Raleigh intended to faint after two lashes.
At that moment, stepping into the blazing sunshine and seeing the ship’s company assembled, hats off in deference to the Article of War about to be read, Raleigh thought he might faint before the punishment began. If not for the firm hand of the marine on his arm, he might have run and jumped overboard.
A quick scan of the crowd showed him Parks, pale but docile, between two marines, and too far from the gunwale.
Raleigh steeled himself for what he must do.
The marine marched him to the foot of the quarterdeck ladder. The captain, lieutenants, and midshipmen stood above him and the assembled ship’s company. The lieutenants looked solemn, the midshipmen a little queasy, the captain grave.
“Raleigh Trower,” the captain began.
The ship’s company fell silent.
“In your absence,” the captain continued, “your court martial was conducted and found you guilty of the fifteenth Article of War, which reads as thus.” He opened a leather-bound book in his hands and cleared his throat. “‘Every person in or belonging to the fleet, who shall desert or entice others so to do, shall suffer death, or such other punishment as the circumstances of the offense shall deserve, and a court martial shall judge fit: and if any commanding officer of any of His Majesty’s ships or vessels of war shall receive or entertain a deserter from any other of His Majesty’s ships or vessels, after discovering him to be such deserter, and shall not with all convenient speed give notice to the captain of the ship or vessel to which such deserter belongs; or if the said ships or vessels are at any considerable distance from each other, to the secretary of the admiralty, or to the commander in chief; every person so offending, and being convicted thereof by the sentence of the court martial, shall be cashiered.’” He closed the book. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”
“I am not a British subject,” Raleigh intoned.
“It has been established by the North Atlantic fleet commander that you are.” The captain glanced to the nearby bosun, who held a green baize bag. “Let the punishment begin.”
The sea breezes grew as hot as the sun. Sea and sky, staring men and blazing sun, spun around him. He was going to lose consciousness for certain.
“None of that.” The bosun threw cold water into his face.
While Raleigh sputtered, two marines grabbed his arms. They stripped him to the waist, then tied his hands to a hatch grating that had been propped upright. He leaned his cheek against the hot metal, certain it was branding him. The sun beat on his back, and every muscle drew up tight like a turtle seeking its shell.
Lord, grant me strength—
The first blow fell. White-hot pain seared through his skin like nine pokers from the fire.
Raleigh screamed.
Only the timbers and sea and rigging made noise. In the quiet, the whistle of the lash sounded like another scream. It bit into flesh. Raleigh sank his teeth into his lower lip hard enough to draw blood, then sagged from the ropes binding his hands.
“He’s gone off, the weakling,” a marine called. “Surgeon?”
A knife flashed. The ropes fell from Raleigh’s wrists. He slumped to the deck.
Near the bow, a shout rose. “Stop him. He’s—”
A roar like thunder soared from the throats of the sailors. They tried to run to the source of trouble. Guns and stays and fellow crewmen got in their way.
No one got in Raleigh’s. He rolled and sprang. His hand flashed out and snatched the cat-o’-nine-tails from the bosun’s grip, and Raleigh began to wield it. Heading aft toward where he’d last seen Donald Parks with his marine escorts, Raleigh applied the whip to anyone who got in his way.
“Man overboard,” someone yelled.
“Stop the deserter,” the captain bellowed. “Marines, stop him.”
They closed in around him, behind him. Raleigh caught their red coats, their shining bayonets. He struck one across the face with the handle of the lash and tangled another’s legs with the straps. The man went down. The handle yanked from Raleigh’s hand. Weaponless, he charged forward, lunged for the rail. His shoulder struck a third marine in the chest. The man stumbled. Raleigh grabbed his musket and raised it to club back the next man grabbing for him.
“Take him down,” the captain shouted. “Take him—”
A gun fired. Something like a hammer slammed into Raleigh’s back.
He tumbled over the railing and into the sea.
Dominick lost his ribbon somewhere between Tabitha’s house and Kendall’s study. His hair tumbled around his face and shoulders, and sweat plastered his shirt to his back. He wanted to slip up the steps and wash, but Kendall saw him coming and called for him to enter.
