A Newfound Land (The Graham Saga)

by Belfrage, Anna

  “Aye, and you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?” Matthew shoved at him.

  The first mate paled. “I have no notion what you mean.”

  “We’ll see.” Matthew gripped Dawson by the arm and towed the protesting man with him.

  William led them towards one of the warehouses, and a few minutes later they were inside a cramped little room that smelled of mildew and yeast.

  “This is trespassing,” Thomas muttered.

  “Oh, Jones won’t mind – he’ll never find out, will he?” William gestured at the unswept floors and the rickety furniture. “He doesn’t use this premise much; it’s prone to flooding.”

  “Ah,” Thomas said.

  Wilkes took the opportunity to tear himself free and rushed for the door. Thomas yelled, William latched on to the bosun’s shirt, and Dawson butted Matthew in the stomach. The enclosed space was a whirlwind of limbs, of stoutly shod feet and shouting men.

  “The door!” Matthew called, and Thomas launched himself towards it, slamming it shut.

  Wilkes shrieked. “My hand!” He tugged his hand free from the door.

  “Enough!” Matthew grabbed hold of Dawson and threw the man against the wall.

  “Uuhh,” said Dawson, sliding down to the floor.

  Wilkes was sobbing, cradling his bleeding hand. Matthew secured his prisoners to the two chairs in the room and stood back to look at them.

  “Right, we can do this two ways: either you tell us everything we want to know immediately, or you don’t. And if you don’t, well then...” Matthew shrugged.

  “This is unlawful,” Dawson said.

  “Aye, it is. But so is abducting wee lads.”

  “Lads?” Dawson swallowed. “What are you talking about?”

  “No, no, Dawson, that won’t do at all,” William put in. “This is where it behoves you to tell the truth.”

  “What truth?” Dawson tried, but his eyes were wide with fear, and beside him Wilkes had shrunk into a silent ball, eyes locked on the floor.

  “Four men, including him, tried to steal away my son today,” Matthew said, jerking his thumb at Wilkes.

  “Me?” Wilkes squeaked.

  “Aye, you. You have a distinctive appearance – all that hair and that drooping eyelid.”

  “Really, Wilkes! How many times have I told you not to frighten young lads?” Dawson attempted a smile. “It’s just a jest. Wilkes enjoys riling the lads a bit. No harm done.”

  “I don’t believe you,” Matthew said. “So, the truth.”

  Both men shook their heads.

  “Fine,” Matthew said, cracking his knuckles.

  *

  “Merciful Christ!” William sat down on the small table, groped for his handkerchief and wiped his face. Matthew rested back against the wall and closed his eyes. His hands hurt, the two men slumped in their ropes, blood patterned their shirts, their breeches, and still he had to fist his hands around the desire to hit them some more; a just punishment for the atrocities they had finally admitted to – unfortunately without naming Jones.

  “So many lads.” Thomas sank down beside William, eyeing the semi-conscious men. “We should kill them.”

  “Aye, but they were only doing what they were told to do,” Matthew said.

  “You think?” Thomas spat in Dawson’s direction. “Me, I think he enjoyed it.”

  “Oh, most definitely, and as to the other one...” William studied his hands for a while and looked at Matthew. “This is not enough to lay anything at Dominic Jones’ door, at most you can accuse him of watching and not interceding, but based on Jacob’s word alone it won’t carry much weight.” He smoothed at his coat, regarding his bloodstained cuff with disgust. “But that ship, well, we must make sure no more boys disappear.”

  “Aye,” Matthew agreed, “that we must.”

  “And those two?” Thomas jerked his head at their prisoners.

  “They must not rejoin the crew of the Henriette Marie,” William said. “We don’t want them warned, do we? No, I’ll see to them, I’ll have them aboard a different ship come morning – destined for Jamaica or such.”

  Matthew raised an eyebrow. William had quite the ruthless streak in him. Not that he minded; he’d gladly have sold these ruffians as galley slaves to the Turks had he had the opportunity.

  “Now what?” Thomas asked as they made their way back to the inn.

