It was longer than the squire had imagined, before they were ready for the sea. None of their first plans, could be carried out as intended.
When it came to that first night’s rest, when Taylor had followed Dr. Livesey into his room, she felt not a small amount of panic. Yet, as the door closed behind them, the doctor had turned to her, and reminded her that she had been born by his hands.
He would offer her another room, were there one. However, as there was not, and he believed that she intended to keep her secret, he would being getting changed in the adjoining room, and then he would be bedding down on the floor, as if he were rambling.
Taylor tried to argue that she should take the floor, but he would have none of it.
The next morning, the doctor realised that he wouldn’t be able to stay by her side, at all. With the squire hard at work in Bristol, he would need to go to London, to search for a physician to take over his practice. He promised it would not be long.
This left Taylor at the hall, under the charge old Redruth - the gatekeeper. She did not have much in the way of freedom, having to stay within the walls for her own safety. There were doubtless pirates from the other night out looking for them.
A haul, such as Flint’s, was not something easily forgotten.
Taylor dreamed of the sea, of strange islands and adventure. She spent her waking hours examining and re-examining the map. Every detail was something to see, some story waiting to be told in the epic that unfolded within her mind.
She sat by the fire, and looked at the island from every angle in her mind. She ran across every acre of its surface, and climbed the tall hill that was called the Spyglass. Looking out across the free little space.
Sometimes the isle was thick with natives, terrifying people who came with spear and language incomprehensible. At other times, she imagined them saving her from wild animals such as boar or bear.
Her fancies tap-danced out a life more full of real living, than ever she had lived.
One particular morning, a couple weeks into her time at the hall, one of the revenue officers came by. He brought with him a still steaming bread roll, and a handful of freshly plucked wild flowers.
Dogger looked away in embarrassment as he gave her the gifts, “I thought, considering that you are locked away indoors, that the flowers might be something to air your room. Not because of… What you aren’t.”
“Quite thoughtful.” Taylor said tactfully, taking them quickly, and finding an empty vase beneath one of the library windows to add them to. She turned back to him, and smiled prettily, “The gamekeeper is working, at the moment. Do you have time to sit, and tell me of all the news?”
Dogger sat down on the edge of a seat, uncomfortably creaking as he did. The man smiled nervously at her, as she took to her own seat, across from him. The two of them sat like that, warming by the fire, for a time.
He was the one to break the silence, “There have been no sightings in the hamlet, as of yet. My patrols do take me quite a ways, at times. We were up to London town, last week. However, Dance always makes a point to ask about the pirate sort, just for you.”
“He’s a good ’un.” Taylor nodded and smiled, “If I were still at the Nightingale, I’d be treating you all to a round. Just the one, mind.”
Dogger gave a small chuckle, “Aye, more than one might be pressing the luck. You wouldn’t know it, but the inspector has been known to drink more than seems human.”
“The Captain was a human keg. I have never seen a man down as much as he, and I have served many a sailor.”
The man gave another small laugh, before the smile dropped from his face. He made a concerned sort of expression, as if he were not entirely certain that he should impart what was on his mind. “Hawkins… About the inn…”
“She’s in a right state, isn’t she?” Taylor said with a wince. “Empty building, right on the bluffs and road.”
“She’s gone.” Dogger said quietly, “It was on the first night. On our way back from delivering you safely here, we found the building ablaze. It’s gone.”
It hit her harder than she had been expecting.
The last foundations of her father’s legacy, turned to ash. She had known that it might happen with her out of the way. It might have been at the hand of an angry villager, rather than at the hands of frustrated pirates, but she had figured the place would go.
Yet, thinking on it, and learning it, hit at different altitudes. The last vestiges that tied her to any one place in the country were now gone. All she had left was the naive hopes of the adventurer, but the ship seemed so far out of reach.
Taylor knew that she might receive a letter from Livesey, or Trelawney, any day. That it was too difficult a task for ones such as they, and it had been decided to instead negotiate the map to the King’s Navy for a simpler sum. Enough to try and start her a new life.
She could not see herself assisting a physician, or being buried with the legal codes of the nation. She did not have a life with either man that might try and save her. Her entire life was known by the rougher parts of the world.
The last memories of her father, a man who had stood up to a pirate, whilst falling and dying, were gone in the flames of his inn. Such a strong and mighty figure, he was emblazoned into her mind like a hero out of myth.
Taylor looked to her companion, and struggled to keep her pain hidden away. “I see.”
“At least you’re safe. We’ve seen nothing to suggest that any know where you lay your head.” Dogger tried to reassure her.
