The women smiled demurely, did not say anything to the strangers, and Yancy did not introduce them.
More bedchambers, drawing rooms upstairs, baths. Yancy showed them around with a pride as if he had built it all with his own hands.
It was a fine house, Marlowe had to agree, but he could also see that it was not wearing well. There was plaster flaking off walls and door-frames no longer square and mold creeping along window frames. He could see dirt accumulating in corners, broken bottles kicked aside, rooms with smashed furniture shoved into corners.
The grand house must have been magnificent when Baldridge had lived there, but those days were gone. Yancy and his pirates were the Visigoths, living among the crumbled glories of Rome.
They had dinner in the great hall, two stories tall, that made up the northeastern end of the house. Long tables ran nearly the length of the room, with Yancy’s trusted friends sitting along them and native servants, silent, darting between broad-shouldered men, pouring wine, serving dishes piled with food, taking empty ones away.
The men ate with the refinement Marlowe would have expected from the Roundsmen, snatching food with their hands mostly, though some used sheath knives as well. Bones were flung aside to the half-dozen dogs that waited eagerly for scraps.
Marlowe and Elizabeth and Bickerstaff and Dinwiddie sat at the head table, flanking Yancy. No sooner had they sat than the great monster of a man sitting next to Bickerstaff-with matted, encrusted beard, smelling of rum and tobacco smoke and sweat-stood and extended his hand to Marlowe, across Yancy’s face, nearly knocking Yancy over and saying, “Obadiah Spelt. Your servant, sir,” with an arrogance that made it clear he considered himself to be no one’s servant.
Marlowe took the hand and shook it and waited for the explosion, for Yancy’s troops to fall on the villain and cut him up, but Yancy seemed not to notice this blatant lack of respect, and neither did anyone else, so Marlowe ignored it, too. He sat again, wondered who this fellow might be, who could get away with such disrespect. Yancy’s brother? Someone who had saved Yancy’s life? Marlowe could not guess, and he really did not care.
For a good part of the dinner Yancy brooded and said nothing and ate nothing. It was only when the others were half done that Yancy finally called for food for himself, telling the servants specifically which platters to take from and set on the plate before him.
After a few bites Yancy seemed to brighten a bit. He turned to Elizabeth. “Tell, me, ma’am, what think you of my little house?”
“I think it is beautiful, Lord Yancy,” Elizabeth said, though to Marlowe’s certain knowledge she had already told him as much three times. “As fine as any of the great country houses of England,” she lied.
“You are from England, then?”
“I was born there. My husband and I live in the colonies now, in Virginia, where we-”
“I am from Newport, in Rhode Island, though my business has kept me from there these many years. I do business with London now and New York and, yes, Rhode Island.”
“My husband and I grow tobacco mostly-”
“Tobacco is nothing.” Yancy gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “Growing things from the ground? That is for the last age. It is commerce now that is the only means to riches.” He turned from Elizabeth, apparently done with her, looked at Dinwiddie. “You, sir, tell me of yourself…”
It was one of the most bizarre dinners that Marlowe had ever endured. Yancy spoke to them each, not so much a conversation as an interview, and when he was done, he did not speak again, save to Elizabeth.
Spelt was raving drunk, singing, shouting, throwing beef bones, but no one seemed to notice, or at least there was tacit decision by all present to ignore him. Near the end of the meat course, thankfully he passed out and fell on the floor, where he was allowed to remain.
At last it was over-the fruit and nuts, brandy and pipes-and Marlowe could reasonably insist that they had to return to the ship. This seemed to revive Yancy, and he stood and walked with them out of the great hall and along the wide corridors to the main door. He sat wearily in a chair by the door and closed his eyes. A moment later he opened them again and said, “I have much enjoyed your company, Captain, and that of your fine crew and, I need not say, your lovely wife.” He reached out and took Elizabeth’s hand and kissed it, augmenting the annoyance that Marlowe had felt all night, the result of the special attention Yancy had lavished on her.