  “I don’t know.” Matthew kicked at a stone, sending it to bounce off a nearby wall. “Damn him! He was going to let them take my Jacob. Not one fat finger would he have lifted to save my son.”

  “Yes,” Thomas sighed.

  “But this time I’ll bring him down,” Matthew vowed. “Even if I must wait a year or two before I have the whole puzzle neatly laid and solved.”

  “You don’t know—” Thomas began.

  “Aye, I do! It’s his ship. He inherited it when Fairfax died.” He spat to the side, his mouth filling with bitter bile as he recalled his miserable months aboard the Henriette Marie, chained like a beast in the hold.

  “It is?” Thomas came to a halt. “But if it is, well then—”

  “Not enough, Thomas. He can maintain he had no idea, that this was the captain’s own little sideline.”

  “And you don’t think it is?”

  “I think the captain of one of Dominic’s ships risks his life if he does something without Jones’ approval – and I dare say they know it. So, for now, we do nothing.”

  “Nothing.” Thomas nodded.

  “And we don’t tell anyone Dominic Jones owns that accursed ship either.”

  “No, of course not,” Thomas said.

  *

  It was all Matthew could do not to pull his sword and run Jones through when he ran into him halfway across the little town square next day. As it was, he clasped his hands behind his back and advanced on Jones.

  “Graham.” Dominic Jones backed away.

  “Jones.” Matthew took yet another step towards the retreating man. Oh, how he wanted the satisfaction of seeing this man cringe before him, mayhap even kneel and weep, begging for his life. He wet his lips, swallowing back on the hot accusations that were thronging his throat, tickling his tongue.

  “What?” Jones straightened up, set his shoulders and lowered his head, reminding Matthew of a cornered bull.

  “Well, you see, my lad is convinced that you were standing to the side all the time those ruffians were threatening him.” There was so much more he wanted to say but this was not the time – not yet.

  “That’s preposterous!” Dominic glowered at Matthew and tugged his waistcoat into place over his expanding middle. “Of all the ungrateful—”

  “Really, Brother Matthew! It was him that helped me pull Jacob out of the water.” Mr Farrell looked from one to the other and sighed. “I have no notion what lies behind this enmity, but isn’t it time you moved on?”

  “I am willing,” Dominic Jones said. “I have said so before.”

  “To be quite correct, what you said was that we should promise each other not to harm each other while serving in the militia,” Matthew said, “and then what did you do? Set those Burleys on me!”

  “I did no such thing – as I said last time we met.” Dominic rolled his eyes. “How many times must I repeat myself? They had their own reasons to wish you dead. You hindered them in their business pursuits—”

  “Business pursuits? They were abducting Indian women! Was I to stand by and watch while innocents were carried off into slavery?”

  “Oh, dear.” Dominic smiled maliciously. “Quite the sore point, isn’t it? But then you would know everything about being enslaved, would you not?”

  “And I was innocent too,” Matthew spat.

  Dominic laughed. “They all say that, Graham, and yet very few are.”

  “I w
as, you knew I was, because I was part of your little business concern. How much money did you make by abducting innocent men back home and selling them like slave labour here?”

  “How dare you!” Dominic spluttered.

  “I am but telling the truth. You know that, and I know that.”

  “Enough!” Minister Walker shouldered his way through the small group of men that had gathered around them. “This is unseemly, two adult men quarrelling like fishmongers’ wives!” He clapped his hands together, glared at the collected audience until they dispersed, with only Mr Farrell remaining. “Put it behind you,” the minister suggested, making Mr Farrell nod and mutter that was just what he’d said a few minutes ago.

  “I can’t, and I doubt he can either.” With a curt bow to the minister, Matthew left.

  *

  “Well, that didn’t paint you in the best of colours, did it?” Alex said several days later, having listened to Matthew’s terse recap. They were in the laundry shed, just the two of them. The small space was suffused with the scents of crushed mints; a single lantern cast a weak, yellowish glow over the tub, leaving the rest of the room in darkness.

