Raised By Wolves 3 - Treasure (21 page)

Fifty-Nine

We stopped at Massey’s, the gunsmith’s, on the way to the tailor’s.

We were somewhat surprised and quite pleased to find our pistols there waiting for us. We thanked him and gave him some coin for both his trouble, and to give to the men who had delivered our pieces.

That happy matter behind us, we forced ourselves into the tailor’s.

He was delighted to make our acquaintance, of course, but dismayed as to the amount of time we gave him. After much discussion of what I had available in clothing and what he had partially completed on hand, it was decided that he would make a coat for Gaston for the party, which my matelot would wear over one of my shirts and a pair of my breeches.

And then at a more leisurely pace, he would make Gaston two suits of matching jackets and breeches.

We were pleased to note that, though his cloth selections ranged from wool to velvet, he did not make his coats with the full lining and padding a similar piece would require in England. At my inquiry, he assured me one of his apprentices would have time to remove much of the lining from the coat I would wear for the party. I was much relieved I would not be as hot as I had been at the prior formal functions I had attended here on Jamaica.

I was also relieved I would not need to strip to the waist in order to be measured and fitted; as I was still covered by livid bruises from our Horse play before we left Negril.

To my surprise, Gaston delighted in the choosing of fabrics. He had never visited a tailor and had clothes made for him. We chose a deep green velvet for Gaston’s new coat: I liked the color; my matelot liked the feel of it.

At the man’s question of what footgear we would have, I remembered I had left my boots in the sea. I had shoes, of course, but they required wearing hose, a thing I was loathe to do in the heat. Gaston had nothing other than his soft boots, so we decided he would wear those. The tailor was appalled when we described them, and even more so when I told him I would wear the same if we could but locate some.

Thus when the tailor finished measuring Gaston, we eschewed visiting our friend Belfry at the haberdashery next door, and went in search of a leatherworker who could make boots similar to Gaston’s.

The cobbler could not fathom why any man would want a boot without a hard sole, and at our description of Gaston’s boots, denounced them as improper. So we went to Massey and inquired of members of the Brethren who might be leatherworkers. He suggested a man who made belts, baldrics, and ammunition pouches for many of his customers.

We at last located that man in a tavern. He was quite drunk, but he assured us he could make anything. We asked the barkeep and found out he had not been sober for three days. We bought him another tankard and left him there. Then we went to the leather shop next to the apothecary, where once I had bought a whip when Gaston wished to become inured to one. The establishment carried a great many things for horses and men, but no footgear. Still, the owner said he could do much with leather, and if we would provide him of an example of what we sought, he would see what he could do. So we returned to the house to fetch the boots – and my coat that would be altered – and returned to the shop. After examining Gaston’s boots, both on my matelot and off, the man agreed he could make them, provided we left the boots as a model. He then took many measurements of my foot, ankle, and calf before allowing us to leave.

The sun had passed its zenith when at last we dropped off the coat at the tailor’s. Weary in ways hours of battle did not leave us, we decided we wished to do no more shopping this day. Belfry would have to wait: Gaston had no interest in viewing hats or any other gentlemanly accoutrement, and I did not wish to endure the surely odd looks we would receive from Mistress Belfry after all the trouble in their shop with Sarah and Striker.

We wandered into the market and bought boucan and a pineapple, and ate as we walked slowly back home.

“So, now what shall we do?” I asked as we approached the house.

“Spend time with Bella and the puppies? Damn, we should have bought her something.”

“Perhaps we should see to another item on our agenda,” Gaston said glumly and regarded the house next door.

It took me a moment to remember why it held import, and then I cursed.

He awarded me a grim smile. “I have been thinking, we cannot resolve the matter with my father.”

“We could shoot him,” I said with a grin.

“That would not settle the matter of my inheriting or not,” he said after frowning for a moment.

“You are correct, it would only complicate it immensely,” I sighed.

“So,” he said, “let us resolve the things that we can.” He pointed at the house.

“I still do not know how this should be resolved,” I sighed, “but I suppose you are correct. And, we should at least ask her what she wishes.”

