In a Pirate's Debt

by Elva Cobb Martin

  The minister turned and smiled, and then disappeared up the stone steps.

  Two days later, Travay sat in the carriage beside Reverend Ethan Wentworth and tried to concentrate on what he was saying. Her heart kept singing. Lucas, Lucas, I’m going to see Lucas. Bird song, plenteous in the trees over Bay Street, seemed to echo her melody, as did the clip-clop of the horse’s hooves on the cobblestone streets of Charles Town. The silence of the reverend caused her to turn and face him.

  “I’m sorry, did you ask me something?”

  The minister smiled. “I said you need to prepare yourself, milady.”

  Travay turned cold. Was something wrong with Lucas? Was he injured? Would he be in heavy chains? She couldn’t imagine Captain Lucas Bloodstone Barrett in any form but fierce. “Prepare for what, Reverend Wentworth?”

  “Charles Town’s Court of Guard dungeon. It’s not a pretty place, Travay. I doubt you’ve ever seen what you will see today.”

  “But is Lucas well? He’s not injured or sick?”

  “Lucas is fine. He’s not injured, at least not physically.”

  Travay sighed in relief.

  He turned to look at her. “This is a real test for Lucas in many ways. He has lost almost everything, except the most important thing.”

  She looked at the man. Would he start preaching to her? Yet she had to ask the question. “And what is that, Reverend Wentworth?”

  “His faith in God.”

  Inwardly, Travay wanted to scoff, but she had too much respect for the minister whom she had come to know over the past week of Lucas’ imprisonment. He and his wife Hannah had befriended her and her aunt when they needed friends in the Carolina colony. Especially now that they were almost penniless, and with no funds left to sail to England. Solicitor Hawkins saw to it that they had food. Captain James Hawkins had wanted to help but was back out to sea.

  Her arch enemy was very much still in the city. Bile rose in Travay’s throat at the thought of Sir Roger Poole and his constant attentions. He had allowed them to move back into Merle’s former home. They had no other choice.

  Travay clutched the minister’s arm as they descended the steps into the dungeon behind the guard. A terrible stench of unwashed bodies, urine, and decay arose from its shadowy depths. She held a handkerchief to her nose. The cold dampness increased with every step down, and curses echoed from its stone walls. They were leaving sunlight and everything good behind them. Tears sprang to her eyes as she thought of Lucas held in such a place.

  At the bottom of the steps, Reverend Wentworth guided her down the corridor. She could hardly see as they left the shaft of sunlight behind. Something crawled onto Travay’s satin shoe, and she kicked it away. She side-stepped and lifted her skirt to see in the dim light. On the damp stones, next to her foot, a giant cockroach lay on its back, its long legs flailing in the air. Travay screamed.

  A cacophony of growls and grunts responded down the corridor.

  “That were a woman’s scream,” a guttural voice announced. Hopeless, dirty faces gathered and shook the bars of the cells. Prisoners called out vile invitations.

  The guard yelled, “Shut up, ye slimy rats, or ye’ll get what for.”

  Reverend Wentworth pulled Travay close to his side and whispered hoarsely, “Sweet Jesus, have mercy on these souls.”

  The brief prayer calmed her.

  Soon the guard stopped before a cell and left them. As her eyes adjusted, Travay saw a movement in the shadows near the back stone wall. Lucas stepped forward, kicking aside straw and looking every bit the Captain Bloodstone of her dreams with his dark braided hair and worn black boots. He wore a simple white shirt and black breeches. Tears pooled in her eyes. She pushed her hands between the bars. He took them into his callused ones and raised them to his cheek. He opened a palm and kissed it.

  “Lucas, didn’t I try to warn you about piracy? How can you stand such a place?” Her voice cracked.

  His flashing eyes caressed her face with such tenderness, a tear plopped down her cheek. He reached between the bars and wiped it away. “I’ve been in worse.”

  He released Travay’s hands and turned toward the minister. “Greetings, my friend. I was in a quandary about your bringing her here, Ethan, but seeing Travay makes me want to live.”

