Shanna

by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss

  “Oh, ‘tis you, gov’na,” she giggled. “You gave me quite a start. Aye, ‘at ye did. Ye’re late.”

  The man shrugged and offered no explanation. He wore a full black cape which hid his stature, with a high collar pulled up close beneath a tricorn drawn down to hide his features in the darkness. His riding boots were of soft black leather, as were the gloves which covered his hands, and he carried a quirt as if he had just left a horse. As he drew nearer, Milly gave him no pause.

  “Well, gov’na, ‘ave I got news fer ye. We got to ‘ave an understandin’ soon. ‘At Mister Ruark ain’ no good ter me at all like ye said he’d be. ‘E’s already got him a missus an’ ye’d never guess who. Miz Shanna Beauchamp, ‘ats who. Only she ain’ no widow no more. She’s Miz John Ruark, now. An’ the fun of it is, the high lady told me ‘erself.”

  Milly paused to savor her news.

  “Why, she ain’ as good as me, beddin’ a bondsman. Ain’t got no taste atall. She’s kept it a fair secret, though.” The girl chewed at a fingernail for a moment, and her eyes took on a gleeful gleam. “Comes ter mind, ‘er pa don’t know, either. What a foin blow he’ll ‘ave when I lets ‘im in on it. Me ma, too. She’s always pointin’ out ‘at high Miz Shanna and sayin’ be like ‘er. Well, I’s better’n ‘er.” Milly reached out and caressed the arm of the man, missing the pinched frown he gave her.

  “I gots me better’n any bondsman. I best tell ye now, gov’na, ye’ve got to pay the due. I ain’ talkin’ no seaman what’s gone ‘alf the time. I wants me a man ’round when I gets me heat up.”

  The quirt began to slap softly against the top of the man’s boot, but Milly did not notice as she bestowed her best smile on him.

  “O’ course, I ain’ one ter tie ye down, and if’n ye roams a bit I ain’ goin’ ter howl ’bout it. Not so long as ye comes back.”

  The man slipped his arm around her and began to lead her down the street. Milly reveled in this unusual affection and misread his smile completely. She leaned against him and slipped her hand inside his cloak.

  “I knows a quiet spot down by the beach,” she murmured, a suggestive look in her eyes. “ ‘Tis a hidden place with soft moss ter pillow me backside.”

  In the shadowed street the echo of her light laughter dwindled.

  The next day broke clear and cool, with a sharp edge to it that could almost be felt. At the first hint of dawn Ruark and Shanna awoke, and with a parting kiss, he made his way quietly to his own chamber where he shaved and dressed to await the manor’s first stirring. He lounged on the bed, listening to Shanna move about her room then rejected the idea of returning. Hergus scolded her enough without adding more kindling to the woman’s fire. It was a nightly occurrence now that they shared a bed even if it was only to lie in the comfort of each other’s arms until sleep would descend upon them both.

  Making his way to the small dining room, Ruark poured himself a cup of coffee. The pungent, nutty taste of the brew had captured him, and he welcomed the steaming warmth of it on this rare chilly morn.

  Milan had set out a platter of meats and small oatcakes, and at the man’s invitation Ruark was just seating himself before a liberal plate when Trahern and Shanna entered the room together laughing. The father wondered at the change in his daughter. In the past few weeks she had grown rosy-cheeked and lighthearted and ever since her escapade with the pirates she appeared to have lost much of her starched formality. The frequency of her biting comments had faded until she almost seemed a different person, a warm and gracious woman whose charm now rivaled her beauty. Trahern chuckled to himself, accepting the good fortune without question. The smell of buttered griddle-cakes filled his nostrils, and he hurried to his chair, leaving the seating of his daughter to Mister Ruark, as it seemed the man’s wont, anyway.

  A ring of hooves sounded out front, and in a moment Pitney blustered into the house, rubbing his hands and savoring the aroma of the food. He tossed his hat to Jason and joined the others, dragging a chair back from the table for a seat.

  He met the amused stares of father and daughter and rumbled, “The floor of me house was much too cold this morn for a man of me age to be stumbling about.” He glared about as if daring anyone to question his honesty. “Besides, I finished a table for Mister Dunbar, and he had said he was coming here to see Mister Ruark ’bout that mule of his. Seems the man wants to buy it.”

