Fortune's Whelp (Fortune's Whelp Series Book 1)

by Benerson Little

  He tucked the letters into his saddle bag, tied it down tightly, and called for Jane.

  “Your servant, sir,” she said mockingly.

  “I’ve an hour. Your son’s away, I trust?”

  “He is.”

  “Good. To bed, then, if you please,” he said, a cocked pistol in his hand.

  “And what games are we playing today, Edward?” she asked as she ran her fingers gently along the barrel.

  “Games that please me.”

  “Then let’s to them, sir!” she said flirtingly, patronizingly, and irresistibly, and led him to her bedroom.

  Almost exactly an hour later, Edward was in the saddle again, ignoring Jane’s bawdy jests about exchanging one saddle for another. It was late afternoon when Edward finally returned to Ballydereen, after having made one last stop in Kinsale. All of the letters, including their duplicates, were now safely locked in a strongbox aboard the Virginia Galley, whose captain was a solid supporter of King William.

  “Should anyone try to get at these letters, you may shoot him,” Edward advised the captain.

  “I’ll shoot anyone who tries to open or steal the box,” the captain replied. “I’ve my own poor fortune to be made in there.”

  At Ballydereen the house was in an uproar, and at first Edward thought it might have been attacked, so bloodthirstily angry was Sir William.

  “Edward! It’s come to this, finally. The magistrate did me the courtesy of sending a rider to warn me in advance. They’re accusing Molly of treason, by God! Come, now, to the inner hall, if you please.”

  “Constable Rutson is still waiting, sir, with his hired officers,” a servant interrupted. “He wishes to speak with Mistress O’Meary.”

  “Bugger that scoundrel. Let him cool his heels a little longer, I’ll call you when I want to see him.”

  Edward, his foot aching from riding all day, followed Sir William to the inner hall, a dark, cold, and imposing room whose walls were covered with arms and armor, some of ancient origin, some of recent, much of which had been either hidden or used during the late Irish conflict, or recovered afterward.

  Sir William stamped his walking stick hard on the floor.

  “You know, Edward, it offended me that you came so late seeking my assistance. It seemed that you had forgotten that I was the principal investor in your venture commanding a letter-of-mart ship a few years ago.”

  “A venture from which I returned no profit to anyone; ship, cargo, and plunder all lost. I didn’t want to burden you again if I didn’t need to,” Edward said, trying to reassure him.

  “It was Fortune, nothing else; there was no shame in it. It’s an odd sort of honor among you Highland men, much the sort I imagine as among your freebooting brethren and American Creoles. Still, of whatever sort, you’re a man of honor, or at least as much a man of honor as any, and you’re a better Christian than most Christians I know, at least in how you treat people, though you’ll disavow believing in any religion. Oh, you’ve your vices, I suppose, but I’ve never seen any to fault you for. You won’t take the food from a poor man’s mouth and you’ll even give him your own, I’ve seen you. It’s much the way you are with women. You take what’s given, but you’re no seducer or forcer of women; you won’t take advantage of a woman for your own profit, meager or great.”

  “I’m not sure where you’re going with this, Sir William.”

  “I know you don’t trust Molly—Hell, man, you think she’s plotting with Tories and rapparees!—but she’s my daughter, whether she knows it or not, and I’m going to protect her come what may. I need your help. I ask you two favors.”

  “And if I disagree?”

  “You owe me, Edward. Not as your investor, but as a man of honor to his friend. I ask nothing of you but what you can do in good faith and honor. If that turns out to be nothing, then so be it.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “They’re going to accuse her, Edward. She’ll be arraigned at the Assizes in a week. I suppose the local bachelors have grown tired of waiting for her to marry one of them, and now prefer to have the law seize her estate so that one of them may have it cheap.” The old gentleman was silent while he ran his fingers along the fireplace mantle. “I’ve heard rumors that someone accuses her of having Jacobite ties, that she waits for James—they call him the ‘king across the water’—to regain the crown. She can then safely marry that bastard she claims to love, and her estate will no longer be in danger of forfeit. Thus, I believe, the charges. At any rate, I want you to stand with her at the bar tomorrow. The judge is a friend, I think he’ll allow this even though the law doesn’t.” He sighed. “I grow too old and ill-tempered for some things, and it will look bad if I advise her at the bar. As I said, the judge is a friend. So, first, will you stand with her such as you can? And second, will you help her in any other way you can, duty and honor permitting? It’s not much to ask, and you’ll soon leave these Irish politics behind you anyway.”

