by Jenny Barden
‘And shall I put these in water?’ she asked. When he nodded she placed them in a pottle which she half filled with water from the ewer.
His attention moved from the flowers back to the jug.
‘There’s my burnisher,’ he observed with obvious satisfaction, picking up the stick with the tooth that she had found. ‘I was wondering where that had got to.’
She smiled back. ‘If you would lift your feet, please, sir.’
He raised his legs, stiff as pokers, and she swept underneath.
‘I am glad you are here,’ he said, lowering his feet by degrees once she had finished. ‘I have received a note from our Pilot requesting that you return to the Lion.’ He tapped a letter with a broken seal that was also in danger of sliding to the floor.
She resisted the urge to take hold of it, and supposed he was talking about a message from Master Ferdinando, since ‘our Pilot’ was how John White now referred to him; he was no longer ‘our Simon’.
‘I find this perplexing,’ said Governor White, ruffling his hand through his hair, ‘not least since our Pilot has refused to allow any other Planters back aboard.’ He picked up the sprig of leaves he was painting, turned it about and examined it closely. ‘Apart from myself, of course. He would not dare deny me access to the ship. But you …?’ He looked at her askance, one brow raised.
She lowered her eyes and carried on sweeping. How much did he know about who she was? She was not sure, and she had no wish to tell him any more than she needed to.
He coughed, probably to attract her attention since she was no longer looking at him. ‘Our Pilot says that Sir Walter Raleigh wishes you to return to England.’
Did John White remember her from Richmond Palace? Could he recall her being introduced to him as one of the Queen’s ladies? He’d never mentioned that he recognised her, and he gave no sign of doing so now. Though it seemed strange that someone so observant about leaves and flowers could be so inattentive about the features of a face, yet that appeared to be the case. Perhaps she had been of no interest to him at court. She glanced up and saw that he was staring at her and frowning.
‘I realise you are known to Sir Walter. It was his request that secured your position in this household and my agreement not to raise any enquiry. But I wonder …’
She kept her gaze fixed on the floor.
‘Have I seen you somewhere else? … I mean before you joined us?’
‘I have worked for Sir Walter at Durham Place; that may be the explanation.’
She teased her broom around the heap under the table.
‘Ah, yes,’ she heard him say. ‘Well, I’ve not mentioned this to Ananias or anyone else because I would not wish your special … dispensation to create any resentment amongst the rest of our company.’
‘There will be no resentment,’ she said brightly. Then she stood and placed a shell lined with dry blue pigment on his table, another casualty of his untidiness. ‘I will stay.’
‘Stay? No, no, you don’t understand. You cannot stay, not if Sir Walter wants you back.’ He pushed his forelock from his brow, and scratched his scalp at the same time, an action that left his hair looking even more unkempt than usual. ‘I would have thought that you would be only too pleased to return after what has happened …’
‘You mean the death of poor Master Howe?’
‘Most unfortunate. It leaves us with an unwonted dilemma …’
She turned to the fireplace and began to sweep out the hearth, answering him while her back was turned.
‘It is because of Master Howe’s death that I am determined not to leave. His son, Georgie, needs looking after. I mean to do that as well as tend to your daughter. She will soon want a maid’s help more than ever to care for her through her birth, and afterwards once she has a baby to nurse.’
She was also determined not to leave Master Kit, but the Governor didn’t need to know that.
She rattled about with the irons and wondered whether John White had even noticed that little Georgie Howe had taken refuge in his house and slept last night on a pile of rushes, wrapped in a blanket close to the place she now cleaned.
Governor White shuffled on his stool. ‘Indeed, that is all true.’ Then he tapped the letter again. ‘But this cannot be denied.’
She regarded him directly for the first time.
‘Did Sir Walter ask you to ensure I returned?’
