“I’m descended from a Bonnet family slave; in fact, my mother’s maiden name was Bonnet, taken originally by one of his slaves because he came from Africa with no surname of his own.”
Adam inclined his dark head. “Interesting.”
“Grandfather Bonnet knew lots of stories, passed down through the years, and when he made his way in the world as a free man, he was able to purchase this building , already knowing its history. I was fascinated hearing the tales as a child, imagining Stede Bonnet living here in secret while preparing his sloop and assembling his pirate crew. He was the only pirate I know of who paid for his own ship and crew, rather than simply stealing them in a sea battle!” Stoute stared off dreamily into space for a moment. “Of course, he had no knowledge of the seafaring life. The venture didn’t go very well for him.”
Adam stared around the tiny room at the assortment of dusty and broken old furniture. “That’s a fascinating story, however—”
“Wait! I brought you here to show you this...” Stoute threw open the door to a heavy old-fashioned mahogany armoire. Malodorous old coats were piled inside, and he dug behind them to expose a wooden box. “My lord, might I request your assistance?”
“Stand aside and I’ll lift it out.”
The small carved chest was made of thick wood, decorated with tarnished brass fittings, and set with a broken lock. Adam placed it on a nearby chair and glanced over at Stoute with a mixture of impatience and curiosity.
“My lord,” the old man confided, “I realize that this property needs more work than you realized when you agreed to buy it. However, we must see our agreement through, for my wife is very ill and I have no funds to seek medical care for her. I promise you, I am selling you not only this building, but also its very unique contents—”
Glancing around again at the piles of filthy, broken furniture, he wondered, “How can I imagine that that you are doing me a favor, sir?”
His voice dropped to a whisper. “I speak of this box, my lord. I have guarded it all my life, but what use is it to me now? But I give you my word that is owner was none other than Major Stede Bonnet, the gentleman pirate!”
Raveneau wanted to exclaim, “Him again?” He nearly explained that he already had a trove of worthless Stede Bonnet memorabilia, but something stopped him. After all, Stoute meant well, and his wife needed medical attention. “All right, then. I’ll deal with all of this on my own.” He reached into his vest pocket and withdrew a bank draft. “Here is your payment. I wish you and your wife well, sir.”
“Ah, thank you, my lord! You’re a fine man after all!” He went backing out the door until he had disappeared.
When Adam was alone and contemplating the tasks that lay before him, he thought of Cathy and how she had cleaned alongside June at Tempest Hall, wearing a head-tie like one of the servants. How charming and filled with enthusiasm she had been. When she’d shown him the hidden panel in his dressing room, her excitement had been contagious— yet he had refused to be infected. Now, remembering how he had glanced over his grandmother’s letter while refusing to share it with Cathy, a wave of angry regret swept over him.
“No wonder she could not love me,” he whispered. “I pushed her aside each time she came near.” Abruptly came the sharp memory of her words to him at the Ocean Breeze Hotel: “You held me at arm’s length— unless you were laying claim to me in your bed.”
“Adam? Are you here?” A male voice traveled down the corridor to him, followed by the sound of a child’s feet running on the uneven wooden floor. Paul burst into the room first, followed by Byron and Simon.
“Papa!” cried the little boy and jumped into the air, trusting his father to catch him. He lay his head against Adam’s chest in a now-familiar gesture. “Hello, Papa.”
He held him close for a moment, inhaling the spicy scent of his curly hair and feeling the humid warmth of his small body. “Hello, Paul. Have you and Uncle Byron come to help me?”
“We bringed books,” he replied proudly.
Adam gave Byron and Simon a weary smile. “Thank you. As you both can see, I have a bit more work to do here before I can open my office and begin practicing law...”
As Simon went off to direct the two field hands who were unloading the wagon and Paul wandered into the corridor to play with his wooden top, Byron joined his friend. “What on earth inspired you to choose this building? Why isn’t it cleaned out? God, I hate to think what sort of vermin could be living amid all this debris.”
Adam wished there were a place to sit down, but every chair in the room was broken. Briefly, he related the events of the morning, ending with Mr. Stoute’s gift of the wooden box.
