by Regan Walker
Echo in the Wind
Regan Walker
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, business establishments or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
ECHO IN THE WIND
Copyright © 2017 Regan Walker
All rights reserved. Unless specifically noted, no part of this publication may be reproduced, scanned, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the author. The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or by any other means without the permission of the author is illegal and punishable by law. Participation in the piracy of copyrighted materials violates the author’s rights.
Ebook ISBN: 978-0-9976567-0-1
Kindle Edition
Praise For Regan Walker’s Work:
“Regan Walker writes great historical romance.”
—Virginia Henley, NY Times bestselling author
“Ms. Walker has the rare ability to make you forget you are reading a book. The characters become real, the modern world fades away, and all that is left is the intrigue, drama, and romance.”
—Straight from the Library
“The writing is excellent, the research impeccable, and the love story is epic. You can’t ask for more than that.”
—The Book Review
“Regan Walker is a master of her craft. Her novels instantly draw you in, keep you reading and leave you with a smile on your face.”
—Good Friends, Good Books
“…an example of ‘how to’ in good story building… a multilayered novel adding depth and yearning.”
—InD’Tale Magazine
“Spellbinding and Expertly Crafted”… “The path to true love is never easy, yet Regan Walker leads the reader to an entertaining, realistic and worthy HEA. Walker’s characters are complex and well-rounded and in her hands real historical figures merge seamlessly with those from her imagination.”
—A Reader’s Review
“Walker’s detailed historical research enhances the time and place of the story without losing sight of what is essential to a romance: chemistry between the leads and hope for the future.”
—Publisher’s Weekly
“… an enthralling story.”
—RT Book Reviews
Acknowledgements
Many people contribute to bringing a book into the world, but some make special contributions that must be noted. For Echo in the Wind, this included some terrific volunteers. My friend Chari Wessel, a doctor of veterinary medicine who, for many years, was the gunner on the schooner Californian, a reproduction ship berthed in San Diego, makes sure my ship terminology is correct. This story is sprinkled with French and I must thank Liette Bougie, my beta reader in Québec who checks all my French and adds much more. And lastly, my proofreader par excellence, Allison Bullard, who has thankfully joined the team.
You have my undying thanks!
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Praise for Regan Walker’s work
Acknowledgements
Characters of Note
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Author’s Note
Author’s Bio
Author’s Books
Characters of Note
(Both real and fictional)
Jean Donet, comte de Saintonge and captain of la Reine Noire
Lady Joanna West, sister of the Earl of Torrington
At The Harrows in West Sussex:
Richard, Earl of Torrington, Joanna’s older brother
Frederick (“Freddie”) West, Joanna’s younger brother
Lady Matilda (“Tillie”) West, Joanna’s younger sister
Aunt Hetty and her cat, Aloysius
Zack Barlow, one of the villagers and Joanna’s smuggling partner
Nora Barlow, Joanna’s maidservant and Zack’s sister
William Pitt the Younger, the Prime Minister
Edward Eliot and William Wilberforce, friends of the Prime Minister
Polly Ackerman and her children, Danny, Nate and Briney
Commander James Ellis, captain of the HMS Orestes (stationed in Southampton)
On la Reine Noire:
Émile Bequel, quartermaster
Lucien Ricard, second mate
Gabriel Chastain, Jean’s cabin boy
Franklin, ship’s cat
In London:
Cornelia, Lady Danvers, a baroness
John Ingram, Lord Danvers, a baron
Claire Powell (Jean Donet’s daughter) and her husband, Captain Simon Powell
Lord Hugh Seymour, former naval officer and friend of Prince George
Higgins, the Danvers’ butler
In Lorient and/or Saintonge:
Pierre Bouchet, physician in Lorient
Noëlle Provot, modiste in Lorient
Vernier, Jean Donet’s manservant in Lorient
Rose, housekeeper in Lorient
Gabrielle, lady’s maid, acquired in Lorient
Zoé Donet, Jean Donet’s young niece
Marguerite Travere, housekeeper in Saintonge
Francis Giroud, maître du château (estate manager) in Saintonge
Lefèvre, butler in Saintonge
In Paris:
Flèche, butler and former gunner aboard la Reine Noire
Charles Gravier, comte de Vergennes, the Foreign Minister
Louis XVI, King of France and Navarre
Marie Antoinette, Queen of France and Navarre
Prince Charles Philippe, comte d’Artois
Gaspar, former carpenter aboard la Reine Noire
Joseph de Vogelsang, Swiss banker
How far away the stars seem, and how far is our first kiss, and ah, how old my heart!
—William Butler Yeats from the poem “Ephemera”
Chapter 1
Bognor, West Sussex, England, April 1784
Except for the small waves rushing to shore, hissing as they raced over the shingles, Bognor’s coast was eerily bereft of sound. Lady Joanna West hated the disquiet she always experienced before a smuggling run. Tonight, the blood throbbed in her veins with the anxious pounding of her heart, for this time, she would be dealing with a total stranger.
