Captain in Calico (23 page)

It was not a pleasant recollection, and as she looked at him she was forced to mask her distaste. He was a moonfaced creature with a pendulous nose and a large mouth open in a fruity smile; there was the hint of a leer in his eyes which made her automatically raise her fan to shield the deep neckline of her gown. He spoke in a sonorous voice that matched his heavy features.

‘I count myself fortunate that I am in time to pay my devotion at Beauty's shrine,' he smirked. ‘Everywhere the talk is of the fair visitor Governor Rogers has brought to us from the Bahamas. They speak as of a goddess, which is no less than justice. Ma'am, your most humble obedient.'

It was the sort of laboured compliment she had heard a thousand times, but this man contrived to make it embarrassing. His large, moist hand retained her own for just a moment more than was necessary and she felt as though she were touching an unpleasantly plump reptile. Tobias, who saw most of what went on around him, sensed her unease and hastened to the rescue.

‘The Colonel here has been at me this whole day seeking an introduction,' he explained. ‘Ye'll mind I'm lodging in Fort Charles, and since he's commandant he has me completely in his power.' He wagged his head in mock solemnity. ‘My work must wait while we come gallivanting out here. And work, did I say? Child, that man that is to be your husband has not an element of humanity about him. Here am I poring over papers down at the fort yonder – all in the interests of government, mark me – when I should be taking my ease in this island paradise.' He spread his hands. ‘Is there any justice in it?'

‘You shall have your reward in heaven,' she smiled.

‘In heaven? That's as may be. Could I not have a wee bit in Port Royal?'

She turned to Colonel Coates. ‘And your attendance is most gratifying, sir. How unfortunate that your duties did not permit you to attend earlier. We have been very gay here.'

‘Ma'am, it shall be my lifelong regret,' he assured her. ‘But perhaps we may be honoured with your presence at the fort during your time here. As Master Dickey says, we have little time for leisure, but you may be certain of the most cordial welcome we are able to offer. Depend upon it, ma'am.'

‘Aye, aye,' said Dickey. He gave her a shrewd look. ‘Ye look a wee thing weary, child. I doubt ye'll have had a yawn or two behind your fan the night. Too much excitement and
entertainment and whatnot, when ye should have been snug in your bed.' He chuckled. ‘Hech! I would have made the bonny minister, rebuking youthful folly. Ye cannae kill the Covenanter once he's in you. But come, Colonel.' He took Coates by the arm. ‘You and me'll just leave Mistress Sampson to her rest. Good-night, m'dear, and sleep sound.'

She watched them go across the hall and waited until they were out of sight before she continued to her room. Perhaps it was the knowledge that Dickey would be at the fort, within reach if need be, that crystallised her decision for her, or it may have been that Coates' invitation provided some excuse, but she knew that the problem that had stayed with her all that day had really been solved as soon as it had confronted her. For within herself she had known since the moment that she had heard Phipps' voice outside the aides' quarters that she would go to Fort Charles and see Rackham if it were humanly possible. There was no logical reason that could compel her to go to a man who was a few short footsteps from eternity, simply because she had cared for him long ago: she only knew that she could not sit by and wait and then pass on into her new life without having done what the voice inside Kate Sampson told her must be done.

She did not lie awake that night, but fell asleep as soon as her head touched the pillow, and did not stir until dawn.

They had removed Rackham's chains on his return to the cell under Fort Charles, which meant that he could turn over in his sleep without being awakened by the fetters tugging at his wrists. For the rest his liberty was no wider than it had been before: he could walk round the long, narrow cell and look out through the barred window, and he could listen to his comrades in the big common cell along the passage. Most of the time he listened; it was the only thing that provided a distraction from his thoughts, and he did not care to think too much.

The removal of his fetters had been accompanied by another even more important improvement. During his captivity before the trial the only human being he had seen had been the stone-faced soldier who brought his food and never volunteered a remark or vouchsafed more than a grunt to Rackham's questions. Now the soldier had been replaced by an impish little warder who prattled incessantly while he was in the cell and never lost an opportunity of reminding Rackham that if he wished he could now buy extra food and
liquor and even female company. When Rackham pointed out that he had no money the warder grinned slyly.

‘What yer got in yer mouth, matey, eh?' He chuckled at Rackham's surprised expression. ‘Regular trapful o' money, if I'm a judge. Yer teeth, matey, yer teeth. Fine sound choppers like them'll fetch a guinea or two if ye can find the right buyer. I could do that for yer, pal – for a consideration, o' course. Just say the word an' I'll find the customers. Any amount o' gennlemen – aye, an' ladies, too – what'd give a sight o' money for teeth like them.'

‘You mean when I'm dead?'

‘Well, no, ‘cos yer out o' my ‘ands then, d'ye see? ‘Sides, the best people ain't so partial to usin' corpse teeth. Upsets their appetites, I s'pose. But if you was to give me your word to let the armourer nip 'em out, say the day afore you do the ‘angman's ‘ornpipe, I'd be ‘appy to give yer credit in the meantime. Say two guineas? It's stark profit, matey. What the ‘ell use they goin' to be to you where you're goin'?' he added frankly. ‘An' think wot the guineas'll buy you – fruit, an' a bottle o' the best, an' I knows of a lovely little yellow girl as you can ‘ave cheap as dirt. Wot say, pal?'

