A Newfound Land (The Graham Saga)

by Belfrage, Anna

  “Ah,” Matthew said with mild approval, wondering if this specific characteristic would endear Esther to Alex or not.

  “And she’s strict with the children when it comes to God and the Bible, but I’m assuming that is as you want it.”

  “Aye.” Matthew studied the small room, noting it was clean and uncluttered. The food set before him was tasty, and Mrs Hancock looked neat, her grey skirts and bodice offset by a starched white collar, her hair decorously covered by a cap. Yes, this would be a good home for his son, and if it also led to him developing a fondness for the wee lass that was not so bad, was it?

  “Do you think you’ll settle in with them?” Matthew asked Jacob once they were back on the street. Jacob nodded, telling him that Mrs Hancock reminded him in some aspects of Mama; and Betty: she was like he imagined Rachel would have been had she still been alive.

  Matthew laughed. The lad was right: wee Betty had that air of bubbling energy that had accompanied Rachel from the moment she was delivered into his arms to the day she flew to his defence and met her death.

  “Do you miss her?” Jacob asked.

  “Aye I do, very much.” The child of his heart, the lass whom he had loved so intensely from the first time he saw her.

  “Would you...” Jacob broke off, eyes stuck on the cobbles.

  “I would,” Matthew said, “of course I would. Every one of you, I would miss as much had you been taken from me.”

  It seemed to Jacob that every soul in town knew his father, their progress halted repeatedly as Da stopped to greet yet another acquaintance. Minister Walker hailed them on the dusty street, beamed down at Jacob, and launched himself into a long discussion with Da, leaving Jacob to stand bored by their side.

  He scuffed at the ground, studying the people that moved around them. Most of them were adults, men in hats and coats, with a sprinkling of women and children. He smiled politely at the pretty lady coming their way and was surprised when she stopped and smiled back. Another person who knew his da and, from the way Da shone up, someone he liked, initiating a long conversation that had Jacob stamping his feet.

  She was very pretty, the lady, a wafting fragrance of lilies of the valley clinging to her deep blue skirts. He took in her bodice, thinking that there was quite a lot of white skin visible, and studied what little he could see of her light hair under her hat. She put a hand on Da’s arm and Jacob didn’t like that at all, just as he didn’t like it that Da laughed a bit too loudly at something she said.

  “Who was that?” he asked, once the lady had bid them both farewell.

  “Mmm?” Da smiled in the direction of the lady’s back. “Oh. A friend,” he said, leading the way towards the little inn.

  “Da?” Jacob tugged at his sleeve. “Will you take me there?” He pointed towards the harbour where two ships lay at anchor. Even from here, he could make out the smell that emanated from one of them, and when he looked up he saw that Da’s brows had pulled together into a dark line.

  “Not today, lad, perhaps some other day, when yon accursed ship is gone.”

  Jacob pouted. He wanted to see the ships up close, not the harbour as such, but he tagged after his father as he went on his way. He was on the verge of asking Da about why the ship was accursed, but a quick peek at Da’s face made him think better of it.

  Jacob had never been to a service before. He sat at attention for the first half-hour, his eyes flying from congregation to minister and back to congregation, barely listening to the service as such. The next half-hour he amused himself by swinging his legs back and forth and counting the number of times the minister stopped to repeat what he had just said. After one and a half hour, he was so bored he began to fidget, only to have Da’s hand come down like a clamp on his leg. After that he sat very still, eyes straight ahead and ears shut. Poor Daniel; this was what he was going to do when he grew up – talk people to sleep on a Sunday.

  After the service Da told Jacob to wait for him under the plane trees and settled down to a long debate with several of the men. There was an obvious agitation in the way they held themselves, and repeatedly they nodded in agreement with each other, listening attentively when Thomas Leslie or Da held forth. It made Jacob proud to see his da like this, surrounded by men who seemed to defer to his judgement, most of them forced to crane their heads back due to Da being that much taller than them. But it was boring to sit and wait, and it was hot despite being in the shade, so without really knowing how, Jacob wandered off in the direction of the glittering water.

