24
April, 1780
Tavendish Grange
Northumberland, England
It took Elliott five hours longer to get home than it should have, thanks to a sudden gale. He had set Old Ben ashore in Gravesend with a five share of gold and a letter of introduction to Niall and Sandy, who resided year-round in the family's London townhome. Elliott was not as efficient at reading the weather or navigating as Old Ben (or Fury) and thus, made several rather inconsequential missteps that frustrated him more than he already was.
Accompanying Old Ben, Elliott had dropped a handful of other seamen ashore, officers beyond their prime, who were happier to settle down as Elliott's well-compensated retainers than seek another fortune at sea under someone else's command. Neither Niall nor Sandy would likely notice the increase in household staff, which was just as well.
Now, thirty-six hours later, he was approaching Berwick-upon-Tweed, and just beyond that, the bay where he could moor his cutter, Penance, unmolested by both smugglers (for he was the only smuggler for one hundred miles in any direction) and the Navy (which thought he kept the coast clear of smugglers as penance for his unpunished crimes against the Crown).
He breathed a sigh of relief when the anchor was dropped and the dinghies lowered.
It took them another hour to secure the ship within clear sight of the manor, row into the well-hidden caves, stow the dinghies, and find their way through the maze of water-hewn tunnels before the tide rolled in. He looked around to see the tops of the sunken barrels in which the gold was hidden.
In Rotterdam, after he had paid and dismissed that portion of his crew who did not know his identity, Fury, the Hollander, and their crews had helped him and what remained of his crew to offload the gold, repack it in barrels of tobacco (which would be rendered worthless in these caves), then load it onto the Penance, the Mad Hangman, and the Thunderstorm.
Captain Bull, commanding his own ship renamed Black Demon, set sail to deposit George's parents somewhere along the coast of England, and would then make his way back to America to continue the trade Fury had taught him.
Lieutenant Yeardley, at the helm of the Mad Hangman, and Lieutenant Smith sailing the Thunderstorm, had helped Elliott transport the barrels from Holland to Northumberland whilst the Hollander took Fury, her mother, and George to London for reasons Fury would not disclose and Elliott could not fathom.
He could never repay them for their service to him, which they had done for no reason he could name, as they did not seem to be as avaricious as pirates should. Fury had refused her share, though her crew hadn't. Nor had the Hollander or Bull. If the Thunderstorm and Mad Hangman hadn't accompanied him and seen the gold through to its penultimate destination, it would have been far more difficult for him to put down the mutiny he had expected.
It had happened not quite one week after Fury had summoned the wind and they had set sail, Fury close to larboard and the Hollander close to starboard. Tensions had been mounting. Elliott could feel it in his bones and had signaled both ships and his officers to be ready. Even though he knew they were making battle preparations, he had not been able to discern it.
The dozen leaders, a mix of soldiers and sailors, had drawn their swords and charged the quarterdeck, dozens more men following—
Only to be killed by shots coming from the ships on either side of the Silver Shilling.
Gunports slammed open and cannon popped out. Gunners flocked to the swivels. Archers displayed tar-tipped arrows and the braziers prepared to light them.
"AVAST, MUTINEERS!" Fury bellowed from the platform of her main mast.
The dozens of men stopped cold and looked around. Elliott's loyal crew had some of them at swordpoint, but there were more than Elliott had anticipated and the rest of his crew had not come abovedecks. That could only mean there were more below.
"One more step," she roared, "and we will sink your little boat the way we did the British fleet."
One of the mutineers ordered the Silver Shilling's gunports opened, but ... silence.
"They're bolted shut, gentlemen," Elliott said calmly. "You just sold your lives for a measly extra share, which I would have given you as a bonus anyway, had you not been so greedy."
"And stupid," the Hollander called, his Dutch accent heavy with disdain.
A soft whiff and thud pierced the relative silence. A soldier looked down at his chest where an arrow stuck out from his heart, then he toppled over. A flurry of steel-tipped arrows sent the rest of the mutineers scrambling and crying for mercy.
"Get the rest of them up here," Elliott snarled.
Fury merely stood high above, arms crossed over her chest, and watched as man after man was brought forward and shackled to the previous one.
Elliott clipped down the stairs to the main deck and, furious, had picked up the chainshot at the first captive's feet and held it out to him. "Hold that."
The second he took it, Elliott picked the man up and heaved him over the rail.
The clang of chain and ball as it scraped against the rail as the screaming men went overboard one after another, faster and faster until the last mutineer went over the side with a great splash.
"Methinks you'll not try that again, children," Fury called gaily down upon the decks of the Silver Shilling. She and the Hollander and their crews roared with laughter as if 'twere a great jest, and Elliott found himself envious of their cohesion.
Elliott shook his head free of the memory.
Yet more people to whom he owed his life ... one of them a woman whose heart he had broken.
He felt indebted to the world, and knew Fate would require him to repay his debt to her in the currency of duty.
It was this thought that dogged his heels through the labyrinth, up the ancient hewn stone steps, and out the trap door that opened upon the heather-strewn moor high above the sea just as dawn broke.
"UNCLE ELLIOTT! YOU'RE HOME!"
He had barely gained his feet when six children surrounded him, screaming, jumping, begging for his attention. Somehow his arms filled with one little girl and one little boy.
Their father, striding up behind them, rolled his eyes and shook his head, but soon enough he had broken through the clamor and clasped Elliott to him. "Welcome home, Brother."
He held on tight to this man he loved, his eyes stinging so badly he closed them, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Almost a sob, really.
Finally he opened his eyes and over his brother-in-law's shoulder, he saw all three of his sisters and his older nieces and nephews running helter-skelter with a dozen pug dogs at their heels. His tiny mother drove a tiny gig hitched to a tiny pony, a wide smile on her face, her cheeks glistening with moisture.
His soul was suddenly overcome with a tidal wave of love for these people, his family.
These were the people for whom he had sacrificed his own desires—and he would do it again.
"THE EARL HAS RETURNED! MY LORD! LORD TAVENDISH!"
Ah, no. Not all the people.
Soon enough hordes of villagers, tenants, and boarders were surrounding him as much as his nieces, nephews, sisters, brother-in-law, mother, and those damned dogs yipping and nipping at everyone's heels in ignorant happiness.
"Oh, my son," his mother whispered in his ear when he leaned down to embrace her. "My wonderful, courageous son. I have missed you every day you have been gone these past twenty years. Welcome home."
"And I, you, Mother," he whispered in return. "Thank you."
For he was home. Home to stay. Finally.
It was the culmination of every one of his achievable goals, and he had succeeded beyond his wildest expectations.
He smiled, but the memory of tears filling burnt-sugar eyes made success lie bitter upon his soul.