Weeks passed. Maclean had long since disappeared to the nearest trading post, hopefully for good, and I was getting used to my new identity as clan maiden until I had worked out what I was going to do.
Then one April morning, a canoe arrived at the landing stage carrying two white men. Those of us in the village went down to see what brought them to us. According to Kanawha, they had to be either traders or missionaries because no one else would bother to make the arduous journey to Chickamauga. I peeped out from behind Tecumseh as the men warily came ashore. The older of the two, a man with grey hair and a round brimmed hat, bowed low; his companion perched on a barrel behind him, sketching the people as they clustered around the canoe.
‘I come in peace!’ said Grey Hair dramatically, holding up his hand, palm open. ‘Do you understand?’
Grandmother Bee darted forward and prodded the man’s big belly. She squawked with laughter. Looking discomfited, the man spoke louder, obviously thinking this would help us learn English.
‘I COME IN . . .’
‘We heard you first time,’ said Tecumseh softly.
‘Oh!’ The man flushed and tried to wipe his sweating brow, but in the interim some enterprising child had made off with his silk handkerchief. ‘Well, as you speak English, let me introduce myself. I am John Davies. I have come on the behest of Mr Jefferson himself and am making a tour of the district, learning about local Indian customs.’
‘Come to spy out our land and steal our hunting grounds more like,’ muttered Kanawha for my benefit.
I sympathized with her but that was not the reason my heart was beating so fast; to me, these men represented a lifeline. If they came from Mr Jefferson, the American politician I had heard Johnny praise, then they were my way out of here, back to cities, ports and ships headed home to my friends.
‘Please take me to your leader,’ Davies continued. ‘We have heard the great name of McGillivray of the Creeks and wish to pay him our respects.’
Tecumseh nodded and beckoned them to follow. Davies’ eyes fell on me briefly as they set off, attention caught by my telltale red hair and pale skin. He frowned but said nothing.
I made to follow them, thinking I might be able to make my appeal for assistance, but Kanawha pulled me back.
‘Leave them,’ she whispered as if she knew my intention. ‘They are bloodsuckers, those men, like Mac Clan.’
She was right: I should be more suspicious of my fellow whites. For all I knew, they might even be here on Maclean’s behalf and I was stupidly about to cast myself on their mercy. Besides, I knew my adopted family would have a thing or two to say about my desire to leave. Only Kanawha seemed to understand my desire to escape a future others had decided for me. I had to be cleverer than that.
Tecumseh and Little Turtle came back from the meeting at the chief’s house with news of the outside world – news that concerned me closely. Davies and his artist companion, one Gilbert Stuart, had told the Creeks that the American navy had chased the Courageous out of her waters some weeks ago. Shots had been exchanged causing casualties on both sides, but both the British and American authorities were playing the incident down, having no desire to spark off a new war over an old grudge. The citizens of the American Republic looked on the encounter as a victory and had celebrated their enemy being sent packing for the Caribbean with his tail between his legs. I heard the news with mixed feelings: the retreat meant that Maclean could no longer hold out any hope of rejoining the ship immediately, but it also meant that my friends were too far away for me to reach them – even if the Courageous had survived the American bombardment.
As the sun set in a blush of pink clouds, I retreated to the fence behind the house to consider the news. I refused to believe that any of my friends featured on the casualty list. Surely Syd would have kept them safe for me? With a groan, I hugged my sides for comfort, knowing I was fooling myself by assuming that Syd stood between me and the unpleasant reality of life, as he always had when we were little. He could not save Pedro from every flying splinter, or ensure that Frank manned a gun far from any hit. He himself would have been exposed as any of them to the dangers of battle. I had to face the fact that any of them could be dead.
There was a light touch on my neck, making me almost jump out of my skin. I slipped from the fence and turned to find Little Turtle standing right behind me. He leaned against the log stretched between us and patted my arm.
‘You are troubled, wife.’
‘Yes, I am worried for my friends,’ I replied, deciding to let the wife bit pass. I’d tackle that another night when I was feeling stronger.
Little Turtle pulled me towards him and enfolded me in a reassuring hug. At first tense, I then relaxed against his chest, hearing his heart beat slow and steady. Calm seeped into me. It felt very chaste with the fence between us and I hungered for some human sympathy, having spent so long struggling to survive on my own.
