Buccaneers Series

by Linda Lee Chaikin

  She took the water jug from Emerald and started for the steps, and Ngozi went out back to carry water up to the bedroom for Minette’s bath.

  Emerald turned to Zeddie, “I’ve a call to make.”

  “Stab me, lass, you can’t go prancin’ out to the stockade alone in that fancy buggy. You’ll be needing me to train my pistols on old Pitt.”

  “There will be none of that,” she assured him with new confidence, and her eyes sparkled. “Don’t you see? Pitt, my dear Zeddie, is now under my authority.”

  “Bless me, but I want to see how the buzzard takes it.”

  “He won’t go easily, I assure you. But do stay here, Zeddie. I want you to be with Minette until I arrive. I’m not going alone to free Ty—I’m taking Ngozi.” She smiled, for secret plans were already blooming in her mind. She knew just what she wanted to do.

  “All right,” he grumbled. “But I’d feel a mite easier if you’d take one of my duelin’ pistols, just in case.”

  She accepted the pistol, more to soothe Zeddie than because she thought she needed it, placed it in a shawl, and wrapped it up to take with her.

  Ngozi was hauling water to refill the barrels when Emerald appeared on the back porch.

  “Ngozi, can you handle a horse?”

  His formidable face cracked with a smile. “Yes, Miss Emerald. I can handle most anything.”

  “I’m counting on that. I want you drive my buggy. I need an escort, and Zeddie needs to run errands for Dr. Milner.”

  He wiped his big hands on his dirty shirt. “You wanting to go now? Where to, Miss?”

  Emerald smiled. “The stockade. To confront Mr. Pitt.”

  Down the long avenue between golden walls of cane standing eight feet high, Ngozi drove the buggy with ease. They passed slaves, who turned their heads to stare at him, their shock evident. He sat straight, his eyes never straying from the red-brown road.

  Emerald had in her lap the shawl with Zeddie’s big pistol wrapped inside. She took it out now and saw Ngozi turn his head sharply.

  She looked at him. “Zeddie insisted I bring it. Do you know how to use it?”

  “Yes, Miss. But if’n that thing was found on me, I’d be whipped or hung for the crows for sure.”

  She smiled triumphantly. “Not if I give the order.”

  He gaped at her, taking his attention from the road. “I’m forgetting you’re the new mistress of Foxemoore.”

  “Not quite yet, and I won’t own it all, but the viscount, my husband-to-be, will own a bit more than Lord Felix and Miss Geneva. I suppose I’ll own as much as Lady Sophie, maybe more,” she breathed, awed again by her own words. And for a moment the dignified demeanor left her as she contemplated the position her heavenly Father had placed upon her.

  Ngozi smiled, and sweat sparkled like tiny diamonds on his black face. “Now I know the true God in heaven listens to His children.”

  They came out upon the green plateau and drove toward the stockade and boiling house. As usual, the work yard was noisy with the sound of boiling kettles. The same heavy smell of molasses filled the afternoon breeze. Ngozi stopped the buggy in the dirt beside some wooden frame buildings. Mr. Pitt’s office hut was ahead. The stockade was a hundred yards to the left.

  Emerald climbed down from the seat, and Ngozi followed like a protective shadow in the blazing sun. Again, slaves turned to look but dared not cease their work. Tension hovered in the air.

  “He’s seen you, Miss,” whispered Ngozi, his eyes glittering.

  Emerald stopped and waited, her heart beating faster, her eyes riveted ahead.

  Mr. Pitt emerged from the cane field astride his gray gelding and rode toward them, the dust rising beneath its hoofs. A minute later he stopped his horse and swung down, tossing the reins to the African who followed him everywhere. The moment was not lost on Emerald. She saw the exchange of glances between the “boss men,” who served Pitt, and Ngozi. They knew they might soon be losing their positions. They carried whips, but they now carefully held them behind their backs.

  The men serving Mr. Pitt as both bodyguard and captains of slave crews looked uneasily at Emerald. Who was this young woman in lime green silk and pretty hat who came to change things? Oh, yes, they had seen her about Foxemoore from the time Sir Karlton brought her as a little girl from Tortuga. But they didn’t know this woman. They had only heard how she and the pirate-rascal viscount Baret Buckington would end up owning as much of the sugar as Lord Felix himself. Their furtive eyes pulled away from Ngozi’s even stare to look at the overseer, Mr. Pitt. The showdown was here, and they weren’t at all sure who would win.