  Icy fingers slivered up Travay’s spine. “Live? Oh, Lucas. What will happen at your trial?” How could she live without him? That startling thought reverberated through her being and warmth spread to her cheeks. How had she fallen in love with a pirate? Maybe she had loved him since childhood when he took that terrible beating for her over the horse accident. All her disgust at his becoming a pirate dissipated with the force of this new comprehension. Her knees turned to water, and she grasped the bars.

  Then she remembered the Contessa and Lucas’ kisses she had witnessed that night on the quarterdeck. She stiffened. “Would you rather see Contessa Maria, Lucas?”

  “The Contessa? That vixen? I have to tell you, Travay, the information I finally wrestled out of her.”

  “Information?”

  “Yes, I believe the Contessa has seen my mother alive. And I must somehow get to St. Augustine and rescue her.” He turned to the minister. “Ethan, that’s the good news I mentioned.”

  Ethan’s eyes grew warm. “Praise God.”

  Travay raised a brow. “Wrestled out of her? Was that what you were doing? I happened to be on deck one night when you and the Contessa were thick as thieves. It didn’t look like you were getting information, Lucas. You took her in your arms.”

  “Travay, she would not give me the details unless I kissed her. Can you believe the guile of one so young?”

  Travay smiled. Yes, she could believe it after the way she saw the Contessa go after the second mate until they docked in Charles Town. The duenna had taken the girl in hand and rushed her aboard a Dutch ship headed toward Spanish waters.

  “Lucas, what about …” Travay couldn’t voice her fear of the trial and verdict.

  His voice held hope. “I believe things are going to work out for me, Travay. False charges have been brought, but the good Lord will deliver me. Like He has many times. Why else would He give me this great hope about my mother?” He looked at the minister.

  “It is my and Hannah’s fervent prayer, Lucas. Is there anything you can tell us to do that will help?”

  “Yes, what can we do, Lucas?” Travay’s voice, hoarse with emotion, surprised her.

  “Ethan, you know I’ve never fired on a British ship. In fact, I’ve helped deliver at least two from Spanish attacks. You might see if you can get in touch with those captains.

  “I’m already working on that, my friend.”

  Lucas’ warm gaze brushed Travay’s face again. “And surely the judge will see that I could not know my letter of marque had been revoked when I was on the high seas with no way to hear the news.”

  Ethan cocked his chin. “I certainly hope that’s true, Lucas. But in case it’s not, will you give me permission to write to your mother’s brother in England? Surely he has better contacts.”

  Fire flashed in the startling eyes Travay knew so well, and Lucas’ features hardened.

  “Lucas, please let Reverend Wentworth write to him.” Travay reached between the bars again and touched his tight cheek. “You must know how much this means to me.”

  Lucas’ heart threatened to hammer out of his chest. He gazed at Travay’s face, followed each plane and dimple. Was she saying that she loved him? He saw it in her clear blue eyes and the way her lips trembled when his eyes paused there. Could he break his parents’ twenty-year silence enforced by his mother’s noble family—the same proud family that had been the cause of their leaving England to become indentured servants? He was only a child of nine at the time, but he understood more than his parents realized. Bile rose in his throat. He’d rather hang than ask her family for help now.

  “No. I do not want you to contact him, Ethan.”

  CHAPTER 22

  In
the carriage, Travay stamped her foot. “I can’t believe he can be so stubborn when his very life might depend on it. Why won’t he let you write to his uncle?”

  Ethan Wentworth appeared unruffled. “There’s still a lot of bitterness in Lucas, I’m afraid. For one, the way he and his parents were treated by her aristocratic family after his mother married a common tutor.”

  “I don’t care what happened back then. I just …” Tears began to course down Travay’s cheeks. She brushed them away. “Reverend Wentworth, I just care what happens to Lucas now, and I want to find any help we can.”

  The minister patted her hand. “Absolutely. So do I. So do I.” He smiled at her, his eyes bright with a special light. “Don’t worry. I learned long ago that I must listen for the voice of God and do whatever He says as final authority.”

  What did that mean? Would he write the letter anyway? Had he already written it? She wanted to ask him, but the carriage stopped at her aunt’s door.

