Bring It Close (36 page)

Thirty Four

Main Street had cleared of onlookers, the incident forgotten, people were about their business. Jesamiah crossed over, avoiding two wagons, and walked in through the open doors of the
King’s Arms
tavern: definitely a place of higher quality and resources. He went to the counter and asked for Master Samuel Trent.

A barman answered him, more intent on drying a pile of washed glasses than passing time with someone of less than wealthy appearance. “You have just missed him. He left a moment ago.”

Damn. Jesamiah leant an elbow on the counter, considering. “Well, where may I find Mrs Mereno?”

“Friend, are you?”

“Not that it is your business, but no, I am a relative. Her brother-in-law.”

The man set the glass down, picked up another; began polishing. “Top of the stairs. Room four.”

Jesamiah touched his hat, bounded up the stairs two at a time. Room four. He knocked.

“Who is it?”

Mumbling “It’s me,” in an approximation of Trent’s higher pitched tone, Jesamiah heard her footsteps on the far side, a bolt withdraw. The handle turned, the door opened slowly. A frightened pale face peeped out.

“Samuel? Is it you – Oh!” Alicia tried to slam the door. Jesamiah was quicker, he rammed his boot into the gap, pushed it wide; her strength no match for his.

She shrieked and fled across the room, grabbing up a poker from beside the fireplace as she went. Brandishing it with both hands, she held it high. “Do not come near me! I will strike you, so help me I will!”

Jesamiah shut the door. Stood a few feet inside, shoved his hands into his pockets. “Put it down, Alicia, I’ve come to talk, not fight.”

“Go away! Leave me alone, you brute!”

Taking his hat off and skimming it to the bed, Jesamiah ambled to the armchair, sat. “Me? A brute? It was you who tried to get me hanged, if I recall, by stealing my Letter of Marque.”

She still held the poker, although its weight had caused her to lower it a little. “How dare you suggest such a lie, I…”

“Oh, belay it, Alicia. I know the truth. I heard most of it from Sam when he came to get me out of gaol, and Rue’s filled in the rest,” he lied. Both men had told him only parts of the story.

“Sam? Sam!” Alicia strutted over to the fireplace, set the poker into its rack and faced Jesamiah, her bunched fists on her hips. “Samuel? You have the nerve to talk to me of Samuel Trent? You gave him my home. My furniture. You gave him everything – including my money!”

“No, I gave him the opportunity to manage an estate which I am not interested in managing. Your home, your furniture remains mine, though I do not want them either. As for your money, from what I gather, there is none for me to give. Your husband squandered it all. Do not blame that on Sam, or on me. And from what I have just witnessed, you ought to be grateful to young Trent. It takes guts to stand up to a man like Tobias Knight.”

She glowered at Jesamiah. How did he always manage to know everything? Damn him. Suddenly, the fight went out of her. She slumped, her head drooped, her shoulders sagged and tears began to fall. If he had been told the situation then he knew how stupid she had been. And the trouble she was in.

“Oh Jesamiah. What am I to do? I do not want to return to the streets as a whore, I truly do not.”

Jesamiah went to her, put his arms around her, drawing her head to his shoulder. Held her while she wept. This woman was an utter bitch when she wanted to be, was selfish, arrogant, stupid – but God help him, he had always been fond of her. Why, he did not know. Maybe because she had spirit, because she fought for what she wanted and did not accept ‘no’ for an answer? It was tough, surviving.

“Ssh, ssh,” he coaxed, stroking her back, placing a light kiss on her head. “Hush now, we’ll sort something.”

“How?” she sniffed, her face buried in his shirt. “I have no home, no money and I am being blackmailed by a weasel who threatens to expose me.” She looked up, the cosmetic paint she wore smudged on her cheeks and around her eyes. “He accosted me just now. Threatened me again. He is vile, utterly vile. If I do not pay him tomorrow he will tell everyone. And then I will be summoned before the Council and punished as a woman of ill-repute. They will flog me in public. I could not bear that. Oh I could not bear it Jesamiah!” She was crying again.

Jesamiah pulled her closer.
So that’s what is behind all this
, he thought.
Blackmail
. “And me?” he murmured. “How did I fit in?”

