The Lost Duchess (26 page)

A chill ran through her.

‘You would take other innocent lives?’

‘It is a quandary, as I said.’ He looked hard at her. ‘I must say, you ask searching questions for a maid.’

She turned back to the crude chimney place and busied herself with shovelling up the ash from the hearth.

‘I am only concerned for the welfare of our city.’

‘As are we all, and must trust in God to guide us, and give thanks for the manifold mercies he has shown us in safeguarding our city thus far.’

‘Yes, of course. But what will you do?’

‘
Do …?
To react in haste is often to err. I am considering. Should I note the use of this herb by savage maidens, do you think?’

She glanced over her shoulder and saw him staring down at his picture.

‘Your page is already quite full.’

‘Hmm …’

He put his pen aside and took a blue flower from the spray she had placed in the pottle.

She tipped the ash out in a bucket and moved to stand near him. Then she picked up the pottle and put the rest of the flowers on one side.

‘Have you spoken to Manteo’s people to find out what they know? They are still our friends, aren’t they?’

He nodded.

‘I am thinking of sending a delegation to the Croatans, but that would mean despatching Captain Stafford in the pinnace. Their island is some sixty miles distant, a long way south of Port Ferdinando; such a mission would take at least a few days. Or do I send Stafford to the mainland to raid the nearest village before the savages run away? That village, Dasemonkepeuc, is almost certainly where Howe’s killers came from.’

She gave a small sigh of despair. Could he not decide upon anything? She remembered Walsingham’s advice when she had been given leave to join the voyage in the presence of the Queen.

‘I once heard someone say that to act on knowledge is better than to act on conjecture.’

‘True indeed. Perhaps we should talk to the Croatans first. Yes.’ He held up the flower and pointed at it with his brush. ‘Look at the
beauty of this gentian, the depth of the blue, purple and pink. See how its petals are patterned like a star …’

A knocking at the door stopped him short. She turned to see Ananias Dare show his head round the frame.

‘My wife would like something to eat and drink, if you will, Emme.’

‘Certainly.’ She moved to attend upon her mistress and take her a cup of fresh water first.

The question still turning in her mind was whether the Governor had decided to do anything at all.

As she left the threshold she noticed Kit standing outside, not far from the door, and he looked so fine her heart gave a lurch. He stood like a soldier with a caliver on his shoulder and a belt of cartridges across his chest; powder horn, shot bag and match-cord hung by his waist. A sword was at his hip and in his free hand he held his helmet.

Whatever Governor White might be thinking, it looked as if Kit had already made up his mind.

He saw her and beckoned, and her pulse quickened as she neared him, though his expression was sombre.

She wondered what he had to say.

‘Speak of me as I am …

… Of one whose hand,

Like the base Indian, threw a pearl away

Richer than all his tribe …’

—Othello
by William Shakespeare, Act 5, Scene 2

Kit led Emme to the clearing behind the house, the place where he had kissed her when they had been alone together last, where the flowers and weeds grew tall and the shade was deep by the rough blank wall. Would he kiss her again? She kept close to him, half fearing and half hoping he would. She yearned for another kiss yet she remained nervous of his touch. Kit was the only man she could bear to hold her since Lord Hertford had shamed her and left her defiled. Her guilt was like a shadow in a sealed locket around her neck. What if Kit wanted to do more than kiss her? She did not know whether she could bear it. And if he wanted
to do more, then shouldn’t she confess? She needed to be sure of him, certain he would be true to her, though in her heart she already knew. She needed to hear it: some affirmation to give her comfort, albeit that her body was melting just through being beside him, weakening and trembling, thirsting for an intimacy as dangerous as fire. Yet the look on his face was confusing. He seemed forbidding, as if his mien was a book that had been shut and bound closed.

He propped his caliver against the wall and spoke softly without touching her.

‘We are going to Croatoan to speak with Manteo’s people. Captain Stafford and most of the Assistants agree on this. I am about to tell Governor White.’

‘The Governor was thinking about doing exactly that,’ she said with as much confidence as she could project. ‘He told me.’

‘We need to act now. I’m sure he’ll agree.’

