by H C Storrer
“Ya don’t say.” Nathan stood a little taller, stuffing the paper he had lorded over Margaux’s grave in the back of his breeches.
“Fortunately,” the third man spoke, “the funds in that account will be enough to cover the taxes accrued by your holdings, namely Peters Shipping and the residence of Shellstone.”
“ ’Oos you to come fieving for money. That company ain’t worth a farthing!” Nathan shouted.
“Indeed,” Mr. Adelson interjected. “This is Mr. Barrett, a servant of the crown, that has come down from London. I received a signed letter from your wife a few days ago, requesting that, due to your condition and her impending… health, it would be best if little Jacques were to be placed under my care. Until such a time that Jacques could make the trip to London, secure the funds, and put your affairs in order.” Turning to the others, he tried to show his magnanimity, while reaching to take Jacques by the shoulder. “Naturally I would have come sooner had I known how grave young Maggie’s condition really was.”
Nathan yanked the boy to him and spit upon Mr. Adelson’s fingers, “I don’ give a fig for no supposed letter from me dead wife! ’Oos to say it’s really ’ers. I’s ’is father, I got rights, don’t I?” Nathan was thinking as quickly as his foggy mind would allow. “What do you mean by Jacques making the trip to London? I’s ’is father, I can collect the monies.”
“Well you can’t, actually. One of the stipulations Edwin placed on the trust is that it can only be collected by the late Margaux or his own heir, Jacques Peters,” Mr. Openshaw interjected.
Seeing his chance to be free, Jacques shook off Nathan’s grasp. “I think—”
Clamping a filthy hand over the boy’s mouth, Nathan swallowed against the bitter taste the news left on his tongue. He had planned to dump the brat as soon as he could, but this changed things. “I fink it would be best if little Jackie ’ere and I spoke privately about our … affairs... as it were, before we be make’n ’asty decisions.”
Mr. Bennett took another step forward. “Don’t do anything foolish or rash, Mr. Rogers, err, Hodges.” He nodded with a knowing look. “We will be stopping by Shellstone first thing in the morning. You best be prepared to make the right choice.”
Nathan smiled innocently. “Righ’ ya are, Gov’na, till the morning.” With that, he scooped up his hat, grabbed Jacques by the collar, and ushered him towards the gate.
Twenty minutes later, they rounded the last bend towards Shellstone. Jacques’ legs burned as he tried to keep pace with Nathan, who had suddenly become surprisingly alert and mobile. “He just wants to help me,” Jacques tried to reason with his stepfather.
“Who?” Nathan slowed.
“Mr. Adelson. He just wants to help me. Why don’t you just let me live with him? You have everything else,” Jacques replied.
“Not everyfin’.” Nathan pulled the pages he had tucked in his belt and waved them at nobody. “They knows about the funds. We has to beats them to London before the king’s men comes feevin’ fer every penny. That’s not the worst of it—that magistrate will ‘as me in irons an beggin for me supper by tomorrow night.”
“London? I’ll give you every copper in that account if you just let me stay with Mr. Adelson,” Jacques pleaded.
“Ya fink that pompous windbag would ’ave anyfing to do wif you if you was broke? Face it, boy, you and me is all we ’as left.”
“Now that ’urt ol’ Will, that did,” a gruff voice called from the dark.
Chapter 7
W illiam came sauntering from the shadows cast by the columns of the great home’s entry, mock hurt across his face.
“You!” Nathan bellowed, charging forward and slamming William against the wall. “Why would you sic the magistrate after me then, eh? I thought we was mates!” Nathan pressed his forearm into William’s throat. “This is ‘ow you repay me for lett’n you live?” Seconds passed as William’s lips darkened and then purpled. He slammed his fist helplessly into Nathan’s rigid arm as he struggled for breath. In a last effort to save himself he lifted a filthy thumb and rammed it deep into his attacker’s eye, shoving hard enough to get a feel for the bone.
“Aargh! Y’ll blind me, you fool!” Nathan screamed as he stumbled back, covering his raw socket.
William coughed, rubbing his neck. “I is yer mate. I only dids what you told me, Cap’n. I’s been yer eyes and ears, just likes you said. If you gives me a moment, Will is goin ta ’splain… ye’ll see I dids you a favor!”
