“Where to this morning, miss?” he asked, dusting his hands as he rejoined her in the garden. “Fancy another ride on one of them ponies?”
“Oh, no, I can’t, thank you, Petersham,” Cathy said hastily before she thought. She wanted to take no chances where her baby was concerned, but she didn’t feel like explaining the facts of her condition to Petersham at the moment. Besides, she wanted Jon to be the first to know.
“You can’t, eh?” Petersham said astutely, looking at her through narrowed eyes. Cathy, intent on one of the gorgeous parrots that were as plentiful here as sparrows in England, missed his words and tone. She surfaced to hear him say, “Well, how about the beach, then?”
She agreed smilingly to the beach. They crossed the garden and climbed down the cliff path onto the white sand. Cathy found a little outcropping of rock and sank
down in its shade, resting her back against it comfortably while she watched the breaking of the waves. Petersham sat down beside her, his expression thoughtful. It wasn’t like Miss Cathy to sit when she could be doing.
Cathy took off the leather sandals that Jon had fashioned for her out of one of his old jerkins and wriggled her toes in the warm sand. Petersham watched her, saying nothing. The merest germ of a suspicion was beginning to form in his mind.
“What was Jon like as a baby?” Cathy broke the silence to ask, her expression dreamy as she stared out to sea.
“About as mean-tempered and pig-headed as he is now, as I recollect.” Petersham grinned. Cathy looked at him reproachfully.
“I’m serious,” she insisted. Petersham chuckled.
“So am I, miss.”
Cathy sent him an admonishing look and Petersham continued.
“Well, miss, he was a big baby as I remember, about ten pounds or so at birth. Mr. Hale was so excited about having a boy that we all thought he’d bust a gut. Passed out good Jamaica rum like it was water, even to the grooms—that’s what I was then, a groom. Then Miss Virginia—that was Master Jon’s mother, a real fine lady, she was, too—up and died. For a while there it looked like Mr. Hale might die too, of grief, or drink. But he didn’t, though it might have been better for Master Jon if he had. After Miss Virginia’s death Mr. Hale was a changed man. He was bitter, you see, and after a time we all saw that he blamed Master Jon for his mother’s death. Mr. Hale got some women in to care for the boy, but none of them lasted long and Master Jon was sort of just passed around
among the servants. His daddy wouldn’t hardly even look at him. He was a real quiet, solemn little boy, miss.”
“Poor little boy,” Cathy said softly, picturing Jon unwanted and unloved. Then, to Petersham, “Go on, please.”
“Well, Master Jon sort of had to grow up on his own, if you know what I mean. He was about ten when he started hangin’ around the stables—no place else around there that he was welcome. Like most boys, he got into his fair share of trouble—just pranks mostly, nothing really bad. But Mr. Hale, he didn’t see it like that. The only time he hardly noticed Master Jon was to wail the tar out of him for something he’d done wrong. Then one day Master Jon got big enough to fight back, and the whippings stopped. Things got a little better after that, because Mr. Hale found a pretty little girl he wanted to marry. Mr. Hale thought the sun rose and set with that woman, and Master Jon liked her too. Followed her around like a puppy dog with its master, though she wouldn’t hardly give him the time of day. Considered him a nuisance, I guess. Master Jon was sort of tall and gangly as a boy, nothing like as handsome as he is today.” Petersham broke off to look at Cathy. “You want to be patient with Master Jon, miss. He didn’t have nobody to love him growing up, and he’s suffered because of it.”
This last was said very earnestly. Cathy blinked away the moisture that was starting to form in her eyes. She would love Jon and her baby doubly hard to make up for everything Jon himself had missed as a child.
“And then he left?” Cathy asked softly. Petersham shot her a wary look.
“Master Jon told you about that?”
Cathy nodded wordlessly. Petersham shook his head.
“I didn’t think he’d ever tell anyone about that. The only reason I know is because I found him throwing up his toenails afterwards, and when I threatened to get his daddy to bring a doctor to him he told me what had happened. I told him not to take it so hard, but I guess he did anyway. The next morning he was gone. Mr. Hale didn’t much care for a couple of days, but after about a week the folks in town started asking after Master Jon. So Mr. Hale sent me out to see if I could find him and bring him back. Well, I found him all right—signed on board a brig called the
Merciful
as a deckhand. Master Jon was set on going to sea, and said point-blank that he was never going back to Woodham again. Seeing as how I couldn’t change his mind I went with him. I didn’t blame him for not going back. The
Merciful
wasn’t much, but it was more than he’d had at home.”
