Ripples in the Sand (The Sea Witch Voyages) (18 page)

Thirty Eight

Thomas Benson was locked in the cellar with the two servants, the cook and the scullery maid. Aside from his mother, Nicholas, Isabella and the two baby girls there had been no one else in the house. His father was at Marley Court with Sir Cleve Hartley and was not expected to return until late – if at all. When John Benson and his friends started on the cards they often played until dawn. Nicholas’s manservant had been dismissed for the night; he lived in a cottage in the village, and the groom should have been in his own room above the stables, but as the screaming and pistol shots had not brought him running, he was either dead drunk to the world, or down in the village in a whore’s bed.

“Do be quiet, Aggie!” Thomas snapped at the maid. “I’m trying to think!”

“Us’ll all be killed!” she sobbed again, “murdered!”

“I’ll bloomin’ murder you in a minute,” Tom mumbled.

The men had approached the house as supper had been cleared away. One had knocked at the front door and Nicholas himself had answered it. The next thing they knew men had burst in brandishing pistols and cutlasses and had started ransacking the house and assaulting Nicholas. Thomas had tried his best to beat one man off, but he was no match for the scoundrel who had picked him up as if he were one of the babies, carted him to the kitchen and thrust him into the cellar with cook and Aggie.

The screaming had started soon after, and Thomas had hammered at the locked door with his fists, then tried breaking it down by ramming an empty keg at the panels, but it was a solid door, and the keg had broken into pieces. He heard another pistol shot… He had to get out! Had to!

The only exit was a small window high to one side. There was no way he could get through it, was there?

What if I strip my clothes off and cover myself in grease?
he thought.
Could I wriggle through then?
It was worth a try,

“Aggie,” he ordered as he started to strip, “stop that caterwauling and find some goose grease or oil, or something. Cook, start dragging those boxes beneath the window. I’m getting out of here and going to fetch help.”

Thirty Nine

Tiola stood perfectly still. It had gone quiet downstairs, but she turned her attention away from what might be happening down there and focused on this foul man in front of her; she stood calm and quiet, unblinking, her eyes staring at the man, eye to eye, holding his gaze. “I advise you to give the baby to me,” she said in a low, slow, voice.

He shook his head.

“What is it you want here?” Tiola demanded, although her voice remained low and calm, with no hint of aggression.

“They are looking for a list,” Grace Benson sobbed. “They seem to think that Nicholas has a list of names.”

“What names?” Tiola did not move her eyes, had not even blinked, her stare locked onto the man’s scarred face. “What list?” Tiola asked again, her tone sing-song, lilting.

He made no answer; just grunted and held the baby further out.

Her head slightly tipped to one side, Tiola stretched out her arm, palm uppermost, fingers spread, as if she were imploring the man’s mercy. He stared back at her, his eyes bulbous, mouth slightly open, lips twisted in an animal snarl.

“Hie…sssh,”
the sound, like an expelled breath left Tiola’s lips as she moved her fingers in a crude figure of eight movement.
“Step away from the window.”

The man’s expression changed. The snarl disappeared, the brows furrowed, mouth closed. Puzzled, bewildered, he gazed at Tiola as if he was unsure what to do.

“You will be doing as I command. Step away from the window and give the child to her grandmother.”

He obeyed. As if wading through waist-high water, he turned, walked to Mrs Benson and gave her the child. Grace collapsed in a heap on the floor, cradling the two little girls close, sobbing as she rocked and rocked them.

“You will wait for me on the landing outside, at the top of the stairs. From there, you will not move until I command.”

Shoulders hunched, the man shambled away.

Even though it was probable that Grace Benson’s extreme distress would cloud all memory, Tiola could not risk the woman remembering what had just happened. “Grace?”

The woman looked up, her tear-stained face turned towards Tiola.

Again the outstretched hand, the gentle breath of
Hie…ssh
.
“
You do not recall what happened, my dear. The man heard a noise and left the room, that is all you need remember
.”

Grace nodded.

“Look after the children,” Tiola said in her normal voice, “I will see what is happening; it has gone very quiet.”

“Be careful!” Grace pleaded, “we do not know where that bastard has gone!”

Forty

Padding on bare feet, as naked as the day he was born, his torso slick with lard and several scrapes and bruises, Thomas tiptoed towards the open front door, wincing as the stones of the gravel cut into his feet. Everything had gone very quiet, which was more frightening than the screaming and other noises. Was everyone dead?