Would he be fair, this new partner in free trade? Or might he be a feared revenue agent in disguise, ready to cinch a hangman’s noose around her slender neck?
The answer lay just offshore, silhouetted against a cobalt blue sky streaked with gold from the setting sun: a black-sided ship, her sails lifted like a lady gathering up her skirts, poised to flee, waited for a signal.
Crouched behind a rock with her younger brother, Joanna hesitated, studying the ship. Eight gun ports marched across the side of the brig, making her wonder at the battles the captain anticipated that he should carry sixteen guns.
She and her men were unarmed. They would be
helpless should he decide to cheat them, his barrels full of water instead of brandy, his tea no more than dried weeds.
It had been tried before.
“You are certain Zack speaks for this captain?” she asked Freddie whose dark auburn curls beneath his slouched hat made his boyish face appear younger than his seventeen years. But to one who knew him well, the set of his jaw hinted at the man he would one day become.
“I’ll fetch him,” Freddie said in a hushed tone, “and you can ask him yourself.” He disappeared into the shadows where her men waited among the trees.
Zack appeared, squatting beside her, a giant of a man with a scar on the left side of his face from the war. Like the mastiffs that guarded the grounds of her family’s estate, he was big and ugly, fierce with enemies, but gentle with those he was charged to protect.
“Young Frederick here says ye want to know about this ship, m’lady.” At her nod, Zack gazed toward the brig. “He used to come here regular with nary a con nor a cheat. He’s been gone awhile now. I heard he might have worked up some other business—royal business.” He rolled his massive shoulders in a shrug. “In my experience, a tiger doesn’t change his stripes. He’s a Frog, aye, but I trust the Frenchie’s one of us, a free trader still.”
She took in a deep breath of the salted air blowing onshore and let it out. “Good.” Zack’s assurance had been some comfort but not enough to end her concerns. What royal business? For tonight, she need not know. “Give the signal,” she directed her brother, “but I intend to see for myself if the cargo is what we ordered.”
Without seeking the position, Joanna had become the smugglers’ master of the beach, responsible for getting the cargo ashore and away to inland routes and London markets with no revenue man the wiser. She took seriously her role to assure the villagers got what they paid for. Their survival depended upon it.
“Zack, will you row me to the ship?”
“O’ course, if ’tis what ye want.” The frown over his hazel eyes revealed his displeasure, but Zack knew an order when he heard one, no matter how politely it had been phrased. He would never question her authority in front of the men.
Freddie lifted the lantern from the pebbled beach and slid open the metal cover on one side. A small flame flickered into the Channel, alerting the ship the coast was clear of the Riding Officer. The dying rays of the sun still danced on the rippling water, but the lantern’s light would tell the ship’s captain all was well.
Joanna got to her feet, tugging her felt hat over her ears and tucking strands of her long red hair beneath the brim. The hat and Freddie’s borrowed shirt and breeches rendered her one of the men. Even though his jacket was a bit short, she dare not borrow clothes belonging to her older brother, Richard. He knew nothing of her nightly pursuits and would not approve.
“I’m going with you,” said Freddie.
“All right, but stay in the boat.” When she’d decided to help the villagers in smuggling goods that kept brandy and tea flowing to England’s wealthy and food on the tables of Chichester’s poor, her younger brother had insisted on becoming her partner. Still, she tried to keep him from danger.
Out on the water, the ship’s crew lowered three longboats into the water, then scurried down manropes slung over the side. Dropping into the boats, they began to accept barrels and chests lowered from the deck.
With a word to her men, Joanna climbed into the small rowing boat at the water’s edge. Her two companions followed, and Zack pressed his strength to the oars.
With the first of the longboats loaded, the French crew pulled away from the ship, rowing hard toward the beach. Their boat passed her smaller vessel and she gave them a studying perusal.
Their bright neck scarfs and knitted jerseys, coupled with the set of their caps, rendered them decidedly French.
To a man, their hair was long and loose rather than plaited in pigtails as an English sailor might wear. The knives at their belts, their narrowed eyes and sneers made them appear cutthroats. Of course, to them, she and her brother were no more than young English “rosbifs” who had no understanding of a ship like the one on which the Frenchmen served. In that, they would be right.
She shivered and turned away from their harsh glares to fix her eyes on the ship and her mind on the task ahead.
The French brig loomed large as they drew close. A frisson of fear snaked down her spine when she looked up to see an ominous figure standing at the rail.
Like an apparition, he was dressed all in black, his features lost in the shadows beneath his tricorne. Even his hair, tied back at his nape, was black. One side of his coat was pulled back to reveal his hand resting on a pistol. From his waist hung a sword with a golden hilt.
