Emerald smiled and looked at Jette.
He sat quite still now, small hands folded in his lap, his eyes searching her face. “I don’t want to live with Cousin Geneva anymore. Felix will be with her.” He gave her a brooding look. “Do you like Felix?”
She caught the faintest suggestion of anxiety in his voice and realized that Jette feared the man. She could not lie to the child, for she could find little about Lord Felix that appealed to her, but it was wrong to discuss the man’s flaws. If she filled Jette’s mind with suspicions now, there would be no undoing them later.
And yet she saw a dilemma. If she sided with Felix, she would risk losing Jette.
“I know little about him,” she said truthfully. “Only what I’ve heard. And what we hear others say can many times be wrong. I’ve never met him. What I think of him doesn’t truly matter, since it is Geneva who wishes to marry him.”
He said nothing and watched her through guarded eyes.
“You must say nothing of what you heard tonight to anyone,” she told him again. She looked firmly at the twins. “And that includes both of you.”
They nodded, eyes wide. Timothy placed his small hand over the mouth of Titus, who did the same to Timothy. Jette jumped up and crawled over to the hound, placing his palm on his wet snout. He quoted:
“‘Our secret is bound,
to death in the ground.’”
The hound’s whiplike tail beat affectionately against the floor.
Jette hesitated as if he were going to say something else. Then instead, he stood, the twins and hound with him.
“Are you going to the wedding ball, Emerald?”
She smiled. “I fear I must. The viscount’s orders.”
“Then Baret will be there?”
“I suppose so,” she said casually, trying not to think about that.
“Baret must think I’m at the Big House.”
“You will be, first thing in the morning. Minette will bring you there for breakfast. Geneva’s orders. I’m sure the viscount will come see you there tomorrow.”
He nodded. He walked to the door and looked back, his eyes pleading.
“Emerald, will you come with me and Baret when we sail?”
So she had not convinced him. He was still determined to go with his brother. She decided that only Baret himself could persuade Jette and calm his excitement.
“We’ll talk later,” she said.
He nodded sagely, went out with the others, and shut the door gently behind him.
Emerald stood for a moment, then left her room and hurried to the stairs. She must tell her father that Jette had overheard their discussion. The viscount would need to be informed.
Drummond was clearing away some dishes from her father’s desk as she entered. He looked up, a disconsolate expression on his angular face.
“A wicked day for the Harwicks if you ask me, miss. With Lady Geneva’s wedding to take place, and now the master up and gone for his ship at Port Royal. I fear we shall not be seeing a merry moment more.”
“He’s left then?” she asked, a dullness settling over her heart.
“Said he had important matters to attend to about Ty. He’ll be back before setting sail though. The day appointed for departure by Captain Morgan hasn’t been decided yet. There’s to be a meeting in Port Royal in a few days, so I’m told.”
Weariness assailed her. “Has Minette returned?”
“No, not yet, but if it’s the whereabouts of Jamie that’s troubling you, miss, I’ve heard they’re still searching for him. Mr. Pitt is out with a crew of ten men. The word is he’ll hang. I’m sorry, miss. About Ty too.”
She nodded and said nothing. Wearily she went past him up the steps, turning to look back. “And Drummond—Jette and the twins must be brought to Lady Geneva first thing in the morning. You’d better go with Minette to make certain they arrive on time. Geneva wants Jette there before his lordship arrives.”
“As you wish, Miss Emerald.”
14
EXECUTION DOCK
Baret knew that his uncle’s arrival in Jamaica was motivated by more than his marriage to Lady Geneva Harwick.
Lord Felix Buckington had arrived from Barbados with two other of the king’s courtiers, who for monetary gain were Spanish sympathizers. His mission was to convince Governor Thomas Modyford that King Charles frowned on the use of the buccaneers to defend Port Royal from the danger of an attack by Spain.
