by Deryn Lake
An hour later they took to the canoes once more. Before they went Blue Wolf made an announcement, his French accent causing a ripple of amusement amongst the listeners.
‘Now we go to Cape of the Winds on the mainland. There I will make a shelter for the old woman.’
Lady Eawiss let out a little scream of protest but was silenced by a black look from Lady Conway, for whom the older woman seemed to have a great deal of respect, tinged with a touch of jealousy.
They paddled onwards, all the passengers now moved to silence by the sheer majesty of the scenes they were witnessing. In the distance loomed the lines of the mainland, rocky and fearful, towering headlands sweeping down to small shingle coves. John thought that there was nothing warm or welcoming about the land they were heading to, the very aspect of the place sending a chill down his spine. Sitting in front of him as she was, Rose turned and said, ‘It will be all right, Papa. Don’t be confounded by what you see.’
He kissed her on the top of her head and said, ‘You remind me of my father, sweetheart. He would have said, “Damme boy, looks a good country for an adventure, don’t you know.”’
‘And what would you have answered?’
‘Damme, Sir, I think you’re right.’
George Glynde, overhearing, said, ‘What do you think, Tracey?’
His friend replied, ‘Well, we’re brought to Point Non Plus, old chap. Whether we like it or whether we don’t, we’ve got to make the best of it.’
‘Very true, my dear fellow. Mind you, I don’t relish the thought of sleeping rough. I’ve a mind to crawl in with the elderly Bird of Paradise.’
‘She’d eat you alive.’
John smiled inwardly, thinking of the unlikely coupling of Lady Eawiss and the young rake, hoping as he did so that Rose would not understand a word. But she got the gist – that was clear from the small giggle she gave. John pretended to look severe and concentrated on the surroundings.
At the foot of the cliffs the sea pounded on the rocky surface and the colour changed to a wild indigo, though further out, in the deeps, it was the shade of jade. The canoes changed course and paddled round the headland to where, in the shape of the new moon, curved a sandy beach, rocky formations strewing it with strange shapes.
Jasper exclaimed, ‘I just saw Mama, swimming in the surf.’
‘Where?’ said James, craning his head.
‘There, can’t you see? Look!’
‘Oh, yes, I can see her too.’
Even though the Apothecary knew that they were just dwelling in childish fantasies, he nonetheless turned his head to follow Jasper’s pointing finger. There was nothing. It was a trick of a juvenile imagination, and yet … Blue Wolf shouted instructions, his voice reedy in the blowing wind.
‘Land here. This is Cape of the Winds.’
‘Mecadacut,’ said their oarsman, speaking for the first time on the journey.
‘What’s the feller sayin’?’ asked Tracey.
‘Damned if I know.’
‘Probably ’tis his own lingo for the name of the place.’
‘Ah,’ replied the other, satisfied.
This time it was more difficult to get out on the beach as everyone, including the children, seemed to be suffering pain from their cramped conditions. John lifted out one twin, Irish Tom the other. Rose hitched up her skirts, much soiled by exposure to both the land and sea, and thrust out her small pale leg. From the other canoe came shrieks as Matthew dropped Lady Eawiss and was helped to hoist her once more by Jacob O’Farrell. Somebody – no prizes for guessing correctly – must have given her a small nip on the buttocks because she called out, ‘Oh, unhand me, Sir,’ to which neither of her helpers paid any attention whatsoever, though Jake winked a vivid eye at the countryman. He really was a naughty boy, thought John with a quiet chuckle, a regular out-and-outer, up for any bit of mischief that was going.
Beyond the beach there was a fine forest of trees, and it was in the shelter of these that Blue Wolf decided to camp. There had been no further contact between him and Jane, who was run off her feet attending to her new mistress. Yet there was a pinkness about her cheeks and a glint in the Indian’s eye as he set about making a wigwam for Lady Eawiss, stretching cuttings from the trees over until he had a frame, then covering these with hides that he had brought in the canoe. Meanwhile, the fat woman was sitting on the ground, clutching her portmanteau and moaning on – though nobody was listening – about her late husband and what he would have said if he had found himself in these dismal circumstances.
Jasper nudged James. ‘That lady talking to herself.’
James nodded. ‘She be not well.’
Jasper looked interested. ‘What’s the matter with her?’
James looked sad. ‘Nobody likes her. She be too cross.’
Jasper made a face like a wise old man. ‘Poor thing,’ he said, and they trotted off in unison to explore the beach.
John, looking at their small, retreating figures, felt fit to weep. Elizabeth had given him two fine sons, spirited but kindly, childish but brave. His spirits soared. Whatever his circumstances he knew that he would always be surrounded by love.
It grew dark early and the Indians set about collecting driftwood for a log fire, helped by the men of the party who were glad to have something to focus their minds on after the long journey. George and Tracey, delighted to be busy, set about their tasks with a great deal of banter, while the mighty Matthew pulled logs from the forest. Then they set up a spit, on to which they hauled a skinned deer. It was primitive and rather beautiful, in its strange way. The Indians began to sing a kind of chant, with which most of the party joined. Skins were laid on the ground by the fire and there people sat to eat their food with their fingers. The atmosphere was one of total simplicity, without falsehood or pretence of any kind. Even the duo of dandies fell silent, all affected by this enchanted night.
