Bring It Close (12 page)

Twenty Four

To go ashore among such fine company, Finch demanded his Captain should wash, shave, and dress smartly. Jesamiah insisted he would do no such thing.

“I don’t care for fuss and finery.”

“An’ I don’t care fer ’avin me name tarnished as being poor at me job. Aside, what would y’ma say if‘n she saw thee all dirt mussed and crumpled?”

“My mother’s dead. As well you know.”

“That’s as maybe, but ‘er spirit’ll be ’ere, won’t it? An’ she’ll be a watchin’ you. Mark m’words she will.”

Finch got his way, not least because it occurred to Jesamiah that to change his clothes would also delay going ashore by another half hour or so. He washed and shaved slowly; took his time to dress, tie laces, pull on boots, adjust a clean linen sling. Could not put off the inevitable any longer.

If sailing with Alicia had been bad, his welcome to la Sorenta was worse. In the eyes of these plantation people Jesamiah was a pirate who had once murdered and thieved, and they made it quite plain that pirates, even those with a government-given pardon, were not welcome along the Rappahannock. The fact that Jesamiah had been driven to piracy by the insufferable cruelties of his brother was not part of their equation. But then, to be fair, they had no idea of the foul barbarities Phillipe had performed, or the real reason why Jesamiah had fled. How were they to know what had happened beside Charles Mereno’s grave on the very evening he had been buried? And Jesamiah had no intention of enlightening them.

“You must not mind these people, they know nothing of the world beyond the boundaries of their estates.” Samuel Trent offered to refill Jesamiah’s wine glass. He was older than Jesamiah had first thought, although the line of fair hair on his upper lip was little more than a fuzz of down. How long ago was it? He’d now be eighteen? Nineteen? The nervous boy Jesamiah remembered had matured into a pleasant young man, even if he was a menace to front lawns!

“They have come here to be tantalised by outrageous gossip,” Trent explained congenially. “Gossip which will provide for several months’ worth of entertainment. They care not a maple leaf for who you are, only for why you are here.” He indicated Jesamiah’s sling. “And regardless of their disapproval, to hear first-hand the lurid stories of your past.”

“I have none to tell. This was nothing more than a run-in with a black-hearted bugger of a pirate. But what about you, Mr Trent? Or may I call you Sam? Are you here for the same reason? To gather gossip?”

“Yes, Sam, please. I come for two simple reasons.” At Jesamiah’s raised eyebrow, elaborated, “To welcome you and Mrs Mereno home, and to beg employment here on your estate.”

Making no comment, Jesamiah sipped the wine. Good stuff. He would have to investigate the wine cellar most thoroughly.

“When Father dies there will be nothing for me. My brothers will not share. Even in adulthood we do not get on.”

Raising his glass as if offering a toast, Jesamiah said, “I have every sympathy.”

Trent looked down at his feet, his face tingeing pink with embarrassment. “I desire to seek employment, make my own way, Captain Acorne.” He looked up again, said, bolder, “If I had the wherewithal I would purchase la Sorenta from you, show them I am not the lack-brained mule they take me to be. But,” he shrugged, “I have very little money. However, I do have knowledge and experience. Your last manager here at la Sorenta, name of Hawkins, died three months ago. He was drunk more often than sober; a brute and a bully. No one will miss him – he was useless at his job and your estate is in a sorry mess. You still have a shed full of tobacco that was not shipped with the last convoy. It was processed and packed well, for the slaves here know what they are doing, and I…” he broke off coloured red again, then summoned the courage to speak out boldly; “and because Hawkins was too drunk and your brother too lazy, I took the liberty of supervising it.”

Jesamiah cocked his head on one side. “Now why would you do that?” Admitted, he knew little of running a plantation, but he did know what was involved with planting, picking, drying and storing the tobacco crop. He also knew its value. The fresh, first crops to reach London – or Paris, Cadiz or Lisbon – were the most valued. This lot of old stuff could be hard to shift.

Trent shrugged, apparently lost for a reason, unable to admit that he had enjoyed himself at la Sorenta, and that Hawkins’ predecessor, Halyard Calpin, had been both friend and mentor. “I was friends with your friend, Mr Calpin,” he said at last, a little sheepishly. “He made me welcome here after you had gone. I spent most of my time with him, trotting at his heels. He taught me much of what he knew. Your estate has not been what it was since he passed away.”

