The Jezebel's Daughter (25 page)

All of the men with the exception of Charles Vane, nodded their heads and made noises of agreement. Vane stared hard at me from his place across the table, his eyes flinty and dark with undisguised contempt. “Women have no place on a ship,” he said, his expression moving to Rackham for a moment before going back to Sebastian. “They bring bad luck. That's why he and his whores don't sail with me anymore—”

“Oh, yes,” Rackham said, rolling his eyes expressively. “It had absolutely nothing to do with your cowardice and that French warship. It is all because of Anne and Mary.”

Vane shot to his feet, slamming his hand down hard on the table in front of him and drawing a knife from his belt. “Cowardice?” he thundered. “You call me a coward? You hide behind those whores and—”

“Gentlemen!” England stood between Vane and Rackham, his hands outstretched, holding them apart. “Please. It's time to put these petty animosities away now. Our means of income, our very lives, are in danger now, and we need to come to an agreement about our future course. Now. Take your seats and do try to behave like rational, civilized men.” He looked between the two seething captains, who eventually subsided and took their seats again.

“Now, perhaps we can bring Mistress Jones up to speed?” Sebastian asked. The other men nodded and settled back with minimal grumbling. “Good. The rumors we heard in Havana are true,” he said to me. “Georgie has indeed appointed a new governor to the Bahamas. He will be arriving in a few months, but he sent word ahead of a general pardon, aimed at turning all of us into honest men. And women,” he amended with a slight smile.

I looked around the table and saw the truth of Sebastian's words in the looks of defiance on the men's faces. Even gentlemanly little Edward England looked as though he wanted to tell George III where he could go in no uncertain terms. I looked back at Sebastian and raised my brows in question. “We're not taking the pardon?” I asked.

He chuckled softly and leaned forward to press a kiss against my forehead. “That's my girl,” he said, his voice pitched low so that only I could hear him. I opened my mouth to ask why on earth he would pass up such a wonderful opportunity, but he continued on, addressing the other men in the room before I could.

“No, we are not taking the pardon. None of us are taking it. Captains Vane and England have inquired with other captains and have collected at least thirty more ships who will not be taking the pardon either.”

“Hornigold and Jennings are not amongst them,” Vane said in a flat, emotionless voice.

“They took the pardon?” I asked. Maybe if Sebastian could draw some strength and wisdom from that... “What will they do?”

“Probably turn against us, become hunters,” said Featherstone. “The more important question now is where do we relocate the haven? If we're no longer welcome in Port Royal, or Tortuga, or Nassau, where do we go?”

“My quartermaster has a suggestion,” England said, nodding to the man at his side. I hadn't taken much notice of him before. He had blended into the background. He was a medium man—medium of height, weight, and coloring—with nothing outstanding to speak of. But when he spoke, I immediately saw why he was England's quartermaster.

“Before I met up with Captain England's crew,” he said in a deep, rolling voice that slithered down my spine like a slug of warm rum. His Welsh accent was music to my ear. “I worked with Wallace's crew in British Honduras, cutting logwood and mahogany to sell to passing ships. We made good money until the damned Brits kicked us out. The settlement's still there, empty and probably falling down in places, but the harbor's protected and deep. There's a wicked reef off the eastern coast and the entrance to the harbor is in a hidden channel cut through the reef and most of the island.”

“And this is where you propose to set up a new haven, Mr. Davis?” Sebastian asked.

“Aye, Captain MacIsaac,” Davis answered. “It's a good place.”

“I won't be giving up on Nassau,” Vane said. “If you want to run—”

“The
Ranger
will be able to stand up to three or four ships-of-the-line?” Rackham asked. “The
Kingston
will be joining the
Jezebel
in whatever decision Captain MacIsaac makes.” He and Featherstone nodded to Sebastian and I. Featherstone even raised a mug to us.

“I think it is time to quit the Caribbean,” England said. At his side, Davis nodded. “We will be seeking our riches off the Gold Coast of Africa.”

I was sad to hear that. Captain England struck me as an honest, compassionate man, a rarity amongst pirates and privateers. A thought struck me and I turned to Sebastian. “Who is the new governor?” I asked.

“Woodes Rogers,” he answered promptly.

I recognized the name. I'd perused a book with his name on it the last time I was in Le Cap. “The one who rescued the castaway?”

“The very one.”

“Wasn't he a privateer? He took those Spanish ships near Mexico. Why would he agree to take over Nassau?”

