The Last Broken Promise (24 page)

“Charleston harbor!” yelled the boy high in the crow’s nest atop the mast.

It was good they’d finally managed to limp into port. The last few days had been harrowing. At least they had been for Jess and Dorcas. All the men had shown a rare united front in banning the ladies from the decks. The storm was too dangerous, they’d said. And it was. Jess could easily agree with their assessment of the weather conditions. The ship was too crowded for the women to be anywhere other than safely tucked, like so much treasured cargo, in Finn’s spacious cabin. The young woman knew this to be true, as well. She had no desire to run into the midst of any of the competing crews. Especially since Saul told them some of the sailors were stubborn in their misplaced loyalty to their former first mate, Hellwise Smithe. According to the old man, there had been several attempts to release the dishonored ship’s officer from his makeshift confinement in the hold.

Jess shuddered when she remembered her close call with the madman. She touched the healing raw wound at her throat. Her voice was still hoarse from the combined effects of her near drowning and being abused by Smithe. She took some comfort in knowing her brothers would summon the watch to the ship’s berth almost as soon as they’d tied the ship to Charleston’s docks. Smithe would face a judge and jury for what he’d tried to do. Treason and mutiny upon the high seas were both hanging offenses. She’d been amazed and grieved when Finn had told of her the extent of his brother’s perfidy.

So Jess was relieved when news of their approach to the premier southern port city was relayed to her by Saul. She and Dorcas set about packing their trunks. Charleston was not Dylan’s home. But it was very near the Savannah home of his wife Rory. She owned a plantation on a sea island off the Georgia coast, along with her older brother. And they shared a shipping company, as well. They were considered odd in that they
employed
instead of
owned
their workers. Jess always wondered if that fact influenced Dylan’s regard for her when he came to Savannah. The St. Johns also courted local scandal in Virginia for their adamant refusal to own human beings.

“Take a few minutes to get yourself tidy, Jess,” instructed Aunt Dorcas.

The older woman bustled about the cabin. In one hand she held a dripping wash cloth, in the other a bar of fine French soap. She lifted up both to the girl standing staring out the tiny porthole. “If you’ll just take one second to right yourself, I’m sure you’ll make a much more advantageous impression upon the good folk of Charleston.”

Aunt Dorcas was about as subtle as a broadside blast. Since Jess’s impending trip to London and marriage to McLeod seemed doomed, the old biddy had focused all her attention upon the rich planters of the Low Country. Even she would not see her niece leg-shackled to an itinerant circuit rider. No matter how rarified his antecedents were.

And sadly, in the matron’s opinion, Finn McLeod was pursuing that career path with the fierceness he’d formally used to hunt and track down miscreants for Arthur Bassett. The man was nothing if not relentless, she’d give him that. But, even though she was a dedicated Christian herself, she still mourned what she saw as the loss of an acutely eligible marital catch for her dear niece. The kinsman of a powerful duke was not the same as a penniless and homeless cleric with no prospects.

Jess smiled over at her aunt. She took the warm, wet cloth and did as the woman requested. It wasn’t that she felt the need to primp in order to snare some hapless rice planter’s son. No, Jess just wanted to get this whole wretched episode over with. She’d be glad to sit in a few over-flounced parlors and sip tepid tea. She’d be willing to smile mindlessly as some pimpled scion of a rich family awkwardly tried to court her. She’d even acquiesce to being trussed up like a holiday goose and paraded before the gentry like a prized auction filly. None of it would matter. For she’d made her mind up never to marry. She knew now she couldn’t be a nun. Differences in religious, notwithstanding, she had no desire for such a constrained life. But she could still do a lot of good in this world. She could become a favorite spinster aunt. She could work in Rory’s orphanage. And she most certainly could warn other young women of the downfalls of losing one’s heart to a Bible-carrying, verse-spouting rogue who felt he had a
higher
calling.