  He hesitated when he got closer to the port area, surprised to see so many women and men about on this day of rest. And the women! He gawked at them in admiration; he had never seen something as pretty as these painted girls before.

  Finally, he reached the wharves, and up close the ships were huge, creaking in the wind. Just opposite to where he was standing were what looked like huge holding pens. For an instant, he supposed it might be for cattle and pigs and such, but then he saw people moving behind the fence and gaped. So many, and so black! The stench that wafted across the water from the enclosure made him back away, falling flat on his back when his foot caught on a pile of coiled ropes.

  “What have we here?”

  Jacob looked up to find himself surrounded by four men, their heads backlit by the sun. They reeked of beer and grime, three of them swaying unsteadily on their feet, while the shortest was leaning over Jacob, his hair standing like a messy haystack around his ratty face, made even more disconcerting by his drooping eyelid.

  “Sirs.” Jacob scrambled to his feet. He didn’t like the look of them, of how they eyed him as if he were a juicy bone of meat and they starving dogs.

  “They pay well for boys as comely as that,” the short man said to the others.

  Jacob could barely breathe. How pay? He clenched his fist around his little knife.

  “Too old. They like them younger than that,” one of the other men said.

  “We could always cut him – that’d keep him downy cheeked for ever,” the fattest of the men suggested.

  Cut him? You cut horses and pigs and even bull calves, but Jacob had never heard about cutting lads.

  “Cut?” the man with the drooping eyelid snorted. “You know they don’t hold with that, infidel though they may be.”

  “Still…” the fat man said.

  “He’ll sell for a high price anyway,” the fourth man voiced. “They like ’em fair, don’t they?”

  Jacob looked from one to the other, trying to see if they were jesting, but their expressions indicated they weren’t. Out of the corner of his eye he saw another man, a huge man in a curling hairpiece and a magnificent coat who was standing close enough that Jacob could see the scar that bisected the closest eyebrow.

  One of the men, the fat one, made a grab for him, and Jacob backed away, slamming into the wooden wall behind him. The big, well-dressed man fiddled with his wig, clasped his hands behind his back and stared out at sea, but not before Jacob saw small eyes darting in his direction, eyes that were averted while a small smile played on his heavy face.

  “Sir,” Jacob croaked, but his voice didn’t carry all that far – at least the large man seemed not to have heard. The short man laughed, fingering his drooping eyelid.

  “Come here then, laddie,” he crooned. “Come here and we won’t hurt you.”

  “We might,” his fat companion said, “but it’s quick.” He made a slashing motion with his hand and moved to block Jacob when he tried to sidle off. His comrades laughed.

  “Come, come, little piggy,” the one with the drooping eyelid said. “You’ll squeal for sure if you don’t come along nicely.”

  They had him trapped. The four men approached him from all sides, and Jacob had nowhere to go. His knees wobbled, wet warmth trickled down his legs, and Jacob was ashamed for being so unmanly, and at the same time incensed that these horribl
e men should talk about him as if he were an animal. He took a big breath, pulled his knife and ran, lowering his head like a small ram. He butted one man full in the stomach, stabbed another in the thigh hard enough to make him yelp, and there was the gap that Jacob needed, flying like a hare towards the edge of the wharf. Behind him, he could hear them cursing when they came after him. The water was dank and dark, making Jacob hesitate.

  “Nowhere to run, laddie,” the short man said.

  Jacob took a deep breath and dove in. He swam a long way under water before coming up for air. On land, the four men were already moving away, and Jacob made his way back slowly, looking for somewhere to clamber up.

  “Here, young Master Graham.”

  A rope landed in the water, and Jacob was pulled out to stand dripping on the wooden planks. Two men stood before him, one the very large, well-dressed man he’d seen before, the other an older man he recognised as Mr Farrell.

