Blackwell's Homecoming (Blackwell's Adventures Book 3)

by V. E. Ulett

“Christ, McMurtry, you’ve knocked the tea things all ahoo,” Emma said.

  Mr. Parsons bowed and took his leave, followed by McMurtry, with an uglier expression than usual fixed on his ill-conditioned mug. He was a jealous creature and since Saunders had once been Mercedes’ servant, he felt she should be treated like one. Rather than being fed on cake and tea like a lady.

  “Sit down, please, Saunders. Allow me to present my daughter Emma Blackwell. Emma, this is Saunders...I’m sorry, I don’t know your first name.”

  “Which it’s Priscilla, and now you know the reason why. Saunders will do, ma’am.” She nodded at Emma, who was setting the tea cups back on their saucers. “I’m honored to meet the wife of the new Admiral of Hawaii. Master Al and I shall have much to do with one another in future.”

  Saunders had known Aloka when he was a bare bottomed toddler, so she felt at liberty to use the old name given him by the L’Unites.

  Mercedes exchanged a glance with Emma. “Is it so much known then, Saunders, this Admiral of Hawaii affair?”

  “Oh, aye. I don’t know how it is but the water round these islands speeds their news rather than slows it down, and if it has to do with their own, the people seem to gather it from the very wind and waves. But there are two factions, do you see? Those that have accepted the Jesus book, as they call it, and those that don’t.”

  They all stared at one another for a space. Mercedes had been brought up outside any traditional religious faith, with her mother a courtesan, and she’d communicated what she thought of as her heathenism to Emma. As for Saunders, who’d once been loaned out by her plantation masters to ships anchoring in Antigua as a comfort woman, it was doubtful she believed in much of anything saving her own survival.

  “That will be useful knowledge for Captain Blackwell, I thank you Saunders.”

  “They are infinitely happy King George has seen fit to send the skipper, of all people. Especially the cool old heads among them.” Saunders gave Mercedes and Emma a considering glance. “They are not so good at news outside their families and tribe. May I beg to know how Master Edward does?”

  “Oh!” Mercedes exclaimed, realizing Saunders most probably thought him dead. “Edward is well indeed! A fine grown gentleman living in England, studying at a great university.”

  She saw the relief in Saunders’ face, and Mercedes and Emma were both touched by it. Mercedes was suddenly unable to speak for the great lump in her throat. She should have given Edward’s regards to Saunders immediately in his place.

  “He is still odd as odd can be,” Emma said, “but the academics and philosophical gentlemen have discovered a genius in it. And he is very dear to us, we love and value him much.”

  “Do you know, Missus,” Saunders said, looking almost affectionately on Emma, “she looks very much like you.”

  “Anyone who knew my mother, Mr. Martinez for one, declares she is the image of my Mama. If Emma looks like me it is because she is my daughter, and daughter-in-law. We fouled the hawse of the missionaries in Hilo with that one, you may be sure.”

  “Goddamn!”

  Saunders had been unable to restrain herself, and looked a little sheepish. Mercedes and Emma both laughed self consciously. Here was honesty in its purest form.

  “Now you have discovered all my secrets in the first five minutes, Saunders, tell me how you do. How is Colonel Frasier, and your life here?”

  Saunders frowned and looked down for a moment. “Ann Frasier died close on three years ago. Colonel Frasier, as she was called, wanted it known, her true persuasion, after death. She thought it would be easier for me to follow her, into the position of master shipwright for the king.”

  “Goddamn!” Mercedes and Emma exclaimed together.

  Then there were smiles and laughter, all of them feeling on a more equal footing.

  One or two of the ali‘i recollected Edward, and they asked Captain Blackwell and Aloka, at the meeting at Karaimoku’s, after the akua. Edward was affectionately called ‘little god’ by some of the Hawaiians for the prodigious skill in drawing, and rendering to the life birds and landscapes, that he’d first exhibited in those islands. Aloka gave a comfortable account of his brother to those interested older men, while feeling inside a distinctly uncomfortable anxiety and apprehension. Aloka felt today somehow damned, rather than blessed, by the gods.