Jesamiah did not need telling. He could see it with his own eyes. “Yes, he was a good man, but you have not answered my question.”

Taking another deep breath – this was it, this was the culmination of a dream for Samuel Trent, he said, all in a rush; “I want to be your manager. Let me run la Sorenta for you.”

“I may not need a manager. I may decide to sell.”

Trent had expected that answer, he had a prompt reply. “You would be better to sell with the estate turning a profit. You will not make much on it as it stands, will you? We have just harvested, the tobacco is drying in the sheds – but the crop was poor. It was poor all over Virginia. Too much rain, not enough sun. But it will be better come the next planting. Hawkins did not clear fresh land – tobacco makes the earth stale, but then you must know that. I will clear new acreage, plant well. Take care of the seedlings. Next year we will make a profit. Give me three years and I will transform la Sorenta into the best plantation along the Rappahannock. And even if you do decide to sell now, the new owner will still be wanting a manager, will he not? Give me the position and the chances are that I will retain it.”

That made sense. Jesamiah was impressed, and if old Halyard Calpin had indeed trained the boy, then there would not be anyone to better him.

“And there is one other consideration.” Trent had stepped into his stride now, was gaining confidence. “If you sell, where will Mrs Mereno go? She is distraught that you may throw her out.” He paused, then added in a lower voice, for he was aware it was not for him to make comment, “I am not blaming you; it was wrong of your brother to not make arrangements for his wife. To cheat her of what is rightfully hers.”

Jesamiah’s retort was indignant, “To cheat her? What about me? Have I not also been dealt a raw deal?”

“You left. Did you not forfeit all rights when you turned to piracy?” Trent retorted hotly, the accusatory words leaving his lips before he could stop them.

“You know nothing of it. Nothing of it at all. Kindly keep your nose out of my affairs!”

How often must I swallow the truth
? Jesamiah thought.
Why not come straight out with it?
Phillipe Mereno was rotten to the core, the result of incestuous rape, the bastard son of an even bigger Spanish bastard
.

Why? He knew very well why. Because until he knew the real answers he did not want others asking the questions.

Stung, Trent cleared his throat. Now that he had spoken, probably ruined his chances, decided to say it all. “I was a boy when you were declared outlaw, Captain Acorne, but I clearly remember the to-do. The whole of Urbanna was talking of how you had attempted to murder your brother. But Mr Calpin, he refused to believe it. He wept for your going, and he wept for the mistakes your father had made. As you say, he was a good man, was Calpin, he insisted you were a good man too. And do you know what?” Samuel Trent lifted his head, tilted his chin, defiant, “I agreed with him. I knew you were not the bastard your brother made you out to be, but now I say to you, to your very face, that perhaps I was wrong.”

So, the boy had guts. Jesamiah well realised it had taken a lot of courage to say all that.

“I have not said I will throw Mrs Mereno out on her backside, have I?”

Trent swallowed down the rest of the tirade that had been welling in his mouth. He stared at Jesamiah then bowed his head, appalled at his outburst.

“As it happens, I am well aware that Alicia is as much a victim of my brother as I was. But I do not wish her to know my intentions too soon. Certainly not before I have taken full inventory of what is now mine, and not before I have sorted the legal muddle that appears to have been left me.”

Trent nodded, apologised. “Forgive me, I spoke out of turn. I understand your father’s lawyer holds a letter for you? A letter that mysteriously did not come to light at the time of his death. Why is that, I wonder? Because your brother wished it to be hidden?”

Jesamiah was changing his mind about the boy. Here stood someone with guts and astute intelligence. The initial impression that Samuel Trent was nothing more than a frustrated young man with something to prove to his unloved father and brothers began to disappear. Jesamiah nodded. “Go on.”

“I would wager Phillipe Mereno discovered something not to his liking when your father died. This letter? It would not have been difficult for him to bribe the lawyer to keep silent on its existence, would it? But now Phillipe is dead, I perceive that worms are crawling from the woodwork.”

Worms indeed; and all manner of other slimy creepy-crawlies. Jesamiah snorted cynically, how much had Phillipe paid to secure discretion? Apparently not sufficient to ensure a permanent silence. He drained his glass of wine, rubbed at where the razor had scratched a sore on his cheek. “Well we shall have to curb our curiosity, won’t we? I ain’t got the time to traipse to Williamsburg to fetch the thing at the moment. Until my ship is repaired this estate takes second place in the matter of my attention.”

