Memoirs of a Hoyden

by Joan Smith

  With an in­vasion from Napoleon imminent, the French were much in everyone’s mind. This opened a new avenue of ex­ploration. Why had they singled out Kestrel for a closer examination than the rest? They had looked very smug when they found that letter in his waistcoat. Was it no ordinary letter, but something to do with Boney? A strange place to carry a letter, next to the heart, as it were.

  Or was it merely a billet-doux? Strange to think of that dour, lazy-eyed man being in love. What would she look like? I pictured a wilting violet, some demure, prissy young lady—pretty, of course, in the conven­tional mold,

  I was never called pretty. A Greek professor of art once used the phrase “Hellenic beauty” to describe me. He said I had a classical face, by which I believe he meant a certain regularity of features, and perhaps a statuesque quality, due to my height. Men stare at me, but to be realistic, which I always endeavor to be, I think there is more surprise than admiration in their gaze. I saw plenty of that abroad.

  I often thought of my travels while I lay in bed at night. Home again in England, I would remember the mountains of Lebanon, and Emir Beshyr’s mountaintop palace, where we drank sherbets and he taught me to smoke his nargileh. And the old sheikh’s palace at Maktara, where a stream of mountain water flowed through all the rooms, giving off a silver tinkle as it ran over the stone floors. And of the desert emir, Mohanna el Fadel, who called me Meleki—the Queen.

  It was my fair coloring and blue eyes that interested those eastern­ers, that and the fact that a European lady traveled amongst them. I was the first one most of them had seen. How they came to stare! Thousands of them would meet me at the entrances to their towns. I had been treated royally by pashas and emirs, by princes and sheikhs, but in England, a lord did not treat me with even common respect. Kestrel had been mocking me since our arrival here. Perhaps that was what kept me awake. I glanced at the roll on the floor where Kestrel was lying, and noticed it move.

  He sat up and looked around. Then he rose and be­gan piling wood on the smouldering fire. The flames shining up on his face gave him a demonic air, like Lucifer. It played over his deep-set eyes and traced shadows on his lean cheeks. I was attracted by that air of danger the fire conferred on him. Kestrel pulled out his watch, went to the door, and frowned at the curtain of rain that still came down. I remembered the ques­tions that had plagued me earlier, and decided this was the time to find some answers.

  I got quietly up from the sofa, pulled my pelisse around me abba-style, and went softly forward. “You’re still awake!” he exclaimed.

  “Shhh! I don’t want to wake the others. Come to the sofa a moment.”

  A leap of astonishment lit his pale eyes. The idiot thought I was planning to seduce him! “I have a few questions I’d like to ask,” I said. Ignoring that brief misunderstanding seemed the best way to handle it.

  Kestrel was less subtle. “That’s a relief!” he mur­mured.

  “Ah, you feared I was after more wood. There’s plenty to last till morning.” I sat demurely on one end of the sofa. Kestrel as far away from me as possible. “I find it peculiar the highwaymen left so many valu­ables behind, don’t you?” I began.

  “The weather might account for their haste.”

  “It’s surprising they were out in such weather at all. Mostly found it unusual. But being out, why did they not collect our jewelry—and my reticule?”

  “Are you complaining that they missed a few items?” he asked.

  “Not complaining precisely, but it is odd. You are the only one they actually searched,” I added pen­sively.

  “I should think the cut of Wideman’s jacket was enough to disqualify him. And a vicar wouldn’t be car­rying any money.”

  “Cut bait, Lord Kestrel. It was that letter hidden un­der your waistcoat they were after. The rest of it was a sham to make us think it was a regular highway holdup. What was in that letter?”

  “It was a personal matter.”

  “Highwaymen don’t steal billets-doux. You were coming from London toward Dover. The coast is ex­pecting a visit from Boney any day now. Is it possible you were carrying a missive from Whitehall to the army stationed at the coast?”

  “You have an active imagination, Miss Mathieson.”

