XVI.
Suddenly, the soft ocean breeze seemed to roar in Meg's ears. The ground lurched underneath her, and she gripped the edge of the table, determined regain her poise.
"Tobias, I owe you my life. I will never forget what you did for me and my mother. But right now, I am emotionally and physically exhausted from the events of the past few days, as are you. I would do you a disservice by giving you an answer-either way-that I am by no means equipped to make right now."
Her eyes caught the flicker of annoyance that passed over his face, and she hastily added, "Please understand, Tobias. It was-"
"You're telling me you need time," he said slowly, turning away and gazing out across the lush green grass.
She placed a hand on his arm pleadingly. "Isn't it for the best? Especially if we are on the brink of the British return to Nassau? It's hardly the time for a wedding."
He looked down at her, his gaze serious. "What better time to begin our life together? It will be a time of new beginnings. A time where I will take my rightful place in the forefront of the new Governors administration."
Her eyes widened. "The new Governor has already been selected?"
"He has. A man by the name of Woodes Rogers. He was head of the committee that commissioned me to go to Nassau, and the King has seen fit to bestow the title of Governor upon him...in no small part due to the success of my intelligence network."
Her thoughts began to race. "Then are we to expect him in a matter of days? Weeks?"
His thumb gently traced a path across her cheek. "That, my dear, is a closely guarded secret. One that not even you may be privy too. But when the Crown's forces land, it will be under cover of darkness...and completely unexpected."
She did her best to summon an encouraging smile. "It sounds as if your plan has been well thought out. I have no doubt that you will meet with success."
Tobias raised an eyebrow, his eyes warming. "You have redeemed yourself with your gracious compliments, my lady." He took her hand and kissed it, his lips lingering on her skin for an instant. Straightening up, he released her, giving her a charming smile.
"For now, I will not press you for an answer. But be advised, we will revisit this topic in the not too distant future. I can be quite persistent once I make up my mind."
xxx
It was past midnight when Meg finally mustered the courage to slip out of her room. She stood barefoot in the hall, her white dressing gown wrapped tightly around her slim body. Cocking her head, she listened, straining her ears for any sound that resembled human activity. Hearing none, she stole down the corridor to the marble staircase, wincing with each step as her warm feet met the cold stone.
Reaching the entrance hall, she stopped again, holding her breath. All was silent. She took the hallway to the left, halting when she came to the door that led to Tobias' study. It was slightly ajar. She touched her fingers to the wood with the lightest of pressure, causing it to open another two to three inches. An instant later, she was standing in the middle of the room.
Moonlight filtered through the rose window that sat in the eastern wall of the study, illuminating the portrait of Tobias' grandfather that hung behind the carved rosewood desk. The tall, sober figure of Thomas Nelson stared down at her disapprovingly, his sharp blue eyes seeming to follow her as she made her way to the drawers of the desk. Your imagination is too fanciful, she scolded herself.
In a flash, she saw herself in the sunlit parlour of the little manse in Kensington, her sewing lying forgotten in her lap.
Twelve year old Meg held up her grandmother's faded blue star-shaped pincushion to the light, watching as the frayed golden tassels swung in the air.
Her mother gave her a troubled look. "Your imagination is much too fanciful, Margaret. It is unseemly for a young girl to be so preoccupied with spinning fantastic tales."
"But Mama, everything is not always as it seems!" The little girl turned to her mother, her words tumbling over each other as her eyes shone with excitement. "Father says often enough that we shouldn't judge a book by its cover. Don't you ever like to imagine where something has been? Or what things it might have seen? Maybe Grannie sewed a handkerchief for a long-lost love with this little star sitting by her side...or perhaps a beloved aunt gave it to her, with a gold ring hidden inside it to serve as her dowry!"
"Grannie married at 15, so a long-lost love would have been one she had when she was in nappies," said her mother dryly. "And if you're suggesting we cut this cushion open-"
The girl shook her head, her expression turning pensive. "No, Mama. It's just the idea of something seemingly insignificant having a history...having been important in some way. It just makes even the most mundane thing seem interesting and new. Does that make sense?"
Mary Davies sighed. "Not really." She put down her sewing and looked at her daughter closely. "Margaret, I hope you don't say such silly things outside of this house. No one wants to marry a woman who whiles away her time daydreaming."
Meg's arm brushed against a delicate ivory figurine, and it toppled off the small table behind the desk. By great good luck, she managed to catch the statue just before it hit the ground. Her heart thudding, she clutched it to her chest for a full minute, then carefully placed it back in position.
Think. If you are Tobias, where do you keep important correspondence?
She surveyed the half dozen drawers, and decided to search the left side of the desk first. Tobias Nelson was methodical to a fault, and his papers were neatly organized and alphabetically filed. The leather ledgers were labelled with corresponding expense accounts- household or business, and embossed with the initials THN. Tobias Hayward Nelson.
She flipped through the business ledger quickly, searching for any correspondence hidden within. Expenses for the shipping company were listed by category, and were uniformly unremarkable until one column caught her eye…miscellaneous assets. There were rows of initials, followed by various sums of money in a second column. The third column, however, was puzzling at first glance. Revenge, Nymph, Trident...then a word jumped out at her. Walrus.
These must be the names of pirate ships...and the initials the names of men whom Tobias has recruited to spy for him. Her finger traced a line from Walrus to the set of initials opposite it. WM.
