by Eris Adderly
And in light of the infamous name, Black Edmund, which no doubt the captain had attached to the request. She saw the word unsaid in her uncle’s eyes. Pirate.
“It’s a complicated tale, Uncle, and one whose details I’m sure you’d rather not hear.” Her hands fidgeted with the folds of her skirts, and she had to shift her gaze down and to the side rather than meet her uncle’s eyes. When she glanced back up at him, though, she saw the wheels of his mind turning once again as he assessed the captain. He was not passing judgement on her; she knew his expressions well enough, despite the years apart. Instead, he was piecing thoughts together, working out the puzzle.
“No,” he agreed at last, pulling a chair out from the room’s long table, “No, I suppose I’d rather not.”
She watched him handle the chair and her brows came together in confusion.
“Uncle, in your letter … you said you’d injured an arm?”
He grunted in response as he took a seat for himself, bringing his attention away from Blackburn for a moment. “Yes,” he said, rotating his right wrist and flexing his fingers and elbow. “I’ve only rid myself of the sling yesterday. We’ll see how it fares—I may need to have it supported a while longer, though I just couldn’t stand the inconvenience. A man of business has need to wield a quill from time to time, you know.”
And a man of letters, she thought. Her uncle was a linguist and scholar first, however he’d come to be partnered into ownership of this brewery now. The business was a likely cover, as she suspected he didn’t want his original profession known after fleeing the island. Who knew anyone in her family was capable of intrigue of any sort?
Hannah shifted her feet as she stood in the room her uncle had chosen for their meeting. Late afternoon light came in only from the open door to the alley. The long table and its chairs were the main furniture in the space. A few large barrels were lined up along one wall, with a modest fireplace opposite, and a worn sideboard, which seemed to double as a writing desk, judging by the supplies laid out on it.
She took the impression that this was a place where customers of the brewery could sample the product and make agreements, as well as somewhere her uncle and whomever else he employed here could have meals during the day. Hannah wondered if her uncle lived above, on the second floor, but it didn’t seem relevant to their current predicament, and she didn’t ask.
Blackburn cleared his throat, bringing them all back to the situation at hand.
Her uncle exhaled through his nose, and laid deliberate palms on his knees, his attention landing, at last, on the captain.
“So. Black Edmund,” he said the infamous name with suspicion, as if he questioned whether the man before him was truly who he claimed to be. “You’ve requested this meeting. What is it you want?”
Blackburn stood several feet apart from her, the third point of a triangle the three of them formed in the room, one hand at his waist, holding the edge of his coat back to reveal more weaponry than was likely carried by the average gentleman of Boston. The square of his shoulders, the slightly arrogant angle of his jaw; a cruel taunt of Fate it was, for such things to remind her of how handsome she still found him right then. It was a small blessing Benjamin had remained with the ship. She could not have looked at the two of them together at a time like this and retain composure.
“What I want—no, what will happen—Bertrand Symes, is that you will return with me to Jamaica.”
The bark of laughter that erupted from her uncle made Hannah start, and the captain’s lips thinned in irritation.
“Now why would I ever do a thing like that? What do you need me in Jamaica for, in any event? Hasn’t that island enough problems without me on it?” From her childhood, Hannah knew this tone was her uncle feigning ignorance.
She was almost not surprised at the way her uncle kept his sense of humour, even now. It was true, in her experience: the man was near unflappable and tended to inject a sense of levity and mischief into any situation, but still …
“You have no idea who I am, do you, old man?” The captain was incredulous.
Her uncle shrugged a shoulder with a loose shake of his head. “A man who’s made a name for himself stealing what belongs to others?”
“I’m sure you remember a little fire in Kingston, ten years ago? A slave rebellion?” She watched her uncle’s brows begin to climb at the captain’s words. “Nathaniel Blackburn does not forgive debts, Linguist. I’m taking you back to my father to pay for the damage you caused.”
Leaning back in his chair now, face slack as he put together this information, her uncle spoke, slowly, eyes on the ceiling in thought. “Your father …”
His gaze moved back down to the captain, and he leaned forward, hands on his knees, face tense and serious with interest.
“Your father is Nathaniel Blackburn? And you … you’re the same young Mr Blackburn who’d loiter around the bookseller’s all afternoon?”
“I see it’s come to you at last, Mr Symes. I’ll be taking you along, all the same.”
Hannah was dumbfounded. Her uncle had known of Edmund during his youth? The men continued speaking before she could ask the many questions forming in her mind.
“I never knew your father personally, Blackburn, but he was a man of property and status, despite his reputation for being made of ice and stone.” Her uncle still looked confused as he spoke. “So how is it, with his son in such a”—he looked the captain up and down—“ ‘trade’ as yours, that he speaks to you at all now? I assume you’re in communication, if you have instructions to find me and bring me back.”
She watched the captain’s jaw set at the question, and knew now after weeks of observing the man that her uncle had stepped into territory where Blackburn would not be keen to follow.
