A Newfound Land (31 page)

“Here, young Master Graham.”

A rope landed in the water, and Jacob was pulled out to stand dripping on the wooden planks. Two men stood before him, one the very large, well-dressed man he’d seen before, the other an older man he recognised as Mr Farrell.

“How fortunate, Jones, that you were here,” Mr Farrell said. “Those sailors carry their sport a bit too far at times. Antagonise a young boy!”

Fortunate? Jacob shoved his hair off his face, was about to tell Mr Farrell what had happened, but there was a light in the big man’s eyes that made him decide to hold his tongue, trying out a weak smile instead.

“Thank you, kind sirs.” Jacob bowed.

For a long time the large man – Mr Jones – stared at him, and it was all Jacob could do not to squirm.

“I’ll talk to the captain of the
Henriette Marie
,” Mr Farrell said. “It would do those ruffians good to spend a day or two tied to the mast.”

“Indeed.” Jones returned to staring at Jacob. “Your father will be most displeased. I’m sure he has warned you to stay away from here.”

Jacob nodded mutely. Da wouldn’t be displeased; he would be angry – very angry.

Jones swivelled on his feet and beckoned for Jacob to come with him. Jacob wasn’t sure he wanted to, but Mr Farrell shooed him along, telling him Mr Jones would be kind enough to see him back to the inn. As a precaution, Jacob maintained a distance of some yards.

*

“Thank you.” Matthew opened his arms to receive his son. “It was most kindly done.” It stuck in his craw, those words did. It was an effort just to force them up his throat. To be beholden to Jones!

“Make sure he keeps away from the harbour,” Jones said. “Next time there might be no one there to save him from being carried off. Slavery is colour blind, and from what I hear white children carry a high price on the slave markets in Arabia. And he’s comely, your son.”

“And disobedient.”

After a few more pleasantries, Matthew bid Jones farewell and turned to the task of disciplining his son. By the time he was done, Jacob was no longer crying; he was hiccupping, hands covering his bright red arse. Matthew tightened his belt back into place, helped Jacob out of his wet shirt and handed him a dry one.

“You’ll never disobey me again,” Matthew said.

“I promise,” Jacob said in a small voice.

Matthew picked up a towel and poured some water from the ewer into the shallow basin.

“Come here.” He dipped the towel and washed his son’s tearstained face, unclenched the small fists and washed them too before using his comb to bring some order into the damp, fair thatch. He hugged Jacob and kissed him on his brow.

“I could have lost you. God’s truth, lad, do you realise how close you were to being carried away from us?”

Jacob nodded, looking at him from below his lashes. “He was there all the time.”

“Who?” Matthew frowned down at him.

“The man who brought me back: Mr Jones. He was standing to the side, watching. I don’t think he would’ve helped me if Mr Farrell hadn’t shown up.”

For a moment, Matthew was sure he would faint, blood rushing to collect in his gut. He squashed Jacob to him. Sweetest Lord! His son!

“God curse you, Dominic Jones, and may I be granted the opportunity to send you to hell myself.”

Chapter 38

“Truly?” William Hancock shook his head. “I must say I find it hard to believe.”

“Well, as yet I don’t know, do I?” Matthew said. “But I aim to find out.”

“Hmm.” Hancock sucked in his lower lip. “There have been a few cases of disappeared children over the last few years.” He threw a look at Jacob, sitting with his youngest daughters on the bench in the backyard. “But to think... No, I can’t get my head around it; white men to do something so despicable. He might have misunderstood them.”

“Only one way to find out.” Thomas got to his feet.

“Aye,” Matthew agreed, standing up as well. “She hasn’t sailed yet, has she?”

“No,” Thomas said. “Last I heard, the
Henriette Marie
will sail on the morrow – she’s waiting for the tide.”

“No time to waste,” Matthew said.

“I’m coming with you.” William shrugged into his coat.

“I think not,” Matthew said. “We may use methods you’ll not approve of.”