She looked at him, waiting for him to meet her gaze though he seemed reluctant to do so. Perhaps he was abashed. Maybe what he intended to say was of such importance to him that he found the saying difficult. Was he about to declare his love, not just now but for ever? Would he suggest that they live in Virginia together and set up house as man and wife? Would he pledge his troth to her? Would he say what she most longed for and feared? When his eyes found hers she smiled a little.

‘I will go too,’ she said.

He smiled back at her; she saw it. His smile was there for her; then it was gone in an instant. She longed for him to show some affection: take her hand, caress her cheek, put his arm around her shoulders; it need not be much. Her desire for him was so great that
she felt the heat of it spreading and flowing through her like a star-burst spraying light. She bit her lip and clasped her hands together, hoping that the shade would hide her blushes. She looked back at him and saw him frowning and that his features were on the cusp of giving way to emotion, as if a struggle was going on inside him between passion and reason. Then his angel-blessed face set hard as sculpted stone.

‘I would like you to come with us,’ he said.

Those words were music to her even if his expression was perplexing. She reached out to brush her fingers against his free hand.

But he did not take hold of her. He broke contact and clasped his belt.

‘Once we have spoken with the Croatans we will return to the
Lion
. Stafford will report to Ferdinando and prepare to sail back to England. You must go as well …’

‘No,’ she blurted out, seizing the leather of his sleeve. ‘I will not. I am staying here … With you,’ she added, feeling tears welling up and the words dying in her throat.

He prised her hand from his arm and stood apart from her. The set of his face was grim.

‘You cannot stay; it’s too dangerous.’ He took a deep breath and bowed his head, not looking at her, as if he did not trust himself to look at her.

‘I thought at first there might be a chance – for us – despite who you are and your duty to your true mistress. But not now. Not after what has happened to George Howe. The savages …’

‘That was just one incident: a misunderstanding.’ She reached out to cling to him, then hesitated as he drew back. She bunched her hands into fists. ‘How could the Indians know that we come in
peace? Once you have spoken to them, and made clear that we bear them no ill-will – that we can forgive …’

‘No.’ He cut her short, and the authority with which he spoke came from years of being obeyed. She felt it, and it silenced her.

‘Listen to me,’ he said more gently. ‘Things have happened here that have turned the savages against us. I don’t know everything, but I know enough now to realise that you would not be safe here. Howe’s fate could be yours …’

He turned away from her but she glimpsed his face crumpling. He put his hand to his eyes and his voice tightened. ‘I could not bear that.’

She took a step closer and reached for him again, tentatively and with unsteady fingers. She placed her hand on his cheek and felt the wet of his tears. A lump formed in her throat and she knew that she too was weeping. Tears flooded her eyes.

‘I do not care. I wish to stay. Georgie needs me and so does Mistress Dare. More than that, I wish to be here with you. This is my choice.’

She put both her hands to his face, lightly and gently, turning him to look at her.

‘We can forgive and begin again. I cannot believe that the Englishmen who were here before us can have done anything so dreadful that it has made enemies of the Indians forever. We must have courage …’

He shook his head and grasped her right hand. ‘Try to understand. White never meant to come back here, not to set up another colony. The plan was to go to Chesapeake because the savages there appear to be well disposed to us. That is no longer true here; some of them now hate us, I mean the people who used to live on this
island: the Roanokes and their allies, the Secotans. I’m sure of that now.’ His face darkened. ‘I saw what they did to George Howe.’

‘But why?’ She was trying to understand and could not. All she knew was that she was crying for his love, for the love he was trying to hide from her, for the love that might heal her. ‘What have we done to hurt anyone?’

‘Not us – Lane. I’m still trying to find out what happened, but I believe Lane abused the trust of those who once dwelt here. He drove them from their homes and taught them to hate us. They were led by a chief called Wingina who was killed on Lane’s orders along with many of his followers not long before Lane left. Wingina was their
weroance
, like a father to them all, and Lane had him murdered. I knew that before I set sail. I did not realise what the consequences for us would be. I had thought that Lane’s troubles would not be ours.’

