He shrugged. “Unfortunately, I doubt it. I feel the girls are truly her daughters, and she is quite watchful of them; and she is also interested in maintaining a certain reputation.”
“Well, that will not do,” I sighed. “I cannot see Gaston squirming through a recital.”
“Neither can I; which brings us to Mistress Garret,” he said with a shrug. “She resides alone in a small house here in town. She takes in sewing from the milliner, grows herbs for the apothecary, provides certain services to the women of Port Royal, and other services to discreet gentlemen.”
“What services does she provide the women?” I asked with amusement.
“She is something of a midwife and apothecary for women’s matters of health.” He sighed heavily. “She knows which powders can lead to a miscarriage, or the ones that supposedly can engender love.”
“Oh,” I said as understanding dawned.
“If she is lucky she will not end her days on a stake and pyre,” he said with a trace of sadness. “I have warned her that she treads on dangerous ground, but she feels it is some obligation she must uphold.”
“Do people call her a witch?” I asked. “And you have warned her?”
“Some do call her that,” he sighed. “And aye, on occasion, when I found the needs of the flesh quite gripping, we shared more than a passing acquaintance before my marriage.”
“Then I take it she comes with your recommendation,” I teased.
He grimaced. “Aye... and nay. She is… older. She is a handsome enough woman, but no beauty.” He winced. “Well, let us say that I am sure there was much to commend her in the bloom of youth; and surely no one would now call her decrepit, but she is not a young nubile thing like you would find at Widow Marsh’s. She finds pleasure in her work, and she is quite capable of providing pleasure. She should be capable of instructing a man in the matter.”
I suppressed a sigh: I did not wish for her to instruct him alone. I nodded as I considered what he had not said. “Does she present herself like a doxy? Does she seek to cuddle any man in reach? Does she smell of other men?”
“Nay, nay,” he said quickly. “She is quite forthright, and presents herself more like… a woman who has seen her share of the world. And she is clean and keeps a tidy home.”
“Why did you not marry her?” I teased.
He snorted. “She refused.”
I was surprised, and shook my head. “Theodore, if you would rather we…”
“Nay, nay,” he said with a dismissive wave. “It is her business – quite literally. I was… lonely when I attempted to court her. It was the foolishness of a man who felt he might never return to civilized society. She saw it with a very clear eye, and told me not to return. Truly, I thank her for that to this day.”
He sat at his desk and produced paper and quill and proceeded to sketch a crude map showing the way to her home through a back alley. Once it was dusted and folded, we went to join the others.
Theodore paused with surprise when we entered the back room and found Vivian actually nursing Jamaica. I smiled at the sight: mother and babe both appeared quite content; and Gaston was looking on with relief. Despite my father, I felt buoyed by hope that we might attain that which we sought; and that what we sought would indeed be a pleasant way of living – the Gods willing, of course.
Sixty-Eight
Wherein We Learn of Women
An hour or so later, we slogged home in quiet contentment. Vivian seemed more at ease with the baby, and Rachel seemed pleased with my wife’s progress. Gaston was relaxed. I had even managed to forget the other matters confronting us for a time – until we neared the house, and it all came rushing back to me like a wave on the beach.
“Let us move you upstairs,” I told Vivian as she shed her wet and muddy cloak and pattens in the foyer.
She sighed, but Gaston nodded his agreement.
“I will find tools,” he said, and slipped away across the rain-soaked atrium.
Vivian stood still and listened to someone walk across the balcony overhead. “So I will be in the room next to… his bride.”
I nodded. “And next to the Marquis.”
“That I will not mind, but… Does she know I must be chained?” she asked quickly.
“I would think so; unless someone failed to mention it these last days.” I sighed. “And, with all that has occurred, that could very well be the case.”
“I suppose there is no helping it,” she said quietly, and slipped into the parlor.
I followed her. “We can disguise hauling it up there and attaching it.”
She nodded and sagged onto the settee. “Thank you. I am sure she will hear it, though, as I walk about.”
“We could bar the windows and door,” I said lightly.
She smiled grimly. “And that would be less obvious? It is no matter. It is what I deserve.”
“What?” I asked. “You know damn well we do not do this as punishment. And it is your decision. You are the one who feels you cannot trust yourself.”
“I deserve the shame,” she said so quietly I had to puzzle through what I thought I heard.
Gaston returned and I pulled him outside to the foyer. “Let us test her,” I said. “We cannot keep her chained forever, and she is greatly ashamed of it and rightly so… But still… I do not wish for Christine to be crowing over the matter.”
He frowned, but finally shrugged. “And if she drinks?”
I shrugged. “Then we will have to keep our wine and rum in a locked chest under our hammock at Negril.”
He sighed.
I returned to Vivian. “We will forego the chain. Either you truly wish to reform, or you do not. If you feel the need to seek alcohol such that you are willing to forego your freedom and your child, then I do not think chaining you will truly rectify the matter. It is merely a temporary stay of an inevitable disaster. You must choose this course by your own will.”
“I am too weak,” she said sadly.
