“Oh!”
Frowning concern, Tiola turned her head quickly. Elizabeth-Anne sat beside the hearth – it was chill enough today for a fire to be lit – her sewing half dropped to the floor, one hand pressed against her swollen abdomen.
“Be you all right?” Tiola got up from the window seat, hurried across the room, hoped the birth would not come this night as she had other important things to do.
“Yes, yes I am fine. The baby kicks that is all, he took me by surprise.”
Tiola smiled, retrieved the baby-gown Elizabeth-Anne was stitching and put her own hand on the woman’s distended belly. She giggled at the hefty thump. “My, but he has some energy!”
“It is a pity he cannot use it to push himself out into the world.”
Bending forward Tiola lightly kissed Elizabeth-Anne’s cheek. “He is not ready, he is still wrong ways up and back to front.” She laughed, “As with all men he cannot stir himself to hurry.” She returned to the window seat. These afternoons spent as a companion to Elizabeth-Anne were not usually tedious, the opposite in fact, for her friend was a delight to talk to, but this was a difficult day and Tiola was full of foreboding.
“He will drop soon, will he not?” Elizabeth-Anne asked, anxiety wobbling into her voice.
Tiola answered with reassurance, “He has time yet to be as he should, but even if he is determined to do things in his own way it is no matter. I have delivered many a stubborn child backside first. It would perhaps be more worrying if this was your first birthing, but it is not. I am not concerned, so neither should you be.”
It was not a lie, but nor was it the whole truth. These were the last few weeks and the child was growing its fastest. Elizabeth-Anne looked and felt ungainly and was suffering from low, dull backache, normal for any pregnancy but she harboured as much anxiety. There was time a-plenty for the foetus to turn around and present as he should; if he did not there could well be complications. However, Tiola was not going to admit any of it to Elizabeth-Anne, for what was the point in causing worries that may not occur? There were already enough to fill this day, the last in October, twice over.
Elizabeth-Anne stretched, groaning against the ache in her spine. “It pleases me to not bring my child into the world this day though. The Eve of All Hallows is not a suitable choice.”
All Hallows’ Eve, Hallowe’en, corrupted by the Christian Faith to be a night of menace, when hags and witches rode their brooms and the dead returned to haunt those left behind.
“Where I come from, in Cornwall, we call it Samhain,” Tiola said. “It is the eve when winter begins and the days grow dark and cold. The unwanted cattle are slaughtered and butchered, for they are hard to feed when the snows come. The harvest is full-gathered and stored. We celebrate as a thank you for what has been given to help us through the days of darkness. All that grows is dead, but there will be re-birth come the spring. Samhain belongs to neither the past nor the present, nor this world nor the other.”
“So–in?” Elizabeth-Anne stumbled over the unfamiliar word.
Tiola repeated ‘Samhain’ slowly, sounding it as sow-in. “It is an old word, from an old, old language, and we do not believe it to be evil. Your son would come to no harm.”
There was the legend that spirits of mischief gathered on Samhain Eve and tainted any crops left unharvested, but that had a practical explanation. Crops left in the fields at the end of October were likely to be blackened by frost, wet, or mould. There was nothing supernatural about it.
“But do the dead not walk on Hallows’ Eve?”
“Ais, the River between the realm of the dead and that of the living becomes frozen and ceases to flow, leaving a boundary that can be crossed between the two worlds. But why fear the spirits of family and friends? Is it not pleasant to welcome them to the hearth on this one night, to feast together and to remember them with love and affection?”
Elizabeth-Anne was confused, this went against all she had been taught and what she had read in her Bible. “But what of the Devil and evil spirits? Do they not come to create mischief?”
Tiola glanced out of the window. Perdita and Jonathan had gone, there was no sign of them. The sky was grey, louring towards a heavier rain. She hoped the pair of them would be sensible, find somewhere dry to make love. There was a hut she remembered seeing in a clearing where the trees ran denser beside the riverbank. Would they go there? She did not require her Craft to tell her they intended to commit themselves to each other. Why should they not? They were young and they were devoted. She intended to ask Jesamiah, when all was done here, to consider granting Jonathan the finances to start his own tailor’s shop, perhaps in Williamsburg. Perdita would have to work hard, but she had a steady hand when it came to sewing. They would manage, if they had the provisions to make a start and if they truly wanted it. But what of the evil of All Hallows Eve?
