He gave her such a glazed look of dumb gratitude that she wanted to hit him.
The moon-drenched night silenced them both. Lancey was content to gaze, awed by the silvery beauty that turned darkness to blue-black, and the river to mirror glass. Jan, walking beside her, seemed depressed. Twice he sighed, and when bespoke his tone was sullen.
“What’d I do wrong, Lancey?”
“Jan, you didn’t do anything wrong.”
“It’s how you’re supposed to act. Cap’n Benjamin had a book that says so. Before you ask for a lady’s hand. You dress in your best, and you visit her at home, and—” His voice choked with disappointment. “I—I thought maybe I’d been asking you wrong. That you’d be pleased.”
Lancey dug her fingernails into her palms. She faced Jan squarely, wanting to ease his pain, afraid to sympathize. This time, she decided, it must be ended.
“Jan, I’m the one that’s wrong. Wrong for you. I do not love you. I will never be your wife.”
“There’s someone else?”
“You have no right—”
“Is there?”
His hand clamped on her shoulder, shook her.
“Is there, Lancey?”
“Yes!” Lancey punched his forearm, twisted from his grip. She was angry now, ready to say anything that would send Jan away. “Yes, since that’s what you want to hear! Yes, yes, yes!”
“Not Justin,” said Jan, hoarsely. “Not him!”
There was such hate in the words, in his glare, that Lancey stepped back, tensed to fight or flee. She wasn’t afraid of Jan, but she’d never seen him so enraged. She said, “That’s my affair!”
“Listen.” Jan reached for her again, but this time she fended him away. “Listen, Lancey, for your own good keep away from Justin.”
“I’ll take no orders from you, Master Mate!”
He grunted, then shrugged. “You’d be wise to heed, Lancey. That—feller is a troublemaker. Nobody knows much about him, where he’s from or why he come here, but—”
“He fought in the war!”
“So did a lot of others, but I never heard they was all angels. Take my word that Justin’s brewing something wicked. There’s a man staying up at Jaycock’s, a stranger—”
“Venick?” asked Lancey, in spite of herself. Jan’s ranting was, of course, just an outburst of jealousy, but his mention of the stranger whetted her curiosity.
“You know him?”
“I’ve met him.”
“Well,” Jan said, with quiet seriousness, “he’s another one who’s up to no good. Cut from the same bolt as Justin is Master Christian Venick. They’re as thick as—as thieves, and maybe that’s just what they are!”
“You’d better not let Justin hear you call him that.” Lancey sounded more assured than she felt. Borrowing a boat wasn’t real thievery, but soldiers were notoriously light fingered when in need. “He whipped you once.”
“Not easy,” said Jan, “and mayhap not for keeps. But I ain’t talking about that. Why is he playing crony-crony with this Venick in such a sneaky way?”
“Who says he is?”
“I says! They got their heads together this minute, whispering in a corner of Jaycock’s common room. Yes, and Digmus hisself serving them.”
“Well, after all, it is an ordinary. What’s sneaky about two men supping together?”
“Ah!” Jan’s satisfied exclamation ruffled the girl’s hair.
“That’s the point. If it’s all honest talk why do they have to skulk around corners, and meet behind wood piles? I’ve seen them do both, Lancey. Aye, with these eyes! And then, they separate and head for Jaycock’s on different tacks, like foxes at a hen-coop.”
“I—I don’t believe it,” said Lancey, lying. Jan’s vehemence carried conviction; truth rang in every syllable. He spoke without the glibness of rehearsed falsehood, flatly, definitely. She remembered Venick with Justin in the clearing above the river.
“You’d better. I made it my business to watch them, these past days. Soon as the Lydia was berthed I began to smell something. Venick’s open handed buying drinks, but he only bought me one! Digmus Jaycock steered Venick off me. I fronted Digmus about it, and he gave me a story about not wanting trouble, and the man being friendly with Justin.”
“Digmus could be lying.”
“He ain’t, not about that. If you ask me Digmus is in it, too.”
“In what, Jan?”
“Skulduggery. Robbery. Something underhand. Maybe they knew each other somewheres else that got too warm for them.”
“No,” said Lancey, glad to find a definite denial. “I was there the night Venick first came. I’d swear Justin never knew him before. Besides, Digmus wouldn’t—”
“Digmus Jaycock’d sell his soul for a shilling, Lancey, and you know it!”