  Emerald stood looking at Mr. Pitt, trying to quiet her heart by reminding herself of who she was. She no longer needed to fear his leering suggestions. But did Pitt know this yet? He was nasty enough to pretend he didn’t until receiving word from Lady Sophie that he was to hearken to Miss Emerald’s wishes.

  Mr. Pitt removed his wide panama hat, soiled with dust. His grizzled red hair brushed the wide shoulders of his canvas shirt. He bowed his head, hat at heart.

  “Welcome to Foxemoore, Lady Harwick—or should I say Lady Buckington, eh?” He offered a chuckle, as though they shared a secret, but his hoarse voice only rasped an irritating noise.

  “I’ve come for my cousin Ty,” she stated tonelessly.

  “Sure, Miss Harwick. I’ve been expecting you,” he said with a smile. “I’ve him all ready for you.” He turned. “Hank! Bring the lad!”

  Emerald didn’t know what to expect. She didn’t trust him, but at the same time Pitt was the sort who could fawn and grovel once he knew he couldn’t bully. Naturally, he’d want to please her now that she could make him feel the sting of his own whip.

  She looked toward the stockade, expecting Ty to come from that direction in shackles or at least with a rope tied about him. To her surprise he was escorted from the overseer’s hut, walking free.

  Ty’s French-African good looks had developed in the months he’d been hiding in the Blue Mountains, and he looked strong and lean as a panther. His buccaneer shirt and tight black trousers appeared to be freshly laundered.

  “See, I was expecting you, Miss Harwick. There isn’t a lash on his fair body anywheres. Nay, not a hair singed, seeing as how he’s your cousin and all, and you soon to be the pretty bride of the viscount.”

  She ignored Pitt, remembering too well his cruelty in the past and what he had done to Minette, as well as the lie he’d told about her to the magistrate at Brideswell.

  Emerald walked to meet Ty and put her arms around him while the slaves watched, alert.

  “Ty! You’re all right?”

  He smiled, his white teeth flashing against his tanned skin. “I am now. All it takes is a cousin marrying a Buckington. Suddenly Ty the runaway slave is Tyrone Levasseur.” He threw back his dark head and laughed, then turned to the overseer.

  “Ty—” began Emerald. But she didn’t need to come between them. Ty held up both hands and stepped back from Pitt, but his sarcastic smile was as sharp as any rapier.

  “Would I hurt Gentleman Pitt? No, I ain’t going to hurt him none. But maybe he’s got a branding coming before I set sail.”

  Pitt’s prominent pale eyes glared. “Remember one thing, Ty, Miss Emerald may be about to marry Buckington, but you’re still a runaway slave till the family says you’re a free man.”

  “You can be sure the decree will come,” said Emerald. She looked quickly at Ty and saw that his smirk continued. “Ty, wait for me in the buggy, will you, please?”

  “Don’t worry, Emerald. I’m not giving anybody an excuse to arrest me. Not yet. But there’s something I must see to before I meet you and Minette at the house. I’m going into Port Royal. I’ll be back tonight.”

  There was a warning in Ty’s voice directed toward Pitt. Then he looked at the Africans hovering uneasily in the background, and he walked toward them.

  “Ty!” Emerald called again.

  He looked the Africans up and down, t
hen spat in the dust, whirled on his polished calf-length boots, and strode toward the buggy. “White trash.”

  They looked at him sulkily, then their eyes lowered.

  Mr. Pitt glared after him angrily, but there was fear in his taut features too. “That young lad is going to end up in worse trouble than any runaway if you don’t talk sense into him. He’s planning to join a pirate ship.”

  Ty’s plans to become a buccaneer were not new to Emerald. Even before the branding incident at the town pillory, her cousin had spoken of escaping to Tortuga to join his French kin, the Levasseurs. Ty had always been attracted to the lifestyle of Rafael and, unlike Emerald, had been friendly with him over the years. She wouldn’t tell that to Pitt, however.

  “You best worry about yourself right now,” she said quietly. “You’ve many sins to answer for. What you’ve done to me doesn’t matter now, but I won’t easily forgive you for the harm you’ve done Minette.”