‘You must not worry for them,’ he said. ‘In your story, the bull, raven and hare were strong and clever creatures. They will find their way home.’
It was strange to be so close to a man like this. Little Turtle’s voice rumbled deep in his ribs, tickling my cheek with the vibration.
Stop it, Cat. Concentrate, snapped that determined side to my character. Do not succumb to the temptation to be looked after. You have to resist if you want to be yourself and not end up as some Indian wife, one among many in Little Turtle’s cabin.
I pulled myself away and gave what I hoped he would understand to be a cool smile.
‘Thank you for your concern, sir.’ What was I doing, addressing him as if we were in a London drawing room? ‘I feel happier now.’ I retreated quickly into the house before he could say another word.
Little Turtle sat next to me at supper that night, first placing in my lap a flower.
‘For you,’ he said with a blush. Kanawha and Tecumseh looked on approvingly, evidently pleased by their brother’s newfound boldness.
I didn’t have the heart to crush him so publicly, particularly after his kindness. ‘Thank you,’ I replied, tucking the flower into my braid. How could I tell him that I had not the least inclination to marry him? He was sweet, but the only reason my pulse beat faster when he approached was because I was fighting the desire to run for the hills.
Grandmother Bee cackled, then put her arms around us both and hugged us close. I had a sudden panic that maybe in this culture accepting a flower was tantamount to accepting his proposal. The old lady jabbered away in Creek to the other three, punctuating her talk with vigorous hand gestures, flicking my hair and pulling Little Turtle’s nose. I guessed she was saying that it was about time the pair of us named the day.
I had to do something – and fast.
‘Did I ever tell you, Kanawha,’ I began conversationally as I stirred my bowl of stew, ‘that I am betrothed to a man in England?’
The four of them stopped talking abruptly.
‘Oh yes, I am pledged to him by most solemn vows, taken in the presence of my . . . my ancestors – you know, the sort of vows that are unbreakable.’ A petal fell from the flower and fluttered into my lap.
Little Turtle choked on his last mouthful.
‘No, Cat, you had not said. Who is this man?’ Kanawha was suspicious.
‘His name . . . his name . . . yes, he has a name . . .’ But who? ‘His name is Syd Fletcher. He is the chief warrior of my clan back in London. Thunder Fists, they call him,’ (they didn’t but I was getting carried away). ‘He is the size of a bear and . . . and roars like a buffalo.’
Little Turtle squared his shoulders and said something in Creek to Tecumseh.
‘My brother will fight him for you if he comes here,’ Tecumseh translated solemnly.
That wasn’t quite what I intended. ‘No, no, it is the vow that binds us, sacred to my people.’ I crossed my fingers, hoping the Almighty was not listening to my lies.
But Grandmother Bee was having none of this. She poked me in the ribs and unleashed a torrent of words which Kanawha translated.
‘She say that your adoption gives you new ancestors. You must make peace with the old and bring an offering to the new so that you can start your life as a Creek. No word binds you. It is as if you died.’
‘That’s not how I feel about –’
‘It does not matter what you feel,’ Tecumseh interrupted. ‘You are Creek daughter now. You will go into forest and fast for four days. Then you will offer gifts to the old ancestors and to the new. In that time, your spirit guide will reveal itself to you and make peace between them.’
‘My what?’
‘Your animal guardian.’
My reason revolted against the idea; I had been brought up in a world that didn’t believe in such primitive superstitions.
‘I’m sorry but I don’t think so –’
Grandmother Bee clipped me round the ear, sending the flower flying. I jumped indignantly to my feet; I had had enough of being pushed around.
‘I just said that I didn’t want to do it!’ I exclaimed. ‘What’s wrong with being honest?’
Grandmother shook her fist and continued to scold me.
The feelings that had been brewing in me now boiled over. ‘Look, you all know I don’t fit in here – I’m a fish out of water – a . . . a cuckoo in the nest – I don’t know what words you people use to say it but I just want to go home – my home, not yours!’
Little Turtle looked up at me reproachfully. Grandmother Bee dragged on my hand, placing it in his, snapping away at me in a stream of reproofs. I snatched my hand back.