  The day of Lucas’ trial dawned dark and stormy for early November in Charles Town. Reverend Wentworth advised Travay not to go but she couldn’t stay away. She had worked it out with their old friend John Hawkins, Merle’s solicitor, to come by for her in his carriage.

  He helped her into the coach at quarter of nine. The heavy clouds burst, and rain pelted the carriage all the way to the colonial building that served as His Majesty’s courthouse.

  When they walked into the crowded, noisy room, moldy dampness, human sweat, and uncleanness assailed Travay’s nose. Male and female voices in English, French, and an occasional Scottish burr fell on her ears as they searched for a vacant seat. She kept the hood of her cloak pulled close over her head until they found a place in a shadowed corner in the back. Only then did she push the cloak back and shake clinging raindrops free.

  The command rang out for all to rise, and silence fell louder on Travay’s ears than all the earlier voices in unison.

  Sir Roger Poole appeared from a side door and strutted into a high, privileged box with the other council members. Travay sank back into her cloak.

  The attorney for His Majesty marched in with his powdered wig touching the shoulders of his black robe. He held a lace handkerchief to the tip of his long, crooked nose as he walked to his table. The judge followed him, also capped with a curled white wig, and he took his place in the high seat. He rapped sharply on the desk before him three times. The sound reverberated throughout the chamber.

  A door at the back opened, and the prisoners trooped in. Guards with large clubs in their hands and swords strapped to their hips marched beside them. The prisoners’ chains clanged as they jostled and shuffled to their bench. All of them looked soaked to the bone. Had they made them march from the dungeon in the downpour?

  Travay looked closely at each as he turned to sit and face the bench. Thorpe and Sinbad lumbered in with their chains and sat. A tall, broad-shouldered figure followed them.

  Lucas.

  His wet face, steaming shirt, and disorderly braids could not hide his look of contempt or his proud stance. He scanned the courtroom just before he sat. Travay shrank back in her seat. Moisture gathered in her eyes.

  A movement beside her drew her attention.

  “Travay, I wish you had not come.” Reverend Wentworth slid onto the bench beside her. He acknowledged the solicitor with a nod of his head, then leaned to whisper to her. “Unfortunately, I cannot stay but a few minutes. Hannah’s time has come, and I must get back to her and Seema.”

  The minister’s face was drawn and tired, like Travay had never seen it. Was it because of Hannah’s birthing or Lucas’ trial? She flicked the tears from her cheek and bestirred herself to act with some kind of courtesy. “Reverend Wentworth, I hope all goes well with your wife. Thank you for all you have done to help Lucas.”

  “I’ve not done all I hoped to do.” He looked toward the row of prisoners.

  Travay knew when his eyes fell on Lucas. A muscle in the minister’s face tightened, and his brow knit together.

  “But surely you have done all you could, sir.” Travay managed a tentative smile.

  He looked into her face. “My letter either never arrived, or the uncle chose not to respond.”

  “You did write to Lucas’ uncle?” Her heart jumped against her ribs.

  “Yes, but you see us here at the trial without a single word.” He frowned, and then his face brightened. “However, the Lord can still surprise us. He does not always answer in the way we expect.” He pulled a small gold watch from his vest. “I have to get back now. John, will you let me know the outcome of the trial?”

  “Most certainly, sir.” John Hawkins smiled and nodded to the minister.

  Travay sat riveted to the bench when Lucas’ turn came. The prosecutor for the Crown in his dark robe and heavy wig read out all the charges against Lucas. The officer looked around the room as if daring anyone to deny the crimes he rolled off his tongue in a loud, sonorous voice.

  Lucas spoke on his own behalf. Every eye in the courtroom stayed on him through his brief but clear defense. Travay couldn’t help but be proud of the way he stood and spoke with sincerity and calmness, denying the charges and telling how he was at sea when the letters of marque were canceled. But the supposed crimes blasted against him remained in the stale air of the courtroom like cannon fodder set ablaze.

  In the end, however, nothing Lucas said or the mumbled denials of the other men arrested as pirates made any difference.

