Bring It Close

by Helen Hollick

  She closed her eyes, said calmly, hoping he would not read the lie behind her lips, “I do not want to go to bed with you, Jesamiah. Now, or ever again. I am a respectable widow. I am no longer a whore.”

  When she opened them again he was standing directly in front of her. He reached out, put one finger under her chin, tipped her face upward, leaned in and kissed her. It was a long, sensuous kiss.

  When he broke away he said, “Then I will just have to think of another way for you to earn some money – a reward perhaps?”

  He stepped back, retrieved his hat. “Give me an hour. Get your best gown and prettiest bonnet on. You are going to get me into the Governor’s palace.” And he was gone, the door closing behind him. She looked out of the window, saw him hurry across the street, go into the tavern opposite.

  The smooth-talking whoremonger! He’d had no intention of taking her to bed. None at all! Surprising herself, Alicia found that she was laughing.

  Thirty Five

  North Carolina

  Elizabeth-Anne’s baby was occipto posterior, a medical term which Tiola did not use aloud to the labouring mother. The baby’s back was to his mother’s back, which meant his head was not fitting into the cervix very well, which in turn meant the contractions were of irregular strengths. They grew stronger as the afternoon wore on, becoming a succession of small contractions interspersed with huge, agonising ones as Elizabeth-Anne’s body tried to push the baby to a better position. Some of the waves of pain came in pairs, a stronger one wearing off into a smaller cramp. Then a gap when it almost seemed as if everything had stopped – but another big one swamped the woman and she cried out, fearful that she and the child were not going to survive.

  In a normal birth the baby ‘dropped’ into position before labour began, sometimes days before, occasionally only a matter of hours. The head would dip in and out of the pelvic brim, fitting into the space between, reducing the size of the visible bump becoming more uncomfortable for the mother. The dipping had still occurred, but with her experience, even without her gift of Craft, Tiola could clearly see that Elizabeth-Anne’s bulge was too high, almost under her breasts. Tiola did not need to feel with her hands to realise the foetus was back to front and was going to make this birth difficult.

  Massaging Elizabeth-Anne’s back, Tiola deliberately kept cheerful. The poor woman had suffered dull, aching back pain for the past four weeks.

  “I want to push. If only I could push it might ease this pain.”

  “No, please believe me, if you pushed this early it would make things worse. Ride through the feelings, dear-heart, just ride through them.” Tiola dare not explain that with the contractions not working properly, the cervix was not dilated enough to allow the child to pass through. With incorrect pressure it would swell and eventually, birth would be impossible. The only result: death for mother and child.

  There were so many things that could go wrong but Tiola retained her reassuring smile. If the waters broke, labour would become more painful, blood loss could be greater than was safe – or the foetus could try to turn in the pelvis and become stuck. Tiola had performed a caesarean twice in the past. She had saved one infant, lost both mothers. She massaged her sweet-smelling oils into Elizabeth-Anne’s back, thighs and belly and murmured a small spell to ease the worst of the pain. Teach, she knew by her own gift and by what she had heard, was the other side of Pamlico Sound, camped on the Ocracoke, far enough away for her to use all her skills and Craft, but there was a residue of the Dark lingering here in Bath Town. An echo of Malevolence attempting to find her. She needed to be careful, to use what she had sparingly. Even with her Craft, whether the mother and child were safe from the cruelties of nature, she did not yet know.

  Thirty Six

  Virginia

  At first Jesamiah had thought Alicia was not going to come, but the words ‘a reward perhaps’ had lured her. Alicia would never change. Money would always be her first love.

  “Have you any idea where Sam is?” was his first question. “And where is Knight staying?” was his second.

  Main Street was emptier now, people with homes to go to had gone to them, stalls and stores had shut for the night. The sky was almost dark, several stars were growing brighter. The lamplighter was coming down the street lighting the torches in wall sconces and lamps hung upon walls, attracting moths and night insects. From the taverns and those few places still open, yellow light spilled outward to pool on the pavement. Alicia wondered how much this reward was to be.

