“Ain’t enough of ’em, m’gal. An’ since Mings was called home to fight the Dutch, how many warships have ye seen sitting in the harbor? None, save Lord Grayford’s. An’ he was at Barbados till a week ago.” He gestured toward the harbor. “That’s the Royale there. She took a hard hit, from the looks of her. See them timbers boarded on her side? Sure now, she must have suffered a beating.”
Emerald noticed raw planks nailed over holes in the ship’s hull. She wondered if Lord Grayford had been injured, but Zeddie didn’t seem to know. She thought of Lavender. What would she do about keeping company with Baret now that her fiancé was home from the war?
“Then,” said Emerald thoughtfully, trying to piece together any part Baret might have in all this. “Even if the Dutch and French don’t attack, Spain could …”
“Aye, an’ I ‘spect your concern is what’s troublin’ the governor. There was two attacks on the other side of the island this month alone. Some Spanish captain left his credential on one of the trees. Said he was coming back—and that he wanted to meet some particular captain in a duel at sea.”
She moved uneasily. Was Baret Buckington that captain?
“Then what good is the king’s navy at Antigua if they’re leaving the island vulnerable to attack? What can Lord Grayford do alone?”
“Aye, an’ that’s the whole thing of the matter botherin’ the planters. So they’ve been complainin’ to Modyford to call the buccaneers. Which is unusual, seein’ as how they were behind Lord Felix in kickin’ ’em out to begin with. I wonder what his lordship will have to say about their return? The shindig the governor’s posing tonight is a warm welcome. The Spanish sympathizers in the council have the short end of things for now. Traitors, that’s what the Peace Party is. An’ all the while, men like Lord Felix is engaged in smuggling goods to the Spanish dons.”
The governor’s Port Royal residence was built near the batteries that controlled the entrance to the harbor. Emerald arrived by buggy, and Zeddie showed his displeasure as he helped her down.
“I’d feel a mite better, m’gal, if I was permitted to go in with you to see the governor.”
Emerald clutched her bag. “Don’t worry. With Captain Buckington in Port Royal, I won’t be carted off to Brideswell. And he’s returned Mr. Pitt’s letter stating my innocence.”
“Pitt,” he growled. “That rotting morsel of odorous fish bait. We ain’t seen the end of his treachery against you, to be sure. I’m thinkin’ Captain Buckington will be calling on him before all this rolls out to sea an’ is forgotten.”
“It’s Minette I’m concerned for. By now I should have heard from Sir Cecil Chaderton. Percy was certain he could get the letter to him, but then maybe Sir Cecil isn’t there after all. Go to Foxmoore, Zeddie. See what you can find out.”
“And leave you here unguarded?” he complained. “If that Sir Jasper shows, I’d as soon cast him to the sharks.”
“It isn’t me they’re interested in now. It’s Captain Buckington. Jasper will have learned a hard lesson when it comes to him. He’s always been cautious of the viscount, and a coward. He’ll avoid me from now on. Anyway, I don’t think he’ll show tonight.”
“If he has to bear witness to what happened between him and the viscount, he’ll come,” said Zeddie unhappily. “And I ain’t as convinced he’ll leave you alone or has learned his lesson yet. A coward he is, to be sure, but he has himself enough slimy snakes to do his bidding for him when it comes to Captain Foxworth.”
Emerald believed Zeddie was right and wondered that Baret would continue to boldly show himself in Jamaica. Would he be here to see the governor?
“Find Percy and see if he delivered my letter to Sir Cecil. And ask around the slave huts about Minette. I’ll wait for your return at the lookout house.”
She watched him climb up to the buggy seat and reluctantly drive away. Then she turned toward King’s House. Pearl-like oyster shells lined the walkway up to the residence. Groupings of palm trees were here and there on the lawn, their branches alive and noisy with parrots, while crimson roses crawled along the lattice and swayed in tropical dance as the breeze blew.
Drawing in a breath and lifting her chin, she walked forward. She wore the comely burgundy dress with burgess lace that she had borrowed several months earlier from the stored trunk in the lookout house—the trunk that had turned out to belong to Baret, and a dress that was intended for Lavender.
