by Sea Fires
Don Luis stood nearby, shaded from the sun by a huge tree. He fanned his lace-trimmed handkerchief in a feeble attempt to stir the muggy air... or perhaps discourage the pestering insects.
“It is warm,” Miranda conceded after the tar deposited her microscope in the cart and returned to the ship for her other luggage. She paused a moment under the tree’s arched branches. “Do you suppose it’s always this hot?” Miranda couldn’t help thinking of her secluded garden in Essex. A clear, cool stream meandered down from the wood, emptying into a smooth-as-glass pond.
A pond full of tiny animalcules that couldn’t even be seen until placed under the microscope.
Miranda glanced about until her gaze locked on a stagnant pool of marshy water. Just thinking of all the tiny creatures living in a drop of that water made her eyes shine. Her step as she crossed the dock toward the ship was livelier, and she could almost ignore the perspiration soaking into her stays.
Her concentration was such that she missed noticing the captain of the ship she’d sailed on until he called her name. “There she is. That’s Mistress Chadwick.”
Miranda glanced toward the captain, but her gaze strayed to the man beside him— a man looking at her with blue eyes nearly the same shade as her own. She stood rooted to the spot.
“Miranda?” The man came forward. He loomed over her, though she was considered tall for a woman. He was tanned by the sun and robust. The face seemed fuller and more lined than the likeness painted on china she wore pinned to her bodice. And he appeared stunned.
“Yes.” Miranda clutched her hands together and wondered if her father noticed the quiver in her voice. She’d known little fear while traveling thousands of miles across the vast ocean. Even facing the pirate hadn’t caused as much anxiety as discovering this man’s reaction to her.
Grandfather had told her the story of how she and her mother, Grandfather’s daughter, had come to stay with him. Of how her father had left England after the beheading of Charles I. Her father was a stanch Royalist and adventurer, and he had gone to Barbados in search of a better life for his young family. He’d planned to send for his wife and small daughter, but before he did, Miranda’s mother died. Then Henry Chadwick had left the crowded sugar island for the Carolinas and apparently given up all thoughts of sending for his daughter.
Miranda swallowed and wiped her hands down her best padded petticoat. Through her lashes she saw her father studying her as closely as she examined something under the microscope.
“But... but, what are you doing here? How?” For someone known throughout the Carolinas as a man of many words, Henry Chadwick was stumbling mightily.
“Grandfather died,” Miranda blurted out, then riveted her eyes to the dusty street. “I can return to England... if you’d rather.” Miranda bit her bottom lip. The thoughts of spending another two months entombed in a tiny cabin were not nearly as intolerable as her father rejecting her. And with him just standing there, staring at her, that was precisely how she felt.
Perhaps Grandfather had been wrong those years ago when Miranda had questioned him about her father’s reasons for leaving her. “Your father loves you very much,” Grandfather had said. “But he couldn’t stay in England, and he didn’t think the Carolinas any place for a small child. Especially with your mother gone.”
Miranda believed him then because in her heart she wanted it to be true. When years passed with hardly a word from her father she blamed the primitive conditions he must face. After all, Grandfather had said her father loved her.
But now as she stood in this alien land, her only friend a Spaniard whose welcome was even more dubious than her own, Miranda remembered how ill-equipped her grandfather had been to understand people’s feelings. He hadn’t meant to be. But his mind was usually on some lofty scientific experiment or—
Powerful arms engulfed Miranda, and she looked up in time to realize she was being hauled against her father’s chest. “I never thought to see you again,” he mumbled into her hair. “You are so like your mother.”
As abruptly as she was pulled into his hug, Miranda was deposited back on the dusty road. Her father smiled down at her, and she could do naught but return the expression, her heart lighter than since before her grandfather’s death.
“Come. We will go to my house and talk. You mustn’t be out in this sun for long.” Henry’s arm wrapped around Miranda’s shoulders as he led her away from the wharf.
“Wait. My things and—” Miranda motioned back toward the cart.
“Amos will bring them along directly.”
“But they mustn’t be broken.”