She wept a little more, sniffed a few times. Delving into his pocket, Jesamiah produced a handkerchief that was not too grubby.

“I thought it would frighten you if they locked you away for a few days. I was going to ask you for money, and in return find your letter. Only when I went to the gaol in Urbanna, you were not there, they were already bringing you here to Williamsburg. And,” she blew her nose, handed him the kerchief back, “and I did not know what to do.”

With her arms around him Alicia felt the security of his strong solidity. Jesamiah was a rock, an oak. He smelt of tar and sweat, of leather and hemp and the sea. She had always loved Jesamiah, since the first day in Port Royal when she had seen him come ashore, a cock-sure young whelp little more than a boy, in search of fun and sex. He had found both with her. Her first husband she had been fond off – he had not known she had been a whore, nor had Phillipe, her second. Phillipe had been a mistake. And Jesamiah? Had she really been so stupid that she had nearly caused him to hang? Yet now, with Knight after her, she would be the victim and harshly punished.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, “I did not mean to involve you, but I did not know what to do. I still do not know what to do. I have nothing to pay Knight with. I asked Samuel to give me some money – I said I wanted clothes – but he refused.”

Very gently, Jesamiah prised her away from him and set her at arm’s length, his hands on her shoulders. He looked at her red-rimmed eyes. “That is because Samuel has no money to give you. The estate is broke, thanks to Phillipe. And you, you silly goose, should have done the obvious thing and told me right from the start what was happening.”

She wiped at her damp cheeks, smudging the cochineal colouring even more. “I could not do that. You would have laughed and told me to not be so silly. I did ask you for money when we were in Nassau and you told me you would not let me have one penny.”

Jesamiah sat on the bed, patted it for her to come sit beside him. What she said was true. He would have laughed. Had he said no to even a penny? Probably. They sat a little apart, their bodies not quite touching. At last he plucked the courage to ask, “And what of the child?”

She raised her head, her frown quizzical. “What child?”

“The one you said you carried. My child.”

She drew in her breath. Her hand went to her slender stomach, flattened and trimmed by her tight corset. Child? She had forgotten all about that.

“Will you make me your wife? Give a child of mine your name?” She did not know why she asked; she already knew his answer.

He stood, walked over to the window, stared down into the bustle of Williamsburg’s Main Street, across at the tavern and his room, at the window he had left open.

“I cannot, Alicia. I love Tiola and I married her some days ago.” How many days, he could not remember. Too many, that was for certain.

He turned back to Alicia. “I’m sorry. I will support you though, I’ll give you all the money you need. I will not abandon you or the child. You have my word.”

He meant it; she could see and hear that he did. She shook her head, sighed. Confessed. “There is no child. I made it up.”

He turned again to face the window, said simply, “Oh.”

To Alicia’s ears the disappointment in that one word was heartbreaking. He wanted a child? Actually
wanted
a child? She half rose, her hand stretching out, sat down again. “Well, you have a wife now. I am sure there will soon be children. A whole shipload.”

“I have been bedding Tiola for some while now. I lived with her for seven months in Cape Town. I think I might be incapable of siring a babe.”

How like Jesamiah to take the blame for himself and not lay it on the woman he loved. Alicia felt tears welling again. She had hurt him with this pretence, God help her, how could she have been so cruel? She put her hand to her stomach again, her frown deepening as she tried to think. When had her last flux come? It was always unreliable, often late, the flow light and only lasting two days or so. It rarely inconvenienced her, which meant she never kept track of the dates. It suddenly occurred to her that she would have to wait a whole month around to be entirely certain about not carrying a child. Should she say there could be a possibility? No. She could not, for the last thing she wanted at the moment was to be pregnant.

“There is nothing wrong with your seed, Jesamiah. I told you, you impregnated me that time at la Sorenta. It may be that your wife has deliberately been stopping her womb from quickening. She is, after all, talented in that area is she not? Very probably she had no intention of permitting her belly to swell until you married her.”

He twisted his head, smiled at her. “Do you think so?”

She had absolutely no idea, but Jesamiah Acorne was not the only one who could lie convincingly. “Yes,” she said. “I do think so.”

“I’d better have a word with her then, hadn’t I?”

