How To Please a Pirate (32 page)

Jacquelyn wiped her face with her skirt and
nodded.

“Once we’ve spoken to your Lord Drake, we’ll
know what else he needs. Send Jerome to fetch me when you’re ready
to go to Newgate and I’ll come with you. We’ll need something to
take for a bribe,” she said. “I hope those hairless baboons didn’t
steal all my silver.”

Jacquelyn started for the door. “What will
you be doing?”

Isabella forced a smile. “What I always do
this time of day—catching up on my correspondence.”

And writing the most important letter of
my life
, she added silently.

“Och! Me big toe aches something fierce!”
Meriwether pulled off his boot and stared at the toe protruding
from the hole in his striped stocking. The nail was cracked and
blackened, but that was not related to the pain. It was because he
hadn’t seen fit to wash more than strictly necessary the last time
Mrs. B. required him to bathe.

“You’ve got the gout, old man,” Mrs. Beadle
said without looking up from the chicken she was denuding of its
feathers. “The rich man’s disease. It’s all them sauces and pies
you’ve been eating. And you’ve been making a sizable dent in the
meat larder around here. Too much time as a trencherman and not
enough in useful employment. It’s the gout.”

“No, it ain’t gout,” Meri said, trying to
wiggle the stiff joint. “And if it were any but yourself blaming
your fine cookin’ for me misery, he’d be looking for his ears afore
long.”

“Hmph!” Despite her snort, Mrs. Beadle’s lips
spread in a brief smile at his praise. “Try less gravy on your
potatoes and see if it don’t improve.”

“No, this has happened afore,” Meriwether
said, rubbing his foot. “It does this from time to time and what
I’ve put in me belly don’t signify in the slightest. I remember
once . . .”

He stopped in mid-sentence. A niggling
suspicion chewed at his brainpan like a terrier worrying a rat.

“Well, go on,” Mrs. Beadle said as she laid
the chicken out on her chopping block.

“It don’t happen but what the Cap’n ain’t in
some spot o’ trouble or other,” Meri said. “The first time was the
night before we sank the
Defiant
and I fished him out of the
deep.” Meri went on to describe several incidents where his toe had
warned of impending calamity.

“Then there was that time off St. John when
this French captain was after hanging ‘im. Even had him locked up
in the gaol there in Charlotte Amalie, but we sent a volley of nine
pounders through the walls and broke him out. Replenished the crew
with the other prisoners in one stroke so it turned out for the
best, ye see, but if the Cap’n had only listened to me big toe
afore he went ashore that night—”

Meri stopped abruptly and pulled his boot
back on. “I’ve got to hie meself to Londontown and no mistake.”

Meriwether explained what he knew of the
captain and Mistress Wren’s whereabouts.

“Well, I thought she was over-long at
choosing silks in Bath,” Mrs. Beadle said.

“It ain’t only that they’re not in Bath.”
When Meri told her of the condition placed on Gabriel’s pardon,
Mrs. Beadle was mad as a kettle at full boil. Meriwether tried to
placate her, but Mrs. B. wouldn’t even listen to him. He decided to
let her rant.

A woman wielding a meat cleaver was not to be
trifled with.

“And you stood there and watched him ride off
knowin’ the trouble he could be getting himself into,” she accused.
“Of all the slack-brained, puddin’-headed—”

“Well, I can either let ye talk me to death
or chop off me head, but I’ve one sure way to shut ye up for a
mite.”

Meri grabbed Mrs. B by the waist and swung
her into his arms for a smacking kiss right on the lips.

“Oh!” she said. “Oh, my goodness!”

“I hope not, old woman,” Meriwether said.
“Generally when a man kisses a woman, her goodness is the last
thing on his mind.”

The meat cleaver clattered to the floor. The
sharp blade missed Meri’s foot, but the thick maple handle whacked
his big toe a good clout. He yowled and hopped on his good foot,
cradling his throbbing one with both hands.

“Well, I can let you scream your fool head
off or I can shut you up, old man,” Mrs. Beadle said. She grabbed
both of his ears and pulled his face to hers for another resounding
kiss.

The fact that he even had a big toe was
momentarily forgotten.

“I suppose this means you’ll be callin’ me
Joseph,” he said when their lips finally parted.