  Pitney accepted a plate from Milan and set about easing his appetite. The meal was taken by all with light banter as a side dish, and the mood was generally cheerful. But it was not to remain so for long. Milan had renewed Ruark’s coffee when a shout was heard, and a banging fist jarred the front door. Jason let in a bondsman from the village who came on bare feet directly back to the dining room. At Trahern’s side the man stood nervously turning his hat in his hands as he gave fleeting glances at Shanna as if her presence held back his flow of words.

  “Mister—uh—yer lordship—Squire Trahern—” The man’s tongue stumbled in haste.

  “Well, Mister Hanks,” Trahern urged impatiently. “Out with it.”

  The bondsman’s face reddened as he looked again at Shanna. “Well, sir, I was out in me boat early, gettin’ in a few good fishes for Miz Hawkins. She gives me a three pence or so for ’em. I drew the boat in to fix me lines and bait when I spies a bit o’ color up by the bush. The tide was out, so I beached the skiff to see about it.” He paused and blushed darkly, lowering his gaze. He crushed the hat between his huge, calloused, square-fingered hands. “H’it were Miz Milly, sir.” His voice was choked. “She were dead, beaten bad and tossed in a tide pool.”

  In the frozen silence he rushed on.

  “Miz Hawkins ‘as to be told, sir, and I ain’t got the right words, it being her only young’un and all. Would ye tell her, sir?”

  “Milan!” Trahern bellowed, and the servant almost dropped a plate at the sound. “Send Maddock to bring my carriage around immediately.” He pushed back his chair and all at the table rose with him. “Come and show us where, Mister Hanks.”

  Numbly Shanna crossed the room, her mind tumbling over itself with the shock of Mister Hanks’s announcement. Milly and babe, dead! What hellish being would do such a deed? This would be a terrible tragedy for Mrs. Hawkins to bear, and Shanna felt sick at heart as she wondered why so much trouble had to come to such a good woman.

  In the back of Shanna’s mind it came to her that her secret was safe once again, but that meant nothing now. She’d have gladly told her father herself if it would have made any difference in this matter of Milly’s death. She had not really disliked the girl and certainly never wished any disaster to befall her. Her worrying seemed so trifling now.

  Trailing behind Shanna, Ruark was just as stunned. The attempt on his life yesterday and now this murder of Milly—were they somehow related? It was a dark blemish on the happy, serene days he had enjoyed ever since Shanna had lowered all barriers between them.

  “Shanna, girl!” Trahern’s voice halted them. “ ‘Tis best you stay here.”

  “Mister Hanks is right, papa,” Shanna returned quietly. “Madam Hawkins must be told. ‘Tis fitting a woman be with her. I will go to her.”

  Both father and husband stared at Shanna, warmly gratified with her wisdom and understanding. Trahern nodded, and the room was emptied in a rush.

  Milly lay face down in a shallow depression in the sand. At high tide it would have been a pool, but now the sun had whitened the sand until it seemed the unfortunate girl was but napping on the beach. Her clothes were torn from her until only a few meager shreds remained. Thin weals marked her body and limbs as if she had been thrashed cruelly with a narrow rod or staff. Huge purplish bruises swelled on her arms and upper body where a heavy fist or cudgel had smashed repeatedly into her. An ugly welt marked the side of her face and extended well into the matted hair. One hand still clutched tufts of salt grass, bespeaking her struggle to hold on as the tide ebbed. Her other hand was stretched out and near it was a crude “R” dug into
the sand. The short leg of it trailed off and curled under, ending where her fingers had buried themselves in a last desperate convulsive effort.

  Ruark stared at her, his mind filled with the sight of another girl who had died in much the same manner. How could this happen so far away with an ocean between? How could it be?

  Trahern bent near the girl and peered at the scrawled letter in the sand. “ ‘Tis an ‘R,’ “ he murmured then straightened to consider his bondsman. “Or it could be a ‘P.’ But then, I can vouch for Pitney.” He pursed his lips thoughtfully. “It could stand for Ruark, but ‘tis my inclination to disbelieve that. I am certain I could vouch for you, also, should the occasion arise.”

  Ruark’s throat was dry. The twisted body was all too familiar. He managed a hoarse, “Thank you, sir.”

  “Or it could stand for Ralston, yet I can hardly envision him with a young girl like this. He much prefers heavier, plumper, older women. More solid and reliable. ‘Like England,’ he says.”

