The de Wolfe of Wharf Street

by Carter, Elizabeth Ellen

  That brought danger in and of itself. Lessons learned over cuts and bruises taught all three of them to maintain eye contact – that’s where the next move would be revealed in the scant moments before the body followed.

  Gabriel advanced. Michael retreated two steps.

  Michael swung the sword using a half-turn of his body. Gabriel responded in kind. The next sweep of the blade was low. Gabriel jumped over it, then performed two one-handed back flips to let Raphael take his place.

  Raphael turned the sword about his wrist, the wicked steel spinning as he swept it in front of his body and back again. The movement of the blade was hypnotic. He held the sword up, the blade over his shoulder, as though preparing to slash downwards. Instead, he performed a half-cartwheel kick.

  While Raphael was still positioned low, Michael came at him at a run and jumped over him with a tight somersault.

  Now the “hero” was behind the villain. Michael gave his brother a playful jab on his posterior with the flat of his blade, much to the delight of the crowd.

  Gabriel rushed back into the fray doing one-handed cartwheels. Raphael joined him until the two moved in unison, effectively trapping the “knight” between them.

  Michael timed his leap up and over them before falling into a shoulder roll to get back up onto his feet.

  Gabriel was the opponent he faced. This time, it was close quarters combat – hard, intense, and fierce. The two men scowled at each other, faces menacing. Swords clashed violently, the ringing of steel-on-steel was so loud that if the audience cheered, they could still hear it.

  Stabs and thrusts were parried and blocked in a fine display of swordsmanship.

  “Let’s make it interesting, Brother,” Michael panted.

  Gabriel offered a brief nod and performed a high kick and turn. His foot grazed Michael’s wrist just as his hand opened to drop the sword. Gabriel thrust his blade forward. Michael performed a backflip to increase the distance.

  Michael turned to Raphael. Now it was his turn to perform the high kick. It “connected” with Raphael’s face – at least that’s what the crowd believed.

  Raphael dropped his sword, falling backwards into a series of tight backward somersaults.

  Gabriel took Michael’s abandoned sword and cartwheeled toward his youngest brother, who had picked Raphael’s dropped weapon.

  Now Gabriel was armed with two. He spun the blades around each wrist, drawing close to the crowd, just enough to give them a thrill without endangering any of the bystanders.

  The blades felt good in his hands, like an extension of his body. It would not be the first time after a performance like this, the Hardacre brothers would be approached a man who would promise them riches if they wielded real swords in his service.

  Each time, the offer was politely declined.

  Michael mugged for the crowd, giving the impression that he was worried. With all eyes on Gabriel and Michael, no one paid attention to Raphael who stripped off his “assassin” clothes and pulled out three caps from the chest, ready for them to capitalize on another entertaining performance.

  Gabriel turned his attention to Michael, bringing both swords down parallel from shoulder height.

  Michael brought his blade across and up to block the descent of the two swords and pushed close, forcing Gabriel to shift off balance.

  The leverage was all Michael’s to command, Gabriel was losing his balance. Michael’s sword was up under his arm. With his free hand, Michael gripped Gabriel’s wrist and pushed him, his left shoulder hitting the ground. Then he was pinned with a foot on his wrist before Michael stepped over and around him.

  Now he had two swords and held both of them over Gabriel’s chest.

  The crowd erupted into thunderous applause. Michael tossed his two swords to Raphael who quickly bagged them while he took his bow. Gabriel tore off his scarf and jogged with his weapon back to Raphael where he took his cap.

  Michael stepped to one side and held his arm out to acknowledge Gabriel and Raphael as they took their bows.

  “Let’s hope they’re as generous with their coin as they are with their applause,” Raphael muttered. He was not disappointed. This was one of the very good days when the locals were voluntarily generous with their coin.

  Gabriel acknowledged the well wishes from the crowd and encouraged a few more farthings from them when he turned to see the man who had caught their attention earlier making his way through the crowd toward him.