  Edward sat down with his chin on his chest. Sir William is right, is thought, we’re all trapped by Fortune. Is Jane right, too, that there’s no escaping it? No matter what he says, if I don’t help Sir William I may lose him as an investor and a friend. But if evidence is found against Molly, it may taint Sir William too—and even me as his friend, not to mention I might be tainted as Molly’s counsel. Christ, what a mess. So much simpler is the sea.

  “Of course, Sir William,” he said eventually. “Assuming I’m still here. You know that I hope to sail before then. And you also know I was only educated as a Scots lawyer, and not in the English common law, though I did study it for my own defense against charges of piracy. And I never practiced law—I preferred lawful theft upon the sea instead. The only lawyers I’ve dealt with in years have been those who prosecuted me and those I’ve run through with a sword.”

  “Thank you, Edward. You never were one to fear anything, not even Fortune, and I’m sure she’ll keep you here long enough to help Molly.”

  “Sir William,” he replied gravely, almost reversing their roles, “I’m going to help Molly because the fundamental accusation is a false one. And because she might yet be innocent of other accusations, in spite of my suspicions. And because you’re my friend and I wouldn’t hurt you for all the world. I would shatter our business agreement long before I’d harm the friendship and honor between us. But I swear to you, as soon as I set sail it’s back to my philosophy. It’s my own damn fault I’m in this mess, but I know now how to adjust my hypothesis and make it work.”

  “You’re a smart, brave, loyal man, Edward—and you’re also a damn fool. Let’s get that little bastard constable in here; I’ll give him a show he won’t forget soon!”

  And surely the constable never would: Sir William’s verbal broadside shivered the pompous Constable Rutson to splinters in less than a minute. He departed almost at a run, more red-faced than a Scottish seaman. Afterward, Sir William brought Molly into the inner hall and asked Edward to explain the charges to her while he tended his race horses at the stable.

  “It will come to naught,” Edward said uncomfortably, after shouting at Parson Waters, even now still loitering around when they were together, to get the hell out. “Some of the English here in Ireland are merely out to lawfully steal property from the native Catholic Irish. There’s nothing unusual in the charges against you, even though baseless. To the victors go the spoils is how they see it. Fear not; Sir William is a powerful man, and besides, you’re innocent of the charges. More importantly, you’re here to defend yourself. If you were abroad they might outlaw and attaint you, and seize your property without trial. Again, fear not: already some confiscated estates are being returned to their original owners.”

  “But high treason!”

  “They’re only words intended to scare you,” he said calmly, hoping to mollify her.

  “Then why only me?” she asked, mollified at least enough to wonder why other estates were not being threatened with confiscation along with hers.
r />   “I don’t understand.”

  “Sir William warned me ahead of time, but he also said I am the only one being charged and in danger of losing my estate. Why not that Dutch bawd, too?”

  “A good question. I hear she’s wealthy, with friends in England. There’s always one law for the wealthy, another for the rest of us. I can ask her for advice, if you like.”

  “No!” she answered sharply, then softened. “But thank you just the same,” she said.

  “Are you sure?”

  “You and Sir William have comforted me sufficiently to keep me from worrying,” she lied. “Again, I thank you.”

  Edward thought she sounded reassured, although her manner in general suggested otherwise. “It was nothing,” he replied casually, fearing a trap.

  “No, I mean to thank you for the other night.”

  “It was nothing, too,” he said, more plainly matter-of-fact than casual.

  “Sir William has told me that you suspect I had a part in it.”

  “Did you?” he asked coldly.

  “No!”

