The Lady's Slipper (37 page)

‘He’s gone that way. Old Scratcher. Sir Geoffrey. Not ten minutes ago, down yon stairs. The Master’s cabin—’

But Richard did not catch any more of his words, he was already running across the deck.

Alice clutched the piece of linen to her chest, unable to grasp what she was seeing. The jarring sound from above made it hard to think.

‘So it is you,’ said Geoffrey, ‘but I saw you last night, clear as clear, your feet were swinging…you were…’ His voice tailed away.

She could barely recognize him. He wore no wig and his face was gaunt and hollow-eyed. He took a tentative step nearer, looking at her as if she were an apparition.

‘How did you—’ she began.

He recoiled as if she had slapped him. ‘Leave me alone,’ he shouted, flattening himself to the wall of the cabin, ‘get away from me.’

‘Geoffrey—’

‘Get back.’ He looked at her through bleary eyes as if he did not know who she was. He shook his head as if to clear it. Suddenly he lurched towards her and took hold of her arm. She let out a cry of surprise.

‘You’re no ghost.’ He thrust her away. ‘How did you get on my ship?’

Geoffrey’s ship. She blanched. It couldn’t be true.

‘You were to swing for me, in my place. For the old woman’s death.’

Alice tried to take it in but could not order her thoughts. An instinct made her shrink away from him.

‘She’s following me,’ he said, ‘she won’t rest in peace. She’s on board somewhere. She thinks I don’t know but I’ve seen her, hiding in the shadows.’

‘You do not look well,’ Alice stammered, ‘let me fetch the physician.’ She started to move towards the door. She must find Richard, fetch help.

‘No,’ said Geoffrey, slamming the door behind him. He slid the bolt across. ‘I need time to think. I need to think what to do with you.’

A chill went over her. She prayed for Richard to come back. He had gone to the owner’s cabin. But the owner was here, so surely he would be back soon.

‘You can never go back to Westmorland,’ Geoffrey said.

‘I am not thinking to return.’ Her voice sounded normal, but her lips were dry. She sat down. Her heart was pounding. She must get him away from the door.

‘Come and sit a moment, Geoffrey.’ She indicated the place beside her.

He did not respond but continued to pace up and down in front of the door. He plucked at the fabric of his breeches with a shaking hand.

‘Tell me about your plans,’ she said. ‘I hear there are many interesting plants in the New World, like the orchid you showed me.’ She tried again. ‘You recall, Geoffrey, do you not, the orchid we were cultivating together, the lady’s slipper?’

‘Of course I remember.’ His eyes refocused on her as if she were a simpleton. ‘It has turned out to be a very valuable medicinal plant, just as I said it would.’

‘I am afraid the seedlings will not survive, now I am gone.’

‘Oh, but they will.’ He gave a hoarse laugh. ‘All your goods were forfeit by the court. No, I am growing them on myself. Johnson has care of them whilst I am away.’

‘That’s good.’

‘That idiot constable. He would have disposed of them. Can you believe it? Had no idea of their importance, of course.’

‘Come sit down then, and tell me how the plants are faring,’ she said.

Geoffrey stepped towards her. His colour had come back and now his eyes were less wild. ‘I am taking the extract of nerveroot myself. Look.’ He fumbled in his pocket and held out a small phial between his finger and thumb.

‘May I see?’ If she could only get him a little further from the door. She patted the bunk next to her.

‘I have made enough to last until I return,’ he said, ‘and the new plants are already showing.’

‘No, that cannot be right. You must be mistaken, the lady’s slippers would not be showing yet, only the—’ She bit her lip.

‘What?’ A fraction’s pause before he lunged to grab hold of her shoulders.

She took her chance and ducked out of his grasp. She leapt at the door, tugging to release the bolt, but it was damp and slippery and her fingers could get no purchase on it.

He launched himself at her back and thrust her aside with a force that made her stagger. He put his hands on her shoulders and shook her the way a dog shakes a rat.

‘You bitch. Which shelf were they on?’

Alice could not catch her breath to speak.

‘The lady’s slippers. Which bloody shelf?’

‘I don’t know–’ his thumbs pressed into her neck–‘the middle shelf.’

He gave a howl of rage. Alice choked, ‘It was the middle shelf.’

There was a moment’s pause before he slapped her hard across the face. ‘No. The top shelf. Tell me it was the top one.’

She did not dare move.