  “Harm? I haven’t touched the wench—” He stopped, catching himself. “She’s worked in the boiling house. It could have been worse. I kept Sempala from getting to her. It’s me you got to thank for that. If it wasn’t for me, the girl would be his woman now and pregnant.”

  Ngozi took a step forward, but Emerald held out her arm, holding him back.

  Her eyes met Pitt’s evenly. “I’ll thank you for nothing. Your cruel and evil ways have been a curse on Foxemoore. I’m removing you as overseer. You can take your things out of the hut and move in with Jonnie Franks in the indentured servant area. And—” her eyes narrowed “—if you set foot again inside my father’s manor, I’ll have you sent to the stockade.”

  His mouth dropped open, and he stared at her. Evidently he hadn’t thought she would dare go so far.

  “What did you do with my father’s tapestry of the Spanish Armada? If you sold it, you’ll receive no wages until its value is restored.”

  “W-what tapestry?” he stammered, wiping the back of his arm across his sweating face.

  “You know very well which tapestry. It was my father’s favorite, and I want it back.”

  “Of them ships? His lordship Felix sent a servant for it. Said he had a hankering for it above his chamber desk. If you don’t believe me, you’ll see it when you get there. I got no cause for a tapestry.”

  Felix! Why would he want it? she wondered.

  “Now, Miss Emerald, you’d not be serious about taking the overseership away from me, now would you? I’ve always done my work well enough, and Lady Sophie has no complaints!”

  “If she has no complaints, it’s because she pays scant attention to life on Foxemoore outside her sheltered world. Yes, Mr. Pitt, I am removing you as of this moment.”

  “You can’t!”

  “I can, and I will.”

  “I’ll go to Lady Sophie or Lord Felix!”

  “You may, of course, but it will be Baret Buckington who will decide in the end.”

  “Baret Buckington!”

  “Yes, Earl Nigel’s grandson. The earl has awarded him a large portion of Foxemoore, and he will decide how things are run here.”

  “You won’t get by with this,” he snarled.

  “You make a threat against Miss Emerald?” came Ngozi’s cold voice.

  Pitt shot him a bitter look, and Emerald gestured for Ngozi’s silence.

  “My servitude here on Foxemoore is about over anyway,” Pitt gritted. “I’ll be having my own plantation. You’ll change your tune when I’m a respectable gent.”

  Emerald smiled. “Until that far-off day, Mr. Pitt, you can take Ngozi’s place in the boiling house.”

  His mouth hung open. “Take—”

  “Yes, that’s right. Your new job is in the boiling house until your servitude on Foxemoore is over.” As Pitt stared at her, mottled with rage, she turned gracefully to Ngozi and saw the laughter in his otherwise sober face. “Ngozi? Will you kindly bring Mr. Pitt to his new position?”

  “Now, wait a minute—”

  “There’ll be no arguing, Mr. Pitt. If you wish to contest, you can speak to Baret Buckington when he arrives in a few days.” She turned her back to leave.

  But Pitt’s self-control left like an erupting volcano. His eyes flared wildly, and his sweating face turned red. He cursed her. Then his whip leaped out to wrap like a biting viper about her arm, jerking her backward into the dirt.

  “You’ll not treat me like this, you high and mighty wench—”

  Ngozi seemed as stunned by the surprising action as Emerald. But in the seconds that he stood as though dazed, the African slaves who had once been Pitt’s bodyguard sprang at him and wrested the whip from his hand. Muscular arms coiled firmly about him, and in a moment he was powerless, his wrists pinioned behind him in a leather thong.

  “Shall we tie him up in the stockade, Miss Emerald?”

  Stunned, Emerald held her hand to her torn sleeve where a trickle of blood showed from the stinging lash.

  Ngozi stooped to help her to her feet, then started toward Pitt with murderous rage in his eyes.

  “No, Ngozi! Enough! All of you!”

  They stopped. Dead silence encircled them as the sun beat down on their heads.

  Pitt tore his eyes away from hers, breathing heavily.

  “You’ll take your position in the boiling house,” she repeated with a calmness that she didn’t feel. “Ngozi, you’re to take Mr. Pitt’s place as overseer.”

  “Miss Emerald…” he breathed.

  She turned to walk away again, pausing briefly to look at the bitter face of Pitt and at the slaves who held him bound. Then she said to Ngozi, “You’d best stay and see that things are all in order. I’ll drive the buggy back. Report to me this evening on how things are going, will you?”