  “Samuel was to meet with the estate lawyer to see what can be salvaged from the mess your brother left. Then he was going to dine. Beyond that I do not know. I am not his wife, nor his keeper. Nor do I know or care about Knight.” Her answer was curt. Already she was wondering what she was doing walking along Main Street after dark with Jesamiah. What if Knight was to accost her again?

  Jesamiah did not want to meet with Samuel. For two reasons: one, he thought it best to leave the lad to cope on his own and not feel he was being examined, and two, he did not want a repeat of Sam begging to join him. When he returned to face Blackbeard it would be a fight to the death, and he had enough to think about without feeling responsible for an untried lad.

  “Phillipe was not my brother, Alicia.”

  “So you said. I do not believe you.”

  “Too bad. It happens to be the truth. Which lawyer was Samuel seeing?”

  “A local firm: Masters Stealit and Spendit.”

  He chuckled. If she was making jests she had forgiven him his earlier teasing. “Seriously, Alicia, I need to know.” As he asked the question, the name came into his head.

  ~ Richard Faversham. ~

  He repeated it aloud and Alicia scowled. “If you already knew, why ask me?”

  “I did not know, I guessed. I must have seen a sign somewhere.” He found it so unsettling to hear his father like this. Was he watching every move? Constantly following behind? Jesamiah resisted the urge to look over his shoulder. Yet again he so wished that Tiola was with him, or that at least he could talk to her about the way he was being haunted. But she was busy with Elizabeth-Anne and a baby which, from what she had implied hours ago now, was reluctant to come into the world.

  They walked on in silence, crossed Colonial Street – Jesamiah had to pull Alicia back as a carriage rumbled by taking the corner a little too tight and coming too close.

  “Some people ought to learn to drive,” he muttered. “Are you all right?”

  Although slightly shaken, she nodded. “I thought for a moment it was Knight, come to finish me off.”

  Jesamiah put himself between her and the roadway, any carriages or wagons would have to go through him first. “I was going to have a word with you about Knight. You know he will want more money if you pay him this time, don’t you?”

  Glum, she nodded.

  “It would be better to call his bluff.”

  “What? Tell him to announce to the world I was a convict and a whore?”

  A scrawny she-cat shot past, followed by a dog in pursuit. The cat resembled the one he had seen that morning when he had been taken to the palace, although somewhat skinnier. “Well, you could do that if you wanted, though I would not advise it.”

  She scowled at him, saw he was laughing. “This is not a humorous situation Jesamiah. I am in trouble.”

  He stopped walking, trundled her around to face him. “Why do you not blackmail him in turn? Buy his silence? Threaten him?”

  In exasperation, she raised her arms in the air and walked on. “Those are the most unhelpful suggestions I have ever heard. What? Shall I frighten him by saying his hair is turning grey or his wig is unfashionable? Or his belly is becoming too big to button his waistcoat?”

  Jesamiah trotted to catch her up, grasped her arm. “No. You tell him unless he leaves you alone you will inform Governor Spotswood about a certain close acquaintance.”

  “And that will worry him?”

  “For fok sake; button your mo
uth and listen! Knight will not want Spotswood knowing he and Blackbeard are partners.”

  Her eyes widened, the first spark of hope in weeks cheering her. “Are they? You are sure of this?”

  “Yes. I have suspicions about Knight that if true, will send him scuttling like a crab for deep water. If you can get me into the palace I will be able to confirm what I think.”

  Alicia continued walking, considering the implications of what Jesamiah had said. It would be so good to get the better of the odious man. “But I will not always be here in Williamsburg. What if he goes to la Sorenta? He is a violent man.”

  “I thought you said you don’t want to go back there?”

  “I do not. But what choice have I? I am homeless. I am penniless.” They were at the palace green, one or two benches made from fallen logs were set to the side – a way to make people sit and admire the grand building dominating the far end. Jesamiah sat Alicia down, seated himself next to her.