“Do you believe him?” asked Byron. “About Stede Bonnet, I mean? For a man who lived two centuries ago, he is certainly turning up in your life a great deal.”
“Agreed. I’ve decided that this is either a wild coincidence or an outrageous hoax. In any event, I already have more Stede Bonnet artifacts than I have time to deal with, even though Retta goes on at me almost daily to delve into the things my grandmother set aside for me.”
“Oh, right; no time. Remind me why you decided to buy this building and take up the law again?” As Byron spoke, his gaze wandered around the room, from the peeling paint to the jumble of useless furniture.
“You know why.” Raveneau began to fiddle with the lock on the carved box. “I’m fixing myself.” Before Byron could reply, he had pulled the latch free and opened the lid. Both men leaned forward and peered into the small chest. On the top of a lot of papers lay one item of interest: a white cockade with a blood-red center.
Two days later, Adam sat at a very old desk in his freshly-scrubbed and painted law office. Leather-bound books lined the repaired shelves while his new blotter, pens, ink, and rosewood stationery box were arranged on the desk before him. He was dressed in fawn-colored linen trousers and coat, a cream-colored vest, a fine white shirt, and a dotted navy tie. Every hair was in place, he had shaved with extra care that morning, and his shoes were polished.
Also on the desk was the battered chest supposedly owned by Stede Bonnet. After he and Byron had their first glimpse of the cockade, Adam had closed the lid and put it away. The fact that the cockade had been identical to the one his grandmother had given him seemed to prove that the connection to Stede Bonnet was real. But beyond that, what did it matter? Wasn’t it all a lot of nonsense designed to distract him from the real business of winning his wife back?
Adam looked at the tallcase clock, a treasure unearthed from one of the heaps of junk, ticking quietly against a beeswax-colored wall. In a half-hour, his first potential client was due to arrive, so there was no time to waste. Opening the musty-smelling box, he removed the soiled cockade, and a little chill ran down his back as he looked at it, imagining Stede Bonnet himself placing it in the little chest. Under the cockade was a stack of yellowed, mildew-spotted papers.
One by one, he studied them. In a document dated January of 1716, Major Stede Bonnet of the island militia was named a Justice of the Peace. Under that were hand-drawn plans for the construction of a sixty-ton Bermuda-style sloop-of-war, including the addition of ten cannons. At the bottom of the last page was a handwritten note requesting that the shipwrights build bookshelves all around the bunk in the captain’s cabin; the note was initialed S.B. September, 1717. Next were legal documents, drawn up by Bonnet’s solicitor, that gave power to Stede’s wife Mary Allamby Bonnet, along with two gentlemen, to tend to his affairs while he was away from Barbados.
At the bottom of the pile were two more hand-drawn images. The first one was a circle with lines radiating out from a dark center. From across the page, a line pointed back to the center, with the printed word, “RUBY?” It came to Adam that this must be the design for Bonnet’s cockade; he had apparently intended to fasten a real ruby at the center. The final image was a sketch of a large rectangle. In its center was a skull above a long bone, flanked by a heart and a dagger. When he turned the last page over, he saw some scrawled numbers and signs that made no sense: R ~ 3... 7 X 2... 3 X 4... 9 XX.
Finally, at the bottom of the box lay a large, ornate key covered with patches of dirt and rust.
Adam rubbed his jaw as he took it all in. Although the discolored, crumbling paper and the faded quality of the ink testified to the authenticity of the documents, and they were surely fascinating, of what use were they to him?
“Ah-hem! Sir, do you be de solicitor?”
Calmly, he closed the box, pushed it off to the back corner of his desk, and stood up. “I am.” Extending a hand, Raveneau went to meet the tall black man who waited near the doorway. “Please, come in, sir, and take a chair. I take it that you are George Farnsworth? It’s good to meet you.”
The older man did as he was bade, twisting his hat in his lap. “I askin’ you to make de last will an’ testament. Goin’ to Panama to work on de canal.”
This was a frequently-heard story in Bridgetown of late. The United States was eager to take over the canal project, and Barbadian workers were eager for work. Other countries had tried to build a canal across Panama, but past efforts had been plagued by a high death toll from disease and engineering challenges that at times seemed insurmountable.