  “I didn’t imagine that they called me mam’selle, and that they said ‘ chevaux.’ I didn’t quite catch it at first, but immediately after he said it, the bandit cut the team loose. That’s what he said—chevaux. In case you aren’t aware of it, Lord Kestrel, chevaux is French for horses. Are you a ... spy?”

  My voice rose on the last word. What astonished me was not that spies abounded at this time and place, but that such an incompetent sort of gentleman as sat with me was of their number. First his curricle broke down, then he got held up, and instead of going after the enemy, he hung around this shack, chopping wood and drinking coffee. Really, it was in­credible.

  “What if I am?” he asked.

  “If you are, you’d best get after those Frenchies be­fore they deliver your message to their superior. At least ... I shouldn’t think the ringleader was risking his life in a simple holdup. He’d have one of his minions do that.”

  His chiseled nose pinched in annoyance. “Why do you think I left earlier?” he demanded fiercely. He obviously didn’t like to have his actions questioned.

  “You found no trace of them?”

  “You couldn’t find St. Paul’s in that downpour. As I said, I ended up walking in a circle. It seemed best to catch a few winks and be fresh to go after them in the morning.”

  I nodded in agreement. “We must set out at the break of day,” I said.

  “We?” Kestrel’s eyebrows disappeared into his hair­line, which was rather low on his forehead.

  “There are three of them—unless they’ve met up with colleagues. You couldn’t handle them alone when they held you up earlier. Obviously you need help.”

  “I don’t require the help of a lady.”

  “Try, if you can overlook your prejudice, and tell me truthfully, who do you think would be more help—the vicar and Wideman, or myself and Mr. Kidd?”

  “The vicar and Wideman,” he replied obstinately.

  “Just what I have come to expect from you, Lord Kestrel, incompetence!”

  I waited for his eyebrows to disappear again, and was surprised to see something like a smirk settle on his saturnine features. Of course, it is difficult for a kes­trel to smirk, but the expression had that air of self-satisfied, superior amusement.

  “Wideman and the vicar were cowering like a couple of mice in the carriage when we were stopped by the scamps. Ronald may look ineffectual, but I assure he is an excellent shot, as am I. I always carry a pistol in my traveling case, and so does my secre—nephew. I also have a stiletto, and in a pinch can wield a rope to good effect.”

  “I am sure you could handle a mere trio of assassins. Naturally, I am relieved to learn Mr. Kidd can hold a gun. A pity you hadn’t employed some of your arsenal during the holdup!”

  “As I mentioned, I keep these items in my traveling case. In future travels, they will be closer to hand. I hadn’t realized England had become so interesting dur­ing my absence.”

  A reluctant smile pulled his stiff face into a parody of civility. “Would it be ungentlemanly to suggest there is a cause-and-effect relationship?”

  “On the contrary, I would take it as a compliment that my arrival generated any interest, but I fear that is bad logic on your part. A post hoc argument, if mem­ory serves.”

  “It was not intended as a compliment,” Kestrel said bluntly. “You, I take it, are the lady they call the Queen of the Orient? I have read something of your exploits in the London journals.”

  “That is mere propaganda put out by my publisher. Modesty forbids using the title myself, though it is true they greeted me as Meleki at Palmyra,” I said dismissingly. “What we must do is make plans. A pity we haven’t a map of the area.”

  “I have a map in my coat,” Kestrel sa
id, and reached in the pocket of his coat, which was around his shoul­ders for warmth.

  We reignited one of the carriage lamps from the grate and, to avoid waking the others, took it into the one bedchamber. Lacking any furniture, we laid it flat on the floor and knelt down to examine it. On this occasion Kestrel did not put as much distance as possible be­tween us. We knelt side by side.

  “We must be about here,” I said, indicating our location with reference to Chatham. I noticed he had his own route marked out in red. As I had deduced, he was on his way to the army installations along the coast.

  “Do you know what was in your letter of instruc­tions?” I asked.

  “I’m just a courier. If I knew that, I ‘d have continued on to deliver the instructions, and told the colonel they had been intercepted, so that he might make new plans.”

  “Should you not report your loss to Whitehall first?”

  “That was my first thought. There isn’t time. Those instructions were to have been delivered tomorrow.”