Her eyes cautiously took in the file of soldiers belonging to the Port Royal militia, wearing yellow-and-red uniforms and carrying pistols and cutlasses. Her heart skipped a beat. Their presence evoked ugly memories of being hauled off to Brideswell. Now, however, it wasn’t Emerald that Lord Felix expected to threaten with arrest. She was no longer needed to establish Baret’s guilt. The incriminating document she had foolishly signed was enough to stand in court.
She soon discovered she was wrong about the seriousness of the gathering. As she approached the residence, she could hear voices arguing beneath the canopy.
“Accursed Spaniards. Only a buffoon or Madrid’s sympathizers can’t see how they aim to retake Jamaica. The dons will never be satisfied till they see us all dunked and drowned like sea rats. And what does His Majesty do for us in time of war? Recall the Royal Navy to the Atlantic! And here Jamaica sits unguarded in the midst of a Spanish sea.”
Emerald walked past the disgruntled planter only to confront a militia officer with pistol bristling in his belt.
“Your name, madam, before I can allow ye entry.”
“Miss Harwick,” she said quietly, expecting the name to be followed by a leer in his beady eyes, but his blank, sun-leathered face showed that she was nothing more to him except some unknown planter’s daughter. Not even her father’s recent death seemed to dawn on him.
“Governor Modyford has requested my presence,” she told him as he checked a list in his roughened hand.
He scratched his wavy eyebrow. “Spell it.”
“I’m not a party guest, sir. I’ve been called by Lord Felix Buckington. I wouldn’t be on that list.”
He grunted agreement, reached into his pocket and drew out a scrap of paper. “Aye, ye’re right.” He turned, shouting in a flat, harsh voice, “Willoughby! Bring the girl inside! There’s going to be a meeting in the garden!”
The soldier escorted her into the mansion and across a salon toward a garden area on the opposite side.
“Miss Harwick’s here to see you, sir.”
“Good. Send her out,” said Governor Thomas Modyford.
Emerald passed through double veranda doors into a cobbled courtyard of humid fragrance and tobacco. Several men stood from their chairs, setting their goblets down on tables.
Sir Thomas towered above her. He had a wide but thin mouth that bore a twisted smile of perpetual boredom beneath a curling dark-brown mustache. His head had been shaved due to the heat, and he wore a scarf, thus appearing not so different from the pirates he had previously hanged. His heavy hand, sporting a number of bejeweled silver and gold rings, gestured her toward a chair opposite him and the two Admiralty officials.
“Miss Harwick, be seated, won’t you? I believe we’ve met before. Foxemoore, wasn’t it? The wedding supper of Geneva and Felix.”
“Yes.” She took her seat, her skirts rustling with an elegance she did not feel. She checked for indecision in the governor’s wide jaw, wondering how well Felix managed to control him. She found not weakness but the resolve of experience in the West Indies, the brute strength of a bull, the cunning of a diplomat wise to the ways of his opponents in Madrid and London. He did not look not like a man who would simply indulge himself while ambitious men such as Felix and Jasper ran the island. Knowing this gave her more confidence.
His sharp gray eyes twinkled ruefully over his new post as Jamaica’s governor. Except for a brassy complexion that was all too typical of many of the gentry in Jamaica and Barbados who downed too many rum toddies, he seemed an exemplary English official repre
senting His Majesty.
A swift glance about the immediate garden informed her that Felix had not yet arrived, and for that reprieve she was grateful. Two other gentlemen stood near the governor. One was a fleshy, red-faced choleric clad in heavy taffeta and gold lace, a silk handkerchief wound turbanlike about his shaven skull, revealing himself a man accustomed to the Indies. His counterpart was gaunt and grim-faced. She could imagine his silver goblet filled with vinegar. He wore a heavy white periwig and severe black, and he peered down at her with the sobriety of a judge.
“M’dear,” he said, pulling a lace kerchief from his wrist and dabbing his pale forehead. “I hope you understand the trouble you are in, along with your pirate … er … friend Captain Foxworth. I am Lord Winston Carberry, second Earl of Cunningham, member of the High Admiralty Court.”