  “If you could do what you wanted, what would it be?”

  She answered immediately. It was something she had thought of often these last months. If she were free, if she had her fortune to do with as she pleased. “I would buy a plot of land and build a tavern here in Williamsburg; a reputable place for gentlefolk, not a disorderly house – no whores or rag-a-bones with an itch in their breeches. I would run something like the King’s Arms – only even better. Hold balls and entertainments. Cook good meals, have clean rooms with clean linen. My establishment would be known through all the Chesapeake as Virginia’s finest accommodation.”

  Jesamiah was surprised at first, but then, on second thoughts, perhaps not. Being a tavern keeper was one of the few things outside of running a bawdy house that a woman could do in her own right. And yes, Alicia would be good at it.

  “And how much would this buying a plot of land cost? Two, three hundred pounds?”

  She pursed her lips, calculating. “To buy and build and furnish? Oh, probably at least three hundred pounds of tobacco. Three hundred and fifty pounds of it if I wanted to be sure of the first year. After that I would start turning a profit.” She sighed, folded her hands in her lap. The palace at the end of the tree-linedgreen looked pretty all aglow with light shining from every window. “I would site it either behind the Capitol Building or here near the palace. I know it is somewhat rough at this end of Main Street at the moment, but give it a few years and mark my word, things will be different! Aside, land is slightly cheaper this end. I could not really afford the Capitol.”

  “But that’s where the best clients are?”

  “Of course.”

  “So five hundred pounds would set you up nicely?”

  She stood, tiring of the conversation. “Yes, but I have not even got one ounce of tobacco with which to barter, so there is no point in dwelling on unreachable dreams, is there?”

  Jesamiah stayed where he was. “I am talking pounds sterling, not tobacco weight.”

  “No one uses actual money here in Williamsburg,” she retorted scornfully.

  “Well I do. Please, Alicia, sit down. I ain’t said all I want to say.”

  She stood for a few more moments, tapping her foot and sighing impatiently, then flounced down beside him.

  From his pocket, Jesamiah pulled two sealed letters. She saw her name on one, made a grab at it. Jesamiah snatched it aside, held it high. “Uh, uh, hear me out first. This one is for you. It states all the things you are entitled to.”

  She tried to reach it again, but he held it even higher. “If you do not listen to me, Ma’am, I will destroy it and you will be left with nothing.”

  She huffed, impatiently folded her hands into her lap.

  “This,” Jesamiah continued, “states that you may take whatever is yours from the house. I warn you, I would have expected my father to have had an inventory, so do not try to take anything that was there before you moved in. It also states that unless you are satisfactorily making your own decent income – which does not mean whoring – then…”

  “Huh. What chance have I of an income that does not involve lifting my skirts?”

  “…As I was saying; unless you have an income, you are to receive an annual allowance from the estate, if there is sufficient to support it.”

  She sniffed.

  “You could at least say thank you.”

  “Thank you.” She did not sound particularly grateful.

  “This other letter is for the lawyer. He is to see to it that Samuel Trent becomes the permanent estate manager of la Sorenta – and Samuel is to answer to him annually with the accounts if I am not here.” He paused, studied the night sky, the familiar patterns of the stars. How were Tiola and the babe? Was she really stopping herself from having his child? Could she, would she, do that? Was Alicia really not pregnant? And then his thoughts returned to tomorrow and the day beyond. Five, six days maybe, and it would all be over. By Friday he could be up there with the stars, a dead man, peering down at the living world.

  “Also in this letter, I have instructed the lawyer to tell you everything if I do not come back. Someone should know the truth about my father and Phillipe. It might as well be you. He was your husband, after all.”

  “What do you mean, you might not come back? Where are you going?”

