The Randolph Legacy (48 page)

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Authors: Eileen Charbonneau

BOOK: The Randolph Legacy
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Ethan’s hand felt clammy in hers. The smell of iron, the closeness
of the keep. So familiar to him, over his long impressment, and his time held for her father’s murder. Judith suddenly wanted to pull him away and beg his forgiveness for even asking him to bring her to this place. She saw bushy gray eyebrows, there beyond the unlatched square in the heavy door.
“Your name, again?”
“Randolph,” he repeated.
The eyebrow cocked. “Which Randolph?”
“Ethan Blair. Son to Winthrop, of Windover.”
“Aye. The Federalist merchant. You the young one, then? The mad one? Who was lost at sea, hauled off by the British to fight Napoleon, then went chasing a Quaker woman with your French manners, then—”
“Guilty on all counts,” Ethan conceded quickly. “And you, sir?”
“Me?”
“As you have the advantage of me, I ask your name.”
“Morgan Carr, who ain’t been out pirating ships and Quaker women for amusement, but who keeps slave-stealing prisoners right secure.”
“I’m sure you do, Mr. Carr. You have no cause for concern. My wife tells me that she would only sit with her kinsman Captain Atwater today.”
“Kinsman? I didn’t hear that part of the story. This captain’s related to Randolphs?”
“It can start with you, then, that part. You look hungry, Mr. Carr. Does he not, Judith?”
Judith nodded. “You do, sir. I’m sure my … my unfortunate kinsman would share what we’ve brought for his refreshment in return for a short visit.”
“What’s brought, missus? Do I smell cinnamon?”
“Indeed. Baked into the lightest rolls your tongue ever met. And there’s a sea pie, pickled sturgeon, onions and cucumber.”
“Like to cause me gut rumbling, the cucumber.”
“My husband could make up a powder for that ailment. He studies medicine in the most diligent manner. That way you might enjoy all, and the Shrewsbury cakes, spruce beer, and a peach cordial besides. All prepared by the best cook on either bank of the James.”
Ethan smiled affably, as if this man were a patient, or a neighbor. “Open your door, Mr. Carr,” he urged. “See our bounty for yourself.”
But it was she herself Morgan Carr was interested in seeing, Judith decided as they entered the stone keep. She held her husband’s hand tighter as the man peered under her wide hat. “She don’t look like no terrible Quaker scold, sir, any more than you’re my idea of a French-ified lunatic.”
“We’re sorry to disappoint you, Mr. Carr. Now”—Ethan thumped the basket on the oak table—“feast your eyes. And tell my distressed lady she might comfort her cousin a little while.”
The man raised his head from Ethan’s tantalizing glimpse of the contents of her basket. Judith saw a gap-toothed smile and gave thanks for Martha’s skill. Morgan Carr rubbed his stubbly chin. “All right, then. I want full half, though I’ll trade the cordial for the spruce beer. Your wife only, in there with her kin. I’ll hold you, Dr. Randolph, to assure her good behavior, and for your powders and advice on joint-achings as well.” He closed one eye. “After you surrender me your weapon.”
Ethan took a light hold at Judith’s shoulders. She nodded. He lifted his knife from his boot, placed it on the table, and held out his hand to Morgan Carr. “We’re in agreement, sir.”
 