  Ruark raised his eyes and scanned the low bluff above the beach. A clump of brush showed broken twigs and higher up a strip of white cloth hung like a banner from a branch.

  “There!” He pointed. “She must have fallen from up there.” He walked down a ways to a break in the bluff and scrambled up, followed in close order by Trahern and Pitney. Mister Hanks remained below and strolled out toward his boat, wanting no further part of the gruesome affair.

  The three found a small glade heavily shaded by trees and hidden by shrubs. Its floor was a thick bed of springy moss, and here was written the rest of the tale. The moss was uprooted in chunks and tossed about, giving a sign of a fierce struggle. Pieces of Milly’s clothing were scattered afar, and deep boot marks showed where she had been carried to the brink.

  Pitney’s voice shook. “The filthy whoreson thought her dead and threw her into the sea. She would have gone out on the tide and disappeared without a trace. The poor lass. ‘Twas an evil thing that was done here by an evil man.”

  His gray eyes caught Ruark’s, and for a long moment the two gazes held unwaveringly. When Pitney spoke again, his tone was certain as he directed his statement to the younger man.

  “I do not know of such a one who would do this.”

  Trahern snorted. “Nor do I. ‘Tis a beastly thing. Beastly.”

  “Squire,” Ruark began reluctantly, and Trahern faced him with a quizzical stare. “I would have you hear it from me and now.” He had to squint almost into the sun to meet the man’s gaze, but meet it he did. “Milly claimed she was with babe and needed me to wed her.”

  “And were you the father?” Trahern inquired slowly.

  “Nay, I was not,” Ruark avowed. “I never laid a hand on the girl.”

  After a moment the squire nodded. “I believe you, Mister Ruark.” He sighed heavily. “Let’s get the girl home. Elot will be along with a wagon any moment now.”

  The barouche bore the men to the Hawkinses’ house where Pitney excused himself and made off for the dramshop. Arrangements had been made for Milly’s body to be tended to by a close friend of the fishmonger before the woman could see the abuse her daughter had suffered. Trahern and Ruark stood outside the humble dwelling and braced themselves for meeting the Hawkinses. The yard and exterior were a shambles. A pair of scrawny swine snorted in a corner beneath a haphazard shelter of boards while a dozen or so guinea hens scratched in the path.

  With some apprehension the two entered the house. It was neat and clean, though painfully unadorned but for a single wood-carved crucifix hanging on the wall. Mister Hawkins lounged on a lopsided settee and did not even glance at them.

  “The old lady’s out back,” he grunted and sucked long on a bottle of rum, still staring off into the distance.

  In back of the house, a roof hung on crooked poles giving shade but little hindrance to rain. Beneath it Mrs. Hawkins stood at a high table, her back to them. With a huge knife she cleaned fish, spilling the offal into a wooden barrel. Shanna sat on a stool to one side and met their eyes with a small shrug, though signs of recent tears still lingered in her own.

  “Good day, gentlemen,” Mrs. Hawkins spoke over her shoulder without pausing in her task. “Have a seat wherever. I has me work to do.” Her voice sounded tired.

  Both Trahern and Ruark remained standing and stared at each other awkwardly, wondering what was to be said. The old woman worked on, though she wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand and sniffed loudly once in a while.

  “She was an unlucky girl,” Mrs. Hawkins’s flat voice stated suddenly. She braced her hands on the table and stood with bowed head. She could barely be heard now. “I pray she’s at peace. She fretted overmuch about things she could not have and was never satisfied with what she got.”

  The old fishwife turned to face them, her eyes streaming tears of sorrow.

  “Milly weren’t a bad girl.” She smiled and found a clean spot on the apron to wipe her face. “Willful sometimes, aye, that she were. Men gave her trinkets and coins sometimes, and she came to think they would give her whate’er she wanted. She made up stories about some o’ them. Oh, I know, Mister Ruark, what she said about you and her, but I’m aware ye never touched ‘er. She used to cry in ‘er pillow cause ye wouldn’t pay no mind to ‘er. When I’d wash yer clothes, she’d sit an’ moon over ye.”

  “Mrs. Hawkins,” Ruark began gently, “were there any others who were—steady?”

  “Many others,” the woman sniffed and blew her nose loudly. “But none that lasted. Oh—there was one lately, but I don’t know who. She never would say and only met him at night, far away from here.”

