I nodded my understanding. “Do you believe in the Devil?”
Gaston frowned. “Nay. Not as a being. Why do you ask?”
“I feel religion is one of those things you spent great thought upon whilst I frolicked; and I wish to know if we are still in harmony in our beliefs, perhaps.”
He grinned. “I feel the Gods sent that priest to us for a reason: because They are benevolent. And I believe his God,” he pointed toward the church, “is but a face of many. Believe me, Will, I am not in disagreement on anything I have heard you say on the matter. If I become so, we will discuss it.”
I was relieved; until I thought on all I perhaps had not said. Perhaps there was much we should discuss, but not tonight. I teased, “Well, you did not tell me about Pete.”
He appeared stricken, and then he snorted and shook his head. “Never again,” he muttered as he led me into the hospital.
There were thankfully still voices in the atrium. I had feared the others had departed. We emerged into the soft lantern light to find Theodore, Rucker, and our cabal—save Pete—entrenched about the table over tankards of wine. The women were not to be seen, though. The men regarded our arrival with a mixture of curiosity and pleasure.
“Did that priest find ya?” Liam asked.
“Aye,” I said, “and we spoke with Father Pierre. At length and to good result,” I added to Theodore.
He slumped with relief, but he asked, “How did you manage that?”
He appeared happy in his cups, but not adrift.
“Will is quite charming,” Gaston said with amusement.
“Aye, but I find it hard to believe that would suffice in this instance,” Theodore said.
“Believe what you will,” I told him. “He will marry me to Agnes.”
“Well, damn,” Theodore said.
Gaston and I exchanged a look and a grin as he tossed me a bottle from the side table. Then we sat as was our wont, in a single chair with me at the front and him sandwiched between me and the back.
He embraced me and nuzzled my neck. “I love you,” he whispered.
“And I you,” I whispered, and turned enough to kiss the corner of his mouth.
I turned back to the others and gave Liam an inquiring look.
He was lazy-eyed with wine, but he caught my meaning. “I tol’ ’em.”
“You’re madmen,” Cudro rumbled jovially. “But that goes without saying.”
“Aye, aye,” I said with good humor. “Pete has already lectured us sternly on the avoidance of the squishy hole and the trouble it causes.”
They laughed, Striker among them, and I looked to him. He seemed uncertain at first as to whether to meet my gaze, and then he sighed and regarded me with resignation.
“We must talk,” I told him quietly.
“Not now,” he sighed and hefted a bottle.
“Nay, when you are sober,” I assured him.
“Did Pete tell you how rare that is?” he countered.
“All right, now,” I challenged.
Gaston brushed a kiss on my ear and I squeezed his hand as I stood.
All had gone silent and watchful.
Striker sighed with a great show of resignation and stood languidly. “Fine.”
We made our way into the library to stare at one another for a time. He leaned on a bookcase, I leaned on the table. I was judging his sobriety. I thought it likely he was not so drunk he could not be reasoned with—especially since all I had smelled was wine.
“You will lose Pete,” I said.
He started, but ire did not light his eyes. “I know,” he said sadly. “I know. Will, it’s for the best.”
“Is it? Are you happy with Sarah?”
He chewed on his lip and studied the book spines on the shelf beneath his shoulder. “I… want to sail, but I can’t leave her.”
“So you will drink yourself to death and abandon her with a clear conscience?”
“Damn you,” he said. “How can I leave her with all that’s happened? Your father could send men again at any time.”
I frowned at that. It was a valid threat. My sister’s challenge about Gaston being in peril still sat heavy on my chest if I listened to it.
I sighed. “What if my father were no longer a threat? Would you sail then?”
“Aye!” he said quickly, but then he frowned thoughtfully. “Not to rove as Pete wishes, though. There’s money to be made as a merchant, and it’s less dangerous. And the word from France is that there will be a treaty soon: no more privateering. So… Even if I have what I want, it won’t be what Pete wants.”
“Perhaps Pete doesn’t know what he wants quite yet.” But Pete was all Horse, and that was a forlorn hope. “And perhaps you are correct,” I admitted sadly. “But be that as it may, whether you stay with him or not, living as a drunkard is a damn fool thing to do. And I think you know it. And you are not as you are in port when you are at sea.”
That raised his ire. “I know, Will. We’ve been waiting – on you. What are you going to do about your father? Run off and hide again while the rest of us sit here like targets?”
His words were those of a man sloshing about in his cups – and much the same as my sister’s. I knew well what they had spent their time discussing in our absence.
“Oh Bloody Hell,” I sighed. “I just had this discussion with your wife—and Pete. We cannot go off half-cocked in this matter. And aye, I am scared of him. I don’t want anyone to die over my problem. Your lives have been upended enough over the matter. His life—or death—is not worth anyone else’s.”
“Well, then you need to solve your problem,” he challenged. “Not get mired in babies and wives and cooing and cuddling your matelot. If you truly care one whit about any of us, you’ll see to it that we’re no longer in danger.”
