He would not take that well,” Theodore said with a smile. “And I am sure he will be contacting her mother’s family in France.”

  I sighed. “I suppose I will never know now how her mother came to marry that fool. But, aye, you are correct, and… so we should speak with the Marquis and ask what he intends to do with her in France. If he is turning her over to her family there, it will not matter. But I cannot see where we will want her telling the French court of this matter.”

  “Why?” Striker asked. “She would just be ruining herself by doing that. And why should you care what they say about Gaston in the French court?”

  “Well,” Theodore chided. “The Marquis might care what is said of his son there, as it would reflect poorly upon him.”

  I looked at my sleeping matelot and knew there was another reason we might care. “Gaston might go there someday.”

  Striker snorted with amusement until he met my gaze. He sobered. “Would he really want that?”

  I sighed. “Not the life at court, but the life like his father’s: that will require it, on occasion.”

  Striker frowned and studied my matelot.

  “I know it is difficult to envision,” I said with a smile. “But someday, when we are older.”

  “Nay,” Striker said. “I don’t doubt it. It’s just… I don’t like to think about… when we’re older. I think about my son, and I think about watching him grow to be a man; but I don’t see myself in those fancies as being any older or different than I am now.” He smirked at his foolishness.

  Theodore chuckled. “You will likely be a wealthy merchant with a fine plantation and a seat on the council when you’re older.” He frowned suddenly. “Unless this other matter cannot be resolved.”

  Striker grimaced and finally grinned. “If that’s my future, I’m not sure I want the other matter resolved. Pete would never stand for it.” But I could see he lied somewhat. His eyes had brightened as Theodore said it.

  I let him have his delusions. “And what do you envision of your future?” I asked Theodore.

  He was still frowning, and seemed lost in thought. He sighed at my question. “I used to think I would be a wealthy solicitor with a plantation and a seat on the council.”

  “Has your friendship with me truly ruined that?” I asked.

  “Nay,” he said with a sad smile. “But my principles and convictions surely have.” He chuckled ruefully. “Even if this matter is resolved with your father, I have now made enemies.”

  “It can’t be that bad,” Striker said kindly. “Modyford wants to return to England.”

  “Aye, but who will take his place?” Theodore asked archly. “I would bet money on Lynch, and he dislikes the Brethren and anyone who associates with them.”

  “You can come to France with us someday,” I offered with a grin.

  Theodore sighed. “I would have to learn French, and study the law all over again.” He pursed his lips thoughtfully and finally smiled. “But who can say what the future holds.” He stood. “I should return home. I will see you on the morrow for the ceremony.”

  I was saddened by his apparent mood, as I stood between the ebb tide of my pleasant dream and the incoming wave of the drug. I felt as if we were all things tossed ashore to be burned in incessant light; and I was minded of a thought I had once had, that no one arrived on Jamaica except through that means. We were all flotsam cast away from somewhere to bob upon the sea until we reached this distant shore by happenstance.

  Striker was thoughtful as we watched Theodore leave.

  “It can’t be as bad as all that,” he said to me after the door closed. “We’ve all been well enough these last months. They’ve been hatching their plots, but we’ve seen none of it.”

  I wondered why he wished to cling to the bliss of ignorance. “I had not returned to town and failed to put the wife out,” I said. “Nor had I tried to renounce my title. Now they must hatch new plots, or await orders from those who do. It merely buys us time.”

  Agnes returned with a bowl of soup and some bread. Striker stood and moved so she could come to the bed and sit to help me eat. I felt somewhat helpless: my right arm hurt too much to move, and my left was pinned by my matelot. And the drug was beginning to pull me under.

  “I can’t believe it will all end because I married your sister,” Striker said. “I knew things would change, and I almost lost Pete, but… everything is well now.”

  “I am sorry,” I said.

  “I don’t blame you,” he said.

  I knew he did not. I blamed myself, and my father.

  “When do you wish to sail?” I asked.

  “I want to board tomorrow night, and sail the morning after.” He grimaced in anticipation of my response, and I th
ought he had probably been wincing at people’s reactions every time he spoke of it.

