The Raider (16 page)

“I know,” Alex said wistfully. “It's just that I don't want anyone to see me like this.”

“You look a sight better like that than in those—” She broke off. “All right, I'll stay for a minute or two. What do you want to talk about?”

She started to take a chair, but Alex kept holding her wrist and pulled her to sit on the bed beside him.

“What have you been doing while I've been ill?”

“Fishing.”

“Nothing else?” he asked.

“What else
can
I do? It takes three times as long to gather half my catch now that I don't have a ship.”

He still didn't release her hand but held it. “No problem selling them?”

At that she smiled. “Admiral Westmoreland and his men are eating every penny of the Wentworths' profits from the chandlery. Mrs. Wentworth was frying clams yesterday.”

“How's Abigail?”

Jessica's mouth twisted in disgust. “The gossip is that she and Ethan retire directly after supper.”

Alex coughed to cover a laugh. “And how's your Raider?”

“Mad,” she said before she thought, then closed her mouth.

“Mad as in angry or as in insane?”

“That's none of your business.” She tried to move away from him but he held her hand firmly.

“Lover's quarrel?” he teased.

“We're not—” she said, then broke off and looked down

“You can tell me,” he coaxed. “I take it you saw him again. Glad he wasn't making a raid. I've been too sick to save you.”

She pulled away from him that time, grabbed a pillow and slammed it on his head, powder filling the air. “You ass!” she yelled. “You pompous, lazy ass! What happened is all your fault.
You
make me doubt him. He's
hope
to this town, while all you are is something to laugh at. You're nothing but a—” She broke off because, when she raised the pillow, Alex didn't move. His head lay to one side at a sharp angle.

“Alex!” she gasped and half fell across him, her face close to his. “Alex, I didn't mean to hurt you. I forgot that you're so fragile. Oh, Alex, I didn't mean it. Please don't be dead. I really am grateful for all you've done to help us.” She picked up his head and pressed it to her breast while stroking his cheek. “Alex, I'm sorry,” she said softly. “I won't hit you again.”

Alex smiled against her breast, enjoying her for several long moments, and then his hands came up to her back as he groaned.

She started to pull away, but he held her fast.

“Jess, your strength feels so good. Hold me a minute. Let me feel your strength flowing into me.”

She clutched his head closer to her, her hands gripping him. “I didn't mean to hurt you. You say such awful things that I forget you're so breakable.”

“Would…would you be sorry if I weren't here any longer?”

She hesitated. “Why yes, I believe I would be. You've caused me a lot of problems, but you've really been a friend to me and my family. I was pretty mad but, when I look back on it, you really did save me the day they burned the
Mary Catherine.
I might have done something that could have been somewhat foolish.”

Alex raised one eyebrow. “Somewhat. Yes.”

“Are you feeling stronger?”

“Much,” he sighed, snuggling his head against her breast.

“Alex, ah…I'm not sure this is what Eleanor had in mind. I need to go to work.”

“Yes, of course,” he said weakly, releasing her. “I understand. I'll just stay here alone until someone remembers me and brings me food.”

“I'll tell Eleanor as I leave,” she said, straightening her clothes.

“She won't be here this early.”

“I guess not. I'll tell her at home. I have to get my nets.”

“What do a few more hours of hunger make to one so close to death?” He rolled his head to one side.

Jessica sighed. “Maybe there's something left over in the kitchen. I'll see.”

She brought back cold chicken and bread and cheese, watered wine, and hard-boiled eggs. She put the platter beside Alex and started to leave, but he couldn't seem to reach anything by himself. Minutes later she found herself sitting cross-legged beside him and eating as heartily as he was. She began to tell him of her ideas for distributing handbills to the people of Warbrooke.

“We can't let this oppression continue,” she said adamantly.

“And your Raider refuses to help? I assume you asked him.”

Jess found herself telling him about everything except their lovemaking.

“You said he was angry. Why?”

Her eyes flashed. “I listen to you too much. I told him he was incompetent.”

“In those words?”

