“Aye, but none of them cackling birds go there. It’s full of mice too.”
Mice were the last varmints that now troubled her. “It’s fine with me. I don’t care. May I go?”
He looked confused, then shrugged. “‘Spect so. That’s what it’s there for.”
She thanked him, and even her thanks seemed to bewilder him.
“Sure, countess,” he mumbled.
During the grim weeks that followed, Emerald looked forward to her daily hours of peace and quiet in the musty chapel. The pews were in shadows, and it was deserted, but she didn’t mind. She spent her time in prayer and meditation on the Scriptures that Mathias had had her memorize through the years, for there was no copy of the King James Bible chained to the podium.
Here she interceded for Minette and Zeddie—was he dead or alive?—and asked that one of them might somehow contact Geneva or Earl Nigel and inform them of her fate. By now the earl would have sent a carriage to the lookout house to bring her to Foxemoore. He would know that she was no longer there and would wonder what had happened. What had Sir Jasper and Lord Felix told him, if anything?
The days crept by with no word from outside. The nights were the worst, for her sleep was troubled by the moans of the sick and the cursing of the other prisoners. She wondered again that there was no minister to call even one Sunday a month. The inmates seemed condemned to their fate and forgotten.
When I’m free again, she told herself, for she would not allow herself to think otherwise, I will do something about it. I shall see acts of mercy extended toward the prisoners—Scripture teaching and Psalm singing. I’ll ask the women of St. Paul’s to send their discarded clothing and bars of lye soap!
Her hands would form fists as she lay on the filthy straw. And I’ll do something to stop the guards from violating the women. Maybe I could even ask the governor for women, instead, to be on duty at night at the front desk.
But who would ever listen to her? Again she grieved over the loss of her father and what his death meant to her and Minette. There was no one now, not even faithful Zeddie.
But there was God.
She often wondered about Baret. In the night, when the moaning of the sick and dying from the other wards filled her ears, she longed for his presence as she never would have admitted to herself before coming to Brideswell. She relived the voyage on the Regale. She found herself remembering only the pleasant times, the sound of his resonant voice, his handsome appearance that grew clearer in her memory with the passing days.
I must look a fright, she thought one day, for though she was permitted to wash, her clothes were torn and soiled beyond cleaning, and the vermin had become a horrid fact of life.
How long would it prove beneficial to Jasper to keep her here? Or was it Lord Felix whom she could blame for her fate? Had he ordered her father’s death? How could she bring him to justice if he were guilty? How could she ever prove it? She could not, of course, even as Baret could not prove that Felix had betrayed his father. Felix was too cautious to stain his own hands. Someone else would accomplish his work—perhaps not even Jasper but a hired assassin. She must not dwell on her dismay, for it turned easily to hatred that embittered her soul.
One night she made the deliberate decision to choose young Joseph in Egypt as her encourager. Joseph too had been lied about, thrown into prison, and forgotten. Yet the Lord was with him, the book of Genesis said, and gave him favor in the jailer’s sight. She was safe and permitted to visit the chapel each day. For this she was grateful, viewing it as a mercy and a reminder that her Shepherd had not forgotten her, even as He had not forgotten Joseph.
A wistful smile touched her lips as she dozed off. “Maybe I’ll be made a ruler,” she murmured.
Perhaps another week had passed before the chief turnkey brought her news she’d been anticipating.
“Sir Jasper is here to see you.”
He was waiting in the keeper’s cramped office, and even Emerald had to admit that, after a depressing month in the ward, Sir Jasper was a fine sight to behold in his expensive finery and meticulous black periwig. His maroon taffetas were spotless, and his wide, linen shirt lapels boasted a flashy peacock pin clustered with sapphires, rubies, and Margarita pearls.
Questions rose immediately to her tongue, but she bit them back. He might look pleased to see her, but he was no friend. On his account she was here. Bitterness and resentment hardened her face, for although she knew that the Scriptures told her to forgive her enemies, she did not have that grace now. Her hands clenched.
“So you’ve remembered where your lies have put me.”
