The Ransom: Legacy of the King's Pirates

by Marylu Tyndall

  “Papa, please.” No matter how cruelly he had treated her mother and her and Rowan, she didn’t wish him to suffer the fires of hell.

  “Do as she says, sir—Henry. I want to see you agin.” Miss Ellie drew his gaze, and there it remained, for only upon the sweet maid’s face did a spark of joy touch his eyes. Never when he looked at Juliana. Had he ever loved her at all?

  He drew a raspy breath. “I regret …” He halted and released a shuddering sigh. Then his eyes went hard and cold. A breeze fluttered the candle by his bed, flickering ribbons of light and dark over his still form.

  “No!” Ellie lifted his hand to her lips. “No!”

  Juliana bowed her head and sobbed. Now what would she do?

  Chapter 25

  A blast of muggy air swamped Juliana as she left her house and stepped onto the street. Mrs. Childers waved at her from across the way where she escorted her two children to their waiting carriage. Juliana waved back, forcing a difficult smile on her lips. She must keep up appearances. She must not let anyone suspect that her father had departed into eternity. For the past two weeks she had not put on her mourning gown, nor had she kept to the house, or called on friends for comfort.

  Egad! She had not even put her father to rest.

  Though she had wanted to do all of those things—wanted so desperately to allow herself to grieve. To grieve for the loss of her last parent, at being left all alone in the world, and for the responsibility that now weighed solely on her shoulders. But she hadn’t. She had a business to run, mouths to feed, and appearances to make. How long she could do any of those things, she had no idea.

  Especially not alone. Rowan had finally come home early the morning her father died, drunk as usual, though he appeared to sober up the instant he saw Father’s body. Falling by his side, Rowan had wept far longer than Juliana would have expected for a boy who’d been nothing but belittled by the man. The sight had brought renewed tears to her eyes just when she’d thought she had no more to shed. Then, with more maturity than she believed he possessed, Rowan assisted Mr. Abbot in washing Papa’s body and dressing him in his best suit. Abbot quickly went to work building a simple wooden coffin and once finished, he coated the inside with the tar Dutton Shipping used on their brigs to preserve wood and rigging. Afterward, they wrapped her father in several clean quilts then carefully laid him inside and sealed the outside with the same tar. It was the best they could think to do in order to keep the odor down until they could bury him properly.

  Hope waning, she turned onto High Street as a carriage clattered by. A bell tolled from the bay, while a flock of gulls soared overhead. Waves of heat rose from the ground and rippled through her as her guilt was doing. But what else could they do? Since there was only one cemetery in town, they could hardly place him there without the entire city knowing. Of course they could sneak him to the mainland at night and bury him in the jungle, but Juliana couldn’t bring herself to force such an indignity upon her father.

  Which is why she needed Lord Munthrope. He was the only one who had known about her father’s condition, and his silence thus far on that matter engendered her to trust him once more. He had friends on the city council and surely could arrange a proper burial for an unnamed acquaintance. But after sending several posts to his home, begging to meet him, she’d not heard a word in return. Against all propriety, she’d even called upon him one day, only to be turned away by his impudent butler Mr. Whipple with the excuse that His Lordship wasn’t home, and he had no idea when he would return.

  Now, as she made her way to the orphanage, she wondered if she’d been wrong about Munthrope all along. Mayhap his kindness had just been part of their act to keep his father’s interests in Munthrope’s marriage status at bay. And when her company didn’t aid that cause, he had no need of her.

  The sweet smell of bananas, papayas, and breadfruit swept away her gloomy thoughts as she passed the market and waved at the plump mulatto woman standing behind her cart.

  “Fresh mangos fer the young’nes, Miss Juliana,” she shouted.

  “Not today, Sally. Thank you,” Juliana replied, wishing she could purchase some fruit. But she had only enough funds to pay her staff and provide food for the next few months. In a week, the Esther’s Dowry would be loaded with sugar, coffee, yams, indigo, and logwood headed for the American colonies. The profit from their shipment should provide enough to live on for several months. Then, of course the Ransom, their third brig, was due to sail into port from Liverpool in thirteen days.