  “How, then, would you explain what happened that night?” he continued as coldly. “Your wolfhounds left behind, you leading me into an ambuscade on the day I receive important letters, not to mention the curiosities and inconsistencies of pistol shot and a hanged man?

  “I can’t, except to say it’s all coincidence and mistake, and that I’m sure they were only out to rob you.”

  “Obviously.”

  “I think,” she said, softening her tone, “they suspected you had more on you than arms and some coin.”

  Edward was momentarily taken aback. Clever, he thought: If she’s guilty, she’s unlikely to be so bold. Yet bold she is.

  “Then they were fools,” he said, giving nothing up in case she were fishing for the letters he had found. “And you shouldn’t give me more reason to suspect you. I’m but an impoverished soldier of fortune, one who makes his way in the world by his sword: I am the heir of mine own right hand, as the Spanish say. There is only cold steel to be had by trying to rob me.”

  “Have you considered that that widowed whore knows your comings and goings better than anyone around here?” she said spitefully.

  “I’ve considered that both of you do. If you’ll excuse me, Molly, I’m going to read through some of Sir William’s law books.”

  As much a pretense as intention, he sought the most recently published law book he could find in the small library—The Young Lawyer’s Recreation, 1694—and began flipping through it by the fire. He had to get away from Molly. Each conversation left him conflicted, simultaneously even more convinced of her guilt yet more doubtful of it too.

  But perhaps this is what she intends, he thought.

  A week later they rode early to Kinsale: Edward, Sir William, four of his servants, all heavily armed, Parson Waters, and Molly. Trailing behind one of the servants was a mule loaded with Edward’s baggage, for the Scotsman hoped to finally sail for Bristol on the morrow. The ill-timing of ships and the vagaries of wind and tide had delayed departure.

  Molly and Edward took rooms at a boarding house in Kinsale, and a servant ferried Edward’s baggage to the Virginia Galley. Afterwards, the entire party met up at the courthouse.

  “Molly O’Meary, hold up thy hand,” ordered the clerk of the arraigns somberly, yet with a twinkle of humanity. Years of repetitious procedure had not entirely effaced his personality.

  Molly hoped her face did not show her fear, hoped her voice was not weak. She raised her hand.

  “Thou standest indicted by the name of Molly O’Meary, also called Magdalene O’Meary, an unmarried woman who lives near Ballydereen in the county of Cork and who owns property in this county.”

  The judge looked down upon her from his high seat. He was a ruddy, round-faced man, with deep-set eyes and thick eyebrows that made them appear even deeper. His wig was crooked.

  “My lord,” she said, before Edward could stop her, “there are many things I don’t understand, and I want to ask your lordship questions. Indeed, I desire you to permit me counsel,” she declared, her spirit bold, her voice tremulous.

  The judge glared, then sighed. “You may speak, Mistress O’Meary, when I ask you to, or indicate you may. As I was saying... what was I saying, Clerk?”

  “I was speaking, my lord. The indictment for foreign treason, and so on,” said the clerk.

  “Yes, er, foreign treason against his Majesty King William. The clerk will read the indictment.”

  “My lord,” Molly interrupted.

  “What? Mistress O’Meary, let us get through this, I’ll explain everything you need to know. There are no matters of law for which you need council. Continue, clerk.”

  “My lord,” interrupted Edward, stepping forward.

  “What! Who’s this now! Is this a court of law or a coffeehouse?” thundered the magistrate. “Ah, you’re that pirateering rascal who’s been visiting Sir William. Great sport, that duel of yours, by the way, and I hope your wounds have healed. Have they? Good, sir, good, but pray, use that Highland bilbo of yours on the French, if you please, and no more on English officers, no matter how deserving one or two might be. Now, what do you want?”

  “If my lord will permit—I know it’s an unusual request—I wish to stand as counsel for Mistress O’Meary in order to help her understand these proceedings.”

  “Are you a barrister-at-law?”

  “I studied to be a Scots lawyer, my lord.”

  “Humph. Scots law, eh? Roman law, you mean, and French and Dutch nonsense, begging His Majesty’s pardon.”

