Author's Note- I initially took this down during chapter rearrangements and forgot to reupload it, but then I decided to revise it to include additional (but important) content. Please bear with me. I'm trying to write the best story possible and have broken the pantser protocol by actually WRITING an outline for the remaining chapters! ^_^; I don't expect time between updates to be as long, but as I also work, I can't make any promises. Nevertheless, thank you to all who have stuck with me so far! I promise you guys that you're in for a HELLUVA story!
Btw, for those who've already read through the beginning of this, you don't HAVE to reread it (just skip down to the line break to read the new scene) but I've also included some additional content to better serve the overall plotline. Anyway, happy reading!
Chapter Seven
"Why is it always raining, Barclay?" I groan as we rumble about in my chaise and four. We left Wolbrighton at a most ungodly hour to embark on a trip across England that would last approximately twenty days. The servants had just begun their morning duties; minus one, of course, and whose absence seemed to go unnoticed. It was raining then. When we changed horses in Taunton, it rained again; in Bristol, Bath, and Reading… we are three-quarters of the way to Buckinghamshire, and it is still raining! "If God promised Noah He would not flood the earth again, He is certainly making game of it!"
"That is because we live in England, my dear Andrew," Barclay remarks. "Here, it rains for the greater part of the year. And when it is not raining, it might as well be, for one inevitably sinks into the mud left in its wake."
"As I recall, we are an island in the middle of the Atlantic. Is it any wonder that England has not floated away by now?" I muse.
I dare to peek beneath the shades at the rolling green countryside perpetually cloaked in this dismal downpour, rolling my eyes before settling back in my seat. I have been trapped these fifteen days inside this rumbling bucket of bolts being tossed about because my driver is no good hand with a horse. Joseph is excellent when it comes to the disposal of dead bodies, but unfortunately, his talents do not exceed beyond this.
Or perhaps it is my crossness spilling over from the events of last night.
My fingers brush against the bandage on my head absently. Never in my life would I have imagined I would be struck by my own child. The agony of her betrayal is like daggers to my heart, as is the blame I have placed upon myself for the part I played in it. My poor Elizabeth… if only she had not been so foolish!
What was she doing out of bed anyway? It was pointless to ask such questions now. She would most likely never walk again, nevermind speak. A blessing in disguise, perhaps, for if she had revealed to anyone what happened last night… I cannot bring myself to finish the thought.
The truth of what would have to be done was too painful to face. I wanted nothing more than to pretend that last night was no more than a dream; a night terror, as it were. But when I rose and found my precious daughter still bruised, broken, and near lifeless in her bed, it all but destroyed me.
"Damned foolish girl…" I mutter under my breath.
"Who is that?" Barclay's voice startles me back to reality.
I stare at him, dumbfounded. "I beg your pardon?"
"You were damning some foolish girl," he repeats with a curious smile.
I shake my head and return my gaze to the window. "Never you mind. I am merely thinking aloud."
He leans forward, fixing me with an earnest gaze. "For what it's worth, Andrew: I am truly sorry about Elizabeth. A part of me believes that I shouldn't have told you about her spying. But the business partner in me, your friend… believes that I made the right choice."
I raise my hand to silence him. "I do not care to speak of it anymore, Edmund. What's done is done."
He nods. "I understand."
I observe my companion in silence.
I have since convinced myself of the unspoken truth, but still I ponder the very question which has been buzzing about my mind since it happened. Did the Earl indeed have anything to do with Elizabeth's fall? Would he truly dare to harm my own flesh and blood, knowing the potentially devastating effect it would have upon our partnership? On our business?
I should like to think not; I should very much like to believe that he was incapable of such wickedness, despite having seen him put a bullet between a woman's eyes without a second thought. Of course, disposing of a mouthy wench and her rebellious lover is different than shoving a daughter of one's business partner down the stairs, is it not?
I do not know what is more troublesome: that I am in doubt of his character, or that I am apt to excuse his conduct… or that I have not the nerve to ask him straight out what happened. The reason behind it—the truth—causes me to abandon the subject almost immediately. The knot it forms in the pit of my stomach nearly induces me to vomit. I pretend it is owing to yet another bump in the road.
