The Outrageous Fortune of Abel Morgan

by Cynthia Jefferies

  ‘I have no means with me to stitch the wound, but I think it will knit well enough without help. Even so, I will keep a careful watch on it.’

  Her voice was so small I had to bend to hear her words. ‘Thank you.’

  She made no attempt to withdraw her hand, so I raised it to my lips and found myself kissing it.

  ‘I tried to steal a fish to eat, but the fish-wife saw me and lunged with her gutting knife.’

  ‘She might have killed you.’ I looked at her and saw that she wept. ‘The salt will pain your cut.’

  She winced as her tears watered the red line on her cheek, but she made light of the sting. ‘They will help it to heal.’ She gripped my hand. ‘I did not return simply for your skill as surgeon. That man, Mr Chepstow, saw me straight away for what I am. I was frightened of your anger.’

  I tried to speak, but she stopped my mouth with her hand. ‘I am sorry I misled you, when you have been so kind. Please don’t send me away. I will work hard. Even though I am a girl I am growing stronger every day. I will fill all the responsibilities of a surgeon’s mate if you will let me remain. We can be as before. I will do anything …’

  ‘No.’

  She turned her face away from me then with a kind of hopelessness that tugged at my heart. I hastened to reassure her.

  ‘I thought I had lost you when I had just discovered you! Don’t cry. I don’t want you to leave me, but I can no longer call you Jack. Tell me what your name is.’

  She turned back and looked earnestly into my face. ‘So, I may still be your assistant?’ What she read there disappointed her. Her eager expression turned to one of distrust and she pulled her shirt about her neck as if to protect herself. ‘I will not be your doxy.’

  I think the horror in my voice gave her pause. ‘No!’ I protested. ‘I do not want that! I would marry you.’

  I shocked myself. I did not know I would say it, but when it was out I saw that I meant it.

  ‘You don’t know me.’

  I felt reckless with outrageous happiness. ‘I have known you for the best part of a year! I know your intelligence, determination, cheerfulness.’ I paused to refill my arsenal. ‘Good humour, loyalty, resourcefulness … all I have not known is your sex!’

  She looked at me and there was despair in her face. ‘I am a fourteen-year-old runaway slave with a scarred face and I am not a maid. Even before that sea captain … he …’

  ‘I care not!’ I took her hand again and spoke seriously. ‘Except that if he hurt you I will find and kill him.’ She shook her head slightly, but it was not to deny his cruelty.

  In spite of Jack’s hurts, I felt a rising desire to caper like a mummer. I had never before felt this extraordinary mix of desire, trepidation and exhilaration. New feelings that I could only call love buffeted around in my heart and my loins. ‘I will be your Romeo to my Juliet!’ I told her. She looked at me in puzzlement and I laughed. I had an overwhelming desire to share in five minutes all the book learning I had gathered at my father’s knee. Such dizzy thoughts were a happy kind of madness. Well, I would soon, it seemed, be able to afford as many books as I wished. Meanwhile, I had an object of my new-found affections that but an hour ago had not existed! The stews of Port Royal and other towns were all very well, but they had afforded me only animal couplings. I would not be alone on my plantation. I would take her with me and together we would enjoy everything my good fortune could bring us. What a life we would live!

  CHRISTOPHER MORGAN

  26

  Christopher had always told himself he was not cut out for court, but since he had successfully discharged his duty to Turlough he found his mind entirely altered. It was obvious that Jane and William were more than capable of running the inn without him. Christopher could feel himself emerging, as if from the cocoon of a moth. He was a changed man. Buying the Rumfustian Inn had felt the right thing to do at the time, but neither of the people he had thought it would shelter were with him. It was time he made a new life for himself.

  The more he thought about it the more he relished the opportunities London and the court offered. At home he had starved himself of intelligent conversation, while the court was awash with it. Men discussed the latest scientific experiments and theories, including ones pertaining to plants. His abandoned attempts to cultivate fungi in the cellar came back to him. He should ask someone about such things.

