The Guardship

Chapter 27

FROM THE quarterdeck of the Plymouth Prize they could see them quite clearly, the noble coach and four, the footmen in their livery, the dignitaries in their fine clothing, the boat crew in matching outfits on the thwarts of the launch, oars tossed, made fast at the foot of the ladder below the dock.

“Well,” Marlowe said to the company in general-Elizabeth, Bickerstaff, Lieutenant Rakestraw-“this is not entirely unexpected.”

“A shot across the bow would keep ’em off, sir,” Rakestraw suggested. “Guns are loaded and run out.”

Marlowe turned, regarded the first officer. Wondered at how it had come to this, that a naval officer could even suggest such a thing.

“That is the governor, for the love of God,” Marlowe said. “I don’t think we’ll be lobbing round shot at him.”

“Beg your pardon, sir,” Rakestraw muttered, the outrageousness of that suggestion apparently dawning on him.

Unwilling as he was to fire on Governor Nicholson, still Marlowe was not looking forward to the coming interview. He did not know what to expect, but he did not expect it to be pleasant.

He was no longer sure of his status, his standing with the governor. Nicholson might well be coming to relieve him of command of the guardship. And if he was, Marlowe would have to refuse. The guardship was his sanctuary-or, more to the point, Elizabeth’s sanctuary-and the Plymouth Prizes would stand with him. But then he would be no more than a pirate once more, with a stolen government ship to boot.

They watched the governor and his party, three men in all, climb down the ladder and settle themselves in the stern sheets of the launch. One of the men was the governor’s secretary. The other, Marlowe was quite certain, even from that distance, was President of His Majesty’s Council John Finch, a powerful man in colonial government, a particular friend of the Wilkensons. No, this would not be pleasant at all.

“Mr. Rakestraw, please see to a side party. I wish to have the gentlemen welcomed aboard with all due ceremony.”

“Aye, sir,” Rakestraw said, still blushing from his suggestion, and hurried off to see to that detail.

“Thomas, I’ll not have you jeopardize your position for me,” Elizabeth said.

“And I’ll not have you used as a pawn any longer,” Marlowe said in a tone that did not admit protest.

“Shall I…Perhaps it would be best if I did not show myself,” Elizabeth suggested.

Marlowe pulled his eyes from the distant boat and looked at her, then reached out and took her hand. “I have no misgivings about taking you from the jail. I will not have you skulking about like a criminal. The crime was in their locking you up. You have been horribly used, and now it is time that you receive some justice, and if they are not inclined to give it then they will answer to me.”

He held her hand, held her eyes, until he heard the coxswain yell “Toss oars” and the launch was alongside.

“Come with me,” he said. “We must go and meet our guests.” He led her down the quarterdeck ladder and across the waist, where a detail of the Plymouth Prizes were formed up in two rows on either side of the gangway, boarding pikes held upright to form a straight if somewhat intimidating corridor for those coming aboard.

Marlowe took his place beside Rakestraw just as the governor’s head appeared above the gunwale. Nicholson climbed with some effort and cast a wary eye around as he stepped on deck. It occurred to Marlowe that the governor was no more sure of his status with Marlowe than Marlowe was of his with the governor.

Grand, he thought, we shall be like two drunken blind men flailing at each other.

Nicholson stepped briskly past the line of men, and Marlowe stepped forward to meet him, hand extended. “Governor, how very good to see you again,” Marlowe said.

Nicholson took his hand and shook it. “And you, Marlowe,” he said. His eyes darted to Marlowe’s side. “Mrs. Tinling, I trust you are well.”

“Very well, thank you, Governor,” Elizabeth said with a curtsy. There were few men more gracious and diplomatic than Governor Nicholson. It was what made him so very good at his job.

The same was not quite so true of President Finch, who stepped up behind Nicholson, gave Elizabeth an unpleasant look, and said, “Marlowe, we have a great deal to discuss.”

“I should think so, Mr. President,” Marlowe said. Nicholson did not much care for Finch, and Marlowe imagined that the burgesses had foisted the man on him, afraid that left alone Nicholson would be too forgiving with his wayward guardship captain.

He gestured toward the after cabins. “Please, sirs, won’t you join me in my cabin, where we shall have a glass and discuss this?”

Five minutes later, the four men-Marlowe, Nicholson, Finch, and the secretary-were seated around the table in the great cabin, brimming glasses of wine before them.

“Well, Marlowe, it seems we have some problems here that need addressing, what?” Nicholson said. “Now, I am aware of your relationship with Mrs. Tinling, but I think you had best understand she has been accused of a capital crime-”

“She has been used horribly, and for some years-first by that pig of a husband, and then by the whole stinking Wilkenson brood, and I shall not have her suffer any further.”

