The Valentine Legacy (37 page)

“O
H DEAR
,” J
ESSIE
said, her turn again with the diary. “This is the last entry. It's very short and no mention at all of those English bastards or running low on rum or of where Blackbeard hid his treasure.

“It appears he married fourteen women and he calls the last a ‘most charming young creature of twelve. Her name is Valentine, jest like my great-grandma. I took her on because of it. We'll see if she's too young to give me a babe. I like the little buggers. Makes a man feel immortal even when he's in hell playin' with the divil.”' Jessie looked up, stunned. “Valentine isn't a very common name. This is interesting. I told James about another Valentine who lived in Sir Walter Raleigh's colony on Roanoke Island. That was the colony that disappeared, simply vanished, sometime between 1587 and 1590. No one knows what happened to it. But we'll find out.” Jessie held up Valentine's diary. “This will tell us what happened not only to Valentine but also what happened to the rest of the colony.” She laid the diary on her lap. “You know what I think? I think Blackbeard's last wife, this second Valentine, was indeed Old Tom's great-grandmother. It makes sense, doesn't it?”

“It's almost as if it came full circle,” Marcus said. “All these ‘greats' and these ‘grands,”' Badger said. “It makes a person's brain boil. All right, Jessie. This first Valentine who was on Roanoke Island was Blackbeard's
great-grandmother. The second Valentine was Old Tom's great-grandmother, and Blackbeard was Old Tom's great-grandfather.”

“That's it.”

“All well and good,” Marcus said, “but like Maggie, I want to know where the bloody treasure is. Blackbeard makes no mention at all of it, the damned bounder.”

“Maybe we'll find out more about what happened to Blackbeard's bride—poor twelve-year-old Valentine—when we read Blackbeard's grandson's diary,” Spears said. He leaned down and patted Jessie's shoulder. “Don't give up hope yet, Jessie.”

It was Anthony who stood legs akimbo, his arms crossed over his chest. “We have three sets of diaries. We've only read Blackbeard's diaries. I think we should read the grandson's diaries. Perhaps his grandmother, Valentine, Blackbeard's wife, was still alive and she told him something. We're not going to give up until we've read every word in every one of those diaries.”

“Yes, you're right, Anthony,” James said, but he didn't sound at all convinced.

“This pirate was a right smart villain,” Badger said slowly, shaking his grizzled head. “I believe to renew my mental workings I will prepare a luncheon of baked sheepshead—he's a handsome fish marked with six vertical black stripes on his side; I counted them. Gypsom caught him early this morning off the pilings at the dock. Weighs a good twelve pounds, he does. Yes, I'll bake our sheepshead and we'll have some of those tasty little green peas that Bess bought from Mrs. Fulcher. The sweet lady insisted that Bess drink a bit of her cider. Bess came back smiling like a loon.”

Badger took himself off to the dilapidated Warfield kitchen, so ancient and battered Jessie wondered how he could continue to produce such magical meals.

*   *   *

After dinner that evening, everyone adjourned again to the parlor, Bess and Gypsom included. “Why not?” Marcus had said. “They're a part of this just as we are.”

James said, “This evening we're going to read the two diaries written by Blackbeard's grandson, Samuel Teach. Maggie, you and Anthony begin. We'll put the original Valentine's diary aside and keep it for later.”

Anthony, Sampson, and Maggie were a team. Suddenly, in the utter silence of that evening, Anthony shouted. Maggie cuffed him and laughed. “Go ahead, Anthony, read aloud what we found.”

“Just listen, Papa,” Anthony said, gently lifting the book from Maggie's hands. “Old Tom's grandpa, Samuel Teach, writes, ‘I think my grandma, Miz Valentine, is daft, poor old dear. Today she went on and on about a gold necklace that her dear husband Edward gave her—Edward Teach was Blackbeard the pirate.”' Anthony continued in his precise schoolboy's voice, “Samuel goes on to say that he's writing down exactly what she told him because who knew what could come of it.