  “I did make something of a study of the English common law, my lord.”

  “Doubtless when you were accused of piracy. Have you taken the abrogated oath?”

  “No, my lord, for I don’t practice law. I was merely educated as a lawyer long ago. In fact, I take as few oaths as possible.”

  “You prefer not to take oaths, is that what you say? You’re not perchance a Quaker, are you? For they will take no oaths. Nay, a rascal like you couldn’t be a Quaker. They may invest in piracy but they won’t swing a cutlass.”

  “I’ll take oaths as necessary, your lordship, for example in order to receive a privateering commission.”

  “More practical than political, I see. Do you read Epictetus? You look like a man who seeks solace in Roman philosophers who believe that a man should be free of oaths, or at least as much as possible. Tell me, do you acknowledge the right of King William to the Crown of England?”

  “I’ve no intention of hindering him, my lord.”

  “You didn’t answer my question—perhaps you truly were trained as a lawyer. And you’re also a Scotsman? Are you a Presbyterian Dissenter, then, who perversely believes we should not be ruled by kings chosen by God, but instead by a leader chosen by men?”

  “My lord, matters of kings and princes are for greater minds than mine. I am but a loyal subject of King William—who, as it happens, was chosen by men to be our King.”

  The judge grinned. “Well, rascal, when you do answer a question you answer indeed like a lawyer. Tell me, did you become a rascal before or after you became a lawyer?”

  “I think, my lord, I first became a rascal when I studied to become a lawyer.”

  “A witty rascal, too! You’re fortunate, sir, that my humors make allowance for other’s wit. Yet you may not approach. I’ll tell her all she needs. And you, sir, as a lawyer, or something of one, should know that no one accused of a felony is permitted counsel at bar. And though there’s a new Act in England that will remedy this in cases of treason, it doesn’t apply to cases of treason in Ireland. So please, sir, content yourself with silence.”

  The recorder raised an ink-stained hand.

  “Does my lord wish this to be noted in the record?”

  “Of course not!” The judge returned his stern gaze to Molly.

  Edward made as if to speak again, but Sir William gripped his arm tightly and whispered, “Say noth
ing. He’s on our side; he won fifty pounds betting on you in your duel. Trust me, he’ll let you stand with her, just be patient.”

  “Read the indictment,” the judge ordered.

  The clerk read the litany of tortuous ineloquences and obscure legal redundancies. The several pages could be summarized in one sentence: Molly was accused of high treason in parts beyond the seas, namely, she withdrew allegiance from the King and late Queen and levied war against them. It did not mention how she levied war against her sovereigns.

  The judge addressed Molly when the clerk finished reading the indictment. “Mistress O’Meary, you’ve been accused of laesae majestatis, that is, high treason. Ah, you must hold up your hand again. Now, how do you plead to the indictment?”

  “How can I plead when I do not understand?” she asked rather too pointedly.

  “Captain! Sir! Pirate or privateer, whatever you are! I appoint you to be the accused’s council. There, you have council now, Mistress O’Meary, so we do not need to read the law to you. Captain MacNaughton will explain it to you later.” The magistrate paused to adjust his wig. “But understand this,” he continued ominously, “if you don’t plead we must pass judgment.”

  Edward stepped to the bar, whispered “Not guilty,” in Molly’s ear, and then stepped back.

  “Oh. Not guilty, my lord,” Molly said loudly.

  “The general issue, good and simple. Clerk?”

  “Cul prit, my lord,” he said, then, addressing Molly somberly yet paternally, “How wilt thou be tried?”

  Again Edward whispered in her ear.

  “I was just told to say ‘by God and the country,’ but, I ask, by which country?” she asked, much too pertly.

  “What!” exclaimed the judge.

  “I am Irish, my lord.”

  Sir William groaned.

  “You are a subject of King William, for you are within the dominion of his Crown, and therefore not only must you be faithful and bear true allegiance to him, but you must also be tried by the laws of the England!” thundered the magistrate, as much to impress the audience as to frighten Molly.