Beyond the Savage Sea

by JoAnn Wendt

  What sort of island was this? Englishmen were not Englishmen here. They were slave keepers and depraved drunkards who beat their own daughters!

  Abandoning his attempt to sleep, he rose quietly and dressed. Valentine, Sean, and David Alleyne snored blissfully in the other bed. Stepping over Jeremy, who slept on a pallet on the floor, his grubby fist clutching the pink silk ribbon he’d purchased for Marigold, Drake carefully made his way out and quietly shut the door behind him.

  A sailor’s port, Bridgetown never closed. Well past midnight the torches burned brightly in sconces on the coral water drips outside the drinking houses, and drunken revelry echoed through the town. Drake went into a drinking house, ordered a cup of Madeira, drank only half, then left. The place stank of rum and whores who doused themselves with jasmine toilet water.

  He walked the town in the darkness, killing time. He went to Edwinna’s storehouse to check on the new slaves, the affingoes, the bondslaves. The affingoes stood patiently in the yard, sleeping on their feet, occasionally kicking out at a mosquito. He peered in the open window. Clothed and fed, the new slaves slept in pathetic huddles, their shackles catching a stray bit of moonlight and gleaming. Three additional women Plum had purchased slept curled together, shackled to each other. Drake rubbed his wrist in sympathy. He still bore the scars of his Speightstown shackles.

  Candlelight flickered dimly from a window at the far end of a storehouse across the alley. Curious, Drake quietly moved to it and peered in. His scalp tingled. Held fast to the floor with its own melted wax, a single candle burned under a shield as two dozen men—bondslaves, judging by their muslin clothing—crouched around the candle, arguing in low, furtive voices. Drake recognized Jacka, Yates, and Hastings. The others were strangers. What were they doing? It struck him as wrong. He pressed flat to the wall and listened. The argument ensuing was a duel for power between two men. He recognized Jacka’s surly snarl, not the other man’s. Their quarrel was so hot and furtive, he caught only stray words. “You’ll do as I say...the twenty-sixth.” “You fool...too soon! Let ’em get the harvest in first...” The quarrel went on hotly for several minutes, then stopped dead. Frustrated at how little he’d heard, Drake eased closer to the window and peered in. He watched as one of the men took out his knife and thrust the blade into the candle flame to heat it. What in hell were they doing?

  A twig crackled under Drake’s foot. “What’s that sound?” someone snarled. “Go see.” Drake dashed to the shadows nearby, and watched as the door of the storehouse opened. Two men came out, looked, shrugged, and went back in. Drake kept watch. Perhaps an hour passed. The men slipped out in twos and threes, looking about before they slipped off into the darkness. Drake waited until all were accounted for—twenty-seven bondslaves, including Jacka, Yates, and Hastings. When the street was clear, he stole quietly back to the inn.

  “I don’t like it,” Plum said in the morning when Drake took him aside privately and told him.

  “Nor do I.”

  “We’d best keep a close watch on Jacka, Yates, and Hastings. And we’d best not mention this to any of the other bond- slaves—not even to Valentine or Sean or David Alleyne. There’s no telling who’s involved or what is intended.”

  “I agree.”

  Plum scowled in anger. “Bondslave revolts are not unknown. I’d dearly like to sell them bastards, Mr. Steel, but I can’t short myself three trained bondslaves during harvest.”

  “I understand. There is one thing I want to do.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I want to write a private letter to all of the large planters on the island, telling them what I saw and heard, warning them that a conspiracy may be afoot.”

  “Ay, Mr. Steel, do it.”

  Drake hesitated. “Should Edwinna be told, or would it only worry her?”

  Plum ruminated on it, then looked at him.

  “She is your wife, Mr. Steel. You decide.”

  “I’ll tell her.”

  “Good,” Plum approved. “I hoped you would.” Plum smiled. “She’s no shrinking violet, Mr. Steel. She loves her plantation. Likely you’ll have to hold her back from murdering Jacka.”

