XV.
Gates guided Billy to a far corner of the foredeck,away from the beehive of activity around the main mast. He slid a crate towards Billy.
"Sit down."
The boatswain stared at him for a long moment, then complied. Gates sat down heavily, then sighed. "You have questions."
"Damn right I do."
"Well, I have some of my own. What's in the letter you showed Flint?"
Billy's jaw tightened. "The Captain plans to betray us to the authorities-in exchange for a pardon for himself and safe passage for him and the Barlow woman to Boston."
"What?" Gates' eyes widened, then he shook his head adamantly. "No, I don't believe it. That's just not possible!"
"Why not?"
"Because that's not the man I know!"
Billy's eyes narrowed. "How well do any of us really know him? All I know is he came to the Bahamas from England about six years ago. No one knows his real story."
The quartermaster leaned over, lowering his voice. "A lot of men come to the Caribbean to forget their pasts-or to invent new ones. I'd wager that many of the stories the men on this ship tell about are not exactly gospel truth."
"Still, he's cagey, even when you ask him something directly." Billy stared out at the setting sun. "Yet he expects us to obey him without question."
"Billy, when you joined the crew, you swore an oath-"
The younger man's head snapped up. "I know what I swore. But I did not agree to become the pawn of a man who seeks to exploit his crew for his own personal gain!"
"You don't know that for a fact," murmured Gates, glancing around to make sure no one was within earshot.
"Maybe not. But I am certain that Meg did not leave this vessel of her own free will."
"Billy, I saw-"
"I know what you saw!" Billy shot back. He was silent for a moment, visibly struggling to control himself. When he continued, he spoke in a murmur. "But what if she was compelled to write that letter? Threatened by Flint in such a way that she was forced to follow his instructions? You have to admit that's entirely within the realm of possibilities."
Gates took in a deep breath. "I might have thought so, had I not rowed her out to Palm Cay myself."
"You were the one who took her away?" Billy felt as if he'd been punched in the gut.
Yes. I volunteered," Gates met his eyes with a steady gaze. "I wanted a chance to talk to her-alone."
Billy leaned closer. "So you had doubts too."
"I did. That is, until I spoke with her."
A seagull swooped over them, it raucous cry jarring against the relative quiet. The quartermaster hesitated, then continued, choosing his words with care.
"There were only the two of us in the longboat when we left the Walrus. I tried to make conversation as I rowed, but she was quiet the whole way in. As we neared shore, I set the oars down and asked her straight out if she'd been compelled to leave the ship. She just shook her head. So I asked her what I was to tell you. Told her that just from the few moments I'd seen you with her, I knew you'd take it hard."
Billy swallowed. "And what did she say?"
"That you must let her go," Gates said gently. "That she had realized that the longer she stayed on this ship, the more of a liability would become for you. The last thing she wanted was to see you dead because you had sacrificed your own safety to ensure hers."
The boatswain stood up, then turned and leaned on the railing, his muscular arms taut with tension.
"Leave me," he said, his voice hollow.
"I just-"
"Leave!"
The elder man laid a hand on Billy's shoulder for a moment, then walked away, his steps echoing on the weathered planks.
xxx
The gentle morning breeze stirred the long white curtains, allowing the morning sun to filter into Meg's room. As her eyelids fluttered open, she found herself staring at a large bouquet of white roses, artfully displayed in a crystal vase.
She sat up, momentarily disoriented. Her head ached, and the bed seemed to be rocking underneath her. Then a peacock screeched outside the window, and she recalled where she was.
Nelson Hall. I suppose it will take some time to become accustomed to solid ground again.
A light knock came on the door, and Naomi came in, carrying a silver tray with a jug of water and a fresh towel. She curtsied, then said, "Good morning, miss. If you are feeling up to it, Mr. Nelson asks that you join him for breakfast on the veranda."
Meg swung her legs over the edge of the bed, feeling momentarily lightheaded. "In truth, I could sleep another ten hours. But I should go. I know he probably has questions for me."
"I believe Mr. Nelson is still trying to make sense of it all," said Naomi softly. "After all, he had been gone for a week, and had no idea you were even missing. He had only returned from Port Royal several hours before you showed up at the door."
Meg sighed. "At least my ankle feels much better today. I should be able to make it downstairs without hobbling."
An hour later, she sat in a cushioned chair on the veranda, the morning sun flooding the lush tropical garden that encircled the flagstone patio. Butterflies fluttered back and forth, dodging busy hummingbirds that darted from flower to flower. The serenity should have been a balm for Meg's soul, but she found herself fighting the urge to get up and start pacing.
She closed her eyes for a moment, consciously slowing her breathing. The soft hum of a bumblebee and the gentle sigh of the breeze through the palms were worlds away from the cacophony of sounds on the Walrus. She was an introvert by temperament, and usually found noise and and activity draining. Somehow, it had been different on the ship-perhaps because she had been drawn into what had seemed like a parallel universe.
The crew had taken her by surprise. To be sure, some of them fit the stereotypical image of a pirate-coarse men who were covered in tattoos and spoiling for a fight at the slightest provocation. Then there were the others-the taciturn Joji, with his impish sense of humor; Silver, the handsomely raffish man with the practiced charm of a successful politician; and Flint, the captain who was a conundrum.