  “I don’t care. What was I to do? Lie and say let bygones be bygones, when all I want to do is rip his entrails out?”

  “That bad, huh?” Alex sank lower into the tub.

  “Aye.” He went back to washing himself. “Our Jacob,” he said, scrubbing at his heel with the pumice stone. “If the laddie hadn’t saved himself, he’d have been gone, and we’d never know what had happened to him.”

  Alex gulped down on the fear that invaded her at the thought. “You still don’t know if Jones is in on it.”

  “Aye, he is; it’s his ship. And do you know what has befallen those lads?”

  “No, and nor do you, Matthew.”

  “Aye, I do. With some persuasion, the first mate and his bosun became quite voluble. They trade them with the Arab slave traders for black men. The lads end up as unwilling catamites, most of them dead from excessive abuse by the time they turn fifteen.”

  “No way, that can’t be true!” Alex suppressed an urge to storm stark naked into her sons’ bedroom and clutch Jacob to her.

  “But it is. The Henriette Marie does best in staying away from Providence in the future. William Hancock has done a good job of letting people know about its most profitable – and despicable – sideline, so by now there is a long line of aggrieved fathers who will demand justice to be served on that accursed ship.”

  Alex sent him a slanting look. “I suppose for now you’ve held back on the information that Jones owns the ship?”

  “For now, and as yet he doesn’t know that I know... I would keep it like that, aye?”

  Chapter 39

  “Be careful,” Alex said to Matthew. “Come back to me safe and sound.” And never take your eyes off Dominic Jones – but she didn’t need to say that out loud.

  He kissed her and held her close one more time before turning to say his farewells to the rest of his family.

  “We’ll be back in a month,” he said as he sat up on Moses. “By then, I expect you to have finished the new cabin.” He smiled down at his eldest son. “You take care of them, lad.” Ian nodded and placed a protective arm around Alex.

  All of them stood silent and watched him ride off with two of the Chisholms. The October day carried a promise of cold nights and rain, and Alex huddled together under her cloak. She hoped he’d make sure to dress warmly and change clothes when he could and... She sighed and ruffled Ruth’s hair. “Come on, let’s get back inside. If you want we can make cinnamon rolls.”

  The kitchen smelled of warm rolls and brewing tea when Elizabeth Leslie stormed into the yard on her grey mare, her appointed companion galloping in several minutes later with a harried look on his dark face.

  “Now what?” Alex said, not at all liking the thunderous expression on Elizabeth’s face.

  “Oh, dear.” Jenny went a bright red.

  “What?” Alex asked, but any further investigation into her daughter-in-law’s guilty face was cut short by Elizabeth’s entry into the kitchen.

  “This is all your fault!” Elizabeth was spitting with rage, her small eyes narrowed at Alex. “You put him up to this.”

  “Put who up to what?”

  “Don’t give me that! Look at how you run your household! Your serving maid sits at the table with the rest of you; your children are encouraged to raise their voices and express opinions in the company of their elders...” Elizabeth stopped to draw breath, eyeing Alex with open dislike.

  “Get out! Unless you can explain what it is you’re upset about without insulting me, I suggest you leave – now.” Alex turned her back on Elizabeth, served her children tea and rolls, and sat down to nurse Samuel.

  “It’s Nathan.” Elizabeth spoke in a controlled tone. “He’s run off to marry that little slut.”

  “The mother of his child, you mean,” Alex said acidly, “and the foster mother of his other child.”

  “See? This is how I know it is you that have influenced him! The girl should have kept her legs closed!”

  Alex was on the verge of telling her that she didn’t think that was an option for a bond servant and that it was common knowledge Peter Leslie sampled his way through a number of the girls in his service, but decided that would be like adding petrol to a fire totally out of control.

  “I have at most exchanged ten words in a row with your son,” she said instead, “and the last time I spoke to him at all was at Celia’s funeral.”

  Elizabeth collapsed to sit by the table and grabbed a bun.

  “By all means, please help yourself.” Alex adjusted Samuel in the crook of her arm.

  Jenny deposited Malcolm in his grandmother’s arms and poured her mother a cup of tea.

