Bring It Close (24 page)

“My lodgings are a mite inconvenient. Tell the Governor that if we could get on with building my house next to the gaol, there’d be less chance of any escapes and such.” No one took any notice of him. For the past few months, Redwood’s sole line of conversation had been the promised building of his house.

Jesamiah alone was shown through the right-hand door into the Governor’s parlour. Two men awaited him. Governor Spotswood sat at his desk writing in a ledger book; seated in a chair, Samuel Trent. He rose, a smile of delight on his face. He took a couple of steps towards Jesamiah his hand outstretched – his nose wrinkling, thought better of it and sat down again.

On the desk were two documents. Jesamiah recognised Captain Henry Jennings’ distinctive writing on the Letter of Marque he had issued, and beside it a sealed parchment bearing his own name. Jesamiah Charles Mereno. He said nothing, stood, wrists bound by the irons.

“You owe your life to Master Trent here,” the Governor said returning his quill to its stand and dusting the wet ink with fine sand. He blew the excess off, closed the book, set it aside and finally looked up. “He has informed me that Mrs Alicia Mereno found your Letter of Marque. It seems it had inadvertently been placed among her own papers.” The cadence of his voice conveyed that he did not believe a word, but no gentleman would openly call a lady a liar.

“So the lying bitch had hidden it? I thought so.” Jesamiah knew Alicia was no lady and he had never claimed to be a gentleman.

“She was most distressed, Captain. I was present when she discovered it.” Samuel gallantly attested. “I came straight’way to Williamsburg and have made a nuisance of myself to be granted an interview with the Governor.” He had repeatedly been denied the request, but had been most persistent, had finally been rewarded with an interview an hour since.

“He stated the case for you most eloquently Captain Acorne, but you understand, this puts me in a damn difficult position.”

“How so?” Jesamiah contradicted, shifting his weight to his right foot. His left ankle was sore and aching abominably from where the shackles had rubbed. “I am innocent of the charge. You knew that from the start.”

The Governor cleared his throat. “I have made a promise to the people of Virginia to rid the Chesapeake of every conceivable element of piracy. It is my duty to abide by that pledge.”

“An’ a fine, ‘onourable pledge it is. I whole hearted give my support and blessing for it, Governor, but I ain’t no pirate, so what ‘as it got to do with me?”

“The trouble is, Captain,” Samuel said hesitantly, shy of speaking before the Governor, “too many people along the Rappahannock – and elsewhere – think you are.”

“Yes, thank you Trent, I am dealing with this. Perhaps you would care to wait outside?”

Samuel did not care, but one did not argue with a Lieutenant Governor in his own palace. He collected his hat from a side table, glanced at Jesamiah, gave him a wan smile.

“I’ll be all right, lad. It ain’t likely the Governor is goin to ‘ave me ‘anged in ‘ere.” Jesamiah grinned confidently. Not wanting them to see the weakness of relief coursing through him, added, “He’d get piss and shite all over ‘is floor for one thing.”

When the door was shut and they were alone, Spotswood rubbed at his nose then linked his fingers over his stomach. “And there lies the rub,” he said. “Unless we can think of a way to sufficiently counter public opinion, I am obliged to hang you.”

Pointing to the Letter of Marque Jesamiah narrowed his eyes, “But that vindicates me!”

Staring him straight in the eye, not moving a muscle in his face, Spotswood stated; “It does not. Anyone can forge a document. I would wager you are proficient at it.”

Jesamiah swore colourfully and called him a particularly dishonourable name.

Unabashed by the expletive, the Governor unfolded Henry Jennings’ letter and re-read its contents, then studied the signature. He tossed it back to the desk. “I am certain this is genuine, but how do we convince the good citizens of Virginia?” He sat leaning forward, rested his elbows on the desktop. “I suggest that were you to be of service to the Colony in some way, there would be no problem. Would there?”

Not liking the sound of this, Jesamiah remained silent.

Spotswood crossed his legs, studied the fellow before him. Saw a man in desperate need of a shave and a bath, but a man who oozed astute confidence and competent ability. Just as his father before him had done.

He picked up the second letter. The paper was yellowed, a bit dog-eared at one corner and sealed with wax and a ribbon.

A blue ribbon, Jesamiah noted, though a paler blue than his own deep royal colour. ~
You were not the first to wear blue ribbons, lad. From where do you think the idea came
? ~ Jesamiah frowned at the voice inside his head. Another of those intrusive thoughts that sounded so much like his father.