“None of that is relevant.” He cut off the line of inquiry, taking a step forward. “You’ll come along, regardless, Symes, and you can either do so of your own will—and avoid injury for a time—or leave it to my will, and perhaps not fare so well.”
Hannah held her breath without thinking at the new vein of threat in Blackburn’s voice. She’d heard the like before, and been ill pleased with the result.
“And why would you imagine I should ever go quietly, pirate?” Her uncle sat back in the chair, crossing his arms, his clear distaste for the captain’s tone evident in his new willingness to call the man what he was, aloud.
“Because,” the captain said, sliding sideways to grip Hannah by the arm and pulling her roughly to him, “either you can return with me, or your niece can. And I don’t think she’s especially interested in doing so any longer, are you, Mrs Collingwood?”
So, so many words flew about the room unspoken in response to the gauntlet thrown down just then.
Hannah looked up to the captain. To Edmund, a man who, for a while, had filled her existence with discovery, excitement and—if she were to be honest with herself—even joy. Now his dark eyes were intense as they searched her, the question he’d disguised as rhetorical showing clearly on his face.
She closed her eyes, attempting to block out the two men in the room. The feeling of the captain’s fingers tight around her arm pulled her into a string of memory.
She saw herself perched on Edmund’s knee in his stateroom, trying to read aloud while he teased. Grinning across the table at Benjamin during that absurd Easter dinner. The three of them, on the berth, a world away from any sort of recognised propriety. Her heart was properly thudding now as the weight of impossibility pressed her down.
No, Hannah.
No, she could not allow herself to go with him. Not when matters stood as they did.
“We’ve discussed this, Edmund.” Her words were laced in a hiss as she tugged her arm away from his grip. “You know my mind.”
Hannah and the captain faced each other now, the air boiling between them. Only a discreet clearing of her uncle’s throat made her look away.
“So that’s how it is,” the older man said, the releas
e of recognition evident in his tone as he took the two in. Her uncle was, as always, quick to absorb nuances, and he’d no doubt made much of the way she’d addressed the captain by his first name the way no respectable woman should ever do.
Her uncle sighed, pushing his knobby fingers through silvering hair, his hand coming to rest on the back of his bent neck while he looked at the floor for a long, silent moment.
Without further comment or objection, he rose to his feet and stepped over to the sideboard, gathering up a handful of writing supplies, which he transferred back to the long table before taking up the chair again.
“You’ll need letters of introduction.” He aimed his explanation at Hannah as he unstoppered an inkwell and set about wetting a quill.
“What?” What was he on about now?
“If I’m to leave with this captain here”—he made a dismissive gesture over one shoulder before beginning to scratch out some sort of letter—“and you’re to stay behind, I can’t simply abandon you with no way to prove who you are, Niece. Surely you know better? My partner returns here and I’m inexplicably gone, and in my stead, a woman claiming to be my kin? You’ll not be believed, and I’m sure you know as well as I do it will only get worse from there.”
She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “You can’t mean to simply leave with him, can you Uncle? To Jamaica? We all know what awaits you there!”
He stopped his furious scribbling and turned to her then. “And what awaits you, my dear girl? Alone in the unwanted company of such a man? At least my torment would cease at the end of a rope. But yours? If the hangman didn’t have my neck, your father most certainly would if he ever found out.”
At this last comment, he laid down his quill entirely and cradled his forehead in his palms, elbows on the table. “Ah, Brother,” he spoke quietly to himself, words falling defeated into his lap, “I did say I’d come home one day didn’t I?” Looking up at Hannah then, he pulled at the fingers of one hand with the other and slipped off a bulky gold ring, holding it out to her.
“Give this to your father when you see him next, Hannah. As well you may use it in the meantime as further proof of your claims here in Boston.”
“Uncle …” She didn’t know what to say when she reached for the ring. This entire meeting was happening too quickly, her uncle agreeing with so little argument to go with Blackburn and leave her here alone.
Hannah threaded the gold band onto the cord she already had around her neck that bore the key to the shackle she’d worn. She’d taken to wearing it after the captain had handed it over, a pathetic symbol in her mind’s eye at the time that she’d held the key to her own freedom.
Oh yes, you’re very free now, aren’t you, Hannah?
She turned the ring over in her hand, flicking her bitter thought away. The face of the ring bore a trio of bees, wings outstretched. She had vague memories of her uncle wearing it during her youth.
“It was our father’s,” he said, meaning her grandfather, “and I’d not have it buried with me, or stolen. See it back to my brother, if you will, or at least, if you don’t find your way back to Bristol, then you will have it.”
“I will, Uncle,” she said, her throat beginning to grow tight as she watched him finish writing the letter.
Blackburn had been looming during this interaction, more or less patient as he observed the realisation of his plans fall into place. When Hannah stole a glance his way now, the lines of his face were tired and resigned. He would not look at her, and she imagined that might be for the best.
Folding the completed letter and sliding it along the surface of the table toward Hannah, her uncle stood, smoothing his hands over the wool of his coat. He eyed the captain, the smallest measure of his usual feistiness returning. “I suppose you won’t be giving me time to tie up any other loose ends here in Boston, eh, Blackburn?”
