by Tim Severin
‘Lynch, Hector Lynch.’
‘No relation to Sir Thomas are you?’
Hector decided it was wiser to be vague. ‘Not as far as I am aware.’
‘Just as well. Sir Henry can’t abide Sir Thomas . . . or his family for that matter.’
Hector saw his chance to learn more. ‘Does Sir Thomas have a large family?’
‘Big enough. Most of them live down near Port Royal. That’s where they have their other properties.’ He paused, and his next words came as a shock. ‘But this being so near Christmas, Sir Henry has invited a few of them this evening. They came by carriage, a full day’s journey. And one of them is quite a beauty.’
Hector could think of no escape as he was led back to where Coxon was waiting. The buccaneer captain had cleaned himself up and put on his wig. He looked more of a gentleman and less of a brigand. Taking Hector by the elbow, he led him aside and whispered harshly. ‘Once we step into that room, you are to hold your tongue until I’ve found out Sir Henry’s temper.’
The under-steward brought them before a pair of tall double doors. A buzz of conversation could be heard coming from the other side, and the strains of music, a couple of violins and a virginal by the sounds. As the servant was about to pull open both doors, Coxon stopped him. ‘I can manage that myself,’ he said. The buccaneer captain eased open one door and quietly stepped inside, pulling Hector behind him.
The room was thronged with guests. They were mostly men, but there was also a scattering of women, many using fans to lessen the stifling atmosphere. Scores of candles were adding to the lingering heat of the day, and although the windows stood open, the room was uncomfortably warm. Hector, who had seen the lavishly decorated salons of wealthy Barbary merchants, was surprised by how plainly this reception room was furnished. Although it was some thirty paces long, its plaster walls were bare except for one or two indifferent paintings, and there were no carpets to cover the hardwood floor. The room had a raw, unfinished look as though the owner, having constructed it, had no further interest in making it comfortable or attractive. Then he saw the sideboard. It must have been forty feet in length. It was covered from end to end with refreshments for the guests. There were heaps of oranges, pomegranates, limes, grapes and several varieties of luscious-looking fruit unknown to Hector, as well as massed arrangements of coloured jellies and sugar cakes, rank upon rank of wine bottles, and several large basins of some sort of punch. But it was not the array of exotic food which caught his eye. Every one of the platters, salvers and bowls holding the food and drink, as well as the ladles, tongs and serving implements beside them, appeared to be of solid silver, and if they were not of silver, they were made of gold. It was a breathtakingly vulgar display of bullion.
No one in the gossiping throng had noticed their entrance. Hector felt Coxon’s hand on his elbow. ‘Stay here until I come to fetch you, and remember what I said . . . not a word to anyone until I have spoken with Sir Henry.’ Hector watched the captain make his way discreetly through the assembly of guests. He was heading towards a group of men in the centre of the gathering. They were standing talking to one another, and it was evident from the space that had been left clear around them, the richness of their dress and their self-confident manner that they were the host and his chief guests. Among them was a tall, thin man with a sallow, almost sickly complexion, dressed in a plum-coloured velvet gown with gold trimming and a full-bottomed wig. He was talking to a fat, red-faced colleague in vaguely military attire who had several decorations pinned to his chest and wore a broad sash of blue silk. All the men in the group were holding glasses, and from their manner Hector guessed they had been drinking heavily. As he watched, Coxon reached the little group and, sidling round until he was next to the taller man, whispered something in his ear. His listener turned and, on seeing Coxon, an expression of irritation crossed his face. He was either annoyed at being interrupted or angered by the sight of Coxon. But the buccaneer stood his ground, and was explaining something, speaking rapidly, making some sort of point. When he stopped, the tall man nodded, turned and looked in Hector’s direction. It was clear that whatever Coxon had been saying, it concerned Hector.
Coxon pushed his way back to where Hector waited. The buccaneer was flushed and excited, perspiring heavily under his wig, the sore patches on his neck prominent against the paler skin. ‘Sir Henry will see you,’ he said. ‘Look smart now and follow me.’ He turned and began to lead Hector into the centre of the room.