Kit hung his head and held open his arms, and she moved until she could wrap her arms around his waist. That felt so lovely. When he embraced her she did not recoil. Her fear of him was gone; only the fear of what he might say to her remained.

He nestled his brow in the crook of her neck. ‘I am sorry,’ he whispered. ‘I should have told you before.’

She clasped him tight, aware of all the pieces of weaponry that hung about his hips, feeling the knife under his padded jacket, and the helmet that he held against the small of her back. She did not mind. He was close to her. She did not want him to ever leave her.

‘So now they have no leader?’ she murmured, hoping that at least this might be some help.

‘That may make our position worse.’ He kissed her neck then raised his head, giving a sigh before speaking as if the weight of what he had to say was a burden he could not escape.

‘When Manteo first came to England he did not come alone; another savage came with him, a man from Roanoke called Wanchese. This man learnt our ways, just like Manteo, but whereas Manteo grew to love us, Wanchese resented his abduction and loathed our intrusion upon his homeland. When Manteo and Wanchese were taken back to Virginia, Wanchese rejoined his people to counsel them against us. He did not return to England again; he wanted nothing more to do with us. Manteo has told me this. Our fear now is that Wanchese leads the Roanokes and perhaps some of the other tribes who are allied with the Secotans. If he leads them, it will be against us.’

She hugged him. Nothing he had said really worried her; her worries were all about whether she could hold onto his love. He had wept for her and she had touched his tears. She did not need more reassurance that he believed he loved her now. But would he love her if he knew of her shame? Would he ever make her his wife? Or would he insist she went back to England? She would not go if he did. What he had told her about the Indians seemed no more than conjecture: possibilities that were as remote as death, real but distant when life was for living. Nothing was beyond hope.

She moved her hand to his chest and felt the heave of his breathing: life of her life. What could she say to give him faith?

‘But you cannot be certain about the enmity of the Secotans. Let us go to Croatoan where the Indians are friendly and find out what we can, and, if the news from Manteo’s people is that the colony is at serious risk here, then we can always move to Chesapeake…’

‘That would be difficult.’ He cut her short. ‘There are nearly six score of us, three times as many as the pinnace can take aboard, and whilst the winds and currents would help us north, they’d make
getting back here by sea almost impossible. We don’t have the craft on Roanoke to relocate so many people, and, even if we did, the passage would be risky, through swamp and little known territory, or chancing wrecking hurricanes off shore. We’d have no shelters waiting for us and no crops sown for next year. Our supplies might last us through the winter, but then we’d go hungry unless the savages helped us. We’d need to work with them in setting fish traps and finding game, learning what was safe to eat and finding our way around the land and rivers. Life would be hard…’

‘Shhh.’ She raised her finger to his lips. ‘You’ve said enough. We should not consider Chesapeake unless there is no alternative. But we do not know that yet. We need to speak to the Croatans.’

‘We will do that,’ he murmured, nuzzling her neck. ‘I see no reason why you should not come too, since Manteo’s people are our allies and we will rejoin the
Lion
afterwards. Then you must stay aboard for the voyage back to England.’

‘Perhaps.’ She snuggled closer to him, determined now that she would never leave, neither would she fight with him.

‘You … must … go,’ he said, bending over to kiss her, smothering the words against her mouth, pressing his lips against hers as if the strength of his kisses would force her to comply.

She arched her back and had no will to protest.

*

‘You’d better put this on.’

Kit tossed over a leather brigandine, the sort of old-fashioned surcoat covered with plates and studs designed to protect against arrows, though Emme doubted whether it would be much use against bullets and honed steel. But the Indians didn’t have firearms, she remembered, they didn’t even have metal, and the coat
would probably be more comfortable than the plate armour some of the men were wearing; she had dreaded being made to don a corselet in the sweltering heat. She ran her fingers over the rusting iron embedded in the stiff cracked leather that had rubbed through in places to expose a crumbling under-hide. It had probably been made in the reign of good King Harry, and for how many years afterwards had it knocked about in a ship’s hold? She found a patch where the leather was stained black and there was a hole the width of her thumb. Had blood soaked it once?