He stepped back and took her in. “My, but you look the vile urchin, sweetheart. ‘Tis a good thing the gallant Foxworth can’t see you now, or he might sail for worlds unknown!”
His remark was thoughtlessly cruel, and her anger burned. “You have the gall, Jasper! What have you come for—to torment me further? If that’s all you have to say—”
“By the king, it’s not all I have to say. I’ve kept up with your fate fairly well. I dare say, darlin’, you have me to thank you’ve survived as well as you have. None of the mongrel guards have touched you, have they? I thought not. I warned that the man who did would be hanged. So there, now give me a wee smile of gratitude and pack your bag. My coach is waiting.”
As though the matter were settled and she had nothing to say about it, he settled back in the keeper’s chair and put his boots on the paper-cluttered desk.
“I’m free?”
He smoothed his collars, rings flashing. “You have me to thank, m’dear. Pitt has withdrawn all complaints and signed papers I had drawn up by my barrister, attesting to your…er…mistaken identity.”
Emerald stared at him. She could also remind him she had him to thank for putting her here to begin with. And now, having treated her this way, did he think he could so lightly dismiss this month of dark despair?
“Then you’ve gotten what you wanted from this debacle, or you wouldn’t have convinced Pitt to sign papers. Has Captain Buckington arrived? Does Felix have him?”
“More’s the pity, no.” He looked at her, musing. “Felix’s plan to lure him here hasn’t worked. He’s a cautious and clever fox. Using you as enticement was an error.”
So. Baret hadn’t concerned himself enough with her fate in Brideswell to take the risk of coming to Port Royal. She tried not to let Jasper’s barb cause pain. It would have been reckless of Baret to come, she thought. What good would his arrest be to either of them? Exchanging himself for her might have been gallant, but his arrest and trial wouldn’t have safeguarded her future.
Still, though she knew this, her feminine feelings were slighted by his negligence. I’m being foolish and sentimental. I’m glad he didn’t come—that he’s safe.
Her silence seemed to bring Sir Jasper satisfaction. “I always did say you wasted yourself on him.” He stood. “There is one condition for your release.”
Her anxious eyes darted to his, and the old loathing was rekindled. “I should have known—”
“His lordship Felix wishes to speak with you. He waits now at Jasper Hall.”
She stiffened. “I’m sure he doesn’t wish Geneva or Earl Nigel to learn from me of his treachery against me and Captain Buckington! Does he think he can beg my forgiveness so lightly?”
He went to the door and opened it, obviously anxious to depart. “He’ll speak for himself.”
She knew she was foolish to put any confidence in his words. Trusting Jasper was like swimming with a shark. Her eyes turned hard and cold. “And who will speak of my father’s murder? Or am I to forget that also and go on my merry way?”
“Sure now, darlin’, you don’t think either myself or Felix would go so far as to kill him?”
Her icy silence brought a cruel smile to his lips. “And after I’ve gone to such pains to see you released to my care.”
“Your care?”
He shrugged. “I’m an officer in the militia as well a
s a council member. You’ve few other friends in Port Royal who’d come to your aid.”
“Thanks to you and Felix, there are none who know. What did you tell Lady Geneva and the earl? That I’d traipsed off again with another pirate?”
“You’ll need to ask Felix. I may be a member of the council, but I don’t hobnob with the earl or Lady Geneva. Shall we go, or do you want to extend your stay here in Brideswell?”
Her hands shook with the expectation of leaving, even if it meant going with Sir Jasper. If Felix did want to speak with her, there’d be no avoiding it, and she had a good many questions of her own to ask. Besides, Jasper was a rake, but she had more chance of escape from Jasper Hall than from here. And if she refused to leave with him now, he might withdraw his support.
She could take no more of Brideswell. At the moment she was willing to take her chances at Jasper Hall.
“I’ve no bag to pack,” she reminded him coolly. “My personal things are at the lookout house. If I recall, you were in a hurry to see me arrested and taken away.”
“A hasty action I’ll be sure to make amends for, m’dear. Forget your meager frocks. Everything you will need to emerge for your těte-à-téte with Felix is waiting for you. I am always a generous host.”