She casually reached down the side of her leg, and pulled a knife from the boot. Holding it loosely for a moment where he could see it, before replacing it again. “Mr. Taylor Hawkins, is not one to live by fear. He is no damsel in distress.”
The man winced, and bowed his head apologetically, “Aye. I weren’t thinking of you in such a way. You strike one as a strong sort. But even the bravest likes to know that sleep weren’t be their end.”
Taylor nodded, “Aye. That’s true enough.”
The man suddenly stood up, “Well, I should be going. My duties to return to.”
She realised that he thought he’d given her an unforgivable insult, and in other circumstances, with lesser men, she might have called that. However, this man had sought her out, of his accord, to check in on what might be called a crazy lass by others.
She stood up, and smiled sweetly at him, “I know not quite what the future appears to be. However, if you come by here again, then I would regret it, were I not to greet you.”
This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
The man didn’t seem to process that, until a moment before he stepped through the front door. Stumbling for a moment, and glancing back towards her, before continuing on his way.
Her stomach tightened and twisted as he hauled himself effortlessly onto his horse, before giving a dramatic salute to her with his hat.
Taylor smiled and waved him off, before returning to the inside of the hall, and her daydreams. Some of which now wondered about returning from the island, gold in hand, to rebuild the Nightingale.
Perhaps offering a house drink, to an officer.
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It took a short time, but Taylor felt the loss. Her father was gone. He might not always have been the kindest, he might not always have been the smartest, but damn if he wasn’t hers.
There was injustice in the loss. Anger at all. She found herself wanting to scream cuss words into the wind, though she didn’t. Too quiet a soul, even in this most terrible of days.
Memories of the man haunted her, the ways he used to speak down to her. Taylor’s own desire to shove him down the stairs, once or twice a week. He never seemed to see beyond the cash in hand of a sailor. Never enough pride in what he did.
Yet… Now he was gone… It didn’t matter what he had done wrong.
Her own soul had been speared right through, and now was being dragged by hook down to the deep. Only the hope of what might be, of the stupid map and thought, of the waiting sea, kept her from the edges of the clifftops.
She kept her chin up, looking out into the wind and the water’s bluffs. Trying to imagine that old man painting a look of pride on his face, as she returned to England with the treasure of a famous pirate in tow.
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The weeks passed on, until there came a letter addressed to Dr. Livesey, but with an addendum instructing opening by Tom Redruth or Taylor Hawkins, in his absence.
Redruth opened it, before staring in confusion at the letter. The man did not know how to read a flowing hand, and was too man enough to admit it. So Hawkins saved him by rudely snatching it from his hand, and reading aloud.
> “Old Anchor Inn, Bristol, March First.”
> “Dear Livesey, as I do not know whether you are at the hall, or still in London, I send this to both places.”
> “The ship is bought, and she is fitted, lying in anchor, ready for sea. You could never imagine such a sweet schooner. A child might sail her. She is but two hundred tons.”
> “The Coronet.”
> “I got her through an old friend, Blandly, who has proved himself the most surprising trump. The admirable fellow has slaved himself in my interest, and so did everyone in Bristol, I must say. From the very moment they got wind of the port we were sailing for.”
Taylor lowered the letter with a groan, and looked to the gamekeeper. “The squire has been talking, after all.”
Redruth crossed his arms, “And who would have a better right? The man were doing what need doing, he working for the good doctor. But a man has to speak, to get things of the doing.”
She turned back to the letter, barely resisting from rolling her eyes.
> “Blandly found the Coronet, himself, and by the most admirable negotiation, he got her for a trifle.”
> “There is a class of men in Bristol, all monstrously prejudiced against Blandly. They whisper - or tell it to your face - that the honest man would do anything for money, and that the Coronet belonged to himself.”
> “Accusing such a great man of selling it to me at an absurdly high price. It is the most transparent of slanders.”
> “None of them, however, dare to deny the merits of the ship.”
> “So far, there has not been a problem. The working people, the riggers and the sort, have been most annoyingly slow, but time has cured that, like all ills.”
> “I admit, I have been a little troubled by the crew.”
> “I wished for a round score of men. Natives, buccaneers, and even for one of the odious French. It was much the trouble to get so much as half a dozen, until the most remarkable stroke of fortune provided a miracle of a man to me. The very kind that I required.”
> “By merest accident, I fell into talk with him, on the dock. I found he was an older sailor, staying at a public house. One known to all the seafaring men in Bristol. He had lost his health ashore, and has been hoping to get to sea again, as a cook.”