“I suppose I’d better.”

“And what might I call ye, Mrs. Beadle being
rather long and unhandy. And the way ye make me feel like a young
buck, ‘old woman’ don’t seem to fit exactly, do it?”

“Well, my Christian name is Hagitha.”

“Hagitha, hmm? Don’t suppose ye have an
un-Christian one to use as a spare?”

She swatted him but he wrapped his arms
around her ample middle and gave her a squeeze.

“Now then, how about we compromise and I call
ye Mrs. Meriwether?” He drew her into another whiskey-tinged
kiss.

Neither of them called anyone anything for a
good long while.

* * *

Of course, Meriwether still had to go to
London. He couldn’t ignore the warning of his big toe. And he
wasn’t about to arrive empty-handed. He figured a chest or two of
gold might come in handy, so he dubbed Hyacinth, Daisy and the
twins honorary pirates, swore them to secrecy and led them down to
the hoard of treasure Gabriel told him about. They made dozens of
trips up and down the winding stone stairs, their aprons filled
with as many doubloons as they could carry.

Once Mrs. Beadle learned Meri intended to go
to London, she wasn’t one to be left out of such an important
journey. She insisted that she should go with him in case Mistress
Jacquelyn needed her. And in truth, Meriwether was loath to leave
Mrs. B. after discovering that her lips were soft as her ample
hips.

And sweet as her cherry pies.

But then there were the children to consider
and Father Eustace didn’t feel up to the task of keeping track of
the little dears by himself. By mid-afternoon when the heavily
provisioned wagon rolled over Dragon Caern’s drawbridge, Mrs.
Beadle was driving the pair of matched bays with the girls
chattering in the back. Loping along as outriders, Meri was mounted
on his pie-bald cob and Father Eustace rode what he assured
everyone was a steady, reliable mule.

Before the first five mile marker, Hyacinth
was cross with everyone. The twins were refusing to speak, even to
each other. Lily seemed only able to ask “Are we there yet?” and
Daisy bedeviled Mrs. Beadle every other rise in the road to be
allowed to take a turn driving the wagon.

“I’ve never been to London except by ship,”
Meri said to Father Eustace as they plodded along keeping pace with
the wagon. “Is it a far journey by land?”

“If we’re fortunate, it’ll take a week,”
Father Eustace said morosely. “If we see foul weather, or a broken
axel, or a horse goes lame or highwaymen . . .”

“I take yer meaning, Father,” Meri said with
a sigh. “God help us.”

“Amen to that,” the priest agreed. “Amen to
that in spades.”

There had been a prison on the same site,
hard against the ruins of an old Roman wall, since the time of
Henry I. Its reputation for cruelty and hideous torments made
Newgate a byword for suffering. The prison had been torn down or
burned countless times, always resurfacing in the same spot like a
festering carbuncle on London’s backside.

Jacquelyn was surprised to see that Newgate’s
latest incarnation was an impressive stone edifice complete with
statuary, a place of unlikely tranquility. A small candle of hope
glimmered in her chest.

But once inside the gate, Jacquelyn and
Isabella were assaulted by the stench of ancient misery, a potent
mix of urine, vomit and excrement. Jacquelyn raised a scented hanky
to her nose and bit the inside of her cheek to keep from adding to
the miasma.

Only slightly less offensive than the smell
was the din. Shouted obscenities, piteous wails and even a few
growls Jacquelyn was sure couldn’t be human pierced her ear. It was
like the choir of the damned warming up.

The post of warden was extremely lucrative
and Mr. Pinckney, the current occupant of that position, drove a
hard bargain for the favor he was about to grant, even though
Isabella turned her considerable charm on him. Coin of the realm
seemed to be the only inducement Mr. Pinckney was disposed to
respect.

It was customary for prisoners to pay not
only for their keep, but also for food and whatever niceties they
requested, like soap or a warm blanket. Once an inmate had served
his sentence, release was not assured. Until he’d paid Mr. Pinckney
for his stay, he wasn’t going anywhere. Most unfortunates condemned
to Newgate were there for life.

And it generally wasn’t that long a stay.

