The Bride of Blackbeard Page 9

  “Oh yes. Very difficult,” Stanzy said sarcastically, at Katrina's colossal inability to discern character. She continued reading.

  “I do hope he does not want children though. I have decided that would definitely not be the right course for me.

  “Come to Bath soon and stop laboring so hard. And bring Will, I miss him.

  “Warmest Regards,

  “Katrina”

  Stanzy put her forehead on the table and managed to shake it back and forth only twice before she fell dead asleep.

  ~ * ~

  Stanzy heard it before she felt it. The bone saw had ripped through the tibia and fibula and had just finished its way through the gastrocnemial muscle when she shuddered. Just a tiny burning sensation...then nothing.

  She retracted her hand, from under the amputee patient’s knee, and held it up in shock and horror. Her index digit hung dangling by a lone sliver of flesh, and blood edged down her arm—not pouring, just taking its time.

  She staggered backward and tried to get her father’s attention, but it seemed she’d been momentarily struck dumb.

  “Stanzy, what are you doing? I have to finish with the soleus...you know that...” While still speaking he looked up at her. All of the color emptied from his hazy face.

  “Oh, poppet. The saw must have slipped, you did not even cry out. Come here quickly.”

  Even as he said it, the patient on the table began to rouse.

  “Bloody... Maura!” he bellowed. Her mother came in quickly through the office doors. “Help Constanza, stitch her up. I have to deal with him or we may lose him.”

  ~ * ~

  She awoke and flexed her left hand, which was still sans index. She shook her head and let it sit in her hands while she waited for the fear from the dream to ebb away. Finally relenting, she dragged herself into the bedroom and joined Lucian—already snoring quietly—and gave in to desperately needed sleep.

  ~ * ~

  The afternoon sun's rays were fading. Wincing with every step, she willed her feet to ascend the steps to Meg's apartment. In her exhaustion, she’d only just risen, mortified to have slept the day away. Reaching the landing, she eyed the huge barrels housing Meg’s water and milk so the house staff wouldn’t have to make innumerable trips to the estate kitchen. Meg was rarely left unattended, even for short periods, as she could be massively destructive. Stanzy maneuvered around them, and stubbed her toe. Half laughing, half crying, she swallowed the expletives poised to fall off her lips. Abruptly, she remembered last night—Meg’s pup lying dead on the step. Now nowhere in sight, she assumed a house servant had removed it. Had Megan killed it?

  Inside the child’s room, Meg rocked back and forth by the fireplace, holding her tattered soft doll, mumbling unintelligible words to herself. She didn’t look up to see who had entered.

  Bess’ huge frame was bent over sweeping what looked like shards of broken stoneware into a pile.

  Stanzy felt her eyes go wide. The apartment had been ransacked. Dolls lay strewn everywhere—one still smoldering in the fire—many with the faces chewed off. Meg’s bedding, all over the floor in a heap, had been shredded into long yards of material. The draperies, which kept the room dimly lit, had been pulled from the windows. As a result Meg sat with her eyes closed.

  “Oh, Bess, why didn’t you send for me?”

  “It ain’t the first time she done this, Miss Stanzy. She just been a bit more behaved since you started caring for her.”

  Stanzy glanced up, registered the cut on Bess’ face. “That will need cleaning.”

  “It is fine. See what you can do for my baby. She been rocking like that for going on two hours now. And she can’t say a word today.”

  Megan’s door swung open and Mrs. Hopkins swooped into the room, her maidservant scurrying behind. Her beady eyes swept around, assessing the situation before her.

  Those eyes remind me of a hawk searching for its prey.

  “Oh, my word! I go away for a month and the likes of you think you can slack off your duties to this household. I will not stand for it! Look at the state of this place!”

  Her blue orbs fell to Megan. “She looks exactly as she did the last time I saw her. What are you doing during these lessons we are paying you to perform?”