 
J
udith set her lightened basket down on the small table in Captain Atwater’s cell. “You should not have come,” he whispered.
“I have been in worse places than this, friend.”
“Is your husband—?”
“Ethan entertains your guard. Are you well?”
“Better than my passengers. To be sold on the block this afternoon.”
“Together? Will they sell the brothers together?”
“Yes, perhaps.”
“Well, at least they have each other.”
His eyes met hers. “Do you see good in everything, Judith Blair?”
“Yes. It’s tiresome, is it not?”
He shook his head. “No, not in the least.” Then his voice lost its brief flirtation with mirth. “The men who boarded the
Opal,
arrested us,
they have your package with the lady’s traveling clothes inside,” he said. “I tried to send it overboard, but everything happened so quickly. Judith—”
“Do not concern yourself with that.”
“But the silk. If any should trace it to your hands …”
“I am not known for my work with silks, Captain.” Judith touched the bodice of her lavender lawn gown, ornamented only at the neckline and wrists with the Battenburg lace Anne Randolph had given her.
“True. That’s how my mother knew to trust you, there in Richmond. Because you wore the dress and had the gentle, generous manner of a Quaker. Were you once a Quaker, Judith?”
She began to empty the contents of her basket. “Captain Atwater. Would you rid me of all my mystery?”
“No.” He sat, stared at the floor. “I would rid you only of your handsome, philandering husband.”
Judith felt her cold hands becoming colder. “You must not speak so,” she whispered. “It slanders a good man, and does yourself no service.”
“Forgive me. Mrs. Blair, please. I have had too much time to think. To dream.” He bowed his head. Judith saw a dark form crawling near the crown of his sun-bleached hair.
“Stay still,” she summoned.
“What?”
She knelt beside him on the corn-husk mattress. “Still, I said!” Judith locked his head between her hands. Her fingers sifted until she captured and cracked the vermin between her nails. She flung it aside and searched his scalp for companions. Two more met their deaths, while the captain of the ill-fated
Opal
sat in stunned silence.
“There,” she said, satisfied. “You are fortunate I have been able to vent my anger on those vexing creatures.”
“Where in heaven’s name did you learn to do that?”
“A long way from Heaven. Dartmoor Prison, in England. I could destroy twenty-seven in a minute’s time. We made a game of it, the prisoners and I. It passed the time.”
“I’m damned.”
“Not nearly, Captain. Come. Eat. Your mouth will be better served in giving yourself nourishment.”
He took her hand. “You must not do anything that would put you in harm’s way. I charge you—”
“You are not on your fine vessel now, Captain Atwater. I will take no orders from you.”
“For the love of all that’s holy, woman! This is not a game!”
“Oh, but it is. A dangerous game, I’ll grant you. We both know that. Eat. I have brought worse than you up from the depths. And you do not know half of my Ethan’s talents.”
“Judith, listen to me. I have confessed all, in return for my crew’s release, uncharged. I am sentenced tomorrow. I will lose my ship. I will leave my mother almost penniless.”
“‘Leave’?”
“If I can escape the gathering mob’s fury, I go to prison. You must not visit me there, no matter your skills finding head vermin, understand? If you will only look in on my mother from time to time … Judith, are you listening to me?”
She was not. She needed to speak to Ethan about the thought birthing itself in her heart.
 
 
A
t the close of the day they finally sat together in silence near the shoots of crocuses in the public gardens on Lancaster Street. Ethan’s time with Morgan Carr had netted paper and a quill for a letter to Captain Atwater’s mother and a raise in his drinking-water allowance. Both concessions were echoes of another captive’s needs, Judith now realized. Silver had passed between the men’s hands, because there were limits, even to Ethan’s charm.
Then he had left her in these gardens while he secured their room, in the attic of an old Counting House friend of his father’s. They were lucky to get that, in the crowded city, on the eve of Captain Atwater’s sentencing. But Judith sensed the echo of another place in her young husband, one that reeked of tobacco and commodities and the salt of the sea. Where had he gone, leaving her to the public garden, unattended by any but his traveling book of an English playwright’s poetry? As one hour turned to two, she’d grown so worried she’d actually opened the book. The words were beautiful, but she was distracted by the child’s drawings of ships and sea serpents in the margins.
But the afternoon had taken its toll on the man that child had become, Judith thought as she stole a glance at her silent, troubled husband. He’d favored his right side, leaning heavily on his walking stick. She had asked so much of him. And she was about to ask more.
“Ethan. Tell me how you have devised Captain Atwater my cousin?”
A sly half-smile broke through the strain on his face. “Why, Judith, are we not all kin by way of our common forebears, Adam and Eve?” He sniffed. “I thought you knew the Bible better than I.”
“Rogue,” she whispered, feeling herself blush.
He turned, took her face in his hand. His smile was gone. “I love you, Judith. Remember. Always.”
Now. It had to be now. “He must not go to prison.”
“No,” he agreed, releasing her, staring down at his hands.
“What can we do?”
“Watch. And wait,” he advised, “for an opportunity.”
 