  “How fortunate, Jones, that you were here,” Mr Farrell said. “Those sailors carry their sport a bit too far at times. Antagonise a young boy!”

  Fortunate? Jacob shoved his hair off his face, was about to tell Mr Farrell what had happened, but there was a light in the big man’s eyes that made him decide to hold his tongue, trying out a weak smile instead.

  “Thank you, kind sirs.” Jacob bowed.

  For a long time the large man – Mr Jones – stared at him, and it was all Jacob could do not to squirm.

  “I’ll talk to the captain of the Henriette Marie,” Mr Farrell said. “It would do those ruffians good to spend a day or two tied to the mast.”

  “Indeed.” Jones returned to staring at Jacob. “Your father will be most displeased. I’m sure he has warned you to stay away from here.”

  Jacob nodded mutely. Da wouldn’t be displeased; he would be angry – very angry.

  Jones swivelled on his feet and beckoned for Jacob to come with him. Jacob wasn’t sure he wanted to, but Mr Farrell shooed him along, telling him Mr Jones would be kind enough to see him back to the inn. As a precaution, Jacob maintained a distance of some yards.

  *

  “Thank you.” Matthew opened his arms to receive his son. “It was most kindly done.” It stuck in his craw, those words did. It was an effort just to force them up his throat. To be beholden to Jones!

  “Make sure he keeps away from the harbour,” Jones said. “Next time there might be no one there to save him from being carried off. Slavery is colour blind, and from what I hear white children carry a high price on the slave markets in Arabia. And he’s comely, your son.”

  “And disobedient.”

  After a few more pleasantries, Matthew bid Jones farewell and turned to the task of disciplining his son. By the time he was done, Jacob was no longer crying; he was hiccupping, hands covering his bright red arse. Matthew tightened his belt back into place, helped Jacob out of his wet shirt and handed him a dry one.

  “You’ll never disobey me again,” Matthew said.

  “I promise,” Jacob said in a small voice.

  Matthew picked up a towel and poured some water from the ewer into the shallow basin.

  “Come here.” He dipped the towel and washed his son’s tearstained face, unclenched the small fists and washed them too before using his comb to bring some order into the damp, fair thatch. He hugged Jacob and kissed him on his brow.

  “I could have lost you. God’s truth, lad, do you realise how close you were to being carried away from us?”

  Jacob nodded, looking at him from below his lashes. “He was there all the time.”

  “Who?” Matthew frowned down at him.

  “The man who brought me back: Mr Jones. He was standing to the side, watching. I don’t think he would’ve helped me if Mr Farrell hadn’t shown up.”

  For a moment, Matthew was sure he would faint, blood rushing to collect in his gut. He squashed Jacob to him. Sweetest Lord! His son!

  “God curse you, Dominic Jones, and may I be granted the opportunity to send you to hell myself.”

  Chapter 38

  “Truly?” William Hancock shook his head. “I must say I find it hard to believe.”

  “Well, as yet I don’t know, do I?” Matthew said. “But I aim to find out.”

  “Hmm.” Hancock sucked in his lower lip. “There have been a few cases of disappeared children over the last few years.” He threw a look at Jacob, sitting with his youngest daughters on the bench in the backyard. “But to think... No, I can’t get my head around it; white men to do something so despicable. He might have misunderstood them.”

  “Only one way to find out.” Thomas got to his feet.

  “Aye,” Matthew agreed, standing up as well. “She hasn’t sailed yet, has she?”

  “No,” Thomas said. “Last I heard, the Henriette Marie will sail on the morrow – she’s waiting for the tide.”

  “No time to waste,” Matthew said.

  “I’m coming with you.” William shrugged into his coat.

  “I think not,” Matthew said. “We may use methods you’ll not approve of.”

  William raised his brows. “I am no innocent. I have served my years in the armies of the Commonwealth. I dare say I’ll manage.”

  Despite it being Sunday, the waterfront was busy in the early evening, whores conducting a brisk business with an endless line of sailors.

  “We just grab a few and ask them,” Thomas suggested.

