The Raider (4 page)

*   *   *

“Two hundred and fifty pounds if he's an ounce,” Jessica was laughing. She was sitting at one end of the Taggert table, Eleanor at the other end. In between were seven Taggert children in assorted sizes and ages and varying degrees of dirt. Each person had a wooden bowl full of steaming fish chowder and a wooden spoon. They were precious utensils and treated with the courtesy of fine silver. The stew was quite plain, with no seasoning to speak of, nothing but fish cooked for a long time in water. The few vegetables from last summer had been eaten and the new garden had not borne fruit yet.

“What did Sayer say?” Jessica asked, still laughing into her stew.

Eleanor gave her sister a glare. She had worked at the Montgomery house for four years now, and after Alex's mother had died two years ago, she'd taken over as housekeeper. Marianna, the oldest of the Montgomery children, a spinster who either because of her size or her domineering manner had never had a husband, had been given the responsibility of taking care of her invalid father and the big, rambling house. But when the new customs officer, John Pitman, had arrived and begun to pursue her, Marianna had forgotten about everything else. Of course half the town had tried to explain to her that the Englishman wanted her father's wealth, but Marianna had arrogantly refused to listen to them. It didn't take Marianna two weeks after the wedding to realize the people were right and now she carried the burden of knowledge that she was responsible for many of Warbrooke's problems. She turned over her household duties to Eleanor and now spent most of her time in her room completing one piece of embroidery after another. If she could not cure the disease she had caused, she planned to disassociate herself from it.

“I don't think we should discuss this now.” Eleanor gave a meaningful look to the children who were studiously looking into their bowls of stew, but were truthfully listening so intently that their ears were beginning to wiggle.

“Mr. Montgomery said that Mrs. Montgomery had always spoiled her youngest son and that he'd warned her that something like this would happen,” Nathaniel said. “I guess he meant Mr. Alex's clothes and how fat he is. Miss Marianna cried a lot. Eleanor, who is that man Nicholas?”

Eleanor glared at the young Taggert. “Nathaniel, how many times have I told you not to eavesdrop? And you were supposed to be taking care of Sally.”

“I went, too,” Sally said. “We hid in the—”

Nathaniel put his hand over his little sister's mouth. “I was taking care of her, but I did want to know. Who is the man Nicholas?”

“He's Alex's bondsman, I assume,” Eleanor said, “and don't you try to change the subject. I've told you a hundred times—”

“Isn't there an apple pie around here somewhere?” Jessica asked. “I've heard all I can bear about Alexander Montgomery. He's a fat old whale that's been beached and he's at last showing his true colors. Nate, tomorrow I want you to take a bag down into the cove and gather lobsters.”

“Not again,” he groaned.

“And you, Henry,” she said to the twelve-year-old, “go see if the blackberries are out yet, and you'll have to take Sam with you. Philip and Israel, you'll have to go with me tomorrow while I make a lumber run down the coast.”

“Lumber?” Eleanor said. “Do you think you should? The
Mary Catherine
can't handle that much weight.”

Jessica stiffened her back as she always did when someone said something about her boat. It wasn't much and maybe it was true what Jahleel Simpson had said, “The
Mary Catherine
can float but she sure don't like to,” but it was her boat, the only thing her father had given her except brothers and sisters to take care of and she was proud of it. “We can sail it and, besides, we need the money. Someone has to pay for these apples.”

Eleanor looked down at her bowl that now contained a slice of apple pie. Sometimes she “borrowed” food from Sayer Montgomery's kitchen. Not often and not very much and she always paid it back, but she felt terrible about it just the same. If Sayer or Marianna had thought of it, she was sure that they would have told her to take what leftovers she needed, but Sayer was too busy feeling sorry for himself and Marianna was too busy crying that she'd brought all the evils of the world onto the town's shoulders when she'd married the customs officer to think of anyone else.

Two-year-old Samuel decided to wrap his sticky spoon in his sister Molly's hair and pull. That stopped all adult conversation.

