Skull and Bones (29 page)

Chapter 25

Noon, Monday, 26th November 1753

The Rotunda

Ranelagh Gardens

London

    Sir Matthew Blackstone was in love with Selena. She could see it in his adoring expression. And he might be over fifty and ugly, but he was one of the richest men in England.

    She knew what was coming. She'd guessed. Her entire life was hers to change with a single word. That's why she'd been brought here. But for the moment, she gasped, for the Rotunda was exotic beyond belief, even to her, though she was no longer an innocent in such matters, having grown as familiar with the gilded luxury of salons as with the spectacular cunning of theatrical effects.

    The huge dome was the pride of Ranelagh, the most civilised of the London pleasure gardens. It was all fresh painted in pale cream, with an oriental profusion of elegant pillars and relief-work in red, and two great tiers of private boxes running round the walls, where patrons could take tea while looking out on the crowd sauntering around the vastly complex and gloriously decorated central column, which was itself a feat of architecture and which supported the ceiling. Several dozen huge chandeliers hung by scarlet cords, while one of the finest orchestras in London played in a huge canopied box to one side, and the admission price was set high enough to ensure that only the most proper and fashionable persons might gain entry.

    "Well," he said, "do you like it?"

    "It's beautiful," she said. "I'm glad we came."

    "Good," he said, "'cos it ain't normally open this time o'year." He shrugged. "But a little word in the right ear…"

    "Oh!" she said. "Did you cause it to be open:
for me?"
She fluttered her eyelashes and laid a hand on his arm, and gazed at him with pouting lips and round eyes… and laughed. And he laughed too and shivered at the beauty of her in the yellow silk which was her favourite colour, and was thrilled at the pleasure of simply being with her, and her acting a silly part as she did on the stage, and doing it just for him!

    "Well,
did
you?" she said.

    "Yes. I did."

    "Then thank you!" But she frowned, puzzled. "Then who are all these people?" She looked at the ladies and gentlemen strolling around, greeting friends, nodding to acquaintances.

    "Well," he said, "if it was going to be open, I wanted it looking alive and not dead, so I put the word around… and of course that lot -" he pointed to Katty Cooper, standing twenty paces off with Mr Abbey and others of his company - "they're our chaperones, my lass, for the benefit of them as knows me and knows Lady Blackstone, too: the old trout back home in Berkshire."

    "Oh!" she said.

    "Oh, indeed!" Sir Matthew sniffed and looked round. "Most of 'em know me, here." And he caught the eye of the conductor of the orchestra, and raised his hat and gave a nod, whereupon the conductor bowed in acknowledgement… tap-tapped his baton… stopped the orchestra in full flood…

    "One, two!" he said, and the orchestra broke into "The Pollywhacket Song", to general delight and applause towards Selena, while she - now very much the artiste - made her curtsey to all points of the compass. Having sung the wretched song hundreds of times, she now detested it, but the public didn't, and Sir Matthew didn't, and he was seeking to please, for he was kind and thoughtful and generous.

    "Well," said Sir Matthew, when she turned to him with a smile that sent shivers down his backbone, "it's better than Captain Flint's hanging, which is where most of London is gone this day, and where I'd have gone myself if not for you…" But he saw her reaction and knew he'd said something wrong.

    "God love you, my little dear," he said, and put an arm around her. "What is it?" But she groaned for painful memories, and
he
groaned to see it. "Tell me, my lovely. Tell old Matty," he soothed, for he was a decent man and couldn't bear to see her unhappy.

    "Could we sit down?" said Selena.

    "Of course," he said, and led her to one of the private boxes and sat her down at a table, and took a seat beside her and ordered tea and hot drop-scones from one of the waiters, while - keeping their distance - Katty Cooper, Mr Abbey and the rest, looked on… Katty Cooper grinding her teeth in jealousy.

    "So what's the matter, my sweetheart?" Sir Matthew's rough, lumpish face was transported into concern, and he clasped his bear-paws round her small hands.

    "I know Flint," she said. "Or rather, I knew him…"

    "What? How could that be? He's a pirate!"

    "But I know him." Selena looked at Sir Matthew, whom she liked and trusted, and she started to explain. She spoke of things that had been confined to the back of her mind for many months. And the more she spoke, the easier it got, until it all tumbled out: head over heels, disordered, stumbling and repetitive… but
all
of it. Right from the start: from the Delacroix Plantation to Charley Neal's grog shop to the
Walrus,
Flint's Island, his treasure, Danny Bentham and beyond. She told him every last thing. Even about the two men she'd shot dead in Charlestown. Even about Joe Flint, who was mad and who'd said he loved her, and even about John Silver, who certainly did.

    And Sir Matthew listened, and said nothing, and held her hand, and the tea and drop-scones arrived and grew cold, and still she spoke and he listened.

    Finally she sighed and stopped and looked at him, and he was pierced to the soul at the beauty of her lovely, vulnerable face appealing to him for judgement. In that instant he'd have stood between her and the world. He'd have jumped off a cliff for her, if it would have helped! And he'd have gone down joyful and content. But there was one point to discuss: a point such as couldn't be missed by so practical a man as Matt Blackstone.

    "You're married, then? You're Mrs Silver?" he said.

    "Yes," she said.

    "But you left him?"

    "Yes."

    He stayed silent a long time. He gathered courage. He looked at her again.

    "And would you go back to him now, if you could?"

    There was an even longer silence.

    "Wait!" he said, and shook his head. "Don't answer that, 'cos here's the way of it my girl: first of all, I don't care what you've done. After all, what choice did you have? And what care I if you did? Second, here's
myself
married, and
yourself
married, and church and state between us." He spread his hands and smiled sadly. "If I'd met you as a lad, I'd have said
no
to my pa and never married the old trout, and asked you instead!" He laughed. "But that were twenty year before you was born!"