‘I don’t want to marry! Why can’t you just leave me alone?’ I snarled.
The old lady turned her attention to her oldest grandson, urging him in her voluble manner to do something about this rebellion under her roof. Using the same calm approach he did with the horses, Tecumseh waited for her to finish, then spoke gently to me.
‘Sit down, Girl Cat.’
I was still on my feet, fuming. I had worked myself up into such a passion, there seemed no graceful way of stepping back from it. I had also managed to insult Little Turtle in front of his family.
‘Sit down,’ Tecumseh repeated, this time with a hint of firmness.
‘I prefer to stand.’ I crossed my arms on my chest.
‘I asked you to sit.’
Kanawha edged to my side and tugged at my tunic. I resisted, unsure what to do. I had never been part of a family before and knew nothing of a brother’s discipline.
Tecumseh rose and moved to stand in front of me, meeting my gaze. ‘Sit.’ He pressed my shoulders down. There seemed little choice but to do as ordered or turn this into an unseemly scuffle.
Tecumseh addressed the others, his eyes mainly on Little Turtle: ‘When our chief gave Girl Cat into our care, I knew that we would have many troubles with her. She is Sasakwa: the horse that shies from the bridle.’
My ‘family’ murmured their agreement. Little Turtle gave a rueful smile. I continued to seethe.
‘I say that she shall do as Grandmother says,’ announced Tecumseh. ‘If this vow exists, she must ask humbly to be released from it. Then she must find out which animal has taken on the burden of being her guide before she marries our brother.’
‘But I don’t –’
Tecumseh held up a finger to silence me. ‘She has to learn to accept the bridle; she can no longer run free on the savannah. She must take her place among us.’
The pressure on me was enormous. I could now understand how Kanawha had been brought to accept a man she did not like; it wasn’t through beatings and threats but having to bear the weight of the expectations of others, of your nearest and dearest. But I was not broken in yet – and never would be. I was Cat Royal of Drury Lane still. They compared me to that devilish horse? Well then, that’s how I would act: submit to what I had to, resist when I could. Sasakwa’s spirit was not yet cowed either.
‘I will seek the animal guide you speak of,’ I said, ‘but do not be surprised when none claims me. Perhaps then you will believe me when I say I do not belong here.’
‘And the vow?’ Tecumseh asked.
‘There was no vow. I . . . er . . . lied.’
He smiled. I guessed he had known or suspected that all along. ‘So why not tell your family the truth?’
‘Because I did not want to offend Little Turtle.’ My designated husband-to-be looked almost disappointed that there was no Thunder Fists to defeat. ‘I was trying to tell you that I do not want to marry anyone.’
‘Then you must ask the ancestors forgiveness for your crooked words. Your fast begins tomorrow at dawn,’ Tecumseh declared, filling my bowl with a second helping of stew.
Grandmother woke me before sunrise and led me out into the forest. She allowed me to take nothing but the clothes I stood up in and a knife, whether to defend myself or to cut the fruit for the ancestors, I don’t know. It was scant protection against larger predators; I just hoped she knew what she was doing.
We walked all morning until the trees began to thin and we came out on the crest of a hill overlooking a grassy plain. There was barely a tree or bush to be seen: it appeared as a kind of vast bowl surrounded by forested hills, open to the heavens. Grandmother patted the ground beneath a giant magnolia tree. It was an impressive sight, covered with lush pinkish-white flowers and decorated with wooden chimes, strips of cloth and beads; it was evidently a special place for the Wind Clan.
‘The savannah,’ she said in her broken English, indicating the plain with a sweep of her arm. ‘Place where Girl Cat run no longer. Forest – ’ she pointed behind her, ‘now your home. Sit here and think.’
‘How long do I have to wait?’ I asked, already having had my fill of the wilderness.
‘Four days.’ She passed me a waterskin. ‘Drink only. I come for you. Do not get lost.’
With that, the old lady disappeared back into the forest.
With four days ahead of me, I had better make myself comfortable. I crossed my legs and gazed upon the scene before me. As soon as my body stopped humming with energy, resting from the strenuous walk, my mind began to whirl with thoughts. What was I doing here, Reader, so far from my natural element, the streets of London? It seemed incredible that I had got myself in this fix, yet I knew I was not the first. I’d heard travellers’ tales of people adopted by Indian tribes and stories of Indian princesses coming to London; it was not really so impossible – except for the fact that it was happening to me.