“‘ . . . He went out into the night, a stormy night with waves pounding against those black rocks near the inlet, rain whipping through the twisted trees, leaving me with three of his men in that small stone castle of his that was so cold and wet even under the hottest sun that I occasionally nearly gained the nerve to say something to him. Of course I never did. Ah, that night. Aye, I told him to send one of his men out if he wanted something, but he just told me to warm him some rum, not too hot, but just the way he liked it. When he returned he looked fearsome, his black beard all tangled and wet, steam rising from his wet clothes when he got near the fire, his full-cuffed black leather boots squishing from all the rain and covered with rank black mud. I gave him the rum. He drank it all down and grinned at me. He
then pulled a huge rope of gold from beneath his shirt. He laughed in that terrifying way of his and wound it once, twice, thrice, around my neck. It weighed nearly as much as I did. This was good, I thought, so I gave him more rum for I'm not a stupid girl. He drank it down in one gulp, belched, said he'd soon breathe fire now, and pulled out another necklace from his shirt. This one was all colored stones—white so clear it looked like ice, red stones, deep and mysterious, and blue stones that a summer sky would envy. There were even some green stones and these weren't as shiny as the others. He told me as he patted my face with his big callused dirty hand that both necklaces he just happened to find in a neat little chest what was afloat near a sinking vessel.

“‘ . . . I nodded, all serious, not believing him for a minute. He was as evil as that Jolly Roger flag they flew on the
Revenge.
I'm not a stupid girl. I'd always known he had a treasure trove and now I had the proof of it. It was here on Ocracoke. He'd been gone from the castle only forty-five minutes. I was lucky that I happened to notice that. His boots were covered with mud. I want that treasure. I deserve it. My pa sold me to the bastard. Aye, I deserve the treasure.

“‘ . . . I turned thirteen years old that night. But then, not a month later, that ruthless devil got himself shot and stabbed more times than any normal man and that English lieutenant cut off his head, tied it to the bowsprit, and sailed off with it. He left me pregnant with your pa. Your pa was a rotter even when he was a little mite. I swore I'd never tell him about the necklaces. He left me, coming back only years later to bring you to me, Samuel. I sold those necklaces a bit at a time and lived well and your pa asked me again and again how I managed to have such a nice house and servants. I told him I was a whore. He believed that easily enough, the rotter. Samuel, there is a treasure. You're
not stupid. I want to be rich before I die. Find that treasure, Samuel.'”

Maggie said, “Samuel writes that she's daft even though he's seen some incredible stones. He believes in the necklaces, but he doesn't think they're from Blackbeard's treasure trove. He says his grandmother is old and has brain rot. But he wants the rest of those stones. When she dies he'll find them. He can't leave her until she dies because, he says, he owes her because she took him in and treated him well and they had two servants and he had a tutor.”

“Because of the stones from those necklaces,” the Duchess said quietly.

“What a charming lot,” James said.

“Samuel is Old Tom's father,” Jessie said. “Old Tom was charming too, James.” She shuddered, the memory of that day sharp and clear in that single moment in her mind. James pulled her close and kissed her ear.

Anthony looked up, his dark blue eyes sparkling. He looked ready to jump to the ceiling. “We know there's a treasure now. We know it.”

“Blackbeard's wife,” Jessie said slowly. “ Twelve-year-old Valentine. He gave her two necklaces from his treasure. It's hidden forty-five minutes from his castle, probably less if he had to take time to dig it up.”

“Where's this bloody castle?” Sampson asked even as he helped Badger pour out the tea for everyone. There were even lemon cakes.

“It's been gone a long time,” Jessie said. “When I was a little girl we used to explore the ruins, just piles of rocks even then. Many say there never was a castle. Who knows? If there was, the Ocracokers have used everything over the decades. But I know where it's said to have been. But what does that matter? Forty-five minutes? Which direction?”

