by Eris Adderly
“Are you the captain of this vessel?” the lieutenant asked with brusque authority as Edmund stepped off the gang plank.
This is a nightmare.
“I am.”
The officer’s hand was at his sword hilt as he dropped the real blow with his next words. “I have it on good authority The Devil’s Luck and its crew are responsible for acts of piracy. We’ll be needing you and your men to come ashore without any trouble.”
No, this is worse. A nightmare you wake from.
Edmund opened his mouth to speak, not even sure what he was about to say, when a voice rang out from behind him, indignant and drawing closer.
“Piracy? Ridiculous! What is your name, Lieutenant?”
Every eye turned toward the sound and all watched the Widow Collingwood stalking down the gang plank and onto the wharf, hoisting her skirts an inch or two so as not to trip, and bristling in all of her outraged glory.
She’s gone mad! What the Devil is she on about? She’ll only make it worse!
“Lieutenant Ainsworth, Madam, at your service.” The man tipped his hat, thrown off guard by the female presence. Some of the sailors lined up behind him were peeking around to get an eyeful, and even the harbourmaster gaped. “You do know, Madam,” Ainsworth continued, “that you’ve just come ashore from a pirate vessel, do you not? If these men have in any way—”
“Nonsense, Lieutenant. What woman of my status would be aboard such a vessel?” She stood, hands on hips, at Edmund’s side now, but with enough distance that nothing improper could be inferred about the two of them.
“Well, now, Madam, these are a tricky lot,” the harbourmaster said, “You may not have known—”
“I am very familiar, Harbourmaster, with the vessels in my father’s employ,” she said, curt. “The Devil’s Luck has been in his service for the past three months, moving cargo from Bristol and back.”
Edmund schooled his face into a neutral expression as he was belted with the realisation of what the widow was doing.
She was … lying for them. This may well have been the strangest day of his life to date.
“Well now, Madam, we’re not accusing you of anything, but these men”—Ainsworth regained command of the conversation, gesturing to the ship, indicating its crew—“will need to come ashore all the same.”
The woman beside him made a practised noise of dismissal. “Honestly, Lieutenant, we haven’t the time for this foolishness. You sound familiar enough with politics. Do you know the name Richard Symes?”
He watched the officer cock his head a moment, eyes lifted to search his memory. “Symes … Symes …” he muttered before finding what he sought. “House of Commons?”
Ah yes. Edmund had nearly forgotten he’d spent the last several weeks with his closest friend doing wicked things to the daughter of a Member of Parliament.
“Indeed, Sir,” she confirmed, mild triumph lacing her tone, “and my father as well. We’re far overdue in Bristol as it is. I suspect he’ll be none too pleased once he learns of further delays. Shall I name you responsible, then?”
Oh, Hannah, don’t involve yourself this way. You can still walk free from this.
And yet he could tell by the way the lieutenant’s hand had fallen away from his sword that she’d sown a seed of doubt. He still seemed cross, regardless.
“Now there’s no need to be rash, Madam. My men will at least need to come aboard and have a look around.”
“Oh?” She was very bold now, and Edmund both wanted to plead with her to stop before she did more damage, and to ravish her right there on the wharf. “So you’ll risk their careers as well? Admiral Harris has been a dinner guest at my father’s house, Lieutenant. I’m certain he would love to hear about an officer interfering with my family’s affairs.”
Edmund could see he hadn’t given the widow nearly enough credit. She’d paid far more attention to her father’s connections than he would have imagined.
It was at this point that the harbourmaster broke back in, likely wanting to maintain his share of importance in the situation. “Forgive me, Madam, but what proof do we even have that you are who you claim to be? You step off the decks of a suspicious vessel, and announce yourself to be the daughter of a politician from the other side of the Atlantic? We cannot simply take your word.”
“Then take mine.” Another voice joined their stand-off on the wharf. “My niece speaks the truth.”
The widow’s uncle had been watching from the deck, and now the situation had drawn him ashore, as well. The man must only be involving himself for Hannah’s sake, since Edmund had held him prisoner only a short time ago. Still, it was very odd to have more or less respectable people coming to his defence with a lie.
“And who might you be, Sir?” The lieutenant was growing impatient again.
“Bertrand Symes. Kettle & Symes, Harbourmaster? This woman is my niece; her father my brother.”
“Do you know this man?” Ainsworth asked the harbourmaster.
“I know of him, Lieutenant. He runs a brewery here in the city.”
“Does he now?” The officer turned toward the widow’s uncle. “Are you aware, Mr Symes, that The Devil’s Luck is a pirate vessel?”
“Pirates?” Symes’s false incredulity sounded quite genuine. “Bah! I think you might be confusing this ship with The Devil’s Revenge. That’s the name I’ve heard, whenever there’s been talk of pirates. What was it? Some captain they call Black Edward? Black Ellis? Missing an eye or some such nonsense?”
The harbourmaster and the lieutenant looked at each other. Edmund saw there was still scepticism for Symes’s words, but now there was also considerable doubt on their faces as to whether they had indeed cornered the ship they sought. Symes saw his opportunity to drive the wedge in and took it.