Emerald scanned his smiling face with caution but walked past him out the door. The chief turnkey was waiting for them, release papers in hand and a sheepish look on his face. She reached for them, but Sir Jasper plucked them from the guard’s hand.
“Thank you, Clyde, old friend, an’ a cheery day to you.”
“Aye, Sir Jasper.” And his beady eyes returned to Emerald. He offered a half grin and a duck of his head. “An’ a fair day to you, Miss Emerald.”
“I’ll be in touch with you one day again,” she said, and when his eyes opened wide, she added, “About the chapel, remember? I hope to find a servant of God who will come to hold Sunday services.”
“Er…aye, sure, miss. I’d forgotten.”
“I hope I won’t,” she said wearily.
“Most do, soon as they leave,” he said, suggesting by his tone that he expected the same of her good intentions.
“Then I’d lose sight of the lessons I’ve learned here,” she told him. “They were too painful to cast aside at the first smell of summer flowers. Would you do me a last favor, Mr. Clyde?”
He scratched his head. “Sure now, if it ain’t too hard.”
She slipped off her shawl and handed it to him.
He took the wrap, looking puzzled and uncomfortable.
“See that Faith gets that. And tell her the women will be hearing from me one of these days.”
He held the article awkwardly, as though ashamed of his past actions. “I’ll…er…tell her, miss.”
The carriage jolted and lurched as it raced from Port Royal toward Spanish Town and farther inland, where the sugar plantation called Jasper Hall was located. The tropical countryside flashed past the window like the plumage of a flock of colorful birds.
Emerald drank in deep breaths of fresh air, and, despite the presence of the odious Sir Jasper seated opposite, she savored the sweet smell of freedom’s flowers. How blue the sky and brown the earth. How precious the gifts of God, too often taken for granted. Jamaica, for all its reckless ways and the dangers that threatened a young woman of her circumstances, was worth the spiritual struggle to set the prisoners free in Christ.
Was it possible that the Lord had not called her to go away to England after all but to remain and fight for those weaker than she?
A glance at Sir Jasper reminded her of how little she could accomplish without the strength of position and power to confront those who wielded the whips of selfish authority. And yet, if God was calling her to a task greater than her highest human potential, then would He not supply the means to accomplish His purpose?
“At this speed we’ll be there in another hour,” he commented. “I’m sure you’ll be pleased to shed those vile clothes and prepare yourself for a luxurious stay.”
She pretended not to notice the glint in his drowsy gaze. “And you’re certain Lord Felix Buckington is there also and wishes to meet with me?”
“Would I mislead you, sweetheart?”
“Why, Sir Jasper, whatever gave you the notion I’d suspect such a thing of you?”
He smiled sadly. “Unfortunately for me, Felix is there, waiting. We’ll both dine with him tonight. You’ll find him charming company but a most determined man.”
Emerald lapsed into silence. Had Jasper lied when he said Felix no longer sought his nephew? What if the original plans to lure him back to Port Royal remained intact? What if Felix still expected to use her in some way?
18
THE DUTCH SHIP
Where did his loyalties belong? To England or to Holland? Baret mused over his quandary as he walked to the quarterdeck railing, feeling the warm wind tugging at his hat.
Cayona Bay lay languid today, surrounded by miles of hot, white sand and slim, straight palms. This was Tortuga, pirate stronghold belonging to France and under the jurisdiction of a governor sympathetic to the buccaneers’ concerns. Unlike the new British governor of Jamaica, Modyford, French Tortuga welcomed the Brethren of the Coast with a friendly camaraderie rooted in the governor’s craving for Spanish treasure.
Baret looked over the ship’s side. A longboat and several of his crew were waiting. They would row him across Cayona’s small but excellent harbor to board the rendezvous ship where he expected to meet with other captains of the Brotherhood. And with Henry Morgan.
Morgan. Baret hesitated as he stared at the ship, actually studying its lines for the first time. He lifted his telescope and focused on the vessel.
Shuffling footsteps sounded behind him as Hob walked up. “Har, me lordship, so ye be noticing yon difference same as me. Was a shock it were.”
