In a Pirate's Debt Read online

  “Lucas!”

  She hadn’t even told him goodbye. And she hadn’t warned him about Captain Hawkins’ new mandate against piracy.

  Tears filled her eyes. She left the garden and trudged to her room as if dragging a bag of rocks behind her. She undressed and climbed into bed, her lips still smoldering from his kiss. She groaned and tossed. Finally, the dread of having to receive Sir Roger Poole the following day blocked out every other thought.

  Roger Poole arrived promptly at four o’clock. His green coat and white cravat were made of the finest silk, his white breeches of imported satin were without a wrinkle, and every curl of his long brown wig was in place. Travay refused to meet his eyes as Mama Penn left him at the open parlor door. Her aunt greeted him with a smile and an extended hand.

  He bowed over Merle’s hand and then stared at Travay, who barely nodded her head and did not offer her hand.

  Tea became a formal, stiff affair, with her aunt and Sir Roger carrying on polite conversation between bites of cake or fruit and sips of tea. Travay answered when spoken to, but offered no other remarks. And her stomach was in no shape to eat. She kept glancing at her aunt, willing her to get it over with.

  Finally, Merle said, “Sir Roger, I regret to tell you,” she glanced at Travay, “but Travay is not ready to marry. I’m afraid you would be wasting your time pressing your suit.”

  Well put. Travay now met his eyes and nodded to let him know it was her exact wish.

  “Really?” He chuckled nastily, took another grape from the tray, and popped it into his mouth. “I think you will want to reconsider this decision, Travay.” He touched his napkin to his lips and smiled at her.

  She turned her face away.

  Sir Roger looked around the room and then leaned back in his chair. “You like living here, do you, Lady Allston?”

  Merle’s back stiffened. “Yes, of course. It’s been my home since I was a bride.”

  Travay’s heart jumped into her throat. What did Sir Roger have up his sleeve?

  “Actually, the truth be told, your husband lost this house gambling, did he not? I found out you were a tenant here and bought the house from your current landlord this week.” He reached for a cucumber sandwich wedge and stuffed the whole thing into his mouth, then another, while looking from one of them to the other.

  Merle gasped and laid a hand over her heart

  Travay’s eyes hardened, and her breath burned in her throat.

  “I want to be a good landlord, but surely you know what you are paying monthly is far below what this house is worth.” He wiped his mouth with a napkin and then grinned at them.

  Travay glanced at her aunt. She had had no idea Merle did not own the house. Then she looked back at Sir Roger, her expression thunderous.

  Merle looked him straight in the eye, her face pale. “What are you saying, Sir Roger? Surely, as a gentleman—”

  “He is no gentleman, Aunt Merle.” Travay’s icy voice chilled the room.

  Sir Roger retained his affability, but there was a distinct hardening of his eyes. “Yes, I see you are getting my drift.” He took the last piece of cake, pushed it in his mouth, and smiled at them while eating it.

  Travay stood and ran from the room.

  Lucas looked out over the wide expanse of ocean, now bathed in late afternoon light, and breathed in the fresh air. How good it was to be back on the high seas for almost two weeks now. The Blue Heron was in excellent form. Thorpe and Sinbad had managed to round up a crew a little better than average. But every evening, thoughts of Travay and that last kiss in her garden flowed back into Lucas’ mind. He’d dreamed she would kiss him back like that, but he’d never dared hope. He shook his head to force the memory away. If there was ever a hopeless relationship, one between the two of them would be it. “Give it up, Captain,” he whispered.

  “You talking to yourself?” Dwayne Thorpe strolled across the quarterdeck and propped his arms on the railing beside Lucas.

  Lucas ignored the question. “Dwayne, what do you think about the tip from that half-drunk sailor at Antigua?”

  “Well, I think we made a good choice to try out the new route he told us about.”

  “But we’ve not seen a Spanish ship since we took his advice.” Lucas had begun to wonder if it had been wise to act on the tip. As far as the crew knew, the Blue Heron traversed new waters in search of treasure ships. Only Thorpe knew Lucas had another motive, to learn more about the line of merchant ships owned by the Spaniard Quinton Raymundo—the captain who had captured Lucas’ parents’ ship seven years earlier.