“He's deeply in debt, my dear,” Davis answered. “The Sea Lords are paying his company handsomely if he can turn things around here.”

“We have until September of this year to take the pardon,” Sebastian said, “so there are nine months in which to spread the word about the new haven, and collect together the supplies and people necessary to establish business there. Mr. Davis, I would appreciate any assistance you can give to Mistress Jones and Ben as to the location of this hidden passageway through the island.” He stood up and nodded to the rest of them. “Thank you for your time and your cooperation. Captain Rackham, a word?”

The meeting broke up, scattering the men who left the tent chatting amiably amongst themselves, except for Vane and his silent quartermaster. They left quickly, a black cloud of barely contained animosity trailing in their wake. I was grateful that they had decided to stay in the Nassau area. Running into them on the high seas scared me more than a little.

Mr. Davis and I remained in the tent together, going over my map of British Honduras, which was sadly lacking. We had never sailed that far west, so I had to rely on fifteen-year-old knowledge and Mr. Davis's memory, which was twenty years out of date. Ben soon joined us, since as ship's master, it was his duty to safely navigate this channel. I did not envy his position.

“Perhaps we can find a pilot to help?” I asked Davis.

“Aye, you probably could,” he answered with a nod. “One of the natives certainly would be willing for a bit of coin.” He pointed to a small dot located about thirty miles south of the caye he had recommended. “Your best bet to find a pilot is here, on St. George's Caye. There are still some loggers in the area and this is their base of operations.” Ben nodded and made a note on our map. “I'm afraid this is all the help I can give you,” Davis said and extended his hand first to Ben and then to me. “If there's anything else I can do for you, please let me know. Good luck to you both.” He left the tent and Ben and I exchanged weary looks.

“How it be in here?” he asked as we rolled up our charts and stuffed them back into the water-tight tube. “They treat you good?”

I shrugged and slung the tube's strap over my shoulder as we made our way out of the tent. “Vane didn't like me. Didn't like anyone there, really. But Captain England was kind.”

“He has that reputation. I never met him before today.” We stepped out onto the sands and looked around. Ben's eyes stopped moving and I followed his gaze to saw Sebastian talking with Rackham. They were leaning close together, their hands at their sides or by their faces. Vane stood nearby, trying not to look as though he was attempting to listen to what Sebastian and Rackham were saying, but failing miserably.

I nodded towards the group. “Wonder what that's all about?” I asked Ben.

He studied them for a moment and then shrugged a bit. “Probably Captain be talking to Rackham about the new haven and Vane be trying to listen in. He not be taking the pardon but he be sticking close to Nassau. Maybe Captain and Rackham worry he use the location of the new haven to sweeten the pot if he be taken prisoner.”

“I'm sure you're right,” I said, impressed with Ben's shrewd observation. It seemed an action directly in line with what little I had seen of Vane's character. Ben and I moved down the beach to stand beneath the tarp where Black Pete was hiding from the sun. There was very little for us to do while we waited for Sebastian, and I made use of the downtime to look at our map of British Honduras. After studying it for some time, I decided that the details were too sadly lacking and the hiring of a pilot who was familiar with the reef surrounding the island to guide us through to the passage was a necessity.

“Ben,” I said, turning my back to Black Pete and the other
Jezebel
men in the hopes they wouldn't overhear me. “Why isn't Sebastian taking the King's pardon?”

Ben looked at me as if I had just asked him why we weren't dressing up the milch goat and calling her the Queen of Everything. “He be Scottish,” he answered, as if that explained everything. I supposed in a way, it did. Sebastian was Scottish, a Jacobite who was sending regular payments to the Jacobite court in France, in the hopes that James would return to England and take the crown once more. It would take swallowing a lot of pride to take George's pardon, but it would mean that we could go home, back to Edinburgh or even London. We could have a family and raise them in safety. It would mean no more stealing or fighting or even dying just to put food in our bellies. I sighed unhappily, knowing he'd never take the pardon but fervently wishing he would, and turned back to watching Sebastian and Rackham talking.

Sebastian eventually broke off from Rackham and they both had determined faces, though neither of them looked particularly angry, so I took their meeting to have been a success. I stood and carefully put the map back into the tube with the rest and smiled at Sebastian as he approached. “Everything all right?” I asked as he came to stand next to me.