  The Ransom. Just the thought of it sent warmth through her. Not the ship itself but the name her mother had given it. Her father had named their other two brigs, but had allowed his wife, after much pleading from her, this one privilege. When Juliana had inquired as to the meaning of the name, her mother had quoted from Hosea:

  I will ransom them from the power of the grave; I will redeem them from death: O death, I will be thy plagues; O grave, I will be thy destruction.

  A smile had graced her mother’s delicate lips and a gleam sparkled in her eye as if she’d looked upon God himself as she spoke. Juliana had always been envious of her mother’s relationship with the Almighty—one of love and companionship, not obedience and servitude.

  Yet, as it turned out, God hadn’t ransomed Juliana’s mother from the grave at all.

  Frowning, Juliana brought her thoughts back to Dutton Shipping. Everything was about perfect timing, good wind, and fair weather. And no pirates. Pirates like the Pirate Earl. Nay. In good sooth, he had returned her pearls. Or rather, Mr. Kinder’s pearls, who—praise be to God—had promptly forgiven all and went on his way.

  Albeit with threats to return and visit her father.

  Which now would never happen. She cringed once again at the thought of her father rotting away in a coffin in his bedchamber. Another blemish on her wayward soul. Along with the liberties she’d allowed the Pirate Earl. Not just allowed, but enjoyed! The shame! She made no doubt the rogue had all but forgotten the incident, so many were the kisses he likely received—or stole. ’Twas nothing to him. Just another lady overcome by his masculine charm.

  She had begged God for forgiveness and for help to forget the scoundrel, and thus far, the Almighty had been silent. Just another sign she needed to try harder to behave.

  Releasing a heavy sigh, she dabbed the perspiration on her neck.

  Nevertheless, with the Pirate Earl out plundering, Munthrope ignoring her, and Rowan gone for days on end drinking and gambling, Juliana felt more alone than she ever had. Of course she had Abbot, who, though he was still learning how to manage the business, was an invaluable helper and friend. And also Miss Ellie, whom Juliana doubted would ever leave her side. Regardless, she could not stop the despondency that weighed on her as she passed Gallows Point on her left and Bridewell Prison on her right—a prison for lazy strumpets, or so they said. The orphanage certainly wasn’t in the best part of town, but it was daylight, and Mr. Pell was nowhere to be found to drive her.

  Hefting the sack filled with fabric, an assortment of bowls and spoons, and a few medical supplies, she made the final turn toward the orphanage. Crumbling stone walls enclosed a front yard filled with palms and a weed-infested vegetable garden. To her left stood the old church, used only for storage now, and toward the back was the brick building, where she could hear young ones playing. She opened the door to an explosion of happy greetings and smiling faces. It had been far too long since she’d visited, and the children’s yelps of delight did much to soothe her agitated soul.

  Kneeling, she dropped the sack and opened her arms to embrace as many of the sweet urchins as she could in one swoop. The scent of lye and sunshine and innocence filled her lungs and put a smile on her face. The first one since her father had died.

  But Eunice’s frown, when she entered from the side room, quickly dissipated Juliana’s joy. The woman attempted a pleased expression, but Juliana had known her too long to be fooled.

  “What is amiss?” She st
ood and hoisted little Rose into her arms.

  Eunice wiped her hands on her stained apron as the monkey skittered across the rafters, chattering and eliciting giggles from some of the children.

  “You haven’t gotten rid of the beast yet?” Juliana asked as the creature jumped onto her shoulder and swung one hairy arm around her head and one around Rose’s. The little girl laughed, and the monkey leaned against her cheek to cheek.

  “You see why I hasn’t, Miss Juliana. He’s a smart one. He knows if he wins the children’s hearts, he ain’t goin’ nowheres.”

  The monkey planted a kiss on Juliana’s cheek, and then gave her a wide grin as if he understood everything Eunice had said.

  “Now, children, go play fer a minute. I needs to talk wit’ Miss Juliana.” Eunice clapped her hands, and the children obligingly scattered. The monkey too. He leapt into the rafters as Juliana deposited Rose on the floor. Then, stepping over a bucket filled with water, she followed Eunice into the other room, where not only Michael lay on his pallet, but three other children as well.