He peered in through the open door, the hall ablaze with light. Movement from the dining room to the left. Men’s voices, then the sound of a fist on flesh; a grunt.

They were still here then. Still beating up poor Nicholas!

Thomas looked quickly around for a weapon, or something he could use, spied his highwayman’s cloak and hat crumpled in the corner where he had left them earlier in the day. He grinned, ran silently to the items, put on the cloak and hat and raised the pistol that had been under the cloak. He had no idea what he was going to do when those men discovered it was not loaded, but…

He half ran, half jumped into the doorway. “Stand! Deliver! Put your hands up you scurvy scum!”

There was a man bending over someone who was prone on the floor. Startled, he looked round. It was enough. Jesamiah rolled, kicked out, his feet catching a sharp blow on a shin, and reached for his cutlass lying not twelve inches away. He grabbed it, and lunged out, but his opponent was quicker. The man leapt back, spun on his heel, shoved Thomas aside almost knocking him over, and ran from the house, disappearing into the night.

Jesamiah got wearily to his knees and grinned at Thomas. “Now what have I told you about pointing guns at people?”

Thomas bit his lip, crestfallen.

“I reckon it’s more important to remember t’put yer boots, breeches an’ shirt on though, lad.” Jesamiah ruffled the boy’s hair. “You did well. Now, go find your clothes, get dressed and run as fast as you can for help.”

“Fetch my father and Viscount Westley?”

“Are they nearer than Tawford Barton?”

“No, a bit further on.”

“Then go to Tawford and tell Rue, my second in command, to get up here – tell him to send someone from the house to fetch your father. You come back with Rue.”

Thomas darted off towards the kitchen to let cook and Aggie out from their prison, and to dress as hurriedly as he could.

Jesamiah fetched his pistol, nodded briefly at Isabella and a barely conscious Nicholas, reassured her. “It’s over they’ve gone.”

Up the stairs, two at a time, pistol cocked. A man stood at the top, watching him come. Jesamiah took aim.

“Don’t shoot! I have not awoken him.”

Jesamiah glanced at Tiola, saw her raise her hand in part warning, part action to release the man from her spell.

“I couldn’t care if he’s asleep or awake. Whatever state, he’s about to be dead.” Jesamiah pulled the trigger. Sent the bullet straight through the man’s heart.

Tiola folded her arms. “That was not wise.”

“No?” Jesamiah was kneeling beside the corpse, going through the man’s pockets.

“Would it not have been an idea to have asked him a few questions before you killed him? Questions like, who are you, why are you here, what is this list you want?”

Pocketing a small money pouch, Jesamiah glanced up at his wife. “List? I’m getting bored with this bloody illusive list.” He stood, poked the dead man with his foot. “He wouldn’t ‘ave told us anything, sweetheart. I met him before, outside a warehouse.”

He pointed to the puckered white T-shaped scar on the man’s cheek, then prised the blue-tinged lips open. Said grimly, “He couldn’t tell us anything. The poor sod’s had his tongue cut out.”

Forty One

Wearily, Jesamiah leant his arms on the mantlepiece and rested his head on them. The bruised arm ached to high heaven, he could feel it throbbing from wrist to shoulder. Without raising his head he said, repeating himself for the third time, “Look mate, those bastards frightened both your daughter and wife and beat up your son-in-law. If one of them things had happened to my family I would not bloody sit there keeping silent about who was fokken responsible, and why!” He turned around, his eyes red from tiredness, one with the extra swelling of a black bruise. He spread his hands, not understanding. “Why the silence?”

John Benson sat in a chair, head in hands, elbows resting on the table. They had righted most of the furniture, the broken shards that were unmendable collected in one corner of the room to be discarded on the morrow. The clock, still ticking away, had chimed midnight ten minutes ago. Two drapes and a shutter were damaged, as was a section of the fabric wallcovering. The blood staining the square of expensive carpet would probably never be fully removed. The cost of replacing the broken window unaffordable. It would probably be bricked up.

Wiping a hand over his grey face, Benson looked up. “I am silent because I do not know the answers, Acorne. Those men were looking for a list of names. I know nothing of any list or any names. Do you think I would let those bastards get away with this outrage if I did?”