  He was an older man. There was grey in his hair and a maturity in the face that told of his years. And yet the stranger moved freely, without limp or obvious deformity. If he was not in his prime, then he was not long out of it, Gabriel thought.

  Why was he paying such especial attention to them?

  Gabriel could no longer ignore the garrulous young man at his shoulder who spoke eagerly and earnestly about their swordplay and, by the time he could seek out the stranger again, the man was gone. And yet, when he looked down in his cap, among the coins of copper and silver was a shiny gold coin which had not been there before.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Barnstaple

  The Hardacre brothers found an empty table and bench at the Wharf Street Tavern.

  Gabriel was conscious of the ache in his legs as he sat down beside Raphael. They had traveled directly from Taunton to Barnstaple and despite his desire to go straight to the rectory to see Cassie, Gabriel accepted his brothers’ advice to attend the public bathhouse first and take a meal before he made his call.

  That would give him the chance to look like a gentleman in the new suit of clothes he’d had made for him in London.

  It had been over eighteen months since he last saw her and the letters, welcome though they were, were not a substitute for seeing her face-to-face. And, unlike Odysseus with Penelope, he had been faithful to Cassie. While his brothers sought carnal entertainments in the cities they toured, Gabriel explored the great public buildings and tried to learn enough of the local language to avoid being taken advantage of as strangers.

  Now he was home.

  He looked down into the dark ale in his tankard. Even the dark reddish-brown of it reminded him of the color of her hair. He shook his head and hid a grin. He was becoming as silly as the make-believe swain Michael was so fond of playing.

  Gabriel felt a sharp elbow to his ribs.

  He looked up to see a man, dressed head-to-toe in black, approach them with purpose.

  “The man at the shows in Taunton,” Raphael uttered under his breath.

  Gabriel gave a single nod in acknowledgement and glanced over to Michael who had also noticed the stranger.

  Such was the man’s air of authority that none of the three thought to object when he joined them at their table without so much as a by-your-leave.

  “I saw you in Barnstaple a few days ago,” the man said. His voice was low in timbre as well as volume. “You’re very good.”

  Gabriel felt all eyes on him; his brothers appeared to have silently agreed to let him speak for all.

  “Thank you,” he answered. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you were most generous in showing your appreciation, a gold laurel – twenty shillings – it’s an extraordinarily generous sum to bestow on a mere group of traveling entertainers.”

  The man inclined his head in acknowledgement of his largess.

  “One does not give so generously and not expect something in return,” noted Raphael, making the observation with an edge to his voice.

  Gabriel nodded his agreement.

  “So how is it we can help you, good sir?” Michael added, his tone a lot more conciliatory than his elder brother.

  “I said you were good, but I am wondering whether you are good enough.”

  Gabriel matched the man’s dangerous tone. “Good enough for what?”

  “Perhaps first an introduction. My name is de Wolfe. I hope you can fight as good you perform and are not afraid to use a real blade.”

  “If you’re looking for
mercenaries, then you’re looking in the wrong place,” Gabriel answered. He picked up his tankard and saluted the man. “Cheers, and thanks for your generosity.”

  It was a flippant and potentially inflammatory thing to do, yet de Wolfe didn’t seem offended, rather, he seemed quite amused.

  “Mercenaries I can hire in a heartbeat, but men of your acrobatic skills are in short supply. Swordsmen and acrobats together are nearly unheard of.”

  “Once again, I thank you for the compliment,” said Gabriel, “but naught of the flattering words you’ve given us is enough to sway us into your employ.”

  De Wolfe had piercing grey eyes that reminded Gabriel of that legendary creature, and they pinned the three of them to their seats. The man’s jaw firmed.

  “No doubt you’ve heard about the pirates and slavers that surround England from all sides – who even now make their base on Lundy Island not twenty miles off our coast. Three months ago, one of my ships, the Golden Eagle, was returning to port in Bristol when she was taken by the pirates led by the Dutchman Jan Janszoon, although he goes by his Turkish name now.”