  Ngozi, flabbergasted, nevertheless managed to keep his dignity. “Yes, Miss.”

  Emerald walked across the dirt toward the buggy, refusing to look at the slaves who were craning their necks to stare first in her direction, then in Mr. Pitt’s.

  Her arm stung. Already she heard the buzzing flies trying to land on the wound, but she walked straight ahead to the driver’s side of the buggy, climbed up to the seat, and, taking the reins, gave them a snap. She turned the mare toward the manor house. She blinked hard against the perspiration that ran into her eyes, but she kept her show of dignity until away from the work yard.

  While driving down the avenue between the cane, feeling weak from the ordeal, she slowed the mare, then brought her to the side to rest a minute. If Baret found out what Pitt had done to her with the whip, she was sure he would deal with him too harshly. She decided to keep the matter from him. The shame Pitt was now feeling, before the slaves he had treated so inhumanely, was punishment enough for the likes of him. His loss of position would sting more than any whip to his back. Taking orders from the slaves he had once abused would be a bitter pill to swallow. She must make certain to order Ngozi not to harm him. Now that Pitt was just another worker, he was prey to the enemies he had made. Pitt had enjoyed making the slaves cringe and beg for his mercies, and more than one of them would enjoy silencing him permanently.

  A few minutes later, she slapped the reins and drove on toward the manor house.

  4

  RECEIVED INTO THE GREAT HOUSE

  The sun dipped toward the horizon over acres of cane fields while the faint promise of an evening breeze rippled musically among the stalks. The otherwise breathless late afternoon settled in lazily. Emerald’s heart seemed to beat painfully slow. If this return to Foxemoore to declare herself a great lady by meting out justice gracefully was her moment of triumph, it didn’t feel like it.

  She sat wearily in the buggy, musing over what to do next. The dust lifted beneath the mare’s hooves like a woman’s face powder, then settled again. A waft of air smelling of hot ripe earth, burned molasses, and the Caribbean Sea stirred together and tugged at Emerald’s hat. Her perspiring skin cooled, and she drove on, her emotions mollified by all the familiar things on Foxemoore in the
advancing twilight.

  She drove toward the cutoff that turned sharply toward the manor house. She passed a fence post where a black crow perched and then cawed as it flew eastward. She heard horse’s hooves from the palm-lined avenue of the Great House. Zeddie was riding toward her.

  “Lady Sophie is askin’ to see you—to come at once.”

  She glanced up the wide avenue to the planter’s house, a mansion of white with a red tile roof, looking stately and undisturbed in the twilight. This response from her father’s aunt was surprising. Emerald had not wanted to enter the house until Baret arrived and she came as his betrothed. Why was Lady Sophie asking for her now? Did a cold upbraiding await?

  “Did you explain about Minette? And how I preferred to stay in the manor house and look after her?”

  “Jitana told her, m’gal. But what her response was, I’m not knowing. I was kept standing on the porch. But I saw Lady Sophie in the drawing room doorway. And sink me sails, I thought she might turn the hounds on me.”

  Emerald’s fingers tightened on the leather reins. She needed the doctor for Minette, and there was no choice except to face the lions, even if it was an old lion with silver hair and sedate black sateen dress. She’d come close to being devoured before, and entering the den again was a risk she must endure. The Lord would want her to remain gracious and respectful to Lady Sophie, a woman in her seventies. And if the queen lion had made up her mind to devour her, there was little to do but commit her way to the Lord and move forward, trusting in His provision. He had guarded her this far; surely He would not abandon her now.

  She drove the mare toward the main avenue. Zeddie turned his horse and rode ahead, leading the way as though Emerald were visiting royalty. His dusty black hat bounced on his golden periwig.

  The vast estate of Foxemoore had not changed in the years since Emerald had been brought here from Tortuga. The walled boundaries traversed miles along the outer road, fringed with tall palms.

  The English planters on the colonial Sugar Islands of Jamaica, Barbados, and Antigua sought to build their great houses on knolls facing windward. Emerald now had a clear view of the white-pillared mansion with its red tile roof and of Port Royal Bay. Because of the coral reefs, the water sometimes appeared different shades of blue, green, amber, and even red, and on her left was a sweeping view of the green cane fields as far as her eye could see.