“Soul, perhaps. Neck, no.” The picture of the innkeeper plotting robbery was too much for Lancey. She began to laugh at the absurdity; Jaycock had the courage of a minnow. The laughter helped persuade her that all Jan’s suspicions were ridiculous. There was probably a simple, innocent explanation for Justin’s attachment to Christian Venick.
“What’re you laughing at?” asked Jan, growling.
“You, Jan. You’re seeing goblins behind every bush. Venick’s naught but a man trying to buy favor from newly met folks.”
“And Justin?”
Lancey paused, thinking. It was not like Justin to become any man’s toady for a free bottle. She said, “He is a closemouthed man, who doesn’t babble all he knows.”
“That I believe!”
“You twist everything to suit your purpose, Jan. There is no reason why Justin must excuse himself to every tosspot who beards him in a tavern.” Her defense sounded spurious; Justin had been evasive with her. Sharpening her tone, she stamped a foot. “And if he avoids you, he has cause! You picked that fight!”
Jan shifted his feet, lost his air of determined righteousness.
“Now, Lancey,” he said, “you know how those things happen. We were arguing and drinking and—”
“Don’t lie.” Sure of his guilt, Lancey relished the chance to rebuke Jan. His suspicions about Justin deserved no consideration because he’d already forfeited her esteem. “You deliberately provoked Justin. Who gave you the right to make me the cause of a tavern brawl?”
“Nobody said—”
“You dolt! I’m not a fool, Jan. Nor are the folk who heard you! You have no claim on me, but you try to bully any man who bows in passing!” Lancey was merciless, glorying in the justice of her attitude. “You deserved to be thrashed!”
“I heard you watched,” said Jan, muttering. “There was plenty made sure I heard.”
“And tonight,” said Lancey, brutally, “you come acourting mouthing treacle from a printed book, and dressed up like Cornbury’s ghost!” The gibe was cruel; Jan’s sedate attire deserved no mention of a long-dead English governor whose foppishness was still a riverfront legend after almost a century.
“Lancey!”
“Well, it’s the last time, Jan.” Turning away, Lancey gazed out across the river. The lanterns on the bows of the fishing boats bobbed with the drift; the lights reflected in the water flickered like fireflies.
“But, Lancey, I—”
“The last time,” repeated Lancey, with cold formality. “Your attentions are unwelcome, Master Elmendorf. If you respect my wishes you will discontinue them.” The phrases were too tame for her taste. “God and Nicholas, Jan. Go away and stay away.”
“What?” said Jan, in stunned disbelief. “Just because I lost my temper and flogged at that—that feller?”
Oh, no, thought Lancey, hearing his tone. No matter how she insulted and berated Jan, he always was deaf to dismissal! Didn’t he have any pride? Didn’t he even listen?
“I mean it, Jan. You lose that temper and start flogging much too easily.”
“Now, I don’t know,” said a merry voice, “that it’s so much worse than dumping fish in a chaise.
”
They both jumped, startled. Jan swore as he turned. Lancey, whirling, couldn’t believe that the figure standing so close was real. He had his hat in his hand, grinning at them. The moonlight tinted the ruffles of his linen and powdered the straw-colored hair.
“Dirck!”
“Your obedient, Mistress,” said Dirck, bowing. “My compliments, Master Elmendorf.”
“I—I didn’t hear you come,” said Lancey. She was still dumbfounded. It was really too much that both Dirck and Jan should appear on a night when she expected Justin. “Where’s Meda?”
“In a stall enjoying a well-earned rest. I walked in compliment to the night, Lancey.”
“How long,” asked Jan, “you been standing there?” He sounded gruff, but uncertain.
“Just arrived. What were you talking about that was so fascinating? All I heard was about temper and flogging. When’s the fight?”
It was, Lancey decided, done with grace and ease. You had to admire the way Dirck van Zandt managed to draw the sting out of a situation. Neither she nor Jan had been whispering and Dirck had keen ears, but his statement was blandly convincing. She saw the sailor’s shoulders relax, heard the relief in his voice.
“The fight’s been long since, Master van Zandt. But Lancey was keelhauling me for it just the same.”