Rackham had refused, not because he particularly wanted his teeth but because he did not want the fruit or the wine or the highly admired yellow girl. The warder had borne his refusal without disappointment; from the noise that could be heard down the passageway Rackham judged that he had found a more fruitful field for his commercial activities there. Several times he heard drunken singing and the shrill laughter of women mingling with the husky roaring of the prisoners, and occasionally there would arise a tumult of angry voices and fighting, which would bring the sergeant of the guard to restore order.

The little jailer was persistent, however; he was not the one to spoil a profitable transaction for want of salesmanship, and he had even more ambitious plans in view, as Rackham learned next day.

‘I've brought yer somethin', matey,' the jailer confided. ‘See ‘ere.' And he held out a razor on his grubby palm.

Rackham looked at it without interest. ‘What's that for? D'ye want me to cut my own throat?'

The jailer laughed uneasily. ‘Ye wouldn't do that, pal, now would yer? They'd string me up in yer place, like as not. ‘Ere, take it. Ye can tidy yerself up a bit, like, if yer so minded. Seems to me ye must be heart sick o' wearin' them lousy whiskers.'

For a moment Rackham was touched. He was on the point of thanking the jailer when a suspicion crossed his mind.

‘What's it to you whether I'm shaved or not? I'll hang no quicker without a beard, damn you.'

‘Why, matey.' The jailer tried to look hurt. ‘I was on'y thinkin' – I mean, I thought ye'd be glad—'

‘You thought nothing. What do you want?'

The jailer glanced round at the door and dropped his voice to a confidential murmur.

‘Well, ye see, pal, it's like this. Yer big mate along the way – ‘im wi' the yellow beard, wot's ‘is name? – Bull, that's it – well this mornin' there's a woman comes inquirin' for ‘im. Quality she were, too – leastways, rich quality – an' she give the sergeant five guineas to let ‘er in, an' me another five.' He sniggered. ‘Well, there y'are. They was snug as ye like in an empty cell, an' me five guineas better off. Where's the harm, eh? No one's to know, seein' there's women comin' an' goin' all the time round the sojers' part o' the fort.'

A vivid image rose in Rackham's mind of the fleshy-faced woman who had watched Bull so intently at the trial, and he suddenly felt sick. There was something unutterably horrible in the thought of Bull, who would be a mangled lump of flesh in a few days' time, and that woman. He let out an exclamation of disgust, but the hoarse voice of the little ghoul at his elbow went on:

‘So, I thinks to meself, why just Bull, when there's the famous Calico Jack wi' nothin' to put by ‘is time all day? See? So if you was to trim yerself up, pal, an' I'll pass the word along, why, there's good in it for the both of us—'

His snickering little laugh ended in a startled yelp as Rackham swung a hand at his head. He leaped back, stumbled, and almost pitched headlong.

‘Wot the ‘ell! Well, you're a touchy ‘un, so ‘elp me! Why—'

‘Get out,' growled Rackham. ‘Get out before I break your neck.'

Quite unabashed the jailer slipped through the doorway. ‘All right, pal,' he said amiably. ‘No offence. Just lemme know if you change yer mind.' He slammed the door, shot the bolt, and went off whistling.

Rackham heard no more from him that day, and the hours wore on until sunset, when the din in the common cell down the passage broke out afresh and continued until well past midnight. He slept in spite of it, waking only when the measured tramp on the ramparts far overhead and the shouted commands of the under-officers announced the beginning of another day in Fort Charles. There would be five more mornings like this, and no more mornings thereafter.

He fell to pacing up and down, up and down the narrow limits of his cell – for how long he had no means of knowing.
The jailer came and went, leaving his bread and gruel and flask of water, but they lay untasted. Then gradually that energy which he expended in his restless march up and down gave way, and he was overcome by an odd reverie of confused thoughts and memories that held him motionless as he stared with unseeing eyes at the narrow patch of sky limited by his window.

He might have been standing there only a few minutes, or it might have been an hour, when he heard the bolt snap back. Still he did not move, and when he felt the jailer tugging at his sleeve he was conscious only of irritation at an unwanted interruption.

‘Go away,' he muttered. ‘Go to the devil.'

‘Matey! Come on, pal!' The tugging was persistent. ‘‘Ere, matey, you got a visitor. Wake up!'

Rackham half turned his head. ‘If it's any of your …' he was beginning, and then he stopped, for what he saw sent an actual physical shock through his body and left him speechless. Kate Sampson was standing in the heavy grey arch of the doorway.

At first he did not recognise her in this beautiful, stately young lady, and he stared uncomprehendingly while the jailer slipped past her apologetically and closed the door upon them. And then recognition dawned.

‘Kate.' His voice was hoarse. ‘You … Kate … you … here?'

The shock of the meeting was even greater for her. It seemed impossible that such a short time could have wrought so great a change in him. Unkempt, with that scrubby beard on his cheeks, his tan faded, the dark pouches of fatigue under his eyes, and his ragged clothes, he was more like a scarecrow than the immaculate Calico Jack of old.