> “He had hobbled down there that morning, to get a smell of the salt. I was so very touched, and more to do with pity that gratefulness, I engaged him there to be our own cook. Edward Vernon, he is called. He fought at Porto Bello, and that commends him to me.”
> “Yet, for all that, he has no pension, Livesey. What an abominable age we live in. King and country should go hand in hand, not the King first and lonesome.”
> “I was of the thinking that I had only found a cook, but it was a crew I had discovered. Between Vernon and myself, it took us only a few days to gather in a company of the toughest old salts imaginable. Granted, they are not kind for portraiture, but they each have the most indomitable spirit. I expect we could fight a frigate, if needs must.”
> “Vernon even helped me wash out two of the six or seven that I had already engaged. Showed me that they were fresh water swabs, who would not have the heart for such an adventure as ours.”
> “I am in the most magnificent health and spirits. Eating like a bull, and sleeping like a tree. Even engaging a sweet lass or two, for a gentle evening. Yet, I shall not enjoy a moment of it until I hear your feet upon the deck!”
> “Seaward, ho! It is the glory of the sea that awaits us, whether there be treasure or no. Livesey, come past haste. Do not lose an hour, if you have the least respect for me.”
> “Send for young Hawkins, and bring Redruth as a guard for him. They should both come full speed to Bristol.”
> “John Trelawney. Esq.”
> “Postscript.”
> “I did not tell you that Vernon unearthed the most competent of fellows for the sailing master. A rather stiff man, by the name of Arrow, but dependable. I also have a boatswain who pipes, Livesey.”
> “Vernon is also a man of some substance. I found, though he does not know I have, that he has a banker’s account, and has never once been overdrawn. He has a woman of colour that he has married, that manages an inn. Checking his background has only enforced that he is most trusted.”
Taylor found herself lit entirely with excitement, and wanted to dash straight to her room to prepare what little things she had, for the journey Londonwards. Unfortunately, she did have to drag along old Redruth.
She would have taken any of the under-gamekeepers, and was sure that any of those would be more than happy to be engaged in such an adventure. Yet, it was the squire’s word, and thus it was like unto a law for all of those.
By Redruth’s stubbornness, they did not leave on the spot, but instead waited until the next morning.
There were quiet tears as the two walked along the road, and went by the ashes of the old inn. Taylor took a moment to kneel, and offer her prayers for both of her parents, wishing that she did not wear her heart so close upon her sleeve.
The gamekeeper, for once, kept his tongue between his teeth, and said nought. Though he could not keep his judgement from his face.
It was only a few moments later, that they rounded the road, and the Nightingale’s ruins were out of sight, perhaps for the last time.
They caught the mail carrier about dusk, near to the Royal George. Taylor finding herself wedged between Redruth and a stout older gentleman. In spite of the bouncing carriage, or because of it, she found she dozed a great deal.
It was a fist to her ribs that awoke her, and she found that they were stopped before a large building in a city street, and that day had already broken, with the sun high in the sky.
“Where are we?”
“Bristol.” Redruth barked, “Get down.”
It was only a short walk to the inn, down near the docks, where Trelawney had taken up his residence. On their way, Taylor stared around in delight at a great magnitude of ships, of all sizes, rigs and nations.
In one, sailors were singing at their work, and in another, there were men aloft. High over her head, hanging by threads that seemed little more than spider silk.
She might have lived by the shore, all of her life, but she had never been as close to sea, as then. The salt blasting freshly into her face, with each lap of the water. The scent of tar from the ships was something new, and spoke deeply of adventure and triumph.
She saw figureheads upon most of the ships, some intricately carved, some poorly cut. Mostly women, but plenty of myth and monster to complement. Around all the ships were sailors, with rings in ears, and tar-stained pigtails. Swaggering around with the walk of the sea.
All of it made her heart beat excitedly.
Soon, she would be going to sea, herself. Boarding a schooner, with a piping boatswain, and a crew of pig-tailed seamen crying out their own songs. All of them bound for an unknown island, to seek out a pirate’s treasure trove.
Lost in her dazed dream, Taylor barely realised it when they came to the inn, and met Trelawney. She barely hid a laugh, as she found the man dressed out like an officer, in stout blue cloth, and the poorest imitation of a sailor’s walk.
“Here you are!” He greeted her excitedly, clapping a hand to her shoulder, “The doctor arrived last night. Bravo!”
“When do we sail?” Taylor asked, eyes lit up excitedly.
“Sail? We sail tomorrow!”