    She laughed too, and his heart leaped with joy to see it.

    "Matt," she said, "you're a good man…"

    "Aye, but an ugly, old one."

    "No!"

    "Yes! But here's what I'm offering: there can't be no marriage, and I ain't such a fool as to think you'd have me for love…"

    "Matt!" she said, leaning forward to touch his rough cheek. He sighed and kissed her hand with utmost gentleness, but he shook his head.

    "No. None o' that," he said, "for I'm a philosophical man. So! You're making good money on the stage right now, ain't you?" She nodded. "Then beware, my princess, for of all trades, that's the least certain and the least secure!"

    "Is it?" she said, for she was in full flush of triumphant success.

    "Oh yes!" he said. "You'll learn! The stage can turn you out tomorrow, whereas I offer this… I offer to settle regular monthly payments upon you, and a cash sum on my death, as'll make you a rich woman, secure in your own right with house and carriage and servants an' all." He wagged a finger. "And all signed and sealed by the lawyers. But -" he said, and looked her in the eye with the sharpness that had made him so formidable a man of business "- here's the bargain:
there shall be no other man than me
… and that too shall be written into the settlement." He nodded slowly. "For I may be old, and I do love you my little darling… but I'll not be made a fool of… and if I am… the money stops!"

    "Matt," she said, "I'd never deceive so kind a man as you."

    He laughed.

    "Not you, my sweetness, not right now. But three years on, when you're bored and some pretty young fellow winks his eye at you…"

    "No!" she said.

    Sir Matthew smiled.

    "Aye," he said, "whatever you say. But I'm serious in what
I've
said. Every word of it… Now! I'm off into Berkshire tomorrow, the which'll give you a few days to think. But when I come back, I'll want an answer." She leaned across the table and kissed him. And Katty Cooper sizzled in hatred.

Chapter 26

Noon, Monday, 26th November 1753

Tyburn

To the west of London

    The javelin-men hit the Brownlough boys in a beating of

    iron hooves, a kicking of sharp-spurred boots, a snorting of yellow horse-teeth, and the massive impact of twenty-nine horses and men - twelve-hundred pounds weight per mount and rider - moving at thirty miles per hour and arriving knee- to-knee in a wall of muscle and bone.

    And all the while Joe Flint kicked and twisted in his death agony.

    It didn't matter that they weren't trained cavalry. It didn't matter that their spears were for show and not sharpened. It didn't matter that they had no military swords, only short- bladed hangers. They hit the mob as a sledgehammer hits a melon. The Brownlough boys didn't even have time to turn and run - though the sharpest of them tried, and were duly hit from behind.

    Flint struggled and trembled. He throttled and fought for breath.

    Men were thrown down with skulls smashed under horseshoes and limbs broken and spines shattered and faces smashed into the ground and the dead and the dying piling up, and men smothering underneath, and others screaming, groaning and bleeding as the charge punched deep into the heaving, struggling, three-hundred-strong, gin-fired mass, with its cudgels and cobbles and knives… until the force of the charge was soaked up by sheer bulk of human flesh, and the horses began to trample and buck and kick, and the javelin- men bellowed and roared and stabbed with their blunt spears, and slashed with their short swords.

    And Flint began to weaken.

    Then one of the javelin-men got pulled from his saddle and was beaten with pitiless fury as the tide of the battle turned, for now not only the Brownlough boys fought back, but the mob itself was roused and it growled in the depth of its rage, instinctively taking the part of its fellows against the forces of law, and falling upon the javelin-men in thousands and tens of thousands, with clawing hands, swinging cudgels, a tremendous volley of stones, and limitless strength which pulled over not only the riders, but their shrieking mounts as well.

    Flint's hands fell to his sides.

    "Wait! Wait!" cried Silver. "No bugger goes without the word!"

    "Arrrrrrgh!" they cried.

    "Come on, John!" said King Jimmy, shaking with fighting fury.

    "No! No! No!" said Flash Jack, and hopelessly sought a way out.

    "NOW!" cried Silver, for he'd spotted a way through to the gallows. "Pistols now, boys! Mark your targets!"

    "Go-on! Go-on!" cried King Jimmy, and thrashed the two horses; they leapt forward, taking the chaise and its bodyguard of armed men darting into the gap Silver had spotted in the vast wall of flesh and blood that stood between them and the gallows.

    Flint hung unmoving. He turned slowly on the rope.

    There was a roaring, rolling volley of gunfire as the chaise met the mob, with Silver's and King Jimmy's men hanging on and shooting down any creature - man or beast - that stood in the way as the chaise drove through the hideous revenge being inflicted upon the wretched javelin- men.

    Crack! Crack! Crack! went King Jimmy's whip and the chaise shot ahead at such a pace as to leave its bodyguard falling and dragging behind, and then they were up to the foot of the gallows and alongside of Flint's body with the executioner and his mates wide-eyed in terror, and in anger, too. And as King Jimmy pulled open a clasp knife, grabbed the hanging-rope from the height of the chaise, and commenced hacking and slashing… the hangman leapt up into the cart and struck an enormous blow with the lead- loaded club that he kept for moments like this, and caught King Jimmy on the brow with a crunch that stove in the bone and mashed the brains beneath.

    "Bastard!" cried John Silver, and pulled out a pistol, jamming it into shirt and ribs, then a yellow flash and a roar of powder blew half a pound of catsmeat out of the hangman's body, and Flash Jack seized his beloved Flint by the waist, and strained to lift him to take the pressure off the rope, and Silver dropped the pistol, and drew a cutlass and sawed the rope…