Sarah's Story

by Helen Susan Swift

  This Mr Howard was as pleasant as be-damned but asked a sight too many questions for my liking. He was a man to watch, yet for all that, I could not help but like him and I felt that my life and his were destined to weave together in some unaccountable fashion.

  Chapter Five

  My naked smuggler was still unresponsive when we opened his door and slipped in. 'He's not the most handsome looking fellow and no mistake,' Molly whispered as we looked down on him.

  'I think he is handsome,' I defended my catch until I saw Molly's face and realised that she was teasing me.

  'Oh, you think him handsome, do you?' She said, 'we'd better watch or you will be a-throwing him over your shoulder and running away with him.' She nudged me.

  'Rather than ogle, you'd be better employed getting some clothes on him, or people will talk.' Mother and James Buckett had entered behind us, with Mother immediately taking charge. 'Come on Sarah; you can help.'

  Have you ever dressed an unconscious man? I can tell you that it is a most interesting procedure that takes a fair bit of labour and quite some manoeuvring to get all the arms and legs in the correct places, not to mention sundry other parts and pieces of the male anatomy. Limbs and things tend to flop around and go into the most awkward shapes imaginable. I tried my best to help, while Mother and James Buckett did the hard work so soon my naked man was no longer naked and, indeed, looked quite the respectable sailor as he lay on top of the bed in breeches, shirt, brass-buckled shoes and a fine blue coat.

  'I want that coat back,' Mother said. 'Thomas will be looking for it when he gets home.'

  'You'll get it back,' James Buckett said. Nobody mentioned that Father had been missing at sea for some five years now. Only Mother had not given up hope. I knew she would be looking for him coming through the door when she was a wrinkled old woman. That was her way and I thank God for it.

  We had worked in hushed whispers for fear of waking Mr Howard, who lay in the adjoining room, and now Buckett carefully opened the door and peered into the landing. It must be the nature of his nocturnal work that he moved quietly, for he made no sound at all as he stepped outside.

  Pressing a finger to her lips, Mother inserted a key into the lock of Mr Howard's door and turned it. 'That will keep him out of the way,' she said quietly.

  'How about the lobster?' Buckett asked.

  'He's out with his regiment, marching up and down to nowhere and looking splendidly scarlet' Mother said. 'We can only hope that he remains outside until we have this fine young fellow safe.'

  Nodding, Buckett slipped an arm underneath my castaway's middle, hoisted him across his shoulder and stood up, carrying the man as easily as if he was a sack of wheat, or a keg of fine French brandy. 'Come on, then; lead on Charlotte.'

  In truth I was a little sorry to see my not-quite handsome young sailor man carried down the stairs. I had grown used to his company; for all that he was not the best conversationalist in the world. You see, unlike other men in the Back of Wight, he did not cause me any trouble, or seek to pinch me in a certain place or do anything else that was unbecoming to my person or station. I rather liked him in that condition. Maybe there would be less trouble in the world if men were retained in a state of unconsciousness until needed, and then revived with smelling salts for whatever function they were required.

  'Sarah!' Mother gave me a vigorous poke in the side. 'Stop daydreaming and get the door open.'

  I slipped ahead, nearly falling over my skirt in the process, opened the front door and stopped in shock.

  'Hello, Miss Bembridge.' Lieutenant Baldivere stopped in the very act of pushing the door open from the outside. 'Wherever are you going at this time of night?'

  I stared, tongue-tied, for it was a situation that I had never envisaged, but luckily Mother was quicker of wit than I.

  'Why Lieutenant! I am glad that you have returned,' she said. 'I was wondering if you had been sent overseas at short notice. I was fearful lest you had perhaps posted to the Antipodes, or Scotland or other such ungodlike place.'

  Lieutenant Baldivere hastily removed that hat that officers wear and which look so silly perched on their heads. Who on earth devises such a foolish get-up for grown men? I don't know, I really don't.

  'I assure you that I am still on Wight,' he said, somewhat unnecessarily as we could see him, plain as the perfect nose on his face. 'Is there some trouble?' He looked concerned as Buckett stopped in front of him with the smuggler draped across his shoulder. 'I say, has that fellow been caught with his fingers in the till?'