When in London, Felix had been a secret member of the controversial Peace Party, which was seeking to convince King Charles to make a treaty with Madrid as war with the Dutch appeared inevitable. Felix told the governor he was to put a swift and terrible end to the use of pirates by making an example of any privateering scoundrel held in Brideswell. The king’s orders were indeed to deal harshly with pirates preying on Spain’s treasure fleet, but Baret believed that Felix had reason to want a particular buccaneer hanged.
And he suspected that his uncle had his own reason for desiring peace with Spain. Her colonies in the West Indies bought slaves through the Royal African Company, and Felix, in league with others, was selling slaves all along the Main.
As to war, Baret’s own sympathies were with Holland, but—being also of British blood—he felt his loyalties pulled in two directions.
For months he had been seeking to locate a man named Captain Maynerd. He learned on arrival in Port Royal that Maynerd had docked at Carlisle Bay in Barbados. But before Baret could contact him, his uncle arrived from Barbados bringing Maynerd in chains. The privateer was to stand trial for piracy on the high seas. And to convince Port Royal that the king meant business, the trial was already underway with Felix as His Majesty’s representative.
Felix sat with the other judges on an elevated platform in the Bailey. The embossed thirty-three-inch silver oar that symbolized their jurisdiction in the name of England lay on a wide table in front of the black-robed and white-periwigged judges.
Baret, seated on a stone bench in the upper listening gallery, took his eyes from his uncle to look at Captain Maynerd, on trial for his life. The outcome of the piracy indictments was academic. What today was called piracy could tomorrow be legal, once authorization was issued to the buccaneers. They then magically turned from being bloodthirsty pirates to being the king’s navy in the Caribbean.
Doubtless they would hang Maynerd—and not that he was worse than any others who this very night in Port Royal waited for Morgan to call the Brotherhood together. Unfortunately for Maynerd, his neck would be stretched because Felix wished it so.
As a boy, Baret had witnessed similar sights at Execution Dock at Tilbury Point in London several times. The condemned pirate, once hanged, would be taken from the gallows, dipped in tar, bound with chains, and encased in an iron framework. There the wretched scoundrel would hang in heat and cold, fog and rain, with chains creaking in the salt-laden wind blowing in from the estuary. The grisly object lesson welcomed many seamen home as their ships passed the Thames.
Whether Felix would bother to order Maynerd to be tarred and left creaking in the Jamaican trade wind for a few months was anyone’s guess.
In times past, when Baret was studying at the Inns of Court in London, the trial of a pirate would have been only of academic interest for him. Such was not the case with Maynerd. Maynerd had been sailing with Captain Royce Buckington on board the Revenge when Baret’s father had disappeared.
But the West Indian voyage that had brought his father and crew into the pirate-infested waters around the coast of Tortuga had been secretly commissioned by Cromwell and several influential members of Parliament. Royce was to sail under his own flag and make contact with the boucaniers on Tortuga in the hope of assembling a privateer navy on the Spanish Main.
That navy of buccaneers not only helped take Jamaica from Spain but also established another English colony, Providence, made up of Puritans. Spain later retook Providence and massacred the Puritans before they could escape to their brethren in Mas
sachusetts, but Jamaica, thanks to the buccaneers, remained in the control of England.
When Cromwell died and Charles returned to England as king, Royce and the crew of the Revenge were accused of piracy against Spain and of having unlawfully confiscated the Prince Philip, the Isabella, and three unnamed ships. The Admiralty Court also said a hefty cargo was missing. Where was the silver bullion from Porto Bello and the pearls, emeralds, silks, and wine that were unaccounted for?
Although some treasure from the Prince Philip was in London, it was said that even more remained missing, having been buried by his father, and that several trusted crew members also knew of its location.
When Baret set sail some three years ago to join the Brotherhood at Tortuga, he had not realized that three men yet lived from the sinking of the Revenge—Felix had claimed that all the crew perished. But Baret discovered otherwise on Tortuga. Two of the living crew members were Captain Maynerd and the man Lucca. The third remained a mystery.
For a year it had been reported that Viscount Royce Buckington had died not at sea but in a duel at Port Royal, but Baret was almost certain that Felix was involved in this false report. Only Felix benefited from the death and piracy charges against his father.
