The Last Killiney

by J. Jay Kamp

  * * *

  The men of the village combed the woods for days, looking for Paul’s body. When she finally gave permission for the search to be called off, James arranged for the young man to take them inland, up the river and into the mountains.

  The journey to Nootka Sound took them twelve days. They carried letters from Vancouver that were to be delivered to Captain Quadra, the senior officer at the Nootka installation, and it was for this reason James had been released from further service aboard Discovery. Nothing could have kept him on Vancouver’s ship anyway. To him, it was as if Vancouver had killed Paul.

  So the three set out. Led by the young man through good weather and bad, they faced boundless depths of virgin timber and near-vertical mountains, all without the aid of modern roads using game trails and trading paths. When finally they arrived at Nootka Sound with stiff ankles and aching legs, they made their way to the largest of the rough-cut lumber buildings where James preceded them warily inside.

  Introducing himself to the Spaniards, he explained how the native man had been promised his choice from the armory in return for delivering Vancouver’s letters. The Spanish officers readily complied, asking James if he might take charge of, as representative of Discovery, a prisoner that Señor Quadra held in respect for his English friends. It was a deserter from their ship, the Spaniards said, a blond troublemaker who’d been brought to the installation only a few days before.

  After so much grief and deathly determination, Ravenna couldn’t believe what she’d just heard. She refused to do so until her suspicions were verified, but James almost prevented this; at the mention of the prisoner, he lost all patience and his temper, which Ravenna barely remembered, returned in full force when she asked for an interview with the captive.

  “Would you ruin our chances of getting home?” James asked. “Let him stay and face his punishment!”

  “Please, just let me talk to him,” she begged. “I know he’s not…not worth the effort, but James, he’s alive. I need to see him and know at least somebody survived.”

  Reluctantly, James had to give in. With a few words to the Spanish officers, they were led outside to another building on the fringe of the little town. The thick cedar door was unbolted and thrown back, and when James saw the prisoner huddled in the corner, he swore under his breath; he grumbled a thank-you to the Spanish guards planted outside; then he took Sarah by the hand and together they headed for the beach and the ships. “Fifteen minutes,” he said over his shoulder. “That should be long enough to remember what a scoundrel he is.”

  The captive certainly looked like a scoundrel. He sat at a table in the windowless room, bent over listlessly. The soft hair Ravenna had known at sea to be bleached by the endless sun was now dark and tangled, sheened with grease. Deep hollows claimed his eyes and his clothes were soiled, a strange sight indeed, given that Christian had always wallowed in the height of fashion.

  For it was Christian languishing in the prison of the Spanish, and scoundrel or not, Ravenna was still glad to see him.

  When she came into the room, he raised his gaunt face. A light went on in his fixated eyes. “Elizabeth? For the love of God, have I died?” He started to get up, but he was so frail that he faltered and sat back down. “Do you realize I would’ve died in this infested hell had the ships been delayed an hour more? Perish the thought—Lord Launceston dead, killed by fleas.”

  As he muttered to himself, Ravenna took a seat beside him. “Christian, the ships haven’t come. James brought me here on foot across the mountains.”

  “You mean you deserted?” His smile faded rapidly. “You can’t get me out of here, is that what you’re saying?”

  “We had Vancouver’s permission to leave, but—”

  “So you do have the authority, because there’s an American trader who’ll take us as far as Boston and he’s loaded down with Cantonese goods, he won’t waste a moment in getting back. We’re only too fortunate he had business in Nootka, else we’d be—”

  “Christian, I came to say good-bye. I can’t get you out of here. The Spaniards have asked that you go with us, but there isn’t enough room in that merchant’s ship to—”

  She stopped, for his face had changed significantly. That desperation to escape had melted, dissolved and hardened into something more sinister. His eyes narrowed the slightest bit. The corner of his mouth twitched with impatience, and yet when he spoke, his voice was all reason. “No room to what, Beloved?”

  She hesitated, for the complacency in his voice didn’t match his expression, not at all. “To bring you with us,” she said, trying to sound honest. “The merchant can take only three to Boston. I’m sorry, but you’ll have to stay here.”

  He swallowed then. He sniffed a little, and in a deliberate move to cause her anxiety, he laid his fingers on the table and touched her. Gently, with an affection that made her think of Paul, he brushed over the bones in her knuckle and traced down along her index finger. His intentions were anything but tender, Ravenna knew it. He proved it with the threat that drifted singsong from his lips, “Don’t make me do this.”

