Bring It Close

by Helen Hollick

  And most of the captains were easy to bribe or had fingers firmly dipped into various profitable but illegal pies. Was it any wonder not one single pirate had been caught and hanged in more than three years? That men like Blackbeard could piss in the face of the Admiralty?

  Jesamiah decided on a tactful answer. “I thank you for the compliment. What vessel are you with?”

  “The Pearl under Captain George Gordon. We are here to escort the Governor back to Williamsburg tomorrow. He has been surveying the land upriver this last month. He wants to encourage more settlers, I believe.“

  The Pearl? Jesamiah remembered seeing her.

  “What line of business are you in?” Maynard asked. “I take it you are not in the tobacco trade?”

  “As a matter of fact I am. I own la Sorenta.”

  Maynard seemed suitably impressed, if somewhat confused. “But I thought Mrs Mereno…”

  Here we go again, Jesamiah thought. “My father owned it prior to her husband’s occupation of the premises.”

  Still not quite understanding, Maynard let the matter go. He was young, in his early twenties, and had not been stationed in Virginia long, had, as he explained, only recently been appointed First Lieutenant and was anxious to prove himself worthy of the promotion. “It was a sad business, Mr Mereno’s death.”

  “Not from where I stood. I killed him before he managed to kill me.” As another conversation stopper, it was again blunt.

  Samuel laughed. “I told you, Rob, our friend here is not one of our more conventional landowners. His heart remains aboard his ship and he’d rather have his seaman’s boots on his feet than those ballroom shoes. Ain’t that right, Jesamiah?”

  Unexpectedly disgruntled at being addressed with such familiarity, Jesamiah bridled. The young man dared presume too much. “Captain Acorne to you, boy.”

  Trent collected himself and apologised, “Forgive me, Captain, I did not intend to offend. A surfeit of wine has loosened my tongue.”

  The moment the words had left his mouth Jesamiah regretted it. The boy was not to blame for this itching wig and the pinching shoes. He was, though, becoming a little too much of a close shadow. He had been at the plantation every day, offering to help where he could with getting the Sea Witch as she should be; had proved himself capable with saw and chisel – Chippy had been most impressed by his talent and eagerness. As indeed was Jesamiah, but it was becoming a little embarrassing to find him always there, somewhere close by. Trying to impress, of course, to show he was keen and reliable. Ah, the slip was not the lad’s fault.

  “Apology accepted, lad, though you have an advantage over me. I notice my glass is empty and I have not partaken of nearly enough wine to loosen anything. Perhaps as penance you would go in search of an unclaimed bottle or two?”

  Trent took the hint and trotted off. He was mortified to have shown the Captain up in front of Robert Maynard. That was why Acorne had been sharp with him – a breach of etiquette to be so familiar while in the company of another officer. He had enjoyed himself these past days being with the men, working hard and honestly with those who genuinely appreciated his efforts. He did not want to lose the enjoyment.

  Maynard skirted the exchange with dexterity. “I agree with you, Captain; give me a heaving deck in a hurricane wind with all sails blown out and the likelihood of sinking any moment over the fal-de-roll of a ball!”

  A few months ago, in a similar circumstance, Jesamiah would have been rapidly thinking of ways to be gone as quickly and silently as possible. Piracy and the Royal Navy, for all their ineptitudes and granting of amnesties, did not mix. But he did have his pardon and he had signed that wretched declaration. He was no longer a pirate, could speak to a naval officer on equal terms if he so chose. And he did choose. He liked this fellow Maynard.

  “Tell me, Captain,” Maynard asked a moment later, “how would you go about making sure the next shipment of tobacco remains safe? I have been given the unenviable task of escorting the next tobacco convoy to London.”

  “Forget it, mate. The crop was poor and with Blackbeard not far away you’ll not get out the Chesapeake.”

  Indignantly, Maynard drew himself up to his full height of almost six feet. “Neither Blackbeard, nor any pirate, frightens me. I have been offered this commission and I will succeed. As much as I respect and admire Captain Gordon, I would wish the title of Captain for myself. Aside, I hear Teach has been issued a pardon. He has surrendered the illicit life of piracy.”

