Assassin's Creed: Black Flag
Page 10
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Until one day she announced that Matthew Hague planned to ask for her hand in marriage the following morning, and my heart stopped.
I was determined not to lose her. Because of my love for her, because I could think of nothing but her, because when we were together I savoured every moment; every word, every gesture that Caroline made was like nectar to me, everything about her, every curve and contour, her scent, her laugh, her refined manners, her intelligence.
All of this ran through my mind as I dropped to one knee and took her hand, because what she was telling me, perhaps it wasn’t an invitation but a farewell, and if it was, well at least my humiliation would not be known far and wide, confined to the birds in the trees and the cows that stood in the fields watching us with sleepy eyes and chewing ruminatively.
“Caroline, will you marry me?” I said.
I held my breath. During our courtship, every meeting we’d had, every stolen kiss we’d shared, I’d been haunted by a feeling of not believing my luck. It was as though a great joke was being played on me—I half expected Tom Cobleigh to come leaping out of the shadows snorting with laughter. And if not that—if not some vengeful, practical joke at my expense—then perhaps I was merely a diversion for Caroline, a final fling, before she applied herself to her true calling, her duty. Surely she would say no.
“Ah, Edward”—she smiled—“I thought you’d never ask.”
NINE
I still couldn’t accept it, though, and I found myself travelling into town the next day, my journey taking me to Hawkins Lane. All I knew was that Matthew Hague planned to pay her a visit in the morning, and as I sidled up the highway and passed the row of houses among which was hers, I wondered if he was in there already, perhaps making his proposal.
One thing I knew of Caroline, she was a brave woman, perhaps the bravest I’d ever known, but even so, she was passing up the opportunity to live the rest of her days in pampered luxury; and, worse, she was going to scandalize her mother and father. I knew only too well the pressures of trying to please a parent, how tempting it was to go down that route. An unfulfilled soul, or a soul troubled with guilt—which was the hardest cross to bear?
With me standing before her—and she loved me, I’m sure of that—perhaps the decision was easier to make. But what about at night, when misgivings made their rounds and doubt came visiting? Perhaps she might simply have changed her mind overnight and she was, at this very moment in time, blushing in her acceptance of Matthew Hague’s proposal and mentally writing a letter to me.
If that happened, well, there was always Dylan Wallace, I supposed.
But then from the corner of my eye I saw the front door open and Wilson appear, quickly followed by the draughtsman and behind them Matthew Hague, who offered his arm for Caroline, Rose taking up the rear as they began their perambulations.
Staying some distance behind, I followed, all the way to the harbour, puzzling over his intentions. Not the harbour, surely? The dirty, smelly, crowded harbour, with its stench of manure and burning pitch and just-caught fish and men who had returned from months away at sea without so much as a bath during that time.
They were making their way towards what looked like a schooner moored at the dock, around which were gathered some men. It was difficult to tell, though, because hanging from the back of the ship was some kind of canvas obscuring the name of the vessel. However, as the group drew closer to it I thought I knew what it was. I thought I knew his plan.
Sure enough, they stopped before it and still out of sight I watched as Caroline’s eyes flicked nervously from Matthew Hague to the schooner, guessing that she too had worked out the purpose of their visit.
Next thing I knew, Hague was down on one knee, and the staff of the schooner, Wilson and the draughtsman, were all standing with their hands behind their backs ready for the round of applause when Matthew Hague popped his question: “My darling, would you do me the honour of becoming my wife?”
Caroline swallowed and stammered, “Matthew, must we do this here?”
He shot her a patronizing look, then, with an expansive gesture of his hand, ordered the canvas come off the rear of the schooner. There etched in a gold leaf was the vessel’s name: CAROLINE.
“What better place, my dear?”
If it hadn’t been for the situation I might even have slightly enjoyed the sight of Caroline at a loss. Usually she was nothing if not sure of herself. The doubt and near panic I saw in her eyes, I suspect, was as new to her as it was to me.
