A TREASURE AND A PIRATE REDEEMED

BRISTOL ENGLAND, 1814,

CHAPTER 1,

            Coraline Elizabeth Hampton stepped down along the small boat’s gang-plank with extreme caution to avoid slipping and falling into the cold salt water below her. This should have been an adventure had it not been for the fear chasing her and her family as relentlessly as the band of cut throats in hot pursuit. If she spied one of the filthy rogue’s her father had warned her about, she’d surely scream or faint.

            Coraline scoffed at the foolish notion that had just sailed through her thoughts. As a farm girl of many years, she was used to working like a boy in the fields, and not normally someone who’d fall into a swoon. Dressed as a boy at the moment, she hoped the ploy disguised her from those who had driven them all from their home. 

            Three days without seeing nary a pursuer should have given her some measure of comfort. Should have. So why did her heart lurch in her chest at every turn?

            “Listen my dear,” her mother Lillie Hampton lugged two satchels along and still managed to whisper from behind. “do try to keep your head down and not speak until we’re safely in our room at the inn.”

            “Yes Mum,” Coraline whispered back. Soon they would be on a ship, bound for the American Colonies, but until then, they would be reduced to hiding at a local inn. Would her heart be stilled once they set sail, or would it continue pitching to and fro like a hapless vessel tossed about the waves of the mighty Atlantic in a storm?

            The disconcerting thoughts were pushed from her mind as Coraline peeked from side to side to observe her surroundings with as much nonchalance as possible. A great number of vessels lined the docks of Bristol. Some were large schooners with many sails and crew mates swinging about the masts like squirrels in the trees back home. Others were much smaller with fewer sails, fewer crewmen, and shorter masts. Fishing boats, she presumed.

            The saltwater air stung her nostrils but it was a new and intoxicating smell, one she hadn’t yet experienced in her seven-and-ten years of life. A cacophony of noise swirled around her as horse drawn wagons filled with kegs and crates traveled down the cobblestone streets.  The cloppity clop of the horse’s hooves almost seemed to keep time with the tunes the sailors whistled and sang, unabashedly.

            “Come on Cor, we must get to the hotel before dark, and don’t forget to keep watch over your sister.” Her mother drew her from her thoughts and pushed her forward.

            “Of course Mum,” A stab of worry pierced Coraline’s heart as she whisked her gaze across the docks in search of her younger sister. Laurel Ann had reached a buxom fifteen years of age. Her long blond tresses and soft features had stopped many a man in his tracks, but she was extremely naïve, tender-hearted and was by far more innocent that she appeared.

            “Laurel Ann, there you are,” Coraline sided up to her sister who was only a few feet away and also clad in boy’s clothes. “Remember, you’re supposed to stay close to my side.”

            A sailor sat nearby sorting through a mess of fishing nets studied them with raised eyebrows. Coraline scowled at him and then realized how silly it must be seeing two boys whispering into each other’s ear. The sailor simply scoffed and went back to sorting his nets.

            “Get out of the way, you bloody kid!” A snarly harried woman stepped from a noisy pub and dumped a bucket of kitchen slops into the street.

            Coraline jumped out of the way as quickly as her unfamiliar clothing would allow, then clasped her sister’s hand and tugged her along. Laurel Ann gasped and quickly covered her mouth. Coraline nearly stepped in a mound of horse manure attracting flies in the middle of the cobblestone street. The city was big, with lots of things to look at and full of adventure, but one had to use caution for sure. 

            “It’s alright children, we’re almost there. Let’s hurry now, please!”

            Mum steered Coraline in the direction of a tall building made of great beams of wood with a thatched roof.  The wind whistled as it made its way through the cracks in the structure. They reached the entrance none too soon, just as small droplets of rain began to descend. Painted on a weather beaten plank of wood that hung above the door were the words, The Wharf’s Inn. The door made an ominous creak when Mum pushed on it, almost a pain filled moan as it slowly swung open to reveal the dark mysterious interior. The fine hairs on the back of Coraline’s neck prickled.

            Laurel Ann’s hand tightened around Coraline’s fingers. Coraline patted her sister’s hand in what she hoped was a comforting gesture.

            “Mum, where’s father? I do hope he’s minding our baggage, especially that trunk--”

            “Coraline Elizabeth, do you want those filthy marauders to find out we’re here? I told you not to mention that! Not until we reach Charles Town America!” Mum hissed.

            Rivulets of guilt coursed through Coraline’s blood at mention of that trunk. That blasted trunk. The one that had mysteriously appeared on their door stoop three days before their hasty departure.

            “Father is minding our tickets and then he’s going to meet us here. I pray nothing happens to him.” Mum set the satchels down and fished in her reticule for money to pay the desk clerk. “I’d like a room for my husband, my children and myself for two nights, please.” Mum placed two silver coins on the counter, and then reached for the feather quill to sign her name in the register.

            Coraline found herself inspecting the room and atmosphere around her. Off to her left, a narrow staircase led up to where she presumed more rooms were located. Several kegs of ale sat farther down the counter to her right. An uncomfortable feeling twisted in Coraline’s middle, as some poor sap was trying desperately to tap into one. She knew all too well what love of the drink did to a man and his family. If it wasn’t for Father’s lust for drinking and gambling, they would not be running from the rogue’s he owed money to.

            “You’ll be sure to come knock me up in the morning, won’t you?” Lillie instructed the desk clerk.

            “Yes, Ma’am.” The clerk nodded his apparent agreement and walked over to help the man with the ale.

            “Come along, children,” Mum instructed as she reached for the satchels then lifted her skirts and advanced towards the stairs. Coraline followed, remembering to tow her sister along.