Oh, she couldn’t argue with him about his vow being sacred. And she’d never try to sway anyone into spiritual disobedience. But she had questioned God, on several occasions during the last few hellish days, as to the rightness of His plan. She’d wept. She’d fasted. Until Dorcas realized she wasn’t eating and forced her to resume taking meals. Jess had even laid a fleece before the Lord. In that particular faith effort, the girl prayed all night in the hopes that God would change her circumstances. She’d told the Almighty she’d know He was going to come through for her, if they over-sailed Charleston altogether and landed instead in Savannah.

The boy’s excited shout from the crow’s nest dashed the last of her romantic hopes. So, now she must summon her strength. Stiffen her resolve. And get on with the rest of her life. It wasn’t the first time she’d been compelled to such measures. And she supposed, with a deep gusty sigh, that it would not be the last.

“What’s wrong with you, girl?” Dorcas asked with no small amount of suspicion in her voice. “You’re not planning some new mischief, are you?”

“No, Aunt Dorcas,” Jess answered dutifully and truthfully.

The old lady nodded. She grinned. A gesture that seemed to be, at least to Jess, entirely inappropriate.

“Wear the indigo paisley, dear. It deepens the hue of your eyes. A wise woman is always prepared. One never knows when one will step down from a carriage or into a crowded ballroom and meet one’s destiny.”

At the moment, Jess had no use for either. She just wanted to get as far away from Finn McLeod as was humanly possible, in the shortest amount of time. Thankfully, she’d not had to face the man since she’d practically begged him to marry her on the deck of his ship, in the middle of a hurricane, with scores of men watching her humiliation. She could quite nicely live the rest of her life without experiencing
that
sort of rejection again. And she planned to do that very thing. No man would ever be allowed to get close to her again. She’d never, never let herself be vulnerable in such a way.

But she didn’t articulate this opinion to her broody hen of a relative. No, Jess just concentrated on changing her gown, braiding her hair, and pulling on her cream-colored gloves. A cunning straw bonnet was placed on her head as if it was the king’s own anointed crown, by Dorcas.

“Let us make our way up,” Dorcas said with a great deal of maternal satisfaction.

But all her happiness was short-lived. Both women turned in alarm as they heard the pounding of many feet running through the narrow corridor outside their bolted door. Then a cacophony of rough shouting and cursing followed soon afterward. Several long, tense minutes followed. Both women stilled, like a deer when it catches the scent of a hunter. The pandemonium continued unabated. The repeated sounds of fists striking flesh were especially brutal. Then it grew calm. Like the sea directly before the storm commences.

Dorcas gasped in terror as the iron latch on the cabin’s door rattled with menace. Jess calmly drew a small jewel of a pistol from the brocade reticule dangling by silken strings from her wrist.

She quickly discovered it was difficult to pray while aiming a firearm. But somehow she managed. She was fully prepared to defend both her aunt and herself. So it was a great relief when she heard Saul calling to them from behind the solid oak door.

“Miss Jess? Miss Dorcas?” his voice quavered. He sounded odd.

Jess tucked the pistol back into her reticule and went to the door as fast as she could. She jerked the thing open to reveal a bloody and beaten Saul. The girl grabbed his sleeve and hauled him into the sanctuary of the cabin. She slammed the door behind the wounded man and quickly settled the latch.

“What’s going on out there?” Jess asked as she ushered Saul to the bed. She carefully helped him lower himself to the counterpane. She reached out a hand to Dorcas for the wash cloth still sitting in the basin of water.

Dorcas immediately fetched the scrap of fabric for her niece. As the girl began to dab at the blood trickling down the sailor’s face, he began to speak, “It was Smithe. Somehow he rallied the men against Captain McLeod. A few jumped to the dock before we’d even tied off. Before I knew what was happening, they were back with the watch saying they’d captured a pirate. Seems they knew of a bounty being offered for Captain McLeod. That cursed Smithe must have lied to them with promises of gold in exchange for their loyalty. There’s only me and the cook left. The rest either scattered into the wind or were pressed to the gaol by the watch.”