“I’d make them sweet honeyed words if I were you. And stop leaving her behind. And…” Alicia paused, considered him longingly. He was so beautiful – but he was not for her. “And stop cavorting in other ladies’ beds.”

He shrugged. “You mean no more whoring?”

“No more whoring.”

“Not even with you?”

“Especially not with me.”

“That’s a bit of a bugger. I was going to suggest we go to bed so that I could give you some sort of payment.”

She closed her eyes, said calmly, hoping he would not read the lie behind her lips, “I do not want to go to bed with you, Jesamiah. Now, or ever again. I am a respectable widow. I am no longer a whore.”

When she opened them again he was standing directly in front of her. He reached out, put one finger under her chin, tipped her face upward, leaned in and kissed her. It was a long, sensuous kiss.

When he broke away he said, “Then I will just have to think of another way for you to earn some money – a reward perhaps?”

He stepped back, retrieved his hat. “Give me an hour. Get your best gown and prettiest bonnet on. You are going to get me into the Governor’s palace.” And he was gone, the door closing behind him. She looked out of the window, saw him hurry across the street, go into the tavern opposite.

The smooth-talking whoremonger! He’d had no intention of taking her to bed. None at all! Surprising herself, Alicia found that she was laughing.

Thirty Five

North Carolina

Elizabeth-Anne’s baby was
occipto posterior
, a medical term which Tiola did not use aloud to the labouring mother. The baby’s back was to his mother’s back, which meant his head was not fitting into the cervix very well, which in turn meant the contractions were of irregular strengths. They grew stronger as the afternoon wore on, becoming a succession of small contractions interspersed with huge, agonising ones as Elizabeth-Anne’s body tried to push the baby to a better position. Some of the waves of pain came in pairs, a stronger one wearing off into a smaller cramp. Then a gap when it almost seemed as if everything had stopped – but another big one swamped the woman and she cried out, fearful that she and the child were not going to survive.

In a normal birth the baby ‘dropped’ into position before labour began, sometimes days before, occasionally only a matter of hours. The head would dip in and out of the pelvic brim, fitting into the space between, reducing the size of the visible bump becoming more uncomfortable for the mother. The dipping had still occurred, but with her experience, even without her gift of Craft, Tiola could clearly see that Elizabeth-Anne’s bulge was too high, almost under her breasts. Tiola did not need to feel with her hands to realise the foetus was back to front and was going to make this birth difficult.

Massaging Elizabeth-Anne’s back, Tiola deliberately kept cheerful. The poor woman had suffered dull, aching back pain for the past four weeks.

“I want to push. If only I could push it might ease this pain.”

“No, please believe me, if you pushed this early it would make things worse. Ride through the feelings, dear-heart, just ride through them.” Tiola dare not explain that with the contractions not working properly, the cervix was not dilated enough to allow the child to pass through. With incorrect pressure it would swell and eventually, birth would be impossible. The only result: death for mother and child.

There were so many things that could go wrong but Tiola retained her reassuring smile. If the waters broke, labour would become more painful, blood loss could be greater than was safe – or the foetus could try to turn in the pelvis and become stuck. Tiola had performed a caesarean twice in the past. She had saved one infant, lost both mothers. She massaged her sweet-smelling oils into Elizabeth-Anne’s back, thighs and belly and murmured a small spell to ease the worst of the pain. Teach, she knew by her own gift and by what she had heard, was the other side of Pamlico Sound, camped on the Ocracoke, far enough away for her to use all her skills and Craft, but there was a residue of the Dark lingering here in Bath Town. An echo of Malevolence attempting to find her. She needed to be careful, to use what she had sparingly. Even with her Craft, whether the mother and child were safe from the cruelties of nature, she did not yet know.

Thirty Six

Virginia

At first Jesamiah had thought Alicia was not going to come, but the words ‘a reward perhaps’ had lured her. Alicia would never change. Money would always be her first love.

“Have you any idea where Sam is?” was his first question. “And where is Knight staying?” was his second.