            The steps were much easier to navigate in boy’s breeches as opposed to long skirts and flowing petticoats. For that Coraline was grateful, but she longed to discard the rough and smelly clothes and sink into some soft silk or cotton garments. Once they reached the confines of their small drab room at the top of the stairs, Coraline breathed a sigh of relief in spite of the musty smell lingering in the faded curtains. Paying no heed to the grey water-stained walls, she yanked at the waist of the breeches and began to strip.

            “Coraline!” Laurel Ann’s gasp wasn’t any louder than a kitten’s purr but the shock behind it sent a wave of formality washing over Coraline.

            “No need to be so formal, baby sister. Allow me to change into a more comfortable cotton day dress and then I’ll help you do the same.”

            It wasn’t long before Coraline, her mother, and Laurel Ann were dressed in ladies’ day clothes. Nestled in cozy warm eiderdown quilts and resting on the bed, Coraline read from her mother’s volume of Shakespeare. Laurel Ann quietly rested her head on a pillow in slumber. Mum tatted away on a new hair net for Laurel Ann.

            Coraline finished reading the thick yellowing pages of The Merchant of Venice and sought the camber pot. But, when she looked under the bed, the pot wasn’t to be found!

            “Mum, there’s no pot.” Coraline tried not to wail, but she had to go, bad.

            “For pity’s sake, go outside and use the lavatory, but use the back door and change back into your breeches before hand or your father will have a tantrum when he gets here.”

            “Oh Mum,” Coraline stammered, wishing she didn’t have to take the time. 

            “I’m sure the chambermaid simply forgotten the pot. I’ll let her know straight away.”

            “Yes Mum,” Coraline changed, then hastily tucked her hair under her cap without taking time to use pins and hurried from the room. Descending the back stairs quickly she was soon outside again. When she finished in the lavatory she paused but for a moment before wandering back inside.

            The town was beginning to grow dark and the noise of boisterous singing and drunken fighting from the pubs rose. There were fewer horses loping along pulling wagons across the waterfront streets. The sound of a fight breaking out nearby frightened her, causing her to hurry towards the inn’s entrance.

            She made it no more than two steps inside before smacking into a tall burly gentleman. If that’s what one could call him. He spilled his pint of ale down the front of his shirt and cussed.

            “Pardon me, sir.” Coraline ducked her head as the cap slipped and her mop of hair tumbled down past her shoulders. Her hands flew to cover her head as a gasp flew out of her mouth. Desperate for the sanctuary of her room, she tried to step around him, only to be met with several drunken ruffians with a sickening mix of ale and saliva wetting their whiskers.

            “Aye, ain’t you a pretty little thing, and in breeches,” the shorter one leered with a wicked grin that exposed missing teeth. For the second time that night, the fine hairs on the back of her neck prickled. 

            “Let me pass, please,” she pleaded, detesting the thread of weakness woven through her tone. Panic bubbled to the surface but overcome with fear, she stamped it down. If only she had her parasol with her. She’d give the bloke a rap upside the head enough to remember her by.

            “Let the lady pass,” bellowed the man she had bumped into. Coraline turned to stare at him. Eyes as blue as wild cornflowers in the fields back home stared back at her. Was that a fiery glint of indignation she detected? There was no time to debate the question as the drunken men gingerly stepped aside. This allowed her to hurry past and bolt for the stairs. With each step she took, the image of cornflower blue eyes hammered away in her heart.

                                                                        ###

            Clive Geoffrey Bullington wiped the wet front of his shirt with a cloth handed to him by the desk clerk. “Another pint please,” he growled with frustration.

            The clerk poured him another pint of ale and set it before him. The vision of long chestnut tresses flowing up the stairs distracted him, and he didn’t like it one lick. His welfare depended on his ability to get out of England without leaving a trace of anything behind. There was no sense in getting tangled up with a beauty, only to have to leave her in England whilst he sailed for the American Colonies.

            The door creaked open behind him and he turned in time to see his life-long friend, Wesley John Mostingham pop inside and flip his burgundy colored cape behind him. “Aye, Bullington, I found us passage out of England. The ship leaves day after next. A pint if you will, please,” Wesley nodded to the clerk and slapped Clive on the back.

            “Do you have to make so much to do? Pipe down,” Clive glanced around to see if anyone had taken notice. Much to his relief, the other patrons were busy polishing off their pints.

            “You asked me to book us on the first ship out of England, and that I did.” Wesley reached for his pint and downed it as if it were lemonade on a hot summer day.

            “And glad I am, but couldn’t you have gotten us out of here any sooner?”

            “Unless you want smuggled out of here, while chained to a wooden plank below deck with hundreds of other unfortunate’s.” Wesley raised his eyebrows. Clive curled his lips in a sneer and turned the air blue with profanity.

            “Blasted slave trade. I wish Parliament would listen to Wilberforce.” Clive downed his mug of ale in one long gulp.            

              “Wilberforce and Fox will take care of the slave trade. Our immediate concern is minding our p’s and q’s for two days until our ship sails.”

            “Speaking of p’s and q’s, another pint for me please,” Clive called to the desk clerk, and then thought better. “Make that a quart if you will.”

            “Begging your pardon Clive, but best you mind the drinking? We need to be looking out for those ruffians who are demanding your attention.”

            “I’m not going back to the thieving Black Reuben and his men. Need I remind you, that’s why we’re sailing for the America’s, to get away.” Clive’s fingers tightened around his mug of ale. Memories lurking in the crevices of his mind caused him to break into a clammy sweat. Black Reuben wanted him dead