  Jesamiah guffawed outright. “It was Teach who shot me, man! If he remains committed to a pardon for more than a moon month, then I am a butterball of a Dutchman. And if you do not fear Blackbeard, then you are a fool.”

  “I am a naval officer, Sir! I fear no one.”

  About to make a scathing retort, Jesamiah was interrupted by a booming, authoritative voice.

  “Then you should. Teach is a madman, and mad men are dangerous.” The speaker stepped away from the group he had been talking to, transferred his glass of wine to his left hand and held out his right. “Governor Alexander Spotswood. I understand you to be Jesamiah Acorne?”

  Noticing the discourteous lack of his title, Jesamiah took a moment to decide whether to accept the handshake or not. His head tipped slightly to one side he scrutinised the man; mid-forties, well built with the encroaching signs of a paunch belly, a straight nose and direct eyes that matched his razor-sharp attitude. He was dressed elegantly but not expensively. A man who preferred to get things done rather than prance around in gold-buckled shoes. Brandishing his sling, Jesamiah gave a token bow and offered his left hand. “M’shoulder’s barely healed. I ain’t supposed to move it more than necessary.”

  “I believe you are here to take over la Sorenta? It is a fine property, though aside from the house and stabling, somewhat neglected. We cannot afford to waste land here along the Rappahannock. I am encouraging farmers to settle, to push westward, don’t ye know? There’s some fine ground further in, all it needs is for the forest to be cleared and crops to be planted. Wheat, to plant wheat, that’s what we need.”

  Indicating two vacant chairs the Governor seated himself inviting Jesamiah to join him and chivvying Maynard away.

  “Forgive me for saying so, but who is going to grow wheat when there is money in tobacco?” Jesamiah wondered how the Governor knew so much about him and why he was bothering to answer. He really did not care one way or the other for Virginia, or Governor Spotswood’s idealistic plans. As he expected, the answer was direct.

  “Tobacco brings in a profit when the harvest inclines to be good and when only the best is exported. I am dealing with that issue by the initiation of various inspection schemes.” Spotswood laughed, “Though not everyone likes my reforms.”

  The laugh faded and he scowled at a group of men near the entrance who glowered as ferociously back. “Those who have a brain between their ears see the sense of what I am doing. No tobacco is to leave Virginia without an assurance of quality. Like most of them along the Rappahannock here, you grow Sweetscented, I assume?”

  “Aye, though when I get m’bearings I reckon I’ll change to Oronoco. It’s a better crop for making money.”

  Spotswood tapped snuff from a small gold box on to his hand, noisily sniffed it up his nostrils, dismissive. “No, no, far too strong for the Englishman’s taste.”

  “I’d not sell to the English.”

  The Governor frowned, his forehead wrinkling and eyes narrowing. “Aside from such an idea being against English trade laws, ye would entertain the damned Spanish and French markets? I think not, my lad, I think not!”

  Leaning back in his chair – drawing in his feet as a pair of exuberant dancers whirled too close – Jesamiah smiled lazily. “I ain’t a farmer, I’m a sailor and a trader. I’d take m’crop m’self, sell it where I can get the highest price, so why not Oronoco to sell to the Dons and Frenchies? We are not at war any more; last month’s spat blew over in a few weeks.” He chuckled humourlessly. “Must have b
een one of the shortest wars known. Lasted all of twelve days, or so we heard in Nassau.”

  Spotswood hrrumphed at being gainsaid, argued, “Mark my word, we will be at war again with one or other of ‘em soon – an’ even they don’t like trash tobacco. Poor stuff mixed with floor sweeping and dust might sell once, the buyer will never come back for more. Which is why I am bringing in my inspection reforms. Quality Virginia Tobacco. Guaranteed.”

  Inspections would be impossible to oversee. “Out of interest, Sir,” Jesamiah asked, “just how are you planning on enforcing your reform? There is nothing you could do to stop me loading my hogsheads of tobacco onto my ship and sailing away with it.”

