Read The Randolph Legacy Online
Authors: Eileen Charbonneau
The Randolph Legacy (10 page)
He cut the trouser leg. Washington felt the silence weigh on him. He closed his eyes as he felt the stares. Just above his leg irons, the stitches began carving a drunken path up his shortened, misshapen leg, stopping at the scarred knee. The sight even stunned the captain to silence. For a moment.
“It was the Frenchman!” he bellowed. “You can crawl, powder monkey. He put you out there nightly, he brought you to my window!”
“He never did.”
“You are under oath, Henry Washington.”
“He never did,” he repeated, louder.
“How did you get there after that damned Frenchman became food for the sharks? Who assisted you? Was it Collins? He will stand on the gallows beside you!”
“It was no one, so help—how is it said?—so help me, God.” He glanced up at the chaplain. “Is that what these words are? A prayer?”
“Be still,” the small man urged nervously, but Washington couldn’t stop.
Illuminate.
They were all listening.
Remember.
“I saw a fine room once,” his dry voice croaked out now. “Tapestries on the walls. Is that what I was seeing? But you were not there, Captain. It was only a dream,
wasn’t it? Fayette? Judith?
Quel dommage,
the dreams are the best I can do at remembering.”
Illuminate.
They were all listening.
Remember.
“I saw a fine room once,” his dry voice croaked out now. “Tapestries on the walls. Is that what I was seeing? But you were not there, Captain. It was only a dream,
wasn’t it? Fayette? Judith?
Quel dommage,
the dreams are the best I can do at remembering.”
First Lieutenant Mitchell stepped forward. “Captain, I beg you to recess the court. The prisoner is not well.”
Captain Willis’s wild eyes underwent a sea change. He smiled benignly. “Nonsense. The accused recites American states like a schoolboy. He’s in perfect health, and capable of treason. For which I find him guilty, and sentence him to hang, at first light, as soon as we are in sight of the beloved country he knows so well.”
“Sir, may I remind you that the evidence is circumstantial at best and points not to this man at all, but to the one already dead?”
“You may indeed, Lieutenant.” Captain Willis turned and called out over the assemblage, “The trial has concluded.”
“C
ease. No more,” Washington whispered.
ease. No more,” Washington whispered.
“Don’t be such a coward, man! Heat exhaustion requires strong countermeasures! You should be grateful that the captain has relieved the surgeon and put me in sole charge of your health. There. It’s done now. Raise your arm.”
Thrumming stuffed lint into the wound, then handed the bowl of blood to Collins. “Here,” he said. “Overboard.”
Washington took the officer’s sleeve. “Tell the sharks it’s but to appetize,” he whispered. “Main course at first light.” Collins didn’t laugh. Had he forgotten how to tell a joke? Washington wondered, disappointed. Or was Collins angry with him about the welts on his back? The midshipman stationed outside his cage snorted a short burst. Washington felt better.
When Thrumming returned to his apothecary below, Washington flung the lint from his arm’s wound and tried to sit up. The midshipman entered the cage, assisted him. “Don’t eat the food,” he advised.
“Why?”
“It’s laced with purgatives. So you’ll be empty. So you won’t shit on the captain when you get strung up.”
“Zut alors,”
Washington spat. “No peace from that man.”
Washington spat. “No peace from that man.”
The boy leaned forward. “I—I won’t let them hang you, sir.”
Washington looked more closely at the boy. He was the one who’d wept at Fayette’s services. “What is your name?”
“Stephenson.”
“Stephenson, listen to me. Fayette would not like noble, futile gestures. He’d bother me about it for all of eternity. You would not wish such a fate on me, would you?”
“No, sir.”
“There, then. Now, if you could find me some decent drinking water, so that I can go about the work of replacing the blood that idiot keeps robbing from my veins, I would be very grateful.”
“Aye, sir.” He turned, but glanced back. “Mr. Washington?”
“I am only Washington.”
“You sound like Monsieur Fayette.”
He smiled. “Well. I am his heir.”
The young midshipman brought water as the first star appeared in the cooling evening sky. Washington sipped at it, imagining it to be the sparkling wine of Champagne that Fayette raved over. They had played at drinking it many times. Washington almost explained their game to the boy, but did not trust his voice to remain steady through the telling. “Join me, Stephenson,” was as far as he ventured.