  Driving the shackled slaves before them, their party left Bridgetown before the sun was fully up. On the last high hill that afforded a sweeping view of Carlisle Bay and the ships rocking at anchor, Drake halted his horse and let the others pass on. He looked down at Bridgetown for a long time, feeling torn. There were a dozen London-bound ships he could stow away on. Yet Edwinna had saved his life. How much did he owe to himself and his children and how much to her?

  A quarter mile up the trail, Matthew Plum looked back and watched Drake Steel, a distant, broad-shouldered figure sitting on his horse, poised motionless on the hill above Bridgetown. Plum said to himself, “What will it be, laddie? Honor and decency? Or will you hightail it to England, eh?”

  Plum kneed his horse and rode on. A few minutes later, he looked back again and smiled. The distant figure had turned his horse and was coming up the trail.

  * * *

  Chapter 8

  The journey back to Crawford Plantation took all day. They traveled slowly. The exhausted slaves needed to rest often. The males trudged along in heavy chains, shackled hand and foot. The shackles incensed Drake. He knew firsthand the pain, the humiliation, the terror of being in shackles. He demanded that Plum unshackle them, but Plum overruled him.

  “Not a chance, Mr. Steel. Every new male is a high risk. There’s no telling what he’ll do. I know of a ship captain who made the mistake of pitying his shipload of slaves and unshackled them. Before the ship even got out of the Gambia River, the slaves overran the crew and cut their throats. I don’t mean to have that happen to me.”

  Jaw tight, Drake had to defer to Plum. Still, he detested shackles on anyone, black or white. At least the women wore none. They stumbled along, spent and scared. His heart went out to the young pregnant woman. She ought not walk—she looked sick. But when Drake had taken her arm and had tried to lead her to his horse, meaning to let her ride, she’d shrieked in terror and recoiled, and her husband had lunged in his chains, his eyes blazing. Drake couldn’t make them understand. They’d never seen horses before and feared them.

  He’d given up and had ridden on. But it went against the grain to ride while tired, sick females walked. Sugar and slavery. He hoped to hell he would never set eyes on either one of them again, once he left this island.

  His thoughts drifted to Edwinna and grew gentler. What Plum had told him had touched him, roused his protective instincts. He couldn’t shake it out of his mind. A little girl, only a few years older than Katherine, running through the darkness, sobbing, her little wrist broken, her heart, also.

  He had plenty of time to think as the party slowly plodded through the windy fields, following the cane paths. Edwinna stayed central in his thoughts. Knowing what he knew, he felt a new tenderness for her. He saw her in a new light. He resolved to befriend her, to be patient and gentle with her. He would court her, if she would let him. If it ended in bed, well and good. If not? He uttered a helpless laugh. He was so damned randy he didn’t know what to do about it.

  Riding along the plateau that formed the spine of the island, breathing the fresh, sweet air, listening to the cane rustle in the trade winds, he had to admit the island was as sensual a paradise as ever he’d encountered—sea, cane, trade winds, bare-breasted women. No wonder he was such a horny son-of-a-bitch.

  * * * *

  Edwinna was in the boiling house with Alvis Nansellock when a slave brought word that the affingoes were returning. She ran down the hill and waited for them to emerge out of the cane fields. When Strussie, one of her favorite slave children, came toddling to her, Edwinna scooped her up and held her.

  Had Drake Steel come back, or had he escaped?

  David Alleyne and the eight new slaves came into sight first, David helping a pregnant female to walk. Everyone trusted David—even terrified, new-bought slaves took to hi
m. Next came the affingoes, heavily loaded with supplies purchased in Bridgetown. Then the bondslaves. Then Jeremy, happy and bouncy. Then Valentine O’Brien. Then Matthew Plum on his horse. She gripped Strussie tightly. Behind Matthew Plum? Glistening black hair, broad shoulders.

  He’d come back. She released the breath she’d been holding, drew another, and smiled hugely. It was ridiculous to feel so happy, but she did. Drake glanced her way and lifted his hand in greeting. She kissed Strussie’s warm head to hide her feelings. She didn’t want him to think she’d been worried about him.

  A courteous man, he dismounted, gave the reins to Jeremy, and quickly strode to see her in that loose, masculine way, hands draped on hips. He was feeling the climate. His shirt clung damply and she smelled his sweat. There was something different about him, a gentler expression. The glittery criticism she was used to seeing in his eyes had left. His eyes were kind.

