The Scot Corsair Page 10

  "All right, Stanpike. You can stand at ease. I just want to ask you something about the Lady Elspeth."

  The boy's face tensed. "Sir?"

  "The Heron was taking her to Barbados. Do you know what the purpose of her voyage was?"

  "It wouldn't be right to talk about a lady, sir."

  "You want to join us, boy?"

  "Yes, sir!"

  "All right. Much as I commend your gallantry, your first loyalty is now to the crew of the Chieftain of the Seas. And to its Captain. I need to know why the Lady Elspeth was travelling to Barbados. If you know anything about it, it's your duty to tell me."

  Stanpike had not at any point stood at ease. Now he stiffened his back, stared straight ahead, and said tonelessly, "The Lady Elspeth was being escorted by Captain Cardrew to be married to a great landowner there, sir. I heard that they had never met, that it was all arranged, like, by her father, who is a Duke or something. They said—some of the men said, like—that she was being sent away because she was trouble, sir. But I never believed that. Beautiful lady like her, sweet and innocent, sir."

  "Indeed." Roderick dismissed his new recruit, and once they were alone again, met Washington's eye. "Well... this makes things a lot more straightforward. There can be no debate about it now. From La Guiara, we sail for Barbados in the Heron and deliver her ladyship to the welcoming, and hopefully bountiful arms of her husband to be."

  "We get the gold, we find a new safe harbour. Seems good to me."

  "I'm glad we agree on something."

  "I always agree when we talking gold."

  Harmony within the crew, and the prospect of easy riches. Roderick wondered, once he was alone once more with his coffee and his navigation charts, why he did not feel happier.

  He knotted the one mostly-clean necktie in his trunk of clothes with unusual care, and even examined his appearance in a hand-held glass; he ran his fingers through his hair then flattened it down as best he could. It was too long, and had always curled in an unruly fashion, and was now—he noted with dismay—distinctly streaked with grey. His face, too, was not how he thought of himself. Surely, he was pale, not tanned, and surely he did not have those lines deepening around his mouth and eyes.

  He put the glass back downwards on the shelf and straightened the hang of the one jacket he kept to wear when he wanted to look respectable, and took one last look at the dining arrangements. Then he set forth on the short walk between the Great Cabin and hers, a feeling at his heart that stirred a very ancient echo of memory.

  It was uncomfortable being dressed by someone with whom she was not speaking. Elspeth maintained a dignified, frosty silence as Birnie arranged her curls and helped her button up her stockings. If it had been her own Mercier, preparing her to dine in company with someone for the first time, Elspeth would have been full of chat and happy speculation. And if she were not so seriously displeased with this the sewing-maid, she would doubtless have treated her the same now, despite the bizarre circumstances.

  For she did feel a flutter, she did feel more alive and awake at the prospect of an engagement. Even though it was with a pirate Captain on a pirate ship, and she knew nothing about him beyond that he was some kind of gentleman.

  She satisfied herself with a glance in the hand-mirror she had brought in her trunk, pleased to note that her hair was falling around her forehead in elegant curls. Her appearance overall pleased her. The face that she turned back and forth in the glass was a lovely one, she could see with her own eyes, and her complexion had not suffered noticeably from the weeks at sea. Nor did she detect any signs of loss of bloom, something that must begin to concern her as her twenty-first birthday approached and she remained unmarried.

  And yet to remain unmarried, while an evil in itself and not something she desired in general, was what she most earnestly wished in this particular circumstance. If she could secure the pirate Captain's admiration and sympathy, and she was sure that his gallantry was already awakened towards her, then she could persuade him to return her to Scotland. She gave herself one last charming, winning smile, and checked her pocket-watch.

  It told her that it was nearly three o'clock in the afternoon, which was no use to her at all. She could not understand why her watch had begun to malfunction so dramatically during the voyage, when it had always been very accurate before and she always wound it punctiliously at bedtime. Perhaps seawater had got into the workings, although the clockwork ticked along as usual. She held it to her ear, shook it, and replaced it in her reticule with a sigh.