John dozed, his arms around his children. He did not sleep well, his eyes open, staring at the might of the universe with its zillion blazing stars and the stealthy moon weaving its secretive passage across the sky. Eventually, when the first streaks of light appeared in the east, he slept briefly but woke to see a sun, emboldened by the coming of spring, making its triumphant appearance.
John thought of Elizabeth, fathoms deep, who would never now see the sun again; of his beloved father, Sir Gabriel Kent, who could no longer strut his high fashion on the London scene; of his former lover, the beautiful Coralie Clive, sister of the famous actress, Kitty, who had sought to make her own name in the theatre and had ended her attempt by marrying one of the most terrible men in the world.
As the day grew lighter John rose gently to his feet, his children still fast asleep on the ground beneath him. The Indian rowers were leaving, making for the shore, only Blue Wolf remaining to guide his party towards the town of Boston. The two men looked at one another, separated by everything imaginably possible, yet in that moment feeling a bond of total unity. Then the Indian turned away, silent as always, leaving the Apothecary alone to contemplate his highly uncertain future.
FOUR
John could never afterwards recall the length of time that they had been travelling. It could have been months, it could have been a year. Day after day they trekked across the most beautiful countryside, sticking mainly to the coast and never venturing far inland. From time to time they came across groups of white settlers, all as uneasy as the Indian villagers, the people from whom the land had been taken. If it had not been for the fact that Blue Wolf was there to state that they were wanderers and merely passing through, John reckoned they would have been killed. All, that is, except for the children, who would have been abducted and taken to live in the Indian villages. But as it was, the natives of the great land lived in a state of high alarm, victim to the terrible diseases brought in by the white man against which they had no natural immunity, fearing the guns and savagery of their invaders and turning for help to the occasional missionary who was brave enough to liv
e amongst them peacefully.
Eventually they came to a small gathering of settlers living in a desolate village called Falmouth. It was a place that had been wrecked several times by various invaders and now consisted of a scattering of inhabitants, grimly going about their daily tasks, keeping their faith in almighty protection. At the sight of the gathering Blue Wolf had slipped away into the forest, a terrain which the white man feared, thinking it only suitable for bears and beasts. John had been alarmed to see the disappearance of their guide – the only one left as the canoeists had turned back once the shipwreck survivors had safely landed. But Jane Hawthorne had announced confidently that he would return as soon as the group had left the village behind them.
The relationship between the two of them intrigued the Apothecary. The Indian man was fighting against some ancient tribal customs and his own flesh-and-blood feelings; the girl, aged sixteen as John had been informed, was on the cusp of womanhood and was clearly deeply attracted to the lithe and brown-skinned man who stood so tall and so handsome at the head of their little party. Despite the fact that Lady Eawiss depended on her for everything, Jane showed a remarkable independence of thought and also of attitude. As to the rest of their group, the Apothecary stole a covert look round them as they plodded into the small township.
Lady Eawiss had lost a great deal of weight – though still large, she was no longer enormous. She had also become sloppier in her presentation: the blonde wig which she slapped on to hide her greying hair now sat slightly askew and was in desperate need of a wigmaker to attend to it. Lady Conway, on the other hand, had long ago abandoned any false curls and now had her flowing dark locks tied back in a ribbon. She had also abandoned her long dress and wore breeches, so that in some ways she now resembled her husband, that naughty man, Jake O’Farrell.
Matthew and his little brood had all prospered – even the youngest child, born in the countryside, as they all had been. And, highly unlikely as it would seem, the two young rakes – George Glynde and Tracey Tremayne – had adapted to the rough life, though extremely high stepping and all the crack in their manner. John could never work out if they were in fact a pair of Miss Mollys or simply affected to the ultimate degree. Not that it mattered; they both did their share of manual work and made jokes while doing so.
Irish Tom, as usual, was the mighty stalwart that he had always been. Formerly a coachman and servant, John Rawlings blessed the day that Tom had been taken on by Sir Gabriel Kent, the Apothecary’s late and adored father. Now he was a friend, a confidant, an equal in everything but education. As he trudged into the settlement to be met by a stern-faced man, he whispered, ‘Oh, glory be to God, I do believe it’s a religious fanatic.’
‘I don’t care what he is,’ John murmured back, ‘as long as he can give us some food and a bed for the night.’
Hector Lonsdale, who despite his Puritanical views was a kindly man, enquired most anxiously about the party from the Isle au Haut: whether they had been badly treated by the Indians, where they were heading, what kind of shape the rest of the group were in.
‘They are bearing up reasonably well, Sir,’ John answered. ‘Even the small children, three of which are mine.’
Hector shook his head sadly. ‘My children – all four of them – have died, one after the other. They contracted a disease and left this life burning with fever. I believe this place in which we live has cast shadows upon the ground.’
‘What do you mean by that?’ asked Tom.
‘Come to my house and I will tell you.’