  I saw Buckett drop a cudgel from his sleeve into his left hand and thought it best to act quickly. It would do Mother's reputation as a host no good at all if a known smuggling master cracked a Volunteer officer over the head at her own front door.

  'Why no, sir!' I took the good Lieutenant Baldivere by the arm and hustled him away to allow Mother and Buckett to ease past and into the night. 'This gentleman guest has had a little too much refreshment and Captain Buckett here kindly agreed to help him home.'

  Lieutenant Baldivere smiled like the gentleman he was. 'Good Lord! I always heard that the men of Wight were among the most helpful in England. Look here, is there anything I can do to help? I am happy to take a turn at carrying him.'

  'Oh there is no need,' Molly joined in the play. 'I'll give him a piece of my mind when I get him home, the drunken sot!' She added weight to her words by landing a full blooded slap on my poor sailor man's person, which was perhaps not the wisest thing to do as he promptly woke up and looked about him.

  It must have been a trifle disconcerting for him, for his last memory would be on board a lugger in the Channel, and now he woke up bent across a man's shoulder as a gaggle of women and an officer of Volunteers chatted happily outside a country Inn, but at least my fine young castaway could have had the good sense to remain quiet, or at least speak in English. Oh no, not our silly boy: his first words were in French, which really set the cat among the pigeons and set in trail a whole sequence of events that had me marry my first brace of husbands, as you will see by-and-by.

  'Où suis-je' he muttered, which I have since been told is: 'Where am I?' in French. It was perhaps not the wisest thing to say in front of a military officer at a time when we were at war with France.

  Luckily Lieutenant Baldivere was either hard of hearing or was not the most intelligent of officers. Having got to know him better since then, I would opt for the latter. 'I say,' Lieutenant Baldivere stepped back, 'what did that fellow say?'

  It was a situation that called for drastic action, so I took it. Without thinking, I grabbed hold of Lieutenant Baldivere's arms and kissed him, there and then, full on the lips and in front of Mother, Molly and James Buckett. That was also not the wisest course of action in the long run.

  'Good Lord,' Lieutenant Baldivere said, when I eventually released him to gasp for breath. And then again he said, 'good Lord.'

  Now please don't think that I was in the habit of kissing any stray lieutenant of Volunteers that happened to find me helping carry French-speaking smugglers out of our inn at one o'clock in the morning. That was the first time I had done it, actually, and if truth be told, I have never had the opportunity of doing it since. But at the time it seemed like the best idea and, as he was a personable young man and it was quite a pleasurable act, I did it again, cupping that young officer's face within my hands and pressing my lips against his.

  Strangely, he did not seem to object to having a charming inn-keeper's daughter such as I was accost him in such circumstances, and he responded in kind, even having the audacity to put his arms around me and hold me close. I was tempted to slap him for his forwardness but decided that it would be best to wait until Mother, Buckett and Molly had spirited away my young smuggler, if indeed he was a smuggler and not one of these tailed French devils who are all intent on robbery, rape and pillage.

  As soon as I realised that the coast was clear, as the local free traders say when there are no Excisemen around to int
errupt their landings, I relaxed my grip on Lieutenant Baldivere.

  'My dear Sarah,' he was looking at me most oddly, with his mouth agape and his eyes as wide as a night-hunting cat, except with no predatory ideas in his sweet, innocent, stupid head. 'My dear Sarah, I had no idea that you felt like this.'

  Well, I did not really feel like this, whatever 'this' may be, but I did know that my heart and pulse were both racing, whether with the excitement at not being discovered or the lack of breath after those two most necessary kisses I do not know. As one thing leads to another, these two kisses led to a third, and then I knew that Molly, Mother and Captain Buckett were far away with that troublesome French-speaking smuggler, or whatever he was.

  'Lieutenant Baldivere,' I said, quite breathlessly, 'this is very shameless of us.' I withdrew from his embrace, which was getting a trifle too passionate for my liking, if not for my enjoyment. At that time I was essentially a good girl, you see.