"Joseph, you incompetent fool! Take care, man!" I growl angrily as I beat my cane upon the roof of the carriage. Our pace continues unchecked, as if he does not hear me. I frown contemptuously from the stabbing pain piercing my lower back. "I tell you, Barclay: if I remain in this carriage for much longer, I shall end up as my daughter!" Another bump. This time, I strike the roof fiercely with my fist. "Damn your eyes, Joseph, watch the bloody road!" At last, the horses slow, putting an end to my torment. "Truly, I envy you. The resilience of youth appears to have served you well during all this. I daresay you shall come out of it better than I."
The resilience of youth… I reflect upon my own words. Will it serve in Elizabeth's recovery?
"Hardly!" Barclay laughs. "I am about done with travel! I am arrived at Wolbrighton but a few hours, endure a terrible night, only to prepare for yet another trip before dawn's first light with hardly a moment's rest in between."
I nod thoughtfully. "Yes. I had not considered the situation in full until we were well out of Devonshire. I should not have encouraged you. Truly, I feel terrible; I cannot imagine your exhaustion!"
He dismisses my remorse with a wave of his hand. "Nonsense! I consider it a privilege that you should include me as part of your entourage. Pertaining to the subject… are you confident in Parliament's vote?"
I inhale deeply and try to relax—if it is at all possible. "If there is anything I have learned during my political career, my dear boy, it's not to put all your eggs in one basket. Democracy, as a whole, is a truly fragile concept; and when one is entrusted to put the security and prosperity of one's country above one's own interest, nothing is certain."
"Agreed… and yet, do I detect an air of reluctance?" he observes.
I confirm his suspicions with a low hum. I am forgetful of my future son-in-law's God-given talent for discernment. When it comes to knowing what a man is about, he is scarcely mistaken.
He is quite right, of course: I am reluctant to accept the governorship for a multitude of reasons. For one, Elizabeth being in a vegetative state potentially for life complicates matters a great deal. I have, no doubt, ruined her prospect of marriage to the nephew of the Duke of Marlborough. No man desires to marry a perpetual invalid, especially a man of his particular status. If she does not come out of it, I will have no alternative but to remain at Wolbrighton, for I am certain it would be a pointless endeavor to persuade Prudy from her bedside while she lives.
Another reason is that I am a terrible sailer. I have sailed to the East Indies and beyond more times than I care to remember, and I am always ill for the better part of the voyage each way. I do not mind the sea, but the very idea of being on a ship fills me with such dread that I would just as soon refuse my commission than endure self-confinement in a compartment hardly fit for a man to turn about!
On that subject, if there is anything worse than my intolerance for sailing, it is the thought of succumbing to one of many diseases native to the West Indies. I have heard horror stories of exceptionally healthy young Englishmen—largely from the military—falling victim to illnesses such as the Yellow Jack, or malaria, influenza, gaol fever, and heaven only knows what else! It is no doubt the culprit behind Lord Swann's abrupt return to England.
And then there was the problem of James Norrington—Commodore James Norrington.
Had I any valid reason to be excused from the majority rule, it is being forced to reside in the same parish as the very man who stole my daughter's innocence. His injurious conduct is reason enough for me to refuse, which does not end with just his corruption of Anna. England's national hero has made it all but impossible to operate one's business beyond the scope of the authorities. I have known him both man and boy, and if there is one thing he is not, it is a fool. He is, after all, Lawrence Norrington's son.
"Am I to take that as a definitive 'yes?'" Barclay presses as he crosses his arms over his chest.
"Not necessarily," I confess. "Reluctance aside, I shall accept the will of the Crown. But if God is merciful, His Majesty will appoint someone more suitable to the position than I."
Barclay chuckles. "More suitable? Oh, come now, Andrew! Have you no sense of adventure?"
