Beyond the Savage Sea

by JoAnn Wendt

  When he finally looked up, he found himself on the south side of the Thames, near the bear-baiting pit in Southwark, without the foggiest memory of crossing London Bridge or hiring a water coach. How had he arrived here? Exhausted from the roar and tumult of his emotions, he went into an obscure inn, bought bread and beer, and ate and drank, lifting the tankard to his lips with a hand that shook. Then he sat for an eternity, his head against the smoke-blackened wall, eyes closed, mind empty, heart emptier. The innkeeper glanced his way frequently, warily.

  It was late afternoon by the time he had thought through his plans and reshaped his life. He felt ten years older, a hundred years wiser. He traveled back into the city by water coach and had the oarsman let him off at Whitehall Palace. There were additional things he had to find out, pleasant or not. He didn’t go into the royal apartments. Anne was there. This was her court day. He mustn’t see her yet; he might kill her. Instead, he scanned the posted listing to see which of the nobles and ladies were in residence and which were gone from the city. Then he recrossed the Thames by water coach and went to the residence of the bishop of London. The bishop received him. Then he went home to his children.

  * * * *

  Darkness had fallen by the time he heard Anne’s hired hackney coach rattle down Highgate Hall’s dirt lane. Her court days had grown longer. Now he knew why. He sat at the old oak table in the dining chamber and waited for her to come in. The candles in the wrought-iron chandelier cast a fluttering light in the May breeze. He could smell the first of the spring lilacs blooming in the yard. How incongruous to smell the sweetness of lilacs on such a day. He knew intuitively that from this moment on, for the rest of his life, he would always connect the scent of lilacs with Anne.

  He heard the heavy front door open and close, then her light footsteps. Drawn by the candles, she came into the dining chamber. She stopped, startled to find him sitting there at the empty table, then offered a bright, tense smile—her court day smile.

  “Darling, you’re home from the wine shop early.”

  “Sit down, Anne.”

  “Why? What are you doing sitting here looking so odd?” The chair scraped as she took her seat opposite him. He sat with his elbows on the table, arms propped up, chin resting on folded hands. He gazed at her and saw things he’d never noticed before. The strong, selfish set of her pretty mouth. The evasiveness of her eyes. They never quite met his, or if they did, the meeting lasted only a second, no longer.

  She looked about, uneasy in the silence.

  “Where are the servants? The children?”

  Drake observed the order of her questions and what it revealed. She cared little for the children. He’d failed to notice that before, fool that he was. He’d assumed a woman who bore children loved them. Untrue. Another of his delusions shattered. He thought of Edwinna, of her love for children —Edwinna, who was unable to have children.

  “Are you going to answer me?” she asked, laughing nervously.

  “I sent the servants on holiday and sent the children to Verity’s.”

  “Why? You know I cannot do without servant help.”

  He drew a painful breath. She couldn’t do without the servants, but she could do without the children. The truth had been before his eyes all along. He’d been blind—an idiot blinded by love.

  “I sent them away because I don’t want the servants or the children to hear what I have to say to you. I want the servants to continue to think you are a lady. I want your children to continue to respect their mother.”

  She grew wary. Her fingers moved tensely to the edge of the table. He looked at her pretty hands—hands that did no work. Edwinna’s hands were not so carefully tended; sometimes they bore a torn nail. Her hands were always working, or holding a child.

  “What do you mean, Drake?”

  “Where have you been today, Anne?” he said. He was astonished at how calm he felt—how little he felt, in fact. Was it possible for love to die in the short space of one day? No. It would take longer, probably forever. Perhaps a part of him would always love her, but he no longer liked her. That made the difference.

  “In court. You know that.”

  “With whom?”

  “The usual. Lady Elizabeth, Lady Edith. I’m teaching them to sing. They’re progressing very well.”

  “Lady Elizabeth and Lady Edith left for Bath two days ago, with several other ladies of the court. They will not return until next week. I checked.”

  She drew a breath, nostrils flaring. Caught in her lie, she sharply swung her head away, looking anywhere but at him.