  In a distant part of the ship, the chiming of eight bells announced the hour of eight o'clock in the evening. It was the one shipboard time signal that she could remember for sure, because it was the only one which made sense. How odd, in a way, that they should carry the custom over to a pirate ship, which she had imagined would be a nest of anarchy. Almost as the last chime died away, there was a smart rapping on her door.

  Elspeth smoothed down the skirts of her evening gown one last time as Birnie answered the knock.

  She had to suppress a start of surprise at the sight of Captain Scot as her stood framed in the doorway of the cabin, and as he bowed to her. He had thrown off every trace of his vagabond character. Before her was a distinguished gentleman, respectably and even richly dressed in the style of the turn of the century, if not before. He was wearing a dark maroon velvet frock coat and a ruffled shirt which would have looked rather ridiculous in a fashionable assembly in Edinburgh, but nonetheless suited him well; his hair was much too long, but he had removed the scarf he usually wore and combed it into a semblance of neatness underneath a very dashing naval hat. Her eyes travelled down his body and she saw, with amazement, that he was even wearing knee-breeches, silk stockings and shoes with bright silver buckles.

  She looked back up to his face, so disconcertingly like another's.

  "Your ladyship," he said, holding out his arm. "May I have the pleasure?"

  With a smile of quite unaffected delight, Elspeth gave him her hand.

  She had been in the Captain's cabin only once before, when he had first carried her fainting onto the pirate ship. At that time, she had had presence of mind enough only to gain a general impression that it was a large apartment by maritime standards, and that it was furnished with a chaise longue and a full-sized bed. Now, as she looked around, she saw that there was a handsome bow window over the bed, that the bed itself was draped with a damask quilt, and that the built-in bookshelves were crowded with volumes, held fast by restraining bands. There was no chest overflowing with gold plate, diamonds and pearls, although she had hopes of a handsome but demurely fastened carved wooden trunk she spotted in the corner next to the bed.

  Against one wall, a table was laid with a crisp white cloth and set with silver cutlery, crystal goblets, linen napkins and a very fine candelabra. Three tall beeswax candles cast a gentle glimmering light over the setting, which would not have disgraced the breakfast-table at Dunwoodie. There was no other light in the room, as the sun set early in the West Indies and all was already dark without.

  The Captain lifted her shawl from her shoulders and, taking her hand once more, pulled back one of the chairs and offered to seat her.

  "Thank you, sir," said Elspeth. "But where is your servant?"

  "I have no servant," he said, seating himself opposite. He gave her a self-mocking smile. "We're pirates, remember? Every man on board is his own master. We live a life of liberty and equality."

  "That is all very good, sir, but pardon me. Someone must cook and clean."

  "Very true, and the cooking is taken care of." He rang a brass hand bell, which had every appearance of being an ordinary servant's bell, and in a very few moments the ship's cook appeared bearing a covered dish.

  The cook was an odd-looking swarthy fellow who seemed to speak no English. The Captain said a few words to him in the language that Elspeth now knew was Portuguese, and the man set the dish down on the table. When the cover was lifted, the fragrant arom
a made Elspeth's mouth water. After several days of unpalatable shipboard rations, the small joint of roasted pork leg looked and smelled like the most delicious dish she had ever had set before her.

  "You see, your ladyship? I had Curro here save the best portion for you to enjoy today, though you could not join us last night."

  Elspeth inclined her head graciously, acquitting him of the offence of intending to exclude her from the bounty altogether, and only just stopping herself from saying that she wished she could have been invited to the party. She knew perfectly well that it would have been impossible, and she would not injure her own dignity by admitting to that secret inclination. She would not have him think her longing for any company, however low.

  Curro had also brought a dish of potatoes and some African vegetable that Elspeth did not know, but which looked appetisingly fresh. He crowded them all into the middle of the small table, then returned bearing a flagon of wine which he placed precariously in the only possible vacant spot.