“Ya did blind me!” Nathan growled, trying to restore his vision with a series of rubs.
“Now, Cap’n.” William backed, gripping his throat and coughing. “Yous was just trying to strangle me ta def! Whatchu espect!”
Swinging a curved knife from behind his back, Nathan snarled, “You ’as seconds to explain.”
“ ’Old on mate.” William swallowed hard, looking at the karambit. He had seen Nathan use that particular knife enough times to know he didn’t want to be on the wrong end of it. “I ’eard tell of the little ’alf frog’s fortunes and I finks to meself, what would me cap’n do if he could get is ’ands on them pounds? Like I says monfs ago, you an I is partners; fifty-fifty, eh.”
“Half partners? An what have you done, but blind me?” Nathan menaced with his knife.
“I’s been keeping an eye on you, Naffin. All them monfs an Will is see’n ’is good friend liv’n like the king ’imself, wifout sparing a copper for Will. But I aint angry. I says to meself, just wait, the Cap’n always takes care of ’is crew. Well yer fortunes ’aven’t been kind these past few monfs an people ’ave been noticin’. The’ve also been noticin’ the feaving going on in town, an the whispers William hears suspect you, mate.”
“So you did goes and puts the magistrate on me, eh? Tell me again why I shouldn’ gut you like a fish?” Nathan threatened.
“It aint like that! You sees, they goes and picks me up wif anofer bloke for drink’n too much, an I ’ears them talk’n about how there’s o’fers complain’in about ol’ Nafan Hodges, thievin’ an drinkin’. They’s talk’n about the ’alf frogs fortune. Says ’ee is right welfy. Says ’ee has moneys in London fer the taken. They’s talk’n about what to do wif me mate Nafan, see’n how ’ee is fa’er to the young frog. So I says, point’n to the sleepin’ drunkard wif me, ‘that man tells me a story about bein’ friends wif a certain Cap’n Nafan Rogers. An’ that Nafan is a wanted man. You let me go, an’ I will proves it.’,” William started to laugh.
“I don’t sees what’s so funny?” Nathan prodded, taking a step forward. “Now they’ll come ta fetch me as Nathan Rogers, you bilge rat!”
“Nah, they just finks you might be Cap’n Rogers.” William chuckled, holding up his hands. “They sends me to a judge. I walked into ’is office and I says, I says yer honor, me name is Jimmy Strider.” William smiled at his clever lie. “I gives ’im the name of the ofer bloke back wif the constable.”
Unmoved, Nathan scowled.
William sobered and continued, “Right, so I says, I says, yer honor, that man tells me that Nafan Hodges looks an awful lot like a man named Nafan Rogers from London. He got all excited and asked if I was sure. I says to him, I says ‘as sure as any drunk could be’,” William chortled. “Well he din’t like that, but the bug was planted in ’is ear, ya see. I says ‘the o’fer bloke is first mate an friend of ol’ Cap’n Nafan Rogers.’ So they lets me go. They says you prove Nafan Hodges is Nafan Rogers an we will let you be. So ’ere I is, wait’n to warn me cap’n an tell you about the ’alf frog’s fortune.”
Still unhappy, Nathan relaxed and re-sheathed his knife. “So they ’as no proof that I’m Rogers, eh? They’re still going to be here in the mornin’ to collect the boy, an probably clap me in irons. That constible ‘ad shifty eyes.”
“The way William sees it,” he paused as he walked back to the shadows of the house and returned with a clinking canvas satchel, “we can enjoy a little nightcap, catch a few winks, then be off well before mornin�
�. It will take us two weeks to walk to London, though, so I suspect we might be need’n to find some way to get their faster.”
Walking up to William, Nathan grabbed the bag and peered inside, his face brightening. Turning to head into the house, he spun about without warning and punched William as hard as he could in the gut. “That was for me eye!”
Jacques held his breath, edging around the doubled-over William as he followed Nathan to the entry. Even from a distance William reeked of stale alcohol and sweat. “Well that went be’er than I could ’ave ’oped.” The man suddenly jerked upright and gripped Jacques by the neck before he could dart away. Pulling the boy to his face, he warned, “An don’tchoo be finkin of any funny business. I’s come too far to be cheated out of me share by the likes of you. You understand me, boy?” Jacques twisted from the foul odor and nodded. William shoved him back, knocking him to the ground before charging through the grand doors, shouting about a drink.