William raised his brows. “I am no innocent. I have served my years in the armies of the Commonwealth. I dare say I’ll manage.”

Despite it being Sunday, the waterfront was busy in the early evening, whores conducting a brisk business with an endless line of sailors.

“We just grab a few and ask them,” Thomas suggested.

“You think the common crew will know? I doubt it. No, we need a bosun, perhaps even a first mate.” William studied the men around them far more knowledgeably than Matthew had expected. “I do business here,” William said with a crooked smile. “Almost every day I am down here on one matter or the other.” He led the way to one of the taverns, talked for a few minutes with the landlord and returned with a painted girl in tow.

“Felicity,” he introduced, and Matthew and Thomas inclined their heads, making the bonny little whore giggle. “Felicity here knows the first mate of the
Henriette Marie
, and she’s somewhat aggrieved with him, are you not, my dear?”

“Dawson scarpered without paying last night,” she said, “and I don’t hold with that, do I?”

“No,” Matthew agreed, “I imagine you don’t.”

The girl gave him a wide smile, displaying several blackened teeth.

“I’ve promised Felicity a finder’s fee,” William said. “Enough to compensate her for some hours of lost business.”

“And how were you planning on doing this?” Matthew asked.

“Well, I was thinking that we’d settle ourselves here and wait.” William pointed to a nearby table.

“He always comes here,” Felicity put in, ruffling at her long black curls in a way that made Thomas’ eyes hang off her hand. “Him and that sleazy Wilkes, his bosun.” She smiled at Thomas and dropped her hand to trace her neckline. Most of her bosom was visible: two pert breasts that near on hung in plain sight. Pretty she definitely was, but Matthew shuddered at the thought of ever being desperate enough to bed a lass so...hmm...well used.

An hour or so later, a ruddy man entered the tavern with a small rat-faced man in his wake. After a word or so with the landlord, he scanned the crowd and brightened at the sight of Felicity.

“There you are, my pet!” He ploughed through the crowded room towards her.

“I’m not talking to you.” Felicity sniffed, slipping her arm in under Matthew’s. “That’s Dawson,” she whispered.

Dawson stopped, looking confused. “Why ever not? If I’m interrupting, I can wait. I dare say none of these gentlemen will last very long under your expert hands.” He winked, receiving a pout in reply.

“I won’t be going anywhere with you, Dawson. Not until you pay me what you owe me for last night.”

“Of course I will, and look, I bought you something, didn’t I?” Dawson produced a set of ivory combs from his pocket and held them aloft.

“Oh!” Felicity was up on her feet and dancing towards him.

“Move,” Matthew hissed. “She’ll warn him.”

Thomas was on his feet, William was halfway across the room, and Matthew closed in on the little whore, now hanging like a limpet round the first mate’s neck.

Felicity squealed. “Run, Dawson, they want you for something!”

Matthew threw himself forward to block Dawson’s escape, but Dawson was quick, he was strong and agile, and to top it all he had Wilkes, the small man who’d entered with him and who now produced a cudgel. The cudgel whistled through the air, Matthew ducked, got hold of Dawson’s breeches and yanked him to a stop. An elbow connected painfully with his face, but Matthew held on, using his weight to topple them to the floor. The bosun brought down the cudgel, raised his arm to do it again, but was stopped by Thomas.

Matthew was back on his feet and forced Dawson to follow suit by the simple expedient of pulling at his hair while William kept a shrieking Felicity from coming to the sailor’s aid. When Dawson produced a knife, Matthew had had enough, kneeing the man hard in the groin before disarming him. The first mate staggered, and Matthew dragged him towards the door, helped by the landlord who loudly told his patrons that he had no tolerance –
none, y’hear?
– for violence in his tavern.

The bosun was struggling in Thomas’ hold, and at one point he tore himself free, backing away with a sneer. With a little sigh, William clapped him over the head with a bottle, and so it was that a short while later they were standing outside with their two captives.

“We just want to ask you some questions,” William said. “What harm is there in that?”