  Elspeth now expected him to remain in attendance, but he did not. He bowed towards her, gave a very slight salute towards the Captain, and left them alone together.

  This was a circumstance entirely new to Elspeth. As she realised her situation, a giggle nearly escaped her, and she had to turn it into a cough. Here she was, dining entirely alone with a single gentleman; and, moreover, dining alone in his bedchamber. She had been shut up with a gentleman in a bedroom twice already—no, three times—but those had been furtive, secretive escapades. Now, the whole ship must know where she was and what she was doing. And yet, who could blame her? She was only following the Captain's orders.

  "What amuses your ladyship?" he asked, pouring her a liberal quantity of the dark red wine.

  "Oh—nothing. Only that my brother would not think it proper for me to be here like this, quite unchaperoned. Not even a servant in attendance."

  "If you tried to get Curro or any of the men to stand about waiting while we ate, they would laugh at you, I fear. Besides, I wanted the opportunity to speak privately."

  Elspeth felt another flutter, and she lifted her glass to sip at the wine. It was an excellent vintage, and had undoubtedly come from the Heron. She knew very well that though servants affected not to listen to your conversations, they had ears like any other creature, and it was folly to say anything truly delicate before them. She gave him an encouraging little smile.

  "Is your brother very particular, then?" were his next, not entirely satisfactory words.

  "Oh! Yes. My brother James, the Earl of Atholl, you know—he is very upright, very proper. He is more than twenty years my senior, and stands more in a father's place to me, than a brother's. My father the Marquess—is very old, and not well." She faltered, caught by a quite unexpected melancholy. The truth was, it was very likely that by now, her father was no more. Sudden tears filled her eyes, and her throat closed up. It was another sad aspect of James's cruelty in sending her away, that she could not be at her father's side to comfort his last hours on Earth. Even if his mind was all but gone, even if he had thought her to be her mother, he might have had a lucid moment at the end and looked upon her and seen his little Elspeth once more. "I do not know whether he is still alive," she added, in a smaller voice.

  She swallowed down the foolish tears and looked directly at him. He was watching her kindly, but shrewdly.

  "My father," he said, "was also unwell, and in the worst possible way. He was afflicted in his mind, rather than his body. I don't know whether he's still alive. It's possible. But I have no scruple in saying that I hope not, for the sake of those around him, and indeed his own. Sometimes death is a blessing."

  She nodded, sniffed, and wondered how they had gone from the edge of flirtation to such melancholy gravity, so quickly.

  "In the circumstances, I understand your desire to return to Scotland as soon as possible," he continued.

  "Oh yes!" she said eagerly. "My brother Lord Atholl will pay handsomely for my safe return, I promise you!"

  "I'm sure that's true—but let me tell you, travelling thither on a pirate ship would hardly be the most convenient method."

  "I don't care about that. If you want a large ransom, you had much better take me home. My cousins in Barbados are very distant relations. Neither are they wealthy. I do not know that they would pay anything at all."

  "Ah yes. The MacDonalds. Is that worthy old Mr and Mrs MacDonald, or a set of young Miss MacDonalds, or dashing young Mr Macdonald—or some of each?"

  The note of mockery in his tone suddenly had a dangerous edge. Elspeth, taken aback, cast her eyes down and blushed deeply. She tried to form a calm reply, but he spoke again before she could stammer something out.

  "I think there's every chance that Mr Isaac Crowther, richest man in Barbados, will pay well to recover his promised bride."

  "Sir, I—"

  "Why did you try to conceal the purpose of your voyage, Lady Elspeth? I mean, it was a foolish enough lie, because if you had thought for half a moment you might have realised that I would have found it out soon enough."

  "I did not lie! Mr Crowther is indeed a cousin of sorts."

  "But I'm more interested in why you are so eager to be taken home to Scotland, rather than to join your betrothed husband on Barbados."