She could not see his eyes, but she felt his penetrating gaze and shuddered. He appeared more pirate than merchant.
Joanna did not like dealing with an unfamiliar captain, but often she had no choice as they contracted for goods through agents. This one’s frightening appearance gave her pause, but at least she no longer feared he might be a revenue agent.
Most of England was buying free traded goods but, rich or poor, noble or common, she never forgot smuggling was a hanging offense. It wasn’t the typical pastime of an earl’s sister, but she had decided long ago to ignore her qualms about her part in the illegal activities.
As soon as they arrived at the ship, Zack steadied their small boat and she reached for the rope ladder. “Stay with the boat,” she reminded Freddie.
The climb was mercifully short. A moment later, she stepped onto the deck with Zack right behind her.
A quick glance told her the wood planks of the deck were clean and everything neatly stowed. The ship’s crew were busy shifting casks, folding sails and coiling lines. Their wary glances told her the Frenchmen did not trust her and her men. Curious covert glances came her way over a shoulder or around a mast, and just as quickly were turned away.
A thick-chested man approached her. He had swarthy skin and dark russet hair, long to his shoulders.
“Is there a problem, M’sieur?” His voice was rough with a deep French accent. Though his tricorne shadowed most of his face, his downturned mouth exuded suspicion.
Thankful for her deep voice, she summoned her resolve and cast a glance toward the barrels and chests yet to be loaded. “Before I pay, I would see the goods.”
“As you wish,” the man replied, too politely for his harsh demeanor. He gestured to the casks and chests waiting to be loaded. She turned toward them but did not miss the look of disdain he gave his captain, as if to question a demand for inspection by what appeared to him a beardless youth.
It would not be the first time her authority had been questioned by the crew of a smuggler’s ship.
Shrugging in what she intended as a very male gesture, she returned her attention to the goods cast in dim relief against the hull of the ship, for no lantern on deck had been lit.
Zack strode to the chests and lifted one of the lids. Unwrapping an oilskin bag, he pinched a bit of tea between his fingers, first sniffing, then tasting the dried leaves. Nodding his acceptance to her, he moved on to the casks. Drawing his knife, he was about to pry open the lid when the swarthy Frenchman went to the cask and deftly opened it.
Taking a tin cup from the nearby water cask, the Frenchman dipped the cup into the cask and handed it to Zack. “Ye’ll find none better in all of France.”
Zack sipped the liquid, carefully tasting. It would be clear, because the French did not color their brandy, nor did they dilute it. Only cognac, aged in oak barrels, had the rich cinnamon color.
“Ah,” Zack breathed out, licking his lips. “Ye speak the truth. ’Tis fine.”
As the examination of the cargo proceeded, the ship’s captain never moved from the rail, but kept his attention focused on her. Now that she knew he did not mean to cheat her, that his goods were of fine quality, she ignored his intense perusal.
Nodding to the captain’s swarthy mate, she reached into he
r pocket, lifted out a leather pouch and handed it to him. “We accept the cargo. Thank you for your courtesy.” If her tone carried a hint of sarcasm, she did not mind. She hated being underestimated.
The Frenchman accepted the pouch, heavy with coin, and escorted her and Zack to the side of the ship. Zack climbed down the manrope and dropped into the small rowboat. Joanna quickly followed.
A last look up at the deck told her the captain still watched her. But with his face in shadows, she could not tell if his expression was hostile or benign.
“Well?” asked Freddie, looking to Zack as he reached for the oars.
“The cargo is sound.” Then, shooting her a glance, Zack added, “’Twas still good we checked.”
The ship’s crew soon had the remaining barrels and chests loaded into the last of the longboats. They followed Joanna’s small boat to shore.
With the end of her task in sight, Joanna’s anxiety began to dissipate. Zack pulled the rowing boat up on the beach. Freddie jumped out and went to consult with the men.
By the time the French longboat made it to shore and the crew handed off their cargo, Joanna’s men were already loading goods into the two wagons.
Freddie came back to her. “That’s all of it, Jo. The wagons are nearly ready.”
With a wave to Zack, who would drive one of the wagons, Joanna and Freddie went to where they had left their horses. Mounting up, she looked over her shoulder to see the French crew taking up their boats and preparing to set sail.
The lone figure in black standing at the rail turned to his crew.
Minutes later, the black brig slanted away into the gathering darkness.
Joanna and her men headed up the narrow road leading to Chichester, seven miles north. Tonight they would color and thin the brandy and parcel the tea into smaller pouches. Soon, the storerooms of The Harrows would be bulging with stock.
It had been her idea to use her family’s estate near Chichester as a place of temporary storage for the smuggled goods. Wagons and carts frequently came and went unnoticed and Richard’s business in the House of Lords often kept him in London.