  When Lucas stood to receive sentence, Travay, already convulsed into a knot, jumped when the judge’s gavel came down hard. His booming voice rolled over her like ice water. “Guilty on all charges. Lucas Barrett, I sentence you to be hanged at low tide on Friday next.”

  A cry escaped her lips. She stood and ran to the door, then into the street, oblivious to the cold rain and John Hawkins calling her name. She ran and ran until her breath came out in gasps, and her hair and clothing streamed with water.

  Finally, she fell against a brick wall, barely able to catch her breath. Her knees buckled, and she gave in to great sobs as she sank down onto cold, wet cobblestones.

  A carriage stopped in the street, and a person stepped out of it and came toward her. “Well, well, what do we have here?”

  Polished boots appeared before her, and someone reached down and fingered a wet curl that had escaped her cloak. A sickening fragrance assailed her, causing her stomach to roil.

  Sir Roger Poole. She pushed the hand away and glared at him.

  “I saw you run out of the courtroom, and it’s a good thing I followed. You know this is not a safe part of town. Let me help you into my carriage, Travay.”

  “Never.” Travay struggled to her feet, not an easy task with her drenched skirts and petticoats.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, my girl. I can’t leave you here alone. It is several blocks to your aunt’s house. Besides, do you want to catch your death of cold?” He reached out for her, and she drew away. Too fast. Her head began to spin. She fell back against the wall.

  Another carriage stopped behind Poole’s, and John Hawkins stepped down and came hurrying toward her. “Hullo there, Travay, are you all right?”

  “I’m trying to help her listen to wisdom, John. I’ve offered to take her home. She certainly can’t stay here.” Sir Roger’s voice wove in and out of Travay’s consciousness.

  “Never mind, Sir Roger. I brought her, and I’ll take her home. Come, Travay.”

  Travay reached out for him. He caught her just before she passed out. Without another word to Roger Poole, John carried her to his coach.

  The following day, Lucas sat on his shuck mattress in the Court of Guard watching mice nibble sparse crumbs from his morning fare. All night and even now, he was trying to grasp the verdict rendered the day before. In all his life he had never dreamed he would come to such a turn. Part of him cried out in faith, believing he would never hang. Another part looked more realistically at the situation. And Travay filled his thoughts. Had she he
ard about the verdict? Thank God, she wasn’t in the courtroom. Or was she? He still remembered a brief cry from a back corner when his guilty verdict and sentence was hammered out by His Majesty’s judge. He had glanced back but had only seen someone in a dark cloak hurrying out into the storm.

  When Ethan came today, Lucas would tell him about the provision he’d made for Travay and her aunt, in case … He blocked that next thought from his mind and studied the small window slit where light filtered down across the straw on the floor.

  Within the hour, Ethan did come, his gentle face pale and lined as if he, too, had not slept well.

  “Hello, Lucas.” His voice was cheerful. He carried a covered dish and wore a waterskin hanging from a strap on his shoulder.

  Knowing the man well and how hard hopefulness might be for him, Lucas came right to the point. There was no use keeping the minister away from his wife long. “Ethan, I’m glad you came. I want to talk to you.” Lucas made space for him to sit.

  “Sure, my man. Didn’t you know I’d come? And I am not giving up hope. Hannah and I are still praying. And, by the way, we have a beautiful baby boy. Joshua. Born last night.” He handed Lucas the water and food. “Seema prepared this while Hannah is recovering.”

  “Oh, Ethan, how are Hannah and your little one?” Lucas devoured the thick brown bread and chunk of cheese interspersed with long, cool drinks of water.

  “Our little Joshua and his mother are fine. And Seema is a great help with both. Thank you, Lucas, for bringing her to us. I think the Lord has a plan for her life when she decides to yield her heart to Him.”

  “Of course she will, Ethan, with both you and Hannah to help lead her.” Lucas wiped his mouth with his sleeve and sat up straight. “I want to ask your help, Ethan, on something important. A request. You’re the only one I would trust with this.” He turned to look into the face of his dear friend and minister. His voice came strong and clear. “I have some money put away. If I do end up in that noose, I want you to get it to Travay.”