by Anya Seton
"Why do we stop here, Toby?" Elizabeth cried anxiously. "Oh, don't put in to Plymouth!" She was sitting on the half-opened hatch with the wriggling seventeen-month-old baby John in her lap, while keeping a watchful eye on her two youngest daughters who had been roped together for safety, then attached to the mast where they squatted happily on the deck playing tick-tack-toe with some beans. Joan, who was seasick like her father and Telaka, was lying with them below in the cabin. The Dolphin was large for a shallop, near forty feet long, and stumpily built with a broad beam, but she was excessively crowded by five adults, the children, and the household gear the Feakes had managed to stuff in her before the flight. Toby was out of humor, had barely spoken to Elizabeth all day, and now ignored her question while he shouted over her head to the bow, "Ready wi' the boathook, Ben! I'm straight for the pier. Mind that pinnace, you dunce!"
"Aye, sir," called the Norfolk lad who acted as crew.
"Toby!" cried Elizabeth sharply. "Answer me! Isn't this Plymouth? Why do you stop here?" She had not recovered from the terror of the night before. Still she felt hunted and threatened by the strange evil which had leapt at her without warning. Plymouth Colony she knew could be as harsh as the Bay, and it was much too near Watertown. Suppose that her uncle and the Reverend Mr. Phillips couldn't hold them, and the enemies had hurtled off from Watertown to stop the Feakes. She pictured them galloping towards Plymouth—Job Blunt, the Warrens, the Knapps, Dolly Bridges—a horrible cavalcade streaming through the forests, yelling of witchcraft and vengeance.
"We stop here because we must," said Toby sourly, watching Ben make the line fast to the iron ring on the pier. "We're outa water and provisions, nor is there beer enough. D'ye expect me to sail dry all the way to Greenwich? There's naught to be afraid of," he added. "Watertown folk'll not flout the Governor, and'll have sobered today."
Elizabeth knew the truth of this, but could not feel it, though the landing was quiet and their arrival excited no interest amongst a sprinkling of sailors and loungers.
"I'm sorry, Toby," she said at length. "We were so hurried—I know you didn't want to take us—but is there no other place to get supplies?"
"Naw," said Toby. "Without I sail into Narragansett some days hence, if we've the winds, which I've no mind to. Quickest done soonest over for this voyage." lie jumped from the deck to the landing. "You've money, I trust, Aunt; Plymouth shops'll not fit us out for charity."
She nodded. Even in the panic of departure last night she had not forgotten to scoop up the contents of her heavy bride's chest. Clothes, linens, Jack's glove, Harry's pin, Robert's gold chain had all been flung into a sack, and the ninety pounds of her jointure she had hung from her belt in a leather pouch. She drew out two sovereigns. "Will this do?—and Toby—"
"Aye?" he said more amiably, pleased by the sight of gold.
"If we should buy lands down there, how do we pay the Indians?"
Toby knitted his scraggy brows and scratched his nose while he ruminated. "Aye," he said. "They want English coats an' hardware. I'd best lay some in, though you've left me precious little room for cargo. Still, gi' me two more sovereigns. I'll see what I can do."
"Be careful, Toby! Tell nobody who we are, and hasten I beg of you. I'll hide down in the cabin with the others."
Toby, who shared none of her apprehensions, and whose gallantry and family loyalty had ebbed with the day, merely shrugged; telling Ben to watch the boat, he shambled along Water Street towards a cluster of clapboarded buildings which looked far humbler than those of Boston.
While Elizabeth watched Toby, Robert stuck his head up through the hatch and said, "What is it, wife? Where are we?" His blinking gaze scanned the flat sandy shores, the huddled little town. "Surely 'tis not Boston!"
"No, no—" she said. "Plymouth. Boston's far behind. Stay below, Rob, out of sight. I'm coming down."
"Why?" he said leaning on the hatch and retching a little. "'Tis foul in the cabin. I want air. Joan and the Indian too, they've been seasick."