“More or less,” she said, blushing at the memory of her actual words. “He's not happy with me now. I may never see him again.”

Alex squeezed her hand for a moment. “If he's smart, he'll come back.”

She smiled at him, then glanced at the sun coming through the shutters. “I have to go. I'll miss all the fish.” She set the crumb-covered platter on Alex's desk, then paused and, on impulse, kissed his forehead. “Thanks for all you've done and thanks for listening to me. I'll tell Eleanor to let you rest.”

He smiled at her in such a way that she stared at him for a moment.

“You know, Alex, you don't look half-bad like that. When we find you a bride, we'll have to let her see you in bed. Rest now,” she said and left the room.

Alex leaned back on the pillows and laughed. “Jealous, Raider?” he said aloud. “You ought to be. She never talked to you like that.” He tossed the wig on the floor and settled down to sleep, a smile still on his lips.

W
HEN
there was no sign of the Raider immediately after Admiral Westmoreland's arrival, and the town cowed so easily at the sight of the English troops, the admiral began to relax. He enjoyed the sight of the people looking at their feet, their eyes angry but not daring to contradict him. He even began to brag. He told anyone within hearing distance that all that was needed was an iron fist.

Thus, he was unprepared for the Raider's next appearance.

The townspeople were wakened at dawn by the ringing of the big bell on the end of the Montgomery house that signaled danger. The bell had once been used to warn of Indians but now heralded fires and other disasters.

Men and woman, in various states of dress, came running from their houses. They called to each other, “What is it? What's happened?”

One by one, they began to see the handbills tacked onto their doors. With eyes that widened with every word they read, they gaped at the posters. The bills stated that Americans had rights, that English rule was going to come to an end. They said the English had no right to search without warrants or to house troops in American homes. There were words against the customs laws, saying Americans had the right to import and export goods without going through England.

“Seize them!” Admiral Westmoreland bellowed, standing on the Wentworth porch, wearing his uniform jacket over his long nightshirt. After a look of disgust at Mrs. Wentworth, he tore the handbill from her hands. “Back to the kitchen where you belong, woman.”

He turned on his heel to return to the house, but then the bell at the lighthouse on the south end of the peninsula began to ring. People stopped to look.

There, standing precariously on the top of the lighthouse was a figure dressed in black.

“It's the Raider,” someone whispered and the word “Raider” seemed to spread like a typhoon throughout the crowd.

As the town watched, he loosened a sheaf of handbills and let them float to the ground. Then he was gone.

“After him!” the admiral shouted to his half-clad soldiers. Two men had shaving lather on their faces.

“And seize these filthy things,” the admiral shouted, crumpling a handbill and throwing it to the ground. “Anyone found with one of these will be hanged.” With that he went back into the house and so didn't see Mrs. Wentworth step on the wadded handbill and slide it under a flowerpot.

That afternoon, Alex looked up from a tankard of ale in the Montgomery common room to see Jessica enter, a smile on her lips. She threw down a net of fish. She smiled even more broadly when she saw Alex.

“Did you see him?” she breathed. “I didn't. I couldn't get here in time, but everyone says he was wonderful.”

“I assume you mean the Raider?” Alex looked down at his ledger. He was trying to see just what Pitman was doing with the Montgomery books. “Damned foolish if you ask me. Now the town'll have serious problems from the admiral.”

“I agree,” Eleanor said as she held her hand in the oven, counting off seconds to judge its temperature. “We'll all be punished for what he did.”

“Yes, but did you read the handbills? I didn't see one.” Her face fell. “He didn't leave one on our door.”

“First sensible thing I've heard,” Alex said. “Now, Jess, could you please stop interrupting me with your fairy tales of that overdressed rabble-rouser? I'm trying to add these figures.”

Jess glared at the top of his powdered wig, then jerked the ledger around to face her. “Two hundred thirty-eight pounds and twenty-nine shillings,” she said almost immediately. She glanced up at Alex, then took his pen from him, ran her finger down the other five columns and wrote the total at the bottom of each one. She turned the ledger to face him.
“Some
of us can do things. Not
all
of us sit on our behinds and watch.”