“No, I’ve known this man since he was a boy,” he said, thumping Edmund on the shoulder with a palm. “His father runs a cane plantation in Jamaica, for Heaven’s sake. Besides, what pirate in his right mind would dock his ship right in the middle of Long Wharf, merry as you please, in plain view of Navy guns?”
It was this last point that seemed to jar the lieutenant out of his course. Edmund watched the man’s eyes move from Symes, to the widow, to him, and back again, weighing the costs and rewards of the situation. On one hand, he could force everyone off the ship, have them all arrested and probably hanged, and receive his accolades for capturing a pirate crew. On the other hand, if the statements from the woman and her uncle were true, he would make a well-connected political enemy, and future promotions through the ranks might be jeopardised.
Edmund saw when the man had tallied the sums, and the more costly alternative noted.
Ainsworth drew in a long breath, and squared his shoulders back into the picture of authority once more.
“Very well,” he said, “Mr Symes, Madam, Captain. I believe there’s been some sort of mistake here. You’re free to continue about your business. I’ll have my ships called off. Men!”
The lieutenant barked at the lines of sailors behind him and they turned about and began filing back the way they came, the officer and a very confused harbourmaster leading them once again.
He watched them tromp away down the wharf, mind reeling.
She didn’t owe you any such thing, to risk her neck that way for your sake. You’ve just avoided a death sentence because of this woman, Blackburn.
A very unfamiliar set of emotions surged up within him. Gratitude. Admiration. Desire. Perhaps that last was not so unfamiliar …
“Hannah, you saved us. Me, Benjamin, the entire crew, I—” He turned to Symes, leaping from one astounded thought to another, “And you, my good man! Why? You could’ve just as easily seen the lot of us hanged and taken your niece back in the process!”
Symes fixed him with a wary glare. “Let’s just say I was none too keen on seeing my brother’s only daughter go down with your ship, Blackburn. Seemed reasonable to back her up, avoid having her implicated.”
> Edmund nodded his head at this. He was able to respect practical reasoning when he heard it. But now his mind was not consumed with practicalities. All was swept away but the woman before him.
He took a step toward her.
Surely. Surely now.
“Hannah.” The air of the harbour seemed to thicken along with his anticipation. “Do you sail with us, then?”
* * * *
She suppressed an unseemly groan of frustration. This man was relentless.
He must value you a great deal to have given up his prize, and now so publicly make a nuisance of himself to see you remain.
Perhaps this was true, and she did admit the idea’s charm, but there was also to consider that it had taken the direst of circumstances for the man to make the choice in the first place. Who was to say he would choose her again, if there were another treasure in the future, the getting of which lay at cross purposes to her own wishes?
She could not allow emotion to sweep her up and cause her to make a decision like this on a whim, no matter what handsome men or possible adventures beckoned.
“I said I’d have a word with my uncle, Captain, and I meant it. You cannot expect me to make such a choice in the state I’m in at present. Graves, Benjamin, this lieutenant …” She shook her head, denying him answers for the moment. “If you’ll excuse us?”
The look on his face was as if she’d just told him she’d poisoned his tea. It took the entire force of her will, but she tore her eyes away from Edmund Blackburn and gestured to her uncle, bidding him follow her some way down the wide planks of the wharf.
“Niece,” he said under his breath once they’d moved far enough away that the captain would not overhear. “Do you honestly consider leaving with this man? You know, I’m not nearly so bound by proprieties as my brother is, but this … I find you a very different woman now than the quiet girl I knew when I left for the islands. Very worldly indeed.” Hannah had the sense to blush a bit at that remark. Of course, she had never intended for her family to see any of this. But he continued.
“There would be no coming back to society if you chose such a life and tired of it later. I won’t try to stop you now, that isn’t my way, but …” He made a vague gesture, at a loss for how to finish his thought.
“All you say speaks to reason, Uncle,” she said, wanting to make very sure he knew she didn’t take his words lightly, “and I tell you now, I still do not know which path I will take. I want to decide with a cool head, not standing out here on a wharf at night, with men tapping their feet all around me.”
“You can certainly stay with me, as intended, for as long as you like, Duck.” Her eyes welled up of a sudden at his use of the silly childhood name he and her father had for her, but blinked the emotion away as he continued. “There’s no need for you to do anything rash tonight.” He glanced back to where Blackburn stood. “I suspect that one will wait for you, if I know a thing or two about men—and I believe I might.” He smirked back at her, the familiar puckishness of the man returning more each moment.
“Either way, Uncle,” she said, as she pulled the cord from around her neck and began to undo it, “you should have your father’s ring back. It seems you’ll be with us to wear it a bit longer.” She offered the gold signet to him with a tired smile.
“Keep it.” He closed her fingers back around the ring, “If you do decide to run off with these scoundrels, I want you to remember me and your father, and come back to us from time to time. I nearly failed in that myself these last ten years, and almost lost the chance. I don’t want that for you, Hannah.”
Blinking wasn’t enough now and her chin quivered.
Damn it all! I don’t need this!