“Yes, a mistake, all right. I shouldn’t have taken Captain Farrow’s word for it. Never trust an enemy-turned-friend, Hob. You’ll find yourself like a turtle on its back, just waiting to be snatched up and dumped into your own soup pot.”
“Not a pert thought. Yet ‘twould sooner be picked up by Lord Felix than raise me pistol against a good Protestant from Holland. Ye know whose smart ship that be?”
“I’m knowing, old friend.”
“A piece of eight says the Brethren knew it weren’t Morgan’s ship. A piece of eight also says it will be gone by sunset and explodin’ a few cannon on English Antigua.”
Baret had already switched his interest from the so-called rendezvous ship of Morgan to a nearing longboat bringing Erik Farrow. Baret waited for him, his intense dark eyes reflecting restrained impatience for what he perceived a careless misjudgment on the part of the Brotherhood.
“That isn’t Morgan’s ship.” Baret gestured with his head toward the supposed rendezvous vessel as Farrow boarded.
Erik, in keeping with his style, remained unconcerned as he joined him. Taking the telescope, he fixed it on the mysterious ship.
Baret watched him. He usually found Erik’s impassiveness amusing, and he enjoyed goading him into an emotional response. He leaned on the rail and affected the role of viscount. “I am disappointed, Erik. You are no admirable watchman for His Majesty. Your rum-eyed crew ought to be flogged.”
“Your lordship?”
“That’s a Dutch warship.”
“It is?”
Baret smirked. “You know it is. For your silence you could be arrested by my noble uncle and dangled at Gallows Point.”
Erik apparently missed Baret’s intended irony, for they were both Dutch sympathizers, although Baret had promised his grandfather he would fight for England.
“It was not I, your lordship, who informed the Brotherhood that it was Morgan’s ship.”
“Ah?” said Baret, disbelieving.
Erik’s smile offered pretentious apology. “A thousand pardons plus one. I suppose it is Dutch, after all.”
Baret offered a bored gesture as though it
no longer mattered. Then he frowned, his thoughts turning elsewhere.
Erik removed his hat. His golden hair was tied back with a leather thong. Then he, too, suddenly frowned, gazing out toward Cayona Bay toward a second ship making for Tortuga’s harbor. “That’s Captain Mandsveldt. I hear he comes from a prosperous raid on De La Vacha.”
He had pronounced the old Dutchman’s name correctly, whereas Baret had noticed that both English and French called the captain “Mansfield.”
“Maybe he has news of Morgan.” Baret turned his glass onto Mansfield’s ship.
“That’s the reason I came.” Erik lifted a piece of paper from inside his frilled shirt. “This is for you. From Morgan.”
“What news?”
“He’s not coming to Tortuga. He’s staying on at Port Royal.”
“Not coming—” Baret plucked the message from his hand and scanned the single line. “‘Campaign delayed,’” he read aloud, “‘H. Morgan.’”
Seeing his one golden opportunity for entering Porto Bello to search for his father lost, Baret crushed the paper into a wad. “Delayed! Again! I must see him. We must attack Porto Bello! I cannot hold Miguel captive forever. And if I release him, he’ll be quick to bring warning to the officials of our plans.”
“Har!” said Hob, pouring coffee into a cup and handing it to Erik. “I was right, Cap’n Foxworth. Ol’ Governor Modyford be wantin’ an attack on the Dutch, not them yellow-livered papists! Ye do owe me three pieces of eight, Cap’n Foxworth!”
Baret tossed him the coins and looked at Erik. “Morgan won’t attack the Dutch—neither will Mansfield. So why, I’m wondering, would Morgan stay grounded in Port Royal instead of joining the Brotherhood here? It’s a curious thing.”
Erik showed nothing of his own disappointment at the delayed expedition, but Baret guessed it was as stark as his own.
“Forget Morgan. We have two of the best ships on the Caribbean. We can make an expedition of our own,” Erik said.
Baret considered him, tapping his chin. “You’d risk Porto Bello?”
“I risked Coro and Puerto Cabello.”
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