*   *   *

Alexander woke the next morning with a pain in his jaw from having ground his teeth all night. Even asleep he felt his anger. Standing there on the dock yesterday, worried about whether his shoulder would start bleeding again, looking out across the people and seeing the English soldiers on their lathered horses—soldiers who were obviously looking for someone—and then having to see that brat Jessica Taggert laughing at him was almost more than he could bear. How easily the townspeople had believed him to be the coward Jessica said he was. How quickly they forgot what he'd been.

He'd gone to his father's house and already word of him had spread. Marianna had her head on her father's bed and was crying noisily. Sayer merely looked at his son and waved his arm to dismiss Alexander, as if the sight of his youngest child disgusted him too much to speak.

Alexander was too weak from the loss of blood, too angry about what had happened on the dock to attempt to defend himself. He followed Nicholas out of the room and went to his own where he fell onto the bed.

Even the sight of Nicholas Ivanovitch, Grand Duke of Russia, carrying in his luggage didn't cheer him. He drifted into a half sleep in which he dreamed of strangling Jessica Taggert. But then part of the dream had him making mad love to her. When had she grown so damned pretty? The horror of being taunted by a beautiful woman gave him very little peace.

Now, his head hurting, his shoulder throbbing, he lay in bed and stared at the ceiling. Part of his brain, the tiny part that wasn't absolutely furious, was beginning to function. Maybe the fact that they all believed his disguise was to his advantage. He'd seen what was going on in New Sussex, the way the English soldiers ruled the town. He'd heard of the atrocities committed against the Americans as they were treated like bad children. He'd even seen the prices for goods that in England sold for half as much—yet they were goods shipped on American ships.

Perhaps some of that was going on in Warbrooke.

On first wakening, he'd wanted to call Marianna and show her his wound and tell her about his being the Raider. He knew his sister would help him while he recovered, would protect him from the wrath of the English. And how he'd like to see her face when she saw that he wasn't the fat drunkard she thought him to be! But now he realized that he'd be putting her life in danger.

He turned when a sleepy-eyed Nick came into the room and sat down heavily in a chair. “That woman got me up before daylight and had me cutting wood,” he said morosely and with some wonder in his voice. “It was due only to my keen observation of my own workers that I had any idea of what to do. That woman is not very tolerant of even the slightest hesitation, though.”

“Jessica?” Alexander questioned, his voice little more than a sneer. Just the thought of that woman made his hands ache to put them around her pretty white throat.

“The other one. Eleanor.” Nick hung his head in his hands.

Alex had seen examples of Nick's moods before and he knew that the best thing was to not allow him to continue feeling sorry for himself. He managed to sit up in bed, the sheet falling away from his strong broad shoulders, exposing the bandage.

“I don't think I should let anyone know that I'm not as I appear,” Alex began. “I think I'll remain in my peacock clothes until my shoulder has healed and until the interest in the Raider has died down. Could you spare me a servant? Someone discreet who isn't afraid of a little danger?”

Nick's head came up sharply. “All my men are Russians and no Russian is afraid of anything. Are you planning to be the Raider again?”

“Possibly.” The only thought he had in his head right now was of paying Jessica back for laughing at him. He had a vision of being dressed in black and climbing in her bedroom window and tying her lovely white hands to the bedposts and…

“Are you listening to me?” Nick demanded. “Never have I found a more insolent people than you Americans. I should sail for my homeland now, before I meet another one of you. But this Raider appeals to me. I will send my ship south to fetch more of my cousin's clothing and a new wig.”

“And leave me one of those servants you abuse, I hope.”

“No,” Nick said thoughtfully. “This game amuses me. I will stay here and continue to pose as your bondsman. I will keep the secret of what you are.” His eyes narrowed. “And I will make this Eleanor Taggert sorry she said such things about me as she did this morning.”

“It's a bargain then,” Alex said. “We'll stay together. I shall be the most delicate example of young manhood in America. And you will show us Americans how to work.”