Main Street was emptier now, people with homes to go to had gone to them, stalls and stores had shut for the night. The sky was almost dark, several stars were growing brighter. The lamplighter was coming down the street lighting the torches in wall sconces and lamps hung upon walls, attracting moths and night insects. From the taverns and those few places still open, yellow light spilled outward to pool on the pavement. Alicia wondered how much this reward was to be.

“Samuel was to meet with the estate lawyer to see what can be salvaged from the mess your brother left. Then he was going to dine. Beyond that I do not know. I am not his wife, nor his keeper. Nor do I know or care about Knight.” Her answer was curt. Already she was wondering what she was doing walking along Main Street after dark with Jesamiah. What if Knight was to accost her again?

Jesamiah did not want to meet with Samuel. For two reasons: one, he thought it best to leave the lad to cope on his own and not feel he was being examined, and two, he did not want a repeat of Sam begging to join him. When he returned to face Blackbeard it would be a fight to the death, and he had enough to think about without feeling responsible for an untried lad.

“Phillipe was not my brother, Alicia.”

“So you said. I do not believe you.”

“Too bad. It happens to be the truth. Which lawyer was Samuel seeing?”

“A local firm: Masters Stealit and Spendit.”

He chuckled. If she was making jests she had forgiven him his earlier teasing. “Seriously, Alicia, I need to know.” As he asked the question, the name came into his head.

~
Richard Faversham
. ~

He repeated it aloud and Alicia scowled. “If you already knew, why ask me?”

“I did not know, I guessed. I must have seen a sign somewhere.” He found it so unsettling to hear his father like this. Was he watching every move? Constantly following behind? Jesamiah resisted the urge to look over his shoulder. Yet again he so wished that Tiola was with him, or that at least he could talk to her about the way he was being haunted. But she was busy with Elizabeth-Anne and a baby which, from what she had implied hours ago now, was reluctant to come into the world.

They walked on in silence, crossed Colonial Street – Jesamiah had to pull Alicia back as a carriage rumbled by taking the corner a little too tight and coming too close.

“Some people ought to learn to drive,” he muttered. “Are you all right?”

Although slightly shaken, she nodded. “I thought for a moment it was Knight, come to finish me off.”

Jesamiah put himself between her and the roadway, any carriages or wagons would have to go through him first. “I was going to have a word with you about Knight. You know he will want more money if you pay him this time, don’t you?”

Glum, she nodded.

“It would be better to call his bluff.”

“What? Tell him to announce to the world I was a convict and a whore?”

A scrawny she-cat shot past, followed by a dog in pursuit. The cat resembled the one he had seen that morning when he had been taken to the palace, although somewhat skinnier. “Well, you could do that if you wanted, though I would not advise it.”

She scowled at him, saw he was laughing. “This is not a humorous situation Jesamiah. I am in trouble.”

He stopped walking, trundled her around to face him. “Why do you not blackmail him in turn? Buy his silence? Threaten him?”

In exasperation, she raised her arms in the air and walked on. “Those are the most unhelpful suggestions I have ever heard. What? Shall I frighten him by saying his hair is turning grey or his wig is unfashionable? Or his belly is becoming too big to button his waistcoat?”

Jesamiah trotted to catch her up, grasped her arm. “No. You tell him unless he leaves you alone you will inform Governor Spotswood about a certain close acquaintance.”

“And that will worry him?”

“For fok sake; button your mouth and listen! Knight will not want Spotswood knowing he and Blackbeard are partners.”

Her eyes widened, the first spark of hope in weeks cheering her. “Are they? You are sure of this?”

“Yes. I have suspicions about Knight that if true, will send him scuttling like a crab for deep water. If you can get me into the palace I will be able to confirm what I think.”

Alicia continued walking, considering the implications of what Jesamiah had said. It would be so good to get the better of the odious man. “But I will not always be here in Williamsburg. What if he goes to la Sorenta? He is a violent man.”

“I thought you said you don’t want to go back there?”

“I do not. But what choice have I? I am homeless. I am penniless.” They were at the palace green, one or two benches made from fallen logs were set to the side – a way to make people sit and admire the grand building dominating the far end. Jesamiah sat Alicia down, seated himself next to her.

“If you could do what you wanted, what would it be?”