  The general meeting was attended by the ali‘i and the officers of Blonde and Albion, with a sort of joint chairmanship between Karaimoku and Captain Blackwell. Karaimoku appeared in black trousers and a loose fitting black tunic, while the majority of the ali‘i had traded their black mourning suits for the native breeches and mantel. Karaimoku asked if King George had sent them laws by which they might govern themselves, this being one of the missions of the Hawaiian delegation that had visited England.

  “Laws I do not bring you, but this paper with a few remarks from our leading ministers concerning the governance of your affairs.” Captain Blackwell advanced a packet to Karaimoku. “I beg you will look over them at your leisure, and if you approve the measures, adopt them as your own. These are in no way dictates from the British government, which has no wish to interfere with the business of the chiefs of Hawaii, who must be the best judges of what suits the people.”

  Karaimoku accepted the package with a pleased countenance, nodding with satisfaction at Boki, who must have given advanced warning of King George’s response. The regent named a day in the coming week when the ali‘i would gather, and invited Captain Blackwell, to translate and discuss the content of the British message. At this point Karaimoku turned the discussion to one of military affairs, the strength of Kamehameha’s armament, and Hawaii’s desire to work in concert with the British for the protection of the nation. More particularly he began to address the succession of leadership in Hawaii’s maritime force.

  Aloka had mixed feelings about being spoken of as the next Admiral of Hawaii, as though it were already decided, a foregone conclusion. To him an admiral was a great man indeed, a much older and wiser man. Aloka focused his attention instead on the important description of the king’s arsenal. Six hundred muskets, eight four-pounders, one six-pounder, five three-pounders, forty swivels, and six small mortars.

  “And there are twenty-one schooners carrying swivels, some of which are commanded by foreigners.” Karaimoku stared pointedly at Aloka, and the two British captains.

  There was further discussion, and then the topic of when mister lieutenant Blackwell could be stepped down from his present duties aboard the Blonde came up, and Captain Verson immediately agreed to a proposed date. Aloka felt his heart hammering in his chest. Should he not speak up now? But Karaimoku was suddenly dismissing the officers of the Blonde and Albion; all saving his father and himself; with assurances of good will on the part of the British, and cooperation on that of the Hawaiians.

  Refreshments were brought in, and after they had partaken of Karaimoku’s good things, the three of the them sat down together again.

  “Much as I should like to honor my brother’s wishes,” Karaimoku said, “and I have no doubt you are an excellent mariner, Aloka, I cannot sanction your elevation to such a high station without proof of your loyalty to our king and nation.”

  Aloka had been frightened at the prospect of becoming an admiral, but he found he feared even more the loss of the position. The consequences attending on his not finding a berth, so to speak, in those islands began racing through his mind.

  “I am not sure how that is to be done, sir.” Aloka’s voice sounded strained, even to his own ears. “In England, we receive a commission and swear an oath of allegiance.”

  “How it is done in England is of no consequence here.” Karaimoku’s gaze was an odd mixture of ferocity and sympathy. “You may show your allegiance to King Kiaukiauli, this Regency, and the people, by executing George. He is your half-brother, these things are best done by family.”

  Aloka’s head jerked back in surprise. He stole a glance at Captain Blackwell, wh
ose look was grave.

  Karaimoku heaved a great sigh, and his face relaxed, as though he’d been relieved of the greater part of a burden. “Traitors to the nation must die, Aloka. I believe that is the same in England as it is here. You must go to George and ask him what manner of death he prefers. He is housed here, in my old dwelling, with two of his women unfortunate enough to be taken with him.”

  Aloka sat reflecting a moment, silent in his chair, while two weathered faces studied him.

  “I’ll speak to George, sir,” Aloka said. “To discover his wishes. The fate of a traitor is the same in all nations, as you say, sir. Must I also carry out the sentence?” Aloka wanted to be clear about such an order.

  “You will find out what death George prefers, and kill him in whatever manner he chooses.”

  Orders could not be plainer. It sounded barbarous, savage. But was it any worse than burn, sink, or destroy, flogging round the fleet, run up to the yardarm with a noose around the neck?