  “We’re back,” he said.

  “Yes.” She wanted to add, “I’m glad you’re back,” but it stuck in her throat, and all that came out was a stiff, “Was the trip tolerable?”

  “Barely. The slave sale was an abomination.”

  “I know,” she admitted. “I never go.”

  “I can understand that.” He was looking at her in an odd, tender way that made her fidget. She fussed with Strussie’s hair.

  “I had best check on the new slaves.”

  “I want to clean up. We’ll sup together?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ve invited Plum. We need to discuss something with you, Edwinna.”

  A wave of disappointment washed over her. How ridiculous to feel disappointed that they weren’t to sup alone.

  “That is fine,” she said. Hoisting Strussie higher in her arms, she strode off to Matthew Plum and the new slaves.

  Drake watched her. She looked sweet with a child in her arms. It softened her. She should have a child of her own. Her voice drifted back to him as she asked Plum about the mail he’d picked up at the Planters Council room in Bridgetown. Had there been a letter from Thomas and Harry this time?

  “No. I’m sorry, Edwinna,” Plum responded gently.

  “Well...they will surely write next month.”

  “Of course they will.”

  The poignancy in her voice roused Drake’s ire. The ungrateful bastards. Didn’t they know their sister was living her life on their behalf, tending their plantation, protecting their inheritance? The least they could do was write.

  * * * *

  Drake’s resolution to be patient with Edwinna received a sore testing even before he’d been back two hours. Just before supper, bathed and freshly clothed, he’d gone down to the bondslave quarters and carried Jocko’s cage up to the house. He set it on a chair in the dining room.

  “What is that?” Edwinna demanded.

  Priscilla reacted even more hysterically. Shrieking in her tiny monkey voice, she fled from Jocko’s cage, bounding up onto the dining table, scattering cutlery. She leaped up among the unlighted candles on the chandelier, where she swung back and forth, scolding as if Drake had brought the devil himself into the house. Jocko sat in his cage, a perfect gentleman—composed, complacent, blinking calmly.

  “A head, two arms, two legs, a tail. It’s a monkey, Edwinna.”

  “I can see that,” she said. “But what is it doing here?”

  “I bought him for Priscilla—to be her mate.”

  “Mr. Steel, that is absolutely ridiculous. Priscilla doesn’t want or need a mate.”

  “Drake,” he said patiently.

  “Drake.”

  “Of course she does. All normal, healthy females want and need a mate.” He gave her a smile. “It’s the nature of things, Edwinna—or haven’t you heard? Male, female, the desire to mate? Besides, I’m tired of being the object of her affections. You know how she pesters me.”

  “She doesn’t even like him!”

  As if to corroborate it, Priscilla leaped down from the chandelier and into Edwinna’s arms, where she huddled, making a royal fuss, peering out at Jocko and making monkey screams.

  “Certainly she does. She’s just putting on a show for him.” Lightly, Drake added, “Besides, how can any female resist a handsome, sensible fellow like Jocko?” Sticking a finger into the cage, he scratched the underside of Jocko’s whiskery chin. Jocko leaned into the scratch, bored, complacent. Drake smiled. “I admit he’s short on charm. But then, a female can’t expect everything, can she?”

  “I don’t like this. He might hurt her.”

  A few days earlier Drake might have chuckled. But in the light of what he now knew, he answered soberly.

  “He won’t hurt her, Edwinna. No sensible male of any species hurts the female he wants to mate with.”

  “Well, I don’t like it. Take him away, Mr. Steel.”

  “Drake.”

  “Drake,” she said with exasperation.

  “Let him stay the night, in his cage. Let Priscilla get used to him. Tomorrow, we’ll see.”

  “She won’t like him any more tomorrow than she likes him right now,” Edwinna warned. “Which is not at all.”

  “That is your opinion, not mine.”

  “You are a wine merchant. What do you know about monkeys?”

  “Nothing. But I do know about mating.”

  “Mr. Steel—”

  “Drake! Edwinna, the name is Drake. Drake, Drake.”