“This has been awaiting your collection for some years, I believe,” the Governor was saying, unaware of Jesamiah’s slight distraction. “I understand the rascal who served your father’s legal requirements had been instructed to destroy it by your elder brother. It seems he was paid to do so, but he is not a totally honest fellow.” Spotswood chuckled beneath his breath. “Ain’t yet met a lawyer who is.”

To save having to answer, Jesamiah poked at a loose molar tooth with his tongue.

“You were to have received this at the time of your father’s death. I have no idea of the specific content, for as you see, the seal has not been tampered with, though I am led to believe it states information to your advantage.”

The Governor held the letter towards Jesamiah who took it, the irons on his wrists chafing and rattling. He was annoyed to see that as his fingers closed around it, his hand was trembling. He held his wrists stretched out. “It would be more convenient to read it without these pretties adorning m’wrists like a set of lady’s bangles.”

Ignoring the request Spotswood sat forward, lifted his quill and opened the ledger. “I suggest, Acorne, before you indulge in whatever your father writ you, that you consider your situation. I can offer a way out of your predicament. The outcome could leave you well off and held in highest esteem. I can ensure all charges against you are dropped.”

Obstinately, Jesamiah remained holding his arms out, even though the iron shackles were a heavy weight and the letter felt as if it was burning his fingers. He should have had it the day after they buried his father; instead he had been forced to run for his life and ended up at sea as a pirate. How different his life would probably have been! Suddenly not wanting to read it he flicked the letter on to the open ledger book. From the day he had stepped aboard the
Mermaid
under the command of Malachias Taylor he had been a free man, from that first weighing of anchor living a life he loved. Had he remained in Virginia he would never have seen what he had of the world, never have made a fortune – and would never have met Tiola. She had told him to let go of the past. She had been right.

“So what is it you want me to do?” he asked, finally withdrawing his arms.

Governor Spotswood pushed the letter aside and wrote some alarmingly high figures in the expenditure column of the palace accounts. He did not look up, merely stated, “In return for your unequivocal freedom, and the same for your crew, I want you to help us be rid of Blackbeard.”

The bastard! So that’s what this is all about
. Jesamiah’s tongue prodded at the loose tooth while he pretended to consider the offer. “That too, is probably a death sentence.”

“Probably. But unlike hanging, not definitely.”

Part Two

…And thus it ends.

Here, in this place of waiting, the Eternal River chained his soul as effectively as his bones tied him to his earthly grave. Charles Mereno could see his son and could communicate with Jesamiah in the same way as the Witch Woman – she had at least given him that ability. He could appear as he had been in life at the place where he had died and been buried, but he wanted more! Needed more!

He was impatient to put right that which he had done wrong, impatient because he was tired and wanted to rest, to sleep, in peace.

Soon though, the Witch Woman would help him again. On the Day of the Dead, she had said, his spirit could cross the River. The boundary that held him captive would be open, and he could walk among the living, stay for as long as necessary for him to appease his guilt.

Would he be able to do what he had to do? Could he do it, coward that he was?

He covered his face with his hands, despairing.

The price of paying for his wrongs was high and hard; and he was not certain he was strong enough to pay it.

One

Monday 28th October – North Carolina

Tiola sat and sketched pretty drawings beside the river. Some were fanciful – a swan skimming the night sky, Cygnus in flight; a mermaid sitting on a rock, combing her hair. Naturally, the ship in the background under full sail, white water creaming around her bows, was
Sea Witch
.

She also sketched Perdita and Jonathan strolling together, close but not touching, along the opposite bank. Perdita, in the drawing, had her head bent towards her beau, listening intently as he recited from the book of poetry that he held in his hand. The boughs of the trees drooped downward and two birds swooped above the couple’s heads, as if nature, too, was listening as enraptured as the girl.

It was a charming picture but Tiola hid it away. She would not be offering it as a keepsake to either one of the two lovers, for despite the intimacy of the captured scene, the sadness was also unexpectedly there. An air of hopelessness permeated each bold or shaded line. All Perdita and Jonathan would ever be able to do was walk and talk, and share poetry.

“Ma’am?”

Tiola turned her head quickly to see a man hurrying along the river path. He removed his hat as he came nearer, offered her the briefest of bows. “Miss Oldstagh, Ma’am, I suggest you move on from here and maybe the same for them two over there.”

Narrowing her eyes, Tiola stared at the stranger. Of average height and build, moderately dressed in clothing that was neither elaborate nor common, he had brown hair, brown eyes; a tanned and wind-weathered skin. She guessed mid-twenties in age.

“And why, pray Sir, should we be so considering? It is quiet and pleasant here beside the river, and I am enjoying my creativity, as lacking as my skill may be.”

“There are others on the path, Ma’am. It would be best for you to leave.” With impertinence the man bent and began gathering Tiola’s drawing implements.