  Jesamiah puffed his cheeks, glanced again at the stars, “Very possibly somewhere far away and not very pleasant, darlin’. Maybe a bit hot and smelly I should think, if a past experience in a hold is anything to go by.” He slapped his hands on his thighs, stood. “Come on, let’s see if you can get me in to the Governor without anyone hanging or shooting me.”

  “You will make sure I get paid for doing this won’t you?”

  “I will, darlin’. I will.” He handed her the two letters, made sure she put them safely into her poke.

  He whistled as he strolled towards the wrought-iron gates, Alicia looking as beautiful as ever on his arm. It was bravado. The sound a man makes as he walks to the gallows and does not want the watching crowd to know he is scared to death.

  Thirty Seven

  North Carolina

  The vow of the midwife was that she would give all her energy to the mother and child she was delivering until she was certain they had made safe passage through the arduous journey of birth. It was a vow that no conscientious midwife would query or ignore, but there were occasions when Tiola needed some of that energy for herself. She too had to survive. Tiola was usually able to bring a healthy babe into the world through a relatively comfortable birth. By and large the mothers needed no particular assistance beyond the help of a friend or relation. Tiola, as midwife, was there to anticipate problems and deal swiftly and efficiently with emergencies. But even with her skill and care, women died.

  It would have been good to have Perdita here helping, with her calm manner, her soft voice and gentle smile. Tiola thrust the thought aside as she massaged Elizabeth-Anne’s feet and legs, not wanting tears to come. The three lives had been lost: Jonathan, Perdita and their child. Then there was Mary Ormond – she did not want to lose these two as well.

  Elizabeth-Anne was propped on the bed by pillows and cushions. The contractions had become stronger, but the baby was no nearer to being born. It was night outside. Tiola had watched the sky fade into purple then dark blue. One diamond of light shone brighter than its companions. Venus. She could not be thinking of where Jesamiah was. What he was doing.

  Another contraction shuddered through Elizabeth-Anne, followed quickly by another. Her waters had broken in a gush of fluid half an hour ago. Unless Tiola was touse her Craft to its full extent there was nothing more she could do to help, except hope that the woman had the courage and strength to keep on pushing her baby out,and that the boy wanted to help get himself born.

  Thirty Eight

  Virginia

  Alicia, Jesamiah had always been convinced, could charm the birds down from the trees. That might be so, but the footman at the palace obviously did not know of it, or he was the wrong sor
t of bird. A turkey not a turtle dove.

  “I have told you, Ma’am, Governor Spotswood is at dinner. He will not be seeing you, nor no pip-squeak architect. Go away and come back Monday.” He glanced again at the man with her. An architect, he’d said, but his face seemed familiar. The footman had seen him somewhere but could not place where. It was the eyes he recognised. There was something familiar about those dark eyes. And aside, why would an architect be wanting to see the Governor on a Saturday evening?

  “Sir, I am Mistress Alicia Mereno. I am a personal friend of the Governor’s. I assure you he will be most displeased were he to discover you attempted to turn me away.”

  “Then I will take that risk. I know he will be even more displeased to have his dinner disturbed.”

  They were at least inside the entrance hall with its array of fearsome weaponry. They had got this far but it seemed they were going no further.

  From upstairs, Jesamiah heard a woman laugh and then a man’s voice – Spotswood. All Jesamiah had to do was run across those few yards of black and white tiled flooring, turn left and dart up the stairs. Half a minute? Less? More? How long would it take this footman to get out a pistol, cock and fire? Not that long. He needed a diversion, something to distract this obstinate fellow. He put his hand in his pocket. Felt the pouches he had put there when aboard the Sea Witch. Smothered a grin. Diamonds were rare, and precious. He had acquired them a short while ago, one of the two perks of his spying assignment on Hispaniola. The other, had been the chance to make love to a beautiful woman.

  “I think we’re getting nowhere, Alicia. We will do as the man says; come back Monday.”

  He slid his arm through Alicia’s before she could protest and started for the door. Leaning close, said quickly; “I’m going to distract him. What you get, you keep. Savvy?”