  “The highwaymen must have been delayed by this weather as well as we were. If we could hire some fast mounts and overtake them—”

  “First I have to learn where they went.”

  “Use your head,” I said impatiently. I noticed my brusque manner offended Kestrel, and spoke more gen­tly to soothe his feathers. “French spies will be re­porting to France. Naturally, they’ll be heading for the coast.”

  “Somewhere between Dover and Bournemouth.” He puzzled over the map for a moment, then continued. “If you’re really interested in helping, you and Mr. Kidd could take a message back to Whitehall for me, reporting the holdup, while I go after the spies.”

  “That news could go in the post. There’s no urgency or danger in it. You have a hundred miles of coast to cover. Anything could happen to one man traveling alone. No, we must stick with you.”

  “It might be best if we all head east, but we’ll split up. Your nephew and you go toward Bournemouth ...”

  The red line indicating Kestrel’s route went straight as an arrow to Dover. “I hardly think Boney’s men will go so far out of their way. The shortest route to France is Dover to Calais. To be on the safe side, however, we must cover the area from Dover to Dungeness. A little more than twenty miles, taking into account the coastal contours. We shall travel east together. If we don’t over­take them before we reach, say, Ashford, then Ronald and I will go on to Dungeness, while you go to Dover and make your report to the colonel. I think that about settles it,” I said, and got up from my knees, brushing the dust from my skirt and hands.

  “You are certainly a lady who knows her own mind—­and everyone else’s,” Kestrel replied. “Have you also decided how we are to obtain mounts? I have no money.’’

  “I have plenty of that,” I told him. The suspicion arose that he already knew my purse had escaped the robbers. Was that why he gave in to my persuasions? “I’m accustomed to traveling with a deal of cash. I adopted the habit during my travels. One never knows when she might have to hire a dozen guards or bribe a pasha or buy a camel. I can stand buff for the expenses. I am happy to do it, to help my country.”

  I could see Kestrel wasn’t happy to be at my mercy, but he had only Hobson’s choice in the matter. “Now that you’ve been robbed once, I don’t have to point out the folly of carrying large amounts of money with you. You may not be so lucky another time,” he said.

  “I don’t depend on luck. What I have learned from this incident is that I must buy a larger reticule, one that allows room for a small pistol. If I am ever asked to stand and deliver again, what I shall deliver is a bul­let. It’s shocking that a carriage holding four gentlemen plus a groom was defenseless against a couple of thugs.”

  “What shocks me, ma’am, is that they weren’t de­fenseless against you.”

  “Experience, sir. I shall be better prepared another time, I promise you.”

  “The roads will be free of scamps in no time,” Kes­trel prophesied, in a satirical way that belittled my abil­ities.

  He was not chastised for this innuendo, as my brain was active with a different notion. It occurred to me that this courier business Kestrel was involved in might prove interesting for myself, and Aurelia. Travel abroad was proving difficult during the war with Napoleon. Getting berth on a frigate depended as much on luck as connections. I might be sitting on my thumbs for months, and would enjoy the excitement.

  “How did you come to win the job as courier, Lord Kestrel?” I asked.

  “Win it?” he asked, eyes flashing. I feared I had unintentionally trod on the toes of his pride to suggest it had been gained in any other manner than by his abilities—such as they were. “I was coerced into it by Castlereagh. I needed his support for a bill I’m trying to get through Parliament, and to dilute his opposi­tion—I can’t use the phrase ‘win his support,’ as he hasn’t lifted a finger to help me—I agreed to act as go-between for the government and the army.”

  This put a new complexion on the matter. Couriers, it seemed, were actually in short supply! “I should be happy to do this sort of work myself.’’

  “They don’t employ ladies to do men’s work.”

  “It’s a pity men have requisitioned all the exciting jobs for themselves. Ladies would do nothing but sew and sip tea if they didn’t infringe on men’s prerogatives from time to time. Never having used a lady before is all the more reason to hire me. The Frenchies wouldn’t be looking for any mischief from a woman.”