“What of my brothers?”

“They were arrested along with the captain, ma’am.”

“These vulgar provincials had the temerity to arrest a duke?” Dorcas asked aghast.

Saul looked over at her. He shook his head. “None of your men-folks told who they were. When I tried to speak up, I got cuffed for my trouble.”

“Get down to the street and find out where the gaol is located,” Jess ordered. She threw off the confection of silk flowers and straw that perched atop her curls.

“You’re going to bail them out?” Dorcas began to fan herself. “If you do such a reckless thing, Jess, what little is left of your reputation will surely be destroyed.”

“If I don’t, they’ll hang him.” The blonde girl ripped at her gloves. Once they were off, she threw them to the floor. She turned to address the man. “I need britches and a shirt.”

“Br... britches?!” shrieked her aunt. “You will make yourself into a social pariah. The Quality will turn their backs on you when you pass them in the streets!”

“Aunt Dorcas, I’ll need horses, lots of them.” The girl threw open the lid of her trunk and feverishly fished around inside. With a yelp of triumph she lifted the small leather sack of coin Mother Marguerite Marie had given her. “Take this and buy mounts. Have them sent to the Cotton Exchange. I’ll meet you back here as soon as I can.”

“What? No!” the old woman cried.

“It’s a good plan, ma’am.” Saul nodded. “The men can ride for Savannah and we’ll sail the ship after them. No one will think about an overland escape. The watch’ll come back here thinking the ship is your menfolks’ likely way of running. But how will you get into the gaol?” he asked the girl.

“No, wait, this is not a good plan. What are you two thinking? This is madness!” Dorcas caterwauled.

“We’re thinking to save your kin, ma’am. And Captain McLeod, as well. Or are you content with having their murders on your head?” the man said succinctly.

“M… murders?” she answered weakly.

“Aye, they’ll all swing on the trumped-up charges Hellwise Smithe has crowed. They’ll hang and he’ll get this ship as a bounty.”

“But they haven’t done anything wrong,” she argued.

“Neither did Christ, but innocence certainly didn’t help him much when the crowd went wild with blood lust, now did it, ma’am?”

“Sacrilege,” she hissed. “You would compare mortals to God?”

“No, ma’am, I’m just saying we don’t have time to debate faith and reason right now. We need to get our men free.”

“He’s right, Aunt Dorcas,” Jess said as she kicked off her dainty, dyed India slippers. “Saul, go fetch the britches.”

Before he left, he repeated his last question to her, “How are you going to get into the gaol?”

“A holy sister is going to pray with those poor condemned men before they meet their maker,” she answered with a wide grin.

“No,” moaned her aunt. “You can’t impersonate a nun.”

Jess dug into the trunk again and pulled out her threadbare, rusty-black habit. “I can. I will.”

“But… but…”

“Saul, take my aunt to the street. Secure her a conveyance to the nearest hostelry. Aunt Dorcas, get as many mounts as possible. Have them sent to the Cotton Exchange. I’ll meet you both back here as quickly as I can. Saul, can you get us together enough men to sail for Savannah?”

“Aye, Miss St. John,” he said. “They may be a motley lot, but there’s always sailors prowling the docks looking for a berth.”

“Then have the ship ready to set sail when I get back. Aunt Dorcas, do you want to sail with us, or wait here? I warn you, I believe once I free the men, they’ll head into the wilderness. You’ll be here alone until I can send the ship back for you.”

“I’ll go with you,” the old woman muttered. She didn’t like any of what they were set upon doing. The risks were immeasurable. But chances must be taken, if they were to save their menfolk. “I’ll get back to the ship quickly, as well.”

“Good. I’ll pray for you both,” Jess said as she ushered them out of the cabin.