Emerald stood and curtsied. “M’lord of Cunningham!”
“And he’s a crotchety old scoundrel beside,” interrupted a brittle voice from behind her. “He’s in a dour mood because he misses his bone-chilling London fog. Don’t let him frighten you with his icy title.”
Emerald turned, shocked, as did the others.
Governor Modyford chuckled. “Come and sit, Nigel. We’ve been expecting you. Felix with you?”
Emerald stared at the newcomer. Earl Nigel walked into the courtyard from the house in immaculate velvet and gold braid. She saw his sharp, dark eyes laugh in the direction of his fellow earl, Winston Cunningham.
Cunningham smiled grimly and blotted his forehead again. “How you have survived this heat, Nigel, is a tale Charles will be interested to hear,” he said of the king.
“We both had best learn to survive, Winston. It seems the blasted Dutch intend to keep us here indefinitely. Unless my nephew returns us both to Whitehall.”
“You speak of Grayford?”
“I speak of Baret,” said Nigel with a hint of victory in his voice.
A casual listener would not have noticed that inflection of pride in his voice, but Emerald, knowing of the tension between Baret and his grandfather, came alert. She looked at the earl, wondering. Then a movement farther away in the garden drew her attention from the earl to Baret himself.
How long had he been there? He was lying in a hammock strung between two palms, a table at hand with tall glasses of honeyed lime water, perhaps, and a bowl of fruit. A bright-eyed mulatto boy waited on him, grinning as Baret held a blue parrot on a rounded perch and fed it bits of banana and mango.
“Good evening, Grandfather,” Baret said in Nigel’s direction.
Earl Cunningham turned to look at him, proving he too had not known of his presence, but Governor Modyford showed no surprise and had already motioned for his servant to refill the goblets.
Emerald wondered what was going on but wisely just stood waiting, wishing she could fade into the shadows.
Baret gave the parrot perch to the boy and rose from the hammock. He deliberately bowed in the direction of Earl Cunningham. “My lord Cunningham, I understand you’ve been searching for me.”
Emerald heard quick, urgent footsteps sounding from the lighted salon. A moment later Lord Felix appeared, three swordsmen belonging to his personal bodyguard behind him. His eyes darted about the courtyard until they fell on Baret. Felix walked toward him, followed by his men. He pointed.
“Arrest that man. He’s alias Captain Foxworth of the Regale, a ship that sails under no commission except the skull and cross-bones! I am ashamed to say my nephew is a pirate, a man who has entered Spanish territorial waters, landed with his murderous crew at Lake Maracaibo, and fought a battle with the soldiers serving Don Miguel, ambassador to the court of King Charles.”
Emerald tensed, watching to see what would happen next.
Felix drew from under his jacket a document she recognized as the one she had signed at the hacienda. He handed it to Governor Modyford.
“This is proof from an eyewitness, Thomas. You’ve no choice now but to arrest him.”
Emerald held the side of her skirts, turning her head away to look down at the cobbled court, unable to look in Baret’s direction. I’ve done this to him, she thought.
Then Felix walked up to her as though a protective friend. “I’m sorry, my dear. We all know you were friends with my nephew. You’ve done what you had to do in the name of His Majesty. There’ll be few in Jamaica or in the family who will not appreciate your cooperation in catching the pirate Foxworth.”
He laid a hand on her shoulder as though they were affectionately related as uncle and niece.
Emerald drew away from him.
“Geneva understands,” he was saying. “She has good plans for you, my dear.”
Governor Modyford handed Earl Winston Cunningham the document. “Much ado over nothing, Winston. It doesn’t even mention the Venezuelan Main or the San Pedro.”
His words must have surprised more than Emerald, for Felix straightened and looked at them.
The official of the High Admiralty lifted an eyeglass and read with a dour look.
Emerald’s heart thudded.
A minute later he looked up over his eyeglass at Emerald. “Is this your signature?”
Aware that Baret had walked up and was leaning against the tree, she felt her face flush. “Yes, m’lord,” she said quietly. “But it was signed under duress.”
“Ah?”
“Nonsense,” said Felix impatiently.