“Depends on the questions,” Dawson retorted.

“I suggest you come with us,” Matthew said, “peaceably, like.”

“Peaceably?” Dawson struggled. “This is abduction, is what it is.”

“Aye, and you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?” Matthew shoved at him.

The first mate paled. “I have no notion what you mean.”

“We’ll see.” Matthew gripped Dawson by the arm and towed the protesting man with him.

William led them towards one of the warehouses, and a few minutes later they were inside a cramped little room that smelled of mildew and yeast.

“This is trespassing,” Thomas muttered.

“Oh, Jones won’t mind – he’ll never find out, will he?” William gestured at the unswept floors and the rickety furniture. “He doesn’t use this premise much; it’s prone to flooding.”

“Ah,” Thomas said.

Wilkes took the opportunity to tear himself free and rushed for the door. Thomas yelled, William latched on to the bosun’s shirt, and Dawson butted Matthew in the stomach. The enclosed space was a whirlwind of limbs, of stoutly shod feet and shouting men.

“The door!” Matthew called, and Thomas launched himself towards it, slamming it shut.

Wilkes shrieked. “My hand!” He tugged his hand free from the door.

“Enough!” Matthew grabbed hold of Dawson and threw the man against the wall.

“Uuhh,” said Dawson, sliding down to the floor.

Wilkes was sobbing, cradling his bleeding hand. Matthew secured his prisoners to the two chairs in the room and stood back to look at them.

“Right, we can do this two ways: either you tell us everything we want to know immediately, or you don’t. And if you don’t, well then...” Matthew shrugged.

“This is unlawful,” Dawson said.

“Aye, it is. But so is abducting wee lads.”

“Lads?” Dawson swallowed. “What are you talking about?”

“No, no, Dawson, that won’t do at all,” William put in. “This is where it behoves you to tell the truth.”

“What truth?” Dawson tried, but his eyes were wide with fear, and beside him Wilkes had shrunk into a silent ball, eyes locked on the floor.

“Four men, including him, tried to steal away my son today,” Matthew said, jerking his thumb at Wilkes.

“Me?” Wilkes squeaked.

“Aye, you. You have a distinctive appearance – all that hair and that drooping eyelid.”

“Really, Wilkes! How many times have I told you not to frighten young lads?” Dawson attempted a smile. “It’s just a jest. Wilkes enjoys riling the lads a bit. No harm done.”

“I don’t believe you,” Matthew said. “So, the truth.”

Both men shook their heads.

“Fine,” Matthew said, cracking his knuckles.

*

“Merciful Christ!” William sat down on the small table, groped for his handkerchief and wiped his face. Matthew rested back against the wall and closed his eyes. His hands hurt, the two men slumped in their ropes, blood patterned their shirts, their breeches, and still he had to fist his hands around the desire to hit them some more; a just punishment for the atrocities they had finally admitted to – unfortunately without naming Jones.

“So many lads.” Thomas sank down beside William, eyeing the semi-conscious men. “We should kill them.”

“Aye, but they were only doing what they were told to do,” Matthew said.

“You think?” Thomas spat in Dawson’s direction. “Me, I think he enjoyed it.”

“Oh, most definitely, and as to the other one...” William studied his hands for a while and looked at Matthew. “This is not enough to lay anything at Dominic Jones’ door, at most you can accuse him of watching and not interceding, but based on Jacob’s word alone it won’t carry much weight.” He smoothed at his coat, regarding his bloodstained cuff with disgust. “But that ship, well, we must make sure no more boys disappear.”

“Aye,” Matthew agreed, “that we must.”

“And those two?” Thomas jerked his head at their prisoners.

“They must not rejoin the crew of the
Henriette Marie
,” William said. “We don’t want them warned, do we? No, I’ll see to them, I’ll have them aboard a different ship come morning – destined for Jamaica or such.”

Matthew raised an eyebrow. William had quite the ruthless streak in him. Not that he minded; he’d gladly have sold these ruffians as galley slaves to the Turks had he had the opportunity.