  “Mister Ralston never—” Trahern could not put it to words.

  “Nay, not him. He always said she was cheap trash. Even hit at her once with that little whip o’ his.” The woman laughed briefly. “Milly teased him. Called him old stick bones and sour face.”

  The tears began to flow again, and the woman’s shoulder shook with suppressed sobs. Shanna rose quickly and went to comfort her. Mrs. Hawkins was half a head taller, but the two of them put their heads together and spoke softly.

  When Mrs. Hawkins calmed, she bent and kissed Shanna on the cheek. “Go now, child,” she smiled. “Ye’ve done me good, but we would be alone now for a while.”

  Orlan Trahern ventured, “If you have a need, madam, do not hesitate.” He paused then added. “Milly left a sign in the sand. An ‘R’ she traced. Do you know of any—”

  Mrs. Hawkins shook her head. “I wouldn’t worry meself about Milly’s signs, sir. She never took ter writin’.”

  A long, quiet moment passed before Ruark offered, “I’ll come by tomorrow to fix the roof.”

  There was nothing left to be said, and the three departed. The ride back to the manor was overlong and very quiet.

  Chapter 23

  OCTOBER WAS MIDDLE-AGED, and the Hampstead was in port for a general replenishing before she would bear Trahern and his extensive entourage to Virginia. While his party visited the Beauchamps, the brigantine and the schooner would ply the coastal colonies in trade. Meanwhile, the mill grew like a well-nurtured mushroom. Each day saw its completion nearing, and a crude blade hammered out by the blacksmith was installed until a better one arrived from New York. In fact, several blades for different purposes had been ordered at Ruark’s insistence, and it was a grand day when the Marguerite arrived with all of them aboard.

  The gloom of Milly’s death was set aside when Gaitlier and Dora came to the manor house and shyly announced their intentions to marry. After sharing a toast for the occasion, Shanna pressed them into taking a ride about the island with Ruark and herself, only to order the carriage halted before a small building, and there to introduce the prospective bridegroom to the school she had long ago urged her father to build. Gaitlier was ecstatic over the crates of books, slates, and other implements of learning Shanna had shipped home during her own years of instruction. Amid profuse and enthusiastic assurances that he would consent to be the isla
nd’s schoolmaster, Gaitlier and Dora began to unpack the largess of materials and were left in a welter of happiness.

  Amid this activity, Gaylord Billingsham became to all appearances entrenched into the lifestyle of Los Camellos. He did not seem overly affected by Shanna’s rebuff and not at all inclined to relieve his host of his presence, however strained Trahern’s graciousness was becoming. The knight’s manners were polished; his arrogance subdued, if only a trifle; his benevolence almost monkish.

  Only two major disruptions disturbed the normal life on the island. One occurred when Gaitlier opened his school for the first day. As acting governor, Trahern had decreed that all children between the ages of seven and twelve should be present and that the only excusals would be made by him. This brought a few objections as some of the older children were well ingrained into the families’ economic system. It was not until he personally made an appearance at the homes and kindly pointed out the probability of increased earnings that the goal of having all the children attend school was met. Even then, it was a sad moment when it became known that most of the older children had not the slightest understanding of the rudiments of writing, reading, or ciphering. The older boys had somehow gained the idea that school was a place to have fun, and Gaitlier was soon ensconced as a beast with a hickory stick ever in hand. By the time the first week had passed, however, they were familiar with the proper decorum and began to look upon the small, seemingly meek man with a new respect.

  Life on Los Camellos quieted and barely regained its ruts when the day arrived for the marriage of the schoolmaster. Since weddings were rare, this was an occasion seized upon for much revelry and celebrating. There would be dancing and feasting in the streets and with the prospect of various spirits being consumed without heed, Trahern declared the next day a holiday for the safety of all. The townsfolk had raised a small cottage across from the school and furnished it with donations from one and all. Pitney laid his huge hands to wood and built a tester bed the likes of which the island had never seen. Shanna and Hergus together took Dora in hand. The mistress of the manor gifted the young woman with a satin gown of gentle maize, and the Scotswoman washed and curled Dora’s hair then painstakingly created a comely coiffure for her. The girl bloomed like a radiant flower under the careful grooming, and when vows were spoken, Ruark watched much in awe, for in that moment Dora was truly beautiful.