“Was Mr. Hale rich?”
“He had some money, but he was real stingy with it where Master Jon was concerned. Why, the stableboys had better-looking clothes than he did, and sometimes more to eat. Mr. Hale spent his money on cards and women. He even let the place go to ruin, last we heard.”
“Has Jon ever been back?” Cathy asked slowly, her heart aching with pity. She had had so much as a child, love as well as material things, and Jon had had so little. She wished that he was here now, this second, so that she could make up for all that he had suffered.
“Never,” Petersham said shortly. “And I doubt he’ll ever go. He likes the life here. Suits him just right. Me, too.”
Cathy was silent for a while, thinking over what Petersham had told her. It explained so much about Jon—his
distrust of women, his toughness, his fierce possessiveness. Having had so little, he had become determined to take what he could, and keep it.
“And—and how did he become a pirate?” Cathy asked finally.
Petersham took up the tale again.
“Well, working on the
Merciful
, Master Jon saved enough to go partners with this other fellow in a lugger. We sailed it up and down the coast of North America, taking as cargo anything we could get. Master Jon was captain on this one voyage, and our cargo was guns. Somehow some pirates must’ve got word about what we was carrying, because they attacked. Naturally, not being trained in fighting and the lugger having only one gun, we lost. Anyone who refused to join up with ’em was killed on the spot. Master Jon’s no fool, no more am I, so we signed where they told us and took up pirating. Master Jon had a real talent for it, and liked it, so we stayed on. No reason not to. It’s a good life, and we have more now than we ever did.”
Cathy digested the story for some time in silence, then turned to smile mistily at Petersham.
“Thank you for telling me,” she said softly. Petersham nodded a wordless acknowledgment of her thanks, suddenly embarrassed by his own garrulity. They sat silently watching the waves. It was Petersham who spoke at last.
“You have something to tell Master Jon, Miss Cathy?”
The question out of the blue caught Cathy by surprise. She flashed Petersham a quick look, then felt burning color begin to creep up her neck and over her face.
“W-what do you mean?” she faltered unconsciously.
Petersham grinned. “You can’t hide it from me, miss.
I’ve seen too many female creatures when they’re breeding. They get a look about them … like you have.”
Cathy felt herself flush even more painfully. The idea of having Jon’s baby was still new to her. Even though she was happy about it, she was conscious of a deep-seated shyness. A child was such an intimate thing to be having—and it was undisputable evidence of the use Jon had for her.
“I—I …” she stammered, then said more calmly, “You’re right, of course, Petersham.”
“I knew it,” the man said with satisfaction. “Master Jon’ll be as thrilled as a dog with two tails. It’ll be the best thing in the world for him.”
“Why do you say that?” Cathy asked with genuine curiosity. Her embarrassment was fading. After all, having a man’s child was the most natural thing in the world—except that she wasn’t married to the man in question. Like it or not, that did make a difference.
“He’s always needed someone to love—and to love him. Now he’ll have his child—and you.”
“What makes you think he wants us, Petersham?” Cathy’s voice was suddenly wistful.
“Miss Cathy, the way he feels about you is as plain as the nose on your face. Master Jon may not know it himself yet, but he needs you. You’re good for him. He’s been happier this last month or so than I’ve ever seen him. When he hears about the baby, he’ll go over the moon. And he’ll do the decent thing by you. You wait and see.”
“I hope you’re right, Petersham,” Cathy sighed, dropping her reserve altogether.
“I am, miss. You can rest easy about that.”
Cathy smiled at him, feeling like she had found a
staunch ally. He smiled back. They lapsed into silence again, staring pensively out to sea. After a few minutes Cathy put her hand up to shade her eyes, squinting into the horizon.
“Petersham, is that a ship?” she asked excitedly. Petersham looked in the direction she indicated.
“I think so, miss.”
“Is it the
Margarita
, do you think?” Cathy was beginning to feel a little nervous at the idea of breaking her news to Jon.
“It might be, miss. There’s a spyglass up at the house. If you’ll wait here I’ll go get it. Then we’ll know for sure.”