She cleared her throat and wrested her tears under control, her eyes focusing now over her uncle’s shoulder on the immense dark silhouette of The Devil’s Luck, lit from within by lanterns, the sounds of her working crew beginning to swell once more now that imminent danger had passed.
From there her gaze passed to Edmund, still standing on the wharf. She lifted her chin, narrowing her eyes at Fate.
“Whatever course I take, Uncle,” she said, the reins of her own life now firmly in hand, “I assure you it will be of my own choosing, and for my own benefit. Today will be the last I wait on the whims of men. For good or ill, I am Fortune’s fool no longer.”
* * * *
Epilogue
Beyond Pages and Words
Port Royal, Jamaica, September 1716
Edmund leaned his head against the vertical bars of the cell, his forearms resting on the cross bar, hands clasped outside the door. Benjamin stifled a yawn from the next cell. The naval guards had been wise enough to not place the two men together. Skulking about the walls of Fort Charles was a sure way to get oneself killed, and the lockup had only been the first step.
It seemed they were the only prisoners at the moment, at least from the quiet beneath the heavy foundations of the fort. The evening was wearing on, and Edmund was growing restless. It should not be long now.
He heard the footfalls before he saw the man, but soon a dark shape became larger and more distinct as it approached from the other end of the dimly torch-lit corridor.
“I trust the accommodations are suited to your taste, Gentlemen?” a taunting voice came from the man as he arrived at the iron bars separating Edmund and his quartermaster from freedom.
“Amusing, Hawke,” Till put in dryly from his own cell. “Quite the set of stones on you when your captain’s behind bars.”
The sailor chuckled, shifting the bundle under his arm as keys jangled. A bit of metallic fumbling in the low light, and Edmund’s door came open, followed by Benjamin’s. The pair of men stepped out and Hawke handed each of them a portion of what he’d been carrying.
“You’ll have to make do Captain, Mr Till. These two we took down weren’t exactly your build.”
Edmund and Till received the officers’ coats and breeches and shucked out of their own right there in front of the cells, shameless, replacing their garb with Naval blue and white. Edmund could see he was a bit taller and longer of arm than the coat’s previous owner, and Till’s new coat was snug enough that he knew the crew would have their laughs when they saw it. But this was not the time to be selective.
“I left the hats with the bodies, Captain,” Hawke went on, “I didn’t have enough hands. You can pick them up on the way out.”
“Right,” he said, with an approving nod for the man. “Good work, Mr Hawke. The men have what we came for by now, I presume?”
“They do, Sir,” he said, as they began to make their way out of the prison. “Your distraction worked just as you wanted. The guards were busy with you and Mr Till, and the rest of us found the stores. Surgeon’s supplies are on their way back to the long boat as we speak.”
“Excellent, Hawke.” The three men passed through a doorway to find the two prone bodies of their new uniforms’ previous owners. Edmund and Till bent to retrieve their temporary hats. “Mr Till and I will follow in the launch. Tell Hezekiah we weigh anchor as soon as we’re aboard.”
“Aye, Sir.” The sailor nodded, trotting off without another word. The man knew not to dawdle. Edmund made a note to keep his eye on such a promising member of his crew.
From here, he and Benjamin, while still keeping a weather eye, strolled through the fort with the confidence anyone else there would expect from commissioned officers. They belonged there, no reason for suspicion. Rare mirth warmed him at the impending success of their mission and he poked at the quartermaster under his breath.
“We should have had them find you someone who wore a wig, old friend. No one who looks twice is going to believe that bald head of yours belongs to an officer.”
“Perhaps the tattoos will convince them,” Till fired back.
The two of them were in fair spirits once they’d made their way out of the stale air of the fort’s lower levels and into the fresh breeze. They walked straight out of a main entrance a
nd toward the small dock where they’d left the launch tied in companionable silence, without receiving a second glance from any of the standing guards thanks to their purloined coats and breeches.
Edmund’s steps slowed however, as the shape of his ship moved into their line of sight, anchored though it was, a fair distance out to sea. The change of pace did not go unnoticed by his oldest friend.
“You miss her, don’t you?” Till said, his tone careful, concerned, but not wanting to cause upset.
“That I do, my friend,” he answered, also quiet.
“Should I worry, Edmund?” the other man ventured to ask. “You haven’t been the same since we lost her.”
Edmund sighed. He should learn to mask his moods with greater care. “Yes,” he said, mildly fatigued now to have to relive the unpleasantness another time, “but as you told me at the time, she might have been a favourite, but she wouldn’t be the last. And lo, you were right—another came along just as soon after.”
Benjamin nodded to himself at this, seeming to accept his captain’s response for the time being.
As they came at last within a stone’s throw of the launch, a voice hailed them.
“Took you gentlemen long enough.”
‘Gentlemen.’ There was the snide honorific again. Was Hawke spreading the word among the crew of methods to needle him?
He stepped into the boat, shaking his head, Benjamin following suit to move around him for the oars.
“You look rather dashing in the blue and white, Edmund.” Nimble arms came around his waist in the darkness. “Are you sure you’ve no interest in joining the navy?”