Once the space was still and quiet, Jess sought God’s blessing,
“Lord, help us do what we must. Please save all from violence and harm. Please let justice reign this day. Amen”

“I done told you, Sister,” the dirty man huffed. He scratched at the straining dirty shirt that barely managed to conceal his massive belly. “I done told you. You can’t go in there to pray with the prisoners.”

Jess kept her face lowered. The tattered wimple hid her features well. “But it is only an act of Christian kindness to let the poor men pray. All of Charleston knows of their grievous misdeeds. They shouldn’t be forced to enter eternity without the chance to confess their sins.”

The man thought on her logic for a moment. He dragged his hand through his greasy hair. He sorely wished his superiors were here. But they weren’t. None of them. They were all either safe at home in their warm beds or they were at a tavern.

“Think, sir,” she said with a low tantalizing voice. “Think how well you will be lauded for the saving of these men’s black souls. Why, I’m sure you’ll be promoted to a better, more impressive post. Why, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if you were made warden.”

He thought on that. It was a fine idea. He would make a good warden. And the increase in his pittance of a salary would most certainly please his slattern of a wife. He rubbed his oily nose. At length he nodded.

“I can let you back there for only a few minutes. They’ll need to git all their confessin’ done quick,” he warned as he opened the squeaky door further to allow her inside.

Jess’s nose twisted at the sour, rancid smell of the place. But she smiled up at the behemoth who’d just been tricked into allowing her in. “Oh, I’m sure I can lead them to the way of redemption in that amount of time. Bless you, sir. Your reward in Heaven shall be great.”

“I ain’t worried about Heaven. I’m looking for my reward in the here and now,” he grumbled as he ushered her deep into the dark stinking hall that led to the prisoner pens.

Charleston’s gaol was not an elaborate affair. In fact, Jess had seen better accommodations tendered to livestock. The gaol itself was a mere shack. Once through its dank interior, Jess realized she was being led out into the mire of an open, fenced stockade. Nothing separated the prisoners. Some of whom were presently engaged in fighting and other low violence.

The muck of the makeshift courtyard sucked at the soles of the sturdy boy’s boots she wore under her habit. The voluminous thing also hid the breeches and boy’s shirt she wore, as well. She’d need to move fast to get back to the ship, once she set this rescue in motion. She planned to lose the voluminous skirts and make her escape disguised as a boy.

She didn’t recognize any of the men milling about in the pigsty that passed for a municipal gaol. They banded together in twos and threes. Some looked to be dicing in the mud. Others seemingly smoked tattered rags. She knew them to be rough cuts of field tobacco, rolled into facsimiles of cigarillos. Jess quickly turned her head aside when she realized harlots had somehow gained entry to the prison yard. They were doing a brisk business against a far wall. She shuddered over the filth, and utter evilness of this place.

“What are you doing here, Sister St. John?” Finn McLeod, Lord Maitland, stood a few feet away eyeing her.

Jess raised a quieting finger to her lips. She hadn’t come this far to have the whole thing wrecked by an arrogant aristocrat. And, at the moment, Finn was completely and utterly arrogant. And furious. Jess edged nearer the fuming man.

“I’ve come so you can confess your sin,” she said in a loud, carrying voice.

Other than a few obscene invitations and loud curses, she was completely ignored by the tenants of the gaol. She moved closer still to McLeod. She pulled her hands out of her wide sleeves to show him a large Bible.

“Let us pray,” Jess announced like a village fair barker to all within earshot. “There is much to be gained by prayer and quiet reflection.”

“Sod off, you auld crow,” one rude oaf said as he shoved her into Finn’s arms. “We ain’t got the time for your pouncy bleedin’ prayers.”

McLeod’s arms gathered her closer. “Are you insane?” he growled. “Do you have any idea what they’ll do to you, if they find out who and what you are?”

“Do you have any idea what they’ll do to you and my brothers come the morrow?” she answered pertly. “Look under the Bible,” Jess hissed.