“Yes,” he answered, nodding a greeting to Ben and Black Pete. “We'll talk more once we're back aboard the
Jezebel
. Ben, could your round up the others? There is a bit of urgency in quitting this place.” Ben immediately left to find the other
Jezebel
crewmen and Sebastian, Black Pete, and I made our way down the beach to our jolly-boat. The other crews—minus Vane's—were all tearing down their tents and loading their supplies into their own boats.

“What's going on?” I asked.

“Nothing more than rumors and implications, my love,” Sebastian said. “But since the rumors we've been hearing lately have proven true, I'd rather not stay here to see if these newest ones follow the trend.”

“Someone's coming?” Black Pete asked as he took his spot at the oars. “The Brits, sir?”

Sebastian nodded and helped me into my spot in the bow. “Just so, Mr. Foley. Ah, here come the others. Hurry up, boys!” he called out and climbed into the boat. Once they were in their own places, Ben pushed us into the water and jumped in behind Sebastian. Black Pete set himself against the oars and within moments, we were away from the beach.

I glanced back over my shoulder and watched the chaos as the other crews left in a hurry. Only Vane remained behind and he was glaring at us in a murderous way. I shook my head and looked at Sebastian. “He is a singularly unpleasant man, that Charles Vane,” I said to him.

The others all chuckled at my description and Sebastian said, “Yes. And a dangerous one. No one aboard the
Ranger
or the
Lark
can know about the new haven,” he said, his eyes moving over each face in the boat. “Should he be captured, Vane would not be above selling that information to the English. We're on unsteady ground there anyway, what with the island being in British territory.”

“Excuse me, sir,” said one of the other men. “But what are you talking about?”

“All in good time, Mr. Inglewood. Loreley, if you would call an all-hands meeting once we're settled aboard?”

“Of course, Captain.” We spent the rest of the trip to the boat in silence, the others no doubt wondering what news Sebastian had and what it had to do with a new haven and what was wrong with Nassau that we needed a new one.

XXX

On board the Jezebel

January, 1718

Sebastian and I stood beneath the skids, staring up into the faces of the entire crew, who were collected around us in the fo'c's'le and the quarterdeck. They were restless as they awaited Sebastian's address. The crew who'd gone ashore had whipped them into a quietly desperate state of anxiousness with their talk of the British Navy's imminent arrival and the necessity for a new haven as something was wrong with Nassau.

“As some of you have heard,” Sebastian said, his voice cutting through the chatter immediately and settling the men down. “rumors have surfaced of a new governor in Nassau, rumors that he has been charged with emptying her shores of pirates and with delivering a royal pardon to any man who swears an oath to His Majesty and gives up the sea.” He paused and turned, meeting each man's eyes briefly before moving onto the next, stretching out the moment in a most dramatic fashion. I admired his command and the ease with which he spoke and captured everyone's attention. “Those rumors are true.”

Mutters and loud cries of indignation arose and Sebastian allowed them to move through the crowd, giving the men the chance to get the shock out of their systems before continuing. “In just a few month's time, and certainly no later than this summer, an entire flotilla of British ships will be arriving in Nassau, to deliver the new governor, an entire regiment of soldiers, and enough merchants, farmers, and craftsmen to make Nassau a viable colony once more.

“The time has come to quit the Pirate's Republic of Nassau and create a new one. To that end, the
Jezebel
will be sailing to British Honduras, along with the
Kingston
, under Captain Rackham. We will soon be joined by some twenty other crews.”

“Sir!” called out one of the crew. “We all saw more banners on that beach. What of England and Vane?”

Sebastian nodded to me and I recalled the words he and I had rehearsed once we'd arrived on board. “The
Ranger
and the
Lark
have chosen to remain,” I answered. I could feel the men's attention swing to me and it raised the hairs on the back of my neck. I had never been comfortable with such intense scrutiny. “Their crews have not taken the King's pardon, but have chosen instead to stay and fight. A dicey position, but there you have it,” I added with a half-smile. I was rewarded with chuckles.

“England and his quartermaster, Howell Davis, have decided to leave the Caribbean all together,” I continued. “They will be sailing for the Gold Coast, to prey upon slavers and the East Indiamen coming up from the Spice Islands. However, before they leave, we will be taking aboard any of their crew who want to remain in these waters.” I paused for a moment to give my next announcement more importance. “And any of this crew who wishes to go with England and Davis is free to do so. Come speak with me before leaving.”