“Don’t worry. I’ve not been away from society long enough to forget how you ladies love your trinkets.”
Miranda dug in her heels. “ ‘Tis not trinkets. I’ve brought a microscope with me, and though it’s very delicate, it’s come unscathed through gales at sea and even pirate attacks.”
“Pirates!”
“Yes, pirates.” Miranda beamed at the concerned expression on her father’s face. But she didn’t want him to worry needlessly. “They are loathsome creatures. But have no concern. They didn’t harm my microscope.”
Henry shook his head to clear his mind. He hadn’t a clue what she was talking about except that she had risked her life coming to him. “Are you all right? Did these pirates harm you.”
“No... well, actually one of them did knock me to the floor... sort of. But we thwarted him.”
“We?”
“Oh, how could I have forgotten?” Miranda swirled around in a flutter of skirts and rushed back to Don Luis. Tugging on his arm she pulled the elderly man toward her father. “In the excitement of seeing you I—” Miranda threw her hands wide. “This is the man who helped save me from the monster pirate. Father, this is Don Luis de Mancera.”
Miranda turned to the Spaniard and introduced her father to him, using his native language. When she looked back at her father his smile of welcome was gone, and his eyes, so jovial moments earlier, were as hard as ice.
“He’s a Spaniard!”
Miranda’s gaze flew around the dock. Her father’s pronouncement had captured the attention of several men in the vicinity, and they pressed forward to hear more. Stepping closer to the little man, she laid her hand on his flounced sleeve. “Don Luis is my friend.”
“Miranda. In the Carolinas we have nothing but trouble or threats of trouble from the Spanish. I don’t think—”
“I can assure you Don Luis will not do you or the Carolinas any harm.”
“Aye but—”
“He’s my friend, Papa. He was Grandfather’s friend. And he accompanied me here. Protected me from the pirate.”
Henry stood still for a moment longer; then shrugging he bowed toward the visitor. “All right. I just hope Jack never learns of this.” Henry was a man who knew when defeat was at hand. And he recognized it the moment his daughter had looked up at him.
“What do you mean? Who is Jack?”
“Never mind.” Again Henry took his daughter’s arm. “Your friend is welcome in my home.”
“Thank you, Papa.” Miranda translated her father’s greeting to Don Luis, carefully deleting any parts that might hurt the older man’s pride.
Don Luis didn’t stay long. In little over a sennight the ship was unloaded and its hold filled with rice. And Don Luis sailed for St. Augustine, anxious to get his sightings of Jupiter from the New World and compare them with those he’d taken in Madrid.
By the time he left, Miranda wondered why she had ever doubted her father’s love for her. Henry couldn’t do enough for his daughter. Her room on the upper level of his Tradd Street home was beautifully furnished. He brought light silks and linens from his warehouse and, though Miranda protested, hired a woman to make her a new wardrobe—one more suitable to the warm climate.
Henry was just as generous with his time. He and Miranda spent hours sitting on the piazza, relaxing in the cool southern breeze, talking.
“We ha
ve so many years to make up for,” Henry said. “You must tell me everything of your life in England.”
And she did. He listened intently, though Miranda was not certain he completely understood, as she described the experiments she and her grandfather had performed.
When she finished Henry leaned his chair against the stucco wall and crossed his arms over the paunch of his stomach. “But what of society. Your grandfather was an earl. Didn’t he take you to court?”
“Why, no. We lived quietly in the country except of course when Grandfather went to London for meetings of the Royal Society.” Miranda smiled at his perplexed expression. “We had visitors, of course. Isaac Newton, Nehemiah Grew, the botanist —”
“But no balls? No parties?”
“Why, no.” Miranda’s shoulders rounded. Her father didn’t seem pleased.
Henry pushed out of his chair and walked across the porch to lean against the white-washed pillar. “I left you in England because I thought your grandfather was better prepared to raise you than I.” Shaking his head, he glanced back at Miranda. “I knew of this... this hobby of his, but I never thought he’d let it take over his life... and yours.”