  'Oh Miss Bembridge,' Lieutenant Baldivere said at once, colouring up quite prettily. 'I do so beg your pardon. I had no intention of causing you offence or insult.'

  Well of course I knew that, as I had instigated the whole procedure, but in such situations it is always better to allow the man to take all the blame. One can wrestle with one's conscience later if one wishes. In my case of course, I had been acting to protect my mother's honour and reputation, as well as the pate of this lieutenant, as Buckett looked quite ready to crack him one with his cudgel.

  'Absolutely no offence taken,' I said grandly forgiving my own faults as I savoured the last few moments and wondered if I could steal just one more kiss before packing this very handsome lieutenant up to his room.

  'I do confess,' he said, giving a most gracious bow, 'that I am very taken with you.'

  'As I am with you, sir,' I conceded, carelessly.

  There was that feeling again. That strange prickling sensation and the fleeting vision of a lifetime of regimental balls and glamorous uniforms as my husband's regiment paraded all along the south coast preparing to meet a French invasion. You will notice that there was no thought of life after the war. This was in 1803, the war had started in 1793 when I was ten years old and save for a short period of armed truce, had continued ever since. We really could not conceive of a time when there might be peace, or when any strange sail off the coast might not be a French privateer or the harbinger of an invasion fleet.

  'I do believe,' Lieutenant Baldivere said, and stopped. 'I believe,' he said again, and then: 'Pray excuse me, Miss Bembridge.' Without waiting for my permission he dashed up the stairs to my bedroom and closed the door. I never did hear what he did believe for only then did I hear poor Mr Howard trying to escape from his room, so I hurriedly unlocked his door and prepared to face a barrage of accusations.

  Instead he thanked me politely. 'It appeared that the key must have turned in the lock during the night,' Mr Howard said.

  'Indeed so, sir,' I agreed with my face as expressionless as a priest caught with a lady of the night. 'These things happen sometimes.'

  'Yes.' Mr Howard carried a candle in a brass candle-holder and wore a most fetching night shirt on which somebody had spent many hours embroidering a very neat row of anchors and lions. 'I thought I heard voices.'

  'Indeed, sir,' I said. 'One of the guests was three sheets to the wind and had to be escorted home, while Lieutenant Baldivere has only now returned from duty with the Volunteers.'

  'That will be it, then,' Mr Howard accepted my excuses readily. 'And you are here to deal with both situations.'

  'Indeed sir,' I said. 'Mother and others of our customers were also present.'

  'You really are a most capable young woman,' Mr Howard ran his gaze up and down me, as if I were some specimen of animal to be examined, or a bag of potatoes perhaps.

  'Thank you sir,' I bobbed in a curtsey even as I wished that this intelligent, questioning man would return to bed where he belonged. Why are some men so inquisitive? The world is all the better for fewer questions and more understanding and a woman such as me had a job to do.

  'I will bid you good night, sir,' I gave out a strong hint, which thankfully he took.

  'Good night, Sarah.' His brows closed in a furrow. 'Where do you sleep, Sarah?'

  'Why in the kitchen sir,' I said, and added, 'with a cutlass at my side in case of intruders.' Or in case some handsome man of about forty should think I am there for his pleasure, I thought to myself.

  'Good night then,' Mr Howard said, and closed his door. I noticed that he retained his key, damn his suspicious mind.

  Now you must agree that bluebells are amongst the prettiest of nature's flowers as they spread around the ground and in the small copse and woods that decorate the Back of Wight. In my opinion, the bluebells that enhance Long Stone, a few miles west of the Horse Head Inn are the loveliest in the island and that is where I chose to lead Lieutenant Baldivere. It was a beautiful morning in early May, a lone cuckoo was calling and a mating pair of oystercatchers graced the sky above.

  I had not had long to wait before Lieutenant Baldivere was free of his Volunteer duties; indeed these duties did not seem overly onerous even on a busy day, so I held out my hand to grasp his and drew him up to the grassy downs that stretch far along the south coast of my island.

  'To where are you taking me?' Lieutenant Baldivere asked.