"I know," she said relieved that he spoke sensibly, and that though his face was green and he looked ill, the confused wild light had gone from his eyes. "But there might still be danger. The less we're noticed the better. I'll clean up the cabin." She descended the ladder and he followed her. Danger? he thought. Aye, there had been some sort of danger; folk shouting, accusing and threatening, but what about he did not know, nor how long ago—except it seemed far past. No use thinking of it, and Bess knew what to do, if aught must be done. His stomach qualms were ceasing, he felt hungry and confident, for they were off to join Daniel. That he knew clearly. He ate bread and some pickled beef, then set about cleaning the reeking cabin. Joan, quickly re-covering, helped too, but Telaka whose legs were purple and swollen from the bonds they had put on her last night, could not yet move. She lay on a straw pallet with her face turned towards the bulkhead.
Night came on, the cabin freshened. Elizabeth fed the little girls. And still Toby did not return.
It was a soft spring evening; through the open hatch they could see the stars quiver out like new shillings against the thin black sky. The water lapped softly against the Dolphins hull. There were voices and lanterns on other boats at anchor in the harbor, but except for Ben's tuneless whistling as he patiently awaited Toby's return, there was quiet on the Dolphin.
Robert wished for sleep, the children were yawning, so Elizabeth bedded the little girls in the two narrow bunks and spread out on the planking the great feather bed they had brought. She tucked the baby beside his father on the feather bed, and was glad to see Robert's arm circle his son, and that he kissed the dark fuzzy little head, ft was long since Robert had noticed his children and yet at times he could be the fondest of fathers. He's better, she thought. The strangeness had again passed, had in some way been frightened out of him last night. But the memory of last night, which domestic efforts had held off, now wrenched her anew. Her fears swooped back. Why was Toby so long in coming? Could it be that he was in some sinister way detained?
She climbed the little ladder and peered cautiously over the hatch. The immediate shore front loomed dark and still, except down by the corner of the First Street where swung the sign of an ordinary. Candlelight flickered from its windows, and through the half-opened door came occasional bursts of male laughter.
Restless and uneasy, Elizabeth went up on deck to inhale the salty air which smelled of clams and seaweed. Ben, who was curled up dozing on the bow, raised his head, and said, "What's ado, Mistress?"
"Nothing," she said. "Why, why doesn't Master Toby come back?"
"Master's not one to hurry hisself," said the lad sleepily. "Wind's died. Can't sail til mom nohow. Don't ye fret, mum—" he added. Benjamin Palmer was only fourteen, but nimble and sharp-witted. He thought Elizabeth very pretty, also he had a good heart which had been moved by her ordeal in Watertown.
"I know it's silly," she said, impelled to speech with anyone who did not have to be protected from worry like Robert and the children. "But I feel eerie—a foreboding. Can't stop it. Yet I had none before—before the trouble yesterday."
Ben sat up and asked anxiously, "Has yer left eye bin itching ye? Or ha' ye seen a spider ternight?"
"No," said Elizabeth, half laughing. "I just feel something's going to happen."
"Naught bad, then," said Ben with confidence, and curled up again with his head on a coil of rope.
Elizabeth sat down on the gunwhale and stared out to sea, trying to quiet her unease with a dozen different musings. She thought of Jack, and wondered what he would say when he heard of the flight, but the thought of Jack always now brought an accompanying image of the other Elizabeth—fair, complacent, genteel, an Elizabeth who could never conceivably get herself involved with hideous accusations and the threat of prison. There was no escape from pain in these thoughts, so she tried to envision the future—the axe-shaped Neck with the white sands, the reunion with the Patricks, but these speculations were misty and juiceless. And all the time her ears were aler
t for any unusual noise on the shore.
At midnight she heard it, jumped, then felt ashamed as she discovered it was but the tavern door opening wide to let out a crowd of men who came stumbling and raucous into the street.
Some of the men had lanterns. She saw several lights lurch around the corner and disappear, but two figures with a lantern detached themselves from the others and came towards the waterfront. Elizabeth soon recognized the stocky leader as Toby. Giddy with relief she jumped from the boat to the pier, and waited there.
Toby's gait was unsteady. As he neared her she heard the guttural chuckles he emitted when drunk. The other man hung back behind a great pile of dried fish nets.
"Well, Aunt ... well..." cried Toby as he came up to her. "All ready and waiting to be taken?" He chuckled again, swinging his arms.
"I'm so glad you've come," she said quickly. "Get on the boat and to sleep, you're cup-shot. Where're our goods?"