An hour passed. By now the birds and beasts had become used to my presence under the tree. One by one they re-emerged. First a turkey cock ventured out from the trees to peck at my feet, its comb wobbling like a high curled fop’s wig. A herd of deer poured from the trees and scattered on to the plain to graze, bringing with them the poignant recollection of my ride with Frank when we had watched the deer run across his estate. A flock of large white birds – cranes, I think they were – flew overhead, legs dangling behind. They landed not far away on a fallen tree, calling to each other in their urgent voices, like an excited audience in the galleries for a first night. Shadows moved across the grass in the distance – horses or maybe even buffalo – it was hard to tell from this distance. Insects hummed and butterflies flitted from flower to flower; everything was busy, everything was at home – except me.
By late afternoon, I was feeling bad-tempered and hungry. I have never aspired to be a hermit and if this enforced retreat was supposed to be a spiritual experience, then it was passing me by. As for animal guides, the only thing that had come near me all day was the turkey; under no circumstances was Cat Royal going to have a turkey as her life’s guardian.
I slept little that night, getting up frequently to try and warm myself by pacing to and fro. I had no materials to start a fire and none of the woodcraft needed to do it from scratch. I was beginning to fantasize about hot baths and lavish dinners. I talked aloud to myself, sang – anything to keep from despair.
Day two. I hate turkeys. I refuse to be adopted by one.
Day three. When you have nothing to eat for so long, your stomach seems to contract so that it forms a fist, punching away inside you: ‘Remember me?’ it says, ‘Fill me!’
I told it to shut up. I was determined to honour the expectations of my Creek hosts even if I didn’t believe in the virtues of fasting. Besides, if I could survive the ship’s hold, I could survive this!
The stars were particularly fine that night, huge sweeps of spangles sprinkled across the velvet heavens like the most expensive fabric in a dressmaker’s window. With a melancholy feeling of homesickness, I recalled how Frank had told me that the stars were each suns far, far away, but I could not imagine that. Pedro had once said they told stories – now that I could believe. According to legend, Greek heroes often ended up there when they died; I wondered if the Creeks thought that was where their great warriors went? The home of the ancestors with whom I was supposed to be making my peace? Well, the stars looked pretty peaceful to me, not bothered by my falsehoods or my little fretful life. They had better things to do.
Lying under the magnolia, I began to wonder about my own ancestors – a short speculation as I have no idea who my parents were. But if they had died after I was born, did that mean they would be watching me now from somewhere up there? Were they wondering why their daughter was under a tree ignoring the attentions of a friendly turkey?
The snap of a twig brought me to my senses. Something was approaching through the bushes behind me. Over the past few days, I had tried not to think too much about possible predators, but bears had never been absent from my imagination. It would be just my luck to find my spirit guardian wanted to eat me. I grasped the hilt of my knife and strained my ears. The creature blundered nearer, stumbled and swore – in English. My blood ran cold.
Like a shot, I scrambled up the tree but a fist gripped my ankle and pulled me to the ground. Maclean – I had known the moment I had heard him swear.
‘There was a rumour you were turning Creek, you little savage,’ he said triumphantly, kneeling on my back as he roped my hands. ‘Undergoing the rites of passage, the Yankee said, under the tribe’s big magnolia tree. He said he’s going to dedicate a whole chapter to you when he writes up his notes.’ My ankles were now knotted viciously together. ‘Wants to talk to you for your unique cultural insights, but he’s not going to get a chance, is he? Shame, you could’ve been the toast of Philadelphia’s drawing rooms.’
I turned my head away. I felt too weak from fasting even to curse – my spirits too depressed. All the fight seemed to have gone out of me. ‘Why did you come back?’ I asked. ‘You must know the Courageous has sailed. I can be of no use to you now.’
Maclean plumped himself down in my spot and took out a tinder box. He lit a fire and made himself comfortable, filled a pipe and, between puffs, chewed on some salted pork from his pack.