He was so correct it scalded my soul, yet…
“Would you die for it?” I demanded. “Would you go there and walk into his study and put a pistol to his head and fire—knowing you would never escape and you would hang? It is your problem, too. You married her. Even if I were dead, he would still be after you—as would Shane. If you would truly choose that method, then why have you sat here awash in rum for six months? You could have solved it all months ago.”
“I am not a coward,” he spat.
“Neither am I,” I growled. “I just want to live. I do not want to spend my life—to squander my life—ending his. What does that solve? He wins as a martyr. His mad sodomite son was seduced by the Devil and killed him. And he will have accomplished his goal of making me miserable. He will have literally ruined my life.
“Striker, there are times when I envision him dying of old age, miserable every waking moment and even haunted in his dreams by the knowledge that he failed to ruin me and that I was alive somewhere and happily fucking my matelot. I think that would be the finest revenge; but I do not think I can have it because he does pose such a danger to us all.”
He slid down the shelves with a dejected mien, the anger washed away for the moment once again. “Why do you think I drink?” he mumbled.
Though I knew his intent rhetorical, I answered sincerely. “Because you like to worry and wallow in duty and the opinions of others, and you cannot continence the madness those things can bring if unchecked and unbalanced: so you seek to drown it—to drown your thoughts.”
He frowned up at me. “You’re the one who thinks too much.”
I was overcome with disappointment in him—and irony in what I now felt to be the truth on that matter. “Aye, and I am a fool. Aye, Aye. It is well known.” I left him with a dismissive wave and joined the others.
Gaston was regarding me with curiosity and concern, and the rest were oddly quiet. I thought it not due to the lateness of the evening. I wondered what they had heard.
I did not seek to take my seat with Gaston: I stood and addressed them. “I have gathered from several conversations today that many here feel my first order of business would—or should—be to muste
r an attack upon my father in England.”
The tables were filled with quiet curses, frowns, nods, head shakes, and a few gazes becoming transfixed by the contents of a cup. Gaston’s Horse was glaring at them with annoyance. I left him to it and forged on.
“I know my father poses a threat to us all, but… damn it, you must know he poses a threat even if he is dead. Even if I killed him—and hung for it, the wolves—the King’s wolves and other nobles—would root out my conspirators and you would all be in even greater peril. I am sorry your lives have been thrown into turmoil by your association with me. You are our dear friends, and I would not have any harm befall you. But…”
I paused, suddenly sure the next words I wished to utter would be folly if spoken. But I will not lay down my life to kill him, even if it would save you.
I bit them back and went on with more care. “I want revenge for the trouble he has caused—not with his death—but with his life: his life made miserable by knowing he failed to ruin mine—or any of yours. By his knowing he was impotent to take from us the thing he apparently cannot comprehend and feels he must deny others: love.
“At least I feel that is his motive. Whatever his motive, his expressed agenda has been to return Sarah and me to his side as obedient and proper children. That is what they were attempting to force me to become on that ship. He does not want me dead. I believe he wants Gaston and Striker dead, because they represent our disobedience. And I believe he wanted them captured with us this summer, so that they might be used to bend our will.
“I do not believe he wants the rest of you. You are useless to him, and meaningless: obstacles to be removed in order for him to obtain his objective. Thus, truly, the best way to defend yourselves from the matter would be to abandon me—and Sarah.”
“We na’ be abandonin’ anyone!” Liam protested.
“I know, I know,” I assured him. “I am merely stating the obvious—perhaps the wise course. But aye, I know many of you are as mad as Gaston and I, in that you are loyal and true friends in the name of principle.”
“Nay,” Cudro rumbled with a grin. “We just don’t know any better.”
I smiled. “In this instance, that is unfortunate for you. But seriously, the best I feel I could do for any of you would be to go away. But then, my father wins by denying me the comfort of friends and family. I do not want him to win. I do not want us to lose: not a single person, not another limb, and not even a moment of… happiness, I suppose. Love. Camaraderie.
“I do not know what the answer is. I do not know what he will do next. After the result of the last attempt, he might choose to abandon the matter entirely. I doubt that: we Williamses are known for our stubbornness. So it is likely he will try again. Is it not better that we are here, on French land? As far as we know, he does not hold the Governor in his pocket here. And would there not be some result if a large number of mercenaries hired by an English lord ransacked a French colony?”
Theodore cleared his throat. “Unless your father is favored by the King.”
I thought on that. “I think not. I do not know what has occurred since the Restoration, but I do not recall my father ever fearing the Roundheads during the Interregnum.”
“He was a Roundhead sympathizer?” Theodore asked with surprise.
“I do not know. I was a boy, a youth, with larger and more personal concerns on my mind—things I was quite obsessed with. I had no head for politics or business, but I do know that my father was deeply involved with both under the Cromwells. I can only suppose that he is not well-favored by Charles. And… In the short time I spent there as a man, I heard much of the dealings of the House of Lords and other concerns, but very little of the King’s court. I could be wrong, but I feel my father is not the King’s man and does not have the King’s ear.”
“That casts a brighter light on the matter,” Theodore said.
“Does it?” I asked. “I am sorry I did not speak of it sooner. As I said, I could be wrong.”