“But the study of science is fascinating.” Miranda’s eyes shone, and she absently brushed a curl from her cheek. “There is so much to learn, and though we already know more than you can imagine, I think there is still —”
“What of marriage?”
“What of it?” Her hands fell limply to her lap.
“Don’t you wish to marry and bear children?”
“Well, yes, I suppose so.” Miranda cocked her head to the side. “I really never thought about it.”
“Never thought about it” Henry leaned back on his heels, silently cursing the old fool who’d reared her—and himself for allowing it. But one look at her wide-eyed expression told him she didn’t see anything remotely strange about not considering marriage.
All these years since he’d left her, Henry had envisioned Miranda in England, feted at balls, collecting suitors by the score. Instead she’d been hunched over a microscope discussing Lord knew what with a man in his dotage.
His dear departed wife would have had a fit had she known. For once in his life Henry was glad she hadn’t lived to see this.
Thank goodness Miranda had come to him before it was too late. Softening his voice, Henry reached for her hand. “Someone as lovely as you will have her choice of young men in the Carolinas.”
Miranda wasn’t sure she wanted her choice of men, but she did wonder at her father’s description of her as lovely. Was he just acting the indulgent father? Certainly no one had ever implied her appearance was anything exceptional before. Oh, she realized her features were even, and her skin clear... she was not difficult to look at. But beyond that, no mention was ever made of her face. Grandfather had often spoken of her mind, praising her logical thinking, so he hadn’t been adverse to flattery. But lovely... Miranda decided to spend some time in front of the, cheval glass in her room this evening. Perhaps she needed to make a closer examination of herself.
Had the pirate thought she was lovely?
Miranda didn’t have a clue where that had come from. It was just there, suddenly in her brain, the way thoughts of him had managed to slip in at the most unexpected and annoying moments since she’d first seen him Miranda shook her head in an effort to dislodge his image.
“What’s wrong? You look quite distressed.” Miranda stared up at her father, who was-watching her with concern. “ ‘Tis nothing.”
Henry pulled his chair over beside his daughter. “It doesn’t look like nothing.” His voice gentled. “Does the prospect of marrying upset you?”
“No... At least I don’t think so.” That was something else she’d have to ponder when time allowed.
“Then what?”
“I was thinking about the pirate,” Miranda answered honestly, then wished she hadn’t. How would her father react if he knew how often that barbarian invaded her mind? “What do you suppose makes a man become such a loathsome creature?” Miranda hastened to add.
“Greed, I imagine.” Henry looked out toward the bay, wishing he didn’t know the answer to that question quite so well. “I’m sorry you had to endure the pirate attack.”
Henry had nothing against pirates, but he couldn’t erase from his mind the vision of his daughter suffering at the knave’s hand. He also couldn’t figure out who the freebooter could be. He had a rather intimate knowledge of the pirates who cruised these waters, and none of them fit the description Miranda had given him. Henry wished he’d thought to question the ship’s captain before he left, or better yet, he wished Jack were here.
Yes, Jack would know who’d dared to touch Miranda. And he’d take care of the bastard, too. As a favor to his partner, Jack would do it.
But Jack wasn’t here. And Henry had no idea when he’d return. With a sigh Henry settled back in the chair. “Tell me again about this pirate who attacked you.” Might as well have all the information correct for when Jack sailed back to Charles Town.
“I told you, father, I don’t remember much. I was very frightened.” Miranda took a deep breath and repeated the description of events as she remembered them. “He was large... nay huge, with evil eyes and a sneer that would make you quake in your shoes. And he threatened to take my microscope. At least one of them did,” she finished, folding her hands in her lap. This last was enough to make them Miranda’s enemy.
“And you say the pirate captain knocked you to the deck?”
“Yes... well, sort of knocked me.”
“Then he tried to kill you?”
“Squash me,” Miranda corrected.
“But you can’t remember anything else about his appearance?”
Miranda closed her eyes, and a vision of the pirate captain swam before her lids. He was grinning that arrogant smile, and his golden hair framed his bronzed face. He looked wild and savage and very handsome, and it was the most illogical thing in the world for her to think so.
