Pride of the King, The (51 page)

She stepped out from the shelter of the trees and started toward him. She wore a simple blue skirt and bodice with a white kerchief on her head. When James saw her he grinned, took several strides then broke into a full run. She watched him a moment then something inside of her snapped. She picked up her skirts and ran from him bolting back into the woods and down the trail.

James stopped, looking confused. He called to her then dashed down the trail after her. When he finally reached her down by the river, he yanked her into his arms and exclaimed, “What’s wrong with you!”

Lauren pushed away from him, her eyes down. Suddenly, he saw her bare forehead and his jaw dropped. His eyes ran over her as tears rolled down her face. Slowly and carefully he reached up and lowered the kerchief. Lauren swallowed hard as he looked at her shaven head. She reached up and tied the kerchief back on.

“Who did this to you,” he said through his teeth.

She whispered, “French soldiers. I was branded as a spy.”

“How is it you were in French territory?” His voice sounded threatening.

“I was gathering information. I found out that Julien Gautier, Jean-Baptiste and Claude Aberjon are responsible for the raids. Two of them are being tried for treason, but Claude remains free and vows to destroy us.”

There was a long silence while James absorbed the news. His jaw tightened, and he began to pace the shoreline, rocks and twigs crunching under his boots. Lauren stood with her eyes down, feeling ashamed and embarrassed. Her fists were clenched at her sides, and she hung her head.

He walked up suddenly and stroked her cheek. “My beauty,” he whispered then he took her face in his hands and kissed her. Lauren put her arms around him, tears streaming down her face. He ran his lips over her cheeks.

“Don’t ever leave me again,” he said. “At last I understand. At last I understand.” He repeated the words to her again and again as he kissed her.

*                    *                 *

The crew of the
Pride of the King
guarded the mouth of Popple Creek as James and Lauren canoed back to his hideaway. Their passion for each other, frenzied at first with fire and desperation melted into contentment and serenity. They spent hours together drowsing by the stream, sunlight filtering through the trees, dancing across their entangled limbs. They talked long into the night at the kitchen table by candlelight.

It was late one afternoon by the creek when Lauren told him of their unborn child. James stared at her in disbelief than rolled onto his back on the moss and laughed with joy. “A child! Why did you not tell me sooner?”

“I wanted it to be a quiet moment such as this.”

“A child who shall have a name.”

“Yes,” Lauren agreed. “And a child who will have a home.”

Several days passed and James began to grow restless. Lauren knew he was worried about the safety of the crew, and to ease his burden she suggested they return to the fluyt. She too could not fully appreciate their time together knowing that Claude may strike before winter approached.

The next day they returned to the vessel. The first thing James did was consult with the first mate. She overheard Mr. Duerr say in his thick Prussian accent, “Ya, I agree Captain, Robert, Mr. Bologne and a few others may go ashore.”

“The crew needs shore leave,” said St. Clare. “I know the doldrums are upon them.”

Lauren missed Isaac, and she knew James did too, but Duerr was a diligent and responsible first mate. She nodded a greeting to him then followed James down the companionway to his quarters. It feels wonderful to be home again, thought Lauren. She loved her husband’s cabin. It still smelled of spicy soap and cedar, and the barrel still sat by the bed with the name,
Chateaux St. Clare, Provence
.

James worked at his desk all afternoon while Lauren rested. She had been fatigued lately never seeming to get enough sleep. The baby demanded constant food and rest from her. Sliding under the covers she wiggled her toes and watched James work at his desk then peacefully drifted off to sleep.

She awoke many hours later to find the cabin dark and James gone. All was quiet above, and when she looked out the moon was high in the sky. Pulling a gown over her shift she went barefoot onto the deck. The only sound was the water sloshing against the hull and a light breeze rustling the dry leaves on shore. She wondered who was on night watch. She leaned on the rail and looked out at the silent woods then up at the moon.

She listened once more for movement and heard nothing. She walked toward the stern and tripped on a large bundle on the deck. Stepping to the side, her foot slipped on something slick. She realized it was not a bundle. The moonlight cast a pale light on the lifeless face of Josef Duerr. His throat had been cut. Lauren realized she was standing in his blood.

Terrified, she scanned the deck for danger, realizing she must grab her rifle before she too became a victim. Dashing down the companionway she ran into the cabin and locked the door. She loaded her firearm with trembling hands. Taking a deep breath she took the stairs two at a time and rushed onto the deck, rifle in hand ready to fire, but nothing moved, and no one lunged at her from the shadows. The only movement came from the trees swaying in the night breeze.

Lauren’s legs were so wobbly she wasn’t sure she could walk. Nevertheless, she moved toward the bow where she saw another form on the deck slumped against the rail. As she drew closer, she realized it was Ben Groot his throat also cut. Across from him sprawled face down on the deck was old Mathias. She put her hand to her mouth to stifle a sob and bile began to rise in her throat. She felt her head start to spin. The grisly scene was overwhelming.

She took a deep breath and steadied herself. If she was going to survive, she must not lose her head. Lauren realized Claude had fulfilled his promise. Jumping down onto the lower deck she searched madly for other victims especially for James. Finding no one else, she strained to see the shore. St. Clare usually posted a sentry on land, but she saw no one. Having searched every inch of the fluyt, Lauren stopped a moment clenching her fists. Her heart was pounding so wildly it was hard to collect her thoughts.
How could this have happened while she slept? They must have taken the crew by surprise.

She assumed whoever committed this treachery did not know she was in the cabin otherwise she too would be dead. She knew she must find James and the others, so without delay she lowered herself into a canoe and set off for the Cavendish settlement. She looked over her shoulder at the macabre specter of the ship in the moonlight and shuddered.