“I was told Captain Buckington had already been arrested and was being held in Havana in a torture chamber. If I signed, Lord Felix promised he could intervene with the Spanish ambassador and protect Captain Buckington from further suffering.”
“Of course, I promised her this!” Felix said impatiently. “At the time I was told my nephew’s ship had been captured by Captain Valdez. Enough of this, Winston. We all know Baret is a pirate. And you, Thomas, you are under authority of the king to put an end to the buccaneers in Port Royal. It’s your duty to arrest him.”
Earl Nigel stirred, and Felix appeared not to have realized he was present.
Nigel’s face was hard. “One would think, my son, that you desire my grandson’s arrest on such charges.”
“Father, what are you doing—” He stopped.
Baret spoke for the first time. “I asked him to come.”
Felix looked at Baret sharply. “It will do you no good.”
Baret smiled at him coolly. “Would you arrest the king’s agent?”
Felix stared at him, uncertain, like a trapped fox with the hounds moving in. “What are you talking about?”
Baret gestured to Modyford. “Perhaps you’d better explain, Thomas. My beloved uncle seems a bit behind the times. We wouldn’t want him kept in the dark too long, lest he make an utter fool of himself.” Baret folded his arms and smiled, as Felix’s quick nervous gaze left him to look first at his father, then the governor.
Both men appeared calm, but the earl looked angry.
“We can hardly arrest Captain Buckington when His Majesty will be certain to excuse any past infringements on the laws of the Admiralty and will knight him in London.”
Felix floundered. “What? That’s impossible,” he snapped, flushing for the first time. “There’s the document proving his guilt.”
“And I,” said Modyford, “have a second document.” He reached out a hand toward the corpulent official who stood between him and Earl Cunningham. “This is Baronet Warwick. You know him, Felix?”
“Of course, I know him,” said Felix impatiently. “I sent him to Tortuga—” He stopped, as though he began to understand that something was happening over which he had no control, something that was ruining all his hard-laid plans.
“As the baronet can testify, he was on Tortuga when the Dutch Admiral de Ruyter was hidden and protected by the French governor. Plans were being made for an attack on Barbados and the destruction of all of His Majesty’s ships, including your son Grayford’s, the Royale.”
Felix looked stunned. “Grayford was attacked by the
Dutch admiral?”
“No,” said Modyford, handing him the document. “As you will see, this letter was dictated and signed by the governor of Barbados to King Charles, recommending Captain Buckington and Captain Farrow for honors. Along with Baronet Warwick, they slipped away from Tortuga, unknown by the French governor, and alerted Barbados to the planned attack. They also fought for His Majesty under the Union Jack and sank several Dutch ships. The governor of Barbados plainly states that the island would have been overrun except for the heroics of your nephew.”
There was silence.
Earl Cunningham cleared his throat and handed the document back to the governor. “Well, I hardly think His Majesty will be wanting to hang your nephew for treason or piracy, Felix. With this letter, I consider the matter closed until I meet with the king—and that, as Nigel has sourly reminded me, won’t be until after the war.” He replaced his eyeglass, drew in a breath, and turned toward Baret, who still lounged against the tree.
“It seems,” said Governor Modyford, “that Admiral de Ruyter arrived off Barbados in April, but failing to capture the ships in the harbor or those anchored offshore, he sailed up to Martinique. There, with the help of the French, he repaired damage inflicted by the Regale. Captain Buckington believes he then sailed off to attack the American colonies, probably Virginia and New England.”
“By the cock’s eye, young man,” Earl Cunningham said to Baret, “my wholehearted congratulations! You have both honored King Charles and England. It was a daring and commendable thing you and this Captain Farrow have accomplished.”
Baret offered a slight bow and said, “Thank you, sir. It was the least I could do for His Majesty.”
Earl Nigel said flatly, “I hope, now, all talk of my grandson’s disloyalty to the king will be laid to rest once for all.”
“I see no reason why it shouldn’t,” said Cunningham. He looked back at Baret. “You will need to appear before him in London one day soon, of course, but that will prove no trouble, I am sure. And now, what might you have on your mind for the rest of the war?”
Buccaneers Series Page 80