  Tomorrow night seemed an eternity away with the drug tugging at me. Yet, I knew there was much we must accomplish: things that must be packed and possibly purchased. I would be of no use, and Agnes would not know all my matelot wanted.

  “Let me have the key.” I watched to see if Striker would hesitate. He frowned, but pulled it from about his neck and brought it to me without pause. I silently cursed my doubt. Since that fateful night in Porto Bello, he had not crossed us once. I wondered what he must do to earn my trust again.

  Agnes accepted it from him, as I did not have a hand to grasp it with.

  “Thank you. Put it in my sling, please,” I told her and looked to Striker. “He will either be ready to sail and be surgeon tomorrow, or he will not. If he is, there is much that must be done and I do not want us to need to find you.”

  Striker frowned at Gaston and then looked to me. “I spoke to Farley.”

  I sighed. “Will he sail?”

  “Aye. I told him Gaston wished to be surgeon, but I was not sure if he could manage it this voyage.”

  I thought on it, slowly, as the drug was washing over me now. We liked the young physician. “I would not have him lose the money he might earn for the position if he sailed on another vessel, but it would be best if he were there in case Gaston cannot perform the duties for whatever reason. Yet, Gaston must be surgeon if…”

  “Aye, I agree, Farley even agrees,” Striker said with a smile. “He says he’s looking forward to sailing with Gaston again – to learn from him. Perhaps you can make some arrangement: pay him the money he would have earned. You don’t need it; at least I assume you don’t. He has a young wife. I feel he’d be agreeable to that. And aye, your matelot must be surgeon if you and he are to stay out of the fighting. Though there are those who’ll question you sitting about behind the lines, especially since we’ll have two surgeons.”

  “They will do as they will,” I sighed tiredly. “We are ever being questioned.”

  He sighed heavily. “Well, not to add to it, but… If he’s to be wandering about tomorrow, keep him from Sarah.”

  “What?” I asked, and even Agnes gazed up at him with surprise.

  “She forgives what he did on account of his being mad,” Striker said carefully. “But she keeps calling him “that poor mad man”, and feeling sorry for you having to care for him. If she sees him running about as if nothing occurred…” He sighed again.

  “I understand,” I said sadly. “We must meet her expectation of madness – and probably those of others as well, like Rachel – in order for them to forgive what occurred with Christine.” I sighed. “I do not know how he will be upon rising. I do not know how rapid his recovery will be. I feel he will be able to do as he must for short periods, but he will not be well. He can act in a normal fashion even when teetering on the brink.”

  “I know,” Striker said. “It’s your sister who doesn’t understand.”

  I sighed again. Everything was distant now, beyond the drug: even thoughts of my sister getting that pinched look of disapproval about her mouth that my mother used to. I felt I could not both hold my head above it and talk at the same time; yet what was the point of holding my head above it at all, if not to talk? And that thought distracted me until Agnes offered me another spoonful of soup. I drank it and looked to Striker, who was watching me with concern.

  I sighed and smiled. “I am drugged and not at my best for serious matters. I do not know how I will be tomorrow,” I said ruefully. “I feel the marriage must be a very small affair. I would like Theodore to witness, and you and Pete.” I looked to Agnes. “Is there any you wish to have present?”

  “Sarah,” she sighed. “But I understand.”

  “I am sorry, Agnes,” I said. “You are taking this all so well, and I am so very pleased. Thank you.”

  She smiled and fed me more as she talked. “It is all right, and you are welcome. I will be a Comtessa. I will have a name and be a Lady. It is not a thing I would have coveted, but once I thought on it, I began to see it as some strange vindication for my father. And, I will not have to bear men like Fletcher courting me any longer. Thus, I am not worried about the wedding. Sarah is the only female friend I have now; that is why I would have her attend, but it is no matter. She is not familiar with madness. I am not, either, but I cannot see how she would understand how he was today.”

  “What happened today?” Striker asked.

  Agnes had shoved a spoon in my mouth before I could answer. She did not look at Striker as she spoke, and I could see her choosing her words carefully as she shrugged. “Gaston was distraught, and he yelled a bit. It was not a thing to worry about.”

  “Then why would Sarah take it poorly?” Striker asked, his cursed doggedness getting the best of him again.