I grin. "My dear boy, my sense of adventure perished when I hit forty. As I am now in my fifties, I've very little energy left, as two and thirty of those years have been spent raising a spirited son and four equally headstrong daughters. I would think last night's misfortune is proof enough of that."
"Indeed, your argument is sound. I cannot fault you for it."
"I should hope not! Let me tell you, sir: when you reach my age, the best medicine for tired, old bones is peace and quiet, and doing as little travel as possible! But here I sound like an old fuddy-duddy. I should not complain. Age is just a number and all that."
"Your complaints do not trouble me, Andrew; not in the least. As you say, my youth has served me well… even if my ass disagrees."
I chuckle. "Well… it also does not serve to refuse the king's commission if one expects to maintain his seat in the House of Lords. As I said, I shall accept the position if His Majesty deems it so. I only pray he will think differently." It is an unlikely scenario; what, with my years of service in the Royal Army—my involvement in the Siege of Namur in '95 included—my political leadership in the House of Lords, my affiliation and association with Sir Robert Walpole the Prime Minister, my title as a Marquess… to say nothing of my ties to the East India Trading Company as a valuable liaison and my efficiency as a businessman. The only other man qualified for a position of such consequence is Walpole himself, but as he is currently Lieutenant Governor to Ireland, he is neither available nor eligible.
"But then you must ask yourself, which would be worse: to reject the King's offer, or to be deemed unfit? Which is the lesser of the two evils, as they say?" he points out. "Would not either decision be detrimental to one's political career, especially if one is seeking to become Prime Minister someday?"
I nod. "Indeed, it would."
We pause in reflective contemplation. The rain pelting the roof of the chaise barely drowns out the pounding of the horses' hooves and the workings of the carriage. There is much on Barclay's mind, I observe… as is mine. It is a curious thing that Barclay would show such interest in my potential commission.
"You seem quite eager for me to take this position, Edmund. Knowing you as I do… one cannot help but ask what you stand to gain from it," I say.
"I am eager in the sense of knowing what awaits us in the West Indies: islands rich with merchantmen from all over the world and natural resources! Silks, spices, linens, and the like from the South Seas must necessarily pass through. Not to mention the addition of the sugar plantations. And, of course, the slave trade. As Governor, you would be ideally placed to enhance your commerce exponentially! My business is dependent upon your end of the deal. You prosper? I prosper. And vice versa. So, as you see, it is not just I who stands to gain something here," he explains candidly.
"A fine point. But I feel the need to remind you that with the death of Admiral Hopson, Norrington is fully in charge of the Jamaica station now, and there are rumors he is to be promoted to rear-admiral as soon as it is confirmed at Whitehall. Furthermore, he has done an excellent job of eradicating piracy from those waters. As I said, I laud him for his enthusiasm, but he is simply too good at what he does. It will be very difficult to run our operation from Port Royal without attracting his attention. He is, unfortunately, not stupid," I counter.
Barclay's lips purse, his brow flicking towards his side-swept hairline in consideration. "Well… as you are about to become the new governor, I'm sure you can find a way to… dispose of him."
I grin. I love the way this boy thinks.
"Your Majesty, I would like to present the Most Honorable Marquess of Devonshire," John Waldegrave, Lord of the Bedchamber and personal secretary to His Majesty the King, precedes my entrance into the private apartments. It is a room of grandeur: intricately carved white walls entwined with gleaming gold, crown molding, towering pillars of marble, a domed ceiling depicting a magnificent scene from Greek mythology, massive crystal chandeliers twinkling like stars, elegant paintings of England's great men, and Paisley rugs covering a spotless wood floor.
"Your Majesty, it is an honor to be in your presence." I make my leg graciously. King George II, bedecked in blue silk and a red sash, does not rise from his gilded armchair as I enter, nor should he, as he is my superior.
"Lord Sharpe, welcome. Please sit," says he as he gestures to an open chair. His heavily accented German-English would be difficult to understand had I not a well-practiced ear for it.