  “You have our sincere regrets for your misfortune, my Lord de Wolfe,” said Gabriel. He didn’t know if de Wolfe was actually a lord, but somehow given his manner and the quality of his dress, then it seemed appropriate to give him the honorific.

  The man returned a wolf-like snarl. “If it were merely the loss of a fortune, it would be a small price to pay.”

  Gabriel watched the man squeeze his hand into a tight fist, his knuckles turning white.

  “My wife was on that ship. I intend to get her back.”

  The gravity of his words struck a chord. Cassie’s passage from Ireland to Barnstaple would take her past the island. Gabriel imagined how he would feel if it was his Cassie who had been captured. If the tables were turned, he’d be doing exactly the same thing as the man before him.

  It was impossible not to feel pity. All the same, after a long silent moment, Gabriel answered for himself and his brothers.

  “Sir, you do us an honor, but I’m not sure we’re the right men for your enterprise. I speak for my brothers – we wish you Godspeed in your wife’s rescue.”

  A flicker of disappointment appeared across de Wolfe’s face.

  He pulled out a card and placed it on the table. “Do any of you gentlemen read?”

  Gabriel reached out, and the card was placed in his hand.

  “I’ll be staying in Barnstaple at that address. You can reach me there for another fortnight.”

  The man rose from the table, turned, and walked off without saying another word.

  “I admire the man’s tenacity, I have to give him that, but he might as well sign his own death warrant,” Raphael commented. “The King’s Navy hasn’t been able to deal with the pirates, what makes one man think he can?”

  Gabriel had no answer for that.

  Michael simply shrugged. “I guess any man would do no less for the woman he loves.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Gabriel got as far as the rectory gate the following day when he was struck by an odd sensation, a prescient dread.

  There was something wrong here. He took a moment to orient himself and look about. The apple tree in the front garden was bare, but budding shoots were just making their appearance along grey limbs. The sky itself was mostly clouded but every so often he could see patches of blue sky.

  Best of all, it wasn’t raining.

  The thought came to him – the house was silent. The windows were not only shut and barred, but each one of them he could see were covered when they ought to be open to let in the daylight.

  Gabriel opened the latch on the gate and walked up the path. The gardens were slightly ill-kempt, adding to the feeling of abandonment. He half-expected to hear the sound of music from Mathilda practicing on the virginals, but he did not. He cocked an ear and could not hear the sound of servants inside either.

  He took hold of the brass knocker and rapped hard.

  After long moments, the door opened and a maid dressed in the clothes of a household in mourning appeared.

  Gabriel immediately took off his hat.

  “Good morn’. I have come to see Reverend Makepeace, I…”

  The young woman dissolved to tears immediately.

  “Oh sir, have ye not heard? The rev’rend is dead!”

  Out of reflex, Gabriel made the sign of the cross with his hands.

  “My condolences to the household. I am… I… was once acquainted with the reverend and his family. Is Mistress Mathilda…”

  “Bessie? Who is at the door?”

  Behind the maid in the gloomy hall he saw a silhouetted figure.

  “Why, is it Master Gabriel Hardacre?”

  “It is, Madam, we… my brothers and I have just returned and I wanted to make a call but I do not wish to intrude on a house in mourning.”

  The maid stood aside for Mathilda. The woman’s naturally pale face wore a sickly pallor, her eyes were rimmed red from recently shed tears.

  His eyes left hers to search the hall behind her, expecting to see Cassie, but he did not. The unease he had felt at the gate turned into something else; scalding tension coursed through his veins, nearly robbing him of air.

  “Forgive my intrusion…” he said hoarsely.

  She reached out a black-gloved hand and grabbed his with surprising strength.

  “You are always welcome as a friend, my dear Master Hardacre.”

  Gabriel allowed himself to be drawn inside and led into a parlor where a fire and some low burning lamps provided the only light.