“Evil fears love, Elizabeth-Anne, for love is the more powerful. Samhain is a time to say goodbye to the old and to welcome the new. Christians, though, have the belief they must pray for the weeping souls who wait in purgatory to be judged before entering the Kingdom of Heaven or the Pits of Hell. They fear the dead, for they fear their own mortality. I believe Samhain is not for fearing evil, but for remembering love.”
“All the same,” Elizabeth-Anne said, crossing herself, “I would rather not be birthing my child this night and I confess, I detested my mother-in-law, may God rest her soul. I have no wish to welcome her back.”
With nothing more to say Tiola returned to her musing. Evening would be approaching soon and she would need to excuse herself from Elizabeth-Anne’s company. She had things to do this eve, for ais, this was the night when the dead could cross the River. And one in particular needed her help.
On this one night she was safe, she could use her Craft as always she had. There would be too many voices from too many souls for her to be identified; too much Light and too much love for the Dark to find her.
Seven
It was close, the time was coming closer. Soon, all this would be over. At last! At last after all these years of guilt his torment was to be ended!
Charles St Croix Mereno sat beside the River, his hands clasped together in anticipation as its ponderous ripples began slowly to harden and then freeze. What he had begun would soon be ending. The watching and the waiting would be done with, and then he could enter Eternity and rest in peace.
He so wanted to end this lonely non-existence, so wanted to get away from this damned indifferent River. But at what cost?
Something caught his attention. A fold of paper caught beneath the surface of the solidifying water. He recognised the blurred writing. He leant forward, thrust his hand through the cold, cold ice and clutched his fingers around it. His letter to Jesamiah.
Eight
They were all weary. Beating down through the wind in a heavy swell and against the current of the Gulf Stream had taken its toll on the ship and her crew. Aside the broken barrel of peas, Sea Witch herself had suffered minor damage: a poorly sewn tops’l had blown into shreds, and some foremast rigging had snapped. One man had fallen overboard. The incident left a sour taste in Jesamiah’s mouth, for they had not been able to save him with the wind and sea so strong. By the time they had manoeuvred he would have drowned or been swept away, his body impossible to find among the high rollers and deep troughs. It was the reason most sailors did not learn to swim. Better to drown quick than prolong the inevitable end.
Bath Town seemed quiet as Jesamiah stepped on to the jetty from the jolly boat. For prudence’s sake he had anchored Sea Witch, as before, lower down the river. They had turned her and set her anchor cable on a spring. If they had to leave in a hurry she would be ready.
“Not many people around?” Sandy Banks observed.
“Tucked up safe behind barred doors, I reckon. It is All Hallows after all, and it is almost dark. These sort of folk are afraid of their own shadows, let alone wraiths and ghosts.” Jesamiah would not admit to it but he
would have preferred the security of his ship and his own cabin this night as well. Having seen what he was now certain was the ghost of his father he was not too keen to be meeting him again. On the other tack, Tiola was here in Bath Town. He doubted any ghost would have the audacity to get past her. Aside, confronting Teach was more daunting than meeting any apparition.
“Cap’n?”
“Skylark! Glad t’see you’re still here.”
Momentarily Joseph Meadows was affronted. He straightened his shoulders, lifted his chin. “I do not disobey orders, Captain Acorne.”
“’Ceptin’ for when you deserted the Navy?” Jesamiah chuckled, slapped his shoulder. “Nay, I’m jesting. I appreciate your loyalty. Is all well?”
Meadows gave a full, succinct report. Miss Tiola was at Archbell Point; Edward Teach, with most of the town’s folk, was at his wedding.
That news astounded and amused Jesamiah by turn. “Well, well,” he announced after considering a moment, “maybe if I were to call in and wish him felicitations he will grant me long enough to say my piece before cutting my throat.”
He was not amused when the crew of the gig laid wagers on how long that granting would last.
