Roanoke (The Keepers of the Ring) (6 page)

“Sir, I have the final count of colonists.” Roger Bailie waved a sheet of parchment. Confound the man, wasn
’t he even
listening?

“What?”

“Forty and eight seamen aboard the
Lion
, twenty and four each aboard Spicer’s flyboat and the pinnace commanded by Captain Stafford. We have boarded upon our three ships ninety-seven colonists. Fifteen additional colonists, all men, are to join us at Plymouth.”

“And the families?” John White threw an anxious glance over his shoulder. “How many families have we?”

Bailie scanned his register. “Fourteen. Four include a mother, father, and child. Two women, including your daughter, are due to deliver a baby soon. Six are married couples without children, four are fathers and sons whose wives have agreed to join them next year. I count nine children and seventeen women, eight of whom are serving-women.”

“My niece and her maid will be leaving the ship at Portsmouth,” White murmured, absently scratching the two-day growth of beard on his chin. “
‘Twill leave fifteen women.”

“Sir, there is one peculiar notation on this register,” Bailie said, looking up. “There is a Reverend Thomas Colman listed among the men, and a
‘Colman’ listed among the women. But though the lady must be his wife, I can find no record of her Christian name. Nor have I seen a wife with the minister.”

White stared at the ceiling for a moment, then smiled. He might solve one vexing problem, at least, before the ships departed England. “Thank you, Roger, I am glad you have reminded me, for the matter is of some importance,” he said, sitting up and nodding to his assistant. “Would you find this Reverend Colman and send him to me forthwith? I will settle the matter of his wife once and for all.”

Roger Bailie stood from behind the desk and bowed politely, then turned to fulfill his orders.

“My niece—your intended bride—was most unhappy to find herself on the ship,” John White explained to Thomas Colman in the privacy of his cabin. The young man stood as straight as before, the same hat in his hand, the same severe black doublet and hose. “She has made me promise to give her the opportunity to leave when we dock again at Portsmouth. But she must not leave, Reverend Colman. I have promised my dying brother that I would keep her with me.”

“Surely the girl is reasonable,” Colman answered, clenching his hat as he had in White’s dockside office. “If she wishes to go—”

“Unless you wish to give fifteen years of your life as my servant, you will not let her go,” White said, pulling a rolled-up parchment from the desk beside his bed. He unrolled it before his dark-haired visitor, whose face emptied of expression when he recognized the signature on the page.

White dropped the parchment onto the desk. “We will be anchored here at Cowes for six more days before we return to Portsmouth,” he said. “You have six days, Reverend Colman, to win yourself a bride. Her name is Jocelyn White, and you will find her either in the company of her maid, Audrey Tappan, or my daughter, Eleanor Dare.”

He paused and studied the dark eyes of the young man before him. “Do we have an understanding, Reverend Colman?”

“Yes.” The eyes that stared back at him were strangely veiled. “We do.”

Six

A
udrey noticed the tall, dark-haired man first. For two days he had followed them through the long, twice-a-day meal lines. He always stood at a respectful distance, allowing two or three other passengers to come between him and the girls, and after a while Audrey realized that his eyes did not follow her, but her mistress. His dark gaze flickered over Jocelyn’s face and slender figure more than once, but he stared most often at her hands as if he judged her helpfulness or dexterity. Or did he search Jocelyn’s left hand for a wedding band?

On the third day, Audrey smiled when she noticed that the man had pressed his way forward in the line until he stood directly behind her and Jocelyn. Audrey chatted freely about trivial things, mindful that the handsome stranger stood close enough to hear their conversation, but Jocelyn
’s thoughts seemed far away. She gave only the meagerest of answers to Audrey’s questions, and did not look up to glance behind her. Would her mistress never see who followed her?

After taking her wooden plate from the ship
’s serving boy, Jocelyn led the way to a clearing on the crowded deck where she sank gracefully to her knees and tucked her skirts around her. Audrey sat next to her and bowed her head for Jocelyn’s prayer of thanks, but kept her eyes open to cast furtive glances to find the man in black.

Audrey stifled a squeal when the dark stranger took a seat on the floor near them. He continued his quiet surveillance as they ate, and Audrey nearly choked on her biscuit and dried
beef, so nervous did his gaze make her. But Jocelyn ate silently, brooding about her father.

When they had finished, Audrey gathered their plates and returned them to the boy who had doled out the barely edible food. She lingered in the shadows to observe the man in black, curious about the obvious cat and mouse game of which her mistress seemed to be wholly unaware.

Still oblivious to the masculine interest that fairly sizzled from the man’s eyes, Jocelyn shifted her position so that she leaned against a wall. Modestly tucking her skirts around her so that no part of her leg showed, she pulled a booklet from her pocket and began to read. While Audrey watched from behind a wooden beam, the man rose from his place and walked directly behind her mistress, doubtless to discover what Jocelyn read.