With that she turned and left the house, ignoring Eleanor's demand that she return and apologize to Alex.

But Alex's words, unfortunately, turned out to be true. Admiral Westmoreland was enraged that the Raider would dare appear while he was in command. Three cargoes were seized immediately and put under guard. He said the shipmasters were suspected of carrying contraband, but everyone knew the three men had been in the street the morning of the Raider's appearance and the admiral had seen them reading the Raider's handbills.

Two men were jailed after English soldiers appeared in the middle of the night, searched their houses, and found the illegal documents.

But the admiral didn't dare hang the men, because even he could see how the townspeople were reacting. The Raider had done just what Jessica had wanted him to do—he'd given the people hope.

The admiral didn't want to push the rabble over the edge—as he thought a double hanging might—he just wanted to let them know who was in command. He whipped a young man for impertinence when the man was heard to mutter something about “independence.”

Jessica was returning one evening from gathering fish when she saw someone in the stocks in the town square. She almost tripped over Abigail who was hiding and sniveling in the shadows.

“What are you doing?” Jess demanded. “I almost ran into you.”

Abigail began to cry harder.

With a sigh, Jess put the bag of clams down. “What's wrong, Abby?” she asked, trying to make her voice sympathetic. “Have a fight with Ethan?”

Abigail blew her nose, then pointed toward the stocks.

Lately, the stocks had always been full, but now Jess's eyes widened. “Is that…your mother?” She was aghast.

Abby nodded and began crying again.

Jess put her hand against a tree to steady herself. It had been amusing to see Mrs. Wentworth frying clams, but now to see that proud lady like this was not amusing. “The admiral?” she asked.

Abby nodded. “He said her attitude wasn't properly subservient to the English.” Her voice rose. “He dropped cigar ash on her brocade chair and she complained.” Abigail began to cry harder.

“How long has she been in there?”

“Four hours. She has to stay three more, in the dark.”

“With no water, I guess.”

Abby looked appalled. “Oh no, the admiral's orders—” Jessica said something that made Abby's eyes widen. “I think I agree with you,” Abby whispered, “but he said no one was to speak to her.”

“I won't say a word,” Jessica said firmly, then went to the public well, withdrew a dipper full of water and carried it to Mrs. Wentworth. The woman was pathetic, her eyes dull, lifeless, her neatly arranged hair scraggling.

The woman looked up in surprise as Jess held the water to her lips.

“Your maid is probably stealing you blind,” Jess said softly. “And I hear Mr. Wentworth is allowing the dogs in the front parlor. And Abigail and Ethan are fighting.”

Mrs. Wentworth's head came up as far as it could, considering the yoke about her neck. “If she thinks she can come home after the way she embarrassed me, she'd better think again. And I'll have James's hide. And that maid—” She broke off, a smile beginning to form on her lips. “Thank you, Jessica,” she whispered. “I don't deserve your kindness after all the things—”

“Ssssh,” Jess said, smoothing back Mrs. Wentworth's hair. “You're my best customer. Shall I bring you a cartload of oysters tomorrow?”

“Yes, and could you get Eleanor to bake me half a dozen of those wonderful oyster loaves of hers? That is, if Sayer doesn't mind. And I'll need—” She stopped abruptly. “Oh, Jess, run!”

Behind Jessica, on horseback, appearing suddenly out of an alleyway, as if he wanted to catch evildoers, was the admiral. He held Jessica where she was with his swordtip.

“Who are you?” he roared down at her.

“Jessica Taggert, former captain of the
Mary Catherine,”
she said loudly.

He pulled the sword up, making her face him. “Ah yes,” he said softly, “the one the Raider wanted. I can see why now.” He dropped his sword. “I gave orders that no one was to speak to this woman.”

“She didn't say a word,” Mrs. Wentworth declared. “She was just passing.”

The admiral looked from one woman to another, not sure what to believe.