Pity prompted her first words. ‘Oh, John, what have they done?'

He seemed not to hear. ‘Where in God's name have you come from?' he asked.

As briefly as she could she told him. She related how she had heard no word of him from the night of his theft of the
Kingston
at New Providence until that chance conversation at King's House had reached her ears. She could not tell him what had passed in her mind during that night and the following day, because she did not truly know herself, and possibly because of that omission he was to draw a false conclusion to explain her presence. As she stood there, telling her story in hesitant, broken sentences he knew a warmth that at least he was not entirely alone, and was thankful for it.

‘And so … and so, I came,' she finished lamely.

‘God bless you,' he said, and then the strain imposed by the foregoing hours and by the sight of him and his surroundings was too much for her and she broke down, covering her face with her hands and sobbing uncontrollably.

It was a natural enough reaction for a girl of nineteen finding herself plucked from her placid everyday existence and brought face to face with brutal reality, and his reaction was no less natural. He put his arm about her shoulders and she was too distressed to resist.

‘There, now, lass. For God's sake, it's none so terrible. Here, rest easy.' Gently he brought her head on to his chest. ‘There, that's it, now. My shirt's not as dainty as it was two years gone, but I've no better to offer.'

Perhaps she was astonished to find comfort where she could hardly have expected it, or she may have been too overcome, but she did not draw away. He touched a tendril of blonde hair that had escaped from beneath her hood.

‘It seems a long time, Kate. A long time. And ye've changed. Grown lovelier than ye were, which I wouldn't have thought possible. And that's something that can't be said for me,' he added wryly. ‘I think the greatest kindness they've done me is not giving me a mirror. I don't wonder you're crying.'

She heard him with mounting amazement. In coming to see him she had not known what to expect, but it had certainly not been this. Anger or bitterness she could have understood, but this gentleness, as though there had never been two years between this moment and the evenings in the garden at New Providence, was something beyond her. It served as a spur to the half-awakened conscience which had been at work in her.

‘I am to blame – oh, I know I am to blame! And now you—' She shuddered against him. ‘Oh, God, if only I had known!'

‘What's this? You to blame? For what?' He took his arm from about her and put his hands on her shoulders to force her gently away. ‘In what are you to blame, child?'

‘I … I might have waited, perhaps,' she faltered, and then it came pouring out in a disjointed stream of words. ‘When you went away, on the night when the King's ships came to Providence, I thought my heart would break. Oh, I loved you, and I believed you loved me, and I told myself that you must have been carried away by chance. I waited and waited, sure that there must be word from you, but it never came. And then it was so long – months without knowing what had become of you, and I still prayed and hoped that you might come back, but you never did. Sometimes I thought you must be dead and I wished myself dead, too. I was foolish, I suppose – my father told me so, and in time I came to believe him. And then Woodes – Governor Rogers – came to the house,
and – and I was beginning to forget, you see … and then he asked me to become his wife … and so I agreed.'

She paused, but he said nothing, and she went on. ‘I never thought, then, that you would come back at all. And when you did, I didn't imagine for a moment that it was for me. You remember that morning, at the Fort, when you came up to me, and he struck you … only then I realised that it was for me you had come back.' She looked up at him. ‘And I did not love you then. Do you see? I can't tell why; perhaps because it was so long since I had seen you, and I was no longer a girl, and besides there was Woodes. And when you went away, I was sorry for you, I think, but that was all. But … but now …' Her lips trembled. ‘To think of you … you see, if I had waited, this would never have happened … and you would have been …'

He considered her for a long moment. ‘And you count yourself to blame? Kate, if ever there was a woman in this world without blame, it is you. Why, lass,—' he reached out to take her hand – ‘what fault there is is mine, and no other's. Oh, believe me, I know. Were you to wait two years for a man gone roving, breaking his word to you as it seemed?' He shook his head. ‘The wonder is that you should wait at all.'

‘But you came back,' she insisted.

‘Aye – after two years.' He sighed. ‘But you were right in one thing, Kate; it was by no will of mine that I went out to sea with the
Kingston
that dawn when the King's ships came to Providence. You would hear how it was with us, how a frightened fool touched off a gun and the King's men thought we were firing on them and sailed in to board us. There was no way but escape then, and I knew that there was an end to you and me.'

He turned away from her and walked slowly towards the window, looking out at that blue patch of sky.

‘That was why I never sent you word. Could I believe you were waiting for a pirate who was beyond pardon? But I never forgot you, even though I knew I should never see you again. Then there was talk of this new pardon – oh, eighteen months after or perhaps more, and within a day of hearing of it from a ship we spoke, we put into Tortuga and I met Hedley Archer, who was lately from New Providence. He told me you were not wed. And I thought, perhaps …' He stopped and shrugged. ‘Ye may ask how vain a man can be. But to say you were at fault – no.' He shook his head. ‘You had waited overlong for a man who was lost two years. It was no fault of yours if that man came back to claim you too late. I'll own I was sick and sorry for myself, but it passed, and if I resented you it was for a moment only.'