Flames of Desire

by Vanessa Royall

  “What I want to say…” Dick began.

  The crowd tittered. He was a victim, they had decided. They could afford to make fun of him. Their transitory sense of death had passed, because it had been too heavy to bear. They had to make fun of him. Any one of them might well be exactly where he was right now, given different situations, and they knew it. So now, in a horrible, collective panic, they turned against the condemned, as if that turning might save them from the terrors of their own vulnerability. It is a principle as old as time: Courage is just a word until you have to show it. But when you do, people shrink away. Courage is a very threatening thing.

  Dick Weddington waited a bit; he seemed to understand what was happening. But they quieted immediately at his next words: “Fellow condemned,” he addressed them.

  The silence was as eerie as the hooting had been profane.

  Dick’s gaze strayed again to the Narrows, and he seemed almost to smile. All eyes were upon him.

  “You are all condemned, do you know that?”

  Silence met him, and surprise. No one had expected this. The man was well known to have “succumbed to guilt,” thus incapable of rational speech.

  “Forgive my appearance today,” he said.

  Bailey was looking at the hangman, then at the crowd, clearly perplexed.

  “They have altered me in some ways.”

  A slight laugh, but it was sympathetic.

  “And while they tortured me, they laughed, and said they would feel no qualms about doing the same to anyone.”

  There was a stunned silence, and then something much like a growl. Anger, smoldering anger, its target not yet determined.

  “Now let’s…” Bailey began, stepping forward a little.

  “Aye! And what about the law?” yelled a mighty voice from the top of the fort’s outer wall. People turned, as did Selena. It was Will Teviot who had spoken, Will Teviot, his beard as bristly as that of old Rob Roy himself.

  “Let him speak!” shouted someone else.

  Lord Bailey glanced around, confused. The hangman’s hand was on the lever.

  “Long live America!” Dick shouted, with such surprising force that Sean seemed to shudder. His hand, which had been on Selena’s to give her comfort, tightened reflexively. For the first time since she’d known him, Selena sensed that he was afraid. Instinctively, she wished to give him comfort and took his hand. She felt him take hers, a quick, reluctant pressure. Then he pulled away and sat up straight.

  “You had best believe in America,” Dick was saying. “Look what the King’s men have done to me.”

  The sound was a rumble now, an angry, growling purr of sound, potentially deadly. It could not have happened in the space of a second, but it did. Dreamlike, Selena saw Dick Weddington’s mouth open to speak again. Bailey’s bead was turning toward the hangman, and his arm was falling. The hangman moved only a little. And the moment stopped. Dick dropped like a shot through the sprung trap, jerked taut and bounced on the end of the rope. He suffered no more; he was dead.

  No one had the time to grasp it. Like apocalypse, in the same mighty instant, the entire sky was filled with roar and thunder. Behind the fort, a brick office building exploded into clouds of dust, flying bricks, and screaming people. And on the watchtower of the fort, a guard cried down, “We’re under attack! We’re under attack! ’Tis a great black ship!”

  There were more screams, and people rushed for the gates, trying to gain space. Clearly, the first shot had been off target. The cannoneers were going for the fort itself. Soldiers scrambled toward the big guns along the Battery, but were hindered by the crowds. Some of the soldiers were waylaid, beaten and trampled in the melee, recompense for Dick Weddington’s death.

  Sean grabbed Selena’s arm. She was not afraid. In fact, she felt exhilarated, eager to get outside the walls, to catch a glimpse of the Selena even if it blew her away with the rest of them. She remembered Royce, directing his gunners in the attack upon the Meridian, and she rejoiced, in a strange and private way, for what she thought he must now be experiencing. The power of his body, of his will. His skill in slipping past the outer defenses of the harbor, and the risk involved. And now, finally, turning the might of his will and guns upon the fort itself, symbol of the enemy. Then Sean managed to drag her through the gates. They were running along the Battery. She saw the Selena there, just outside the Narrows, still with room to maneuver and to flee, turning to give a broadside. British ships in the harbor were frantically trying to spin toward the intruder. Battery cannoneers were furiously working. But Selena knew that, for this round at least, they would be too late. She was with Sean, running along the Battery, ducking behind a brace of heavy cannon. But she was also on the bridge of the black ship, and she could almost hear the savage, joyous cry, ‘TO THE HIGHLANDS! TO THE HIGHLANDS, FIRE!”