  “In that case, sir, I will undertake to speak to George. Were you to require an oath, sir, I could not swear to you that I will carry out the sentence. Such a thing I may choose to leave in other hands, with deep regret and an understanding of the consequences.”

  Aloka looked over at his father as he concluded, and caught the flash of an approving look. That put some heart into him.

  Karaimoku slapped his large hands down on his knees. “You cannot say fairer than that.”

  The prison that housed George was no stinking pestilential pit like the one Aloka had known in Brazil, far from it. He was accommodated in the thatched house Karaimoku had recently quitted, together with his wives, and a few servants courtesy of the two regents. The house was in the native style, large, airy, and fit for an ali‘i. The floor was laid with small black stones covered over with large mats, and the roof lined with pandanus leaves. The only sign it was now a gaol were the warriors with muskets and clubs stationed at each entrance and the several window openings cut in the thatch.

  Aloka was escorted to the house by Karaimoku, Ka‘ahumanu, and several courtiers. Captain Blackwell had chosen to return to Albion. Everyone understood this was a duty he was to perform alone, and the natives all stopped at the door. They had a conference with the sentry, while Aloka went in. It was a high-ceilinged dwelling so that the interior was quite dim, and as Aloka moved toward the light of a brace of candles, he did remark the house was stripped of furnishings.

  He found George seated at a solitary desk, on which the candelabra rested, studying some papers before him. Beyond the candlelight, in a corner of the apartment, Aloka heard feminine voices and caught shadow like movements. George was clad in European breeches and shirt, and as he looked up at Aloka, he tugged at his collar to straighten it.

  “So they’ve sent you, have they?” George spoke as though they’d parted the day before. “Aloka, son of Princess Kalani and her fourth, fifth...dozenth husband?”

  Aloka made a leg. “At your service. Son of the princess’s fourth husband, Captain James Blackwell. How do you do, George?”

  “As you see, mewed up in this goddamn place, when I should be king on Kaua‘i.”

  “There can be only one king, and that is Kiaukiauli.”

  “You would bow to a boy, a mere puppy? When you and I were his age, we had made our first voyages. Gone over the seas and seen other lands, places of promise, where a man can make his fortune and his name.”

  Their eyes met and Aloka was moved by what he most dreaded, a fellow feeling for his half brother.

  “I have been to the Pacific Northwest, many times, anchored in her fine deep bays, and traded in the wood of enormous forests. We could sail between the American mainland and the orient, masters of our own vessels, answerable to no man.”

  George was a good looking man, and what Aloka supposed must be called attractive. He was not so tall or broad as many Hawaiian nobles but, standing, they looked one another in the eye. He made again that gesture of plucking up his shirt collar, and turned toward the rustling in one corner of the room. In an imperious tone he called, “Come here.”

  There was hesitation in that corner, the whisper of voices, a sudden resounding slap. A young woman, more a girl, moved into the ring of candlelight.

  “This one is from there, an American native.” George declared, roughly squeezing her lovely brown cheeks between strong fingers. “I won her of one of the great Northern chiefs. Take her, she’s yours. You see I want to be true brothers, and share everything, be punalua with you.”

  Aloka felt his heart recoil. Co-husband. George used the Hawaiian expression for a group of lovers, multiple husbands and wives.

  Mistaking his reaction, George said, “Don’t like this one. Nahina!”

  Another woman moved into the candlelight. A plump lady with a froward ill-tempered expression, clearly Hawaiian and clearly defiant.

  “No, I—”

  “Don’t know what to do? Come, brother, let me enlighten you.”

  From the desk George took up the parchments he’d been studying when Aloka walked in, and handed them to him. Aloka had seen these sorts of illustrations before; certain men in both services, army and navy, were veritable collectors; of men and women depicted in the sexual act. What Aloka could not like were the expressions on the women’s faces, as though they were in pain.

  In a confidential tone, George said in his ear, “Ever had dry sex? You make them put crushed coral and herbs, well, you know where. There is nothing like it, I do assure you.”

  Aloka looked George in the eye, and set the drawings face down on the desk. He now knew what the English expression ‘made my skin crawl’ felt like.