  Constanza tasted the familiar pungency of metal in her mouth that she always experienced during feelings of rage. “When was the last time you saw her, Mrs. Hopkins? I will have you know your daughter was speaking and using sign language to convey her wishes! She is progressing in her ability to communicate. This fiasco you see in front of you is a result of your physician’s treatment and trauma. Prior to his visit, she was doing wonderfully.”

  “My husband consulted some important men of our church in Bath, who believe she may be possessed.”

  “Possessed? She is ill! She is a very sick little girl, who is capable of getting better if you just permit me more time with her.”

  “Her physician has made the recommendation that we put her in the asylum near Bath, which we are considering. You have a few more months to show me some progress, or she will have to go.” The woman’s eyes were blue fire, showing no compassion whatsoever as she scornfully stared at her daughter rocking on the hearth floor.

  Turning on her heel, the mistress of StoneWater exited the room, slamming the heavy door behind her.

  “Evil, wicked, loathsome, stupid creature!” Stanzy spat and stomped her foot on the floor, grimacing as pain jolted her injured ankle.

  Bess put the broom aside and stared at the floor in front of her, shaking her head quietly.

  Stanzy plopped down onto the rocker. “She just wants Megan out of here because she is a burden and does not fit in with her perfect southern hospitality home. Oh! Women should have to have a license to bear children, with compassion being a prerequisite. There ought to be a test for maternal instincts! I will not let her go. I will not!” Despite herself, the tears came and Stanzy wailed out loud, hands hiding her face.

  After a few moments, tiny hands pulled at Stanzy’s and uncovered her face. Meg crawled onto her lap. A feeling, one fiercer than any she’d ever known, burned in Stanzy’s chest.

  She quietly whispered, “They will have to kill me first.”

  ~ Chapter Seven ~

  Abernathy Hornigold leaned against a wall in the alley, and checked his watch for the fifth time this hour. Finally the door to the bordello opened, and two drunken men weaved their way into the street, but not the man he was seeking. How long could the wretch be in there? It had to have been three hours already.

  He debated moving his position when the huge fellow lumbered down the stairs. Two women waved to him from a second-story window and the marauder wobbled across the street to his horse tethered to a railing.

  Hornigold followed Teache to Hammock House, once again positioning himself a distance away so as not to be noticed. The appearance of the man who walked out the door was astounding. Having gone inside only an hour before, Teache’s hair was now slicked back, beard all but gone, and the man was smartly dressed. Hornigold almost wanted to get closer to verify this was the same man.

  Teache disappeared into his carriage. The driver proceeded down the street and made a turn to the left, where Hornigold had followed him previously. He guessed Teache was headed for the Hawthorne’s estate, where he would call on the governess.

  Sure enough he entered the mansion and Abe waited, biding his time. Teache strode out with a breathtaking, full-bodied creature adorning his arm. The pair walked down the front entrance stairs and turned into the garden. Having seen enough, Hornigold scribbled in his notebook, clucked to his mount and set out on the road back to Bath.

  ~ * ~

  At three in the morning, Stanzy sat in her chair by the cottage fireplace, rocking and cradling the blanket she’d intended to take as a present to Megan before the fiasco when everything had all gone to pieces.

  Uncontrollable tears endlessly spouted from her eyes as she rocked. After so many years of bei
ng stoic at her dysfunctional home in England, she actually felt safe and free to express emotions she’d repressed for years.

  For so many years I had to be the shoulders on which all troubles rested—the rock for Mother, and Will and Katrina. I was the one who had to make it all right, or at least as normal as possible, after Father had been on a binge. Or be the one forced to save his reputation as he treated patients intoxicated, correcting his medication errors. Those days had felt as if they would never end.

  When one’s reality was so grim and it appeared there was no foreseeable way out, the mind found ways to survive—it formed little pockets or walls where bad memories could be locked away, so the conscious mind could function.

  Now that she was safe, many walls were crumbling. Frequently, Constanza found herself weeping alone. It upset Lucian terribly to see her distraught, so she tried to hide it from him. One night he discovered her weeping, and, unable to help, had almost shed tears himself. So, rather than place him in that position, she suffered alone.