Now, amid the red velvet that draped the listening gallery, Baret watched the sham trial proceeding in the chamber below. His cool, dark gaze fixed on his uncle, who pretended to be unaware of his presence in the balcony. Baret knew Felix watched his every move through spies, especially the newly knighted Sir Farrow.
Baret smiled faintly. He had even allowed Erik to ride with him to Foxemoore, where he had met with Karlton Harwick in the Manor. As yet Erik was unaware Baret knew he was a friendly foe. How long their relationship would remain friendly depended on Erik’s allegiance.
Baret lounged easily on the cushioned bench, his muscled legs, booted to the knee, crossed negligently at the ankles. He appeared as a man of nobility, for he had changed his rugged sea garb for the refinements of his position as a viscount.
He absently ran a bronzed hand across his black velvet cloak, collared and lined in silver fox. His satin doublet was a muted hunter green worn over a spotless white silk shirt with full sleeves. His periwig was missing, and a stylish Spanish hat was cocked to the side of his dark head—a careless affront to the Admiralty Court in session below, for he deemed the justice about to be meted out by Lord Felix little more than a mockery.
If Captain Maynerd was indeed a pirate, then so was his uncle, yet Felix managed to hide behind the silver Admiralty oar.
Shifting his position, Baret glanced down at the proceedings again. The judges were listening as the prosecution railed.
“Maynerd is an archpirate in the Caribbean, cruel, dreaded, and hated both on land and sea! No one in this day has done more evil or has occasioned greater mischief and debauchery, attendant with all the circumstances of pistol and sword.”
Baret’s mouth curved as his lazy gaze left the prosecutor to look at Maynerd, slouched in his chair, arms resting across the long table, staring at the judges in black.
Maynerd had no lawyer. He had to represent himself and do his own cross-examining. He had blundered badly in his defense, and Baret wanted to wince.
“Will you ask the witness any more questions?” asked the solicitor-general.
“Ye all be sworn to me death, sure it’s plain to see. Ye scoundrels in robes! The devil take ye all!”
As the witness stepped down, slinking away, Maynerd shouted, “Jackanapes! You’ve been promised your own thievin’ neck to take away mine!”
Baret was sure it was so. The jury of Jamaican planters and merchants deliberated for less than twenty minutes and found Maynerd guilty.
The court clerk leaned from his chair, his lean face gravely framed with his wig, the black robe making him appear grotesquely pale.
“What can you say for yourself that you should not die according to the laws of the English colony of Jamaica?”
“Aye, Felix, I’ve been lied against by devilish dogs,” said Captain Maynerd. “And I’ll see you in hades, I will.”
“You have been tried by the laws of His Majesty,” the clerk continued. “Naught now remains but that sentence be passed according to the Admiralty law. And the sentence of law is this: ‘You shall be taken to the place of execution, and there be severally hanged by your neck until you be dead. And the Lord have mercy on your soul.’”
As Maynerd was removed from the building, Baret stood and gazed down upon his uncle. Felix did not look up into the gallery but gathered his judicial robe about him and walked from the court.
The chamber below began to empty. Baret was turning to leave when he saw the gallery drapes part slightly. He had only a moment—an inner instinct warned him of imminent danger.
He threw himself to one side as a dagger struck the carved wooden pillar with a sickening thud. Only a second ago he’d been standing in front of it.
Then he was on his feet, unsheathing his sword and moving cautiously toward the faintly moving drapes.
He struck his blade across the curtain, slashing it to one side, and stepped back, lifting his sword.
The hall was empty, but he heard fleeing steps hastening down the back stairway. Baret darted down the narrow, dim hall to the head of the chiseled steps in time to catch a glimpse of a cloak disappearing around the corner.
He pursued the man through the corridor toward an arched doorway with drawn drapes. He knew the environs well. The exit into the next chamber offered no escape at all, for it led to a balcony that overlooked the estuary.
He paused as he entered—the chamber was empty.
Then he saw a small trapdoor, which led down some steps to where a boat had evidently been tied, waiting.