Nine
Edward Teach changed his mind about the benefits of marriage during the course of the ceremony. The festivities were supposed to have been outdoors but the rain had persisted. With foresight John Ormond had ordered the great barn cleared and decorated so at least there was a dry area. The harvest had been crammed into every other available space and would have to be moved back into the barn afterwards, but that was work for slaves and therefore of no consequence. Had there not been so many guests – as Teach had wanted – the house would have been adequate.
He had underestimated the full implication of the social status of the occasion. It seemed the world and his wife had been invited to witness the union and partake of the wedding feast. Bad enough to stand up in front of their gawping eyes to exchange meaningless vows presided over by a brain-addled, mumbling Eden, but to have Miss Mary Ormond – Mrs Edward Teach – telling him to speak up and speak correctly, had been the turning point. She had said nothing about his languid West Country accent before; to do so in front of all these people, who had laughed at her impertinent chastisement, had been embarrassing. And Edward Teach was not agreeable to being embarrassed.
Another straw had snapped when Mary had insisted her husband dance with her. He had refused, saying he did not caper like a monkey. She had stamped her foot and danced with someone else instead. What be it, he thought, that makes a wumman into a shrew tha moment she says ‘er vows?
Israel Hands, Teach’s second in command and one of his few friends, persuaded him to sit, eat and drink. The feast was provided by Ormond, why waste it?
“She be makin’ a fool of ’n me.”
“She is young,” Israel answered, “by the morrow she will be understanding the duties of a wife and there will be nay more of this nonsense.” Hands winked and nudged Teach with his elbow, indicating his precise meaning.
Teach merely grunted and gulped another glass of brandy.
“Hello Teach.”
Dancers were frolicking a lively jig, the hired musicians scraping enthusiastically on their fiddles, one a little out of tune and two beats behind the others. Laughter and merriment: guests on the far side of sober enjoying themselves. No one noticed the groom’s brooding silence as he solemnly regarded the man standing before him.
“Don’ recall askin’ thee t’ m’weddin’, Jesamiah Acorne.”
“Do you not?” Jesamiah patted his long coat pockets. “I am sure I have an invitation somewhere.”
Israel Hands had got to his feet, his fingers sliding into a deep pocket where there was a pistol.
Teach made him sit down again. “Nay, nay I’ll be listenin’ t’ wha’ tha scummer has t’ blather’ afore thee doos finish him.”
Jesamiah smiled irritatingly at Hands, pulled up a stool and sat down – after removing his hand from his own coat pocket and laying the pistol it contained on the table.
Hands scowled. Got the message.
“Says what thee have t’say, Acorne, an’ be gone with thee, else I’ll be shootin’ thee a’tween thy eyes, not in tha shoulder.”
Jesamiah reached across what had been a white linen tablecloth until a bottle of red wine had been spilt on it, took a glass and filled it with brandy. Raising it he nodded at Blackbeard and drank. It was all the toast for good fortune Teach would be getting from Jesamiah Acorne.
“I’ve come to apologise, Teach.”
Edward Teach’s head shot upwards, his brows narrowed. “Has somethin’ happened t’ m’ hearin’, Israel? I b’lieve I heard this squit say as he were apologisin’?”
Not rising to the bait, Jesamiah answered, “This squit has had enough of arse licking to the lying fokkers who prance around as Governors. They ain’t nothing but stinking bastards who couldn’t keep a word of a promise if their poxed lives depended on it.”
A man seated next to Israel Hands sneered, “The saying ‘pots and kettles’ comes to mind.”
Jesamiah glanced at him. His face was familiar but he could not place it.
“Havin’ trouble, bist thee?” Teach chortled.
“You could say that. I was arrested for something I did not do.”
Teach leant back in his chair, stretched his legs before him. The new breeches were tight around his belly after eating so much. He belched. “That nay be what I heard. I ‘eard tell from Mr Knight here, thee lied t’me. Tha Fortune o’Virginny were no’ carryin’ militia were she? She were full laid wi’ cargo worth tha takin’.”