The boy did. Soon the young officer’s troubled glance was skirting the iron bars of Washington’s cage as he spoke. “It seems to me that the world is upside down here.”
“It is. But it will right itself again.”
“In time? For you?”
“Perhaps. Perhaps our captain will regret letting me within sight of my country, yes? Where are we putting in?”
“At Norfolk. To repair the masts that were downed in the gale. Do you think the Quaker lady—”
“Judith.” Her bountiful heart might grieve. But she must not think them spies. And he must release her from his dream of a future together. His future was ending at first light. Hers must go on.
“Stephenson, might you procure me pen and paper? Could you get a letter of mine to that lady? Out from Norfolk, posted to her Quaker Meeting in Philadelphia? Can I trust you with that?”
“Monsieur Fayette got Jamie down, sir,” he said. “Be assured.”
Soon Washington was alone again, at his favorite time of the night. But his hand seemed paralyzed above the paper.
Dearest Judith,
he finally wrote.
he finally wrote.
Fayette’s end came suddenly. It was caused in doing what he loved the most—restoring foolish youth to safety, though he would tell us he wanted one last flight across the mizzenmast near the stars, I think.
It appears I am to be granted a less noble demise. We were neither pious nor pure men, Judith, but we are blameless of the crimes for which we are condemned.
It is my hope that you will think upon us seldom, but in
those times, not without some measure of fondness, as we were, by God’s oversight and your generous heart, graced by your love.
those times, not without some measure of fondness, as we were, by God’s oversight and your generous heart, graced by your love.
With my last breath I will release that stolen soul to her home. She carries my affection to her mistress as bonding agent.
—H. Washington
As he held the letter drying between his fingers, Washington heard a ship approach, then hail the
Standard.
He listened carefully, and judged it to be a small vessel, a harbor ketch or schooner. The hailing master spoke American English.
Standard.
He listened carefully, and judged it to be a small vessel, a harbor ketch or schooner. The hailing master spoke American English.
Washington watched the conference between the master and the captain, then saw the rage enter Captain Willis’s face as he approached the cage. “Damned woman. That damned woman,” he muttered.
Washington folded the letter quickly, but a flash of the paper caught the captain’s eye. He yanked it from his grasp. The ink bottle crushed beneath his foot.
W
ashington drifted off. So tired. This was his time, the night. Perhaps his last night; how could he sleep? But no one was poking, prodding, bleeding him. They’d even removed his chains. He slept deep, dreamless, like a child with decades instead of hours of life left to him. Until he sensed Captain Willis again beside him, there in the cage. And something else. Death.
ashington drifted off. So tired. This was his time, the night. Perhaps his last night; how could he sleep? But no one was poking, prodding, bleeding him. They’d even removed his chains. He slept deep, dreamless, like a child with decades instead of hours of life left to him. Until he sensed Captain Willis again beside him, there in the cage. And something else. Death.
“You seduced her,” his voice hissed.
He opened his eyes. “Who?”
“That woman. That damned Quakeress.”
“No. I love her. How could I not love her? But I did not—”
“Seduced! Defiled her, you and the Frenchman, both! I have it in your letter—‘mistress’ … ‘stolen soul’ … I will say I saw you—the three of you, in unspeakable, unnatural acts. I will say that corrupt fascination is what accounts for her devotion to your cause. She will be disgraced, disowned by her father, ostracized from her community.”
“It’s not true.”
Willis’s smile made Washington’s teeth ache. “I am a captain in His Majesty’s Royal Navy, Henry Washington. A hero at Trafalgar. Who are you? A convicted spy. A crippled coward, the marks of your disgrace on your back. Who will be believed?”
“You must not hurt Judith.”
“It’s you will hurt her, if you’re alive tomorrow, when she comes with her officials, her papers. Another choice, my pretty cot-boy. Here’s
a final choice, a last chance at honor.” He slipped the knife into Washington’s hand. “The Romans did this. The ones who weren’t cowards.”
a final choice, a last chance at honor.” He slipped the knife into Washington’s hand. “The Romans did this. The ones who weren’t cowards.”