“Nay,” I said. “I feel you are far stronger than you have allowed yourself to imagine. And my dear, would it not be better to give yourself less to hide from the world rather than more?”
She nodded slowly, but there was much doubt in her eyes, and I thought she might chew a hole through her lip as we gathered her few belongings and escorted her upstairs.
Christine stepped into the doorway of her own room as we opened the doors to Vivian’s. She glanced at my wife with open curiosity. Years of experience in dealing with jealous women prompted me to push Vivian inside the room before their eyes could meet. Thus Vivian was spared the pitying glance Christine awarded me.
“Will we be going to the church this evening, my Lord?” Christine asked Gaston in French as I followed Vivian into the room.
“Non,” he said quickly, and walked toward her and out of my hearing.
I closed the door, and Vivian dropped her armful of belongings on the bed.
“Why is he marrying her?” she whispered. “To appease his father? Have you both not seen where that will lead?”
I chuckled. “Aye, you have proven to be quite charming.”
She whirled, her eyes hard as if I was teasing; but at seeing my expression, hers softened and she spoke softly. “So have you.”
That thing I did not wish to see in her eyes was there again: the first glimmer of infatuation, or perhaps love.
“Should I send Henrietta up?” I asked quickly.
She looked away just as quickly and shrugged. “I suppose.”
“You will be fine here,” I said. “If you should need us, we will be in the stable.”
She turned back to me with an eyebrow raised.
“That is where we have strung our hammock since the fire,” I said.
“You could move to the parlor,” she said.
“Nay, we actually prefer the stable. That is where the puppies are.”
She waved me away with a bemused smile.
I found Gaston waiting for me at the stairs.
He appeared glum, and led me wordlessly to the stable. As we neared our sanctuary, Henrietta peered from the cookhouse and announced that dinner would be served in the dining room. I asked her to attend to her mistress when she could, and to take her a plate of whatever we were to dine on. Then I asked for kettle of hot water.
“I must shave before dinner,” I said when we were at last alone and Gaston was eying the kettle curiously.
He gazed upon me with speculation as he sank to the straw with the puppies; my words apparently burned away his dour mood. “Did you have something in mind that will require it?”
I grinned, and tossed him the folded map Theodore had drawn. “It seems there is a Mistress Garret, who performs a variety of services, including on occasion entertaining gentlemen. Theodore was once her client.”
My matelot regarded the map dubiously, showing less interest in the activities it might suggest than in whatever he had first thought my intent to shave might entail. “What did he say of her?”
I relayed all Theodore had said while I shaved. Gaston, with some reluctance, joined me at the bowl and glass and removed the dusting of rust from his jaw.
“So she might well be a witch,” he said as we dressed in our finery.
“I doubt she consorts with the Devil,” I said. “Her knowledge of herbs might be of interest, though.”
He nodded. “She might be interesting to meet.” He sounded and looked as distant as a ship in fog.
I pushed him back onto the hammock and dropped to my knees before him. He gasped lightly when I pressed my lips to his quiescent member.
“You need not,” he said and put his hand to my head to push me away.
I got my teeth on either side of his cock and worried it through the fabric.
“Please,” he whispered with a weary resolution that stood in complete juxtaposition to anything resembling passion; yet he flopped back onto the hammock in surrender to my intent. I unfastened his breeches and found his cock far more enthusiastic than he appeared to be. In truth, his manhood and I made short work of the endeavor.
I crawled astride him to peer down at his closed eyes and somber face. If I had not just tasted his pleasure I would have thought him beyond it.
“My love?” I whispered.
He smiled sadly and opened his eyes to regard me with great love. “Thank you.”
“We need not go,” I said.
“That is the thing of it: we need not do anything, but we must,” he said earnestly.
I could not gainsay that, so I held him until Sam knocked to summon us to dinner. With mutual sighs, we stood and fixed our clothing.
“We will meet her, and if for any reason you find her distasteful or unsatisfactory, we will leave,” I assured him. “And she might not be willing to receive us this night, anyway.”
“She will most likely be indisposed,” Gaston said.
“Our luck being what it is,” I agreed.
All members of the household were present for dinner: save Vivian, and the most notable exception of Pete and Striker. I raised an eyebrow at my sister as Gaston and I seated ourselves at the table.
“They are out in the taverns collecting gossip,” she said, with a slight frown that either indicated her concern over the wisdom of their endeavor, or her misgivings as to why the activity should be necessary.
“They are well liked and better suited to do so than Gaston and I.”
She nodded. “In addition to our larger concerns,” she sighed, “Striker wishes to discover if anyone has sighted the Queen.”
“What is the date?” I asked.
She smiled and shook her head admonishingly. “It is the fifth of December, the year of our Lord, one thousand six hundred and sixty-eight.”
I snorted at her inclusion of the year. As I turned to allow Sam to ladle soup into my dish, I saw the Marquis and Dupree displaying perplexed frowns. I did not think it would be over the difference between the Julian and Gregorian calendars – as Gaston was often prone to complain about – and so I gave Dupree an inquiring glance.
“The Queen, my… sir?” he asked.
I smiled. “The Virgin Queen is the name of our ship.”