Upstairs, Jacques was furious. He was tired of the beatings, tired of being hungry, and tired of being used. That was his coin. His! And, just like the rest of money he had earned, it was sure to be spent filling his stepfather’s gut. His frustration boiling, he launched his foot at the wall as hard as he could, immediately regretting the action as pain shot from his toes to his knee. Cursing, he hobbled about on one leg, his eyes stinging with tears as he sank to his tattered blanket on the floor.
“Jacques,” a timid voice called behind a nearly silent rap at the door. “Jacques? Are you ’ere.”
Knowing Nathan wouldn’t bother to knock, Jacques quickly jumped to his feet, wiping the remaining wetness from his cheeks with his sleeve. Leery still of who was on the other side, he slowly opened the door until he caught sight of a pair of concerned brown eyes, shining in the flickering wick of a slender candle. “Quick!” Jacques whispered urgently as he pulled the door wider to let Anna in. Just as anxiously, he shut it behind her to block the gargle of drunken song from his tormentors as it echoed up the stairs.
“How did you get up here without being seen?” he asked.
“Through the servant’s stairs in the back of course,” she replied in a whisper. “I ’ad no desire to be seen by that wicked man. ’Ee doesn’t know I’m ’ere, an that’s all that matters.” Moving to the center of his room, Anna sank gracefully to the floor and began to unpack the small wicker basket she had brought with her. Jacques stood silent with his hand on the doorknob as he watched Anna, transfixed. She seemed to be the last rays of dying sunshine in his life. When she abruptly turned to him, his eyes shot to his feet embarrassed. “I can’t stay long, but I promised I would bring you somefin to eat.”
“It smells delicious.” Jacques eagerly sat.
Blushing, Anna unwrapped a towel from a small bowl. “Now, it’s not much, but I was able to bring some bread and a potage of stew.”
She had hardly lifted the small round loaf from the basket when Jacques had it out of her hand. Tearing off a hunk, he dipped it unceremoniously into the gravy, savoring the bite.
“I’m afraid the stew is cold by now.” She grimaced.
“Fanks—” he tried to speak but gave up as he forced another chunk of broth-sodden bread into his mouth.
“I wish there was more I could do,” she sighed.
Jacques stared at her in amazement. The food was marvelous, but her kindness and care were worth far more. Jacques had become too accustomed to the heavy-handed blows of his drunken stepfather. He had almost forgotten what kindness felt like. A slow blush began to spread across Anna’s cheek once again as Jacques quickly looked at the bowl of stew in his lap. He knew his gaze had drawn on longer than was socially acceptable, but noble Anna was far too good of a person to point it out. Bitterly, Jacques stuffed another chunk of bread into his mouth, remembering his attitude at the wedding. He had thought himself so important then.
“I think we are leaving tonight,” he whispered. “My father—well my real father—left some money in an account for me in London.”
“Jacques! You can’t go to London wif that man,” she exclaimed, pointing to the floor. “Go to Mr. Adelson tonight. Go get yer money and disappear.”
“How did you know about Mr. Adelson?” Jacques looked surprised.
“I penned the letter for yer mother.” Anna could feel his pain. “Jacques, you need to escape. You can’t stay wif ’im.”
Jacques rolled up to his knees and put his feet underneath his body, the food in his mouth like ash. His stomach in knots, he didn’t feel a bit hungry anymore. Jacques bit his lip and shook his head as he whispered, “I wish it were that simple, but how far do you think I could get before Nathan caught up and beat me half to death? You know him, Anna.”
“You must find a way, Jacques. He’s taken everyfing from you. Don’t let ’im take this.”
Jacques stood silent.
Anna collected the bowl and towels and stood. “I need to get back before my aunt gets worried.” At the door, she turned back. “Please try.”
Jacques was quiet as he listened to the latch of his door silently catch and Anna’s soft footfalls disappear down the hall. As minutes ticked by, he decided she was right. There was no guarantee Nathan wouldn’t do worse to him once the man had coin in his hand and rum in his veins. Slowly as his thoughts distilled in his mind, a new idea percolated. It was true, he would never be able to outrun Nathan, but he could be rid of him. Like a fly struggling through thick honey, Jacques’ thoughts beat against the inside of his head. He couldn’t think of a soul more deserving of retribution than Nathan. Still, it was a great leap to contemplate himself as his mother’s angel of vengeance. As the hours of the black night surrounded him, Jacques stared at the flickering little flame. No matter how many different ways he planned out his escape, one constant remained the same—Nathan would have to die. His father had died a hero for his family and this town. Jacques swallowed against the nausea in his stomach. He owed Edwin’s memory this much, at least.