I seat myself opposite of him and Mr. Waldegrave, ignoring the nerves fluttering in my stomach. I have been in his presence twice—both when Parliament was in session—but I have never actually met him personally. There is a lingering fear that he may question me regarding the… irregularities in my profits, to which I am necessarily prepared to lie, but I do not let it trouble me. I suspect my occasional circumvention of trading customs and duties is least among his many concerns.
"Your reputation precedes you, sir," His Majesty regards with mild curiosity as he thumbs through a stack of papers on his desk. "I have heard great things about you from Prime Minister Walpole. He was emphatic in his support of your suitability for the position as the new governor of our settlement in Port Royal."
Dear old Robert, I muse quietly. I should have known. We've been friends long before my career in Parliament. "Thank you, Your Majesty. I am sincerely grateful to be considered for the position."
He waves off my praise carelessly. "Please. Your service to your country and your influence in London speaks favorably of your character, to say nothing of your current title and noble birth. Anyhow, Lord Swann's untimely resignation has left the township susceptible to our enemies, despite the presence of our Navy. I will be frank, sir: the situation is critical. Tensions between the settlers and the Maroons are escalating, and I fear the inevitable. That is why I have chosen you as Lord Swann's successor."
"Thank you, Your Majesty. I am deeply honored by your confidence in me," I say.
He fixes me with a pointed look. "I trust you are aware of present circumstances?"
I nod. "Yes, Your Majesty. I have been following the reports closely."
"Then you are aware of the lingering threat of piracy. You are a merchant by trade, I do believe? I would imagine you are most certainly concerned about its impact upon your commerce. We also cannot rule out the possibility of an attack from Spain or France, given the importance of the sugar trade. Perhaps most pressing are the rumors for a potential attack from the Maroons."
"Yes, Your Majesty. I am fully aware of the situation. I plan to meet with our military and local officials upon my arrival to ensure it is all well in-hand." And to ensure that Commodore Norrington is taken care of…
A semblance of a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "Good. You will certainly need their support to instill the confidence of the people and assure them that their livelihoods are safe. They must be assured of your competence and efficiency as a leader in the face of these upcoming threats, so the need to act swiftly is imperative."
"I understand, Your Majesty. I will ensure that my authority as governor is respected. I also plan to establish communication with the Maroons in order to ensure there is peace between us." The Maroons were a hostile group of escaped slaves from the plantations and have established territories in certain parts of Jamaica. They pose a legitimate threat, but I am convinced that I will be successful in mediating between them and the settlers there, as they have proven to be quite useful to my business. I relay as much to His Majesty, naturally mum on the illicit side of my operation, and I am met with his approval.
"Very astute," he lauds. "The greater we can minimize the chances of war, the better. I've only so many men and ships at my disposal. We are spread thin enough as it is."
"I understand, Your Majesty. Prioritizing the building of secure relationships between the settlers and the Maroons will be essential for long-term stability."
King George rises to his feet. His secretary and I follow suit. "Excellent! You will have the full support of the Crown. I expect regular reports on your progress."
I bow appreciatively. "You shall have them. You may depend upon me, Your Majesty. I will endeavor to seek your guidance whenever it is necessary."
He smiles approvingly. "Very well, Lord Sharpe. I wish you success. The future of Port Royal is in your hands."
"Thank you, Your Majesty. I shall not fail you."
Mr. Waldegrave escorts me to the main corridor and hands me off to Charles Talbot, Lord Chamberlain. A footman is sent ahead to prepare my carriage. We fetch Barclay from the Ante Room, and he listens attentively to my account of the meeting.
"Yes, the threat from the Maroons is quite pressing," he agrees.
"Indeed, which is precisely why I intend offer them gainful employment." I leave it at that, given our present company. It won't do to speak of the unlawful in the presence of a member of the Royal Court. In any case, what I mean to say is that I fully intend to establish trust among our enemies and utilize them by any means possible. They are, after all, no more than pirates seeking legitimacy for their existence. A rose by any other name, and all that.
We reach the front doors and I sigh dismally at the silvery, wet shards pelting the roof of my chaise.
"It is still bloody raining…"