“Oh, would you, Petersham? If it’s Jon, I’d like to have a little warning. I—I have things to do.”
“Get yourself all gussied up, eh, miss?” Petersham grinned. “Well, that’s females, Lord love ’em. You just sit here and I’ll run up and take a look.”
“Thank you, Petersham,” Cathy said, blushing faintly at the valet’s perception. She leaned contentedly back against the rock as he strode away across the sand. She was almost looking forward to telling Jon, with Petersham’s words to buoy her. Still, she couldn’t help wondering how he would react. What would he say? More important, what would she say? How did you tell a man that you were going to have his baby? Especially when the man wasn’t your husband, and might not be delighted at the news?
“Miss Cathy! Miss Cathy!” Petersham came huffing back toward her. “Miss Cathy!”
Something indefinable in Petersham’s voice alarmed her. She got to her feet, shaking the sand from her dress and slipping into her flimsy sandals.
“What is it, Petersham?” she asked sharply.
“It’s not the
Margarita
, miss,” he panted, coming up to her. “There are about eight ships out there, and they’re headed this way fast. They were too far away for me to make out exactly what flag they were flying, but they mean business. They’ve got their big guns trained on the island!”
Cathy stared at him, aghast.
“What can we do?”
Petersham grabbed her arm, pulling her back along the beach with him.
“For a start, we can get off the beach. We’re easy targets here, miss, if they start shooting.”
Cathy half ran, half stumbled over the soft sand, then scrambled awkwardly up the cliff with Petersham keeping close behind her. With all her heart she longed for Jon—Jon would keep her, would keep all of them, safe. If the island was actually attacked, she might never see him again. He would come back to find her dead, or vanished—and he would never know about the baby. Suddenly that thought hurt most of all.
As if her prayers had conjured him up, he was anxiously striding through the front room when she and Petersham burst into the house. He was dripping wet, and furiously angry. Cathy uttered a glad little cry, and flew into his arms. They closed tightly around her, holding her against his hard body as if he would never let her go even while he bellowed curses at her.
“Jon! Oh, Jon!”
“Where the hell have you been?” he yelled into her hair, rocking her against him like a small child. “I’ve been going out of my mind! Didn’t you see those ships out there?”
“Oh, yes, I did! I’m so glad you’re here!”
“How did you get here, Cap’n? From what I could see, they’ve surrounded the whole damned island, begging your pardon, miss!”
“All except the southeast corner—they must think the reef makes it impassable. The
Margarita
is hovering there, about a mile out. I swam through. The opening’s not big enough for even one of the
Margarita
’s gigs, but I think a smaller boat could make it.”
“Oh, Jon, are they going to attack us? Why?” She tilted her head back to stare up into his bronzed face. His teeth flashed suddenly in a savage grin.
“We’re pirates, my love, or had you forgotten? We do get attacked from time to time. One of the less pleasant aspects of the business.”
“Master Jon—will we fight?”
“Hell, yes, we’ll fight—we have to. There’s no way off this damned island now except through the reef, and not many can make it through there. There won’t be time.”
Jon looked down at Cathy, who was watching him anxiously, pressed a brief, hard kiss on her trembling mouth, and set her away from him. His voice turned crisp and authoritative.
“Petersham, I want you to take Miss Cathy to the place where I came through and wait. If there’s need, I’ll either come myself or send someone to get you through the reef. The
Margarita
’s under orders not to move from that spot without you, so you don’t have to worry.”
“But, Jon, if you come now, too, we can all get away,” Cathy protested, trembling. “You can’t mean to fight so many ships. You’ll be slaughtered if you try.”
“Since when did you become a military expert, my
love?” he forced a teasing note. “You just do as I tell you, and everything will be fine.”
“Don’t treat me like a dim-witted child, Jon Hale!” Cathy flared, glaring at him. “If you seriously expected everything to be fine, you wouldn’t have the
Margarita
waiting offshore to get me away. Not to mention taking the chance of swimming through a coral reef! Well, I’m not going, do you hear? I’m staying with you!”
“Don’t be childish, Cathy,” he chided in a bored tone. “The best thing you can do is stay out of the way. Good God, what kind of fight do you think I could put up, constantly worried about where you were and what was happening to you? Now, there’s no time to argue. Go with Petersham, he’ll look after you ’til I can.”