Pirate's Redemption

by Camille Oster

  Joshua wasn't sure whether that was a threat or a warning, but the message was clear. His actions were being observed and his inclusion amongst the abolitionists had been noted. It almost made him more willing to rail like the young man he'd met at their meeting, but the older widow was right; cool calculation was, in the end, more powerful.

  Chapter 31

  Weicherston Hall had monumental proportions. Large columns reached high alongside the entrance and wings stretched on either side. Statues lined the parapet as if overseeing the house and its inhabitants.

  The entrance hall ceiling was far above their heads, painting and plaster moldings decorating it. It was cold, too large to heat. Lord Lancaster's manservant met them at the door in his powdered wig, waiting to see how he was required. Joshua had grown unused to being served and it sat awkward with him having a man stand at attendance. Another thing which set him apart from the person he was expected to be. There was a certain liberty in being able to care for oneself instead of having to travel with a whole household because one could not manage to dress oneself.

  These little criticisms had snuck in, and he didn't like it. Perhaps it was natural to compare different lifestyles. English society was by far superior, but there were now these little recognitions of things that made little sense. And that included the vice-admiral's expectation that he would simply comply with the man's wishes because in this society, the vice-admiral's wishes, opinions and tolerances should hold more weight due to his station.

  Following the man into a parlor, they joined a group of other persons. Joshua saw some of the high-ranking naval men he used to take orders from. At the time, he would have been so very impressed and honored to be in the company of these men, but he couldn't muster the admiration now. He'd seen too much of their hypocrisy in the Caribbean to truly respect them and the policies they implemented.

  "A drink, sir?" one of the stewards asked.

  "A brandy, perhaps," Joshua said.

  "Havencourt," Admiral Wilton said. "A surprise to see you here."

  "Yes, I can imagine.”

  "But then the vice-admiral is indebted to you, I believe."

  "The debt has been more than settled."

  Wilton eyed him, Joshua seeing the calculation in his eyes, trying to work out the purpose of his presence. Joshua wasn’t going to help him, as the reason he was here was for the vice-admiral to warn him off his activities highlighting the government's duplicity, which was embarrassing for the navy. Obviously of concern enough that he was summoned here.

  In a sense, Joshua wished he hadn't come. He wasn't comfortable in this company, but he couldn't manage being rude enough to leave. He also wished to see Sarah. Perhaps he wouldn't completely admit that to himself, but it was true.

  The women were not here and he expected they wouldn't appear until right before supper was to be served. So until then, he accepted the brandy he was handed and took a seat to observe the conversation between these men. These were powerful men in the room and the course of events were often decided between them. They had the weight of institution behind them and Joshua felt the oppressive force of it.

  "Ah, supper is just about to be served," the vice-admiral said as his manservant appeared again. "Come enjoy the venison we rear. Our gamekeepers all grew up on this land and know it with an uncanny intuition."

  Joshua followed slightly behind, walking into a sumptuously decorated dining room with gilded mirrors on the walls, a large painting depicting a naval battle sat over the mantelpiece. For a moment, it drew him in and he could almost hear the yelling, the clash of swords and the smell of gunpowder. He felt transported for a moment, carried away by memories burned into his mind.

  "The Battle of Solebay," Admiral Harris said. "Quite a day."

  "You were there?" Joshua asked.

  "Oh, yes. Until the bitter end. Seventy-five ships the Dutch came with. Quite a campaign." The man's eyes were distant as if he was carried away by the picture as well. Joshua had never seen battle on that scale, over a hundred and fifty ships engaging. It would have been quite something.

  A searing ache bit through Joshua's heart. As much as he denied it, he missed the sea. Land management and animal husbandry didn't quite fire him the way the sea did, that nervous tension when they were heading into battle, the subsequent explosive release of pent up tension and energy. There was nothing else like it.

  "I was a commodore at the time, charged with executing battle tactics. One misses those days."