By now the little exchange had attracted the attention of several guests. Curious glances followed the newcomers’ progress, and a path opened up for them as they walked forward. Hector felt himself light-headed as well as awkward in his borrowed clothes. With chilling certainty he knew that his deception was about to be exposed.
By the time the two men had reached the centre of the room, the babble of conversation was lessening. A hush had spread among the nearest spectators. The late arrival of two unfamiliar faces must have been some sort of diversion, for people were craning their necks to see what was happening. Coxon came to a halt before the taller man, bowed, and announced with a flourish:
‘Sir Henry, allow me to introduce to you a young man that I took from a merchant ship recently. The vessel was stolen from its rightful owners and was in the hands of the thieves. This is the young man’s first visit to our island, but he comes with excellent connections. May I introduce Hector Lynch, nephew to our esteemed former governor Sir Thomas Lynch who, no doubt, will be in your debt for the rescue.’
The tall man in the plum-coloured coat turned to face Hector, who found himself looking into the pale eyes of Sir Henry Morgan, lieutenant governor of Jamaica.
‘Lynch, did you say?’ Sir Henry’s voice was surprisingly thin and high pitched. He spoke with a slight slur, and Hector realised that the lieutenant governor was tipsy. He also looked very unhealthy. The whites of his eyes had a yellowish tinge, and though he must have been in his late forties, he did not carry his years well. Everything about him was gaunt – his face, shoulders and legs, yet his belly was bloated and jutted out unnaturally, straining the lower buttons of his coat. Hector wondered if Morgan was suffering from some sort of dropsy, or perhaps the effects of regular heavy drinking. But the eyes that looked him over were bright with intelligence, and speculative.
‘Byndloss, did you hear that?’ Morgan was speaking to his military-looking colleague, evidently a drinking companion to judge by the familiar tone. ‘This young fellow is Sir Thomas’s nephew. We must make him welcome to Llanrumney.’
‘Didn’t know Sir Thomas had any more nephews,’ grunted Byndloss rudely. He too was drunk. His complexion was on its way to matching his red uniform jacket. Hector sensed a stir of unease from Coxon beside him.
‘A junior branch of the family,’ the buccaneer captain explained swiftly. His tone was obsequious. ‘His father, Stephen, is the youngest of Sir Thomas’s brothers.’
‘Then how come he’s not been out to visit us before? Some Lynches must think themselves too grand for us?’ observed Byndloss petulantly. He took another drink from his glass, spilling a few drops down his chin.
‘Don’t be so prickly,’ Sir Henry Morgan chided his friend. ‘This is the Christmas season, a time to put aside our differences, and of course for families to get together.’ Turning to Hector, who had still not said a word, he added in that high voice, ‘Your family will be delighted by your arrival. I am pleased that it should have taken place under my roof.’ From his greater height he looked out over his guests, and called out, ‘Robert Lynch, where are you? Come and meet your cousin Hector!’
Hector could only stand helplessly, paralysed by the certain knowledge that his deception was about to be exposed in public.
There was a stir at the back of the gathering and a young man shouldered his way forward through the crowd of onlookers. Hector saw that Robert Lynch was about his own age, a round-headed, pleasant-looking fellow dressed fashionably in a brocade vest tied with a b
uckled girdle. His freckles and round grey-blue eyes gave him a remarkably boyish look.
‘My cousin Hector, did you say?’ Robert Lynch sounded eager, yet puzzled.
He stepped into the circle surrounding his host, and looked closely at Hector. He seemed baffled.
‘Yes, yes. Your uncle Stephen’s son . . . he landed unexpectedly just this morning, with Captain Coxon.’ Morgan answered, and turning to Hector asked, ‘Where did you say you are from?’
For the first time at that gathering, Hector spoke. His false identity was about to be exposed, and he knew he could no longer maintain the deception. ‘There’s a misunderstanding . . .’ he croaked. His throat was dry from nerves.
Morgan checked, his eyes narrowed and he was about to speak, when Robert Lynch announced in astonishment, ‘But I don’t have an uncle. Two aunts, yes, but no Uncle Stephen. No one ever said anything about a cousin Hector.’