  He gave me a weary look. “The French, I believe, are more realistic in that respect. Since Marie Antoi­nette’s causing a revolution, they have come to expect mischief from their ladies.”

  “This isn’t the time or place for a lesson in history, though I expect you know where the fault for that rev­olution lies. I may be a woman, but I assure you, I could handle myself in any emergency.’’

  “Spare me the details of your brawls with Arabs,” he drawled, and drew out his watch. I did the same and saw it was half after five. “That rain seems to be letting up,” he said.

  The hammering on the roof had slackened to a patter, but it was still pitch black outside. “Let us hope it’s stopped by daylight.”

  “Daylight? I plan to leave immediately—but if you would rather not—”

  A glow of approval lit my face. “Well done, Kestrel! I didn’t expect such alacrity from you.” He took offense at this statement, which was intended as a compliment. “If the map we have been examining is accurate, we have a three-mile walk to the nearest village, and might arrive around daylight.”

  “If you want to give me the money, I’ll go to Redden and hire mounts,” he suggested.

  “And waste another hour returning for Ronald and myself? No, it will be faster if we three go together. I’ll waken Ronald.”

  Kestrel’s grimace made me wonder whether he had any intention of returning for me and Ronald. I think he meant to dart off on his own. I quietly roused Ronald and told him what was afoot. He was accustomed to these little exploits and came without complaint. In­deed, he was as happy as myself to have something to do. Nor did he forget his position as my secretary. “What about your lecture tonight?” he reminded me.

  “We should have taken care of the Frenchies in plenty of time to permit me to keep that appointment. I shan’t postpone it yet in any case. A pity I hadn’t time for that practice run, but I have it down pretty well. They certainly seemed to like it in London. You must remind me to write to Tom Moore, Ronald. We were to set a time and place for me to go and look over his eastern poems.”

  Kestrel was standing impatiently while Ronald gath­ered up his things and my case. I delayed him only long enough to extinguish the lamp for safety’s sake. This done, we silently opened the door and walked out into the night.

  * * *

  Chapter 3

  The rain had slackened, but the countryside was so sod­den, the trip had the sense of walking underwater, or through the sky. Fog drifted on the ground like
clouds, wrapping us in mist to our necks, often giving no vision beyond our noses. We had to feel our way along the muddy road, looking out at any bend for a road sign. My slippers were destroyed, and the hem of my skirt clung to my ankles, impeding my steps.

  “I wish I had my oriental trousers on,” I mentioned to Ronald. “Skirts are impossible in such weather as this.”

  I felt rather than saw Kestrel’s pinched face turn to­ward me in the fog. It was my wish to ingratiate the plague of a man to win his help in applying for a po­sition as courier. To this end I explained a little further. “Adopting men’s clothing during my trip was a neces­sity. We lost our trunks when we were shipwrecked off Rhodes. Naturally, European clothing was not avail­able.”

  “Do they not have seamstresses in the East?”

  “They do, but La Belle Assemblée is not available, so what the seamstresses sew is oriental clothing. I had either to dress like a Turkish lady, which meant wearing a veil and not speaking to any gentlemen, or dress like a man.”

  “Clearly it would have been impossible for you to curtail your conversation,” he said. Without seeing his expression, it was impossible to know whether this was a joke, but I took it for an attempt at one and continued speaking.

  “I found the men’s full breeches very comfortable and convenient for riding.”

  Kestrel’s voice came through the fog like a disem­bodied echo. “What else did you wear?”

  “Several layers of shirts and waistcoats, all of it topped off with a short jacket—beautifully embroi­dered. They do magnificent embroidery in the East. There was a long sash—I needed someplace to stash my pistol and knife. And of course a turban for the head. One needs protection from the sun.”

  “I expect you and Lady Hester Stanhope got on fa­mously,” Kestrel mentioned.

  “I never had the good fortune to meet her, though she was kind enough to send her Dr. Meryon to see me when I took a fever at Jerusalem. He brought me some lovely oranges and watermelons. I brought some seeds of the latter back with me. I think they might grow in an orangery. Delicious fruit.”