  “A sail! A sail on the starboard!” The lookout’s yell rang across the decks.

  Lucas lifted his eyeglass and focused on a small shadow on the horizon. A ship emerged, and just behind it, another. Cannon blasts now rumbled from the same direction.

  “What is it, Captain?” Thorpe leaned over the railing searching the horizon.

  “Take a look.”

  Thorpe took the eyeglass. “I’m not sure what I’m seeing.”

  “Yes, you are. It’s an English merchant ship with a Spanish galleon bombarding her.”

  Thorpe lowered the eyeglass and shot a glance at Lucas.

  “We will offer assistance to the English, of course, Thorpe. Give the order to sail straight toward the melee.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Lucas saw the Spanish ship turn about toward the Blue Heron’s advance. He could now see the ship’s massive size, with its many galley oars and guns, and he knew why the small English merchantman had tried to flee.

  “What do you think, Captain?”

  “I think that English captain is shouting praises to God and the Spanish devils are uttering curses that they have to turn their attention to us.”

  Lucas shouted to the gunners below, “Ready the guns! Aim for the main masts. Avoid the low shots that might hit the galley slaves.”

  Blasts from the Blue Heron burst toward the Spanish ship and its masts.

  One of the masts on the galleon exploded and folded down to the deck, its canvas in flames. Screams and curses echoed across the waves.

  As the smoke cleared, a joyous shout sounded from the deck of the English ship. They lowered their white surrender flag, raised the English jack, and positioned their guns to hit any part of the ship they could. The captain, with his eyeglass in hand, waved at Lucas as the Blue Heron easily sailed around the ungainly galleon.

  The return fire of the Spanish ship cracked the mizzen mast of the Blue Heron. It fell to the deck, missing Lucas by inches.

  The battle raged as the sun began to set, with the Spanish ship taking heavy blows from both sides. The ship began to list. Flames licked up its sides. Screams and oaths filled the air.

  Lucas slammed his fist on the railing as he thought of the galley slaves trapped in the belly of the great ship. He prayed they would escape. His mind ran in all sorts of circles, trying to think of a way to help them. He yelled for Thorpe and Sinbad.

  Voices on the deck below caught Lucas’ attention.

  A sailor laughed. “If the English captain has any sense, he’ll high-tail it out of here while he’s got the chance, just like me and you are going to do.”

  Lucas looked down below the quarterdeck where two sailors talked. Why weren’t they at their posts instead of near the longboat? He frowned. The two had kept to themselves most of the time they had sailed. They were never openly hostile, but there was something secretive about them.

  “Get back to your posts, men,” Lucas shouted at them and then turned back toward the Spanish ship. A couple of minutes later, a loud explosion rocked the Blue Heron from deep within its hold. Flames shot up into the falling darkness.

  “What in tarnation?” Lucas turned as Thorpe and Sinbad bounded up onto the quarterdeck.

  “Captain, our powder’s been set off!” Thorpe’s face was drained of color.

  Another loud explosion threw all three of them to the deck. The next one sent them flying
into the sea. Screams filled Lucas’ ears as the dark waters of the Caribbean sucked him into oblivion.

  CHAPTER 13

  An icy chill woke Travay. She sat up in bed, drew the covers close, and looked at the moonlight pouring through the window. She slipped from the bed and made sure the window was fastened tight, listening for any sounds that may have woken her. Only the ticking of the clock on her dresser floated on the air.

  As she climbed back into bed, a memory skittered across her mind, something her mother had once told her about waking suddenly for no known reason: “Travay, if you ever awaken in the night, wide awake as if sleep has just flown away, it could be one of God’s angels alerting you to pray. That’s what I always do. I pray until sleep comes again.” Remembering her mother’s faith caused a familiar pain in her heart.

  She lowered her head onto her raised knees. Pray? For whom? For what? That Roger Poole would drop off the ends of the earth? But it was not Roger Poole’s face that filled her mind. It was a tanned face with a firm jaw and blazing eyes.