  “Give me time, Acorne and my ideas will be accepted. Without a signed and sealed inspection pass, traders will not accept a cargo. You’ll see. You’ll see.”

  The dance was ending. Slapping his free hand on his knee, Jesamiah joined in the applause. He had to admit to himself that Alicia was most alluring. He watched Trent go up to her, say something which made her laugh. Should he let the fellow run the plantation? Or did he want to be rid of it?

  “To sell tobacco you have to grow it,” he said. “The last harvest has been bad and pirates roam the Chesapeake and Atlantic coast. One or other will shred the profits to nothing.”

  Spotswood sucked his cheeks a moment, then conceded the point, though Jesamiah had the idea that he had been about to say something entirely different. “Poor harvests will cripple us much as they did for those first settlers in 1607. Do you know y’history, Acorne?” Spotswood gave Jesamiah no opportunity to answer yea or nay, but launched onward without a pause for breath.

  “One hundred and forty-three men and women under the command of Captain Newport almost starved to death. They sailed the Sarah Constant, Godspeed and Discovery thirty miles up the river they named the James in honour of the King, tied the ships to trees and set about building the first English settlement in the Americas. All the land not in the hands of the Spanish or the French they claimed as a colony for England and called it Virginia in honour of Elizabeth the Virgin Queen.” He smiled ironically, “We tend to name a lot of places after our monarchs.”

  Jesamiah nodded. He’d noticed.

  Spotswood pointed at the window indicating the dark night beyond the lights and movement reflected in the glass. “Take Urbanna here and Annapolis, both named for Queen Anne. Then we have Williamsburg as our capital town – and Maryland. I fought for Anne, you know. Served with Marlborough at Blenheim. God is my life but that was a battle I am both proud to remember and afeared to recollect! The damage to men and horses was horrendous. Horrendous.”

  “Don’t see anyone falling over their feet to stamp our King George’s name on anything,” Jesamiah responded. “The House of Hanover ain’t being glorified much, is it?”

  The Governor cleared his throat tactfully. He was a king’s man – he had to be, but he also disliked the German King, George. He also possessed a sense of humour. “Give it time, someone will find a turnip field for him. Though I’d rather the man would at least learn English before we started regaling him.” Taking a glass from a servant’s tray the Governor handed it to Jesamiah and took one for himself.

  The champagne was one of the best vintages Jesamiah had tasted, and wearing these ridiculous clothes he reasoned he may as well behave the part of a landed gentleman to the hilt. He raised the glass. “To the King. May he soon be suitably landed.”

  Raising his own glass, Spotswood chuckled a response; “To the King. May his American rivers be long, his soil fertile – and may he stay as far away from them as possible!”

  They touched glasses, drank.

  “Those first settlers, Acorne, saw that Virginia was green and the game was plentiful, but they had inept leaders ill suited to making hard decisions and attending even harder labour. They built their settlement on the marsh, which brought disease and famine. Within three years, more than half of them were dead, but God intervened and the colony survived. I tell you this little homily for a reason. We cannot survive on tobacco. We can grow it, we can sell it – to Englishmen, the French or the Spanish, to whoever will buy it in fact, but we cannot eat it. What is more, where tobacco grows the soil falls dead, nothing more will thrive in it. So we clear more forest and plant more tobacco and take the life from yet more ground. What do we do? Follow this example all the way to the mountains, then over the ridge and into whatever godforsaken wilderness lies beyond?”

  It was a rhetorical question but Jesamiah answered anyway. “So we grow wheat as well?”

  The Governor slapped his shoulder, the uninjured one. “You have it, my boy. You have it! We grow wheat as well.”

  Wheat. Real farming. Ploughing, irrigating, harvesting, threshing. Jesamiah had no intention of becoming a farmer. None at all. He decided to change the subject. “Tell me, Governor, do the mountains truly have a blue ridge?”