“The woman’s privilege,” Dirck said, “that never changes.” Jan laughed and Lancey frowned. She was annoyed that Jan, who hated Justin, yielded so swiftly to Dirck’s friendliness. At least Justin wasn’t swayed by the old habit that treasured a patroon’s smile.
“When did you get back, Dirck?”
“Last night, Lancey. I haven’t been home though. Master Kent wanted a full report on the chancellor.”
“But, surely,” said Lancey desperately, “your family must be anxious about you. I mean, are you a lawyer now?” She was casting frantically for some means of clearing the yard for Justin. He’d made it possible for her to be free, and it looked as if she was holding a levee!
“If answering questions makes me a lawyer.”
“Well,” said Jan, impressed, “a lawyer, eh.”
“Yes,” said Dirck, “but there’s more important news, Lancey. I met a man in a tavern down there who owns and skippers a Bermudas boat. Seems that he hailed Ten Bush’s whaler off the Florida coast.”
“The Aunt Namina?” Jan asked.
“That’s right. Heading south under full sail with no time for anything but a passing shout. Still, all hands aboard are reported alive and well.”
“Thank you,” said Lancey. She was truly grateful, suspected that Dirck had taken a good deal of trouble. Why, she thought, I wasn’t sure he even knew the name of Ten Bush’s ship. He must have asked in every seaman’s grog shop before he found the right man. Such a message seldom came upriver once a whaler had cleared the mouth of the Hudson.
“How far back was this?”
“Last month sometime,” said Dirck, answering Jan’s question. “The man wasn’t sure of the date.” He smiled at Lancey. “I thought you’d like to know.”
The girl hesitated, returned the smile. She was sure the news was trustworthy, whatever Dirck’s motives in fetching it. Ten Bush’s well-being, she told herself, is more important than your meeting with Justin! She said, “Pa will be glad to hear, Dirck.”
“Yes,” said Dirck abstractedly. He was staring past Lancey at the river, and he pointed with his tricorne. “What the devil’s going on out there?”
Jan and Lancey turned as one. Far upriver the bright pinpoints of light from the lanterns had stopped bobbing, were no longer spaced at intervals across the width of the stream. Now they seemed to be converging. One lamp stayed fixed; the others darted toward it. Even as the trio watched the scattered sparkles began to form a cluster.
Staring, Lancey felt a chill of fear. There was always the possibility of accident, and most of the fishermen, including her father, couldn’t swim. On a calm night, with the river as placid as the moon, her fear was ridiculous. Unable to identify boats at that distance, she counted lanterns, naming each for an owner; Row, Kimmee, Cash, Calico. Though the Quist boat was moored beside the pier a yard away, there were more than four lights.
“Seven,” said Jan aloud.
“Yes,” Lancey said, noting by the tide’s change that the nets should be gathered.
“Is that right?” Dirck asked.
“Can’t tell,” Lancey said, still gazing upriver. “There are the four regulars, but we don’t know bow many others were fetched out by the fine night.” The lights were bunched in a ragged circle, like a distant conclave of torches. She listened, but the gentle breeze was from the south, and no shouts reached her.
“It ain’t trouble, Lancey,” said Jan. “They ain’t got that look.”
“Fetch Hester anyway.”
Jan went without argument, but the girl was grateful for his comment. With all his faults he was riverwise, a sailor, sloop trained and able. As she walked out to the end of the pier, Dirck followed. He stood at her elbow.
“What’s happening, Lancey?”
“I don’t know,” she said, genuinely puzzled. Then, she stiffened as twin lights moved out from the eastern bank, appearing suddenly, edging with slow steadiness toward mid-river.
Dirck said, “That’s the ferry barge.”
“Yes. But—look, it’s not acrossing. The ferry’s heading for the others.”
The ferry lanterns, higher and brighter than the rest, stopped outside the ring of yellow specks. As Hester and Jan stepped onto the pier, Lancey squinted. She could imagine fishermen and bargemen calling to each other, but was it imagination that made those lights grow larger?
“What’s happening?” asked Hester, calmly.
“I think,” said Lancey, “they’re heading downriver, coming back here.”
Dirck said, “They are.”
“Ferry and all,” Jan said.