‘Look at it another way,’ he said at last. ‘You’re all I’ve got now. I had the money for taking you out of the country, but, thanks to you, I won’t get nothing for seeing the job through to the end. I should’ve dumped you all in the Bristol Channel, not tried to follow the orders of my squeamish paymaster.’
‘So what are you going to do with me?’ I wriggled into a sitting position. He hadn’t killed or beaten me as I had expected – he must have some other plan in mind.
‘I’m going to ransom you.’ He brushed some crumbs to the floor. My stomach clenched but I knew better than to expect anything from him.
‘Ransom me? What do you mean?’
He lay at his ease, head propped on his bundle. ‘That’s my reserve plan. I always had it in mind in case things went wrong, otherwise I would never have risked bringing you on to the Courageous. That young lord cares for you – that’s plain to see – so I’m planning to buy myself a new life, thanks to you.’
‘You’re taking me to Frank?’ Despite being disgusted that I was to be bartered like a cow at market, I felt a glimmer of hope. ‘Do you know where he is then?’
‘Nope.’ Maclean started on a loaf of bread. ‘My guess is that he’s in the West Indies.’ He let the silence regroup around us as he chewed his mouthful, tantalizing me with crumbs of news. Hacking off another slice, he continued, ‘And for news to get back to his parents – well, let’s say it could be several months before he’s in funds. That’s unless he has the good fortune to fall in with someone he knows in Jamaica.’
That was very possible; some of Frank’s schoolfellows came from the Indies. While not his friends, they could at least vouch for him.
‘My bet is that he won’t return to England by himself; he’ll be out looking for you.’ He prodded me with his foot and laughed. ‘And if I were him, I’d start where I last saw you. That’s why I’m taking you back to the fort. Just think about that: you’ve come all this way for nothing.’
The thought seemed to please him mightily.
At that moment, my turkey ill-advisedly wandered out of the trees to pay me his accustomed visit. He did not realize that the situation had dramatically changed. Seeing his friendly strut in our direction, Maclean went still and waited for him to peck within reach – then leapt upon him and wrung his neck before the poor bird knew what had hit him. My captor threw the carcass down in front of me and sat me up to release my hands.
‘My lucky night, eh?’ He prodded the still warm bird with his foot. ‘About time you earned your keep – pluck it for my breakfast. And don’t even think of trying to escape!’
It felt the worst kind of violation of my four-day fast to rip out the feathers of the creature that was my closest thing to a spirit guardian. With my back to Maclean, I fought the temptation to give way to furious sobs as I prepared the carcass. It seemed so like a white man not even to think before taking for himself, having no interest or respect for the sacred place we were in. And what was I to do now? I was only one step better off than the turkey, trussed up here at Maclean’s mercy. I couldn’t stomach the thought of allowing him to drag me about for months, a passive hostage he could use to reward his own vicious behaviour. He’d soon fall to beating me again, I had no doubt. I felt sick with rage at my powerlessness.
I pulled out the poor creature’s tail and slipped a stubby quill into my pocket as a keepsake, begging his forgiveness as I did so. It made me think of the fine goose feather pens I had enjoyed in Boxton. Why, I wondered, had I done so little writing when I had the chance, instead wasting my time fretting with boredom? It was too late now: the pen was out of my hand. On all sides I was beset with people who were trying to write my tale. But I wanted to be me again: not Creek wife, not bargaining chip, but Cat.
As the feathers of my dead guardian fluttered in the air, the answer came to me. I had nothing to lose, that was my one advantage. If I stayed with the Creeks or Maclean, I might as well be dead. I was ready to risk everything to live as me.
Maclean knew that the Creeks were coming back for me on the fourth day so he made us set off early. As we walked in file, my hands bound behind me once more, he chewed a turkey drumstick. Despite my hunger, I refused to touch the meat. My suffering put him in a good humour, making him more garrulous than usual. He told me he had left Chickamauga only to purchase a canoe at the trading post, always intending to come back for me. It had never entered his mind to respect the chief’s pronouncement that I now belonged to the tribe.
He had moored his boat downstream of the village, which meant we were to skirt round Chickamauga and strike the river several miles from the landing stage, so avoiding all Creeks.