The woods seemed alive as she paddled downstream, the brittle dry underbrush on shore making snapping sounds as night creatures moved through it. Lauren stopped before Cavendish landing coming ashore at the clearing where she had met Isi by the bonfire months earlier. She pulled the canoe up onto the sand and the rocks making certain the cabin was dark and silent before she started up the path.

When she reached Cavendish settlement, she paused in the shadows. The tavern was ablaze with light and activity. Loud voices came from inside the establishment, and Lauren noted several patrons outside the door waving their arms and gesturing toward the river and woods. Several British soldiers ran down to the landing, jumped onto bateaux and pushed off down the Hudson. Lauren spotted Gunnar in back of the tavern returning from the necessary. She scanned the clearing then dashed toward him, startling him.

He cried, “Damn it, Miss!”

She grabbed him and dragged him into the woods. “
Mon Dieu,
Gunnar, what is happening?” she panted.

He looked furtively
at the tavern then said, “It’s a lynching. Cavendish’s wife says she saw one of your crew using a child.”

“What! Who did she accuse?”

“The one that’s slow.”

“Who? Robert!”

“Ya, that’s the one. I saw that woman talking to him earlier, all fancy like. I saw her pull him upstairs, nuzzling up to him. A moment later she came down holding Lucy’s little girl and shouted that she caught Robert with the child.”

Lauren put her hands to her cheeks and repeated, “My God!”

“She is going after the whole crew saying they are cripples and misfits and can‘t be trusted.”

“Where is Captain St. Clare?”

“No one knows. The soldiers were taking him to the fort, but those Indian friends of yours opened fire. He ran into the woods with them.”

“Good,” said Lauren breathing a sigh of relief. “And what of Robert?”

Gunnar looked down. Lauren knew that he was dead. “Gunnar, we must find Captain St. Clare.”

“Ya, Miss, but the soldiers and townspeople are all over the woods.”

Gunnar stared at Lauren waiting for her to make a decision. She unconsciously touched her belly as if to protect her baby then said, “I think I know where they are.”

Chapter 53

The crowd at Cavendish Tavern did not disperse for many hours reveling in the excitement of a lynching. The troops from the fort made an attempt to put the mob down, but the soldiers seemed to enjoy the hanging as much as the crowd. The mob called for vengeance and hanged the terrified Robert from the nearest tree.

John Cavendish watched in horror, impotent to stop the maelstrom of hatred. St. Clare and the rest had been taken to the fort to be detained until morning when they would most certainly hang. It was late before John could convince the last patron of Cavendish Tavern to go home.

Anxious and distraught, trying to devise a plan to free St. Clare and the others, Cavendish paced the bar room. After several hours, Georgiana came through the front door. She had been drinking heavily with one of the soldiers down by the river.

Throwing herself into a chair, she declared, “Well, quite the night!”

Cavendish did not respond. He squatted down and began banking the fire. She leaned forward and said, “Are you deaf?”

He turned his scarred face toward her and mumbled, “I heard you.”

Georgiana stood up and staggered to the bar, pulled the cork out of a bottle and poured herself a drink. “Well, since you can hear me, listen to this. I am leaving tomorrow in the morning.”

Still John did not turn around.

“I have been waiting for my opportunity to get out of this stinking hole for too long. Now I can go.” She bent her head back and threw the drink down her throat.

John stood up slowly putting his hand on the mantel, still not looking at her. “Where are you going?”

“North, if that’s any of your business.”

She picked up a bottle and a mug and headed for the bed chamber. Pouring herself another drink she started to stuff clothes into a bag. John stood in the door, his berry colored face expressionless. Georgiana’s blonde hair was disheveled, and the charcoal on her lashes had smeared under her eyes.

“Don‘t try to get me to stay,” she sneered. 

“You lied about that boy, didn’t you?” he said.

She cocked her head and replied; “Now what if I did?” She staggered a few steps backward, catching herself on the commode.

“Who paid you?”

“I would have done it for free. St. Clare and that group of freaks disgust me. I didn’t think that French slut of his would make it back from Champlain.” Then sweeping her arm, she said thickly. “But she did.” Pushing her dirty hair off her face she poured herself another drink.

“Who paid you?” he demanded.

Hearing the rage in his voice, Georgiana’s eyebrows shot up with surprise. “Never met him. A messenger came down from Champlain.” She continued to look at him and swayed. “He was sent by some Frenchman, a cousin of Gautier’s.”

John stared at her for a moment then closed his eyes. He remembered the first time he met Georgiana in Albany; she was a barmaid then at his modest tavern on State Street. How captivating she was, so beautiful and so full of life, and all the men wanted her. John had never been the kind of man to turn a woman’s head, so when Georgiana consented to marry him a few months later, he felt like Heaven had blessed him.

He opened his eyes again. He watched her drop her gown onto the floor and fall onto the bed, the alcohol dragging her into a dreamless sleep.

He paced again for a long time trying to figure out what to do. He rubbed his forehead and mumbled to himself. He knew that he should tell the authorities, but in the end he decided to keep her secret. He loathed himself for his weakness, but his wife meant everything to him.

John pulled the covers over Georgiana and lovingly brushed back her hair. There was a chill in the air, and he moved to the fireplace to light a fire. It sprang to life, flames of gold and blue warming the room. Cavendish stood up and sighed, looking at Georgiana. He picked up a broom and walked to the hearth. When the straw was ablaze he turned and lit his wife’s bed on fire.

*            *            *

Lauren and Gunnar found St. Clare, Samuel Claypool and Henry Bologne at the hideaway on Popple Creek. Flooded with relief, Lauren ran to James then embraced Henry and Samuel. Tears rolled down Henry’s face, and he said, “Glad I am to see my girl.”

“We went to the fluyt, but it was too late,” said James. “They were dead and you were gone. What happened? Did you see anything?”