The Runaway's Gold (18 page)

The Visitor

eeper Mann snatched Charles Canfield's clothes from the floor and stuffed them in his bag. Then he picked up Charles's boots.

“I've been needin' some a' these.”

“They don't belong to you,” I muttered as he grabbed fast to me arm and shoved me into the dimly lit hall.

“You want another smack to the mouth?” he sneered. “Now move along!”

“Who's come to see me?”

“Quit your talking.”

“Where are you taking me?”

“The airin' room, of course! Where the law says you good-for-nothin's
have to go each day to stretch your limbs and get your exercise grinding grain.”

The main door to the barracks was open as we passed, the entryway now lined with the people we had seen waiting outside when we first arrived.

“Court's in session today,” Mann muttered. “These bothersome lowlifes will be hangin' round all day waitin' for their turn.”

“Ooooo!” A toothless woman cackled, peering at me from under her hap. “Looks like a new one's been caught!”

“One a' the lads the sheriff dragged in this morn,” a stooped man in a woolen cap taunted. “All skin and bones, he is!”

“Hey, lad!” another yelled. “You'll be an old, old man when they let you out of here.”

“Is it me Daa who's here?” I pleaded with Keeper Mann. Perhaps I could reason with him—explain what had really happened.

“Your Daa?” Mann chuckled, stopping before a well-worn door just opposite the stairs to the second floor. “Not hardly!” And when he flung the door open, the watery, yellowing eyes of Reverend Sill met me like a wall of stone.

The room was bare except for several chairs next to a few tables fitted with small hand mills for grinding bere and oats. I winced at the sudden shock of light from the three tall windows looking out on the back side of the building.

The reverend's bent frame rested over his weathered stauf.
He looked me up and down, slowly shook his head, then turned to the keeper.

“Leave us.”

“With this sheep-murderin' thief? Oh, no, Reverend! I'll not be puttin' a fine man such as yourself in danger.”

“Young Robertson is a sheep of
my
flock,” Reverend Sill said, eyes narrowing. “And it is the Lord's wish that he cleanse his soul before
me
, not the keeper of this filthy establishment. Tell me, does no one in this place have the sense to clean the stench of waste from within these walls? I assure you, even a lowly crofter's byre never smells as foul as this.”

“It's the scent of smugglers and thieves your nose is takin' in, Reverend,” Mann snapped, spit flying from his mouth. “They bring with them a stench no cow, swine, or sheep could ever make were they stalled up together for all the months of winter.”

He leered at me, licking his cracked purple lips.

“Evil, they are—every one. This one, especially, he has the look, he does. I seen it before. I'm not lettin' him from me sight.”

Reverend Sill pounded his stauf into the damp stone floor. “Are you telling
me
that the Lord Almighty will not be my protector in the presence of a lad as wee as this? Release him this instant and leave us be, or I'll be speaking with Sheriff Nicolson directly!”

For a moment Mann made a series of grunts and snorts,
before finally dropping his grip. Then he pulled his knife from his belt. “You best not try anythin', Robertson, 'cause I'll be waitin' for you just outside.”

When Mann finally closed the door behind him, Reverend Sill pointed a wiry finger at me face. His tone was as icy and dark as the floor, and he stared at me with a piercing intensity from behind long, straggling eyebrows. “I forbade you to leave last night. You disobeyed me.”

I glanced, deeply ashamed, at me dirty feet. He had shown me kindness. Tried to keep me from danger. “Aye—I did, sir. But I can explain.”

“And you had the audacity to bring Miss Mary Canfield
with
you? A young Christian girl, out in a street of rioting mariners and heathens, with no chaperone and without the knowledge of her midder?”

I looked up, aghast. “Is she safe?”

He paused a moment, stroking his chin. “Aye. Arrived just an hour ago. No thanks to you, I might add. Her brother, Charles, brought her ashore this morning after her Midder and I spent a frantic night searching for her whereabouts.”

I closed me eyes. How could I have been so foolish? “It was wrong, sir, to let her come. I should have—”

“Enough!” he said, raising his stauf. “Last evening, before we knew of your unauthorized departure, Mr. Blackbeard and I had a long and very interesting conversation. He suggested you are a lad of deep moral delinquencies. I made the mistake of not believing him.”

“He knows only what me Daa told him, and it's not the truth!”

“Not only did he tell me that you had taken your Daa's pouch of coins, he said you had taken the life of Mr. Peterson's prize ewe in an attempt to steal her newly born offspring!”

“No!” I said, shaking me head violently. “It wasn't me intention!”

“Christopher Robertson, have you lied to me?”

“No!”

Me face burned with shame. I dropped to a whisper. “I didn't tell you everything, sir, but I never lied.”

“Well, then, lad, the time for an explanation has come. For when the Redeemer asks us to confess our sins, He asks us to speak slowly and distinctly, so as to admit with the utmost honesty what it is we have done.”