James said, after he'd chewed and swallowed a delicious lemon cake, closed his eyes, and cleared his throat, “It was
raining that night. His boots were muddy. We'll try out every direction from the center of where the castle used to be.”

“Yes,” Marcus said. “Forty-five minutes would in most cases have you swimming in the water. This is possible, it's just possible that we can discover something.”

“I think we should continue reading,” Maggie said, eyeing the last lemon cake but mournfully shaking her head. “If we don't find anything else, then we'll try this castle trek.”

“The villagers will think we're daft,” James said, and grinned at his wife. “Can't you just see us all fanning out from the middle of this pile of stones?”

 

The old house was quiet. No more creaking boards because everyone was in bed, asleep, it was hoped—at least James hoped so because he didn't doubt for a minute that any sound he or Jessie made would carry to every corner of every room. She was lying on her back, her lawn nightgown covering every inch of her except her toes. Peach satin ribbons were tied just beneath her chin. He couldn't wait to pull those ribbons loose.

She was saying quietly, “Marcus is right. Most directions that would take someone forty-five minutes to walk would be in the ocean or in Pamlico Sound.”

He came up onto his elbow over her. “It's a moonlit night.”

“What? Oh yes, James. I can even see the deviltry in your eyes.”

“That's not deviltry, that's lust.”

She raised her fingers to caress his cheek. “I don't know why I haven't told you that I love you but I will now. I love you, James. I've loved you forever, at least since I was fourteen years old.”

He felt panic, utter panic. Love? Certainly he liked her,
he enjoyed her body. She made him laugh. He cared mightily about her. But love?

Her smile didn't budge, but he saw the sadness in her eyes in the soft shadows cast by the moonlight streaming in through the windows. “It doesn't matter,” she said, but he knew that it did. “I have more love than I'll ever need. You will love our child, won't you, James? Despite the fact that it's my child, too?”

“Don't be a fool, Jessie. I care for you. A lot. You're my wife. It's just that—”

“I know. You won't forget that both of us love horses, will you? I don't know if I love children or not, but am I not bound to love our child?”

“There's no question about it. You'll be a wonderful mother.”

“And you, James?”

“I'll be the best of fathers, I promise you. Now, Jessie, I'm almost positive that everyone in this bloody house is asleep. If you promise not to yell, I'll make love to you.” He lightly touched her breasts. “Are you sore?”

“Yes, but you're always so gentle.” She closed her eyes as his fingers slowly traced over her breasts beneath the lawn nightgown. She said, all drowsy and interested, “I don't think Marcus or the Duchess is asleep. You should have seen the looks he was giving her in the parlor.”

“Marcus is out of luck. Don't you remember? Anthony is sleeping in their bedchamber.” His palm splayed out over her belly. He felt the bulge. His child was inside her.

“No. Anthony is with Badger and Spears. I heard Marcus make a deal with Spears. Charles is with Maggie and Sampson.”

James laughed aloud, then quickly stuffed the sheet corner in his mouth. When he caught his breath, he said, “With a wife like the Duchess, I doubt Marcus will ever let her alone for a day, let alone two days.”

“I wish I were as beautiful as she is, but I'm not, James. I'm sorry. I'm just me.”

“Are you fishing for compliments, Jessie? If so, you don't do it well. You sound pathetic. Now, be quiet.” He leaned down and kissed the tip of her nose. Her eyes were open and, as he lowered his head to hers, they crossed. He was laughing again, and this time he didn't stop. They played, tickling each other, giving kisses that landed in very odd places, enjoying themselves thoroughly until Jessie's hand suddenly closed over him and he forgot laughter, forgot everything—Blackbeard's treasure included, his own name included—except her warm hand caressing him.

When he came into her, deep and hard, she sighed, arching up against him, and whispered, “You are magnificent, James.”

He was gone.

At least five minutes had passed before he managed to say, “Jessie, you nearly killed me.”

“If you're sweet to me,” she whispered as she kissed his sweating shoulder, “I'll try to kill you again.”