The captain made a face.
“I thought not.”
“Will you come along like a man, Mr Symes,” Blackburn said, making as though he might draw one of his pistols, “or will I have to convince you in front of your niece?”
Her uncle snorted at that, and made a gesture of negation in the captain’s direction. “Easy, Blackburn. There’ll be no need for any of that.” The older man’s wry demeanour seemed out of place for someone about to be escorted toward such a dismal fate, but this had always been his way.
Hannah was at his side in a breath, seizing her uncle up in a last embrace. “This isn’t the reunion I’d hoped for, Uncle.” She choked the words out around the inevitable tears.
She hadn’t seen the man in over a decade, and now there would only be this brief meeting before he was gone again, this time for ever. An irrational part of her seemed to think if she simply refused to let go, she might bind them here in this moment. Time would not progress, her uncle would not be taken. There would be no need to acknowledge the captain’s final betrayal. Reason, of course, told her this could not be so, and caused her after a time to let down her arms and step back.
It was near sunset now, and the light from outside was golden, flaring out from behind the captain as he stood in front of the door. Hannah was almost relieved at the sight of the silhouette—she wouldn’t have to see his face, look in his eyes. They’d been so very, very close to something magnificent. But not now.
“After you, Mr Symes. Straight down King Avenue and onto Long Wharf, with no trouble.” The captain broke the silence, and Hannah knew she could delay the event no longer.
With affection wrinkling the corners of his eyes, and something darker, sadder, she thought, her uncle turned to her again before stepping out the door and into the alley.
“Goodbye, Hannah. Do your best. Find your way. You always do.”
With a last, knowing twitch at the corner of his mouth, a remnant of his usual cynical grin, he sealed their goodbye with a fraction of a nod and stepped into the alley, out of sight.
The captain made to follow her uncle outside, but turned before passing through the door, the side of his face brought out of shadow enough that she was forced to look upon him once more.
Those dark eyes would be attached to so many powerful memories in her mind, and any number of disparate emotions, for as long as she lived, but the one that lorded over the rest, for now, was regret. The things that could have been, if only …
‘If only’ nothing, Hannah. This is what happens when you open your arms, your heart, to scoundrels. Learn this lesson well.
The captain of The Devil’s Luck had no further words for her, but held her gaze for a drawn-out, heart wrenching moment, as though he could change her mind by the silent force of his will alone.
Hannah stilled her tongue and met his stare in kind. She would not be weak in front of this man again, and he would know this.
With an almost imperceptible shake of his head, the captain pulled his own eyes away and stepped through the door, the last edge of his coat flaring behind him as he disappeared into the alley.
Edmund Blackburn was gone from her life, as was her uncle. The empty chair pulled away from the table made a convenient place for her to collapse and weep once the men were gone, and she took full advantage of it.
* * * *
This is what you want. This is what you want. This is what you want.
Edmund kept repeating the thought to himself as he escorted the widow’s uncle, his long-sought-after Prometheus, down King Avenue and toward the wharf. He needed to make the affirmation so or be plagued with doubts well into the future. A man couldn’t simply abandon existing plans whenever newer, more exciting opportunities materialized. How could one be expected to maintain a steady course with such a distracting, haphazard way of thinking?
Symes walked along at his right side, a step before him, without Edmund having to prod or otherwise restrain him—an unexpected blessing, considering the carefully controlled battle taking place in his own head at the moment.
One less struggle to contend with.
; If only the older man would find it in himself to be silent.
“How did she end up aboard your ship, Blackburn, and not The Mourning Dove?”
Edmund held back a growl of irritation and the corner of his mouth turned down in a frown at another of the old man’s questions. “It was none of my doing, Symes. One of my crew was the cause of her presence. I wasn’t aware of your niece or her maid’s presence on board until well after we’d sailed.”
“And the maid? What became of her?”
“That one.” Edmund gave a bitter snort. “Well, Good Sir, as her services to her lady were no longer required, I put her under the authority of my cook. The two of them seem to have taken quite the fancy to each other, Lord knows why.”
Symes humphed at this, and it sounded as though the linguist knew just how such entanglements tended to crop up. Still, he pressed Edmund. “Why not simply put the pair of them ashore, once you discovered women aboard? Less mouths to feed, less distraction for your crew …”
“And I should have put her ashore at Nassau?” he asked the other man with a sneer. “They’d have been worse off, then.”
A shake of the head was all he got from Symes at this. It was in part, an honest response, but of course, not the real reason he’d kept Hannah aboard. At the time, it had seemed like too much trouble to bring the entire ship about, wait for the tide, and head back into port for just two women. Not when he might share a bit of entertainment with his quartermaster for a time, and decide what to do with his unexpected passengers later. He hadn’t cared about her then, so where would be the concern?
“I was nearly engaged to be married once, you know.” Symes took up a new vein of thought, both catching Edmund off guard with the change of subject, and irritating him at the same time with the endless wagging of his chin.
“It was before even my niece was born, before the Revolution.”