  It was as if he were waking from a long sleep. His spirit bounded upwards like soap bubbles in the breeze. At court, he had heard a wonderful young composer’s anthem. The King had also been enamoured of Mr Purcell’s genius, so perhaps there would be more sublime music to listen to, in the company of others who could appreciate it. Never could Dario furnish him with such experiences.

  He reminded himself that a gentleman needed money to stay at court. Well, if he was careful the inn’s profits could be stretched to keep him there perhaps a week in every six or eight. Perhaps that would be enough to discover how he could improve his financial position. As well as enjoying the best of court life, he would scurry about his business, seeking profitable enterprise. He had already written to Ethan, asking for more interesting plants to be sent to him, and eagerly awaited his reply. Every gentleman of fashion wanted to emulate what the King favoured. If he could interest the King, he would have a slew of willing customers, gentlemen all, with gold to spend. And then he had another thought. He had a connection with Holland, where skilful gardeners had great success. Why should he not ask his father-in-law to introduce him to a Dutchman willing to teach him or to supply him with other plants? There were possibilities everywhere when he began to look.

  If Abel returned, he would take him to court and help him to make a good marriage. If he did not, at least Christopher would have something to distract himself from his loss. It was more than time to look forward.

  Christopher could not tell why flowers meant so much to him, but they did. Maybe it was simply that their beauty soothed his soul. Whatever the reason, it was a fortunate interest. When next in London, he visited gardens and growers whenever he could, learning much. Ethan needed no urging to facilitate his plans, sending more bulbs and searching for unusual roses, flowers which Christopher particularly loved. He was far from being the only person involved in the horticultural trade. London was a great centre, but it wasn’t long before Christopher decided to send the royal plant and garden fashions to the West Country, and that proved a wise decision. Within two years, his contact with Ethan was providing him with some wonderful new plants and his trade in Bristol and roundabout was beginning to thrive. He still bought much from the London growers as well as from Holland but was starting to build up a stock of unusual plants of his own, which was giving him much more profit.

  On his return to the inn one day, he could hardly contain his excitement as he presented Jane with a tiny plant in a pot.

  ‘What is it?’ she asked, never having had a great regard for plants unless they were useful.

  ‘It’s an auricula,’ he said. ‘The King’s gardener gave it to me. He says it has a colour and stripe he has never seen before and he cannot recall where it came from. He wondered if I had supplied it to him, but I know I have not. I wonder if it will set seed for me? It is a very pretty thing.’ He regarded it with pleasure. ‘And I wonder more if the seed will be true? But I will grow and sell them as having come from the King’s garden. They will be very popular, whatever they look like!’

  ‘And to think,’ said William in his lugubrious manner, ‘that in days past, producing a cabbage was an achievement.’

  Christopher favoured him with a laugh. ‘I am still early in learning and I fear I will never learn to love digging and weeding, but propagation and breeding are fascinating sciences. William, can you find me a couple of good boys to help you? I have it in mind to increase my nursery, and to do that we will need more land and more help.’

  That evening, when Christopher retired to bed, he sat at his desk for a while, drawing the tiny flower. He ha
d a new journal now and it was filling with drawings, lists and descriptions of plants and flowers, as well as a growing list of wealthy customers who wanted to speak to him personally, rather than to simply buy his plants from the man he supplied in Bristol. Everyone wanted the latest fashion in plants as well as clothes and houses, and that meant knowing what went on at court. Making the acquaintance of Sir Christopher Morgan was fast becoming a fashionable step to take.

  He got into bed and, as always, stretched out comfortably. Rather to his surprise he found he was an excellent businessman, while somehow not compromising the fact that he was a gentleman. Money was coming in, more than he had thought possible. He had fortuitously discovered a hobby which had become both a passion and brought a handsome income. He was almost entirely a happy man. He still wrote to Ethan asking about Abel, but there was never any news. If he still lived, he would be a grown man by now, and yet Christopher kept his son’s room the way it had always been. If he did ever return, Christopher would not wish him to think his memory had been obliterated from the inn. At least there was a pot of money now with which to ransom him, if they could ever discover where he was, and to buy him clothes fit for a gentleman instead of his slave’s rags.