“Close the door,” Kendall commanded from behind his massive desk.
Dominick did so, then leaned against it, his arms crossed over his chest. “Dinah said you wished to see me.”
“I do, but not looking like you did when you walked off that transport ship.” Kendall frowned. “What have you been doing?”
“I’ve been with Tabitha Eckles.” Knowing that could be taken improperly, Dominick hastened to add, “I felt in need of an early morning walk, and found her lying on the beach. She’d been injured.”
“Injured? Tabitha?” Kendall’s face paled. “Sit down and tell me what happened.”
Dominick sauntered across the study to a chair near the desk. He let his gaze stray to the point in the bookshelves where he’d found the list of dates and Raleigh Trower’s name. At the same time, he attempted to observe Kendall’s reaction to the look. Kendall kept his eyes on Dominick, his face grim and revealing nothing. Either he knew about the notations and schooled himself not to follow Dominick’s glance, or he knew nothing and thought his bondsman appeared to be avoiding his eyes.
Again, nothing learned.
His own mouth set in a hard line, Dominick settled into the chair and made himself hold his hands on the arms rather than crossed against his chest, where his heart thudded so hard he feared his raised pulse showed at the base of this throat. Tabitha in danger from Wilkins. Him in danger from Kendall. The twenty-first of June far too close with no definite information available.
“Well?” Kendall prompted.
Dominick jumped. “Well what, sir?”
“Tell me about Miss Eckles. What happened?”
“Oh, yes.” Dominick shifted on the hard wooden seat of the chair. “She was on the beach and was assaulted. He left her unconscious on the edge of the water, but she came to awareness early enough not to be drowned in the tide.”
“And why was I not informed at once?” Kendall shot halfway over the desk. “What are you thinking, Cherrett? This is a serious incident, and I need to know at once. The sheriff needs to know at once. Does she know who did this heinous crime?”
“It’s not for me to say, sir.” Dominick resisted the urge to push his chair away from Kendall, though he was still a yard off. “If she wants you to know—”
“If? If?” Kendall stood upright and began to pace. “First young men disappear from my town, then a new father on his way home disappears along with a young man who has just returned, and now the midwife is attacked.” He reached the window, where sunshine poured in like flames from a grate, and swung back. “I am mayor of this village. I need to know the instant something occurs.”
“You were in Norfolk, sir.” Dominick gripped the arms of the chair to stop himself from standing. He needed to remain in a subservient position at present, and he was a full head taller than the mayor. “I would have told you as soon as I returned.”
“And when did you intend that to be?” Kendall shot back.
“As soon as you returned, sir.”
“Is it?” Kendall strode forward and glared down at Dominick. “I have my doubts.”
“I . . . beg your pardon . . . sir?” Dominick shook his hair out of his face and met Kendall’s gaze. “About what do you have your doubts, sir?”
“
You look like a convict off of a British Navy transport,” Kendall said, as though each word was a heavy burden. “Your hair and clothes are a disgrace, and you give me that haughty proper grammar like some Oxford don, as though I am the servant and you the master. Is it training or breeding?”
“A little of both, sir.” Dominick bowed his head, his mind filled with Tabitha’s pronouncement that he couldn’t have both his past and her in his future. “Neither has done me any good. I am the servant and subject to another man’s whims, unable to see my lady safely home at night, or even make her my wife. And it’s no one’s fault but mine that I’m here.”
“I know, Dominick.” Kendall circled his desk and subsided into the chair. “I know why you’re here.”
“Sir?” Dominick started.
“I know about the letters, the duel,” Kendall continued.
Dominick relaxed. For a moment, he’d feared Kendall knew about the mission.
“I know your family wanted rid of you and put you on a ship bound for America with no money.”
So he didn’t know he’d put himself on the ship because he already had no money and his father had made England unpleasant for him.