“It distresses me to see Mrs Mereno vexed, Captain,” Trent persisted.

“Alicia? Vexed?” Jesamiah guffawed outright. “She came to Nassau to twist me round her little finger.” A thought returned to him: had she arranged that alleyway attack and subsequent convenient rescue? Blunt, he asked, “Do you wish to marry her in order to unequivocally get your hands on the estate? Is that what this is all about?”

Trent answered with equal directness. “No Sir. I do not.”

“Just as well, you ain’t rich enough for her, mate, she’d turn you down flat. And as I said, at this precise moment I don’t give a damn about her.”

“Then, to safeguard her security, I will have to challenge you to a duel. It will be a pity, for I was beginning to like you.”

“I might be a better duellist than you, boy.”

Trent grinned; “Not from the looks of that sling.”

“Well, you would have to wait for my wound to heal.”

“What? And spoil my advantage?”

Jesamiah chuckled. He liked this young fellow.
Would he change his mind if I told him Alicia was once a Port Royal harlot
? he thought.
That I slept with her in Nassau? Would he still champion her cause?
Jesamiah decided against telling, had a feeling Samuel Trent already knew, or at least guessed. And that he did not care.

Desperate, Trent had one final go at achieving his ambition. “Captain Acorne, please, will you at least consider my proposal of becoming your manager? Unless my father suddenly becomes benevolent, or my brothers all meet with unexpected bad ends, I am faced with a depressing future.”

“A pity they are not all like you, harbouring a tendency for pointless duels. You could pick ‘em off, one by one.”

Encouraged that at least Acorne had not sent him off with a flea in his ear, Trent acknowledged the jest with a smile. “From what Mrs Mereno has said, you know little of tobacco, except, perhaps, how to chew or smoke it?”

“Don’t even do that,” Jesamiah admitted. “Can’t abide the stuff, ‘though I ain’t never ‘ad no objections t’stealin’ it.” For emphasis of his meaning he slipped into the familiar clipped sailor’s accent.

Sam answered with earnest passion, “I will work well for you, Captain. You have my word.”

It was a tempting suggestion and Jesamiah was close to agreeing but he was not going to be pushed into anything. There was, as he had said, a lot of sorting out to do. And too many questions needed answering.

Across the room, Alicia was laughing. She was a beautiful woman and she had indeed made the house into a comfortable home, though Phillipe’s ideas of improvement did not sit well with Jesamiah. He had removed an interior wall, making these two, already fair-sized rooms, into a single large one. The decoration and furnishing in the latest London fashion would have eaten the money like a hen devours corn. No wonder there was nothing left. The windows overlooking the terrace and gardens were bathed in early afternoon sunlight, catching the browns and golds of the surrounding oaks and the flame reds of the maples. Virginia was stunning this time of year. A pity some of her inhabitants were not equally as pleasant.

“I ain’t decided what to do, Sam, but I will grant you the courtesy of lettin’ you be the first t’know when I ‘ave. Now, if you would excuse me, I ‘ave m’ship to see to.”

It was an excuse, rather a lame one, but the only one that came to mind. Despite the size of the room, the stretch of the windows, the light airiness, Jesamiah had felt increasingly confined. He had no liking for being indoors nor for meaningless small talk, and these neighbours were becoming tedious. If they wished to snub him then that was their prerogative, but not here in his own house.

He walked to the door then changed his mind and swivelled slowly on his heel, suddenly not caring how rude and uncharming he appeared. “Alicia, you may have been in the habit of inviting people to this house when you were its mistress, but it is now my property and I have no wish to be insulted by clacketting paint-cheeked old besoms in m’own living room. I’m goin’ t’see to m’ship and m’crew and I want this rabble gone by the time I return.”

He stamped out, banging the door behind him.

Samuel Trent watched him walk away. Had his proposal gone well? Mayhap it had not. It was his only chance of freedom, he could not run away and become a pirate, the army or navy did not appeal as he had no appetite for fighting and killing, and he had not enough belief in God to follow the path of a clergyman. There were very few options left for a nigh-on penniless youth.