“Will we honor her wishes?” he asked with grim amusement.

“It will depend on what she wishes,” I said.

I was disappointed when Coswold answered the door. If any man should die of the flux, it was he.

He glared down his nose at us. “What do you want?”

Thankfully for him, I saw no light of recognition in his eyes.

“I am Lord Marsdale, Coswold,” I said with annoyance.

He winced. Whether it was because he had committed a grave error in not recognizing his rightful employer, or rather it was because he was now reminded of whom his rightful employer actually was, I do not know. I rather suspect it was the latter.

“Lady Marsdale is not expecting you,” he said.

“Of course she is not,” I said coldly. “I own this house. Get out of my way.”

He stepped aside with a bow.

“Were that the door?” a woman’s voice called out. It was not my wife.

I peered down the dim hallway past the foyer, and spied the plump housekeeper, Henrietta, scurrying toward us, squinting at what she could see of us in the light streaming through the door.

Coswold closed the door behind Gaston, and Henrietta stopped and truly saw us.

“Oh,” she said, and then, “Oh!” She curtsied belatedly and scurried back down the hall and up a flight of stairs. “My Lady!”

We found a sitting room off the foyer. It was filled with fine furniture pieces. All had thin carved legs and ornately embroidered cushions; I thought it likely they were French, and I wondered where she had found them in Port Royal: she surely had not had time to have them shipped.

Cursing wafted down through the ceiling as we sat on the settee.

Coswold stood in the doorway like a statue. I thought of asking him for water or perhaps wine, but suspected he might spit in it.

There were slow steps on the stairs. Coswold finally moved, his nose held high as he walked down the hall toward the back of the house. And then she appeared.

She had become plump since last I saw her, and it was not the baby.

Her belly was surely as huge as my sister’s, but Sarah was still thin about the limbs and face. Though she was perhaps not truly fat, Vivian Williams looked as if she were carrying a little baby everywhere, and the loose pink dress she wore only served to make her look rounder.

Her long honey-colored hair was plaited simply, and hung over her shoulder. As always, her hazel eyes would have been lovely if she were not scowling.

“I wondered when you would turn up,” she said, and made her way to a chair to sit.

“We arrived in town two days ago. How are you?” I asked.

She snorted with wry amusement. “Pregnant.”

“When are you due to birth?” Gaston asked.

She glared at him, and her answer was smug. “Within a month, or so the silly midwife says.”

Gaston and I exchanged a glance. Sarah was due within a month.

We knew when Sarah had conceived: likely her wedding night, if not two days earlier during her tryst with Striker in the back room of the haberdashery. I knew Vivian had not conceived on our wedding night the day before Striker’s. When we returned in April, Sarah had mentioned that my wife was telling all she was with child, but also, that she appeared to have taken a lover. I had thought Vivian had taken her lover in March, perhaps, at the earliest; but if she were indeed as far along in her pregnancy as my sister, she had taken the lover sooner after I had sailed than we had realized. It made it possible for her to claim the child was mine.

If she had not been indiscreet – presumably because she was drunk on rum, as she had been every time I had seen her – no one would have known of her ruse; except me, who knew good and well where my cock had and had not gone.

She was glaring at me, now. “You proved to be able to do something right.”

“It is said you took a lover,” I said.

She glanced toward the doorway and frowned, and then leaned forward as much as her belly would allow to whisper, “What do you care? If I have a boy, we can be done with one another.”

I leaned forward and whispered in return. “I thought that, too. But then I heard everyone on Jamaica knows of your infidelity. It is likely my father will not even believe the child is mine.”

She snorted dismissively. “It could be yours; all you need do is claim it so.”

“If I in any way thought it was mine, I might,” I said. “And though it seems you moved far more quickly than I gave you credit for, I still feel the ruse will be discovered even if your lover has my coloring.”

“I do not have a lover,” she hissed. “And how do you know it is not yours? God could have smiled on our wedding union just as He did your sister’s.”

“Only if I am an angel,” I said. “I did not put my prick in you that night. You were being such a bitch I wanted no part of you. So I broke your maidenhead with my dagger hilt.”