His voice dropped. ‘My God. I’ve thrown them away.’ With sudden violence he pushed her back against the wall, pinioning her there with a hand at her throat.

‘Stupid bloody bitch. You did not label them properly.’

‘Richard!’ she cried.

‘Quiet.’ He clamped a hand over her mouth and manhandled her across the room towards the door. She swiped at the bench for anything to use as a weapon and her hand scattered some papers before it closed around a quill knife. She felt its thin cold edge with her fingers. She jabbed it upwards, but a moment too late. He took hold of her wrist and, bending the fingers back, seized it from her hand.

She felt the needle of the blade penetrate her shoulder as he brought his full weight down behind it. The blow instantly weakened her. She said his name again to bring him to his senses, but felt the suck, and a rush of hot blood, as he pulled the knife out of her shoulder. A mewing sound came out of her mouth. She collapsed backwards.

Perhaps if she lay still he might think he had killed her. She closed her eyes, tried not to let her breath stir her. There was a pause. She strained to hear where he was. The sound of boot heels, then a hand gripped her wounded shoulder. She gasped in pain and opened her eyes. He was leaning over her; his breath had a peculiar rancid odour, the pupils of his eyes were like pinpricks.

‘I knew she had cursed me. Cursed me to live forever as if ants are eating me alive. You’re both alike,’ he said, ‘you won’t leave me be. But you feel warm. Not cold like her. And you’re bleeding.’ He stared at his hand before wiping it on his thigh. ‘Too much blood,’ he said. ‘Get up.’

He tried to pull her to her feet. Alice froze as his free hand slid around the back of her neck. The other hand still held the knife at her throat.

‘Do you need some company? Shall we let the sea take her?’ He seemed to be addressing an invisible audience. He tightened his grip, then released her and stepped away. ‘What do you think, Widow Poulter?’

Alice heard nothing–no reply, just the ominous tolling of the bell.

He opened the bolt with one swift movement and dragged her up.

The ship listed sharply to one side. Geoffrey struggled to cling onto her but she took her chance and twisted out of his grip. In a moment she was staggering out of the door and into the corridor. Her legs were limp as sackcloth and she put both hands out to the sides of the wooden walls to steady herself as she scrambled in a panic for the stairs.

A vivid orange flash and a shot whistled past her to smatter in the bulkhead beyond. She let out a cry, for the crack made her ears ring.

The air was thick with the acrid smoke of powder, yellow against the mist. She glanced behind to see him feeling his way towards her, the barrel of a gun still held out before him. My God, he was armed.

She had one foot on the stairs but another flash followed by a deafening blast stopped her in her tracks as a hole exploded into splinters in the ceiling above her. She dropped to her knees under a shower of shrapnel, whimpering with shock, her head covered with her arms. She began to crawl up; she could see nothing but a dense cloud of smoke behind her in the dim corridor. Above her the sky was the colour of whey. Everything seemed to be happening very slowly, as if she was wading through mud.

With horror she felt a tug on her skirts and looked down to see his hand clutching them. She snatched them away and leapt up, seizing the handrail with her good arm to haul herself above deck. She cast about for someone to help her but there was a pall over everything; she could see no one and hear nothing above the ship’s bell. The fog was still heavy and all spare men were up the rigging on lookout or baling below after the heavy seas of the night before.

The hazy shape of Geoffrey’s head and shoulders appeared from the deck below. She ran to the side rail but he was still coming after her, moving unsteadily through the mist, his gun levelled at her chest.

‘Alice!’ Richard’s frantic voice came from somewhere behind them, at the same time as another voice yelled the all clear. The clang of the ship’s bell suddenly stopped.

‘Oh thank God. Here,’ she almost wept, ‘I’m over here.’ Her voice seemed small.

‘Where?’ Richard shouted.

She heard Geoffrey swear under his breath as he stopped, fumbling to reload his pistol. She seized her chance and put the mizzen mast between her and Geoffrey, shrinking back behind its solid girth. Geoffrey spun round, took aim and fired–a shot that ricocheted off the edge of the mast and hissed into the white gloom beyond.

Instantly a figure hurled itself out of the mist and grabbed Geoffrey around the neck. His head jerked back and he let out a soft puff of surprise. Richard’s fingers clamped over his as he tried to prise the pistol from Geoffrey’s grasp. Geoffrey twisted and squirmed to free himself. Taking a deep breath, he jabbed his elbow sharp into Richard’s stomach. Richard doubled over, coughing, but Geoffrey rounded to face him, his hand still caught in the other man’s grip.