  "Yes, I can imagine."

  "Ah, here they are," the vice-admiral said, turning to see his wife walking through the door.

  "Your grace, gentlemen," she said with an elegant bow. Someone followed behind and Joshua knew it was Sarah. He didn't see her just yet, but he knew it was her. His heart sped up, beating powerfully inside his chest. He had no control over this reaction, could only acknowledge that it was there.

  The woman that appeared was not the bright, smiling creature he expected, but something else entirely. It took him a moment of study to see it was her. Her face was powdered and slightly rouged. She looked beautiful by the most delicate standards, but it wasn't the girl he knew. Her eyes were cold, standing still in the knowledge that she was being watched and admired by everyone in the room, like a thoroughbred being presented. She held a fan between gloved hands, just standing there, not far off a statue. The front of her gown was stiff as a board, and her waist looked painfully drawn.

  He wanted to call out to her, get some reaction, but it would be grossly inappropriate.

  "Shall we take our seats?" Lady Lancaster said, taking the lead to the table. Without a word, Sarah followed her mother, approaching the seat next to her. She sank down into the chair that was being pushed in for her, looking down into her lap until everyone was seated.

  There was a sense of ritual and routine to everything she did and Joshua couldn't keep his eyes off her. Everything was wrong. She didn't even feel present in the room. This was not the girl he knew.

  The gentlemen around the table were being presented and Sarah smiled obediently to each. When it came to him, her smile didn't change. A flash skipped through her eyes for the merest moment, to be replaced by sheer coldness—the perfect, demure, and distant young woman, like a picture rather than a real person.

  "She won't be with us much longer. She had the honor of being betrothed to the Duke of Montague," the vice-admiral said proudly. "A very fortuitous match, which we are honored by."

  Both the Montagues and Lancasters were old families with strong royal connections during different parts of history—cogs in machinery which Sarah was now a part of. Joshua's heart ached for her. The girl he'd seen was buried under this persona she had to take on. This was the thing that she'd feared, the thing he'd dismissed as simple nerves on her part, but the truth was a complete absence of herself.

  This made his stomach roil; he wanted to be sick. What had they done to her? This was wrong. How could they suppress a person to the point where they were unrecognizable?

  A part of him wanted to reach out and take her hand, but he couldn't. Even hearing of her betrothal didn't register the way seeing her like this did.

  Why hadn't he listened? She'd told him how she ached for freedom and he'd dismissed her concerns as if they were unimportant—but then he hadn't expected this. What had he expected? Probably something more in the line of his own reunion with his family. They had been so very happy to see him, and he had expected her family to be the same, but they paraded her around like a prize, one dressed and painted like a doll.

  Why hadn't she refused? Well, she had at first, back in Bermuda, had tried to run away—but not since. She'd been utterly complicit in Boston. Why hadn't she fought harder?

  The answer came to him like a thunderclap: because she had wanted to be with him. Because she knew how much this pardon had meant to him, she had accepted this return home. The pardon was, after all, dependent on her reuniting with her family and accepting her role in this machine
.

  Joshua felt bitterness sting his nose. She'd done this for him, so he could realize his dream, while he had utterly disparaged hers. He was a horrible person, he concluded, and she had given his dreams to him because she could.

  "You're not hungry?" Wilton asked, interrupting Joshua's thoughts. "You haven't touched your soup."

  "My stomach is feeling a little unsettled."

  Wilton gave him a disapproving look as no man worth his salt suffered from unsettled stomachs in any capacity. But truthfully, Joshua’s stomach clenched with nausea at this situation that no one else in this room saw—except maybe her. By the look of her, she had completely accepted the consequences of her decision, the forfeit of her freedom and the chance to live a life where she felt she mattered, where she, in her true form, existed.

  He wished he could grab and shake her, but he had no right to even address her other than some polite question asking about the weather. He wasn't even allowed to ask her opinion—on anything. What he really wanted to say was how sorry he was, rail at her for not making him understand.