“Well, sir,” Finch broke in before Nicholson could speak. “As to her marital status, I think we all know the truth in that.” He pressed on through the governor’s angry look. “That, however, is of minor concern. Of more importance is a charge of murder that has been brought against her-”

“There has been no charge of murder, sir. The charge is of being an accomplice, and to that there is not a bit of evidence. I have read Lucy’s statement-she does not implicate Elizabeth in the least. Quite the opposite. This is a sham, brought against her by the bastards Wilkenson, and done so for the sake of vengeance, no more.”

“You will not, not speak of the leading family in this colony in that manner,” Finch said.

“Gentlemen, gentlemen.” Nicholas held up his hands, and Marlowe and Finch were quiet. “Please, Captain Marlowe, for all that, Jacob Wilkenson is a member of the House of Burgesses and he has brought charges that can only be cleared in a court of law. I beg you understand that Mrs. Tinling must still be considered a prisoner until her trial.”

“I understand that.”

“Then you will allow us to take her back into custody?”

“I will not.”

“Then, sir,” Finch said loudly, “we shall arrest her anyway, and your own base desires be damned.”

“And how, sir,” Marlowe asked, “do you propose to do that?”

“Now, Marlowe,” Nicholson tried to inject civility once again, “this is really harboring a fugitive, you know, and it won’t do.”

“I understand all of that, Governor.”

“And understand as well,” Finch broke in, “that your own status is very much in question, very much in question indeed. There is reason to believe that you are not who you say, sir, and might well be wanted by the law, right along with that little tart.”

Marlowe shifted his gaze to Finch, and his cold stare stopped the president in mid-bluster. He resettled himself in his seat and cleared his throat.

“Men have died for less than that, sir,” Marlowe said. “By my own hand.”

“Are you threatening me, sir?”

“Yes.”

Finch was at a loss for words, taken aback by the directness of that answer, and Nicholson leapt into the breach.

“Now, gentlemen, I think there is no need for this. We are all of us on the same side, what? Not squabbling like a bunch of Dutchmen. But see here, Marlowe, it is true that there have been questions raised. I should not like to have to relieve you of your command.”

“I should not like to have you try.”

“Be that as it may…” Nicholson was too much of an old campaigner to be thrown off by that implied threat. “I’ll own there’s no evidence against Mrs. Tinling, that her arrest was all Wilkenson’s doing. I think perhaps we can forget all of that, the charges and such, in consideration of the good work you have done, and the service I hope you will continue to perform.”

“Now see here, Governor,” Finch found his tongue again, “don’t you start making promises that you are unable to keep. We said that perhaps we would consider overlooking some of this. But this man’s attitude is insufferable, and his harboring that-”

“What is this duty you hope I will continue to perform?” Marlowe leaned back in his chair. Nicholson would not have said that if he did not have something specific in mind. He would not be so liberal with his forgiveness if he did not still need Marlowe’s services.

“Well.” Nicholson cleared his throat, and for the first time he looked uncomfortable. “There are reports abroad that a pirate has been sailing into the bay. I have had some word from down Norfolk way. They’re in a state there, I should say, damn near panic. Hampton Roads is all in a fright, sure the pirates will plunder all the country homes, like them villains did up to Tindall’s Point back in ’82. There is even some thought that they may have taken the Wilkenson Brothers-”

“Which, I might add,” Finch interjected, “would have been safe with the fleet were it not for you.”

“The fleet would not have been safe at all, sir, were it not for me. Jacob Wilkenson should have obeyed the law.”

“Jacob Wilkenson, who it pleases you to speak so ill of, is at least seeing to some defense against this villain. He has requisitioned a prodigious amount of military supplies from the militia, he is gathering powder, shot, small arms, and intends to organize his neighbors. I hope, sir, that you can be as helpful.”

“Yes, yes,” Nicholson said, “now look here, Marlowe, can I count on you to see about this pirate? It would do much to improve your position with the burgesses, which, I have to say, could use a deal of improving.”

Marlowe looked at Finch’s red and angry face and the governor’s blank countenance, the face of a born negotiator.

Here were his choices, laid out for him like dishes on a buffet table. He could resign his captaincy, turn the ship over to Rakestraw, turn Elizabeth over to the sheriff-and turn a gun on himself. He would have no other choice.

Or he could continue back down the path he had come, take the Plymouth Prize to the Caribbean, go on the account. Bid farewell to Thomas Marlowe and all he had become. It was the dishonorable route, but at least he would escape with his life.

Or he could go and fight Jean-Pierre LeRois, for he was certain that the pirate spreading terror in the lower bay was indeed LeRois. Vicious, brutal man, his crew probably twice the size of that aboard the Plymouth Prize. LeRois would be looking for revenge on the guardship that had fooled him and had so mauled his men. He did not care to think on what would happen once LeRois discovered who was in command of that ship. And he did not think his men could beat LeRois. But that was the honorable route, the route to horrible but honorable death.

Death or disgrace, those were his choices.

“I am still the captain of the guardship, I take it,” he said at last, “and so I still have my duty.”