  “You have been in bed with the king, Anne.”

  “No! That is—” Taking courage, she treated him to a scathing look, her eyes fiery. How little love was in the look. He’d never before noticed. Fool that he was, he’d thought she loved him. “It is an honor!”

  He laughed. “An ‘ honor’ you share with ten thousand other Englishwomen. Prostitutes are brought up and down the king’s privy staircase every night, conveyed to Whitehall by water coach. They pass each other coming and going, their little sacks of coins in their hands.”

  She flared. “I am not a prostitute. If you must know, Drake, King Charles has asked me to become one of his mistresses. You—you should feel honored that the king of England has selected your wife.”

  Again, he chuckled, sat back in his chair. “Should I, by God?” His voice rasped. This wasn’t easy. “I didn’t know that. I didn’t know a man should feel ‘honored’ to be made a cuckold by his king and his wife.”

  Confident in her position at court, she taunted him, spitefully. “For your information, Drake, I am already with child by the king. His Majesty says you will own it. You have to.”

  This was too much. He reared up from the chair, went to the window, and gripped the sill with both hands—gripped it so hard the old wood creaked. He must grip the sill to keep from killing her. He didn’t speak until he had control of himself.

  “You’re wrong, Anne. And His Majesty is wrong. I will not cover his bastard with my name. You and His Majesty can dispose of the matter as you wish.”

  “You have to own the child,” she spat at him. “We are married. It is the law. You have to own any child I bear, whether ’tis yours or not.”

  “True. If we were married when you gave birth to your royal bastard, I would have to own it. But you see, we will not be married. This afternoon I paid a call on the bishop of London. I have applied to the ecclesiastical court for a divorce from bed and board on the grounds of adultery.”

  Her face went white. “You—cannot do that.”

  “But I can. And I have.”

  Her fingers scratched at the table, as if she were in shock, as if she were trying to find something to grip. He was almost sorry for her. He knew what she was thinking. Divorced, she could not appear in court—at least, not openly. She would be reduced to using the privy staircase like a common prostitute.

  “You cannot! Your knighthood, Drake. The king cannot grant a knighthood to a divorced subject.”

  “Ah. Now we are at the truth. You long to be Lady Anne Steel, don’t you? Is that why you came back to me?”

  She looked up at him, white-faced.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I know about Charles Dare.” Her face went even whiter; her eyes became huge. “I know you sailed together on the Fair Wind.” When she opened her mouth to protest, he shook his head. “Oh, I know you intended to go to your sick sister in France. I don’t doubt it. But you also intended a dalliance with Charles. Your plans went awry when the Dutch privateers captured the ship. It must have been very disconcerting to both of you.”

  “He—Charles merely escorted me. You were gone, Drake, on one of your constant wine-buying trips. I-I needed someone to escort me.”

  He grimaced. “Anne, credit me with a little intelligence. If Charles had merely escorted you, you and he would not have kept the fact a secret.”

  “But it’s true!”

  D
rake laughed scornfully.

  “You cannot divorce me. You cannot mean to forfeit your knighthood. What—what about William? He will inherit your knighthood. You can’t take the knighthood away from William!”

  He gazed at her with intense dislike. Now she brings up the children. Now! He shook his head. Oh, my God. What a fool you’ve been, Drake Steel. A fool in love.

  “If you think, Anne, that I intend to raise my son with so few moral values that he would welcome inheriting a knighthood that has as part of its foundation his mother’s prostitution with the king—well, you are quite wrong. I intend to raise William to value what I value: honesty, decency. I mean to have my divorce from bed and board, my poor, foolish darling. I’ve already made my first payment to the ecclesiastical court.”

  With a wounded cry—”Drake, please!”—she leapt up and came flying to him, the high heels of her pretty go-to-court shoes clattering on the ancient floorboards. She threw her arms around his neck and pressed her breasts to his chest. “Drake, don’t do this. I love you, I do. I’ll be good, I will, I promise. I’ll be good.”