"Not so fast..." mumbled Toby swaying. "Oh-ho! Oh-ho! Didn't ye hear what I said? Ye're summoned! Governor Bradford wants you. They've sent from Watertown."
Her stomach lurched. "What do you mean—" she whispered staring past him at the empty pier. "Toby, for God's sake—"
"Come wi' me, Aunt!" said Toby putting a thick hand on her arm. "They're waiting at the Governor's, they've readied the gaol here."
"No," she whispered. "Toby, I don't believe you. I'll get Robert—"
But Toby grabbed her other arm and turning propelled her forcibly ahead of him down the dock, where the man with the lantern suddenly stepped out from behind the nets.
"Here she is, constable!" cried Toby in a great voice. "Here's the witch."
"Shhh-h," said the other man sharply, and put his lantern on the planks. "You're frightening her."
Elizabeth stared through a blur of panic. The light wavered upward over a very tall man in a leather jerkin. He had a shock of lanky brown hair that swung to his huge shoulders, and he looked down at her with a peculiar intensity.
"Will Hallet—?" she cried in utter disbelief. "Is it you, Will?" Her knees gave way and she stumbled forward. He caught her against him, and held her tight against a broad hard chest where even in her daze she could feel a strong heart beating.
Toby gave a guffaw. "Fair diddled, wasn't ye!" he cried, slapping his thigh. "Swallowed it whole, she did, Hallet! Thought ye was the guard come to gaol her! Ye shoulda seen her shaking."
"Hold your tongue, you dolt," said Will over Elizabeth's head. "'Twas a sorry jest. Come, Mistress, no need to fear. I'd not hurt you for the world." He said the last words into Elizabeth's hair, and she became aware that she was still clinging to him, that his arms supported her, that she was savoring a strong masculine smell of sweat, leather and tobacco, and that her panic had given way to a delicious feeling of shelter.
"Sho-ho!" said Toby gaping at them. "I didn't know you were on hugging terms, but hug away. I mind me there's a leetle jug o' rum I hid 'neath the stem sheets, I'll hug that—" He made a smacking noise with his lips, zigzagged carefully down the dock, and disappeared into his boat.
Elizabeth straightened up, pulling herself from Hallet. His arms fell instantly and they confronted each other. He was in full manhood now, she saw, with a stubble of dark beard and a powerful long jaw. His blunt nose had lengthened too; there were furrows beside it. His cheeks had lost all boyish roundness. "How does this come about, Will?" she asked hurriedly to keep herself from staring at him. "How did you meet Toby?"
"In the ordinary," he said with the gently bred intonation which startled her anew. "I've been at Yarmouth with my cousins a week or so, and saw his sister, Judith Palmer, there. Besides, when I heard some fellow in the tavern call him Feake, I asked if he was kin to you."
"You still remember me?" she said, trying to laugh. "It's been six years since that Election Day on the Common when you bested the blacksmith."
"Aye—" he said. "I still remember you. And still find you beautiful."
She could not help a gasp of pleasure, at the same time wishing passionately that she had combed her hair and changed this rumpled olive wool dress, worn since setting off for the meetinghouse yesterday. "The lantern light is kind," she said, looking up at him through her lashes as she had almost ceased to do with men. "Tell me of yourself, where have you been these years?"
"If you like," he said. "But shall we sit?" He motioned to the pile of nets, and taking her hand, drew her down beside him. His touch befuddled her, and the nearness of his big body. He doused the lantern and began to talk, but at first she could scarcely listen to him. She watched the starlight on his face, and knew that never even in those first days with Harry had she felt quite like this. How was it that again she became timid, dithering, virginal as she had been so long ago on the Lyon. And yet Hallet was twenty-four and she thirty. Soon she forgot even that as she listened to him, and she forgot the sleeping Robert on the boat, and the children.
He had been in Virginia for two years, and then nin a trading post for a wealthy Connecticut gentleman called William Whiting. This trading post was on the Delaware River where the Swedes were trying to establish a colony. Their advent had ruined the English traders, who moreover had been harassed by the Dutch who also claimed the territory.
"'Twas a failure, my trading post," said Will with his usual wry candor. "I owe Mr. Whiting money, which galls me. I'll not rest till I pay it back, but I find I've not the kind of wits for merchanting and trading. 'Tis the land I like. And making something from it with my own two yeoman hands."