  Lucas. She wondered where he was now. He’d been gone for nearly two weeks—long enough to be far out at sea. Did he need prayer? She doubted it would help—warning him hadn’t. And who would hear her if she prayed, anyway? She arose, put on her robe and slippers, and walked quietly downstairs to get a glass of milk. As she passed Mama Penn’s small room beside the kitchen, she heard a rocker moving back and forth and soft mumbled words. Mama Penn was praying. Travay flattened herself against the hall wall and listened.

  “Only you knows, Lord, only you knows what’s gone wrong with Captain Bloodstone, but I gives myself to prayer.”

  When the words stopped, Travay knocked softly on the door. She heard the lumbering form of Mama Penn rise from the chair and come to the door.

  “Chile, what you doing up at this hour? And looking pale as some ghost.”

  Travay hugged her arms together. “Mama Penn, I just woke up. I don’t know why. And I heard your prayer. Do you think something has happened to Captain Bloodstone?

  The older woman drew Travay into her small room and sat her down in the only other chair in the room, then she sat in her rocker.

  “Yes, chile, I thinks the Lord woke me up to pray for the captain. And maybe he woke you up, too, if you care for him. Do you?”

  Travay burst into tears. “I don’t know. How can I care for a—a pirate?”

  “I’se told you Captain Bloodstone ain’t a reg’lar pirate. No sir. Trust me. I’se seen the reg’lar kind and he ain’t it.”

  “Well, what is he, if not a pirate? I know he says he’s a privateer, but there’s scarcely a hairsbreadth between the two, my father used to say.”

  “Yo father a seaman?”

  “No, he was a rice planter before he was killed.”

  “What hap’nd yo father?”

  “Pirates killed him on his way back from a trip to England. Can you see why I hate the word?”

  “Yes’m, I guess I kin.” The woman rocked silently for a moment or two. Then she pinned Travay to her chair with a long stare into her face. “The truth be that you do have feelings for the captain. Ain’t I right?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know, Mama Penn. I’m trying not to.” Travay looked away from the kindly face of the African woman.

  “Well, the good Lord, he’s gonna work it all out. You watch and see.” She stood. “Now, I’se gonna go get you a glass of warm milk and shoo you back to your bed, young lady. And don’t you go to worrying ’bout Captain Bloodstone. I done been praying, and he’s got two other fine friends, besides the Lord, to help him when trouble comes.”

  “You mean Dwayne Thorpe and Sinbad?”

  “Yes’m, that’s exactly who I mean. Them two will watch out fo’ the captain. I’d bet my life on it.”

  The following morning, Travay awoke with heaviness pressing on her chest. She took longer than usual to dress but finally went down to breakfast.

  Her aunt eyed her. “My dear, you look like you’ve given up this battle even before we’ve begun to fight.”

  “Aunt Merle, how can we win against Roger Poole? He holds all the cards in the deck, and he knows how to play every one of them.”

  “I don’t know. Let’s withhold judgment until our meeting with Sir John today. He’s been busy seeing what can be done. And I still have a card or two of my own to play.”

  Travay looked at her aunt and wondered what card she could possibly have that would trump Roger Poole’s threats. Their rent would double the first of the month. Her aunt couldn’t possibly sell enough sachet bags to make up for the increase.

  Later, in the solicitor’s office, Travay sighed and heard the same from her aunt’s lips as Sir John told them Roger Poole would not give an inch.

  Unless, of course, Travay accepted his marriage proposal.

  “You know he’s in his right to charge whatever rent he wants to and can probably get the higher rate—if not from you, from someone else. Too bad there is such a housing shortage in the colony. I am most sorry.” He leaned back in his chair and steepled his hands, frowning.

  Merle took a deep breath. “Well, we’re not out on the street yet. Not by any means.”

  Travay looked at her aunt and wondered what she meant.

  The next day being Sunday, Travay agreed for the first time to accompany Merle to the Anglican Church she attended. The bells tolled throughout the city as they strolled down Church Street to the house of worship with its high steeple. Travay looked up at it as they drew near.

  “What did you say about the steeple being so high, Aunt Merle?”