He ran to the balcony rail and looked out at the water, but the boat was being rowed away, and he could not identify the man at the oars. A moment later it disappeared behind a ship at anchor in the bay. He watched, but the small craft did not reappear.
Someone wanted him as dead as Maynerd.
A crowd had already gathered outside Brideswell for the execution of Captain Maynerd. Baret heard their hoots and howls as he leaned over the railing to look below into the dungeon hall where a group of prisoners was being led. The filth and stench was nauseating, curses filled his ears, and he heard the crack of the gaoler’s whip.
“C’mon, move, ye infamous curs! D’ye think the Admiralty has all day?”
“Where is Captain Maynerd!” Baret shouted down. “I demand to see him before he’s hauled to the gallows. I’ve a letter authorizing an audience with him.”
The burly gaoler looked up and, seeing Baret now donned in the common garb of a seafarer, spat to one side.
“And who might you be? One of his vermin crew?”
Another prisoner hooted at the gaoler. “Watch your sticky tongue. That there be Cap’n Foxworth himself. Go ahead, m’lordship, draw sword and cut off his stinking head!”
The gaoler struck savagely with his whip. A bell rang. Shouts echoed through the chamber. More guards came.
Baret looked on, and he turned as the chief prison captain approached him at the rail.
“The curs! ’Tis the second brawl in two days! I’ll have them all flogged for this!”
“Where is Maynerd? I’m authorized to see him before his execution.”
Baret shoved toward him the document bearing the seal of the Lord Chief Justice in London.
The chief captain frowned. “Aye, me lord, I fear you be too late. The Admiralty’s deputy marshal already took him from the dungeon for the gallows. And Lord Felix Buckington with him.”
Baret snatched the document from the officer and swiftly ran down the stone steps leading into the front courtyard.
His gaze swept the yard, taking in the grisly onlookers and hard-faced guards. Maynerd was already inside the black-draped cart that would transport him to the gallows. Baret’s uncle was seated beside the deputy marshal in the open carriage that would lead the
somber procession. Felix, dressed in black with a white wig, held the silver oar of the Admiralty on his shoulder.
Baret felt a dart of anger. Of all the ministers of the High Admiralty Court to represent the Crown’s demand for an end to piracy in Port Royal! It was a cynical jest to permit his uncle to carry the oar.
The procession wound its way through the shabby hovels toward the tidal flats facing the bay. A small crowd followed on foot after the cart, shouting, “How now, Cap’n Maynerd! Toss your admirers some sweet pieces of eight!”
At the place of execution, Maynerd was hauled up a ladder to stand on a rickety platform with the backdrop of blue Caribbean sky and sea. Several buccaneers’ ships were in view, their white sails billowing and snapping as they made for open ocean.
Watching from astride his horse, Baret felt the tropical wind on his face, and its fingers tugged relentlessly at his cloak and hat. His gaze left Maynerd to settle upon the minister, who climbed the steps after the pirate, firmly urging him to call upon God’s mercy.
Baret recognized old and faithful Mathias Harwick, nearing his seventieth birthday and still showing pity on pirates.
“Aye, lad, though the chime is poised to strike midnight, the death angel tarries to claim his prey! A minute is left in time. Redemption is yet a gift from the One who died your death between two thieves on the hill of Golgotha. Repent of your crimes, lad! Accept His forgiveness, take the robe of righteousness, for though your sins be as scarlet they shall be as white as snow.”
“I am innocent of piracy upon the high seas!” shouted Captain Maynerd.
“Get on with it, gov’nor!” shouted someone in the crowd. “If the cap’n begrudge us a bit of treasure, then stay the pretty words, I say! Hang the pirate!”
Baret watched the noose being placed around Maynerd’s neck and thought of his father. If he was alive … if the authorities caught him before he could prove his innocence … he too would hang from a gibbet.
For that matter, so could I, he thought.
He felt a wave of anger toward Felix, who had manipulated Maynerd’s death. What had his uncle feared from the pirate’s remaining alive?
Buccaneers Series Page 15