  She tried to quiet her jittery nerves. “Do what?”

  Gently, he squeezed her hand, and there flashed across his face a grimace, as if he almost couldn’t bring himself to speak the words. Yet he did. Easily. “You’d not leave me here to die, now would you? You’ll reason with the captain of this merchant ship. You’ll beg him to understand that you can’t leave me to fester and rot in this place?”

  Coercion seethed from his quiet gaze. He waited for her answer, swaying slightly against the table, and Ravenna knew she was being asked to respond correctly.

  She didn’t. “I can’t take you with me.” When she pulled her hand away from his, Christian rolled his eyes.

  “Very well,” he said. Collecting himself, he straightened the ragged cuffs at his wrist, pretended to take no notice of her.

  She knew he’d been hurt. His gray eyes were wet, but he didn’t let on that they were. Instead, wavering with illness, he adjusted the buttons on his sleeve exactly as he would if he were sitting in a box seat at Drury Lane. The way he ignored her fascinated Ravenna, so she almost didn’t hear him when he spoke to her softly, “When I visit you in prison, the fine sight of me dressed in James’s money will make you recognize the extremity of the mistake you’ve made.” He brushed the dirt from his shoulder, then looked at Ravenna; calm, self-assured, those eyes were on fire nonetheless.

  “What?”

  “Prison,” he replied. “Is that not where they take the poor? Oh, don’t fret, I’ll see to your wants, your food and rent; I would so hate to see you die in such an unmerciful place, but James on the other hand…”

  “Christian, if you’re trying to frighten me somehow into taking you with me—”

  “Actually, yes, I’m doing just that.”

  “Well, stop it. Vancouver will come around the island in a month or so, and he’ll send you back to England. You’ll be fine, and nobody will go to prison.”

  “And do you love your so-called brother?”

  She was caught off guard by this question. The fierceness to his hollowed eyes made her think twice before she answered, “You know I love James very much, if that’s who you mean.”

  “And does it please you to see him well and content, striking righteous poses and defending his morals with passionate temper?”

  “I guess, but—”

  “And I trust then, since you’ve yet to mention him, that Paul has not survived his Indian fate?”

  Paul…The very sound of his name hurt. In her mind she saw his face, heard his husky voice grumbling about Christian as if he waited outside the door, as if he might come rushing in at any moment to check on her. The heaviness of his death pressed at her ruthlessly, and Christian saw it.

  “How I am sorry,” he said. “Such a tragedy, that he succumbed in so barbaric a fashion; but then, so might have I. Had you not warned me with that dream of my death at the hands of sa
vages, I feel certain I’d not be sitting here to thank you.”

  The riverbed, the young Indian, the way James had looked so pitiful…Ravenna couldn’t think of these things. She shut them out, and as she did, it dawned on her that these were facts Christian shouldn’t have known. Paul’s destiny with the native people or even his name were secrets they’d kept from Christian all along, and how had he learned them? She tried to remember the first argument with Vancouver when her knowledge of the future had been broadcast to the whole ship’s company. Yes, it’d been after Christian’s disappearance.

  He must have seen the confusion in her face, for his eyes fixed on her a stern look that belied the fact he was sick at all. “You could never keep secrets from me, Elizabeth. Or should I now address you by that other name—what is it? Ravenna? Yes, I believe I have it right.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I know absolutely everything,” he said with a smile. “I’ve listened at your door to your confessions, your counseling, your histories, for much more than a year, so don’t even attempt to feign ignorance with me. You’ll only make a greater fool of yourself than you already are. Speaking of which, did I mention your carnal education was highly entertaining?”

  “I don’t have the slightest idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Day by day, bit by bit, I must own that Killiney was far more patient with your innocence than ever I would have been. To lie with you, naked and whispering falsities and yet to not defile you? Men have been knighted for less.”

  The island, she thought, he’s talking about the island. She couldn’t bear to remember those nights, the feel of Paul’s lips all down her neck, the weight of his body rocking gently above her. That Christian had been there felt like a dull spike thrust through her heart. He’d listened outside their tent, Ravenna knew it now. He’d even intruded in the midst of their lovemaking, to steal the drawings and toss them in the grass.