  “I am glad you came,” she said. “Uriah thought highly of you and your brothers. He and I would pray often for you all.”

  Matilda was the one in mourning, he ought to be the stronger of the two, so Gabriel patted the woman’s arm in sympathy and directed her to a cushion-covered settle. She had not let go of his arm, so he sat beside her.

  “If it would not cause you too much pain,” he ventured, “I would like to learn what became of Reverend Makepeace.”

  “He left eight weeks ago to Ireland to help Cassie attend to their great-aunt’s estate after her passing. Then he and Cassie would return home together,” she said, her voice little above a whisper.

  “Three weeks ago, the Salacia, the ship that was to have brought them home, was listed as overdue. Two weeks ago, b-bodies started to wash up on the shore. One of them was my Uriah.”

  Mathilda could not control her emotions any longer. She wept and, inwardly, Gabriel did also, swallowing down acid that had risen up from stomach, his body reacting before his mind could even formulate the question.

  “And Cassie?”

  Forcing those two words out was like prising open a steel trap. He loved her. They had planned a future together. There was no question of her not being here waiting for him. He’d promised, she’d promised.

  Mathilda shook her head but kept her head downcast, a kerchief at her eyes.

  A voice inside him screamed to the heavens above.

  She’s gone! By all that was holy that was wrong. It had to be a mistake! How? Why?

  “Was it a wreck?”

  The widow’s reply revealed a grimmer truth.

  “Pirates. A-all the bodies were of menfolk, no women.”

  Mathilda raised her eyes to him, shining in the dim lamplight.

  “I’m sorry, Gabriel, I know you loved her. If there is any consolation to be had at all, it is that she confided in me her love for you also.”

  The reverend’s widow finally lost the last of her composure. She sobbed openly, forgetting herself so completely that she rested a head on Gabriel’s shoulder.

  He, too, ignored the proprieties of it and folded her into his embrace, grateful that his eyes were now hidden from hers. He squeezed his eyes shut and felt the tears leak out between his lashes.

  Although nearly two years had passed, he could still see Cassie’s face in his mind’s eye. He thought of how he would d
ream of her during his travels as consolation for the time they spent apart.

  Gabriel continued to hold Mathilda until the weeping ebbed and hiccoughing breaths told him she was beginning to master her emotions once more.

  “We have both lost our dearest loves,” he whispered, “but we need not lose our friendship. It will always be there. Not just for the sakes of the ones we loved, but for the kindness you showed my brothers and me when we were in need.”

  He watched the pale column of her neck move in a swallow before her eyes met his. Mathilda gave him a small, brave smile and rose to her feet.

  “Will you wait here? I have something to give you.”

  Gabriel offered a mute nod of assent and quickly lowered his eyes. No doubt, Mathilda would see the agonizing sorrow they both shared, but he hoped to God above she wouldn’t recognize the flame of vengeance newly ignited in them.

  The sound of rustling skirts as Mathilda left the room gave way to the crackling of the fire that sounded unnaturally loud in the silence of the house.

  Part of him wanted to run – run as far and as fast as he could until his breathlessness had a cause other than soul crushing grief.

  A small volume in red vellum on the table caught his eye. It was the book Cassie was reading on the first night he saw her.

  He couldn’t help himself, he touched the spine, turned it over and read the cover – The Book of Psalmes: Englished both in Prose and Metre with Annotations by Henry Ainsworth.

  Inside was an inscription in faded black ink:

  Ex Libris

  Perspicacity Maria Glenwood

  Her handwriting, neat and precise. Hers. A tangible link that she was once alive.

  Gabriel closed his eyes once more and breathed in deep. Tears were not far from the surface but he would not unman himself here.

  Something brushed against his hand. He opened his eyes, half-expecting to see Cassie before him. Instead, a pale blue tassel that decorated the end of a crocheted book marker drew his attention.

  He opened the book to where Cassie had last had it.