Page 7 of The Pirate and the Pagan
While the American skipper was making up his mind about trusting them, Spider said innocently, “I hope your fish won’t spoil. I hope it’s well salted.”
“What do you get out of this?” the American asked bluntly.
“As soon as we stow the cargo, you take me on an overnight run up the Channel to Portsmouth.” The bargain was struck and the American went to gather his crew.
Cat said to Spider, “While I’m gone I want you to take the tobacco out of those barrels and conceal it. Take a bit of that money we’ve got and buy some cheap fish to replace it.
“Say no more.” Spider winked.
“When they come for their ‘fish,’ there won’t be a bloody thing they can do about it,” she said, her eyes sparkling with the mere idea of the sting.
When they got into the longboat with the crew to row out to the ship, Cat ran alarmed eyes over the sailors. They were a mighty rough-looking crew, no better than criminals. A shiver of fear ran up her back and she pulled her woolen hat down low and turned up her collar. When she got the opportunity to speak to Spider, she whispered, “When we get to the caverns, go upstairs and get a pair of Rancid’s pistols; one for each of us.”
He nodded quickly in full agreement. The unloading, however, went off without incident. There were only forty barrels to unload and Cat surmised they must have already smuggled most of their cargo into France. The wind changed to a strong westerly and Cat gave Spider a brief wave. She could not afford a tender farewell in front of the American, but she did not need to put into words that she would be back as quickly as she could.
Aboard the Seagull on the upper deck she made herself comfortable on a coil of rope with her back against the taffrail. Cat loved the sea. It filled her with excitement. There was nothing quite so wild—untamed—unpredictable. The sea would never allow anything or anyone to control it. It was never safe, always dangerous, and her blood sang with a feeling of “oneness” and total freedom.
In the early hours, somewhere between midnight and dawn, Randal St. Catherine roused his sister where she sat napping in the chair beside his bed.
“The doctor … said I was finished … didn’t he?” he gasped.
Lil bent close to catch his words. The candles clearly showed his dreadful gray pallor and eyes already beginning to film over. Lil reached for the glass and decanter. “Have some brandy, Randal, you were always particularly partial to good brandy.”
He grasped the decanter in a feeble hand and shook his head. “Book … papers … hidden … under seat.” He coughed and choked, then managed to say, “Summer … she’ll know … black ma …”
“Black man?” Lil puzzled. “You mean you have a book hidden under the seat in your carriage and you want me to see that your daughter Summer gets it? I’d better go and see if it’s still there.” She took one of the candles and hurried from the room. She knew the book must contain some valuable information or he wouldn’t have it concealed. At first she couldn’t find it, then to her relief her hand closed on a sealed paper and a small, leather-bound volume tucked at the back, and she pulled them out and opened up the book. She held the candle close to see what was written on the pages, but it told her nothing. She recognized the names of places in Cornwall; there were dates and names and what might be ship’s names but that was all. She hurried back upstairs with a dozen questions on her lips, but she saw immediately she would never know the answers. Randal had deliberately drained the decanter and the brandy had killed him.
Cat arrived in Portsmouth just as dawn was breaking. The gulls screamed and circled, hoping the ship was bringing in fish, and she smiled to herself as she thought of the cargo of tobacco safely concealed beneath Roseland.
From Portsmouth she had lots of time to take the early-morning mail coach for London. The fare they asked seemed outrageous to Cat, so she haggled and finally agreed to ride outside the coach next to the driver for a cheaper rate. Each time they came to a steep incline the carriage stopped and all passengers disembarked to trudge up the hill on foot, so it wasn’t until five weary hours later that the coach pulled into Lud Lane off Gresham Street.
Cat had paid little attention to the open meadows of sheep and cows, nor had she noticed much difference in the villages which clustered on the outskirts of the city, but once she spotted the spires of hundreds of churches dominating the skyline she felt her excitement begin to well up inside her.
Soon her senses were reeling. Her ears were assaulted by the mixed cacophony of church bells, river traffic, porters, vendors, draymen, and the babble of a thousand voices. Her nose was assaulted by the unpleasant stench of open sewers, rotting vegetation, sweating horses, and unwashed humanity.
Her eyes darted about; she wanted to experience every detail of the greatest city in the world. London was walled, and after they passed over the great bridge which actually had houses and shops built on it, they passed through one of the entrance gates into the city.
To Cat it seemed overcrowded wherever she looked and she wondered what had happened to draw all the people. Gradually she realized it must always be like this. Her eyes were huge in her face as she saw magnificently dressed men and women in satins and velvet walk past filthy cripples and beggars. Some of the ladies wore black masks over their faces; others, obviously housewives and servants, were doing their shopping.
All the places of business had signs hanging outside their premises and apprentices stood in the doorways hawking their goods. Porters staggered under huge boxes of goods, others pushed handcarts over the cobbles, their loads piled so high they were in danger of toppling over.
She saw children singing for pennies, pickpockets and wig snatchers plaguing the crowds, cavaliers on horseback, and drunken fops outside taverns. The traffic slowed the coach to a crawl as they waited for hackney carriages, merchants’ wagons, and sedan chairs. Cat learned a few choice curses she’d never heard before from the driver as he waved his whip and threatened anatomical indignities with it if they didn’t “make way.”
Cat was caught up in the violent energy of the place and she instantly recognized that she would have to be constantly on her toes here if she expected to be one step ahead of anyone else.
Next to the coach station in Lud Lane was an inn called the Swan with Two Necks and she asked a young barmaid scrubbing the steps how to get to Cockspur Street.
“Oooo, ’oity-toity,” replied the wench upon hearing the fashionable address.
“Silly bitch, speak English,” said Cat, annoyed.
“Well, I never!” said the maid, picking up her bucket and throwing the dirty water over Cat’s dusty boots.
Cat grabbed a handful of her hair and said, “Tell me how to get to Cockspur Street or I’ll mop the bloody road with you.”
“Lawks! Leggo! Murder!”
“It will be murder if you don’t tell me,” Cat threatened.