Nick frowned at that. “If someone sends me to the fields, I will quit. Ah, but I will have some tales to tell my family.”

“I hope your family believes you more than mine does. Shall we start getting me dressed? I'm already beginning to hate that wig.”

A
LEXANDER
allowed himself plenty of time to dress. After checking his wound, he and Nick began carefully padding his thighs until they filled the satin breeches, wrapping layers around his mid section until his belly stuck out almost a foot, then setting the heavy powdered wig on over his black hair. When they were through, he was so bundled that sweat was already beginning to form on his brow.

“I don't know if they're worth this,” Alex said bitterly.

“They are your people.” Nicholas shrugged.

“Who have turned against me.” Alex had a vision of Jessica Taggert as she laughed at him on the dock. If she hadn't been there, would the townspeople have believed his disguise?

It was eleven o'clock when he waddled into the common room of the Montgomery house, and many people were waiting there for him. They pretended that they had genuine business with the Montgomery household, but Alex could see by their eyes that they were waiting for him. For just a moment, he held his breath, sure that someone would laugh and tell him to abandon his disguise now that he was home and among friends.

But, one by one, they looked back at the drinks they were nursing.

Alex glanced at Eleanor as she directed two women in cooking over the open fireplace. The common room was a combination kitchen, parlor and meeting room. Since the Montgomery family owned most of Warbrooke, they did the most business, and during the day nearly everyone in town came through this room for one reason or another. Sayer Montgomery had always seen that drink and food were waiting for those who came to his house.

Two men in a corner of the room, sitting at the end of one of the two tables, began to speak quite loudly.

“My son-in-law grew that wheat himself but before I could take it to Spain, I had to stop in England and unload it for them to inspect.”

“And I had to take cocoa from Brazil to England to be inspected before I could bring it to Boston.”

The men looked over their drinks to Alexander, but he was pretending not to hear them. They weren't bothering to pay him the courtesy of speaking to him directly, so why should he show them his concern? And what did they expect him to do about English law? It was as if they still believed these were the days of medieval law and he was the lord who could go to the king personally and complain.

“And I lost my ship because of sixty pounds,” Josiah Greene said.

Alexander looked at the enormous plate of food that Eleanor set before him. He felt as if he were the only person in the audience of a play he'd already seen. As he ate, he listened to Josiah's tale. No doubt he'd told it a thousand times, but the men here were replaying it for Alexander's benefit.

They told how Josiah had had a beautiful ship, one he'd been very proud of—but he'd angered John Pitman. Something about a piece of land Josiah owned and wouldn't sell. Pitman said that he was sure Josiah had a hold full of green paint—a contraband article. Pitman seized Josiah's ship but found no paint, so he brought a dozen soldiers and searched Josiah's house in the middle of the night. In the course of the “search” a cellar full of food was destroyed, linens were ripped apart, furniture broken and his daughters terrorized. Josiah tried to get his ship back, but he was told that he'd have to put up a bond of sixty pounds. Since all his money was invested in the bond he had to give Pitman each time he sailed out of Warbrooke, he couldn't afford another sixty pounds. His friends collected the money for him, but the burden of the proof of innocence was on Josiah's shoulders. Pitman said there had been green paint on board; Josiah said there never had been. They stated their cases before the Colonial Admiralty Court—a judge, no jury—and the ship was given to Pitman and his officers since Josiah could not prove that he'd never had green paint aboard his ship.

Alexander soon forgot his own misery as he glanced at Josiah, a man broken, all quite legally, by a greedy Englishman. Pitman wanted land Josiah owned and had not only gotten the land but had come to own everything else that had belonged to the Greene family.

Alex kept his head bent over his food because he didn't want them to see the anger that was boiling in him. If he was to keep his disguise, he could not allow them to see how their words affected him. He felt their eyes on him, watching him and waiting to see if he was the man they thought he was. They were like children who thought someone with the Montgomery name could fix their problems and make everything right once again.