Audrey covered a smile with her hand. If this man expected to find that her young mistress read romantic adventures or tales of chivalry, he would be disappointed. Audrey knew Jocelyn was reading the only book she had thought to throw into her mistress
’ trunk—a compilation of the writings of Marcus Aurelius.

The man
’s dark brows lifted in surprise when he scanned the book in Jocelyn’s hand, and Audrey expected him to dart away like a man from an angry bee. No man, she had heard, wanted a bookish woman or one who understood more than he did, and Audrey was sure Jocelyn knew more than any man on the ship, with the possible exception of John White. What place did a scholar’s daughter have among these uneducated ruffians; indeed, what place could she have in Virginia?

But the man did not move away from her mistress. He sank gracefully to one knee at Jocelyn
’s side and gestured toward the book. Jocelyn, however, did not look up, and Audrey moved closer to hear what the young man had to say. ‘Twas her duty as chaperon, after all.

“Either the world is a mere hotchpotch of random cohesions and dispersions,” the man was saying, lowering his head near Jocelyn
’s as he read a passage from the book she held, “or else it is a unity of order and providence. If the former, why care about anything, save the manner of the ultimate return to dust? But if the contrary be true—” he paused as Jocelyn finally removed her eyes from the page to look at him, “—then I do reverence, I stand firmly, and I put my trust in the directing Power.”

“I beg your pardon, sir.” Jocelyn
’s voice was careful and reserved. “But I do not recall our meeting.”

“We have not met, except through the pages of Marcus Aurelius,” he said, motioning again toward the book she read. “But perchance our souls have met there hundreds of times, whilst we were unaware of the meeting.”

“Mayhap we should remain unaware of each other.” Jocelyn looked away, and her brows knitted in the stubborn frown Audrey knew well. “Despite my approachability in this unusual circumstance, sir, and the boredom which leads us to do things we would not ordinarily attempt, you should know that I am not available for discourse. Mayhap you would like to discuss Aurelius with some other young lady.”

Before he could protest, she stood and walked away, her chin lifted in a no-nonsense posture as she crossed the wooden floor. The man lowered his head in defeat, and Audrey resisted the urge to clap her hands in victory. Jocelyn had certainly put him in his place! I
’faith, despite his remote, majestic figure the man was as plainly dressed as a chimney sweep and had to be nearly twice Jocelyn’s age. Audrey shuddered at the thought of his age and poverty intruding upon the gentle breeding and beauty of Jocelyn White, then with a swish of her skirts, she turned to follow her mistress.

“Audrey, have you met everyone aboard this vessel?”

Jocelyn and Audrey lay in semi-darkness on their straw mattresses in the women’s section of the second deck. The bright colors of sunrise had been muted by a gentle rain falling outside, and a soft, humid mist had dampened everything aboard the ship, including Jocelyn’s already depressed spirit. But one intriguing man had crossed her path . . .

Audrey
’s face wore a mask of innocent surprise as she turned to face her mistress. “My heavens, Miss Jocelyn, think you that I’m as forward as that? Of course not! I won’t talk to the seamen, for they’re too rough for me taste, or the married men, for obvious reasons, but of the unmarried men, surely ‘tis not a bad thing to acquaint oneself with one’s companions?”

“Don
’t become too—
acquainted—
with anyone. We’ll be leaving for London as soon as the ship returns to Portsmouth.”

“Welladay, then, when will I ever have this chance again? Don
’t take offense, Miss Jocelyn, but if ‘tis me fate to become an old spinster in London, why shouldn’t I have some fun with other gents before me time to settle down?”

“I was wondering, in particular—” Jocelyn hesitated. There seemed to be no subtle way to phrase her question. “There
’s an older man, with dark hair, an interesting face. He wears a black doublet and hose. He stood near us yesterday in the supper line, and spoke to me after eating.”

“Aye, I remember him.” Audrey frowned, but leaned closer. “Though I don
’t think he’s of your class, Miss Jocelyn, if ye have a yearning to know him better, I could put a word in among the men—”

“No!” Jocelyn whispered, horrified. She lowered her voice so the other women who still slept near them wouldn
’t hear. “I just wanted to know his name.”

“Well,” Audrey snuggled closer and smiled brightly, eager to share her news. “Naturally, I did see ye talking to him the other night, and I
’ve done some checking. They say he’s called Thomas Colman, and I hear he’s been made a gentleman with your uncle’s other assistants.” She paused. “On account of he’s a minister.”

A minister? So he had studied, that explained his familiarity with Marcus Aurelius. But why had her uncle elevated him to the level of his assistants?

“What else? What will be his role in the colony?”

Audrey shrugged. “Faith, Miss Jocelyn, I didn
’t think you’d care anything about that. I believe he’ll do what other ministers do.” She giggled. “Probably means to convert the Indians, if ye ask me.”