  What would he have done differently? He'd been so blinded by his desire for his pardon, he'd refused to listen to anything that stood in the way—including her. He'd done this, and she'd let him.

  "I'm sorry," he said quietly as they all rose from the table, after the meal that seemed to have passed in a flash. He hadn't eaten a bite, his insides too unsettled.

  Sarah was led away by her mother, to be seated on a settee, where she sat with her eyes down and her back stiff, her hands lain over the fan in her lap as if she were a doll placed in that position. It was awful to watch. She was supposed to be the pinnacle of beauty, but to Joshua's eyes, the display was vile and heartbreaking.

  He excused himself, saying he felt unwell. The vice-admiral had, after all, delivered his warning, which had been the purpose of his attendance. None of these men particularly wanted to talk to him, and he felt awful enough having to sit there and watch Sarah disappear under this role she had to play. Didn't they understand what a vivacious girl she was, the appetite for life, the curiosity? A vision of her jumping across tables to escape him returned. She hadn't wanted to be curtailed, to be hidden, so she'd jumped out of his grip, and all he'd wanted to do was tear her down, pull her away from being too liberal.

  Feeling heavy and defeated, he waited for his horse to be brought around. An offer of a room had been extended, but he couldn't bear to be under that roof another minute. Everything about this day, about this house, felt undermining. His whole existence here was contingent on the sacrifice she had made—one he'd by complicity had asked her to make.

  He hadn't understood what it had meant, but he did now. Taking his seat, he rode off as if devils were chasing him. He had to get away; had to think. He wouldn't be able to live with this, but he had no power to do anything about it. She wasn't his to deal with, or to save. It wasn't his right. She belonged to her family, even if they sought to abuse her this way.

  Chapter 32

  It was cold inside the church in Weicherston. Father Ramsview was speaking from the pulpit, his droning voice echoing off the whitewashed stone walls. Along with her mother, she sat in the first pew in the same spot she had sat in for more years than she could remember. The pale light played through the stained glass window she had stared at for countless hours on end throughout her life. She'd wondered who'd painted it and where they’d done so, who the people were modeled after and did they know their likeness had been used to portray such esteemed figures.

  The reverend would come to tea later in the afternoon as he did every Sunday, always eager to ensure he was in Lady Lancaster's favor.

  Sunday was a good day because Mrs. Meyer made a cake for afternoon tea. It was the only time mother allowed sweets of any kind and Sarah had always looked forward to it. Raspberry jam was her favorite, even if Mrs. Meyer was a little stingy with the delicacy. Sarah supposed the good thing about her upcoming marriage was that she could direct her own cook to be a little more liberal with jam. No doubt mother would complain when she came to visit.

  Sarah knew that her mother would be spending quite a bit of time with her after her marriage, to ensure Sarah ran her household properly. It was a substantial operation, after all, managing a score of servants and all the decisions that had to be made around what was laid out in all parts of the house and what to serve for each meal. Somehow, she would learn to find joy in that tedious work.

  The important thing was not to think about things that couldn't be. There was heartache in that and it served no purpose, so she kept her mind on the things that would be in her life. Her mind would reset to be concerned about these mundane things.

  The patience of a baby amongst the congregation had run out and it now wailed with discontent, the sound drowning Father Ramsview's voice. With a small smile, Sarah wished she could do the same and imagined the shock on her mother's face.

  With stoic resignation, Father Ramsview persevered and Sarah’s thoughts wandered again, returning to the pothole they had encountered on the drive that morning. Mother had been quite annoyed by it. Would that be her job in her house, to have potholes tended to? Who was it that tended to potholes? What other little things was she expected to know about, but had no answer? Would she be an accomplished woman when she had all these answers?