“Mistress Jessica delivers the clams you like so much, sir,” Mrs. Wentworth said, a pleading tone in her voice.

Jessica just glared at the man.

He looked Jess up and down. “You're too pretty a lady to dress like that. Wear women's clothes or you'll find yourself in the stocks.” He smiled. “Or perhaps I shall let my soldiers dress you. Good evening…ladies.” He turned his horse and left them.

“Go!” Mrs. Wentworth cried. “Go, and thank you, Jessica.”

Jessica ran, through the square, past Abigail who was staring at her as if she were half fool, half saint, grabbed her clams on the run and then headed toward the Montgomery house.

The common room was empty. As she was trying to catch her breath, Alex sauntered into the room.

“I saw you running,” he said, concern on his face. “Is everything all right?”

“Has Eleanor gone?”

“One of the kids was sick. Marianna sent her home.”

“Which one?”

“One of the smaller ones.” He shrugged. “Why were you running?”

Quickly, she told him about Mrs. Wentworth and the admiral. “I have to go home. These clams are for tomorrow.”

Alex grabbed her arm before she could leave. “Jess, I wish you'd stay out of the admiral's way. Did you ever think that maybe the reason the Raider didn't leave a handbill on your door was because he wanted you to stay out of this?”

She turned on him. “I am
sick
of your cowardice. Are we sheep that we are to go meekly to the slaughter? We have to
fight.”

“Let the
men
fight,” he said angrily. “This is not a place for women and children.”

“Poor Mrs. Wentworth is sitting out there in the stocks merely because she was protecting the covers on her furniture and you say we women aren't involved in this? Release my arm, I have to see to my family.”

“You won't have any family left if you keep antagonizing the admiral,” he called after her. “Damn the Raider!” he said under his breath and when Marianna walked into the room, he thought, damn her too because she'd married Pitman and started it all.

“What a look, Alexander,” Marianna said. “Have I done something?”

He swallowed his anger. “You can help me find some dresses for Jessica Taggert.”

Marianna opened and closed her mouth a couple of times. “I'm afraid to hear what that young woman has gotten herself into now. Come along to Mother's room and talk to me while we search for things Jessica can wear.”

It was hours later that Alex was on his way to his bed and his father called to him. Immediately, Alex's spine stiffened. It seemed he could forgive everyone for believing his disguise—except his father. The way the man had greeted him when he'd returned home, so coolly, still made Alex angry when he thought of it. What was it Jessica had said? Something about Kit and Adam being the “best” sons.

“You wanted to see me, sir?” Alex asked stiffly from the doorway. At least, his voice was stiff. Whenever he saw his father, he exaggerated the languid laziness of his body that he affected.

“Did I hear Jessica's voice raised in anger?”

“You did.” Alex yawned, allowing the lace at his sleeve to flutter. “She was angry because I did not agree that the Raider is our savior.”

“You don't agree that he's helping the town?”

Alex bent his knees so he could see himself in the mirror across his father's bedroom. He adjusted a curl on his shoulder. “I think the man is merely stirring up trouble. If he didn't appear, perhaps the admiral would go back to England.”

“You told Jessica this?”

Alex looked at his father. “Of course. Shouldn't I have?”

“Everyone has his opinion. By the way, did she find you the afternoon she was thrashing through the weeds?”

Alex didn't allow his surprise to show. “She came the next morning. Was there anything else? I am quite tired after my recent illness.”

“Go,” Sayer said with a grimace. “Go get your sleep.”

Alex's fists were clenched at his sides as he went down the corridor to his bedroom.

*   *   *

Jessica was still angry at Eleanor the next morning as she gathered her nets and started toward town. She'd left her clam shovel at the Montgomery house and, besides, Eleanor had insisted she go to Marianna and thank her for the four dresses she'd sent last night.

“That woman is getting altogether above herself,” Jess muttered, referring to her older sister. Eleanor had wasted precious early morning moments fussing with Jessica's hair, tying her corset and worrying over how her sister looked.