  “Oh no.” Juliana dashed to the first one, Moses, a two-year-old Negro, and laid a hand on his head. Hot as a griddle. And young Mable, too, on the pallet next to his. Along with Gordon, not yet six. Lastly, Michael, who had grown even more gaunt and listless since the last time she’d seen him.

  “I kin hardly keep anythin’ down him that he don’t spit right back up,” Eunice said, her face scrunched in worry.

  Isaac entered. “We’re keeping the other children away from them as much as we can. Do you think it’s the pox?”

  “What does Dr. Vern say?”

  “He ain’t been here.”

  “Not been here?” Juliana shook her head, disgusted. She knew some doctors refused to care for the indigent, but she had thought Dr. Verns a more charitable sort. Gazing over the sick children, her stomach sank like a rock. She would not lose these precious children. She could not lose them. She must find a way.

  ♥♥♥

  Alex stood at the bow of the Vanity, hand gripping the back stay as the ship rose and plunged through the agitated sea. Agitated like his heart, his spirit—if men actually possessed such things. Wind flapped his shirt and whipped strands of hair across his cheek. He drew in a deep breath of the briny sea and waited for the sense of satisfaction that normally filled him when he was on his ship.

  It never came.

  It should have come, for it had been a successful raid. Very successful, indeed. They’d captured a Spanish merchantman headed for Santo Domingo loaded with spices from the Orient, fine china, silk tapestries, silverware, and best of all, a chest of rare gems. All of which they had traded in Tortuga for pieces of eight, along with the ship itself. No sense in returning to Port Royal loaded with plunder that would give Nichols cause to search Alex’s brig. He supposed, due to the hostilities with France, he should acquire a commission to privateer from the Jamaican Council and do away with his illegal trade. But where would the fun be in that?

  The brig dove, sending water over the bow. Sea foam snaked about his boots. Alex snorted. Staying one step ahead of Captain Nincompoop offered no challenge at all. At the very least the man should try harder, seek advice from more intellectually-endowed men, in order to hatch a plan that would not bore Alex to his grave. Lud, was there no one who could surprise him?

  Visions of Miss Juliana Dutton filled his mind. As they so often had these past three weeks. He missed her. Terribly. Which surprised him. But why should it? Everything about her surprised him. He hoped she fared well in his absence. He hoped she hadn’t visited Miss Abilene alone. And with the pearls returned, he hoped her shipping business thrived.

  All questions that had prompted him to tack the Vanity about and head home. Another question that had burned on his mind since they’d left Port Royal was why information about the shipping date and cargo of one of Miss Juliana’s merchant brigs had been on the lips of every shop owner, tavern keeper, and hooligan in town. The Esther’s Dowry should have set sail yesterday, in fact, from Port Royal to the American colonies. Local wealthy plantation owners, Mr. and Mrs. Gerald Hornspike were listed as passengers, bearing a chest full of coins meant as a dowry for their eldest daughter in Boston. Information neither a merchant nor a shipping company would want leaked to every greedy sot in town.

  Alex guessed it to be the workings of Captain Nincompoop.

  But what the scatter-wit didn’t realize—or mayhap didn’t care—was that in his paltry efforts to capture Alex, he’d alerted half the pirates in Port Royal, especially those clumsy sluggards who sought an easy prize. None of them would attempt to approach the Esther’s Dowry until she was at least a day’s journey from port. And by Alex’s calculations, they should be upon her general position any time now.

  Larkin appeared beside him. “We should arrive in Port Royal by tomorrow evening, Captain.”

  Alex nodded, staring out over the expanse of glittering turquoise, then up at the sun atop their heads. “Maintain course.”

  The sailing master hesitated, then crossed arms over his chest. “But why go back to Port Royal? We are well supplied from our stop in Tortuga. No one is injured, and the men are itching for another prize, Captain.”

  “They’ll get another prize soon enough.”

  Sails thundered overhead. Larkin’s jaw tightened. “The crew will not be pleased.”

  The brig pitched over a wave, and Alex braced his boots on the deck as seawater sprayed them. He was glad for the cooling effect on his rising temper. He turned to Larkin and eyed him curiously, wondering why his one-time friend seemed to defy him at every turn. “They know who brings them their prizes. As do you. If any are dissatisfied, they are free to join another captain.”