They stood, grouped by curiosity and common interest, in watchful silence. Even Dirck van Zandt was gripped by the ancient patience, as old as fishing, that is part of awaiting the return of men in boats. The beams of the lanterns blossomed; hulls jelled from darkness, became visible. They saw the white splashes where oarblades scooped out water. The boats were separate now, but coming on as a fleet. They heard the men calling to each other, the first shouts.
“All right,” said Hester. “They’re excited, but they don’t sound worried. Nobody’s hurt.”
Lancey, turning to nod to her stepmother, blinked. There were lighted lanterns, a couple of torches, bunched at the shore end of the pier. For an instant she thought her eyes had held the impression of the boat lamps, then she realized that the riverfront folk were out in force. Somehow, the excitement of the fishermen had reached their families, drawn them from their homes to the Quist landing.
She saw Seth Row’s wife, the Kimmee children, Digmus Jaycock. A shouted chant slapped out from the approaching boats.
“Pardon and Hendrick! Pardon and Hendrick!”
“What’s that?” called Hester.
Jan Elmendorf bellowed through cupped hands. “What is it? What’s going on?”
The lead boat drew away from the others. Calico and Tanner, faces shining like coal as they glanced over their shoulders, were rowing at top speed. It was Calico who, without losing the stroke, raised his voice to answer.
“There ain’t never been such a drift!”
Tanner’s laugh boomed. He sounded as if he was singing. “It’s like the sea of Galilee!”
The slaves let their boat run. Calico shipped his oars, stood up. His shout was joyous, a trumpet of triumph. “We all done holy! But Pardon and Hendrick got nigh six hundred shad!”
“Lost count,” called Tanner.
A throaty cheer came from the assembled crowd. It overpowered the tumult of the fishermen.
“Jove,” said Dirck. “Six hundred.”
Jan said, “That’s a lot of fish!”
“Yes,” Hester said, dryly, “pr
essed down and running over.” At the edge of the throng, taller than most, stood Justin Pattison. The flame of a nearby torch cast a wavering pattern, glow and shadow, across his long face, but Lancey saw that the dark eyes gazed at the group on the pier. Jan must have felt it for he straightened to glare. Dirck glanced from Justin to Lancey, grinned.
“I’d call that a full net, Lancey,” be said.
“Enough and to spare,” said Lancey, and giggled. “It must be the moonlight.”
CHAPTER 18
THE THREE BOATMATES, TWO MEN AND A GIRL, SAT IN THE dory and listened while the boy on the wharf, with shrill scorn, gave voice to their secret thoughts. Not one of them glanced at the small figure standing, arms akimbo in strangely adult stance, high above them. Pardon Cash, head bent, watched his fingers as they clenched and unclenched around the handle of the oar he’d rigged as tiller. Face impassive, Justin Pattison gazed at his partner. Lancey Quist peered at both men through lowered eyelashes.
“What do you think I am?” cried Conrad Quist, in outrage. “There’s no sense trying to sell that stinking shad! Nobody wants it! You can’t give it away! If there’s anybody left in this whole, blasted county that won’t gag at the sight of one, he’ll catch his own. And only addlepated fishermen would bother to do that! I wouldn’t make a wooden copper on your whole boatload!” Then he ripped out a round oath for emphasis.
“Pa,” said Lancey, listlessly, “would wash your mouth out for that, Conrad.” Her stepbrother’s tirade roused no anger. They all knew there was too much truth in what he said.
Here, in the lee of the horse-ferry wharf, with the wind cut off and the mid-afternoon sunshine glaring from the steel bright water of the shallows, the heat gripped them with shimmering tentacles. It hadn’t been so bad when the dory was under sail, but without the breeze it was broiling. The canvas over the fish had dried from the last sluicing, and the shad stink was sharper.
“Go ahead and carry tales.” Conrad was unimpressed. “And carry them fish to Pa, too, before the ferry comes back. The smell of them might turn the horses’ stomachs. They just ain’t salable, Lancey.”
That too, she thought, was very near the truth. They had been cruising since early morning, and they’d ranged from above Kingston almost as far south as the old lines at West Point. Pardon had fitted a mast to his dory, and they’d cast off in high spirits, stimulated by last night’s luck. She had even, she recalled, felt sorry for Hester and Hendrick trying to peddle half the catch around Poughkeepsie.
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