Jocelyn leaned back on her mattress and folded her hands behind her head. From his expeditions to Virginia, her uncle had brought back fascinating portraits of the Indians he met on Roanoke Island. Jocelyn
’s father had kept several sketches in his chamber where he could quietly envy his brother’s role in the exploration of a new world. Driven by the desire and need to show Christian love to the Indians in Virginia, he longed to go to Virginia himself. Did this same concern drive Thomas Colman?

Had he not been ill, Jocelyn knew missionary zeal would have propelled her father onto this ship. Like most people in England, he believed that God had reserved for England and Protestantism the area north of Florida and south of the French-owned St. Lawrence. Tales of Spanish cruelty committed upon American Indians in the name of the Catholic Church ran rampant in England. Like most of the English, Jocelyn and her father were convinced that the Spanish wanted nothing more than to crush England and
bring English Protestants back under the iron rule of the pope.

But the Spanish had not yet made inroads into Virginia, and the English were eager to pave the way for Protestantism. “The Indians are truly capable of Christian love,” her uncle had once written her father, “for they naturally share all things in common and know neither jealousy, selfishness, or ambition. They believe that one god created the world, and another restored it after the great flood. They have part of the truth and part of the nature of Christ, but they worship idols, fallen spirits, and can be most cruel to their enemies. We have a most urgent responsibility to bring them to the truth of the Gospel of Jesus Christ.”

Yes, had he not fallen ill, Robert White would have welcomed the chance to explore the New World. Like many others of his station, he believed that human beings had once known and understood all knowledge about the natural world through God’s revelation to Adam. But as sin dulled the conscience and corrupted the intellect of mankind, this knowledge had been lost. ‘Twas up to godly men to recover the divine gift of knowledge, and all the world waited to be explored as God progressively revealed new fields to be researched. Cures for illness, precious goods for prosperity, freedom and hope for a fallen world—all these things awaited godly men who sought the truth.

Which of these motivations drove Thomas Colman? Jocelyn turned onto her side to hide from Audrey the emotions that surely flickered across her face. There was something admirable about a man who would leave his home and journey to America to convert the Indians. And his approach and words to her had not been unseemly. He had neither leered at her like most of the seamen, nor patronized her like the older gentlemen.

“Audrey,” Jocelyn called over her shoulder. The maid grunted sleepily in reply.

“I pray you, find out more about this Thomas Colman,” Jocelyn whispered. “Is he married? From what part of England did he come?”

“I’ll do what I can,” Audrey mumbled, and Jocelyn buried her face in the sour-smelling mattress and wondered why she cared at all about the purpose and background of such a strange man.

Jocelyn
’s interest in Thomas Colman heightened when Audrey reported that Reverend Colman was a widower who had a young son who remained behind in England to be reared by his sister-in-law. “How do you know this?” she asked, grasping Audrey’s hand.

“William Clement told me,” the girl answered proudly, lifting her delicate chin. “He
’s the servant to old Roger Bailie, your uncle’s chief assistant. Got it straight from the records, we did.”

“
We
did?”

“Well,” Audrey blushed. “William can
’t read, so he got me the records and I read them meself. But ‘tis the truth, and I’d as lief jump overboard as tell ye a lie, Miss Jocelyn.”

“All right.” Jocelyn dropped Audrey
’s hand and sat back to think. How difficult it must have been for Thomas Colman to leave his son behind! How could he do such a thing?
Like me, he boarded this ship knowing he was needed elsewhere
, she thought.
Like me, he carries the weight of sorrow in his heart.

After that afternoon she watched him carefully, selecting places to sit and read or eat so she could watch him without being seen, but on more than one occasion he looked up and caught her eye. Embarrassed, she lowered her head, blushing furiously, determined that she would never, ever look his way again. But in the next hour she would invariably walk on one of the decks and spy him looking out to sea or talking to a group of men, and he would hold her rapt attention once again.

She couldn’t help herself, watching him was sheer pleasure. His dark hair grew upward and outward in great waves that begged detangling; his broad hands were most often clasped behind his back but often stooped to help one of the young boys untangle a fishing line or tie a stubborn shoelace. Even seated, he seemed taller than anyone else aboard ship, and his deep eyes revealed the sensitivity of a scholar. Jocelyn’s father had eyes like Thomas Colman’s, and she found herself yearning to surrender to the magnetic pull of those dark eyes.

He rarely laughed, though he usually wore a pleasant smile, and he seemed to generate awe among the others as he dispensed pleasantries, advice, and promises to pray for the passengers
’ various needs. With Jocelyn’s uncle he was pleasant and attentive; he moved with disarming grace among the married women and upper class gentlemen. To the outward eye he seemed polished and perfect, but once or twice a day Jocelyn caught his face in an unguarded moment. Once she caught him staring out to sea with an expression of infinite sorrow on his face—had she found the vein of softness in his granite strength? Did he think of the son he had left behind?