William Manderley. No, that was impossible. Given Billy's antipathy for Tobias, it made no sense. And even if it were true, he surely would have been listed with the initials BB for Billy Bones. Perhaps this was someone else's assumed name? She racked her brain trying to think of the names of the various men she'd met on the ship. To be sure, she had only been introduced to a small portion of the crew, but no one else had those initials.
She closed the book, taking a deep breath. Those two letters could mean anything, and might in fact have nothing to do with anyone on the crew. But the account likely somehow was tied to payment for intelligence relating to those ships…the ones he deemed most likely to put up resistance.
Fifteen minutes later, Meg had found no trace of any correspondence. Frustrated, she opened the top right drawer. A well-worn Bible met her eyes, and she picked it up. The edition was one her father had favoured. As she opened the book to Psalms, she could almost hear her father's voice as he read to them on a dark winter's night. As she turned a page, a piece of paper slipped out, fluttering through the air and coming to rest on the desk.
Picking it up, Meg moved closer to the window. When she saw a salutation followed by several hastily scrawled paragraphs, her heart skipped a beat. By the time she reached to the final lines, it had begun to hammer in her chest.
As you know, a period of amnesty for those guilty of heinous crimes has been proposed. I am wary of such a plan, for I fear such men understand only one language-that of the sword. An amnesty would likely only encourage them to regroup and return in a united force. I think it far better to plan to condemn these criminals on the spot, and carry out sentencing with a swift and terrible justice.
Your spies have given us ample evidence to justify the execution of the entire crew of several ships...the Walrus and Ranger among them. It is of the utmost importance that we take these crews by surprise. In order to come up with a sound plan, I suggest we meet at the place agreed upon, six weeks from the date of this letter.
Her eyes instinctively swung back to the top of the page. The letter had been dated five weeks and two days prior. She had five days to get word to Flint and his crew...and the same period of time to convince Tobias to take her with him.
xxx
They had expected the squall to be a fierce one, but this storm had been one of the worst the crew had weathered in some time. The rain came down in sheets, lashing the men relentlessly as they struggled to maintain control of the ship. The Walrus lurched from one wave to another, the motion causing even the most experienced seamen to feel a twinge of nausea.
"Hard to believe it was a peaceful, moonlit night just a few hours ago. This is a bad one!" shouted Gates. Billy shook his head, wiping the water out of his eyes. "It's a fuckin' mess, that's what it is!"
A sharp crack reverberated over the sound of the winds. "The foremast just snapped!" someone shouted.
Billy was on the move in an instant, dodging sliding crates and scrambling over coils of rope that were heavy with seawater. He saw Flint flattened against the rail of the ship, desperately trying to keep a section of the damaged mast from pitching over the side of the ship.
"Secure the aft part!" Billy yelled. "I'll take the section on the rail. I'm taller. It makes more sense!"
Flint hesitated for an instant, then gave him a brief nod. As he switched positions with his boatswain, Flint shouted, "what's in the letter, Billy?" The wind howled for a few long seconds, swallowing his words.
"The what?" Billy's voice was becoming hoarse.
"The letter you showed me the other night. The one you said would turn the crew against me."
The taller man, his clothes plastered against his skin, eyed the Captain warily. "I think you know exactly what it says."
"Tell me anyway." A flash of lightning made Flint's pale blue eyes look almost unearthly for a moment.
Billy hesitated for a moment, the familiar fear of the captain gripping him once again. Then he took in a deep breath, his muscles straining as he tightened his hold on the wooden pole. "I know your whole plan. Mrs Barlow outlined it clearly enough. You will betray us in order to get a pardon for yourself and safe passage for the two of you to Boston. You-"
A massive wave washed over the deck without warning, sending Billy over the rail. There was an instant of pure terror, and then he felt Flint's hand grasp his wrist. Almost by reflex, the instinct for self-preservation kicked in, and he reached for the railing with his other hand. Just as his fingers brushed against the wood, he felt the Captain's grip on him slip. Then he was falling, the air rushing up to meet him as another wave crested.
He hit the water flat on his back, the force knocking the wind out of him. Just as he took in a deep, shuddering breath, a wave smashed down on his body, dragging him down into the cold, green depths below.
xxx
It was hot. Ungodly hot.
Billy had spent many an afternoon toiling under the Caribbean sun, but this heat was blistering.
Unrelenting.
His eyes were closed, but he sensed that he had been lying flat on his back in the sand for quite some time. The low, rasping squawk of a brown pelican jolted his nerves into full awareness. His left elbow was horribly cramped, and he tried to shift his arm, attempting to get some relief. However, he was brought up short by a flash of pain from a rope digging into his wrist.
He experimented with his right wrist, and then both legs. A stab of panic shot through his body as he realized that all four limbs had been restrained. He tried to take a deep, steadying breath, only to find the expansion of his chest halted by a hard shell that encased his entire torso. A moment later, a sharp, shrill whistle sounded from just a few feet away.
His eyelids flew open, only to squeeze shut as a fine layer of sand was flew directly onto his eyes. He shook his head, blinking rapidly in order to try to clear the offending substance. The ensuing irritation from the sand caused his eyes to water more fiercely. A curse rose to his throat, but only a hoarse croak issued forth from his lips.
"Awake, are we?" The cultured, sardonic voice that spoke up seemed to echo in the recesses of his brain, sparking a vague memory.
Billy coughed, then grimaced, but said nothing.
When the blow came, he had no warning. His head snapped backwards as a burst of pain blossomed out from his left eye socket. An instant later, everything went black.
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