  Three tiers of cannon thundered, and the Selena rocked back in the recoil. All of New York harbor was lost in smoke. Instinctively, Selena dove for cover, even as she rejoiced at the attack. Explosions rattled all along the harbor. Great holes were blown into the wall of the fort. Sean was gone…somewhere…she had lost his hand. Someone was calling her name. She could not hear because of the din and the screaming. She dove into a ditch—something more like a slight, grassy depression.

  “I suppose Royce has come to save you,” said the mocking voice. Veronica.

  Out in the Narrows, the Selena turned from port to starboard.

  “They’ve got him now. He can never get away this time,” Veronica exclaimed. “Such a sad thing. Once he was bold, now he’s only foolish. If you want to know the truth, I think you are to blame. You reached him in some way, and ruined him.”

  Several British ships were beginning to fire now, and along the Battery came the first great roar of the harbor guns. Sails were unfurling aboard the Selena as, simultaneously, Royce prepared to fire again and to flee.

  “Isn’t that strange?” Selena shot back. “I received the distinct impression that he’s a finer man now than he ever was…”

  “Oh? You’ve seen Royce recently?”

  Selena was trying to form an answer, when a cannonball, errantly fired from one of the British ships in the harbor, whined over their heads and crashed into one of the huge maples along the Battery, shearing it off. People ran in terror, and the tree cradled down, sending leaves and brandies flying and raising the dust. Selena and Veronica dove to the grass and pressed against the earth. After a moment they raised their heads doubtfully. People were screaming and running about.

  “So,” Veronica exclaimed, following her suspicious train of thought, “you have, haven’t you?”

  “What are you talking about? For God’s sake, people have been hurt and you’re…”

  “You’ve seen Royce, haven’t you?” Veronica accused. “My, my. I bet you would confess many things if my friend Lord Bailey would be permitted to stretch you out on his rack. Anyway, you ruined a fine man when you ruined Royce’s spirit…”

  “I did not. If anything, I made him stronger,” Selena declared passionately.

  Veronica Blakemore smiled her enraging smile.

  On the water, the Selena’ s starboard cannons roared and thundered. Several British ships took direct hits. The air was full of flying timber, smoke, and the screams of the wounded. The Selena had already begun to move toward open sea. Battery gunners, taken by surprise, were having difficulty finding the range. The only remaining hindrance to which Royce would be subjected lay in the Narrows, but aboard the Selena the cannon were again being loaded. Selena doubted that he would be stopped now.

  “I’m curious though,” Veronica was saying, as the two women picked themselves up and brushed grass and dirt from their garments. “What did you do for him? Do you have a special way? Some secret form of lovemaking that you learned as a harem girl? What strange things can you do to his body, to have affected his mind so much?”

  Selena realized that Ludford must have told Veronica about everything. Indeed, he had pr
obably told her much more that was only suspected. She felt vulnerable and angry, yet triumphant. Royce loved her, not Veronica.

  “I love him, that’s all,” she shot back at her tormentor. “And as for you…”

  But, instead of anger, Veronica showed her teeth in a smile of satisfaction and delight. Not only had she successfully provoked Selena, her timing had been splendid. Selena looked up to see Sean standing there. He had heard what she had said about loving Royce. And it had hurt. Badly.

  “Lady Blakemore,” he said, nodding to Veronica. He did not smile.

  “Why, Bloodwell,” she said, omitting even the mister in order to demonstrate her assumption of superiority. “Did you enjoy the execution? I’m told you had a hand in it.”

  “Let’s go, Selena,” he said, and, taking her arm, he led her away from the Battery and in the direction of his office. The streets were crowded with people and horses. It was very noisy. Sean did not speak for a while.