He did as she requested and found himself in possession of both a pistol and a knife. One he tucked carefully into a hidden seam in his boot. The other he hid under his long coat.

“Have you more?” he asked. It appeared he’d come around to her way of thinking.

Jess nodded. “I’ve an arsenal under this habit. Enough to arm you and all my brothers. Where are they?”

“Dylan is inside, locked in a strong room. He was quite persuasive. A few of our gaolers begin to think he may truly be a duke. So he is afforded a better class of accommodation than the rest of us. Connor somehow disappeared as we were being led through the streets. Griffin is chained to the well.” He jerked his head towards a corner of the rough stockade.

Through the smoke of the innumerable small fires, Jess saw a lump on the ground. A thick length of chain bound the mound to one of the well’s supports.

“Why is he chained?” she asked. Her heart sank. They had no way of freeing him from his iron shackles.

“The watch thought him a bit too belligerent,” Finn said. “So they punished him for his bravado.”

“Is he hurt?”

“Not mortally.”

She was amazed at the man’s sangfroid. “How will we get them out of here?”

“
We
won’t be doing anything. Give me the weapons. I’ll pray with you, to confirm your ruse. Then I want you out of here.”

“But… “

“No buts, Jess.” He bowed his head. “Now pray. And while you’re at it, pass me the weapons.”

“This is not the way I planned it,” she spat out under her breath. “I was going to help you all storm out of here and get to the horses I’ve had sent to the Cotton Exchange.”

“Welcome to cold, hard reality, love. Life is never the way we plan it. I’ll get Dylan and Griffin out of here. And we’ll take full advantage of the mounts. But you will not be
any
part of storming
anything
. It’s too dangerous. You will get away from here as far and as fast as you can.”

Jess snorted. “I’m no coward.”

“No, you’re the most courageous, lovely, hard-headed woman I’ve ever known. So I’ll say again, life is never, never the way we desire it to be. Do you honestly think I want to be a cursed circuit rider? In your wildest imaginings, did you ever picture yourself slopping through this particular bloody nightmare?”

“No, of course not. I had my whole life planned out in great and careful detail.”

“If you want to hear God laugh, tell Him your plans.” His sudden glamourous grin stilled the heart thumping in her breast.

“I love you, Finn McLeod,” she said with all the passion and conviction she could summon. “I’ll only ever love you and no other. Get out of this alive.”

His eyes became somber, “I can’t make you any promises, love.”

“Yes, you can. You can make me this one. Get out of this horror alive.”

“I’ll do my best,” he said. Then he bowed his head close to hers. “I love you, Jess.”

“I know,” she answered as a veil of tears crowded her eyes.

“Lord, help us. Save us. Be with us. Make us more like you,”
he whispered against the cool smoothness of her cheek.

“Amen and amen,”
she finished the prayer.

It only took another moment for Jess to transfer the pistols and knives she had hidden under her nun’s habit. Finn used the gathering darkness to stow them under his own clothing. The last thing she gave him was a tattered scrap of parchment. Once it was slipped under his shirt, he gently shoved her towards the poorly guarded gate.

“Now go, while I still have the will to send you away.” He tenderly set her from him.

“Read my note. I hate this,” she whimpered searching his stoic face for any sign that he might change his mind and let her stay with him.

“So do I,” he said quietly back to her. Then he frightened her by shouting out to the watchman, “Guard! Get this dried-up excuse for a female out of here. She’s prosing on about God and His eternal love. I’ve had enough of her boring drivel.”

His eyes told her of his love. But his face and demeanor were ones of classic boredom and disdain.

“Here now, Sister,” the fat man lumbered over to Jess. He latched himself to her arm and propelled her towards the ramshackle gate. “It’s time you got back to the convent. This here’s no place for a good woman.”