“It was John who took that pouch,” I cried. “As God is me witness! I followed him to Lerwick to get it back!”

“And Mr. Peterson's sheep?”

I could feel the tears creeping from the corners of me eyes to me cheeks. “It all happened so quickly!”

“Bah!” he scoffed. “I'll not stand for this show of emotion!” Then he turned away from me in disgust. “Compose yourself and face your sins.”

It was all I could do to keep from shaking as I wiped me eyes on me sleeve. But when he turned back, I was still unprepared for the question.

“Can you deny, Christopher Robertson,” he asked, stepping
forward and dropping his face just inches from me as if questioning Satan himself, “that you killed Peter Peterson's ewe?”

I swallowed hard.

“Speak! Or may you be damned to fry with Satan in Hell for the rest of your days!”

“I cannot deny it!” I blurted, casting me eyes to the floor. “But it was me Daa who stole her, not me. She gave birth to twins that night.” I hugged me arms around me chest, never finding the courage to raise me eyes. “I begged him, again and again.
Are you sure, Daa? Is this really what you want?
But Mr. Peterson was at the door and Daa—he needed her quiet.”

The words spilled out like water from a broken dam, me heart pounding so hard against me chest that I thought it might burst through me ribs.

“
Snuff her out
, Daa said. And, and, and—with me Daa—we all know you can't say no.”

When I found the courage to glance up, I saw Reverend Sill strangely hunched over his stauf, as if lost in a trance. And then, suddenly, the door burst open.

“Nicely done, Reverend!” Keeper Mann said, a wide smile beaming from behind his scraggly beard as he slapped the ancient man so hard on the back that the reverend nearly fell over. “You got a confession out a' the sneaky crofter lad, and I am your witness!”

Then he danced a jig around the room, laughing aloud.

“Ho, ho! We'll have a speedy trial with this one now! Two crimes—back-to-back!”

“A confession?” Reverend Sill asked, trying to regain his balance. “I had understood that this was a
private
meeting!”

“Ah, come, now—you know it's your duty as head of the Church to report to the sheriff any cases a' moral misconduct. We can't let privacy get in the way of justice, now, can we?”

Mann leered at me as he grabbed me arm.

“Let's get you back to your cell where you'll be stayin' for a good long time. At least, that is, until they take you away to the hulks to wait for your ship to Norfolk with your roommate, MacPherson!”

I struggled to free meself as he pulled his knife from its sheath. “Heard about them convict ships, have you, lad?” he asked, leaning just inches from me ear. “First they chain you below deck, so you're nice an' comfortable. All goes well for a month or two of the journey—that is, until you get to the tropics. That's when the sun starts beatin' down so strong there's hardly any air below deck. Then, o' course, the fresh water starts to run out. And it's then, they tell me, when it's so beastly hot that the pitch from between the boards on the deck above you starts meltin', hot as fire—drip, drip, drip—onto your skin.”

He cackled as he stared at me horror-struck face, then shoved me to the door.

“Please! Reverend Sill!” I cried from the hall. “Don't let him take me!”

But as I searched behind me for the face of the man whose kindness I had betrayed, he was nowhere to be seen.

The Rope

oot, lad, you look like you've seen better days.” Malcolm looked up from his pallet as I stumbled back into the cell. “Havin' a visitor can't be that bad.”

“They're sending me!”

“Sending you?”

“With you—to Norfolk Island!”

I ran to the window, grabbing fast to the shutters.

“Oh, Mann's just fillin' you with stories is all. They can't just send you, lad. First they've gotta give you a trial. And they need evidence to convict you.”

I swallowed hard. “He doesn't need evidence.”

“'Course he does!” Malcolm said, letting out a yawn as he stretched his giant arms above his head. “First off, the crime has to be worthy of the punishment. Then they need to try you in the High Court in Edinburgh in order to give you the Transportation.”

I turned to face him. “Even when they have a confession?”

Malcolm sat up erect. “You confessed? Lor', lad—no one in his right mind
confesses
when he's committed a crime!”

“Aye,” I said, slumping down on me pallet. “Thought I was speaking to Reverend Sill in private. The keeper listened at the door.”

Then I found meself telling him about all that had happened the night of the gale, and of me travel to Lerwick, and the night at the Marwick Lodberry.

“Sneaky rat, that Mann,” Malcolm muttered, picking a bug from his beard. “But if you can find the pouch John pinched from your Daa—”

“Ah, that's long gone. John spent it on some casks a' smuggled gin, and as long as he's in here too, he can't even claim the goods from the Marwick Lodberry. Even if he could, Marwick's son would take it in payment for me Daa's debts.” As I spoke I thought of George Marwick's parting words—
See to it Mary Canfield gets safely home and then bring me those coins. By morning. Or I'll have your family cast from their croft by week's end
.