“Now what?” Thomas asked as they made their way back to the inn.

“I don’t know.” Matthew kicked at a stone, sending it to bounce off a nearby wall. “Damn him! He was going to let them take my Jacob. Not one fat finger would he have lifted to save my son.”

“Yes,” Thomas sighed.

“But this time I’ll bring him down,” Matthew vowed. “Even if I must wait a year or two before I have the whole puzzle neatly laid and solved.”

“You don’t know—” Thomas began.

“Aye, I do! It’s his ship. He inherited it when Fairfax died.” He spat to the side, his mouth filling with bitter bile as he recalled his miserable months aboard the
Henriette Marie
, chained like a beast in the hold.

“It is?” Thomas came to a halt. “But if it is, well then—”

“Not enough, Thomas. He can maintain he had no idea, that this was the captain’s own little sideline.”

“And you don’t think it is?”

“I think the captain of one of Dominic’s ships risks his life if he does something without Jones’ approval – and I dare say they know it. So, for now, we do nothing.”

“Nothing.” Thomas nodded.

“And we don’t tell anyone Dominic Jones owns that accursed ship either.”

“No, of course not,” Thomas said.

*

It was all Matthew could do not to pull his sword and run Jones through when he ran into him halfway across the little town square next day. As it was, he clasped his hands behind his back and advanced on Jones.

“Graham.” Dominic Jones backed away.

“Jones.” Matthew took yet another step towards the retreating man. Oh, how he wanted the satisfaction of seeing this man cringe before him, mayhap even kneel and weep, begging for his life. He wet his lips, swallowing back on the hot accusations that were thronging his throat, tickling his tongue.

“What?” Jones straightened up, set his shoulders and lowered his head, reminding Matthew of a cornered bull.

“Well, you see, my lad is convinced that you were standing to the side all the time those ruffians were threatening him.” There was so much more he wanted to say but this was not the time – not yet.

“That’s preposterous!” Dominic glowered at Matthew and tugged his waistcoat into place over his expanding middle. “Of all the ungrateful—”

“Really, Brother Matthew! It was him that helped me pull Jacob out of the water.” Mr Farrell looked from one to the other and sighed. “I have no notion what lies behind this enmity, but isn’t it time you moved on?”

“I am willing,” Dominic Jones said. “I have said so before.”

“To be quite correct, what you said was that we should promise each other not to harm each other while serving in the militia,” Matthew said, “and then what did you do? Set those Burleys on me!”

“I did no such thing – as I said last time we met.” Dominic rolled his eyes. “How many times must I repeat myself? They had their own reasons to wish you dead. You hindered them in their business pursuits—”

“Business pursuits? They were abducting Indian women! Was I to stand by and watch while innocents were carried off into slavery?”

“Oh, dear.” Dominic smiled maliciously. “Quite the sore point, isn’t it? But then you would know everything about being enslaved, would you not?”

“And I was innocent too,” Matthew spat.

Dominic laughed. “They all say that, Graham, and yet very few are.”

“I was, you knew I was, because I was part of your little business concern. How much money did you make by abducting innocent men back home and selling them like slave labour here?”

“How dare you!” Dominic spluttered.

“I am but telling the truth. You know that, and I know that.”

“Enough!” Minister Walker shouldered his way through the small group of men that had gathered around them. “This is unseemly, two adult men quarrelling like fishmongers’ wives!” He clapped his hands together, glared at the collected audience until they dispersed, with only Mr Farrell remaining. “Put it behind you,” the minister suggested, making Mr Farrell nod and mutter that was just what he’d said a few minutes ago.

“I can’t, and I doubt he can either.” With a curt bow to the minister, Matthew left.

*

“Well, that didn’t paint you in the best of colours, did it?” Alex said several days later, having listened to Matthew’s terse recap. They were in the laundry shed, just the two of them. The small space was suffused with the scents of crushed mints; a single lantern cast a weak, yellowish glow over the tub, leaving the rest of the room in darkness.