Miranda’s eyes snapped open. “No, Papa, I can remember nothing else.” Standing, Miranda moved toward the door. “I think I’ll read awhile before dinner. Don’t worry about the pirates. I’m certain we’ll never see them again.”
“ ‘Tis good to be home, Phin.” Jack stood on the quarterdeck watching his crew dock at the Charles Town wharf.
“Aye, Cap’n, for a while anyway.” Phineas grinned. “Gives the ladies a thrill.”
“A thrill is it?” Jack chuckled. “Just make sure you keep your thrilling to the wenches in the tavern. We don’t want another incident like Barbados.”
“Aw, Cap’n, weren’t my fault the woman was wild for me.”
“Apparently her husband thought so.”
Phin screwed up his wrinkled face. “We got away, didn’t we?”
“Barely.”
“What’s this. Ye ain’t goin’ soft on me now, is ye?”
“Hell no!” Jack glared down at his quartermaster. “But I don’t want anything to cause us trouble here. Knowing the collector of the king’s revenue is in town makes my neck itch.” Jack rubbed at the skin above his Steinkirk cravat.
“Yer thinkin’ a John Sparkes again, ain’t ye?”
“I’m thinking I don’t want to end up hanging from the gibbet at Execution Block.”
“God’s teeth, Cap’n, yer too smart for that.”
“Smart or no, I want the cargo unloaded as quickly as possible. No sense waiting for the revenuer to come snooping around.”
“You’ve the right a it there, Cap’n. He might start wondering where we come by all them Spanish gold pieces and bolts of silk.”
Jack’s grin showed a row of even white teeth. “He might at that.” Pushing away from the rail, Jack strode across the deck. “I’m off to see Chadwick and let him know what we’ve brought him.”
“Give him me regards!”
“Most assuredly.” Jack swept his quartermaster a bow, then caught his eye and winked
. “And you save some of the wenches for me. I’ve a mind to give one or two a thrill myself.”
Stepping onto the quay, Jack took a deep breath. The smells of puff mud and oleander mingled with the tangy scent of salt air. It reminded him of the first time he arrived in the Carolinas. He had been a lad of ten, and though the voyage from Scotland had been harsh, Jack could barely control his excitement.
“A new land. A new beginning,” his father had said as the colonists settled at Port Royal, south of Charles Town. But the new beginning had ended suddenly. And the new land had run red with the blood of Jack’s family.
Jack forced the memories from his mind as he moved along the crushed oyster shell path onto Water Street. It did no good to lament the past. He had realized that years ago. Besides, it was a beautiful day, his hold was full of goods that would make him even wealthier than he already was, and by the reception he received from the good citizens of Charles Town, no one cared how he came by those goods.
Jack smiled at a local matron who bid him good-day and turned up Tradd Street. The breeze from the harbor cooled the air as he knocked on the door of Henry Chadwick’s single house.
“Why, Master Jack, is that you?”
“And just who else would it be?” Jack swung Henry’s servant, Chloe, into a big hug that had the old woman clutching her turbanned head.
“You put me down this instant, Master Jack. Master Henry, he done told you I don’t take to pestering.” Her toothless grin belied her words as Jack set her back on the floor.
“Is Henry home?” Jack followed the black woman onto the piazza.
“Sure is. And anxious to see you, I’ll bet.”
“Why so?” Henry Chadwick was a good friend, and together they’d made a lot of money, but Chloe seemed to indicate there was something beyond the welcome he normally received.
“Oh, I think Master Henry be wanting to tell you for hisself,” Chloe said, before knocking softly on the library door.
Henry’s expression when he entered the room confirmed Jack’s notion that something was amiss. “Jack!” Henry pushed himself from his leather chair. After pulling Jack into the room, the older man shut the door firmly. Then turning he examined Jack critically from the neatly brushed golden hair that skimmed the broad shoulders of his royal blue silk waistcoat, then down the matching breeches and gleaming black boots. Rocking back on his heels, Henry let out a sigh. “I don’t think she’ll suspect the truth.”