“Matthew, I must say, you’re embarrassing me.”
“My dear, dear Caroline, my precious flower . . .” He gave a small gesture to his draughtsman, who immediately began rooting around for his quill in order to record his master’s poetic words.
“But how else would I have unveiled my marital gift to you? Now, I must press you for an answer. Please, with all these people watching . . .”
Yes, I realized looking around, the entire harbour seemed to have halted, everybody hanging on Caroline’s next words, which were . . .
“No, Matthew.”
Hague stood up so sharply that his draughtsman was forced to scurry backwards and almost lost his footing. Hague’s face darkened, and his lips pursed as he fought to retain composure and forced a smile.
“One of your little jokes, perhaps?”
“I fear not, Matthew, I am betrothed to another.”
Hague drew himself up to his full height as though to intimidate Caroline. Standing back in the crowd, I felt my blood rising and began to make my way forward.
“To another,” he croaked. “Just who is this other man?”
“Me, sir,” I announced, having reached the front of the crowd and presented myself to him.
He looked at me with narrowed eyes. “You.” He spat.
From behind him Wilson was already moving forward, and in his eyes I could see his fury that I’d failed to heed his warning. And how that became his failure.
With an outstretched arm Hague stopped him. “No, Wilson,” he said, adding pointedly, “not here. Not now. I’m sure my lady may want to reconsider.”
A ripple of surprise and I guess not a little humour had travelled through the crowd and it rose again as Caroline said, “No, Matthew, Edward and I are to be married.”
He rounded on her. “Does your father know about this?”
“Not yet,” she said, then added, “I’ve a feeling he soon will, though.”
For a moment Hague simply stood and trembled with rage, and for the first, but as it would turn out not the last time, I actually felt sympathy for him. In the next instant he was barking at bystanders to get back to their work, then shouting at the schooner crew to replace the canvas, then calling to Wilson and his draughtsman to leave the harbour, turning his back pointedly on Caroline and offering me a look of hate as he exited. At his rear was Wilson and our eyes locked. Slowly, he drew a finger across his throat.
I was determined not to lose her. Because of my love for her, because I could think of nothing but her, because when we were together I savoured every moment; every word, every gesture that Caroline made was like nectar to me, everything about her, every curve and contour, her scent, her laugh, her refined manners, her intelligence.
All of this ran through my mind as I dropped to one knee and took her hand, because what she was telling me, perhaps it wasn’t an invitation but a farewell, and if it was, well at least my humiliation would not be known far and wide, confined to the birds in the trees and the cows that stood in the fields watching us with sleepy eyes and chewing ruminatively.
“Caroline, will you marry me?” I said.
I held my breath. During our courtship, every meeting we’d had, every stolen kiss we’d shared, I’d been haunted by a feeling of not believing my luck. It was as though a great joke was being played on me—I half expected Tom Cobleigh to come leaping out of the shadows snorting with laughter. And if not that—if not some vengeful, practical joke at my expense—then perhaps I was merely a diversion for Caroline, a final fling, before she applied herself to her true calling, her duty. Surely she would say no.
“Ah, Edward”—she smiled—“I thought you’d never ask.”
NINE
I still couldn’t accept it, though, and I found myself travelling into town the next day, my journey taking me to Hawkins Lane. All I knew was that Matthew Hague planned to pay her a visit in the morning, and as I sidled up the highway and passed the row of houses among which was hers, I wondered if he was in there already, perhaps making his proposal.
One thing I knew of Caroline, she was a brave woman, perhaps the bravest I’d ever known, but even so, she was passing up the opportunity to live the rest of her days in pampered luxury; and, worse, she was going to scandalize her mother and father. I knew only too well the pressures of trying to please a parent, how tempting it was to go down that route. An unfulfilled soul, or a soul troubled with guilt—which was the hardest cross to bear?