  “You seem to mistake the intention of my call upon you. I did not come here to make alliances of any kind.”

  “I saw you with your women this morning, on your way to the maneaba. What you can want with that old, sick one, I cannot tell. But the other! By all the gods she is the most—″

  “Do not speak of them, either one!”

  George was taken aback, he pursed his lips, fingering his collar. Aloka began to see that George imagined himself a man of the world.

  “Don’t get into a taking, brother. Bring her to me, let her decide for herself if she likes me.”

  “Never!” Aloka could have picked George up by his frilled shirt and throttled him with it. “I’ve come to ask what manner of death you will have, George Kaumuarii, son of Kalani, grandson of Ata Gege. There can be only one king and that is Kiaukiauli, and since he is but a boy, the regents in his stead.”

  “Would you fight me? To the victor the honors, the women, the admiralty?”

  “I would. But you should die in any case, it’s your sentence for rebellion.”

  George sniffed. “Drowning at sea then. That will do. I hope you are prepared to do cold murder, little brother.”

  “Don’t call me brother.” Aloka glared at George. “I have only one brother, Edward James Blackwell of Cambridge and London.” He tried to compose himself. “Drowning it is then, George Kaumuarii. I shall call on you again.” Aloka turned pointedly to the two women. “The guards at these doors are to keep George in. You will be allowed to pass if you wish it, no one will detain you.”

  He bowed to all three, turned about and strode away.

  “You do not even ask after our mother,” George called. “Do not you care whether she lives?”

  Aloka’s back stiffened, but he did not break his stride toward the door. He had such a sick churning in his stomach that the urge to get away was stronger than the duty he felt to a mother he could not remember. The patter of feet pursuing him did not make him turn either. When she was abreast of him, Aloka saw it was the younger woman. He let her pass in front of him and walked outside.

  They both breathed in the sweet warm air as though it were a tonic. Only the sentry remained at the door, the regents and their courtiers having gone away. After studying the night sky for a moment, Aloka set off in the direction of Karaimoku’s new
house, saying gently to the woman, “This way if you please.”

  He walked along trying to conquer the revolted feeling in his vitals, and work out the few words he would say to Karaimoku and Ka‘ahumanu. A remote part of his mind pondered what he was to do with the girl at his side, when a figure moved at him from out of the dark.

  “Master Al!”

  He went into a crouch, his hand on the hilt of his sword. Though Aloka could not see the speaker, there was something in the voice that made him relax his fighting stance almost as soon as he’d taken it up.

  “It’s Saunders, Master Al. Remember me?”

  Aloka came up close to her. In his relief he grasped her forearm in the native fashion, her sinuous muscled arm, and smiled into her face.

  “Saunders! Bless me, I can hardly believe it.”

  “The Captain asked me to round up some kanakas and take you off in a native craft. After you speak to the chiefs, in course.”

  She and a half dozen men escorted him the rest of the way to the regent’s house. Aloka relaxed somewhat in the presence of Saunders, and went in to Karaimoku and Ka‘ahumanu more composed. The two chiefs had many years and much experience between them, and they did not detain Aloka, nor question him too closely. The regents released him after a mercifully short meeting, to seek the comfort of his ship.

  Aloka took Saunders aside as they neared the landing place.

  “That woman, I do not know so much as her name, has been badly used. Will you find her a place to lie tonight?” He peered imploringly at Saunders. “I dare not take her aboard Blonde. Captain Verson may cut up rough, to say nothing of Emma. Tomorrow I may be able to arrange something for her. I shall consult Mercedes.”

  “Abused her, did he?” Saunders glanced over at the young native woman, who had a wary eye upon Aloka. “Goddamn scrub. She can sling a hammock with me, I live alone since the Colonel passed.”

  “Oh, Saunders! I am deeply sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank ’ee, Master Al. Let’s let the girl know then, shall we?”

  There was some relief on the part of the young woman when the plan was revealed to her. She’d apparently feared going aboard ship, since it was on a ship that all her troubles began. She watched with disinterest while Aloka stripped off his clothes and threw them into the canoe meant to carry him to the British ships.