‘I suppose you should be thanking me, girl,’ he commented, throwing the bone into the bushes. ‘I saved you from these savages. I can’t see you relishing life with a husband who has a row of scalps nailed to the hut door and a bunch of little brown babies.’ He chuckled at the picture. My anger flared, this time directed mainly at myself, for part of me was grateful to escape marriage to Little Turtle. But to hear it in his words made me wonder: was I too proud, too prejudiced to accept an honourable man of a different race? They weren’t my reasons surely? Maclean was still speaking.
‘If your lordling stands by you, there’s no reason why you can’t see civilization again.’
But I had my doubts my captor would let me live to be a witness to his treachery. Unless Frank was very careful, Maclean would cheat him: he would kill me and have another stab at Frank if given the chance.
‘The moment I see civilization will come as soon as I see the back of you,’ I retorted.
He laughed at me. ‘Fancy yourself as a wit, do you, girl? Well, it seems to me you’re at least half a one.’
The trees were getting denser, festooned with the bearded growths that I remembered from the swamp. Maclean cut through them with a stout wooden-handled blade. ‘You know, I never understood how a girl brought up in the theatre could fall for it. I thought you’d smoke us out for sure, but he was right. You were all fooled.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Work it out – it doesn’t matter now if you do. I don’t care if he gets the blame as long as I’m paid for your ransom. In fact, I’d rather like him to be found out for all the trouble he’s given me.’
‘Blame? Blame for what?’
Maclean gave a tug on my rope to signal a stop. ‘I tell you what: you guess who betrayed you and I’ll give you something to eat.’ He unwrapped his picnic and settled down to ease his legs.
Hands still bound, I sat with my head on my knees, faint with hunger. Black blots swam before my eyes. I knew what he was saying was important but I couldn’t think, not like this. He must be talking about Frank’s enemy, but why would my theatre upbringing make me less likely to fall for their plot? Was he talking about some actor, someone assuming a character that wasn’t theirs? No, that didn’t make sense. He had to mean something else.
I closed my eyes, thinking back to the time I spent in Bath. With every day that passed, the idea that Billy Shepherd had been behind the plot had seemed less and less likely. He certainly was no squeamish paymaster. If he wanted Frank out of the way, he would have had him killed in that alley, not risked sending him away. He would not be so faint-hearted – he might even do the deed himself. Then it suddenly came to me that Billy had always said he wanted the privilege of killing me himself, so he would not have handed me over to Maclean, surely? Too late for it to be of any use, I realized that it was safe to rule out Billy Shepherd.
Who did that leave on my list of suspects? Unspecified jealous suitors? This seemed so very unlikely. The unknown second cousin and Mr Dixon? One I’d never met and the other had been gravely injured. The moment of my nightmares flashed through my mind again – the bloodied hands, the screaming, the blow.
Wait a moment! I went rigid as it suddenly all made sense. The men who had run towards us had been armed with clubs; I’d not seen a blade anywhere. How could Dixon have sustained a belly cut when none of the rest of us had been threatened by a knife?
I was so, so stupid. I bashed my forehead on my knees, thumping myself for my blockheadedness. Of course I knew how he’d done it. I’d lived behind the scenes, hadn’t I? I’d even helped strap on the blood pack, as we called it, to give the added touch of realism to the fatal ends of most tragedies – blood from Syd’s butcher’s shop, contained in a pouch and punctured by the actor or a well-judged thrust of a stage sword at the appropriate moment. Not popular with the laundresses but a favourite with the crowd.
Dixon had tricked us! He had lured us into the trap so that he could get his hands on Frank’s fortune. Having staged our abduction, he ‘survived’ to give the worst construction of my part in the business. No wonder the magistrate had been after me so quickly! Who would doubt such an eyewitness? Not even the duke and duchess would think to question Dixon’s sworn statement that they had harboured a viper at the heart of their family. Indeed, they had given home to one, but it had not been me.
And I had thought Dixon a gentleman. I’d even liked him for his gallant attentions. It was disconcerting to realize that he had obviously had the lowest of low opinions about me from the start if he thought throwing me on board a ship suitable punishment for my pretensions. But that was nothing set against Frank’s love for his cousin: that was a betrayal of the worst kind.
‘Dixon.’ I said the word softly.
A hunk of bread was thrown into my lap and my hands untied.
I had guessed rightly.