  “You think the common crew will know? I doubt it. No, we need a bosun, perhaps even a first mate.” William studied the men around them far more knowledgeably than Matthew had expected. “I do business here,” William said with a crooked smile. “Almost every day I am down here on one matter or the other.” He led the way to one of the taverns, talked for a few minutes with the landlord and returned with a painted girl in tow.

  “Felicity,” he introduced, and Matthew and Thomas inclined their heads, making the bonny little whore giggle. “Felicity here knows the first mate of the Henriette Marie, and she’s somewhat aggrieved with him, are you not, my dear?”

  “Dawson scarpered without paying last night,” she said, “and I don’t hold with that, do I?”

  “No,” Matthew agreed, “I imagine you don’t.”

  The girl gave him a wide smile, displaying several blackened teeth.

  “I’ve promised Felicity a finder’s fee,” William said. “Enough to compensate her for some hours of lost business.”

  “And how were you planning on doing this?” Matthew asked.

  “Well, I was thinking that we’d settle ourselves here and wait.” William pointed to a nearby table.

  “He always comes here,” Felicity put in, ruffling at her long black curls in a way that made Thomas’ eyes hang off her hand. “Him and that sleazy Wilkes, his bosun.” She smiled at Thomas and dropped her hand to trace her neckline. Most of her bosom was visible: two pert breasts that near on hung in plain sight. Pretty she definitely was, but Matthew shuddered at the thought of ever being desperate enough to bed a lass so...hmm...well used.

  An hour or so later, a ruddy man entered the tavern with a small rat-faced man in his wake. After a word or so with the landlord, he scanned the crowd and brightened at the sight of Felicity.

  “There you are, my pet!” He ploughed through the crowded room towards her.

  “I’m not talking to you.” Felicity sniffed, slipping her arm in under Matthew’s. “That’s Dawson,” she whispered.

  Dawson stopped, looking confused. “Why ever not? If I’m interrupting, I can wait. I dare say none of these gentlemen will last very long under your expert hands.” He winked, receiving a pout in reply.

  “I won’t be going anywhere with you, Dawson. Not until you pay me what you owe me for last night.”

  “Of course I will, and look, I bought you something, didn’t I?” Dawson produced a set
of ivory combs from his pocket and held them aloft.

  “Oh!” Felicity was up on her feet and dancing towards him.

  “Move,” Matthew hissed. “She’ll warn him.”

  Thomas was on his feet, William was halfway across the room, and Matthew closed in on the little whore, now hanging like a limpet round the first mate’s neck.

  Felicity squealed. “Run, Dawson, they want you for something!”

  Matthew threw himself forward to block Dawson’s escape, but Dawson was quick, he was strong and agile, and to top it all he had Wilkes, the small man who’d entered with him and who now produced a cudgel. The cudgel whistled through the air, Matthew ducked, got hold of Dawson’s breeches and yanked him to a stop. An elbow connected painfully with his face, but Matthew held on, using his weight to topple them to the floor. The bosun brought down the cudgel, raised his arm to do it again, but was stopped by Thomas.

  Matthew was back on his feet and forced Dawson to follow suit by the simple expedient of pulling at his hair while William kept a shrieking Felicity from coming to the sailor’s aid. When Dawson produced a knife, Matthew had had enough, kneeing the man hard in the groin before disarming him. The first mate staggered, and Matthew dragged him towards the door, helped by the landlord who loudly told his patrons that he had no tolerance – none, y’hear? – for violence in his tavern.

  The bosun was struggling in Thomas’ hold, and at one point he tore himself free, backing away with a sneer. With a little sigh, William clapped him over the head with a bottle, and so it was that a short while later they were standing outside with their two captives.

  “We just want to ask you some questions,” William said. “What harm is there in that?”

  “Depends on the questions,” Dawson retorted.

  “I suggest you come with us,” Matthew said, “peaceably, like.”

  “Peaceably?” Dawson struggled. “This is abduction, is what it is.”