Jesamiah dragged a chair to the table. Its fabric seat was torn, and spotted with blood and other stuff. A reminder of the bugger he had shot through the head. He sat, rested one elbow on the table’s scratched surface, propped his chin up with his fist. “The way I look at it, John, I recognised two of those men. They were the low life who attacked me outside your warehouse in Bideford. Now, either they mistook me for your son-in-law, or they thought I have something to do with this list.”

Benson shrugged. “I have told you I…”

Jesamiah interrupted, “Let me finish. I heard of this list before I set foot on Devon soil. Jennings, Captain Henry Jennings, told me of it.”

Looking up sharply Benson hid the surprise that flashed over his face. “Jennings?” he said. “No, can’t say I know a…”

Again Jesamiah interrupted. “Don’t bother fibbin’ t’me. I know you know Henry Jennings. He sold you that boatyard you own, for one thing. I’ve sailed with Jennings, made part o’ m’fortune with him over an acquisition of Spanish gold. He came into Appledore harbour on
Sea Witch
. It were him who sent me to you.” A memory stirred at the back of Jesamiah’s mind. Jennings had mentioned several names deliberately. Why?

“Oh,
that
Henry Jennings.” Benson half smiled. “I misunderstood. I have not seen him for,” he thought a moment, “for I do not know how many years. And if he knows of this list, then he has the advantage over me, for I do not.” If he was not telling the truth, he was most convincing.

The door opened, Rue walked in, removing his hat as he did so. His boots were muddy; he looked as tired as Jesamiah, who leant forward and poured a good portion of brandy into a china cup. All of the glasses in the fancy cabinet were smashed. The brandy had been in the cellar.

Rue sat, downed the brandy in one gulp. “Nothing. We looked up and down the lane, there is no one, they are well away,
Capitaine, révolus depuis longtemps
. Long gone.”

Jesamiah was not surprised to hear it. Several of the men from the two Instow taverns had readily answered an asking for assistance, the promise of a guinea apiece fuelling their eagerness. “There may be some tracks come daylight,” Rue added, “but will they lead us anywhere?”

“No, a fool’s errand,” Jesamiah said. “We’ll have to wait until they try again.”

From the doorway, Tiola answered, hearing the words as she came in. “I trust not, these good people have suffered enough.”

The three men half rose from their seats, but she waved them down, sat wearily in the chair next to Jesamiah and helped herself to a cup of the brandy. “Your daughter is asleep, Squire Benson, the manservant is taking care of Master Hartley. Sir Nicholas would not permit me to administer to him, though I fear he needs a physician. The wet nurse has arrived and is taking care of the girls, and your wife is abed, asking for you. I have given the ladies a sleeping draught. I suggest you attend your wife before she falls full asleep. Your presence will reassure her.” She did not add that there was no one to reassure Isabella, but then, Tiola had assisted the distraught woman in her own special way. A subtle shift of memory, a calm altering by her gift of Craft of events, and Isabella had no recollection of near rape, of a man atop of her being killed, or even of being anywhere except her own bed. Stains on her nightshift were assumed to be her husband’s blood.Any fear that remained was nothing more than a recalled dream, and unless anyone reminded her, the events of this night would stay that way. And who was there to nudge her memory? The rapist was dead, the others also dead or fled. Nicholas had been unconscious, and John Benson had not been told the full facts because neither she nor Jesamiah had spoken of them.

Benson thanked both her and Rue who offered to stay for the remainder of the night at Instow House, to keep an eye on things. Halfway out of the room, Benson turned back, his face tinged slightly pink, his hands fiddling with his hat. “Hrmph. There is a meeting of family and friends at Marley Court; we are celebrating Lady Jennet’s birthday. I think it would be acceptable, given the various deeds you have committed for us this day, for you and your wife to attend. Yourself as well, Monsieur Rue? There will be those there who may be able to answer your questions better than I, Captain.”

Jesamiah almost stated that they had already been invited by Lady Jennet herself, but somehow it seemed churlish to be so pedantic. “We shall be delighted to attend. Thank you.”

“Good. Until midday then.” Benson raised his hat in gratitude for the immeasurable help this evening, and closed the door behind him.

With the Squire gone, Jesamiah grinned at Rue. “That offer of yours would have nothing to do with the fact that a certain young lady may well call up here first thing in the morning?”

Rue grinned back. “
Non, mon ami,
nothing at all.”

“You are almost as bad a liar as Jesamiah,” Tiola jested, then smiled at her husband, a weary, tired smile. “Take me to our lodgings, luvver, I have a desperate need for my bed.”