  “What I said to Veronica…” Selena tried tentatively.

  “Don’t speak of it,” he replied, without looking at her. His face was bleak. “I feel badly enough already.”

  For a moment, Selena would have given all she had to have been born someone else, or to have been far away in a different land. Yet, for reasons as complicated as love, as obscure as the human heart, as simple as tenderness and gratitude, as fierce as passion, she could never get Royce Campbell out of her soul.

  “I can see why you would admire him,” Sean said, surprising her. “After what he did today, I must say that I cannot help but admire him myself. But even so, we are left with our problems…”

  A big, glistening carriage, drawn by four white horses, flashed past them, then drew to the curb and stopped. A large golden P was emblazoned on the door. Penrod. Gilbertus put his head through the window. His face was as round and ruddy as ever, but his eyes were sad.

  “Let us give you a ride wherever you’re going.”

  Sean wanted to be alone, and he thanked Penrod and said he was going to spend some time at his Wall Street office. He asked if Gilbertus might take Selena home. She climbed into the carriage, taking a position next to Samantha. Sean went on down the street. The driver called to the horses and the carriage began to move. Samantha, weeping softly, reached and took Selena’s hand.

  “Sean is feeling badly?”

  “Yes, terribly. He was caught in a dilemma when he learned of Dick’s espionage. He never thought it would be handled as brutally as it was. Then, once Dick was under interrogation, Sean was powerless to interfere because to do so would have implicated me.”

  “We must be far more careful from now on,” Gilbertus said. “Hard times are upon us. Bailey will be far sterner than Ludford was in dealing with rebel sympathizers.” He paused. “But, by God, when Royce opened fire today, I nearly yelled for joy. I thought Bailey might arrest me then and there. What was Sean’s reaction?”

  “He didn’t seem to mind, particularly,” Selena said. “He even admitted to some admiration. I’m afraid Sean believes he is finished now, at least insofar as his hopes for a title go.”

  “And you, my dear?” Samantha asked.

  “I don’t know. I don’t know…”

  “No, Selena,” Gilbertus said slowly, “I think Sean will be able to resolve the matters that trouble him now. And, in time, I think that you will be able to do so, too. No one can tell you what to do. Your happiness is involved, but also the happiness of others. It is a difficult choice.”

  He was speaking to her of her own intimate problems, and she looked at him in surprise. His eyes were hard on hers.

  “You know?”

  He nodded. “Several days ago, we planned Royce’s attack. Royce himself, Hamilton, Will Teviot, and I. Royce is now leading the British out to sea, after which he will circle back and come to port at Sandy Hook, south of New York. He’ll take on supplies and flee to Jamaica, in the islands…”

  Selena felt the hollow feeling spread inside her once again. He was leaving!

  The carriage was on Bowling Green now, driving past the mansions. Samantha was listening. Gilbertus paused, and then had done with it. “Selena, Royce asked my cooperation, and I agreed to give it. When he puts back in to shore, Will Teviot is to come to me and inform me of the landing.”

  “Yes?”

  “And I agreed to come to you then, and tell you that I had a message for you. I did not ask what the message was.”

  Selena nodded. Her mind was spinning. The necessity of making a choice was imminent; in agony, she teetered on the precipice of decision. Royce would be asking her to come with him, and whatever she decided might be forever.

  “When?” she heard herself ask.

  “If all goes well, tomorrow.”

  Selena sighed with relief. She would have some time to think. I won’t have to decide until then, she thought.

  The carriage drew up to the curb outside her house. She saw Davina’s yellow-topped head at the window, and the delighted wave of her chubby little hand. Oh, God, Selena thought feeling ill, what am I going to do?

  “Are you all right?” Samantha asked, leaning forward, a look of concern on her face. “You seem a bit unsteady.”

  “No, I’ll be all right,” Selena replied. But she wasn’t sure about that either.

  The Mistress of Coldstream

  Selena was in agony, heart troubled, mind shrieking. The course of her entire life waited now, impatiently, for her decision. What now? She had to decide now. Now was all important. Heaven could wait.