  Wind whipped Larkin’s dark hair into his eyes. He snapped it away as a tight smile strung upon his lips. “Of course, Captain.”

  Something in the man’s expression irked Alex, reminding him of a similar expression he’d born when Alex had demanded the man turn over a piece of treasure from the Spanish merchantman. “You didn’t keep that silk tapestry from Madrid you were salivating over?”

  Larkin kept his face to the wind, his jaw flexing. “Would I disobey my captain?”

  Alex feared the answer to that was a definite yes. Especially when it came to something Larkin had taken a particular fancy to. The tapestry was small, old, and not extremely valuable, but Alex’s crew was forbidden to keep any treasure not divided equally among them. Doing so was punishable by death. Not to mention, Alex must have nothing on board that would implicate them in piracy.

  Larkin had not hidden his anger at Alex’s command to sell it along with the other goods.

  A call came down from the tops. “A sail. A sail!”

  Plucking the scope from his belt, Alex leveled it on the horizon and was about to ask the direction, when another call came down. “Two sets of sails. Two sets!”

  Which meant there was either a convoy or one ship pursued the other.

  He shifted the glass until the tall masts and bloated sails of a ship came in sight. No, a brig, a merchant brig. And the other one a smaller ship, a sloop most likely. Turning, he marched across the foredeck and leapt into the waist, Larkin on his heels.

  “Step lively, men! I want every stitch of canvas spread!” Alex turned to Larkin. “Bring us to windward of them, if you please.”

  “To windward, Captain.” Larkin faced the crew. “Lay aloft, topmen! Man top halliards and sheets! Let fall main and fore-topsails!”

  Pirates flung into the shrouds, scrambling aloft, and soon all sails caught the stiff breeze in a thunderous snap. Hauled to the wind, the Vanity tacked toward the ships. Blocks creaked and sails rattled as the brig rose and swooped through the foamy sea. Alex took his position on the quarterdeck by the helm, scope pressed to his eye to survey the oncoming ships.

  An hour later, with all sails glutted and black squalls crashing over the bow, Alex could make out the Dutton Shipping ensign as well as the name Esther
’s Dowry painted in red on the hull of the first ship. The poor merchant captain marched across the deck in a frenzy, barking orders to a crew that darted about like ants whose hill had been stepped on. Fast pursuing on his stern, The Sea King bore down upon her, captained by that heartless toad Snead, whose lack of intelligence was only exceeded by his girth.

  Jonas appeared from below, where he’d been keeping accounts of the divided treasure from their last prize. He slipped beside Alex and gripped the railing, refusing to look his way. He didn’t have to. Alex could feel his disapproval from where he stood. Sunlight glinted red streaks in Jonas’s light hair as the wind tore strands from its tie.

  Alex grew impatient. “Well?”

  “Well what, Captain?”

  “Surely you have some opinion you wish to lavish upon me.”

  The ship bucked, and Jonas gripped the railing tighter. “Only that you are, yet again, plundering your own countryman’s goods, I see.”

  “Things are not always what they seem, my friend.” Turning, Alex scanned the main deck for Bait, his master gunner. “Bait! Ready the gun crew! Clean the tackles and load and run out the guns!”

  The large Negro saluted with his one remaining hand and lumbered off.

  Larkin approached, greedily eyeing their prey. “Seems we aren’t the only ones interested in capturing this rare prize. Swounds! The Sea King will get to her first!”

  Indeed. Alex stared at the Esther’s Dowry, who now lowered sails in a sign of surrender. With nary a shot fired! No doubt the poor captain assumed he faced two pirates instead of one. The Sea King also lowered sails and would be alongside the merchantman in minutes.

  “Orders?” Larkin said, his tone both angry and excited.

  Jonas shot Alex an incriminating glance. “Be done with this pirating and let’s be away, Captain.”

  Ignoring him, Alex slapped the spyglass against his palm. “Let us inform our dear friend Captain Snead that he has trespassed onto our hunting grounds, shall we? Lower fore and main. Bring her in slow under tops,” he ordered Larkin before moving to the quarterdeck railing and shouted down at his master gunner. “Bait, a warning shot over the pirate’s bow when you have it.”