The Governor’s face clouded. ‘No, no, he did not. I wonder …’ He looked away and towards the open window. ‘I never have trusted that Portuguese swine. Tell no one I said that,’ he added quickly. ‘So …’ He picked up the letter and waved it about then tossed it next to the jug and pottle. ‘I have notified you of his request and that must suffice for now. No one here is going to return to England until we have determined our position in relation to the savages. Sir Walter will want news about that, and about what has happened to Sir Richard Grenville’s men; we should try to find out more about both matters. Sir Walter should at least have a written report … Our Pilot must wait.’
He rubbed his hands together and added a note to his drawing, speaking as he scratched with his pen.
‘Manteo tells me that the sap of this herb can cure poison arrow wounds. Wisakon, that’s what he calls it: a most useful physic. There is much to be learnt from the savages, and much of value in what grows here naturally, not to speak of what could grow here with transplanting and nurture.’
She looked hard at him, since his attention was on his writing, and noticed that his hair was beginning to thin over the top of his head, though the rest was surprisingly thick for someone who must have been well over two score years and had endured the hardship of the last Roanoke voyage. He spoke calmly despite the recent tragedy of George Howe’s death. Was John White extraordinarily resilient, or so locked in his own world of discovery that he did not appreciate the threats around him and the fears of everyone else? Did he still think that the Indians could be trusted?
‘If the Indians attack us,’ she began, ‘I am sure that such a cure would be a help. And, in view of Master Howe’s fate, perhaps we should expect—’
He interrupted her. ‘The savages also use the silk of the seeds to make soft covers for the privy parts of their virgin maidens.’
‘Really?’
He teased out some of the downy seed tails from a pod at the end of the sprig and studied them carefully as if envisaging the effect.
‘Mmm …’
‘If we are attacked,’ she persisted, ‘then …’
‘Oh, I don’t think that’s likely in our City of Raleigh.’ He made an airy sweeping motion with his quill. ‘We are too great a number for the Secotans to dare confront us. But we must not be complacent, or careless like George Howe, and wander off into the wilderness for miles unaccompanied.’
Her jaw dropped. ‘You surely don’t mean to suggest that Master Howe was at fault in making his murder possible?’
‘Perhaps not “at fault”, but he should have been more cautious. Some savages will take advantage if they perceive weakness, just as small children will when left unattended.’
‘You said they were naturally gentle when you spoke about them in England; I heard you …’
‘Indeed they are, but who knows what may have occurred in their encounter with Master Howe, what grievance, old or new, might have provoked them to unnatural violence.’
‘Grievance?’ She turned from him to hide her shock. A maid’s place was not to take issue with her master. She must not argue or appear judgemental, but she could hardly credit what she had just heard him say. She tried to keep the indignation from her voice. ‘What grievance could have justified such brutality against an innocent man?’
‘I do not say justified. But Governor Lane’s relations with the savages here were … not as comfortable as they might have been towards the end of his stewardship. Incidents may have occurred of which I was not fully aware …’ He wiped his hands on a rag and peered at his palette, holding a tiny br
ush close to a bright green colour. ‘Is this the correct green, do you think? I have used tender buckthorn berries for the hue.’
She gave a little shudder of exasperation and moved closer to see what he was doing. ‘The limning looks perfect.’ She meant it. The picture was exquisite. But what of the Indians? Should they be feared now? She certainly feared them even if he did not. She tried another tack.
‘You said Sir Walter would want to know the disposition of the savages towards us. What will you tell him?’
He tipped his head on one side, but still considered his oyster palette, as if he was more concerned about his colours than anything else.
‘We need to know more, don’t we?’ His gaze flicked up to her. ‘Perhaps we should ask for a parley, approach in peace without seeking redress. But if we are to be avenged for Howe’s death, then surprise is the better tactic: a sudden attack and show of strong force … But these deliberations are hardly a fit subject for your hearing.’
‘On the contrary, I thank you for sharing your thoughts. It is a comfort to me to be kept informed.’