  Megan.

  What was she going to do about her? She’d broken a cardinal rule of physician and teacher alike—do not get emotionally involved—but she loved this little girl, and there was no turning back. For the first time, she could actually consider having children of her own. She’d sworn she'd been a mother since fourteen, and thought that would do, thanks.

  I definitely want a child with Lucian.

  Quickly, she headed into their bedroom, wiping the tears from her face, and crawled under the covers beside him. He didn’t stir. She crawled on top of him and kissed him on the mouth until he woke.

  “What’s this?” he asked, slightly confused and not fully awake.

  “You are dreaming, go back to sleep,” she said as she yanked at his night shirt.

  “Well, then, I hope I do not wake up.”

  ~ * ~

  The knock at the door was loud.

  Stanzy felt Lucian crawl over her half sleeping form. She stretched her body as she struggled to awaken. “Who is it, Lucian?” She looked outside at the darkness and shook her head.

  “I cannot imagine. It must be calm of day,” was his quiet response.

  It took a minute as she used her Outer Banks to English translation dictionary in her head. “Ah...it must be five in the morn.”

  She searched for something to slide over her night dress and padded across the cold floor at her husband’s heels.

  Lucian opened the door. Ian Hopkins stood outside on the stoop. Gone was his jaunty, standing-still bounce. His countenance was grave.

  “May I come in?” he asked almost inaudibly.

  Stanzy watched her husband’s shoulders loosen as he let down his guard. Justifiably so—Hopkins looked a man sentenced to the gallows.

  “Come in, Ian. Please sit down.”

  Stanzy put coffee on to brew. In most families, the wife would leave the room and allow the men to discuss important matters. However, to quote Sarah Hopkins: “This is the most unorthodox marriage I have ever seen!” She sat next to Lucian at the table and he absently reached for her hand.

  He always takes my hand with the deformity. He does not want people to stare at it. Somehow I know it is not because he is embarrassed, merely that he wants to protect me from questions about it. All this I know just by the way he looks at me.

  Lucian expected her to be involved in all important decisions. “What is going on?” he prompted Ian.

  “Pardon my early intrusion, but several important matters have come up that need to be handled with haste. My wife and I have decided Megan is to be moved, in the next fortnight, to an asylum near Bath.” Then addressing Stanzy, he said, “I wanted to be sure our arrangement with you as governess for the boys is still intact. I know Lucian and you plan to move to your own homestead after the end of this season.”

  His eyes didn’t resemble his wife’s vacant stare. Quite the contrary, the level of sadness in them was almost difficult to gaze upon. He cast them to the tabletop while uttering this rehearsed speech. Stanzy couldn’t help but think that this wasn’t his idea.

  You weak fool! Do not listen to that shrew of a wife!

  “Please sir, do not send her away. Prior to the physician’s visit, she was doing so well! We even heard her speak!”

  Ian Hopkins’ head shot up so fast it startled her. ”Impossible. It is cruelty to even suggest such a thing to me! I have not heard her speak since she was one year out—”

  Lucian interrupted. “It is true, Ian. I heard her as well. Stanzy is making great strides with her. But she and I need more time.”

  Ian’s eyes darted back and forth between the two of them like a frightened animal. “Really, she spoke...what did she say?”

  “She sang a song, a lullaby.”

  Eyes watery pools, he stood, walked to the door and stared out the window. His unblemished hands absently rubbed the back of his neck.

  He turned back. “All right. I will do what I can with Sarah. She is intent that the asylum is best for Megan, but I will tell her this news.”

  Under the table, Lucian gently squeezed Stanzy’s fingers in an attempt to restrain her mouth. He knew her so well and could imagine what would blurt out after hearing this proclamation.

  “There is something else—one of the slaves is very ill and in need of medical attention. I have sent for the doctor, but I believe he is currently out of town. I was hoping you would go and look in on the slave quarters and make an assessment of the situation.”

  “Yes, of course, straightaway.” Bidding Mr. Hopkins goodbye, she hurried to the bedroom and began to dress. From behind the closed door she heard Lucian.