Glancing round, John saw that the other members of the party were receiving invitations to various dwellings and called his children to join him. Jasper and James looked like a pair of ragamuffins, with clothes handed down from a kindly Indian woman and their hair upon their shoulders. Sunburnt faces, freckles and cheerful grins gave them the appearance of children from another race entirely, and John saw Hector start back when he first looked at them.
‘These boys are yours?’
‘Yes. They are not as rough as they appear, I assure you.’
‘They do not have Abenaki blood?’
‘No, they are pure English.’
‘That’s as well then.’
Rose, too, was growing up and becoming so beautiful that John sometimes wondered whether she could really be his. Yet one look at her harebell eyes reassured him. They were so similar to his own that there could be no doubt. And the boys, too, had eyes like hyacinths, just a shade darker. It was the Rawlings blue, and the very thought of it made the Apothecary smile.
Hector’s wife, a woman consumed by grief and suffering who could barely manage a smile of welcome through her compressed lips, served them a lowly meal of vegetables and water. But it was something different, for though Blue Wolf always managed to cook a repast of sorts over a fire, everyone was growing tired of stewed berries. She did not speak during the meal but Hector talked to them non-stop, clearly enjoying having a different audience.
‘I promised to tell you why this settlement is considered unlucky,’ he said.
‘Yes?’ asked the twins simultaneously.
‘Well, it was originally Indian country known as Machigonne, which means Great Neck in our tongue, but in 1623 it was granted to one Christopher Levett by the King of England and its name was changed to Casco Bay. People settled here but with no particular success. Meanwhile, Captain Levett returned to England and wrote a book about his journey.’
‘Did he come back?’ asked Rose.
‘Yes, but strangely never to Casco Bay. He went to Massachusetts instead.’
‘So he never saw the settlers again?’
‘No, and they just disappeared, somewhat mysteriously. As for him, he died on the journey back to England, doing his business, seated upon the jakes.’
The twins burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter; anything connected with the functions of nature seeming hilarious to all pre-pubescent boys, especially them. John, too old to be amused but nevertheless enjoying the mental picture, also laughed. As for Tom, he slapped the wooden table with the palm of his hand and roared an Irish roar. Hector’s wife looked disapproving, her tight lips compressing so hard that they virtually vanished. The twins, seeing this, giggled even louder and John, simmering down, decided that he must give a lead as head of the family. Looking at Hector seriously, he said, ‘What a terrible end,’ a remark which convulsed the room. Eventually their host laughed, a short, barking sound, and the Apothecary found himself finally able to relax.
‘So what happened next?’ he asked when everyone had quietened down.
‘In 1633 two other men founded another colony, this one devoted to hunting and fishing, but it was taken over in 1658 by the Massachusetts Bay Company. They changed the township’s name to Falmouth.’
‘Peace at last,’ said Tom.
‘Far from it. The entire settlement was destroyed by the Abenakis in 1676.’
‘Good gracious!’ John exclaimed. ‘We found them peace loving and friendly.’
‘That is because they live on an island,’ answered Hector. ‘You wait till a few more colonists arrive. Then there’ll be a bloodbath.’
John did not answer, thinking to himself that the land belonged to the Indian people after all.
Hector continued to speak. ‘Two years later the settlement was rebuilt—’
‘You wonder why they bothered,’ muttered Tom under his breath.
‘—and a powerful fort was erected. But it was all destroyed by a mass attack of the French and the Indians, at least five hundred men involved, all told.’
‘Glory be to God,’ said Tom, then realizing that it was probably the wrong thing to say in this Christian household, added, ‘Please excuse me, Madam, but it makes me question if it was worth the effort, the rebuilding and all.’
Hector rolled his eyes heavenwards. ‘It is the duty of mankind to rebuild. That is why God gave us hands and minds. Those who do not persevere shall not be rewarded in the eternal kingdom.�
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Into John’s irreverent mind popped the idea that, according to some schools of thought, as long as one was persevering it didn’t matter how many lives were lost or who owned the land originally. He cleared his throat and changed the subject.
‘Madam, I do thank you for feeding us.’
‘It was our Christian duty so to do.’
‘Perhaps you might tell us if there are any lodging houses within your community.’
Hector’s wife, whose name turned out to be Chastity, looked severe. ‘Mistress Corey has some rooms, I believe.’
John guessed at once that Mistress Corey was not a pillar of rectitude.
‘She also has baths,’ Chastity sniffed.
Rose, who had been quietly sitting, controlling her laughter by keeping her elbows on the table and her hands clenched in front of her mouth, spoke up. ‘How lovely. I should like so much to have one. Does she let people use them?’
‘Yes, she rents them out.’
‘But I haven’t any money.’
‘Then she will ask you to work for her. She’s quite good at that – making people do services in return.’
John and Irish Tom exchanged a glance, wondering if there was a double entendre intended. They were certain there was when Hector said reprovingly, ‘Now, now, wife.’
Rose continued eagerly, ‘Then I shall call on her and ask for one. Does she have a bathing room?’
‘Not she, no. She has had a hut built outside and inside are two tin baths separated by a curtain.’
‘Well, it is a room of sorts. How about you, Papa? Shall we take the boys?’
‘Yes, please,’ said James, though Jasper pulled a face before nodding brightly when his brother agreed.