“If that is so, then Master Knight here knows better than me. I was told she was after you. Governor Rogers told me himself.” Jesamiah leant forward, planting his folded arms on the table. “I was lied to. Stitched up like a corpse in a shroud. These Governors have no wanting of the likes of us. Amnesty? It ain’t worth the paper it be signed on. They want to be rid of us, Teach; well I ain’t fokken going without a fight.” He paused, had another drink. “There’s a fortune to be made in these waters and down in the Main. All it needs is someone with guts and determination to take it.”
“These’n be my waters, Acorne. My coast.”
Jesamiah’s turn to stretch his legs out, cross them at the ankles. His boots were muddy he noticed. “And you are happy with avoiding the various naval frigates patrolling north of here, are you?”
Knight pitched in with a disparaging laugh. “Captain Brand of the Lyme is a pompous oaf who has not fought a single battle at sea and George Gordon of the Pearl is rarely sober. Is Captain Teach to be afeared of such lubbers?”
It had suddenly occurred to Jesamiah where he had seen Knight. No matter, there were more pressing matters in hand.
“Your squawking parrot, Teach, has been taught to sing the wrong tune. I would be careful of his information were I you. Knight’s version ain’t accurate.”
Knight half rose, “Are you calling me a liar?”
Jesamiah lifted his pistol, examined it, his expression apparently surprised that it was loaded. He shifted the hammer to half cock. “Ask yourself this, Teach. Why has Master Knight not told you that Captain Rhett is patrolling near Charleston? Or that Vernon is in Jamaica? Or of the competent Lieutenant Robert Maynard?”
Teach glowered at Knight who shrugged and then shook his head, sat down again.
“I knows o’ Rhett an’ Vernon. I can handle they.”
Seeing as Knight had backed down, Jesamiah uncocked his pistol, did not put it away though. Said, as if it were a minor matter, “Maynard is the First Lieutenant aboard the Pearl.”
“I know that, Acorne,” Knight hissed. “What of it?”
“Maynard is young but he is keen. He is also very, very good.” Jesamiah pointed the pistol at Knight. “Why is it that you have neglected to inform Captain Teach that while at sea Gordon shuts himself in his cabin and Maynard takes command? Hm?” He put the pistol b
ack down on the table, looked square at Teach. “I’ve come to talk with you, Teach, not your cabin boy.” He smiled pleasantly at Knight. “This bottle is empty, perhaps you would be so kind as to fetch us another?”
Knight began to bluster, but Teach cut him short. “Make it two bottles if ’n thee please, Mister Knight, Israel ‘ere will ‘elp thee, will thee not Hands? I be needin’ a private word with Cap’n Acorne ‘ere.”
With the men gone, Jesamiah spoke plainly. “Spotswood aims to rid the coast of you, Teach, but I aim to rid the coast of as much of value as my hold can carry. If we were to form a partnership, sail in consort, neither Spotswood, Rogers in Nassau or all the enthusiasm Maynard may possess could stop us. Not if we were partners. None of ‘em is clever enough to go against the both of us at once.”
Rocking in his chair Teach threw back his head, his black beard– trimmed and combed for the formal occasion – rising and jerking on his broad chest as he guffawed. “Thee expec’ me,” he wiped tears from his eyes, “thee expec’ me t’ be thy partner?”
Wary, Jesamiah did not let a flicker of any expression touch his face. Bland, he answered, “No. I will be your partner. You are senior to me, but I would rather we conferred on what ships we chase and where, so we assure full agreement and work together, not against each other.”
Letting the chair drop forward Teach stopped crowing, stared at Jesamiah. “I doos b’lieve thee bist serious?”
Jesamiah raised a single finger to touch his hat in a mild salute. He mimicked Teach’s West Country accent perfectly. “Yass, I bis’n serious.”
Resting an elbow on the table Teach massaged his cheeks and chin, ran his tar-stained fingers through his beard. He trusted Acorne no more than he would trust a polecat – but Acorne felt the same about him, and what he said of the Navy was true. Knight had mentioned nothing of Lieutenant Robert Maynard, but Teach already knew of him from other sources. In fact, Knight was as useless as a holed bucket, but as long as he was Bath Town’s legal spokesman and ascertained that no one was breaking any laws, then Teach was content.
Bring It Close Page 28