“I’ve kept you locked up at night for your own safety,” Kendall continued. “If others learned of your background, they could make a great deal of hay out of you wandering about after hours. Wilkins flat-out accused you of being a spy. Because I know you were locked up, I know it’s not true, so that protects you. I will continue to protect you, and you will pay the consequences if you break my rules again. I have no choice in the matter. I can’t be seen as being gentle with an Englishman many don’t trust, and you can’t afford to be subject to accusations. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, sir.” Dominick thought about the calendar, the date of his last chance at early release from his bond looming ahead of him, impossible to meet, and the room seemed to grow dark despite the sunshine. He needed his freedom to spy on Wilkins.
“Now,” Kendall said, leaning forward and holding Dominick’s gaze, “where is the key that was in my desk?”
33
______
As she had found necessary twice since leaving her house, Tabitha found a place to rest. Although only a few hundred yards from Mayor Kendall’s, she sank onto the low wall surrounding the cemetery and inhaled the fragrance of a nearby magnolia tree. Its sweetness calmed her with a reminder of the pleasurable aspects of life, the little gifts God had given to His people as a reminder of . . . His love?
She started to lift her left hand to rub her eyes, which felt like her attacker had walked through them with sandy boots. The shallow cut pulled, and she emitted a low moan of pain, of frustration. She needed to get the key to Dominick before something awful happened to him. Patience had wanted to go, but Tabitha needed to assure herself he was all right, see him, inhale his scent, touch his face. She needed to create memories to carry with her forever.
Is that what you want from me, God? To sacrifice everyone I love until I have only You in my life?
That, of course, presumed she could have God in her life. But when people abandoned her through death and desertion, who was left but God? If He did care, of course.
She rubbed her eyes with her right hand, then rested her palm over them against the brilliance of the day. From an oak in the yard of the parsonage, a cardinal whistled and chattered, and another answered from across the square. Children played with shouts of joy and infectious giggles, and her heart wrenched. If He was all she was going to have, she desperately wanted to believe God loved her.
A hand curved around her shoulder, large, strong, gentle. “What’s going through your head, my dear?” Dominick asked.
She couldn’t answer him completely. In no way would she make him feel obligated to stay with her. She lowered her hand and chose a half truth. “I was just remembering something my mother used to say.” Tabitha glanced over her shoulder, where a slab of pale gray granite marked her mother’s grave. Roses tumbled over the stone, half obscuring the words “Honored Daughter, Wife, Midwife, Mother.”
“I always loved flowers,” she continued. “Momma used to tell me they were a reminder that God loves us. I don’t think that’s in the Bible, but it gave me comfort after Father died. I planted that first rosebush. I used to walk past here and look at it and tell myself that God loved me in spite of my father leaving us. In spite of it being my fault because I wanted to read an herbal rather than collect eggs for him. When Raleigh left, I didn’t have anywhere to plant flowers. I had my garden at home, but it had always been there and didn’t seem to have the same impact. Then, when Momma died so soon afterward, I planted that second bush. It blooms even better than the first, but I forgot that it was to remind me I was loved by God. I felt like He’d left me like everyone else.”
“And now?” Dominick settled on the wall beside her. “Do you believe that God has abandoned you?”
She plucked at a loose thread on her dress. “I’ve certainly abandoned Him. But if I’m wrong, then what is left once you leave?”
“If we can’t prove anything against”—Dominick glanced around at the empty square and graveyard—“him, I’m going nowhere for a long time.”
“And that makes you unhappy.” She observed the tightness at the corners of his eyes and the downward slant to his lips. “What happened with Kendall?”
“I was on my way to get the key.” Dominick sighed. “If I don’t get it to him within the hour, Kendall will send me inland to his plantation.”
“And if that happens, you will remain a redemptioner for another four years and I will still be unable to see you.”
“But locked up here, I can’t spy on Wil—anyone. I am so frustrated at night, I can barely sleep.”
“If God is with us, then shouldn’t we be able to pray about it?”
“Yes, but—” He bowed his head. His hair cascaded forward in a river of shining brown, red, and gold. “You might have abandoned God, but I betrayed Him.”
Tabitha brushed his hair back behind his ear so she could see his face. “How do you betray God?”