Sebastian clapped me on the shoulder and said, “Thank you, Mistress Jones. Now, no one aboard the
Ranger
or the
Lark
can know about the new haven. Not if we want this new endeavor to take flight. So no talking about it in the whorehouses or taverns.” He gave them all a stern look before continuing. “We will be stopping briefly in Havana to take aboard supplies, and then it's on to British Honduras. Thank you for attention, gentleman. Dismissed.”

The crowd broke up and Sebastian gripped my elbow gently and leaned down to whisper in my ear, “Meet me in my cabin after you're finished welcoming aboard the new men and saying good-bye to those who wish to leave.” He brushed a covert kiss against my temple and disappeared below-decks in close conversation with Ben.

I spent the next few hours administering oaths, helping new men sign the articles, and settling accounts with sailors who were leaving to serve on the
Cadogan
. We lost only ten men and gained another fifteen. Surprisingly, none of the new men balked at the idea that I was the
Jezebel
's quartermaster. I supposed that my reputation was well-known enough that it wasn't shocking anymore.

One of the men who came over from England's crew had been a buccaneer with Davis in British Honduras, and claimed to remember the exact position of the safe passage through the reef. I thought perhaps we could anchor and allow Mr. Rossing to pilot a jolly-boat through the passage before committing to sailing the
Jezebel
through it. My plan would, of course, need to be discussed with Sebastian and Ben, but it would neatly solve the problem of trying to find a reliable pilot from amongst the native population and it would also keep the knowledge of what we were doing out of Vane's hands.

I returned the signed articles and ledger books to my cabin and then went into Sebastian's, to find Duquesne and Ben there already. They were sitting around Sebastian's desk, which was covered with paper and quills and ink pots. I looked at the desk and then at Sebastian with a brow quirked in question.

“We are making lists of the supplies we will need for a six-month stay once we get to Ambergris Caye,” he explained as he escorted me to a seat next to Ben. “Look them over and see if there is anything you might add.”

I sat down and gathered the lists together. They were very detailed, down to the number of musket balls we might need, how many pounds of pork and rice were  necessary need to feed our crew, how many tents to house everyone, how many blankets and bundles of wood. I was impressed and made only a few additions—namely fruit and axe heads. Once I was finished, Sebastian gathered up all the papers and gave them to me. “Take three or four men with you when we anchor in Cuba and gather together as much of this as you can find. Use the full amount of the ship's shares,” he added with a meaningful look.

"Including the...
All
the ship's shares?" I asked, wondering if I was to dip into the Jacobite monies.

"Yes, all of them." I was shocked and resolved to talk to him about it further when we were alone.

“How many new men be coming aboard?” Ben asked.

“Fifteen,” I said. “And ten left. One of the new men from the
Cadogan
claims to have been a buccaneer, who served alongside Davis when he was in British Honduras. He says he remembers the exact location of the safe passage through the reef.”

Sebastian made a thoughtful face and stroked his beard. “Do you trust him?” he asked me.

I shrugged. “I don't know him well enough to make that judgement. But I was thinking that perhaps we might anchor just off the reef and allow Mr. Rossing to pilot a jolly-boat. If he's right, it would certainly eliminate the need to hire someone we don't know and help keep the secret of the new haven more secure at the same time.”

Duquesne gave me a look of surprise before turning to Sebastian. “The girl makes a fair point, Captain. I suggest we allow this Rossing to show us his memory is tight before hiring a pilot.”

“Agreed,” Sebastian said. “Ben?”

“Aye, Captain. Mistress Jones be right. Again,” he added with a toothy grin and a chuck to my shoulder. I beamed at his praise and carefully folded the supply lists before slipping them into the purse on my belt.

“How many other crews can we assume will be joining us?” Duquesne asked.

“Rackham said he and Vane had spoken to some thirty other crews once word of the governor and his pardon came down,” Sebastian said. “Vane and nine other crews will be staying in the New Providence area. The rest will be joining us in British Honduras in the months to come. We need to assemble enough men to build a small settlement, with enough room for a fence, some basic merchants—”

“A whorehouse and tavern,” Duquesne interrupted. Sebastian and Ben chuckled and I rolled my eyes expressively.

“Just so, Mr. Duquesne,” Sebastian said. “Mr. Davis assures me that there is plentiful water and food, as well as timber, stone, and thatching material in the area, so we should have enough raw materials to build the infrastructure necessary to do business. Perhaps we can also attract some farmers to give the settlement an air of legitimacy, as well.”

