The Runaway's Gold (11 page)

“Do you fancy beef stew?” Mary asked. “If not, we have stap as well.”

“I love them both, Miss!” I said, hardly believing me good fortune.

I sat, fidgeting in me chair, as she ladled a bowl from each of the black pots and brought them over. Then I watched, anxiously, unsure of what to say, as she sliced one of the loaves and slathered two pieces in butter.

I still remember every detail of that meal. The beef, tender
and juicy, floating in a broth of cabbage and potatoes sweeter than I had ever tasted. And the stap, a steaming mash of boiled whitefish and livers heaped with a heavy topping of bread-crumbs. I scorched the roof of me mouth before stopping to take a breath, shoveling in spoonful after spoonful for fear she might take it away before I had me fill.

“Crofters don't wait for a lady to be served before they eat?” Mary asked, eyebrows arched.

I gasped, dropping me spoon into the bowl, me face suddenly as hot as the steaming stew. “Forgive me, Miss!”

She looked down as she served herself and took the seat across from me. “Sorry. Midder always says we have more to eat than many on the island.”

“You eat like th-th-this?” I stammered. “Every day?”

Mary nodded, pulling the spoon delicately to her mouth and blowing on it, then met me with her sparkling eyes. “Strange, is it?”

I shrugged, hoping not to show me ignorance all at once.

“You don't speak . . . like a crofter.”

I winced, the words hitting me like the sharp beak of the puffins on the cliffs of Culswick. “And how is it that crofters speak?” I was unable to hide the resentment in me voice.

She hesitated, looking about the room. “It's just—well, your speech. It seems a bit more learned than that of the other crofters I've met.”

“Me Midder was an educated woman,” I said. “Made sure that we were careful with our words. The neighbors hated
her for it—thought she was putting on airs—but me Daa, he admired it greatly.” I thought for a moment how Daa would admire Mary. How she, with her manners and speech, might actually meet with his approval.

For a while we ate in silence, me staring at me bowl as I tried desperately to think of something learned to say. “You've a grand house, Miss,” I finally managed, eyeing her delicate white hand resting just inches from me own. I had never seen fingernails so clean.

“Grand?” she said, throwing back her head. “Oh, there're many homes grander than this in Lerwick.”

“Your Daa's a captain?”

“Och, no. 'Twas me uncle that Midder was speaking of. Me Daa's been dead now five years.”

“Sorry.”

“Aye. A chandler, he was. From Ireland—near Belfast. Me Midder's Irish as well. You can still hear it in her words if you listen carefully. In fact, he had eyes—they were very much like . . .” But instead of finishing she looked away.

“They came to Shetland.”

“Aye. Me Uncle James—the captain—convinced them. To work for Mr. Marwick.”

She spoke directly and deliberately, something I hadn't heard in the voice of one so young before, and as I listened, the rich whitefish and livers felt like velvet in me once hollow belly. But there was something else—something so strange in her manner that it took me a moment to realize what it was:
Mary Canfield's green eyes seemed always to be smiling. What a very strange thing indeed.

“He sails out of Lerwick?” I asked, allowing meself only glimpses of her, as me eyes jumped from her face to me bowl.

“Aye,” she nodded, jostling her ringlets as she spoke. The large green bow held them from her face. “He's captain of the
Ernestine Brennan
, Mr. Marwick's most prized vessel.”

I looked up with surprise.

“You know her?” Mary asked.

“I've seen her! Two years ago in Skeld. Then another time in the distance off the Cliffs of Culswick. Me brother, John, pointed her out.”

“Uncle stays with us when he comes to Lerwick. Brings us wonderful things—books, dresses, pictures—from his journeys.”

“The books in your parlor. I've never seen so many.”

“You mean to tell me you read?”

Once again me face grew hot.

“I was taken to understand crofters did not—”

“Well, I do!” I said, abruptly cutting her off. “Whenever I can find a book, that is. And I write as well.” Then, fearing meself rude, I softened me tone. “Your uncle—he sails far?”

“Aye. Wherever Mr. Marwick sends him. The West Indies, Belfast, Perth, Boston, Cape Town, Bergen, Rotterdam. He's been gone many months. This time with my brother, Charles, who's sixteen. We expect them back any day now. When I heard the knock at the door I worried it was they.”

“Worried?”

She lowered her gaze. “I miss them terribly, especially Charles. But with the way things are with Mr. Marwick, I'm hoping they stay away . . . a bit longer.” She delicately wiped her mouth with a napkin. “Word is, if Mr. Marwick can't get the loan in Scotland, his entire fleet—including the
Ernestine Brennan
—will be taken to cover his debt.”

“Surely a man of Mr. Marwick's stature won't allow—”

“Perhaps.” She bit off some bread and stopped to chew.

“Can't they signal him—turn him back to sea for a while until things get settled, so they won't get close enough to seize the ship?”

“Aye. Though it wouldn't be easy. The
Ernestine Brennan
is the most recognized ship in the harbor.”

I raised me eyebrows. “Me Daa says she carries cargo to our end of the island from time to time.”

Mary flashed a knowing smile. “Gin. Tobacco. Timber. No harm in the Revenue Men missing things on occasion, me uncle says.”

When she refilled me bowl, I reached hungrily for me spoon, and then suddenly pulled back.

“Go on. Don't tell me a boy all skin and bones like yourself doesn't want a second helping?”