 
W
hen the judge held up the woman’s suit of clothes, Judith felt her husband flinch there at her side in the courtroom, for her sisters-in-law had made a great demonstration of showing him their gifts. But he stared straight ahead, his expression unchanged. She should have told him. She should have risked his censure. Captain Atwater remained steadfast, refusing to divulge where the silk originated. The angry judge raised his sentence from seven to ten years, and ordered him branded on the hand.
Fear entered Captain Atwater’s eyes, finally, giving the first measure of satisfaction to the courtroom’s audience. Now. Dear God, they were going to do it now, Judith realized, before the man had a chance to compose himself toward his fate. He breathed hard in his effort to maintain his dignity. The overflowing crowd leaned closer. The red iron was brought from the outside forge by a man whose face ignited her very veins with fear.
“Who is he?” Judith whispered.
“Boswain’s mate. Punisher,” Ethan said. “Do you wish to leave?”
“No.” She buried her hands in the crook of his arm.
Ethan faced full forward again, the twitch dancing madly beside his eye. Judith prayed to God to forgive her this new hell for him to witness, but she could not leave, not with Captain Atwater’s eyes fixed on her as if she was the North Star in the sky of a storm-tossed Atlantic.
The S.S. brand’s meaning was clear: slave stealer.
Steady. She must keep her gaze steady, focused on Captain Atwater’s face only, even as it contorted in pain, even as the smoke rose and the stench of burned flesh filled her nostrils. When would it stop?
“You have made your mark, sir,” the judge commanded. The burn continued. The judge leaned over. “Cease …” he began, but got no further. As Captain Atwater finally burst forth with an agonized wail, Ethan leaped to his feet, then flew over the railing. Was this her once-crippled husband, flying? He whacked back the wrist of the punisher, sending him sprawling, sending his instrument to the floorboards. Captain
Atwater slumped in Morgan Carr’s arms, his steaming hand buried in his coat.
“It appears Dr. Randolph got him ceased for you, Your Honor,” Carr commented.
The judge left his bench as Judith fought her way through the crowd. He glanced down at an unconscious man. “Dr. Randolph, may I now call upon your healing skills?” he asked.
Judith watched Ethan blink, turning himself from avenging angel back to healer again. He yanked open Captain Atwater’s cravat and neckerchief, lifted the man’s eyelids. “If you’ll mind the hand and bring him forward, Mr. Carr?” he instructed. Judith rummaged her wide pockets for a vial of clove oil that might help revive their patient. The clerks and bailiffs struggled to maintain order outside their haven.
She found the vial as the jailer sat Captain Atwater up. But Ethan stayed her hand, before beginning his calm assessment. “Nerve damage. In two places, burned to the bone. And, Judith, what’s this?”
“What? Ethan, allow me to see—”
The vial was knocked from her hand as Ethan reached down, taking his knife from his boot. Why had he done that? A gasp. Ethan’s grip tightened. A red stream spurted up his arm. Everything was happening so fast. He shook his head, blinking blood out of his eye as he pressed harder to staunch the flow. “Judith!” he shouted. “Ice! Get me ice!”
She turned and tore through the crowd to the doors.
When she returned, a bailiff took her straw-packed cake of ice and left her with orders from her husband to wait outside the judge’s chamber.
Judith felt abandoned, alone, and achingly tired in the emptied courtroom. Why was Ethan leaving her out of Captain Atwater’s care? She tucked her ruined slippers under her mud-splattered skirts and lay across the length of a spindle-backed bench. A strange serenity came, punctuated by the gentle, butterfly roaming of the child inside her, saying,
No, not alone.
She wanted to tell Ethan that here, among all this turmoil, their child was moving. She wanted to press his hand against her middle. She even dreamed she was about to do that, and he was not bloodied and shouting, but her gentle Ethan again, swaddling her in his coat, lifting her close against his heart.

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