  ABEL MORGAN

  27

  Ptolemy, far more than my father, gave me what I needed to survive in this world. I wish sometimes that I knew more about him. He told me little about his early life and the account he left me is so closely written I find it hard to decipher. Perhaps one day I will get it copied by someone, so I can read it, but really, it does not matter. It is all he did for me that I remember with gratitude.

  As much as the wealth Ptolemy left me, my surgeon’s skill has continued to open doors. For even the mightiest of men are disinclined to suffer pain when they can avoid it and will welcome any who can give them relief. What’s more, doctoring is my passion. The body is an ever-wondrous thing and I suspect no man will ever learn all there is to be known about it. Medicine will, I feel sure, interest me until my eventual death.

  At seventeen, I had experienced much and managed not just to survive, but to prosper. Perhaps I can be excused for making mistakes in the one life skill of which I had no knowledge: women. Expressly in the form of Marie. Her perfidy at not sooner revealing her true sex to me hurt. I thought I had been trusted, but I swept the hurt away because, in my new realised passion for her, I did not wish anything to render her imperfect. And so, I fell down immediately on one of my tenets. I know the puppyish affection I had for her was no more than a boy’s desire, imagined to be a great love, but at the time it laid me open to her manipulation, which included not taking the advice of my lawyer, Mr Chepstow. I insisted on marrying her because she insisted on it before she would allow me access to her delicious body. She could not pretend to be virgin, so why protest so much? But we had struck up a friendship on board and discovering her sex turned me romantic. I wanted to see romance and nobility in our situation, and so, because I thought I loved her, and she I, we wed.

  Let me explain a little more. Recall that I am a surgeon, with at that time little knowledge of the female body. If I had thought of it, I could have doubtless purchased a girl to conduct examinations and experiments upon, but I have never, nor ever wished to, practise medicine on any but willing patients. So, it was not just my boyish ardour that trapped me. In addition, the temptation of knowing that I would every night have the body of a young woman in my bed, a woman eager to teach me her form’s contours, abilities and secrets, was not to be passed up. It may seem a curious premise for a marriage, but it was, I know, at least a small part of my great enthusiasm. That and the feeling that suddenly the world was laid out before me, with wealth, a home and a woman there for the taking. I turned none of it away. I cast off my name for safety’s sake and became a newborn man, one Sir Jack Moore, come into his new-found land. Moore had been Ptolemy’s family name and so honoured him. Jack, of course, had been the name Marie called herself as a boy, and my title I took for myself, knowing for a certainty of my father’s death.

  Everything was awash with newness. Has anyone had such a turnaround in their fortunes? I cannot think it. I almost felt myself a foundling discovered to be a king. In truth, pirating had brought me gold enough. A surgeon’s share is a generous one, but the life is always hazardous.

  At first, I felt myself at immediate danger of being discovered for who I had been, because that former pirate Henry Morgan had been knighted, made governor of the island and was in the process of hanging his old friends. However, having abandoned my shipmates so precipitously and living quietly on the plantation under new names as a married couple gave us both cause to believe that all would be well. Cut off as we were from society, we had only ourselves for entertainment. I admit I was like a child with a honeycomb. My ardour knew no limits, except for my body’s occasional exhaustion, due entirely to overuse. Her body was a constant delight to me and I know mine was not unpleasing to her. We lay abed for most of the time, only rising to eat or drink, our needs being met by an elderly slave woman, who said little to either of us.