Although he had not been reticent to speak in way that was openly threatening, she had sensed that he was not the violent, bloodthirsty psychopath that popular legend described him as. The shelves in his office had been filled with leather-bound books, many worn with use.
"May I?" she had asked, glancing at the volumes.
"Please, go ahead." He leaned back in his chair, watching her as she ran her hands over the spines.
"Marcus Aurelius." Picking it up, she turned to him. "You quoted him earlier."
"He was a brilliant strategist and philosopher."
Opening the book, she read aloud, "'Because a thing seems difficult for you, do not think it impossible for anyone to accomplish.'" Meeting his gaze, she asked, "Is that what you would have me think?"
He steepled his fingers, regarding her speculatively. "You ask what I think? I think you are much stronger than you appear. You, Miss Davies, appear to be possess a combination of traits that is most unusual in a woman of genteel birth-intelligence, beauty, and courage. And I think that is exactly why Billy is drawn to you."
She flushed, then bit her lip, struggling to keep her voice level. "I am merely a reminder of home. Our families were close when we were children."
"Oh, I think it is more than that." Standing up, he circled around his desk, his blue eyes glittering in the candlelight. "But if you want Billy to have a future, you will have to play your part with skill. And no one-I mean no one-can know, except for my contact inside Nelson's household. And that person will make himself-or herself-known to you, once you have proven that you can be trusted."
Meg closed the book and put it on the shelf. "And how will I do that?"
"I have good reason to believe that there is correspondence going on between Tobias Nelson and a man in London by the name of Woodes Rogers. At the first available opportunity, you will search Nelson's office for any letters from Rogers. If they are found, I want the most recent one."
"Can I not just-"
He cut her off. "Not a copy. I want the original, in Rogers' hand."
She took in a deep breath. "Do you realize what you're asking me to do?"
"Something you're more than capable of doing," he replied curtly. "Once the letter is in your possession, you will place it behind a loose brick in the wall of the bakehouse. Second row up, third brick from the left."
"I'm happy to see you looking rested."
Tobias' warm, deep voice caught her unawares. She jumped, her knee jostling the table and sending a delicate teacup tumbling to the ground. It shattered, spraying jagged pieces of porcelain across the veranda.
"I'm so sorry!" She started to get up, then felt a soothing hand on her shoulder.
"It's not your fault," he said quietly. "Not after what you have endured."
Her nerves were on edge, and suddenly, it was all too much. Unbidden tears sprang to her eyes. She was being forced to spy on her guardian-a man who had shown her nothing but kindness-at the direction of the most feared pirate captain in the Caribbean. A man who had threatened to separate her from Billy forever.
I can assure you if he were to disappear, you would not want to know the details of his fate.
Her vision blurred as the tears began to flow freely.
"Did they-" he hesitated, then plunged on. "Harm you in any way?"
She shook her head, and Tobias breathed a sigh of relief.
He sat down on an ottoman next to her, and took her hand in his, pressing it to his lips. "I blame myself," he said, his voice catching. "When your mother was dying, I promised her that I'd take care of you-get you settled in Nassau, make sure you were comfortable and safe, and ensure that you made a good match with a man who cared for you." He laughed bitterly. "And what have I accomplished? You have been held captive by pirates, and the home you were in has been reduced to ashes."
Meg looked up, her face white with shock. "What?"
He bowed his head for a moment. "Another colossal mistake. I forgot you didn't know. I just received news of it last night." Taking in a deep breath, he met her gaze, his hazel eyes sober.
"Meg, in the very near future, British rule over New Providence will be re-established. It is likely only a matter of weeks now. Since my arrival in Nassau, I have been working covertly for the Crown to gather intelligence. With hard work and a bit of luck, I have cultivated a network of informants that have proved invaluable. Name a man on this island, and I can tell you his strengths and weaknesses, and whether he can be trusted to fight on our side when the time comes. Because it will come, sooner than expected. And I assure you, those who remain loyal to the criminals who have been running this island will die by hanging, just as the pirate scum that took you captive will."
"But David and Agatha...they are-" A knot formed in Meg's stomach as she thought of gentle Agatha, who so loved the yellow and pink roses that she had planted outside the bakery. She also had a soft spot for David, who had been kind and merry from the day she had met him. During the long days in the bakehouse, he had often kept her in stitches with his jokes and stories.
"Dead," said Tobias tonelessly. "David Semple was one of my informants. The same morning you went missing, he was found dead in an alley by the harbor, his throat cut. Agatha died an hour later when the bakery went up in flames. I expect the neighbors thought you had burned to death as well."
Meg shivered. If not for Billy, I might have been dead as well.
Then a memory from the Walrus came to her, and her blood ran cold.
Flint shook Billy roughly, and raised his voice to a near shout."I said, did you see it done?!"
"Done," Billy rasped, his eyes still closed. "Cut-cut his throat my-myself."
"God, no.." she whispered, standing up and burying her face in her hands. "Please, no."
"I wish I could have spared you this," Tobias murmured. He put both hands on her shoulders, and slowly turned her around to face him. "I did what I thought was best in the wake of your mother's death, but it seems as if I have done nothing but cause you more pain."
He put a finger under her chin, and gently tilted her face up to meet his. "But that ends today, for I want nothing more to fulfill the promise I made. So, Margaret Rose Davies," he said, smiling down at her. "Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"
Poor Meg-things are going from bad to worse for her...
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