‘Good.’ He reached over and patted her hand. ‘In our new city I hope we may share more. For leaders to share is also to unburden. So, think on this question: love or discipline – which is the best way to correct a child? With the Indians who are our neighbours, do we embrace or chastise them? My Assistants are divided over the issue. Master Harvie urges that we answer their crime with punishment – forestall any further outrage with a decisive raid.’
A chill ran through her.
‘You would take other innocent lives?’
‘It is a quandary, as I said.’ He looked hard at her. ‘I must say, you ask searching questions for a maid.’
She turned back to the crude chimney place and busied herself with shovelling up the ash from the hearth.
‘I am only concerned for the welfare of our city.’
‘As are we all, and must trust in God to guide us, and give thanks for the manifold mercies he has shown us in safeguarding our city thus far.’
‘Yes, of course. But what will you do?’
‘Do …? To react in haste is often to err. I am considering. Should I note the use of this herb by savage maidens, do you think?’
She glanced over her shoulder and saw him staring down at his picture.
‘Your page is already quite full.’
‘Hmm …’
He put his pen aside and took a blue flower from the spray she had placed in the pottle.
She tipped the ash out in a bucket and moved to stand near him. Then she picked up the pottle and put the rest of the flowers on one side.
‘Have you spoken to Manteo’s people to find out what they know? They are still our friends, aren’t they?’
He nodded.
‘I am thinking of sending a delegation to the Croatans, but that would mean despatching Captain Stafford in the pinnace. Their island is some sixty miles distant, a long way south of Port Ferdinando; such a mission would take at least a few days. Or do I send Stafford to the mainland to raid the nearest village before the savages run away? That village, Dasemonkepeuc, is almost certainly where Howe’s killers came from.’
She gave a small sigh of despair. Could he not decide upon anything? She remembered Walsingham’s advice when she had been given leave to join the voyage in the presence of the Queen.
‘I once heard someone say that to act on knowledge is better than to act on conjecture.’
‘True indeed. Perhaps we should talk to the Croatans first. Yes.’ He held up the flower and pointed at it with his brush. ‘Look at the beauty of this gentian, the depth of the blue, purple and pink. See how its petals are patterned like a star …’
A knocking at the door stopped him short. She turned to see Ananias Dare show his head round the frame.
‘My wife would like something to eat and drink, if you will, Emme.’
‘Certainly.’ She moved to attend upon her mistress and take her a cup of fresh water first.
The question still turning in her mind was whether the Governor had decided to do anything at all.
As she left the threshold she noticed Kit standing outside, not far from the door, and he looked so fine her heart gave a lurch. He stood like a soldier with a caliver on his shoulder and a belt of cartridges across his chest; powder horn, shot bag and match-cord hung by his waist. A sword was at his hip and in his free hand he held his helmet.
Whatever Governor White might be thinking, it looked as if Kit had already made up his mind.
He saw her and beckoned, and her pulse quickened as she neared him, though his expression was sombre.
She wondered what he had to say.
9
Indian
‘Speak of me as I am …
… Of one whose hand,
Like the base Indian, threw a pearl away
Richer than all his tribe …’
—Othello by William Shakespeare, Act 5, Scene 2
Kit led Emme to the clearing behind the house, the place where he had kissed her when they had been alone together last, where the flowers and weeds grew tall and the shade was deep by the rough blank wall. Would he kiss her again? She kept close to him, half fearing and half hoping he would. She yearned for another kiss yet she remained nervous of his touch. Kit was the only man she could bear to hold her since Lord Hertford had shamed her and left her defiled. Her guilt was like a shadow in a sealed locket around her neck. What if Kit wanted to do more than kiss her? She did not know whether she could bear it. And if he wanted to do more, then shouldn’t she confess? She needed to be sure of him, certain he would be true to her, though in her heart she already knew. She needed to hear it: some affirmation to give her comfort, albeit that her body was melting just through being beside him, weakening and trembling, thirsting for an intimacy as dangerous as fire. Yet the look on his face was confusing. He seemed forbidding, as if his mien was a book that had been shut and bound closed.