She slapped me. I saw it coming but I did not flinch. Her eyes were filled with such cold fury she would have struck me down with lightning bolts had she the power.

She clambered to her feet and nearly ran to the door to look up and down the hall.

“Out!” she screamed at someone. “Go to the market! Do something useful, you damn bastard!”

“Lady, I do not listen to your conversations,” Coswold said stiffly.

“If I am careful!” she snarled. “Now leave!”

She turned back to us and seemed to want to pace; but the effort, or perhaps the might of her rage, tired her and she returned to the chair to collapse into it ungracefully.

“I hate him,” she snarled at me. “Almost as much as I hate you.”

“Then dismiss him,” I said.

“I have tried,” she hissed. “He will not go. He says you are his employer, not I.”

“That is easily mended,” I said. I looked to Gaston. “How much coin do you have?”

He handed me all he carried and I considered the contents of my coin purse. The silver we carried was more than adequate to get the damn man back to England. I pulled the gold from my bag and his and gave it to Gaston. I combined the silver together in one pouch. Then I went in search of Coswold.

I found him donning a hat with ponderous dignity near the door to the yard. I handed him the silver coins. “You are dismissed. Pack your things and leave immediately. We are waiting.”

“My Lord, surely you jest!” he cried.

“Nay, I do not,” I said with a smile. “I have never liked you. I have ever found you disrespectful. And if she does not like you, either, then you are gone. Now pack, and do not give me reason to inspect your things before you leave.”

“I would never,” he hissed and turned away to stomp up the stairs.

“Is there anything you feel he might steal?” I asked as I returned to the drawing room.

Vivian was regarding me with guarded wonder. “Aye,” she snapped and lurched to her feet again. She climbed the stairs and soon we heard more yelling.

Gaston came to join me in the hall. “Should we go up?” he asked.

I sighed and shrugged.

He began to ascend the stairs. I awarded him a raised eyebrow. He shrugged and kept walking.

I soon heard, “This is not your concern!” from Coswold. I did not hear Gaston’s reply, but Vivian laughed.

There was a sound beside me and I turned to find Henrietta regarding me fearfully.

“You are not dismissed,” I said kindly.

She sighed with relief.

“Was there not another girl, a maid?” I asked.

“Tess, my Lord,” she said quickly. “She’s gone.”

“Did she become ill?”

Henrietta shook her head. “Nay, my Lord. She stole some of the Mistress’ money and took a ship home. She had a man she wished to marry there, and she… Well, it were just best is all, my Lord.”

“Do you wish to return to England?” I asked.

She shrugged her wide shoulders. “Nay, my Lord, got no kin left. An’

I be just a maid there.”

“Well, since you will now have to do all of the work, you can have Coswold’s and Tess’ salaries in addition to your own,” I said.

Her jaw dropped. “Thank you, my Lord,” she at last managed to say.

Coswold finally stomped down the stairs, with Gaston and Vivian in his wake. With one last look of concern at Gaston, the man hurried out the front door.

“Did you tell him what you did to the last arrogant servant we encountered?” I asked.

Gaston shrugged as he walked past me into the sitting room. “I told him he would not be missed if I slit his throat.”

I grinned, and turned to find Vivian doing the same. She quickly sobered, as if I were not allowed to see her smile.

“Henrietta has told me about Tess,” I said. “I have informed her that since she now must do the work of three, she can have all three salaries.”

Vivian nodded slowly, and gave Henrietta an actual kind smile. “I agree to that. Henrietta has been with me since I left the nursery.”

“Thank you, my Lady,” Henrietta said with a warm smile of her own.

“Would you like tay?”

“Nay,” Vivian said, and made her way past me into the sitting room.

I smelled an odor about her that I often had: pineapple, coconut, and rum. I was seized with the odd thought that her child would most likely smell like that, and not the innocent milk smell of puppies.

“So now what will you do?” she asked as she returned to the chair she had occupied before. Her rage seemed past, but I knew the reserve she now seemed to possess was due to rum and not fortitude.