“But your Midder. And the reverend. Surely we must save the rest for them?”

“Oh, you mustn't worry about that,” she said with a wave of her hand. Then she pushed the bowl closer. “There's plenty for us all.”

“It's just,” I started, me fingers creeping slowly toward the spoon. “Well, Miss, I—I can't remember a time when I was allowed.”

“To eat before the aged?”

“No.” I dropped me gaze. “To have a second helping.”

She was quiet for a moment and shifted in her chair. “I see,” she said, then picked up her spoon and nodded for me to do the same. “You don't need to call me ‘Miss.' ‘Mary' suits me just fine, don't you think?”

“Aye,” I mumbled. A smile crept from me lips even as the roof of me mouth burned once again.

“You're far from home.”

“Searching for me brother, John.”

“Lost, is he?”

“Hoot, no.” I scraped the edges of the bowl with me spoon to get the last drippings of stew. “Ran from the croft last night in the storm.”

“Didn't he tell you where he was going?” Mary asked, dropping her elbows on the table and resting her chin in her hands. “How rude.”

“I have a hunch he'll be down at the docks.” I glared at the bowl, feeling her eyes on me as I spoke. “Has something that dunna belong to him. Something I intend to get back before—”

The door flung open and Reverend Sill burst into the kitchen. “Young Robertson,” he said, “Mrs. Canfield has shared with me more details about the situation here in Lerwick. The
streets are not safe for a lad from the croft. You're to rest here the night and continue your search come daylight.”

“But, sir,” I said, springing to me feet, “I canna wait!”

“Bah! There's nothing so important it can't keep till the morn.”

“I—”

But before I could continue, he raised his weathered hand in the air, then glared at me with his sunken, yellowing eyes. “Satan lurks in the shadows this dark night, lad—don't you doubt it for a minute. I forbid you to leave until daybreak.”

I started to protest, when Mrs. Canfield strode in and placed a firm hand on me shoulder. “That settles it, then,” she said, then sashayed in her brilliant blue dress to the door by the cupboard. “Mary, show Christopher to the shed. And be sure to get him a blanket. It can be quite drafty back there, I am afraid.”

But no sooner had Mrs. Canfield started back to the stove than there was a pounding at the door.

An Escape

ary ushered me through the thin door separating the kitchen from the shed and closed it behind her. Then she lit the lantern hanging from the beam above us.

“Solus Christus!” I exclaimed as the light revealed all that was before me. “Me family could work ten years and not see the likes of this!”

In the corner I counted five sacks of flour. And above us on the rafters hung more pieces of drying meat and fish than I had ever seen in a home. There was a barrel of molasses, and several unmarked barrels that must have been coffee or tea. On the other side of the room, various tools leaned up
against the back wall, and herbs and braided onions hung from a rope.

“Is your life so different?” Mary asked. “The past few years have been hard indeed, but surely there have been better times—when the fishing was good?”

I scoffed. “There's not a crofter in the parish gets a decent price for his cod.”

“What of the markets in other villages? Surely they offer a fair price—”

“Burra or Scalloway? Hah! The last crofter who tried that was evicted by Mr. Marwick in three days' time. It's his price or we're gone.”

“Mr. Marwick?”

I shrugged. “Without his credit we can't outfit our boats, much less buy our lines and supplies. Doesn't take but a few years of fishing the same failed banks till everyone's in so deep there's no way out.”

Mary furrowed her brow. “There must be some way.”

“You sound like me brother, John. He's full of ideas. And that's what's gotten me into this mess.”

We heard voices in the kitchen and she beckoned me to a knothole in the door. “Shall we see who was pounding at the door?”

“Reverend Sill,” we heard Mrs. Canfield say, walking back into the kitchen, “a rather large and insistent gentleman is here. He claims to be from your parish and insists on speaking with you about a matter of great urgency. I've tried to tell him
of your exhaustion, and that he should return in the morning, but he refuses to leave—”

“Lor',” I gasped, me heart jumping to me throat. “He's found me already.”

“Who?” Mary asked.

I put me finger to me lips as Reverend Sill settled into the chair I had been in just a few minutes before.

“If he's of my parish, I shall see him,” the old man said. “As long as the Lord sees fit to keep me from that unchangeable state, I shall continue with my duties.”

“Are ya sure?” Mrs. Canfield asked. “Mightn't you need your rest, having traveled those twenty miles all in one day?”

“Madam,” he said with a sigh. “The Lord did not intend our journey through life to be one of leisure.”

She stared at him for a moment, then snapped her hands to her hips. “As you wish. But I can't say I like the looks of this one. He's nettles in his beard and smells as though he hasn't bathed since Martinmas.”

“I never shoulda' stayed,” I whispered, springing to me feet. “Mary, is there a way out of here—where I won't be seen?”

“But Reverend Sill has forbidden it,” Mary said. “Who is this person, anyway?”

“Knut Blackbeard.”

“Such a peculiar name.”

“Aye. He's a neighbor from Culswick. Thinks I've stolen me Daa's pouch of coins.”

“Have you?” she asked, eyes widening.

“'Course not! But me brother, John, left Daa a note telling him was me who took it. And until I find John and get it back, it's his word against mine.”

“Well, you best be sure it's him before you head out on the streets alone.” She beckoned me back to the knothole as Mrs. Canfield returned, heavy footsteps thundering behind her.