Jess let herself be escorted out to the street. She couldn’t trust her voice. It was sure to break and reveal the terror she felt. So she just bowed to the dirty man. He soon forgot her existence. She heard the first shots of the prisoners’ insurrection as she lifted her muddy skirts and turned into the square. She doffed her habit, stowed it behind a massive water oak, and ran as if her life depended upon it towards the docks.

Her headlong escape was brought up short by Connor’s snagging of her arm. He unceremoniously dragged her behind another huge, Spanish Moss festooned tree.

“What are you doing here?” he asked in that quiet, peculiar lethal way of his.

“There’s no time for explanations,” Jess said. “You need to go back to the gaol and help Finn get our brothers out.”

“No, I need to know why my baby sister is prowling about the streets of Charleston like a cut-purse.”

“There’s no time. Help them get to the Cotton Exchange.” Jess pulled away and darted off.

“The Cotton Exchange?” he called after her. “Why the Cotton Exchange?”

Getting no reply, he strode towards the riot that was the Charleston Gaol. No one guarded the door. Most likely the guards had fled at the first sign of trouble. Connor easily jerked open the iron-work gates. He fought his way through the melee to Finn.

As was always the case, once the issue of the watch was dispensed with, the criminals turned upon each other. McLeod stood over an unconscious Griffin defending him from the mob while Dylan struggled to get his brother free from the chain that bound him.

“Get him loose,” the big blonde man directed as he shoved a burly attacking seaman into the mud.

“Yes, well, we
had
thought of that,” Dylan answered sourly.

“Shoot the weakest link with your pistol,” Connor ordered.

“Tried that,” grunted Finn as he used his elbow to incapacitate a leering man who’d just moved to kick Griffin. “Didn’t work.”

“How about here?” Connor used his knife to indicate a small, almost jewelry-perfect, link resting in the hollow of his youngest brother’s throat.

“It’s too close to his flesh,” Dylan said.

Connor rolled his eyes. “You’ve both been living like lords too long,” he derided. “Step back. I’ll get it off him.”

Dylan frowned. “No, Connor.”

Finn saw no other way to free the man. So he shrugged and accepted whatever Connor would try.

There was no warning. The middle St. John brother slipped his sharp knife under the edge of the chain. He jerked the blade as hard as he could along the seam of the smallest link in the chain.

Griffin came to with a start and began fighting. He choked and gagged as the chain tightened around his throat. His face began turning an alarming shade of blue before the stubborn iron gave way under the combined force of Connor’s strength and the razor-edged blade.

Griffin coughed and sputtered. He rubbed a rough hand over the new set of garrote marks encircling his neck. When he finally caught his breath, he muttered a dire warning. “I’m going to kill you.”

“For saving your scrawny hide? If I’d left the task to these two buffoons, we’d all be dead,” Connor said while he wiped the length of his knife blade against the rawhide of his britches.

“You’re all still gonna die,” assured Hellwise Smythe. He stood before them with a cohort of his grimy followers.

“You can leave now, and live,” Finn suggested.

“Or you can stay and be slaughtered,” Connor finished the statement.

“It makes no difference to us,” Dylan shrugged.

“It makes a difference to me,” Griffin argued. “I’d rather they stayed.” He got to his feet and stood with his brothers.

“You think you can take us all?” Smythe mocked.

“Is he jesting?” Connor asked to no one in particular.

“No, I believe he thinks he’s intimidating us,” Finn commented.

“That would be poor judgement on his part.” Dylan grinned.

Griffin took off his thumb ring and cracked his knuckles in anticipation. “Maybe he’s got a death wish.”

As the wall of big warriors stepped closer and closer to Smythe, one by one his followers deserted him. It appeared they, collectively, were much wiser than their erstwhile leader. For he still brayed and postured.

“You can’t hurt me,” he blustered.

“Yes, we can.” Connor’s smile was chilling.

“It won’t do you any good,” Smythe boasted. “Cause I know exactly what’s going to happen.”