  “I said when the city was planned, some of the founders had strong faith they’d brought with them from the reformation in Europe. They determined that no other building should be taller than the church, so they made sure to raise a tall steeple.”

  The imposing building with its lofty façade and Grecian portico hardly seemed inviting to Travay, but she followed Merle up the steps and into the sanctuary. The scent of pine oil greeted Travay in the chancel. Merle led the way to her family’s enclosed pew. They sat on well-worn silk cushions for which Travay was thankful, as the service proved to be lengthy. The scriptures read from the Psalms encouraged her, as did the hymns. The minister’s message from John 14, delivered in a strong, bold voice, touched Travay and lifted her spirits. She would work harder at not letting her heart be troubled. Not even by Roger Poole.

  As they walked home, the sweet smell of roses and early summer flowers fluttered in the breeze. The sunshine on the cobbled street and birdsong filling the trees brought a measure of peace.

  “Aunt Merle, thank you for encouraging me to come today. I feel better.”

  “Of course you do, my dear.”

  They passed along Bay Street with its hodgepodge smells of the waterfront—fish, wet wood, and drained salt marshes. In the harbor, sloops, brigantines, schooners, and merchant ships bobbed in the Sabbath quiet. Soon they came to Merle’s own garden gate, and harsh reality settled on Travay again. What were they going to do about Sir Roger Poole?

  Later that day, Aunt Merle came into Travay’s bedroom with the worn velvet box Travay had seen before.

  “I had hoped to pass these on to you, but if they can keep you out of the clutches of Sir Roger Poole, then I’m all for selling them.” She opened the box, and Travay’s breath caught in her throat. The diamond and pearl necklace and matching earrings caught the sunlight from the window and sparkled on the black velvet.

  “Oh, Aunt Merle, your family jewels I wore to the ball!”

  “Yes. I kept them well hidden from Mr. Allston after he began to gamble, and I think he actually forgot about them.”

  “But I hate for you to sell them.”

  “Never you mind, my dear girl. The Lord will provide us with a good buyer, and we should get enough to keep us here for several months while we look for other lodgings if there are any to be had. Anyway, it’s not as if we could pick up and leave in a day, even if someone offered us
temporary lodgings. I would have to abandon all my precious furniture and family heirlooms.” Merle shook her head. “Unless there’s no other way, I won’t do that. So we have to sell these.”

  Travay lowered her chin and sighed. “Of course, Aunt Merle.”

  The next day, Merle took the jewels to Sir John and asked him to find a buyer discreetly, keeping her ownership confidential. Within the week, he brought her enough money to meet their needs for several months, if they were careful.

  “I was pleasantly surprised that the buyer had this ready cash. He said he was acting for someone else who would be happy to get the set for his wife-to-be.”

  Merle looked at Sir John and sighed. “I’m sure you got the best price you could in this rushed sale. Please don’t ever tell me who bought them. I don’t want to find myself looking for them at a ball or at church.”

  Merle and Travay searched for new lodgings, but it turned out to be an impossible task. They found a townhome whose owner had gone back to England for a year, but it was far too expensive, while a tenement they located at the edge of town proved unfit for humans.

  One day, they ended their search in Sir John’s office. He welcomed them warmly. “Find anything yet?”

  “No, but we are not giving up hope.” Merle sat down near the window and took off her worn kid gloves.

  Travay sat in a chair beside her.

  “That’s the spirit. And I am going to ring for tea. By the way, I just received some strange news about our merchant, John Sutherland. A couple of sailors are telling a story around the taverns.”

  Travay lifted her head and gazed at Sir John. She remembered the merchant with the startling green eyes that had reminded her of Lucas.

  “I don’t know whether I believe it or not. Seems so unlike Sutherland to me. It’s been said his ship went down in the Caribbean a few weeks ago, and him with it. The two sailors said there were no other survivors besides them. And here’s the real shock. They said Sutherland was really Lucas Barrett, who became known as Captain Bloodstone when sailing the seas. Can you believe that? They said he attacked an English ship and as far as they were concerned, got what he deserved from a Spanish ship that surprised him. The two sailors said they barely escaped before the Blue Heron sank.”