She batted him away, annoyed. “Leave me be. How dare you!”

He ignored her flailing hand, slid her drawing into the leather case and tucked it beneath his arm. Held out his hand in order to assist her to her feet. “Ma’am. The Governor and Teach are coming this way. I doubt it a sensible idea for the latter to find you here, or the former to see them.” He nodded brusquely towards Perdita and Jonathan, some yards away now on the far bank.

For a moment longer Tiola hesitated. Curse her inability to use her Craft! Had she not forced it into quiescence she would have been aware for herself. Nor dare she awaken it now to sense whether this man spoke the truth or was up to mischief.

“Please Ma’am, I urge you to hurry, for them if not for yourself.” He again pointed towards the young couple.

Accepting his sincerity Tiola nodded and started getting to her feet. He put his free hand under her elbow, both assisting and hurrying her. “I am Joseph Meadows, Miss. The Captain and the rest of them call me Skylark. Captain Acorne, that is.”

“Jesamiah?” The revelation stimulated her sluggish perception. This man was in earnest! Dare she call out to those two across the river? Anyone on the path would hear, for sound did carry so near water, even with the close proximity of the sentinel trees. She shoved her belongings into Meadows’ arms and setting aside all acceptable decorum, raced along the path. Coming level with Perdita and Jonathan she waved her arms, but they were too absorbed in each other to notice. She bent, selected a handful of stones and threw them, hurling the missiles as if they were Roman ballista bolts. They fell, plopping into the river, each one making its own disturbance of sound. The tailor looked up, sharp, annoyed, saw Tiola frantically signalling for them to hide.

She cupped her hands around her mouth, risked the small magick of sending her voice across the water. “The Governor comes!”

Perdita squeaked alarm, but Jonathan kept his head. Without a word he backed into the bushes, guiding Perdita after him. The branches and leaves parted, swinging back into place with a gentle rustle of movement to hide their passing. Perdita was wearing green with a brown cloak; her companion was also in sombre colours. They were gone, hidden.

Tiola glanced the way she had come. The man, Meadows, was strolling away in sedate calmness, her belongings tucked casually beneath his arm. She realised now where she had seen him: several times, in various places, seated at an easel industriously painting. An artist; a clever guise. No one queried where a man sat to capture the beauty of the landscape or the fine elegance of a house. No one questioned that mayhap he was there for another reason entirely. Even Tiola had not.

Eden and Teach had appeared around the bend of the path, some eighty yards away. As Tiola backed into the shelter of the trees she saw Skylark touch his hat in greeting as he stood aside to let them pass, distracting their attention enough for her to take several more steps and crouch beneath the spread of a bush. With her Craft it would have been no problem to have hidden herself. With ease she could have used illusion, blended her form with a tree trunk and become one with it. But not with Teach so near. Not with the Malevolence that inhabited his soul.

As it was, he stopped for a moment and stared into the undergrowth. Tiola looked downward, lest he may catch the gleam in her eyes, kept herself perfectly still.

“So, you think I ought to marry m’stepdaughter to Knight, do thee?” Eden said, walking on.

“I doos. Tha man’ll turn coat agains’ us if ’n thee do not. I seen it afore. A man like he, been widd’erd this twelvemonth, will be wantin’ a wummun – an’ be wantin’ more from us ‘til there be nay more t’give.”

“Keep Knight close by, you reckon?”

“Yass, he’ll not betray his own, not if ’n he be expectin’ t’inherit. He hath ambition doos that one.”

Holding her breath Tiola could smell his closeness, her Craft was burning inside her, wanting to be released. Or was it the Dark trying to flush her out? Ah, she was wise to that trick!

Teach was frowning, he could sense something…There was something he could not quite see…? He shook his head, walked after Eden, his long stride easily catching him up.

Tiola stood quiet. Prayed to the Spirit of Calm that the two lovers on the far side of the river had not overheard. How dare the Governor so callously discuss the girl’s marriage as if she were a horse or a cow to be sold at market! And to discuss it with Teach of all people! Tiola turned away in disgust and hurried down the path in the opposite direction. She had to get back to Elizabeth-Anne to ask if she knew anything of these disagreeable arrangements; finding Meadows would need to wait a while. There were a few pertinent questions she intended to ask him. The first of which would be why one of Jesamiah’s crew was here in Bath Town. And the second, assuming her guess at the answer to the first was correct – to protect her – where in the Seven Names of Peace had he been the other night when she had required protecting?

There was a third, but that one she would keep until she had established the credentials of the other two, and perhaps, for more affable times. Where had Meadows learnt to paint? He was, indeed, very good.