  Elspeth set down her fork and considered. She had not yet touched the slice of pork that the Captain had carved for her, hungry as she had been before. Her stomach was in knots. Should she tell this stranger, this vagabond unknown, this gentleman-buccaneer what she had been too proud to confess to anyone else? Yet if she did not throw herself on whatever mercy he possessed, she could not hope to escape her fate.

  "It is not by my choice that I was sent to marry Mr Crowther," she began, her voice shaking a little. "My brother made the match and forced it upon me. I have never seen Mr Crowther in my life. I know nothing about him beyond his age and fortune, and the fact that he is a distant connection of my brother's late wife." She glanced at the Captain to see how he took this.

  He was frowning thoughtfully, cutting up his own slices of pork in a business-like manner. "And your brother knew that you were unwilling to be married?"

  "Oh yes! I begged him not to make me go, I cried for days, but he was unrelenting."

  "He must be a cruel, hard-hearted man, to stand against the pleas of his sister."

  "Oh yes! He is."

  "Then why, your ladyship, do you expect me to believe that he will welcome your return with open arms and an equally open purse?"

  Stumped, Elspeth was silenced for a moment. Then she stammered, "He is not—he is not very cruel and hard-hearted, he has the highest regard for me. I am his sister, of course he will reward you for my safe return."

  "Hm. And why was he so eager to have you packed off to the West Indies?"

  "He—he thought it would be a good match for me."

  "It seems a poor enough match in terms of rank."

  "Oh! I am only a tenth child. I have little claim to consequence."

  "I'm sure that cannot be true," he said, rather formally, with a perfunctory bow of his head. It looked as if his thoughts, however, were elsewhere. He was still looking at her keenly, and after a moment's reflection he said, "It is many years—many years—since I left my homeland. I have never been back, not least because they'd likely hang me if I set foot there, and I have had little news. My knowledge of society is twenty years out of date. Perhaps things have changed."

  "I could not say, sir. Twenty years ago, I was a newborn infant."

  "And yet it seems to me that your brother must have good reason to think that this marriage with a sugar planter in a faraway land would promote your happiness, if he loves you at all."

  "He does love me!" she exclaimed, and to her dismay she felt tears prickling at her throat again.

  "So I am going to make a bold guess, and suggest that he has sent you away to put you beyond the danger of another, unsuitable match?"

  "No! Indeed, sir, you are quite mist
aken."

  "Am I? You are not pining to return to someone penniless curate?"

  "No! There is no-one. I am not in love with anyone. I have never been in love."

  "Twenty years old, and never been in love." Captain Scot smiled wryly.

  Elspeth felt the heat rising in her cheeks, and she wondered at herself once more, talking so openly to this man. She pushed about her slices of pork on the plate.

  "In which case," he continued, more seriously, "if there is no lost lover in the case, I think you should rely on your brother's judgement, and take your chance with Mr Crowther."

  "What? No!" Too late, Elspeth realised the chance she had missed. Why had she not been quicker-witted and less honest? She had meant to play upon the Captain's sympathies, because she had sensed from the first that he had a sentimental side. She ought to have invented a virtuous but impoverished lover, the younger son of a county squire, perhaps—or better still, an impecunious army officer in a dashing red coat—to whom she longed to return.

  "Do you know any ill of Mr Crowther? You said you knew his age—what is it?"

  "Near thirty," she muttered sullenly.

  "Well then, not an old man—more or less the perfect age to wed a young lady of twenty, in my opinion. According to my excellent Quartermaster, who also hails from Barbados, he is the wealthiest man on the island, so you won't want for comforts. You might be very happy with him."

  "I will not!"

  "No. With that attitude, your ladyship, you certainly will not."

  Elspeth banged down her fork. "I will not be spoken to in such a manner."

  He continued to look at her coolly. "My ship, Lady Elspeth. I will speak to you or anyone else in any manner I choose. You, on the other hand, ought to watch your tongue."

  She was so outraged that she could hardly form a reply. She stared at him while he continued to eat, apparently unperturbed.

  "So you will not return me to my family?" she said, eventually, her voice shaking. "You will deliver me into the hands of a man who would wed me against my will?"