  At this juncture, Plum walked in. Caught in a spat, Drake and Edwinna both flushed. Plum ignored the spat with benign good nature and nodded approvingly when he spotted Jocko’s cage.

  “Ah, Edwinna, you’ve bought a mate for Priscilla. Good. I meant to suggest it long ago. It will cure her of her biting, I’m sure. A monkey that bites can best be cured with a mate.”

  “Let’s eat,” Edwinna said with disgust, and Drake grinned a little.

  * * * *

  After supper, at Plum’s request, they took a candle and went to Edwinna’s office, shutting the door for privacy. The request made her uneasy. What was it about? Had Drake asked Matthew Plum to intercede on his behalf so that he could leave Barbados?

  She listened with alarm as Drake described what he’d seen and heard in Bridgetown. She believed him. In the past eight years there had been three bondslave uprisings on the island. All planters feared them. When he finished his ominous report, she took a key from her table drawer and unlocked the cupboard where she kept the house pistols and took out two pistols. Drake should have one for his room, and so should she.

  “What does it mean?”

  “We don’t know,” Plum put in.

  “We’d best sell Jacka, Yates, and Hastings at once. Harvest or not, get rid of them. Get them off the plantation.”

  “That might be a mistake,” Drake said, leaning against the wall, arms crossed. “If we sell them, we lose the opportunity to watch them, to discover what they are up to. And there is no assurance that their plot, whatever it is, will end even if we sell them. It may proceed as planned. It’s better if we can keep them under our thumb. Besides, we don’t know who else might be involved, if anyone.”

  She rubbed her arms, anxiety rising. “We.” He’d said “we.” Perhaps he was growing to like her plantation. Perhaps he wouldn’t leave, even when his time for freedom came.

  “What do you suggest?”

  “First, I suggest we check your gun closet,” Matthew Plum said, “check it against your inventory, to see if anything is missing.”

  Her eyes widened, but she rose immediately, pulled down the plantation inventory ledger, and flipped through to the munitions page.

  “Thirty-eight muskets. No, thirty-seven. We discarded one for rust two months ago. Thirteen pistols.”

  They took a candle and a key and went outside to the gun room, a stone room built against the outer kitchen wall. Edwinna unlocked it. They went in, scattering lizards. They did a careful count against Matthew Plum’s list of muskets issued to bondslaves, as well. Two muskets and one pistol were mis
sing.

  Edwinna felt shaken but determined when they reentered the office. “You had best do a search of the bondslave quarters tomorrow, Mr. Plum.”

  “A casual search,” Drake amended. “We don’t want to alert anyone. Don’t be scared,” he said to her with a smile. “We’ve the advantage. They don’t know we know.”

  “I’m not scared,” she said staunchly. “I can shoot, and I will shoot if I have to.”

  “Good.” He reached out and gave her braid a playful tug. It was a friendly gesture, but she stiffened. She hadn’t meant to. It put him off. He looked at her oddly. She wished she could tell him that she...just wasn’t comfortable being touched.

  “I’ll search,” Plum agreed. “But if it’s Jacka behind this, I won’t find a thing. He’s as sly as they come.”

  “We must alert Valentine, Sean, some of the others—”

  “No,” Matthew Plum and Drake said in unison. “Edwinna, Mr. Steel and I have discussed this at length. We are in agreement that no one must be told. There is no way of guessing how large this conspiracy may be or who may be involved in it.”

  She looked at one, then the other.

  “Surely David Alleyne and Alvis Nansellock should be told.”

  “No one,” Plum said firmly. “Not Nansellock, not David Alleyne, nor anyone. Edwinna, do not even Kena. It could be dangerous for her to know.”

  It took her breath away. “But the other planters must be told. I insist. They could be in danger.”

  “We agree the planters must be told,” Drake said. He told her about the letter he wished to write to each of the large planters on the island, warning them that mischief might be afoot, swearing them to secrecy, asking them to check their gun inventories. “The letter will have to come from you, Edwinna,” he finished. “The planters have no reason to trust me.”

  “It will come from both of us,” she said firmly. “I want you to have credit for this. They think you a pirate, and you are not.”

  “Since when?” he asked with a smile. “I thought you believed me to be a pirate.”