  “How dare you,” she said. “Paul was flogged because of what you did.”

  Christian smiled thinly. “So I heard.”

  “What do you mean? How could you—”

  “But then, I don’t believe I’d have traded my privileged view of your sexual awakening, not even to have seen the Paddy take a whipping. How do you think he would have responded, had he known when he complained of violating you in a company of one hundred and thirty-one men that, when he finally tried you on for size, one man remained to witness the deed? Or should I say three, for my friends were also quite amused with your performance—”

  “Stop it!” She felt the tears edging nearer.

  Christian’s features crumpled in sympathy. “Oh, Ravenna, but I did warn you not to force my hand. Don’t misunderstand, I do love you, but now I really must insist that you marry me.”

  She choked on her grief and stared at him. Hearing those impossible words was too great a shock.

  “You needn’t leap out of your seat with joy. A simple yes will do nicely.”

  “No!” she sputtered. “Why would I marry you? Christian, I don’t even like you.”

  “Love,” he said. “The proper word for your new fiancé is love, and you do love me, as soon you’ll remember. Now, the Paddy’s claim has been made invalid by his death, am I correct? And in filling his position, I would expect James will have little to say about allowing my inclusion in your homeward scheme? Thus, should we marry, everyone will be happy.”

  “Christian, why are you doing this?”

  “Don’t you know? Because I love you. Much more than Killiney ever did, by the way, for what lengths did he go to in proving it, but to get himself killed?”

  This was too much. His constant reminders of Paul and his death were wearing on her soul, and she started to get up from the table when the tears finally spilled down her face.

  Yet as she turned to leave, Christian took hold of her wrist firmly. “Would you run to your precious brother to save you? I wouldn’t, if I were you.”

  “Let go of me.” She tried slipping out of his fingers, twisting and pulling, but he clutched her stubbornly.

  “I won’t release you until you agree to obey me, and should you truly love James, you’ll do exactly as I tell you.”

  “I won’t, and you can go to—”

  “Now, now, it would behoove you to retain your manners and listen, for when James returns, you’ll explain to him that although your matchless affection for Lord Killiney cannot be replaced, still you must consider your son’s future. Do you understand, Beloved? The child you carry. Killiney’s bastard.”

  Slowly, Ravenna ceased to struggle as his words sunk in. He was threatening her baby.

  “You will bear a son, yes?”

  Ravenna nodded weakly. She was shaking hard now.

  “So you see, the Paddy’s seed must be looked after,” he continued. “Surely James of all people cannot deny you the right to seek a title for your illegitimate son? I’ll give you that title. All you need do is admit you yet love me.”

  “I don’t,” she said, “I don’t love you at all, Christian, why would you want me to? I don’t want your title, I don’t want your money or your—”

  “Do you want to break James’s heart?”

  “I don’t understand,” she said, wiping at her eyes.

  “I have a secret which I’ll share with you, seeing how you won’t concede by any other means.”

  “I don’t care about your secrets.”

  “But it’s a family secret,” he insisted, “and knowing how James fears the very idea of its ramifications, should this secret be unleashed upon societal ears, I’m certain he hasn’t told you.”

  “Hasn’t told me what?” she stammered.

  “That he’s a product of common lust, a hybrid born of Mexican blood. Your brother isn’t your brother, Ravenna. He’s a bastard, pure and simple.”

  She slackened against his hold. She searched his eyes, hoping to find the smallest bit of dishonesty, some reason to doubt his incredible words, but there was nothing but Christian’s obsessional gleam.

  “You know it’s true,” he said. “You need only consider his fixation for respectability and his hatred for me, let alone his wretched dark complexion, to assure yourself of his heritage. So you see, if you refuse me, I have only to trot off to my attorney upon reaching England and the lawsuit will be filed. I have proof, you see, that Lord Wolvesfield’s marriage wasn’t valid at the time of James’s birth — or your birth, for that matter, but that’s neither here nor there, since your mother was an actress at Drury Lane.”

  “What?”

  “The House of Lords will pursue the matter, the evidence will be presented—and I have it, mind you; the last Lord Wolvesfield couldn’t fake an entry in the parish register without someone giving away the secret—and everything will belong to me. As the Paddy’s hovel can’t be passed to his illegitimate spawn, both you and James shall end up penniless as well as unfashionable.”