  They stood and sang psalms, which also signified they were drawing to a close of this week’s sermon. Father Ramsview tended to finish by mentioning any highlights from the village—births, betrothals, deaths. Sarah didn't mind that part. She was discouraged from spending time in the village, so she didn't readily hear this information otherwise, but in tidbits and at a distance, she followed the main events of the village.

  It was finally time to go and Sarah clenched her gloved wrists to get some blood flowing into them again. They were expected to leave first and walked up the aisle to where Father Ramsview had taken his place, ready with his parting words. Mother complemented him on a fine service, which pleased him.

  They were never allowed to dawdle as most others did. Sarah always wondered what they spoke about. But like every other Sunday, she wouldn't find out. The carriage took off and they were returning home to wait for lunch as cook was also returning from church. With grumbling stomachs, they would wait patiently.

  The rhythmic beat of the horses lulled Sarah as she watched the parklands of the estate pass by, interrupted by the carriage slowing.

  "What's going on?" Lady Lancaster asked, poking her head out the window to see what was wrong. "What in the world?" she said sharply. "Is that a plow?"

  "Yes, my lady," the driver said. "It appears to be."

  Lady Lancaster sat back on her seat, looking furious. "I am going to have to have a word with Mr. Talbot. What is he thinking, leaving a plow in the middle of the road? It's a hazard. At night, it would be close to invisible and anyone could ride into it. His grace could ride into it. This is not acceptable."

  Mother fumed the rest of the ride back, opening the door before the footman had a chance to. "Where is Mr. Talbot?" she demanded. "I need a word with him." Mr. Johnston was there, trying to assist as Lady Lancaster marched toward the stables. "I need to see him immediately."

  Sarah watched as her mother marched off, thanking the footman for assisting her. He then stepped up on the back of the carriage for its return to its garage. It drove off around the corner.

  "Oh dear, left all alone," she heard behind her, turning sharply to the familiar voice. Her eyes widened when she saw him—Havencourt. He sat on a large horse. He must have appeared around the corner when she wasn't looking.

  "Joshua," she said, then blushed at the familiar reference. It had just slipped out. "What are you doing here? You can't be here," she said, turning nervously back to ensure her mother hadn't returned.

  The crunching of gravel under the horse's feet told her he was riding closer. He couldn't be here. It wouldn't be allowed.

  "Well, I've had to do some soul searching of late
."

  Sarah looked up at him in confusion, getting distracted at how handsome he was. Why was he telling her this? Did he want her to answer some question for him?

  He rode up next to her and to her surprise, he leaned down and lifted her up to sit in the saddle in front of him.

  "What are you doing? You can't." Panic flared through her. Mother would be beside herself if she was discovered this way.

  Taking the reins, his arms coming around her, he started riding away. "What are you doing?"

  He sighed. "In the time I've been back, I've found the piracy ways are hard to shake. I still have a strong urge to take what I want."

  Confusion and irrational hope flared through her, still having no idea what he was referring to. Maybe he simply wished to speak to her. This really was an inappropriate way of doing so, even if she ached to speak to him. Actually, there was no appropriate way for him to speak to her. "I can't talk to you," she said, letting her cautiousness prevail.

  "Oh, I don't know," he said, smiling.

  Why was he smiling? What was going on inside his head? "What are you doing, Mr. Havencourt?"

  "Being a pirate," he said meaningfully. "Taking what isn't mine."

  "You will get me in a world of trouble."

  "Yes, well, that is all part and parcel of being a pirate."

  He urged the horse into a canter, which surprised her. He was taking her somewhere. "Where are you taking me?"

  "To the Caribbean, of course."

  "What?" Sarah said, her mouth falling over.

  "I'm stealing you away."

  Sarah could only stare up at him, but his attention was on the path ahead of them. He was taking her away, her mind repeated. The notion seemed too outlandish to speak of; she couldn't get her mind to take it in. "You're stealing me away."

  "I certainly am."

  "Have you lost your mind, Mr. Havencourt?"

  "Not in the least. In all the confusion, clarity has finally struck."