After Isabella parted with an exorbitant
bribe, the warden escorted them to see Gabriel. Pinckney led them
to a large common room in the central hall, enclosed with iron bars
on all sides with a narrow walkway for the jailers and any visitors
who might dare to bring sustenance to the inmates. Scores of
prisoners—men, women, children, entire families along with a few
farm animals—were penned in the large space, whose stone floor
served as bed, dining table and latrine for all.

“I don’t see him here,” Jacquelyn said.

Mr. Pinckney consulted his ledger. “Drake,
Gabriel. Condemned pirate. Central Holding. He’s here all right.
Look closely. People are not generally at their best here in
Newgate. You may find him somewhat . . . altered.”

“There,” Isabella whispered as she pointed to
a figure chained near the far wall of bars. “This will absolutely
not do.” She handed Jacquelyn the basket of food and bedding and
turned a falsely bright smile on the warden. “Good sir, perhaps you
and I can return to your office where we might discuss a change of
accommodations for Lord Drake.”

Isabella took the man’s arm as if he were one
of her opera-loving friends instead of a money grubbing parasite
who prospered through lessening the suffering of others by only the
smallest of degrees. She led him away chattering as she went, her
tone as gay as if she were in a fine salon.

If her mother could put a brave face on
things, Jacquelyn decided she could too. She squared her shoulders
and marched around the pen, trying not to notice the pitiful cries
of the other prisoners who had no one to bring them needful things.
She promised herself she’d bring two baskets next time.

She managed to control her rising panic, but
when she drew near to Gabriel, a scream clawed at her throat. She
swallowed it back. She’d be no comfort to him if she allowed
herself to crumble.

He was manacled at the ankles and wrists, the
heavy chains tethering him to a ring in the floor. Gabriel was
sitting slumped down, faced away from her. The back of his jacket
was streaked with brown stains and a small pool of red was
spreading by his left hip. He’d been caned or whipped and the
jacket forced back on him, blood caking on his open wounds.

A sob escaped her throat.

He turned at the sound. With a clank of iron,
he rose unsteadily to his feet. “Lyn, you shouldn’t be here.”

She extended a hand through the bars. “My
heart is here. Where else would I be?”

He strained toward her as far as his bonds
allowed. With effort, he was able to brush her fingertips with
his.

“Mother’s arranging for you to be moved from
here.”
First things first,
she ordered herself. If she
concentrated on improving his conditions now, she could shove away
the thought of him hanging later. It was a less than successful
attempt, but the mental discipline helped steady her.

“Seems Cecil Oddbody swings a bigger stick
than I imagined,” he said. “I don’t think your mother has enough
money to tempt Pinckney to change his orders.”

“You underestimate Isabella Wren’s powers of
persuasion,” she said, forcing a tremulous smile.

“It doesn’t matter. Tell your mother to save
her coin.” He shook his head. “Whether I sleep on fine linens for
the next fortnight or on cold stone, in the end, I’ll hang just the
same.”

“No, I refuse to believe it,” she said.
“There must be something we can do. Mother can convince one of her
well-placed friends to appeal to the king.”

“My pardon was specific on that point. If I
should be taken in London
‘said pardon shall be void and the
standing sentence shall be administered forthwith without trial and
without further clemency on the part of His Royal Highness,’
”
he quoted. “The service I did His Majesty only extends my credit so
far, you see.”

“You knew what would happen and yet you
came,” she said. “In God’s name, why?”

“My heart was here,” he said with a slow
smile, turning her words back on her. “Where else would I be? I had
to see you, Lyn. You left before I could tell you how much I love
you.”

She covered her mouth with her hand to stifle
the sob. Then she lowered it. Her lips moved, forming the words, ‘I
love you, too,’ but she couldn’t force enough air out to make a
sound.

“I just couldn’t go forward with the farce of
marrying someone else,” he said. “And before you get angry with
me—”

“Gabriel, I’ll never be angry with you
again,” she said, finding her voice.

“Wish I was going to live long enough to hold
you to that.” A corner of his mouth turned up. “Then this would be
almost worth it. But I wanted to tell you not to worry about Dragon
Caern. I haven’t neglected my duty. I told Meri about the treasure
before I left. If I don’t return—when I don’t return—”

“Don’t even say it.”