He fell silent while she found the courage to ask a question. "You've a wife now, for certain?" she said, winding and unwinding a loose piece of fish net. "And babes?"
"Why, no," he said, laughing a little. "There was a wench in Virginia I was fond of. She lived with me at the trading post, without benefit of magistrate or minister. When I came north we parted pleasantly. Fortunately she was barren, so I've no bastards about that I know of."
"Ah—" said Elizabeth on a long breath.
He turned suddenly and stared at her hard. "Why are you glad I'm not wed? What does it matter to you, Bess Feake?"
"I don't know—" she stammered. "It doesn't. How could it? You mistook me. Dear Lord, I've been so frightened and tur-moiled these last two days, I scarce know what I'm doing."
"To be sure," he said, in a different voice. "Toby told me something of your trouble in Watertown, but jestingly. Will you speak of it to me, would it ease you?"
"Oh, yes," she cried. "It would. You see yester mom, after the meeting, Dolly Bridges took a fit..."
She poured it all out to him in a tumbling flood, saying more than she knew when it came to Robert's behavior. Will listened intently, trying his best to follow this tale of a mutilated Indian, witchcraft, pain, fear, howling mobs, the minister and the governor. And escape at midnight.
At the end, she could not stop herself from weeping. "They hated me," she sobbed. "They wanted to kill me, and kill poor Telaka. What happened that they hated so? What did we do?"
"Hush—" he said. "It's over. You'll be gone in the morning. You'll be safe. Hush, sweetheart," he said and took her in his arms.
She quietened, lying soft against him. Like honey and fire, she felt throughout her body the endearment he had called her. The stars danced and sparkled over their heads. She shut her eyes and her thoughts stopped while she raised her face to his, her mouth eager, beseeching, under his hot firm lips.
He crushed her to him with a force that gave her blissful pain. He kissed her mouth, her lids, her neck, she felt his hand burning on her naked breast, and melted closer to him murmuring she knew not what.
"By God!" he said, suddenly holding her off, and looking at her with what seemed like anger. "I never thought 'twould be like this. Bess, I want thee—I must have thee. Come!" He pulled her to her feet. "Over there," he said hoarsely. "The beach—by the marsh grass."
She stood panting, so weakened that he lifted her in his arms. "No!" she cried. "No! Put me down!"
For as he lifted her she had seen to the end of the dock. The dark line of the Dolphins mast. "Let me go—Will—" she cried with anguish. "I cannot."
He set her slowly on her feet, and stood apart from her. "You cannot?" he repeated. "And why not, since you want it, as I do?"
She bowed her head, looking down at the black water lapping against the piles. "Adultery," she whispered.
He made a rough sound in his throat, and folded his arms across his chest. "An ugly word, Bess. And one not used in the noble household I once knew. There, as I observed, it was called 'chivalric love.'"
"Perhaps," she said still staring at the water. "But I was not raised in a noble household, and between us there's been no mention of love."
"And what is love?" His voice now held sharpness. "'A torment of the mind, a tempest everlasting; and Jove hath made it of a kind, not well, nor full nor fasting.' So says the poet."
"It pleases you to mock," she said dully.
There was silence between them, while the first dawn breeze fluttered the ripples, and a pearly light shone on Plymouth Bay's horizon. Then Will spoke. "No, Bess, I do not mock. It is that I know not what to say. Nor why it is that we should both throb and quicken so for each other. But you were right to stop us. Will you sit down near me again? I would look long at you, and keep your lovely face in my memory."
She started and turned, crying in fear, "You're not going? Where are you going?" She ran to him and took his hand.
He did not smile at this unreason; he sighed and said, "Yes, my dear, I am going to England. I've been waiting a ship at Plymouth, but now I hear of one that's soon to sail from Boston, and shall sign on as carpenter."
"England," she whispered. "Not so far..."
"But I must. There were letters for me at Yarmouth. One from my brother who says my mother is very feeble and yearns to see me again before she dies. The other—" he frowned and added with reluctance, "from Lord George Digby, the Earl of Bristol's heir."
"What does HE want of you now?" she cried. "You said you were quit of them all at Sherborne Castle, that you despised them! Do you then go creeping back like a spaniel if one of those lords beckons?"