“Seven years ago . . .” He swung his legs over the wall so he faced the graveyard, his back to the town. “It all started seven years ago at university.”
“Riotous living like what we hear of most students?” She spread out her skirt so she could take his hand in hers out of sight of any passersby. “Surely if God forgave the prodigal son—”
“I was worse than a prodigal.” Though low, his voice held an intensity that thrummed through him. “I was showing so much promise at university, I knew I’d never convince my father I shouldn’t be a vicar. So I began to write letters to newspapers, to periodicals, to print shops.” He drew one foot up to rest on the wall and looped his hands around his knee. “I used my family position to glean information, then exposed every scandal involving a man of the church, from bishops to sextons. Even if I knew the man had repented, I reported the incident.” He paused to take a deep breath.
“Why?” was all Tabitha could think to say, as she tucked her abandoned fingers into her pocket.
Dominick snorted. “I wanted the church to refuse to ordain me.”
“You couldn’t simply engage in riotous living?” Tabitha asked, then laughed. “That was a silly question. I expect the church wouldn’t be surprised if a young aristocrat engaged in riotous living while a student.”
“Precisely.” Dominick half smiled. “And believe it or not, I didn’t want to engage in that kind of behavior. Drinking to excess and gaming and . . . other forms of debauchery didn’t appeal to me. I had a deep faith in God that said those things were wrong.” He sighed. “A pity it didn’t tell me that destroying the credibility of men serving God, most of them sincerely, was wrong too. I felt so self-righteous, so certain that all vicars and curates were like the ones my father kept around him in the livings he controlled. When I uncovered a new slip in proper behavior, I rejoiced in the man’s fall from grace as more grist for my s
candal mill.” His tone dripped with self-loathing.
Tabitha laid her hand on his arm but said nothing. She couldn’t work out how she felt about his revelation enough to express any emotion or reasonable reaction.
“Of course, no one knew who was writing the letters except for one of my Oxford tutors,” Dominick continued, still using that note of disgust. “He advised me to stop, that I was hurting men who didn’t deserve to be hurt. He told me God would forgive them if they asked, and it wasn’t my place to force these men to confess or lose their positions. But I wouldn’t listen.”
“And did anyone lose his position?” Tabitha asked.
“No.” Dominick shook his head, sending his hair shimmering in the sunlight. “But one man lost his wife.”
“What?” Tabitha stiffened.
Dominick gave her a sidelong glance. “Despicable, aren’t I? I discovered he’d had an indiscretion a few years earlier. A print shop made broadsides about it, and a few days later, his wife left him.”
Tabitha caught her breath.
Dominick plunged on. “He went after her, publicly begged for her forgiveness. She gave it, and on the way home . . . on the way home . . .” He covered his face with his hands. A shudder ran through him.
Tabitha wished they were alone so she could wrap her arms around him, absorb some of his pain instead of making him bear it alone. She settled for tugging one of his hands down and holding it between both of hers in silent support.
He kept his other hand over his eyes as he choked out, “She died . . . in a carriage accident. I—I as good as killed her.”
“Did you make him misstep in his marriage?” Tabitha pulled his other hand from his face. “Did you make her run off instead of staying to talk things out with him?”
“No, but—”
“Then you didn’t kill her.” She squeezed his hands. “Yes, you probably shouldn’t have exposed their private concerns to the world, but they made their own choices.”
“A pity their son didn’t see it that way.” Dominick’s voice was dry, his face tight. “He left his mother’s funeral to find out who had written that broadsheet. He exposed me for writing the letters and challenged me to a duel. You know the rest.” He rubbed his hands over his face. “I have damaged too many lives and you are much better without me, but I don’t want you to be—without me, that is. It’s merely that . . . Tabitha, I must make up for the lives I’ve damaged. If I can save lives, prevent a war, even prevent more young men from being stolen, perhaps then I can find my way back to my earlier relationship with the Lord. But I can’t do it as a bondsman. My uncle was wrong. But we couldn’t think of another way to get me here.”
Laurie Alice Eakes - [Midwives 01] Page 31