We stayed in Sebastian's cabin for a few more hours, discussing the necessary steps for founding a new haven. At seven bells of the last dog watch, Ben and Duquesne left, seeking supper and some time to go over their own preparations. Once they were gone, Sebastian rose to his feet and stood behind me, reaching into my hair to remove the pins in it. He ran his fingers through it and leaned down to plant a kiss against the top of my head.

“You were wonderful today,” he murmured as he began kneading the muscles in my neck  and shoulders. “I think you really impressed the other men in that tent. They were of the opinion I'd hired you as my quartermaster because you are lovely and have some skills as a bed warmer.”

I chuckled and closed my eyes. “I'm glad to have disabused them of that truth,” I said, letting my head hang down, pressing my chin against my chest and sighing deeply as he helped me relax. His hands moved down my back slowly, kneading each muscle expertly. The silence stretched on as he continued to massage my back and neck. I was floating in a golden glow of bliss when his instructions to use the full ship's shares came back to me.

“When you told me to use all of the money in the ship's accounts,” I said, my words a bit slurred by extreme relaxation, “did you mean I'm to use the Jacobite cause's money as well?”

His hands froze in their place above my rib cage and I could feel a new tension zinging through him. I opened my eyes and sat up straight, turning to look at him. He briefly met my eyes before turning away to look out the gallery windows behind his desk. He took a deep breath and then dropped into the seat next to me, his hands fisted together in his lap.

“The Jacobite cause is dead,” he said quietly, through clenched teeth, as if saying the words was painful. I supposed that in a way, it was. He was admitting to the death of the dream of a Scottish Catholic king on the throne of Great Britain again. I laid my hand gently on his forearm, stroking the corded muscles there, trying to comfort him. “I should have realized this two years ago, after their defeat—
our
defeat—at Preston,” he continued, laying his other hand over mine. “I'm sorry to have made you keep my secret. It was never your cause. It was never the men's cause.” He looked up at me and met his eyes, his face sober. “It was only ever mine.”

I leaned forward and cupped his cheek as I kissed him gently. “I understand your feelings,” I said against his lips. I sat back and smiled softly. “But I'd be lying if I said I wasn't happy you'd decided to quit the cause. It would make life in Edinburgh—or anywhere in England—very difficult for us.”

His brow furrowed for a moment as he said, “Life in England? What are you... Oh.” He shook his head. “Loreley, no. That's your dream. Not mine. I will never return to Edinburgh. I will never live under English rule.” He gripped my hand tightly. “Tell me you understand that.”

I stared at him in shock. Not return to Edinburgh? Not live under English rule again? “I don't understand,” I answered and let go of his hand. “Is that why you won't take the pardon?”

He laughed bitterly and stood, moving around the desk to stand in front of the gallery. “Yes, that's why I'm not taking the pardon. You expected I would?”

“Of course!” I said, getting to my feet to join him at the windows. “We could marry, Sebastian. We could leave this life. We could have children and raise them in a safe place. We could stop risking our lives every day just to survive long enough for the next fight. Don't you want that? Don't you want a family? Don't you want me?”

“Yes, I want you!” He rounded on me, a fierce, almost frightening look in his eyes. “I want you and children and safety more than I have ever wanted anything else, but I will not swear an oath to the English king to get them. I will not compromise myself to that degree.” The fight drained from him and his shoulders slumped. “Would you still have me if I were that man? If I gave up everything I held dear just for a little comfort?”

“What about my comfort, Sebastian? I died! I was dead. I'm terrified every day that it will happen again, and this time the
lwa
won't be around to help me come back. Don't you understand that? I don't want this life anymore. I don't want to constantly fear death. I don't want to kill anyone else.”

He grabbed me suddenly and crushed me against his body, holding me so tightly I couldn't breathe. It didn't matter. I clutched at him, fisting my hands in his waistcoat and clinging to him. “So take the pardon, Loreley,” he whispered into my hair. “Take it and you can have your freedom.”

I shook my head and tears streaked down my face. “Not without you.”

He kissed me hard, almost as if he was trying to punish me, and I returned the kiss with equal ferocity. He pushed me backwards until I was sandwiched between him and his desk. Without letting go of me, he swept everything off the top of it, spilling papers and ink pots and books heedlessly to the floor.

He captured my mouth again and picked me up, his hands digging into my hips. I spread my legs as he set me down on the desk, hiking my skirt up around my waist, and encircled him with my thighs. We fumbled at the ties of his breeches and once they were free, he pushed them to his knees and took me forcefully, slamming his length into me and drawing a cry of sudden searing pleasure from my lips.