He seemed to find relief in that; and the Marquis amusement in it once it was translated.
“My ship will return soon,” the Marquis said thoughtfully.
Gaston nodded glumly, and I caught his glance at Christine.
“Must you sail as soon as she arrives?” I asked.
He shook his head. “When will your fellows sail?”
I looked to Sarah.
“If they sail,” she said in French. “The admiral wishes to rendezvous at Île de Vache at year end, but so many are planters now, with cane harvesting to oversee, it is not known if he will manage to collect the number he seeks until February. And regardless, my husband cannot sail until our ship returns, and did not intend to until I have birthed – though the last is a thing surely imminent.”
“Are you well?” Gaston asked her quickly.
She nodded readily enough, with a small, apologetic smile. “Do not worry. I am well enough; I am merely very tired of being pregnant.”
“If Striker and Pete do not sail, will he have Cudro take the Queen roving in his place?” I asked. “Or will you keep the ship here and send her on merchant voyages?”
She sighed heavily with her fingers to her lips, and I could see she fought sudden tears.
“I am sorry,” I said quietly.
“Non,” she shook her head. “I do not want them to go. I know it may be no safer for them here, but…” She stood. “Please, excuse me,” she said in English; and she left us.
I followed her. “Sarah?”
She paused at the base of the stairs. “I am fine, Will,” she said with annoyance that I did not feel was aimed at me. “I know I cannot…”
“What?” I prompted when it was obvious she would not finish her thought.
“I do not wish to lose him, or them, to our damned father, the sea, the Spaniards, the flux…” She trailed off with a sob.
“Aye,” I said softly, and put my arm around her. “Of course not.”
She cried on my shoulder for a time, and I mused on not knowing what to say to comfort her, as I did not know an answer to her dilemma. Even if our father were not a threat, I could not see her men not sailing. Striker came from a long line of captains and sailors: he would not stay ashore by choice, even for her. And Pete… I could not envision the Golden One living a peaceful life of prosperity without some adventure, but perhaps I was mistaken.
She at last released me and pulled away to mop her tears and compose her face. “It is funny the paths our lives have taken,” she said with feigned good humor.
“Did you wish to be the lady of a fine manor?” I teased.
She met my gaze and raised her chin. “I am.”
I chuckled. “Will you return to dinner?”
She shook her head. “Nay, please have Henrietta bring something to my room.”
I watched her laborious ascent of the stairs with unease, and went in search of our housekeeper.
“Mistress Striker will require her meal in her room,” I told her, “and… Please look in on her often, even if she should seem annoyed by it. She may be very close to her birthing.”
Henrietta nodded gravely. “I’ve been thinkin’ that meself, my Lord.”
I shook my head and smiled at her frown. “I am no longer a lord.”
“Ah, I’m sorry, my…” She grimaced.
I patted her shoulder. “Find us if…” I sighed. “Gaston would be there in addition to the midwife.”
“Of course… sir.”
Everyone had finished their meal by the time I returned to my seat. Rucker was expounding on the various stages of sugar production for the Marquis. I ate my soup in silence while Sam cleared the table, avoiding all curious glances save Gaston’s. I smiled grimly at him but waved off his inquiry.
“Shall we have a game?” the Marquis inquired of
us, when my meal and Rucker’s discourse were concluded.
Gaston looked to me.
“Sadly, non,” I told his father. “We have investigative matters of our own to attend to in town.”
The Marquis nodded his understanding. “Then perhaps Mademoiselles Vines and Chelsea and Monsieur Rucker will indulge me.”
They nodded agreeably, though Christine seemed reluctant and her curious eyes were upon Gaston and me as we rose and left the room, and Agnes appeared quite distracted.
We returned to the stable to don our weapons. Judging from his mien, my matelot was still less than enthusiastic about our plans for the evening; but I was beginning to feel a little thrill at the thought of the coming escapade.
“How is Sarah?” he asked in French.
“Quite possibly close to birthing; and, of course, concerned over all else facing us,” I said, and relayed her words.
There was a rap in the doorframe and we were surprised to see Agnes.
“How is Sarah?” she asked me.
I sighed. “We were just discussing that very topic. She worries about a great many things, and she may be close to the birth. I have instructed Henrietta to look in on her often, but perhaps you should spend time with her if she will tolerate company.”
Agnes sank to the straw and picked up a puppy with a sigh. “I do not know if she wishes for my company either.”
“I did not mean you in specific,” I said quickly.
“I know. It is just…” She shook her head.
“Did you two have a quarrel?” I asked.
“Nay,” she said quickly and then seemed unsure. “Nay.” She sighed again, and fiddled with the straw and puppy, and then picked up a folded piece of paper lying in the straw.
I realized it was the map to our evening’s destination, which I had handed Gaston when he was sitting with the puppies earlier. “That is ours.”
Agnes was frowning at Theodore’s crude map. “Why do you have a map to Mistress Garret’s?” she asked. “And who drew this? There is no sense of the distances at all.”
Gaston slumped against the doorframe with huge sigh that surely spoke much of how he felt the Gods mocked us.
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