He propped his caliver against the wall and spoke softly without touching her.
‘We are going to Croatoan to speak with Manteo’s people. Captain Stafford and most of the Assistants agree on this. I am about to tell Governor White.’
‘The Governor was thinking about doing exactly that,’ she said with as much confidence as she could project. ‘He told me.’
‘We need to act now. I’m sure he’ll agree.’
She looked at him, waiting for him to meet her gaze though he seemed reluctant to do so. Perhaps he was abashed. Maybe what he intended to say was of such importance to him that he found the saying difficult. Was he about to declare his love, not just now but for ever? Would he suggest that they live in Virginia together and set up house as man and wife? Would he pledge his troth to her? Would he say what she most longed for and feared? When his eyes found hers she smiled a little.
‘I will go too,’ she said.
He smiled back at her; she saw it. His smile was there for her; then it was gone in an instant. She longed for him to show some affection: take her hand, caress her cheek, put his arm around her shoulders; it need not be much. Her desire for him was so great that she felt the heat of it spreading and flowing through her like a star-burst spraying light. She bit her lip and clasped her hands together, hoping that the shade would hide her blushes. She looked back at him and saw him frowning and that his features were on the cusp of giving way to emotion, as if a struggle was going on inside him between passion and reason. Then his angel-blessed face set hard as sculpted stone.
‘I would like you to come with us,’ he said.
Those words were music to her even if his expression was perplexing. She reached out to brush her fingers against his free hand.
But he did not take hold of her. He broke contact and clasped his belt.
‘Once we have spoken with the Croatans we will return to the Lion. Stafford will report to Ferdinando and prepare to sail back to England. You must go as well …’
‘No,’ she blurted
out, seizing the leather of his sleeve. ‘I will not. I am staying here … With you,’ she added, feeling tears welling up and the words dying in her throat.
He prised her hand from his arm and stood apart from her. The set of his face was grim.
‘You cannot stay; it’s too dangerous.’ He took a deep breath and bowed his head, not looking at her, as if he did not trust himself to look at her.
‘I thought at first there might be a chance – for us – despite who you are and your duty to your true mistress. But not now. Not after what has happened to George Howe. The savages …’
‘That was just one incident: a misunderstanding.’ She reached out to cling to him, then hesitated as he drew back. She bunched her hands into fists. ‘How could the Indians know that we come in peace? Once you have spoken to them, and made clear that we bear them no ill-will – that we can forgive …’
‘No.’ He cut her short, and the authority with which he spoke came from years of being obeyed. She felt it, and it silenced her.
‘Listen to me,’ he said more gently. ‘Things have happened here that have turned the savages against us. I don’t know everything, but I know enough now to realise that you would not be safe here. Howe’s fate could be yours …’
He turned away from her but she glimpsed his face crumpling. He put his hand to his eyes and his voice tightened. ‘I could not bear that.’
She took a step closer and reached for him again, tentatively and with unsteady fingers. She placed her hand on his cheek and felt the wet of his tears. A lump formed in her throat and she knew that she too was weeping. Tears flooded her eyes.
‘I do not care. I wish to stay. Georgie needs me and so does Mistress Dare. More than that, I wish to be here with you. This is my choice.’
She put both her hands to his face, lightly and gently, turning him to look at her.
‘We can forgive and begin again. I cannot believe that the Englishmen who were here before us can have done anything so dreadful that it has made enemies of the Indians forever. We must have courage …’
He shook his head and grasped her right hand. ‘Try to understand. White never meant to come back here, not to set up another colony. The plan was to go to Chesapeake because the savages there appear to be well disposed to us. That is no longer true here; some of them now hate us, I mean the people who used to live on this island: the Roanokes and their allies, the Secotans. I’m sure of that now.’ His face darkened. ‘I saw what they did to George Howe.’