Alex was saved from showing his feelings because the door opened and in walked Jessica Taggert with a couple of big baskets full of oysters.

Jessica took one look at the people, all of them standing completely still and looking as if they were expecting a storm to break, and knew immediately what was going on.

“Still got your hopes up?” she laughed, glancing from one man to the other. “Still think this Montgomery is going to help you? God only made three Montgomerys: Sayer, Adam and Kit. This one doesn't deserve the name. Here, Eleanor,” she said, handing the baskets to her sister. “It looks as if you'll be needing these, what with a parade going through here all day.” She gave Alex a smirking look, although he hadn't raised his head from the plate. “It looks like they'll all get something to see with that one here.”

Very slowly, Alex raised his head and looked at her. He tried to keep the fury out of his eyes, but he was only partially successful. “Good morning, Mistress Jessica,” he said in a low voice. “Are you selling those? Have you no husband to support you?”

The men at the table across the room began to snicker. With Jessica so pretty, there wasn't a man who hadn't had contact with her in some way. Either they'd asked her to marry them after they'd worn out a wife with bearing babies, or they had a son who'd tried for her hand, or a cousin—or else the men just dreamed of having her. But now, here was a man who was insinuating that maybe nobody wanted her.

“I can take care of myself,” Jessica said, drawing herself up to stand straighter. “I want no man under my feet; no man to tell me what to do and how to do it.”

Alexander smiled at her. “I see.” He gave her a look up and down. Long ago, Jess had learned that she couldn't run her little boat while wearing long skirts so she had adapted a sailor's garment for her own use. She wore tall boots beneath baggy pants that reached her knees, topped by a loose blouse and an unbuttoned waistcoat. Except that her waist was very small and she had to belt the pants tightly to hold them up, she was dressed like most of the men in Warbrooke. “Tell me,” Alex said smoothly, “do you still want the name of my tailor?”

The men began to laugh with more gusto than the joke warranted. So many of them had watched Jessica saunter down the dock, her hips moving in a way that made them gape. Even in her men's clothing, she obviously had all the curves every woman wished she had.

Eleanor stepped in before another jibe could be made. “Thank you for the oysters. Maybe you could bring us some cod this afternoon.”

Jessica nodded mutely, still angry at the way Alexander had made the men laugh at her. She glared at Alex for a moment, not even bothering to look at the men around her who were laughing and so thoroughly enjoying her humiliation, then turned on her heel and left the house.

Eleanor grabbed Alexander's plate, still half-full of the food he couldn't eat, and gave him a hard look, but she didn't say a word. After all, he was her employer's son. Instead, she turned to Nicholas, who was lounging against the door jamb. “Take this out to the hogs. And do it now!”

Nick opened his mouth to say something and then closed it, his eyes sparkling. “Yes, ma'am,” he said.
“I
don't contradict women.”

At that, more laughter erupted, and for a moment Alex felt a part of the town again, not like the stranger he'd been forced to become.

But their laughter stopped a moment later when Alex stood—or, rather, attempted to stand. He wasn't used to the protrusion that was his padded belly and it caught on the lip of the table. At the same time, he twisted his shoulder, pulling on the partially healed gunshot wound. Between the pain and his confusion over what was holding him in his seat, it took a moment to get untangled.

To him, it was almost humorous—but to the townspeople it was pathetic.

Alex looked up to see pity in their eyes. Turning away to hide his anger, he left the room. It was time to meet John Pitman.

He was just where Alex thought he'd be, in the office that had served the Montgomerys for three generations. He was a short, stocky man, balding back to midway on his head. Alex couldn't see his face because he was bent intently over ledgers spread across the desk. Before Pitman looked up, Alex scanned the room and saw that two portraits of Montgomery ancestors had been taken from the walls and there was a heavy lock on a cabinet that had belonged to Alex's mother. It looked as if the man meant to stay.

“Ah hem,” Alex said, clearing his throat.