For a long, unpleasant moment, Sir Henry Morgan said nothing. He stared at Hector, then switched his gaze to Coxon, who was rooted to the spot. Hector and all those in earshot tensed, awaiting an outburst of rage. Instead Morgan let loose a sudden, ringing neigh of laughter. ‘Captain Coxon, you’ve been taken in! You’ve swallowed the gudgeon, every last morsel. Sir Thomas’s nephew indeed!’ Beside him, Byndloss let out a guffaw and, waving his glass, added, ‘Are you sure that he’s not Sir Thomas’s son and heir?’
A wave of sycophantic laughter washed around them as the crowd of onlookers joined in the mirth.
Coxon flushed crimson with embarrassment. He clenched his hands by his side and swung to glare straight at Hector. For an instant the young man thought that the buccaneer, his face working with anger, was about to strike him, but Coxon only snarled, ‘You will regret this, you little swine!’ and turned on his heel. Then he stalked out of the room, followed by the hoots of laughter, and someone calling out over the heads of the crowd, ‘He’s Sir Hector, you know.’
Like a good host, Morgan turned back to his friends who were still smirking at Coxon’s humiliation, and they took up their former conversation. Pointedly, Hector was ignored. Awkwardly he stood there in his borrowed clothes, uncertain what he should do next. He feared to follow Coxon in case the buccaneer captain might be waiting for him outside the door.
While he stood there hesitating, a sharp rap on his elbow made him jump, and a female voice said playfully, ‘I would very much like to meet my new cousin.’ He turned to find himself looking into the mischievous smile of a young woman in a light evening cloak of turquoise satin. She was a couple of inches shorter than himself, and no more than seventeen years old. Yet the shape of her body was accentuated by a tight bodice whose low neckline was only partially covered by a lace-trimmed gorget to reveal the curves of full womanhood. Involuntarily Hector found himself reflecting that women ripened in the Jamaican climate as early and seductively as the island’s exotic fruit. Her dark brown hair was arranged so that it tumbled down to her shoulders, but she had left a fringe of curls to frame the wide-set blue eyes which now regarded him with such amusement. In her hand was the fan which she had used to attract his attention. ‘I am Susanna Lynch, Robert’s sister,’ she told him in a light, attractive voice. ‘It’s not often that a relation appears from nowhere.’
Hector found himself blushing. ‘I’m sorry,’ he began, ‘I meant no disrespect. Lynch truly is my family name. The deception was forced upon me to protect myself and my friends . . .’
She interrupted him with a quick grimace. ‘I don’t doubt it. Captain Coxon has a reputation as a ruthless man, always eager to advance himself. In him you have made a dangerous enemy. Someone you had best avoid in future.’
‘I know almost nothing about him,’ Hector confessed.
‘He’s a ruffian. He used to consort with Henry Morgan in the days when harrying the Spanish was permitted. But that’s against government policy now, largely thanks to the efforts of our “uncle”.’ Here she smiled teasingly. ‘Men like Coxon still hang around on the fringes, waiting to snap up anything that has been overlooked. There are plenty who would help him.’
‘I gather that sometimes includes Sir Henry.’
She gave him a sharp glance. ‘You are quick on the uptake. I heard Morgan say that you only landed this morning in Jamaica, yet you’ve already sniffed out a few truths.’
‘Someone told me that Sir Henry Morgan’s preferences still incline towards his former buccaneering friends.’
‘Indeed they do,’ Susanna said casually. Hector had to admire the young woman’s self-confidence, for she did not bother to drop her voice. ‘Henry Morgan is still as gold-hungry as ever. But he is now on the governing council and a very powerful man. He’s someone else you should be wary of.’
With every moment Hector found himself appreciating much more than Susanna Lynch’s self-confidence. The way she stood before him, with her eyes boldly seeking his, left no doubt that she was deliberately calling for his attention. She was a very alluring young lady, and knew it. With a pang, Hector realised that he had never before had an opportunity to engage closely with a young woman so obviously on display. He realised that he was succumbing to her good looks and, without wishing to, falling under the spell of her provocation.
‘Then I’m at a loss as to what I should do next,’ he admitted. ‘I feel stranded. I don’t know anyone in Jamaica.’