Geoffrey’s mouth dropped open, slack. ‘You!’ he said.

He tottered back as if winded. Richard seized control of the pistol and threw it to one side.

‘Is it not enough but you will haunt me too?’ Geoffrey whispered.

‘Leave her be. Whatever ill I did to thee in the past, let it rest with me.’

‘I will never let it rest.’ Geoffrey withdrew his short sword from his belt. ‘Not whilst dogs like you still walk abroad, and my mother lies cold in the ground.’

‘Hold off, Geoffrey. Let’s talk like civilized men.’

Geoffrey made a thrust towards him.

‘I will not fight thee. Put away thy sword.’ Richard backed away to join Alice.

‘Quaker coward,’ Geoffrey said. ‘What’s the matter, did you leave your farmer’s homespun at home?’

Richard looked down. ‘This is thy son’s suit.’

‘My son’s suit? Stephen?’ Geoffrey faltered, bewildered.

‘He lent me it.’

Geoffrey stared, and Alice saw the recognition dawn on his face. Then he seemed to make up his mind. He shook his head.

Richard continued: ‘We owe him our thanks. It was he that loosed us from the gaol.’

‘You lie.’

‘He speaks true,’ Alice said.

‘Shut your filthy mouth, Wheeler’s whore.’

‘Stephen set all the Quakers free,’ Alice said.

‘Don’t you dare to speak my son’s name alongside those traitors.’ He made a lunge, stabbing the sword towards her.

She screamed and leapt aside just as Richard threw himself at Geoffrey’s legs and floored him, scuffling to pinion his arms.

Geoffrey thrashed but Richard pressed his arms flat to the deck. With a heave, Geoffrey landed a vicious kick to Richard’s stomach and rolled free.

Richard floundered, clutching his belly. In the tussle the blade had slipped from Geoffrey’s grasp. Now it clattered to the ground and slid away on the tilting floor. Geoffrey snapped round to look. The sword glinted against the floorboards in a puddle of sea water.

Both men threw themselves towards it.

‘Hey!’ There was a shout from above. Alice looked up. One of the sailors was clambering down the rigging. Distracted, Richard glanced briefly his way and Geoffrey grabbed the sword first by the top of the blade. As Richard reached for it, Geoffrey whipped it away from his stretching fingers. Immediately Geoffrey rammed the hilt up against his jaw with such force that the blade flew from his grip.

Richard landed on his back, his hand feeling his chin. Alice felt sick.

‘Help him,’ said Alice.

The sailor paused a moment, but hurried away into the fog. She watched as, disorientated, Richard pulled himself to kneeling. Geoffrey lunged for the sword and Richard grunted and twisted his body to dive for it. When his fingers closed around the hilt he staggered to upright.

‘An end to it,’ Richard said and, holding the blade aloft, ran to the side. He drew back his arm and hurled the sword as far as he could over the edge. He paused a moment, listening for its splash into the blank nothingness beyond.

‘Bastard.’ Geoffrey had started after him but then spotted the pistol lying where Richard had thrown it down. He bent to scoop it up. Before Richard could turn back from the rail, Geoffrey raised the butt of the gun and slugged it hard into the back of Richard’s head. Richard groaned, fell heavily against the side rails, slumped and lay still.

A whimper escaped Alice’s mouth.

‘Oh God, Richard…’

‘Be quiet,’ Geoffrey said. ‘I’ll finish him once and for all.’ He unhooked the powder horn from his belt and cocked the pistol to refill it with shot.

‘No!’ Alice flew at him, knocking the pistol out of his hand. The powder horn and shot rolled away on the floor into the slopping water. Geoffrey watched them roll for a moment, then turned quietly to face her.

Unarmed, he approached a step at a time, holding out his arms towards her as if he would embrace her. She did not dare take her eyes away from him. She slowly began to back away. He sprang forward and she had no time to react; in one rapid movement he grappled her arms behind her.

‘Damn you, you bitch, I’ll have to finish you first,’ he whispered. She winced as his fingers sank into the flesh of her upper arm. He almost lifted her as he hauled her bodily across the deck.

‘Richard!’ she cried out, but he did not stir and she could see the back of his head oozed blood. ‘Please…’ She kicked desperately at Geoffrey’s legs, but he seemed impervious to her blows. There was an almost tangible animal frisson round him, like a stuck boar.