Pitman looked up.

Alex's first impression was of eyes that pierced a man: big, intense, glittering like black diamonds. This man could do anything, Alex thought, maybe good, maybe bad.

John Pitman looked Alex up and down, his hard eyes measuring him, seeming to remember what he'd heard of Alexander Montgomery and comparing it with what he now saw.

Alex thought that if he wanted to fool this man, he was going to have to work at it. He withdrew a lace-edged white silk handkerchief. “So warm today, isn't it? I feel fairly faint with the heat.” He minced his way, letting his hips lead him, toward the window and lounged against the jamb, the handkerchief delicately dabbing at the sweat on his neck.

Pitman leaned back in his chair and silently appraised Alex.

Alex gazed out the window, letting his eyelids droop lazily as he watched Nicholas throw feed toward the chickens and doing it in such a way that the breeze caught half the seed and carried it away. Eleanor came running toward him, her apron flapping and two of the Taggert brats on her heels.

Alex looked back to Pitman. “I take it you're my new brother-in-law.”

Pitman took a moment to answer. “I am.”

Alex moved away from the window toward a chair. He sat in it primly, crossing his legs as best he could considering the padding on his legs and belly. “And what is this I hear about your stealing from the people of Warbrooke?” He waited a while before looking up at Pitman. The man's eyes reflected his soul. Alex could almost see him doing calculations in his head.

“I do nothing illegal.” Pitman's voice was restrained.

Alex picked imaginary lint from the lace at his sleeve, then held the lace up to the light. “I do so love good lace,” he said wistfully and then looked back at Pitman. “I imagine you married my spinster sister to obtain access to the eight thousand feet of wharf we Montgomerys own.”

Pitman said nothing, but his eyes glittered and his hand moved toward a drawer. A pistol? Alex wondered.

Alex used his tiredest voice. “Perhaps we should try to understand one another. You see, I have never fit in with the Montgomerys, such a loud, overbearing, brutish lot. I favored music, culture, the art of the table rather than standing on the deck of a lurching ship, swearing at a pack of smelly sailors.” He shuddered slightly. “But my father decided, as he said, ‘to make a man' of me and sent me away. The money he gave me ran out quickly so I was forced to return.”

Alex smiled at Pitman but the man said nothing. “If I were one of my brothers, I believe I'd have every right to evict you from this office.” He nodded toward the locked cabinet. “I imagine that is full of papers, perhaps even some deeds of ownership. And it would be my guess that you used Montgomery funds to purchase what goods you own, thereby making them, legally, Montgomery deeds.”

Pitman's eyes were like two coals on fire and he looked as if he were about to spring at any moment.

“Let us make a bargain. I have no desire to spend my life in this room juggling pieces of paper, nor do I want to be confined on a boat where I am expected to do heroic deeds such as my revered brothers accomplish on an hourly basis. You do not touch the Montgomery lands—we
never
sell the land—and pay me, say, twenty-five percent of your profits and I will not interfere with you.”

Pitman gaped for a moment, his eyes going from dangerous to wary. “Why?” was all he said.

“Why not? Why should I put myself out for anyone in this town? My own sister has not extended a welcome to me, merely because I do not live up to the expected ideal of the Montgomery name. And, too, it's easier for me to allow you to do the work while all I do is collect part of the profits.”

Pitman began to relax and his hand moved away from the desk drawer, but there was still caution in his eyes. “Why did you return?”

Alex gave a laugh. “Because, my dear fellow, they expect me to do something about
you.”

Pitman almost returned Alex's smile and relaxed even more. “Perhaps we can work together.”

“Oh yes, I believe we can.” Alex began to talk to Pitman in a lazy style that he hoped would convey the impression that he wasn't really interested, but he wanted to know to what extent Pitman had put the Montgomery holdings in debt and, if possible, to find out what he was planning. Pitman's appointment as Customs Officer gave him a massive amount of power. It was left up to his integrity whether he abused that power or not.