His feet working slowly down the steps of the grand staircase, he paused as each board that creaked seemed to echo with the force of a choir through the empty rooms. It was before the witching hour that he hovered above a confidently snoring Nathan, his faithful bottle of rum nestled in his arms. William lay cuddled in a corner of the parlor, his arms and legs pulled in tight like a child. Carefully, he slid out the half-empty bottle under Nathan’s hold. Jacques heart sank with hesitation as he stood over the vile man. He desperately wanted to follow Anna’s plan and simply run off, and in the moment of doubt, he almost set the bottle down. He was sure he could find Mr. Adelson; the village was not that large.
Like a trumpet to the call of battle, Nathan’s growl broke the silence, “Try to ruin me, she did!”
Jacques paused, his pulse quickening with fear as the brute rolled to his side and began to snore once more. Contempt replaced his nausea as Nathan’s words pulled him back to the task; he would never be safe with this monster behind him.
The black room and empty house were a chest of bad memories. Every joyful account of Edwin and Margaux had been sold along with all the wares. There was nothing left for Jacques but nightmares. With the stopper out of the bottle he poured the aromatic liquor into a great puddle near the entry and dropped the empty glass vessel with a thump. Jacques eyes became entranced by the flame dancing in the reflection of the undulating red rum as he brought the small bit of candle down slowly from above his head.
“What’choo you on about?” A cold hand gripped Jacques’ wrist like a vise.
“I…I—” Jacques struggled.
“I’s been met wif hard men me whole life, but nones be finken to burn me up in me sleep.” William gripped the candle from his hand.
“So, you fink you can have the boy!” Nathan was up, enraged.
William started to explain. “Now, Cap’n, it aint—”
“I sees it all clearly now. Give ol’ Nafan a night cap. ‘Drink it up, ol’ shipmate, on the morrow we leaves for London’.” Natha
n swung the karambit about his thumb. “Meanwhiles, I’m left fer dead in a burning ’ouse while you is halfway to London wif the boy.”
“Nafan, it ain’t what it looks like!” William tried to argue.
Jacques quickly jumped to his own defense, “He took me from my bed, Nathan! Said he wanted the money to himself.”
“You lying—” William slapped Jacques hard, hurling him into the puddle of liquor as Nathan dashed forward, his blade like lightning. With the speed of a viper, William narrowly avoided the slash, blocked the blow, and attacked, smashing the candle against the side of Nathan’s face.
“Ahhhh!” Nathan screamed, reaching for his burning flesh in shock while the molten wax skittered into the pool of alcohol in a shower of sparks, the fumes flaring into an inferno upon contact.
“You finken on cuttn’ your mate!” William growled as he struggled to pin Nathan’s wrist down, twisting his hand in an effort to remove the curved blade from his grip.
Gazing in stunned awe, Jacques’ eyes flitted between the men exchanging blows and the bright, orange-blue flame as it began to lick up the walls and spread across the floor. He was consumed by the combat, stunned as Nathan flung William to the ground, followed by a swift kick to the prone man’s ribs. Too late, Jacques scurried back, finding himself at the bottom of the pile of limbs and then tossed like a doll from the combat into the burning wall. Flames ignited Jacques’ rum-soaked sleeve faster than a blink and in terror he flailed his arm trying to rid himself of the burning that consumed his arm. It wasn’t until he was outside that a clear thought bore through the madness, the birdbath. Skipping the stairs entirely he drove straight into the small fount, burying both arms up to his shoulders, the cold liquid squealing as it quenched the burn from his searing flesh.
“Ahhhhh!” A scream from the manor ripped Jacques head up, driving the terrible pain from his mind. His eyes focusing upon a vision of true horror on the other side of the parlor window. Nathan, gaining the advantage, had plunged the knife up to his wrist into his mate’s stomach. Time froze as if the world had stopped turning.