Then he was gone. Washington looked down. A fine thing, the knife was. Its handle was delicately carved ivory, swirling with interlocking circles. Its blade was short and sharp. Bounty, Washington sensed, from some past campaign. The knife was bounty. That’s what he himself had been, long ago. The captain’s bounty impressed off another ship. What ship? The one with the boy. The boy with his face, then no face. The knife’s point slashed across the memory, slashed across the blue delta of veins in his wrist. Not Judith. Not Judith, too. He watched the blood well up, spill out.
Not deep enough. Again. He was no coward. He must try again.
But when he grasped the knife’s handle, it shouted at him, its voice annoyed, full of strange clicks. The language was not English or French, though its disapproving tone reminded him of Fayette’s.
Washington dropped the knife, pressed three fingers against the wound in his wrist. He felt the pulse of life beneath it.
The lullaby of the black people whose echoes lived with him in the hold began. He felt tears sting the corners of his eyes, and welcomed them. So kind. Why were they so kind to him?
H
e caught the unmistakable scents of dampness and wormy fruit. The hold, his dark, familiar place. Shouts of men and machinery sounded above. No hammock, but something incredibly soft; a cloud, perhaps, held him. A light blanket covered him further. One more smell approached, crowding out all the others. It made him think he was dead. Plum duff.
e caught the unmistakable scents of dampness and wormy fruit. The hold, his dark, familiar place. Shouts of men and machinery sounded above. No hammock, but something incredibly soft; a cloud, perhaps, held him. A light blanket covered him further. One more smell approached, crowding out all the others. It made him think he was dead. Plum duff.
He opened his eyes and saw Judith Mercer.
“I did not lie,” he told her. “I named myself Henry for Fayette, but I did not lie.”
“Thou art hereafter Ethan.” Her fingers combed his hair back from his brow. “Ethan Randolph, who has a mother and father, two brothers and a sister, and a fine house on a beautiful river.”
“Where?”
“In the Commonwealth of Virginia.”
“These people.”
“The Randolphs.”
“They want me, Judith?”
“Of course they do!” she said quickly—too quickly, he thought. “And thy sister, thy beautiful, courageous Sally, has a husband and children now.”
“Children?”
“Three.”
He looked at the empty shelves of his quarters. “My ships are gone. I’ll make others for the children. Would that be good, Judith?”
“Yes, beloved. That would be splendid.”
He reached up to touch her face, saw the strip of gauze around his wrist, and remembered. “They must not hurt you.”
“No one will hurt me.”
“The captain said he would use my letter to ruin you with slander, unless I—”
“Oh, Ethan.” Her voice cracked over his new name, and she bowed her head as tears slipped down her cheeks.
“Our black people prevented it, Judith. Scolded me without mercy! Don’t cry.”
She lifted her head, but the tears continued. “Captain Willis had no power over thee once he entered United States’ waters, and he knew it. Lieutenant Mitchell could stand his madness no more. He and the surgeon signed papers attesting impaired judgment. The lieutenant arrested Captain Willis, held him secure in his cabin.”
“But the letter—”
“It was found by Lieutenant Mitchell, and delivered. I thank thee for a fine letter, a beautiful letter. Captain Willis cannot hurt us with it. He cannot hurt anyone anymore. He hanged himself this morning before I came aboard.”
Washington let her words sink into his being, become reality. “Fayette called you a giant-killer,” he said in an awed whisper.
She frowned. “I am no kind of killer.”
“He meant no offense. Don’t be angry with us, Judith. Fayette, I do not say it correctly, tell her about what you—” he called, as if his friend were sitting on his empty chair. “I forgot,” he whispered.
“Mon dieu,
Judith, I forgot.”
“Mon dieu,
Judith, I forgot.”
She stroked his brow and spoke softly. “I wish I could see our Fayette’s face now, I wish I could laugh at his astonishment as he is led toward the Light he spent so much of his energies denying.”
“Who will lead him, do you think, Judith?”
“His Madeline, perhaps?”
The new Ethan Randolph felt the weight of his loss change in density. Its color went from bloodred to rose.
“Eat,” Judith commanded. “Tomorrow, the clothes thy brother ordered will be ready, and thee will be on thy way home.” She put a spoon into the steaming bowl in her lap.
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