  'You'll see,' I told him, for I knew the name would mean nothing to an Overner.

  'Is it far?'

  'Only a few miles,' I said.

  'Then we shall ride,' said my handsome lieutenant.

  And ride we did. Lieutenant Baldivere had his own mount, a pretty piebald named Prince, while I borrowed Kitty's filly Alexandria, named after the battle in which brave General Abercrombie trounced the French. I was sure that Kitty would not mind so I neglected to inform her. We were after all the most amiable of companions.

  I shall never forget that ride, or the few perfect hours that followed it. We were young and, save for the fear of French invasion, carefree, with all our lives in front of us, the wind in our hair, warm horseflesh between our legs and the pounding of hooves as thrilling as always when we trotted across the downs. We passed from St Catherine's Down to Chillerton Down, and on to Limerstone and Brighstone Down. There is a fine manor house at Mottistone but we ignored that as I led my captive to the Long Stone, a place which you will hear a great deal about if you continue with my story, for it is a romantic place and I am a wildly romantic person.

  'That is amazingly impressive,' Lieutenant Baldivere said and I liked him all the more for his appreciation of my favourite spot in all of Wight.

  You may know the Long Stone for it is famous the length and breadth of the island, and with reason. In the very old days the druids or some such pagan peoples raised great lumps of stone to worship the moon or the sun or the stars or other pagan god, much as the French in their ignorance worshipped Bonaparte. Well, Wight has two such stones, one lying recumbent on the ground and the other standing upright nearby as a testimony to the ignorance of our forefathers. Yet for all its pointlessness, it is a focal point in the landscape and, more important, many young lovers took their sweethearts here for whatever reason. I have been fascinated by this unsightly chunk of stone since my childhood and still am, as you may see presently.

  So it was that when we dismounted at the Long Stone with the bluebells spreading prettily all around us, I already had Lieutenant Baldivere in the palm of my hand.

  'This is indeed a heavenly spot,' the lieutenant enthused as we stood in the shadow of that great lump of stone and admired the view of the downland and the chopped waves of the Channel. Or rather he admired the view of the downland and I admired the closer view of my own officer of Volunteers.

  'It is one of my favourites,' I said, which was a complete truth as I had the habit of visiting this sacred place whenever I needed space to think. However, sometimes a truth can be useful as a means to an end and I had a very specific end in view, as you should be awa
re by now. 'What is your favourite view?' I asked innocently.

  Now any sensible man, standing beside a young woman as charming and personable as I knew myself to be, should take the hint and at least mention her in his next sentence. My Lieutenant Baldivere was obviously not schooled in the correct methods of etiquette according to that great teacher, Kitty Chillerton, so instead he said:

  'I do like the view from Westminster Bridge in London.'

  'Oh,' I said, realising that he needed some gentle guidance as to the correct response. 'And is there anything you see here that takes your fancy?'

  He looked around, 'I do like the sweep of the coast' he said, so I stepped in front of him and waved my arms. 'Oh,' he said as some sort of realisation seeped into his brain. 'I do like to see you, of course.'

  'I am glad you said that,' I told him, wondering whether I should slap his face or just leave him there, mount Alexandria and return to the Horse Head. I decided to give him another chance, which was very generous of me, you will allow.

  We smiled to each other as we stood beside that great lump of stone. Stretching my arms, I put them behind his neck, pulled him closer and kissed him yet again. I was wondering how often I had to kiss that man before he took the hint, but perhaps there was something magical about the Long Stone for it was not long before he responded with a will and his tongue played the snake-dance with mine .

  'Now that was better,' I said when we parted.

  He did not say much in return, but his eyes were hotter than I had ever seen them as he for once took the initiative and pulled me in an embrace that was a little clumsy at first but soon relaxed into something much less seemly and far more desirable for us both.

  'I do believe that I am falling in love with you,' my handsome lieutenant of Volunteers told me when we broke our embrace once more.

  'I do believe that the feeling is mutual,' I replied.

  'Oh,' the lieutenant looked at me with his eyes bright with new-found confidence. 'I know,' he said, 'I think we should go the full course and get married.'