“I trust you will visit with me again, before you sail. Tomorrow I will send Nagel down to make a deal with you for the guns. And as to careening, I shall see that you have all the help you might need. I am so very delighted by your company, I wish nothing but to aid you in any way I might.”
He stood, bowed weakly, kissed Elizabeth’s hand again, bade them good night as they stepped into the evening. Marlowe heard the big door close behind them, and it was a blessed relief.
The next morning, an hour after dawn, Nagel arrived in a longboat with twenty-five men. Marlowe watched it approach with some trepidation. He did not trust Yancy any more than he would trust a dog mad with rabies.
In accordance with his orders, Honeyman and the boat crew had remained sober while the rest of the men of the Elizabeth Galley had become insensibly drunk. After Marlowe and his party had returned, the boat crew had joined their fellows, gulping rum in an effort to catch up.
Now there was no one aboard the ship who was awake, save for himself and Bickerstaff and Dinwiddie, no one to defend the ship if it came to that. Nagel and his band could stand on the deck and bang drums, and it would be enough to induce the crew to surrender.
Fortunately, Nagel had no such bellicose intentions, and as the boat drew alongside, Marlowe could see that none of the men was armed beyond carrying a sheath knife, which was as much a part of the sailor’s attire as trousers.
Nagel climbed up the side. “Morning, Captain,” he said. “I come to see about selling you them guns. And Lord Yancy, he sent the men here to help you with your heaving down.”
“Thank you. That is very kind,” Marlowe said, and he meant it. Careening the ship was a great deal of work, even for men who were not still half drunk. Perhaps he had misjudged Yancy. Or, more correctly, perhaps his madness was not entirely of a malicious nature. He had, after all, done no more than flirt with Elizabeth, despite Marlowe’s concerns. Flirting was nothing. There were few men, sane or otherwise, who could resist giving Elizabeth special attention.
Marlowe had known megalomaniacal tyrants who could be kind and helpful. It kept people off balance.
“What was you wanting, in the article of guns?”
Marlowe looked around at the empty gunports. “She was built with sixteen six-pounders in mind,” he said, and even as the words left him, he thought, They will never have that in this godforsaken jungle.
But Nagel just nodded and said, “I don’t reckon that will be a problem,” and then Marlowe named a price, not an extravagant one, and Nagel accepted it with no argument or counteroffer.
Marlowe sent his cabin steward for coffee for himself and Nagel and then to rouse Honeyman and ask Dinwiddie to join them. When the officers were there, Marlowe told them that he wished to begin heaving the ship down and that Yancy had kindly sent hands to aid in that. Honeyman stared through red, half-closed eyes, nodded, and began to assemble the men.
It was a slow process, the men stumbling up from below, sitting or lying down again as soon as they reached the deck. Nagel called his men up from the boat, and between them and the Galleys they managed to slip the anchor cable, with a buoy attached to the end, and work the ship up to the beach, where, on the falling tide, it might be rolled on its side once the masts, yards, and rigging were down and the hold emptied.
By the time the Elizabeth Galley was in position, her men had revived enough to be of real help, and things began to happen fast. The crew that Yancy had sent were experienced seamen, and they went about their business with speed and care, driven by what motivation, Marlowe could not guess.
Still, he was glad to have them and pleasantly surprised the next morning when they showed up again, and the morning after as well. The ship was stripped of top-hamper, her hold emptied, and then a huge block and tackle was attached to the head of the lower main mast, the other end to a sturdy post on shore, and with the fall of the tackle run to a capstan, they pulled the ship over on her side until she looked like a beached whale.
When Yancy’s men arrived the day after that and more came with the six-pounder guns in a lighter, it became clear to Marlowe that Yancy wanted them out of St. Mary’s, and quickly. He did not know why. He did not understand why the lord of the island did not simply drive them away with the big guns. The only thing that was absolutely clear was that Yancy wanted them to leave of their own accord, and he wanted them to do it soon.
Marlowe had no doubt that he would find out the reason eventually. He did not think he would be happy with the discovery.