  Ravenna looked around uselessly, feeling Christian’s hand at her wrist begin to soften. “I have no choice, do I?”

  “Say you love me.”

  “Christian, I don’t love you.”

  “You do understand the death rate for infants in this day and age? It’s appalling. Anything that might aid a child in his first few years is essential, be it the best care, the most nutritious food, let alone a house to live in—”

  “All right, I love you.” It hurt even to imagine the words. She would have thought to hear them, heaven would shine from his manipulative eyes. As it was, he regarded her placidly.

  “That’s precisely what you’ll say to James,” he instructed. “Your performance will rival your mother’s best, or I’ll make a holiday of destroying your brother’s reputation.”

  And giving her one last warning glance, he released her. Ravenna didn’t run or even turn away when he steadied himself against the table’s edge and reached for his coat on the floor behind him. She merely stared at him, her thoughts drowning with worry
and hopelessness. She knew James would never believe her. Even when she’d spoken to Christian, she’d not been fond of him, only David of her distant memory and James knew this.

  Yet as she watched Christian slip his hand into the pocket of his coat, it occurred to her—Christian might force her to make love. To keep her baby safe, to keep James and Sarah protected from destitution and disease, she might have to. She couldn’t even think of it, let alone do it.

  Then Christian’s hand came out of that pocket with a flash of silver. Ravenna’s heart stilled to a faint tremble at the sight of what he held so disrespectfully in his grasp.

  It was Paul’s watch. It ticked within the silence of the cedar walls and Ravenna thought her heart would burst.

  “Where did you get that,” she whispered, barely able to breathe, to move or even think for looking at the polished silver.

  “What? This?” Christian frowned. “Did James not say he’d be returning within a quarter hour?”

  “Where did you get that!” The dirt floor soaked up the echo of her demand and Christian shrank from her, lifting his hands.

  “The savage!” he said. “I got it from the savage who shared my imprisonment. Calm yourself, it’s only a watch.”

  “Where is he now?”

  Christian hesitated, staring at her as if she’d gone mad, but she didn’t care about how she looked. “Where is the Indian, Christian, please! That watch belonged to Paul—you have to tell me, I have to find him!”

  He glanced at her darkly before looking down on the watch, opening it and casually noting the time. Then, raising his half-masted eyes to hers, he showed no sympathy, no sensitivity to her feelings whatsoever when he said, “He’s dead, if you must know. They shot that savage three days ago for thievery, and I suppose I must tell you that yes, he did murder your precious Paddy.”

  Ravenna felt her legs slipping out from under her, felt the whole world tilt as that grief she’d held back came crashing down to claim her, and still Christian went on. “Until now, I didn’t understand exactly the base of whose skull the filthy creature had driven his iron blade into. It’s funny, but he described quite fondly how he’d committed the act with his elaborately carved weapon, and yet he said nothing at all about the victim. Oh, but he did mention a river. I could only assume he’d killed another savage like himself, since a gentleman such as Lord Killiney would certainly not have been—”

  His voice was a meaningless whine as Ravenna put her face in her hands. Mashing her palms into her eyes, writhing with wave after wave of misery, still she saw nothing but the image he’d described—Paul’s face, scruffy and unshaven, forced down to the boulders of the riverbed while an iron blade pierced his skull, making his russet-colored hair run red.

  With the picture burned into her imagination, she bent down in sobs to the floor. She was oblivious to Christian’s hands caressing her, to his manufactured sympathy. God, don’t let him have suffered, she thought, don’t let him have been afraid.

  When finally she came to her senses, it was only because she realized James would be arriving at any moment. Sternly, she told herself, I must think of my son’s life, I must do as Christian asks or all will be lost.

  So pushing aside the hideous images and brushing the streaks from beneath her eyes, she crawled to Christian’s side to put one last question to him before James’s arrival. “Please,” she asked, “can I have the watch?” She reached out but didn’t quite touch that object she’d last seen in Paul’s living hand.

  Christian pulled it back compulsively. “I think not,” he said. “You’ll only be reminded of him with each moment’s passing and such would hardly be good for you, let alone our marriage.” Holding the silver disk to the sunlight, his consumptive features seemed to glow with wickedness. “But for me, what a keepsake! To see the moments spent with you, Beloved, in the movement of his very watch—I’ll be spending his time, so to speak…and he can do nothing about it.”