“Nay,” Rucker said. “I do not think you are wrong. I know little of your father’s dealings since the Interregnum, but prior to it, when I was in his employ, he was very much like a Protestant in his business. In France he would have been subject to dérogeance for the purely monetary business concerns he entered into with the Protestants. He does not derive his income from his titled lands or entitlements from the King. He owned, and likely still owns, many manufacturing and shipping concerns, and a great deal of leased land not associated with the titled estate.
“I am sure Mistress Striker can tell you more,” he added.
I was sure my sister could. I had not considered the matter. Nobles simply had money; and their estates earned more every year. I had known my father engaged in business, but I suppose I had thought it the normal business of a nobleman—the politics of court—when I had thought about it at all.
I had frolicked well throughout my life, had I not?
“Is your father Protestant?” Cudro asked. “Well, more so than any Englishman in the eyes of Rome?”
I chuckled and sighed. “Nay: when last I was there we attended Mass at the local cathedral and not some Barker prayer meeting.”
“Are you sure it was Mass?” Theodore asked kindly. “He is not Catholic.”
I sighed with annoyance. “It is Mass to me. I attended the Church of England’s version throughout my childhood in some capacity—though I must admit much of that was in the family’s private chapel at the house—and Catholic services throughout my adulthood while masquerading as a Papist in Papist countries. I am sure fine theological hairs can be split over the matter—and great political ones—but from the perspective of a man sitting on a hard pew with an aching head full of last night’s wine, they are one and the same—only one is in English and the other Latin.”
There were chuckles all about and Rucker added, “Actually, many members of the Church of England still call the formal service Mass.”
“Aye,” Theodore said with a smile. “I did once, too; but I have spent several months being taught those theological differences by fine priests intent on saving me from heresy.”
“A pity for you, then,” I said with a weary smile. I was truly not in the mood to care about Church services.
“Let us return to the matter at hand,” I prompted. “It is not likely my father will gain the King’s permission to attack a French colony—unless, of course, King Charles wishes to be at war with France.” I sighed at bringing doubt to my own argument.
“We can’t know, Will,” Cudro said with a shrug. “But we think you’re correct: it’s not likely your father will mount an attack here—not as he did on Jamaica.”
“Unless he dresses them as Spaniards,” the Bard said with a grin and a shrug of his own.
“And has them arrive on a galleon and wave Spanish flags about and use Spanish muskets,” Cudro said with a chuckle. “As we have supposed, it could be done; but men here know the Spanish and they would not be fooled easily. But, of course, some English lord might not realize that.”
“Nay, nay,” I sighed with a smile of my own. “My father is the type of cautious and thorough man who would hire men to discover such things, and then he would hire others to insure it was done correctly to insure none were the wiser. However, I cannot believe even a relation of mine is that bloody stubborn.”
“So what did Modyford hope to gain?” Theodore asked.
“What?” I asked.
“With seeking favor with your father,” he said. “He sought gain in doing so, but if your father is not well-connected in the court, it would not serve Modyford well. Perhaps he did not know.” He frowned anew.
“Or I am wrong,” I said.
“Nay,” Dickey said. “The governor is an ambitious and greedy man who owns a large number of businesses and other concerns, and he is not a nobleman. Perhaps they discovered they were of like minds.”
“Nay, I doubt it was mutual,” I said. “It is more likely my father discovered Modyfor
d was of like mind—and useful to him, and then said whatever he needed in order to recruit the man to his cause.”
Theodore shrugged. “Perhaps I am confusing a man’s awe of the nobility with his wish to become a member of the nobility.”
Cudro waved it all aside. “It doesn’t matter. We’ve discussed it a hundred times. Your father can’t easily attack us here the way he did on Jamaica. He could still come in the night, though, and as Pete and Liam have rightly noted many times, it won’t matter how many men we have—or even where—if your father’s men come in force as they did in Port Royal.”
“So tactically, it is felt taking the battle to England is best?” I asked.
“Could it be done with none the wiser?” Cudro asked. “Because I think you’re correct: any doing it will hang or run for months or years until they’re caught and hanged. Even the Spanish nobles would hand over a man to appease a monarch if that man killed a nobleman.”
“Unless Will’s father is detested by King Charles,” the Bard said a chuckle.
“Nay,” I said. “All nobles are precious to other nobles, even when detested. If they ever allow the common man to think a noble can be killed with impunity, there will be no order and the sheep might discover they can rule their own pastures.”
I looked to Cudro. “It will require great subterfuge—and thus much planning. If my father dies by violence now, I will be blamed even if I am standing here and never heard of the man who did it.”
“You best hope he doesn’t have any other enemies then, Will,” Cudro said.
“Aye,” I sighed tiredly. “It has not been my foremost concern, but that is one I should think on. We simply do not know, though. We need information from England. And at this moment I know not how to proceed on that front. I was once the kind of man one hired to obtain that information, yet I have never been the one who had to arrange to hire the likes of me; and I know nothing of the lay of the land in England. In Paris, Vienna, Marseilles, Florence—any city I have lived—I have acquaintances of ill-repute who would be happy to make arrangements for me and coin; but in England I do not even know who I dare write.”
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