  He peeled her hands from his neck as he would peel away an unwelcome snake. “Anne, you don’t love me. You have never loved anyone but yourself. As for being good, you don’t know the meaning of the word.”

  “But you love me, you do.” Sobbing now, she crumpled to her knees, wrapping her arms around his leg, clutching him, burying her face against the rough serge of his breeches.

  “I probably do,” he admitted. “And that’s the hell of it.” He touched her shaking shoulders. “But love doesn’t live forever, Anne—not without being nurtured and fed. And today my love for you received poison. It will take a while for my love to die, and the death will be an agony, but it assuredly will die.”

  “Drake,” she begged, her eyes wet, beautiful, beseeching, “don’t do this, don’t.”

  “Now, my darling, go upstairs and gather your belongings.”

  “Why?” she asked, a shot of fear piercing her tearful voice.

  “Because tomorrow, Arthur will come and take you to find new lodgings. He will help you.”

  “Lodgings?”

  “I don’t want you in this house, Anne. This is the Steel family home, and it has stood for honor and decency for six generations. You don’t belong in it. You don’t belong here.”

  “Drake, please!” she begged.

  “No.” It was the hardest word he’d ever uttered. For indeed, he still loved her.

  “But what will become of me?” she said in panic. The tears coursed down her cheeks.

  He touched her lovely hair gently. “I will see to it that you have a roof over your head, food to eat, clothes to wear, a servant to serve you. You will have an allowance of one hundred pounds a year.”

  “I can’t live on that little,” she sobbed.

  He stroked her hair. “Anne, Anne. You and I and William and Katherine lived on half that amount, and happily. At least, I was happy, though perhaps you were not.”

  “But what about the children?”

  Again they were her last concern. He gazed down at her with pity and dislike. He wondered if she would ever realize what she’d lost? Probably not. She was resilient, like a cat, and with as little real affection.

  “I’m taking the children with me.”

  She looked up, her face tear-streaked, roughened from the serge.

  “Take—taking? What do you mean?”

  “I’m taking them with me to Barbados.”

  “You’re going to that woman? That tall, homely woman?”

  He had to smile, pityingly, in sympathy for Anne’s values.

  “I thought that once. I thought her tall and plain. But later, Anne, I was privileged to know her. Right now she seems to me the most beautiful woman in the world—the only woman I want to be with.”

  “You can’t marry her,” Anne cried out vindictively. “You can’t marry anyone. A divorce from bed and board doesn’t allow remarriage.”

  He smiled sympathetically. “But you see, Anne, that won’t matter to Edwinna. She will want me with or without marriage, with or without a knighthood. She loves me.”

  “But you love me, Drake, you do!” Pathetically, she began to lavish kisses on his groin, trying to arouse him. He gently took her face and pushed it away.

  “Gather your things, Anne. Get ready for the morning.”

  He strode out of the dining room, into the entry hall, and picked up hat, cloak, and sword. She jumped up and came flying after him, heels racketing, hair disheveled.

  “Where are you going!” She cried out in alarm.

  “To Verity’s. To the children.”

  “You can’t leave me alone,” she said, panicky. “You know I’m frightened to be alone.”

  Alone? How ironic. He’d been alone all of his marriage and he’d been too stupid to know it. Ignoring her, he opened the door and descended the front steps into the lovely spring evening. The hickory trees arched overhead, bare of leaves but budding. Spring, summer, autumn, winter—a lovely succession. Each of the seasons held its special joys and its small sorrows. He wouldn’t have missed a one of them. He was glad he had been married to Anne. Without her, he wouldn’t have had William and Katherine.

  “Drake,” she cried out, panic growing. “I don’t like to be alone!”

  He turned for a moment before striding on. Silhouetted in the doorway, in candle glow, she had never looked more beautiful to him nor less appealing.

  “Nor do I, Anne,” he returned. “But you see, if I stayed with you tonight, I would be exactly that. Alone.”

  He strode off into the lilac-scented evening, his step eager. He longed to be with his children.