  Tension in the house was palpable. Servants pattered as soundlessly as they were able from room to room, making haste with their chores and errands, and, in the kitchen, speculating to one another in hushed voices. About what had happened. About what was happening. About what would happen. Traudl was gone now, having insisted upon resigning, and although Selena did not know for certain, she suspected that, in the manner of servants, whispered words of “another man” was the news beneath the stairs. Tongues were not stilled when Sean came late to dinner. Did he know about Royce Campbell and the expected message? It was possible. Veronica might have found out somehow, and told him. Veronica knew everything, Selena reflected bitterly, because of her connections. Sleeps with everyone and knows everything. And is waiting for her revenge.

  Sean said little during dinner, save to rouse himself occasionally with a smile or a happy word for chattering Davina. The execution had affected him deeply, because of his part in it. And he now understood completely that Selena’s views were fundamentally at variance with his own, and would always be. “Selena,” he had once told her, “you are a natural force.” Such a force would be inimical to change.

  After dinner, he went into his study and sat for hours staring at the fire. Selena walked by his door from time to time, but he sat unmoving, staring into the flames, as if trying to find a solution to their differences, as if trying to divine some key, some masterstroke, which would allow them to regain what had been lost between them: an unquestioned trust. The love was still there; it was that pristine quality of trust which had flown.

  Nor did Selena know how to help him. Even if she could erase Royce Campbell from her mind, how could she and Sean begin to resolve their differences of view? After the harrowing day, such reflection seemed too melancholy for words, and Selena collapsed in a soft chair in the bedroom, worrying, worrying, until sleep finally took her.

  She awakened with shocked fright on the morrow, unable to believe her senses. Trumpets blared outside the house, and people were cheering and calling Sean’s name. Drums were beating, but not with the doleful, ominous roll of yesterday. Today it was a march cadence, a soul-stirring boomboomboom-badada-boomboomboom, that measure of power and consequence.

  She stepped to the window and pushed it open, and when the people saw her they brought forth a high-spirited cheer. Some of them called her name, too, and waved. Selena could not believe what was happening. There were several hundred people on Bowling Green. Mor
e were arriving by the minute. Already a row of carriages and horses lined the curb at the house front. Servants were running up and down outside the bedroom, calling out excitedly.

  The music. The drums. The shouts. It was a festive sound, certainly. But why? Sean was not in the bedroom, nor had the bed been slept in. She was just about to go downstairs and ask him what was happening when little Davina came rushing in.

  “’Ena, ’Ena!” she shrieked. “Daddy’s a king! Daddy’s a king!”

  Then one of the servants appeared in the doorway.

  “Best put on yer good things, mum. Somethin’ big’s afoot, an’ ’tis all t’ the good. The mister be at his ablutions right now.”

  Once more, Selena looked out of the window, standing back so that the crowd could not see her. And then she shuddered. It must be some terrible deception that was occurring. Lord Bailey was there, and with him Lord Howe, the conqueror of Philadelphia, and Admiral Howe, his brother, whose naval skill and speed of execution had landed British troops before Royce had been able to attack the convoy. Behind them, even more resplendently attired, was “Gentleman Jack” Burgoyne himself, victim of Benedict Arnold at Saratoga. The British had their Hamilton, too, a man who lost occasionally but who retained an inimitable style.

  “Hurry, mum, the mister’s callin’ fer ye,” said the servant, sticking her head in through the door again.

  Selena selected a simply designed gown of pale green, and hurriedly put it on, brushed her hair, and raced downstairs. Sean was pulling on his morning clothes, which a servant had brought down for him.

  “What is this?” she asked. “What are all those people…?”

  He looked at her for a long, silent moment. His face, his very being, were torn by deep emotion. She saw the unutterable joy in his eyes, but she saw, too, the look of a man whose joy is muted, who knows that there is a price attached to every gift. A moment passed, while the drums, the music, and the cheering paraded on outside the house. A festive delegation was clamoring on the front stoop.

  “What is it, Sean?” she asked again, a little afraid of the expression on his face and of what it might mean.