  “Tell us,” Jenny urged her.

  Tell us? Alex threw her a look. She’d wager little Miss Jenny knew all about this.

  Elizabeth smoothed back Malcolm’s impressive crest of dark hair and exhaled. “He left us a letter, telling us he and Ailish are off to be wed.” She groaned. “Our eldest son, married to a papist!”

  Mrs Parson made a sympathetic noise from where she was sitting by the hearth. “Did he take the wee lad with him?” she asked.

  “Who? Henry? No, Henry he left behind, but the two girls he took with him.”

  “Ah well,” Mrs Parson said, “then he’s planning on coming back, no?”

  Elizabeth relaxed, giving Mrs Parson a wobbly smile. “We must hope so.” She helped herself to yet another bun. How could he do this to her, his mother, she moaned to the room at large; where had she gone wrong in the raising of that apple of her eye, her eldest son? She’d indulged him, she chided herself, and she hadn’t been vigilant enough, bringing girls lacking in spiritual rectitude to live amongst them. Nathan was but a man, and what could she expect of him when that girl had flouted herself, thrown herself at him.

  “Maybe it was him that threw himself at her,” Alex said. “As I recall, Ailish is very pretty, isn’t she?” A definite one up on poor Celia, at any rate.

  “He would never do that. No, it was the girl, gold-digger that she is.”

  “Your daughter-in-law,” Alex reminded her, which made Elizabeth go puce. Alex handed Samuel to Agnes and walked over to the door.

  “Where are you going?” Elizabeth asked.

  “Going? I’m not going anywhere. I’m just going to invite your man in from the cold.”

  Elizabeth stared at her as if she’d taken complete leave of her senses. The man outside was a slave, a black man.

  “That won’t be necessary,” Elizabeth said. “I’m leaving.”

  “You don’t really like my mother, do you?” Jenny asked once Elizabeth was gone.

  “She’s too quick to judge,” Alex said, “and for all that she profes
ses to be so religious, she seems to miss out on the most important message in the Bible.”

  “And that is?” Jenny said.

  “Do unto others as you would have others do unto you. If everyone lived according to that, it would be a very nice world, wouldn’t it?” Alex rather liked the admiring look in Jenny’s eyes.

  *

  For all that Matthew had told her about running into Philip Burley back in April, Alex had succeeded in convincing herself the Burley brothers were gone from their life, melting back into the obscurity from which they had sprung to never bother them again. Until now, that is, when the three remaining brothers came riding through the forest in the late afternoon. Weak sun gilded the damp hides of the horses, exhalations stood like steam from both beasts and humans – very many humans.

  Alex squeezed Daniel’s arm, crouching down behind an ineffectual screen of shrubs. “Go,” she whispered into Daniel’s ear. “Run home and find your brothers.”

  Her son nodded, eyes huge in his pale face.

  Alex grabbed at him. “Go quietly,” she admonished and let him go. She returned her eyes to the elongated clearing, shifted on her feet, and dug her hand into the slit of her skirt, relaxing somewhat when it closed around the familiar hilt of her knife. Fantastic: one knife against three armed Burley brothers – this was going to be a walk in the park.

  Further down the slope, the Burley brothers were herding three dozen or so Indian women and girls, all of them gagged and tied. Bringing up the rear came two unknown men, one of whom looked like an Indian to Alex, despite wearing breeches and a soiled coat, his long hair topped by a slouching hat. Alex’s eyes flew over the captives, wondering if they might be of Qaachow’s tribe. She didn’t recognise any of the women, and she hunched lower in a combination of relief and fear.

  From behind her came the sound of snapping twigs, and Alex swivelled, catching a glimpse of Daniel ducking out of sight. Philip Burley had also heard the sound, and here he came, cantering up the incline. In a matter of minutes he’d see her boy, and Alex had no doubts he’d ride him down and carry him off should he consider it necessary. She swallowed and barged out from her hiding place, causing Philip to exclaim and hold in his horse so brutally the animal sank back on its haunches.