  * * *

  Chapter 20

  Drake caught the fragrance of the Caribbean when the ship was still two days out from shore. The huge continent of South America, with its vast landmass of steaming jungles, exerted that much influence. He inhaled deeply, breathing in the balmy air, the familiar scent, and he gripped the rail with excitement. Edwinna...

  The voyage had been easy and uneventful. They’d sailed directly south, with stops to take on fresh food and water in Portugal and along the northwest coast of Africa. When they’d reached the latitude of Barbados, they’d changed course and sailed due west, catching the trade winds. The ship galloped over the sea like a fast mare.

  For his children’s sake, Drake had chosen a stout, seaworthy ship that had formidable deck cannons and a well-seasoned captain in command. A contingent of soldiers bound for Bridgetown rounded out the passenger list, eliminating the fear of pirates.

  He glanced at the deck where William and his tutor sat with a slate, studying the basic elements of celestial navigation, then at Katherine, who romped with a puppy born on the voyage to the captain’s bitch. He smiled. The children were healthy and as sun-browned as nuts. They’d taken to sailing. They liked their tutor, a cheerful young man who’d agreed to tutor them for two years in exchange for Drake’s paying his passage to the Caribbean.

  Drake leaned on the rail, content, happy, the trade winds ruffling his hair. He couldn’t wait to see Edwinna. She would be so surprised. He’d taken a month to put his affairs in order before sailing. Some of the business had been unpleasant. He’d courteously written the king, declining the knighthood, thereby saving His Majesty the embarrassment of having to withdraw the honor. The king had written back with equal courtesy acknowledging Drake’s refusal. Neither had mentioned Anne, but the crux of the matter had stood plain between them. King Charles had requested that Drake keep the patent of royal vintner, with the understanding the patent would remain in the Steel family permanently, to be handed down from generation to generation. Drake had accepted gladly. He was not so great a fool as to cut off his nose to spite his face. The patent would make his fortune, and William’s, and William’s sons’ fortunes.

  Drake smiled. “Not so great a fool.” Those had been Verity’s parting words, along with a ferocious hug and a demand he sho
w his “ugly face” in London two years hence. He’d promised her and he’d promised Arthur. He couldn’t overburden Arthur with the responsibility of the wine business and duties as sugar factor, as well. It was too much.

  He intended to return in two years with Edwinna and the children, stay two years in London, and then go back to Barbados. He intended to be fair with Edwinna, dividing their time between London and Barbados, but he would not, by God, live without her. Not a year, not a month, not a day. He wanted her at his side, with him.

  Edwinna. His heart beat oddly. He, respected and admired her, wanted her in his bed, but the feeling in his breast was something more, something larger than fondness, and it surprised him.

  The ship plunged into a tall wave, the timbers creaking and the deck rolling gently. He glanced at the children. They’d become such sailors they’d hardly noticed. They’d leaned naturally in the opposite direction, expertly keeping their balance.

  Another piece of nasty business had been Charles Dare. Drake was not a man to sweep dirt under the rug and forget it. He’d gone to Charles and confronted him. They’d had hot words. Only God’s providence, and Drake’s realization that Anne wasn’t worth it, had kept the words from escalating into blows. When Drake had walked out from that meeting, the friendship was severed, dead—if a friendship had ever existed in the first place.

  He’d asked Arthur to deal with Anne, to see to her needs. Drake couldn’t and well knew why. He still loved her. He didn’t want to love her. He prayed God to take it out of his heart, to liberate him. Standing there at the ship’s rail, watching the waves slide by, mesmerized by the rhythmic rolling sea, he slowly became host to a new thought. Maybe it hadn’t been love at all! Maybe he’d been the victim of a habit, the habit of loving Anne. His chest lightened. Habits could be broken.

  Gazing at the hypnotic sea, examining the new thought, he suddenly jerked to attention, noticing the jetsam and flotsam on the waves. Whole cane plants drifted in the waves —small plants, large ones, unripe ones, fully ripe ones. It alarmed him. He was just turning to go find the captain when the man strolled up to rail and frowned down into the sea. He took a long draw on his clay pipe.