  Eager, alighting enthusiastically on his favourite topic, Spotswood nodded. “Aye, they do; it’s a haze of the light or so they tell me. Y’know I took an expedition across there a couple of years back? First white people to do so. Knights of the Golden Horseshoe we called ourselves.” His fingers went to a lapel pin, a horseshoe fashioned in pure gold. “You should see the Big Valley, lad, the Shenandoah.” He closed his eyes, shook his head, remembering. “By Gad, our Lord used all his love to fashion such absolute beauty. The native Indians call it the Daughter of the Stars.” He snapped his eyes open. “We need to push westward. There is land out there for the taking, land for growing wheat and corn – and tobacco and cotton. It is there, it is all there. Waiting.”

  Tempted to say he had no interest in pushing westward, in the condition of the soil, clearing forests or growing and exporting tobacco, Jesamiah held his tongue but quipped instead; “Plenty of opportunity for King George yet then.”

  Thirty Two

  North Carolina

  While the women of Governor Eden’s household had initially objected to the evening’s dinner arrangements, his other guests, male and female, were thoroughly enjoying themselves. And Tiola had to admit, albeit reluctantly, when he put his mind to it Edward Teach could be charming. He knew how to flatter, how to tease just that little bit near the edge – then draw back before offence was given. Could tell a tale that had every man and woman at the table listening, mouth agape, the food before them forgotten. He had them all caught, like fishes to the line. No wonder Bath Town so welcomed him. He brought entertainment as well as money.

  He was dressed well, smart; was clean, tidy, every inch the gentleman. And not unattractive at first glance. On arrival he had kissed the ladies’ hands, then escorted Elizabeth-Anne, as the eldest and senior woman present, to table where he proceeded to enthral everyone with tales and anecdotes, his broad Bristolian accent more subdued and not so noticeable. Listening, keeping herself as unobtrusive as possible, Tiola marvelled at his vocal dexterity. He had every one of those present, even herself at one point, eating out of his hand as he regaled them with daring adventures and exploits of his life on the High Seas.

  He recounted how he had begun his life at sea after running away from home to become a midshipmen at the age of twelve. He had heard of a privateer anchored in Bristol harbour, her captain was looking for crew.

  “I had heard of him,” he said, “my mother had spoken often of this p’tickler cap’n.” He had winked and guffawed, and added, “And aye, I often wondered when she did, why she’d ‘ad a twinkle glistenin’ in her old eye!”

  They had laughed and he had gone on to say how and where he had fought and what great battles they had won.

  “I was presented at Court to good Queen Anne,” he boasted, after raising several toasts to her memory. “It was after the Battle of Gibraltar – I was there, my ship was nigh on blown to pieces.” And he had described the battle, thrilling them all with exciting detail.

  John Ormond in particular was impressed by the fact that his future son-in-law had personally spoken to the ol
d Queen, and declared, after another toast, that his daughter was fortunate to be wedding such a distinguished man of the world. Mary Ormond, seated next to Teach, blushed and smiled proudly, her arm going occasionally to touch his arm shyly. In response he took her hand, kissed it, made a comment that soon her belly would be as large and round as was that of Mistress Page. Everyone laughed and nodded benignly, Mary blushed again, Tiola pretended to be busy with her plate.

  Mary was not yet sixteen. Teach was fifty.

  A servant entered discreetly, spoke quietly into Nicholas Page’s ear. He excused himself, left the table, Elizabeth-Anne watching him go. She looked well, if somewhat large, and Tiola had been surprised that Teach had not made one comment beyond remarking that the lady’s child would be a son to be proud of – though was she certain she was not carrying an entire ship’s crew in there?

  Several times Teach had attempted to draw Perdita into the conversation, but she had refused to meet his eye and had spoken barely a word. Tiola felt sorry for her, forced to endure company she had no interest in while her heart and mind were on a young man elsewhere. Tiola knew exactly how the girl felt. Her hand went to the acorn on the chain around her neck. It took great effort to force herself to not even think of contacting Jesamiah. Even then, even with this small thought of him, Teach regarded her across the table, his stare intense, suspicious, and she heard the faint rustling of the Malevolents, saw the shadows in one corner of the room grow denser, darker. She let go of Jesamiah’s acorn, busied her mind on selecting food from the platters in the centre of the table – and was relieved when the same servant who had summoned Nicholas Page entered and spoke quietly into her ear.