  She met my gaze with concerned eyes; and I could see she did not know what to say and had realized she should not say much.

  “He was in the grips of madness,” I said quickly. “You have seen him when he raves. He could scare the dead.”

  Striker smirked. “Aye, you’re right, Sarah wouldn’t know how to face that at all. If she’s yelled at, she gets angry. And Gaston raving like he does would scare her.” He frowned. “I think some of that is due to your damn cousin.”

  I grimaced. “Aye.”

  He began to frown at Agnes with perplexity. As she had her back to him, she could not see it. I wished to ask him what he wanted, but I had more soup in my mouth, and I hoped he might actually let whatever it was go until another time.

  Apparently he could not. “I thought you didn’t want to marry, Agnes.”

  I stifled a sigh.

  “Not someone like Fletcher,” she said. “I will gladly marry Gaston. And not because of his title,” she added quickly.

  “But someone told me you preferred women,” Striker said.

  She flushed.

  “I told him,” I grumbled. “I wished for him to leave off bothering you.”

  Striker rolled his eyes, Agnes sighed.

  “I feel I prefer women, but I cannot marry another woman, even if I met one that I wanted who wanted me, and…” She turned to look up at him and speak with spirit I would have applauded had I two free hands. “As Gaston has Will, I need not worry about him always being up my skirts, or expecting me to love him as a wife would.”

  I laughed at Striker’s discomfiture.

  “All right, I can see that,” Striker said diffidently.

  “She goes well with us, does she not?” I teased.

  She smiled.

  He snorted. “Aye, she goes well with the two of you. What of the other one?”

  “She is not as you think, and once you get to know her – sober – she will surprise you.” But that made me consider another thing, and I regarded Agnes seriously. “I would like it if you would attempt to befriend Vivian. She is lonely, and… not so very bad.”

  Agnes nodded with reluctance. “I will try.”

  “Thank you, I know it appears I ask much based on what any of you have seen of her.”

  Agnes nodded in fervent agreement, and I chuckled.

  Striker was leaning on the bedpost, staring at some distant thought. “If it’s as you and Theodore think it is – which I don’t doubt, I just want to doubt it – then they will all need to stand together while we’re gone.”

  “Aye,” I said solemnly.

  “We will be well enough,” Agnes said with a frown, as she put the now-empty soup bowl on the tray.

  Striker gave a heavy sigh. “I pray you are,” he said tiredly as he walked to the door. “Tomorrow, then.”

  I nodded, and he left us.

  “What should we do if they do arrive to take Sarah away?” Agnes asked with a frown.

  “Run and hide,” I said. “Help with a fight if it is but a small one, but if they come in force, or with the governor, or… You would be best to slip away and hide. Keep some coin on you, an
d…” I did not wish to consider what she spoke of any more to give her advice, and I felt the drug was making my tongue run away with me and trouble her with things best discussed calmly. But then another thought gripped me, and I knew I would not rest unless I voiced it.

  “If they do come in force, they will seek Sarah, and possibly Vivian, but not you. If you can escape with either child, you would do all a great favor.”

  She nodded with wide eyes that showed she well understood what I meant. “Do you think they will come?”

  I spoke to reassure us both. “It is like a card game. We gamble that they will not arrive or order an attack here before we return; and truly the cards are in our favor. They will have little time to mount such an attack in person, since they cannot learn of what has transpired here for over a month, until Modyford can send a ship to England: so two months. And then it will take another two to bring their message back. However, if they are already in route, and were merely waiting for the storm season to end, then…” I sighed.

  We could guess much and guarantee nothing. If we truly loved them, we would not leave them. Yet, I knew we could probably not save them by remaining. And if we ran elsewhere, the trouble would follow us.

  She touched my brow with concern. “We will be fine,” she assured me.

  “You had best be,” I said, with an attempt at good humor. “Let us not dwell upon it tonight. The drug is making me weary and addled and I must rest.”

  “I will stay and…”

  “Nay, nay, please go and sleep. I can wake Gaston if the need arises, and if there is plenty of water in that pitcher, then he can reach all that we might need and… I have the key if he cannot.”