With me standing before her—and she loved me, I’m sure of that—perhaps the decision was easier to make. But what about at night, when misgivings made their rounds and doubt came visiting? Perhaps she might simply have changed her mind overnight and she was, at this very moment in time, blushing in her acceptance of Matthew Hague’s proposal and mentally writing a letter to me.
If that happened, well, there was always Dylan Wallace, I supposed.
But then from the corner of my eye I saw the front door open and Wilson appear, quickly followed by the draughtsman and behind them Matthew Hague, who offered his arm for Caroline, Rose taking up the rear as they began their perambulations.
Staying some distance behind, I followed, all the way to the harbour, puzzling over his intentions. Not the harbour, surely? The dirty, smelly, crowded harbour, with its stench of manure and burning pitch and just-caught fish and men who had returned from months away at sea without so much as a bath during that time.
They were making their way towards what looked like a schooner moored at the dock, around which were gathered some men. It was difficult to tell, though, because hanging from the back of the ship was some kind of canvas obscuring the name of the vessel. However, as the group drew closer to it I thought I knew what it was. I thought I knew his plan.
Sure enough, they stopped before it and still out of sight I watched as Caroline’s eyes flicked nervously from Matthew Hague to the schooner, guessing that she too had worked out the purpose of their visit.
Next thing I knew, Hague was down on one knee, and the staff of the schooner, Wilson and the draughtsman, were all standing with their hands behind their backs ready for the round of applause when Matthew Hague popped his question: “My darling, would you do me the honour of becoming my wife?”
Caroline swallowed and stammered, “Matthew, must we do this here?”
He shot her a patronizing look, then, with an expansive gesture of his hand, ordered the canvas come off the rear of the schooner. There etched in a gold leaf was the vessel’s name: CAROLINE.
“What better place, my dear?”
If it hadn’t been for the situation I might even have slightly enjoyed the sight of Caroline at a loss. Usually she was nothing if not sure of herself. The doubt and near panic I saw in her eyes, I suspect, was as new to her as it was to me.
“Matthew, I must say, you’re embarrassing me.”
“My dear, dear Caroline, my precious flower . . .” He gave a small gesture to his draughtsman, who immediately began rooting around for his quill in order to record his master’s poetic words.
“But how else would I have unveiled my marital gift to you? Now, I must press you for an answer. Please, with all these people watching . . .”
Yes, I realized looking around, the entire harbour seemed to have halted, everybody hanging on Caroline’s next words, which were . . .
“No, Matthew.”
Hague stood up so sharply that his draughtsman was forced to scurry backwards and almost lost his footing. Hague’s face darkened, and his lips pursed as he fought to retain composure and forced a smile.
“One of your little jokes, perhaps?”
“I fear not, Matthew, I am betrothed to another.”
Hague drew himself up to his full height as though to intimidate Caroline. Standing back in the crowd, I felt my blood rising and began to make my way forward.
“To another,” he croaked. “Just who is this other man?”
“Me, sir,” I announced, having reached the front of the crowd and presented myself to him.
He looked at me with narrowed eyes. “You.” He spat.
From behind him Wilson was already moving forward, and in his eyes I could see his fury that I’d failed to heed his warning. And how that became his failure.
With an outstretched arm Hague stopped him. “No, Wilson,” he said, adding pointedly, “not here. Not now. I’m sure my lady may want to reconsider.”
A ripple of surprise and I guess not a little humour had travelled through the crowd and it rose again as Caroline said, “No, Matthew, Edward and I are to be married.”
He rounded on her. “Does your father know about this?”
“Not yet,” she said, then added, “I’ve a feeling he soon will, though.”
For a moment Hague simply stood and trembled with rage, and for the first, but as it would turn out not the last time, I actually felt sympathy for him. In the next instant he was barking at bystanders to get back to their work, then shouting at the schooner crew to replace the canvas, then calling to Wilson and his draughtsman to leave the harbour, turning his back pointedly on Caroline and offering me a look of hate as he exited. At his rear was Wilson and our eyes locked. Slowly, he drew a finger across his throat.