  “I will be taking Stanzy to Nags Head within a fortnight to meet my aunt. As we married in haste, she was not able to meet my family. Can you manage for a bit without me?”

  “Of course, Lucian. Take your time. Everything will be here waiting when you return. Go and enjoy your wife. She is a remarkable young woman.”

  ~ * ~

  The ship was sinking.

  The hole from the cannonball filled with water as the battle on the upper deck raged on.

  The crew of the Adventure had overtaken the Memorial and unwittingly destroyed part of their booty via the blast. Kegs of rum rolled into the waves as the deck tipped closer and closer to the surface of the water.

  The captain of the Adventure charged the first mate of the Memorial and plunged his sword into the man’s torso with deadly skill and accuracy. He turned, searching for his first mate. He pulled double pistols from his bandoliers and finished off the only remaining member of the Memorial crew in a few seconds time.

  “Salvage the cargo!” he bellowed. The crew scurried like bilge rats at the sound of his voice.

  He had given the Memorial’s crew the option of surrender. In that case, he would have plundered the cargo and marooned them. But the proud fools had chosen to fight.

  ~ * ~

  In the storm Abernathy sat waiting by the harbor, watching the Adventure, which had docked hours earlier. He wrung his hands at the thought of concluding this deplorable assignment. He’d been following said captain for greater than six months to date, bearing witness to many suspicious circumstances, such as his ships leaving port and returning with all manner of cargo. This would be followed shortly by stories from the locals. Reports about ships that were expected to dock soon, having been raided by pirates only days before their arrival at the Banks.

  Almost at the end of this assignment, it couldn’t come fast enough. His heart longed to return to Virginia, and his life and post there, which undoubtedly led to why he was going to take this risk tonight.

  The sound of the crew dispersing echoed in the night. The last of the seamen finally departed the vessel down the plank to the harbor proper. Five minutes later, Hornigold quickly ascended the plank onto the ship. Being an expert sailor, he lowered himself swiftly into the hull and wandered through the dark as he lit a candle.

  Rum.

  His grandmother
’s voice echoed in his head: ‘Devil’s drink.’

  Barrels and barrels of rum lined the ship’s cargo hold. There was a dank, rotting smell underneath it all he found disquieting. He began to search through the rows of barrels, not quite sure what he was looking for.

  As he took his next step an accompanying squish and the feel of something soft underfoot caused him to leap into the air and knock his head on a beam. He whisked the candle down so fast he feared it would extinguish. A pool of rum leaked onto the floor. Afloat in it were at least twelve dead rats. The stench was so great he juggled the candle and almost caught himself on fire. Gingerly stepping over the rotten mess, he was alerted to sounds on deck.

  Voices overhead. Drunken men. Men descending into the hold.

  “Blast,” he whispered to himself, extinguishing the light.

  “Well, sir, I was wonderin’ when Mr. Drummond, Mr. Thrumble, and Mr. Thatch are going to be in port? I have seen all their wives and their middles are all about to whelp at the same time as far as I can tell!” said a surly, slurring voice.

  “I care not for any of those men, as my only concern is for the desire of my eyes... Miss Katrina Smythe of Hawthorne House. I believe she will be mine in matrimony by the end of the month, if not in flesh before then!”

  “Oh ye are a sly dog with the womenfolk—you are always gone a gal-in.”

  Abernathy moved back, crouched behind a stack of barrels, and held his breath as they passed his row.

  ~ * ~

  Constanza turned again attempting to focus the boys’ attention on the math lesson. It was painfully slow going this afternoon.

  She assessed her students. Ben stared out the window into the field, probably watching for his father. Will worked on the problem, but she could see beside him on the desk a drawing of the new horse they had recently acquired, now in the barn. Then there was Lucas. The boy’s attitude was that he should receive the best grades, as his father paid her salary. But she showed no prejudice and graded him on par with the other boys. They were all about the same grade of student, and they were all boys through and through.