  Eventually, Marie swore herself in need of other entertainment, and so, although I would have been happy to remain indolent a while longer, she shrugged off my advances and insisted on exploring our immediate surroundings. I did not see then, but understood eventually, how single-minded she was. I had thrilled at her intelligence when I thought her a boy, so eager to learn about my work. I had not understood that it was ambition that drove her, not interest. As soon as she no longer needed to practise medical matters she cast them entirely aside. Always for her it was ambition. She had escaped ill use by throwing herself on board at my feet. I had proved to be a happy choice then and was even more of one now I had come into my fortune. Did she love me? I do not think I will ever truly know, but I cannot blame her for trying to escape the miserable life she had led until meeting me. Now, she had every intention of taking up the role of plantation wife, a change of life that was a miracle to us both. So I trailed behind her like a puppy as she thoroughly explored the house. It was, I thought, a good house, though small. Having been raised in the fusty old Rumfustian Inn, I found the large windows and front porch very pleasing, but Marie, who knew of these things, said that the house was much too small for a resident owner and must be improved. I had been assured by Mr Chepstow that there was money and to spare for any improvements I might wish, and so I told Marie she could have a free hand. I wasn’t particular because I was more interested in her body than her plans, but being temporarily thwarted in that respect I decided to match her in maturity by discovering all that was to be known about my plantation. And so, a few short weeks after we became man and wife, our new life truly began.

  The plantation had an overseer who dealt with everything and had been answerable to Mr Chepstow. Mr Ballam rode the plantation every day and so if I were to learn what I owned I must ride too. Apart from the nag hired by Mr Chepstow to get us to the plantation from Port Royal I had not been on the back of a horse since leaving England. I knew nothing of horseflesh but ordered Ballam to find me a good riding horse. The one he bought was too spirited for my inexperience, but I had more tenacity than the horse and over the course of a few weeks I had the measure of him. I did not like Ballam and I daresay he did not much like me watching him as he worked. Maybe he thought to dissuade me from accompanying him by providing me with such a horse, but I was not going to allow that to happen. This was my plantation and I meant to know everything about it.

  I had another reason to want to know all I could. Marie, having been born on a plantation, seemed to know much and had an opinion on everything, which often varied from mine. Even on the slave policy, where I thought she would agree with me, she did not. Remembering my father’s gentleness in never beating me, I found Ballam’s treatment of the slaves overharsh, but when one evening I told her how I purposed to change his regime she remonstrated with me.

  ‘Leave it alone,’ she told me.

  ‘But it seem
s to me he would get better work and even loyalty from the slaves if he treated them well,’ I argued. ‘Surely you cannot advocate severe punishment for small wrongs? It could be your mother being whipped for being tardy, simply because she was caring for her sick child, who could have been you!’

  I had never seen Marie so angry. It shocked me that she could be so unfeeling towards those whose blood she carried in her veins. Granted, the only outward sign of her ancestry was the colour of her skin, which with her European hair and features could almost, in some lights, have been Spanish, but for her to so deny her blood surprised and appalled me.

  ‘Do you think kindness makes any difference?’ she shouted. ‘Their only reason to live is to escape. You know nothing!’

  It was our first serious disagreement, beyond the bickering we had begun indulging in. I felt like striking her, but instead I turned and left the room. I snarled at a slave to saddle my horse and galloped angrily towards the place high on my land that overlooked the sea. At that moment, if I could have been back on board ship, I would have far preferred it to being a young husband with a wife I did not know how to tame. Looking down at the waves far below, crashing unceasingly on the rocks, I felt trapped in a life that had at first felt perfect but had too quickly turned sour.

  My horse moved under me and I yanked cruelly at his mouth. I hated myself in part for this behaviour, but another part of me felt that Marie was to blame. I slid my feet from the stirrups and dismounted, leaving the horse free to wander as he wished. It would be the slave’s fault, I told myself, if the damned horse went home without me and the slave would answer for it. I have no excuse for my childish behaviour, other than youth and disappointment at my honeycomb days so swiftly turning to gall. I did not know how to recover those first days when Marie had seemed as pliant as her alter ego, Jack, with the added pleasure of her true sex revealed. I felt more at sea than when I had been on board ship and there was no one here to give me advice.