She gave him a calculating look, though there was softness in it. ‘No one at all?’
‘My friends were despatched to the French colony at Petit Guave, and I need to try to join them.’
‘One thing is for certain. You should get away from Llanrumney as soon as possible. You’ll get no sympathy in this place.’ She thought for a moment, then treated him to a quick smile which made his heart race. ‘Tomorrow Robert and I return home – we live on the opposite side of the island, near Spanish Town, not far from Port Royal. You can travel with us, and from there continue to Port Royal itself. That’s the best place to find news of your friends, or even a ship that will take you to rejoin them.’
THREE
THAT NIGHT Hector found it almost impossible to get to sleep. The friendly under-steward arranged a cot for him in the servants’ quarters, but keen yearnings for Susanna Lynch kept the young man awake for several hours, and when he opened his eyes soon after dawn, her image was the first thing in his mind. Dressing hurriedly, he went to find someone who might be able to tell him where she could be found. To his delight the under-steward told him that the carriage belonging to Susanna Lynch was already prepared. She and her brother Robert were to set out for home shortly, and word had been sent that Hector was to travel with them.
‘Will they breakfast with Sir Henry first?’ he asked, impatient for his first sight of Susanna that day. The indentured man gave a world-weary laugh.
‘Sir Henry and his cronies were up drinking until well past midnight. My master will not be out of his bed much before noon.’
‘What about Captain Coxon? Where’s he?’ Hector asked. He had a sudden, vivid recollection of the furious expression on the buccaneer’s face as he had left the party.
‘Disappeared last night, after you made such a fool of him. I suppose he went back to his ship with his tail between his legs.’ The servant grinned. ‘He’s an arrogant blackguard. Likes to let everyone know what a hard man he is. Can’t say I would want to be in your shoes if he ever gets his hands on you.’
‘Someone else said much the same to me last night,’ admitted Hector, ‘and talking about shoes, shouldn’t I be returning these borrowed clothes to you?’
‘You can keep them.’
‘Won’t your master find out?’
‘I doubt it. The rum has been rotting his brain for a long time now. When he was campaigning against the Spaniards some years back, he and his friends blew themselves up. They were sitting carousing in the wardroom of a King’s ship, and some drunken fool dropped his lighted pipe into a scatter of loose gunpowder on the floor. The explosion split the vessel int
o matchwood. Sir Henry was only saved because he was sitting at the far side of the table.’
Thanking the man for his kindness, Hector made his way outside to find that one of the carriages he had seen the previous evening was already standing before the front door of the main house. ‘Is this the Lynches’ carriage?’ he asked the driver who, by the look of him, was another indentured servant. But before the man could answer, Susanna and her brother stepped out on the porch. Suddenly Hector felt his stomach go hollow. Susanna had chosen to wear a loose gown of fine cotton, dark pink, with short sleeves. It was open at the front to reveal a bodice laced with ribbon, and her grey skirt was looped up at one side to show a matching satin petticoat. Her hair was held back by a ribbon embroidered with roses. She looked ravishing.
Her brother greeted Hector cheerfully. ‘You caused quite a stir yesterday evening! I’m told that the fellow you discomforted is an utter scoundrel, and well deserved to be put in his place. Always creeping about and trying to ingratiate himself. My sister tells me that your family name really is Lynch.’
‘It’s a happy coincidence which I was obliged to turn in my favour.’
‘Well, no harm done. Susanna tells me that you will travel with us, so I’ve arranged an extra horse for you.’
To his chagrin Hector saw that a groom had appeared from behind the house, leading two saddle horses. But Susanna came to his rescue. ‘Robert, you are not to deprive me of Mr Lynch’s company. It will make the journey pass more agreeably if he joins me in the carriage, at least for the first few hours.’
‘As you please, Susanna. His horse can be attached to the carriage until needed,’ answered her brother meekly, and Hector could see that Robert usually gave way to his sister. Susanna Lynch climbed into the carriage and took her seat. ‘Come, sit beside me, Hector. After all, we are cousins,’ she said invitingly, and gave a throaty chuckle which sent Hector’s mind reeling.