She answered immediately. It was something she had thought of often these last months. If she were free, if she had her fortune to do with as she pleased. “I would buy a plot of land and build a tavern here in Williamsburg; a reputable place for gentlefolk, not a disorderly house – no whores or rag-a-bones with an itch in their breeches. I would run something like the
King’s Arms
– only even better. Hold balls and entertainments. Cook good meals, have clean rooms with clean linen. My establishment would be known through all the Chesapeake as Virginia’s finest accommodation.”

Jesamiah was surprised at first, but then, on second thoughts, perhaps not. Being a tavern keeper was one of the few things outside of running a bawdy house that a woman could do in her own right. And yes, Alicia would be good at it.

“And how much would this buying a plot of land cost? Two, three hundred pounds?”

She pursed her lips, calculating. “To buy and build and furnish? Oh, probably at least three hundred pounds of tobacco. Three hundred and fifty pounds of it if I wanted to be sure of the first year. After that I would start turning a profit.” She sighed, folded her hands in her lap. The palace at the end of the tree-linedgreen looked pretty all aglow with light shining from every window. “I would site it either behind the Capitol Building or here near the palace. I know it is somewhat rough at this end of Main Street at the moment, but give it a few years and mark my word, things will be different! Aside, land is slightly cheaper this end. I could not really afford the Capitol.”

“But that’s where the best clients are?”

“Of course.”

“So five hundred pounds would set you up nicely?”

She stood, tiring of the conversation. “Yes, but I have not even got one ounce of tobacco with which to barter, so there is no point in dwelling on unreachable dreams, is there?”

Jesamiah stayed where he was. “I am talking pounds sterling, not tobacco weight.”

“No one uses actual money here in Williamsburg,” she retorted scornfully.

“Well I do. Please, Alicia, sit down. I ain’t said all I want to say.”

She stood for a few more moments, tapping her foot and sighing impatiently, then flounced down beside him.

From his pocket, Jesamiah pulled two sealed letters. She saw her name on one, made a grab at it. Jesamiah snatched it aside, held it high. “Uh, uh, hear me out first. This one is for you. It states all the things you are entitled to.”

She tried to reach it again, but he held it even higher. “If you do not listen to me, Ma’am, I will destroy it and you will be left with nothing.”

She huffed, impatiently folded her hands into her lap.

“This,” Jesamiah continued, “states that you may take whatever is yours from the house. I warn you, I would have expected my father to have had an inventory, so do not try to take anything that was there before you moved in. It also states that unless you are satisfactorily making your own decent income – which does not mean whoring – then…”

“Huh. What chance have I of an income that does not involve lifting my skirts?”

“…As I was saying; unless you have an income, you are to receive an annual allowance from the estate,
if
there is sufficient to support it.”

She sniffed.

“You could at least say thank you.”

“Thank you.” She did not sound particularly grateful.

“This other letter is for the lawyer. He is to see to it that Samuel Trent becomes the permanent estate manager of la Sorenta – and Samuel is to answer to him annually with the accounts if I am not here.” He paused, studied the night sky, the familiar patterns of the stars. How were Tiola and the babe? Was she really stopping herself from having his child? Could she, would she, do that? Was Alicia really not pregnant? And then his thoughts returned to tomorrow and the day beyond. Five, six days maybe, and it would all be over. By Friday he could be up there with the stars, a dead man, peering down at the living world.

“Also in this letter, I have instructed the lawyer to tell you everything if I do not come back. Someone should know the truth about my father and Phillipe. It might as well be you. He was your husband, after all.”

“What do you mean, you might not come back? Where are you going?”

Jesamiah puffed his cheeks, glanced again at the stars, “Very possibly somewhere far away and not very pleasant, darlin’. Maybe a bit hot and smelly I should think, if a past experience in a hold is anything to go by.” He slapped his hands on his thighs, stood. “Come on, let’s see if you can get me in to the Governor without anyone hanging or shooting me.”

“You will make sure I get paid for doing this won’t you?”

“I will, darlin’. I will.” He handed her the two letters, made sure she put them safely into her poke.

He whistled as he strolled towards the wrought-iron gates, Alicia looking as beautiful as ever on his arm. It was bravado. The sound a man makes as he walks to the gallows and does not want the watching crowd to know he is scared to death.