Fortune's Whelp (Fortune's Whelp Series Book 1)

by Benerson Little

  “Bonjour, Mademoiselle,” said Lieutenant de Baatz.

  “Montesquiou-Ferenza?” she asked him. “You are a d’Artagnan?”

  “A lesser relation of that great house. May I ask how you know of my family, and also why you travel to France aboard this dirty little ship?”

  “I lived in Gasgony in the early years of the war, and so am familiar with your famous house. As for this ship, it was my only means.”

  The petty officer interrupted them, and spoke for several minutes to the officers. Lieutenant Kercue turned to her.

  “Mademoiselle, I must warn you now. My petty officer has informed me this vessel is most unseaworthy, incapable of slipping through the English blockade along the coast of France. She will either sink or be captured. I have advised her captain to turn back until his vessel is in better condition.”

  “What then, Monsieur, do you suggest?”

  “Why, that you travel with us, of course. We are three ships, very strong. You will be safe with us.” He smiled at her. “You do not trust us. Please, there are two priests aboard our ship and our captain is a most perfect gentleman, as are we, his officers. Please, honor us with your presence. Come with us, if only for your safety.”

  Molly looked at the three ships, each of them several times the size of the pink. Surely they must be safer, and smoother, on the ocean.

  “I’ll go with you,” she said.

  She packed her few things quickly and returned topside. She was about to climb down the tumblehome into the boat herself, when Lieutenant de Baatz stopped her.

  “No, no, Mademoiselle! You are a lady. We will hoist you over the side. You there, Captain...”

  And up she went, then over, only a few feet, tied securely in the chair. Rough, yet oddly gentle hands helped her into the boat. She sat in the crowded stern with the officers and coxswain as sweating oarsmen rowed the boat back to one of the flutes. The oarsmen grinned behind their exertions.

  “So, Lieutenant Kercue—“

  “Timothée, Mademoiselle, Timothée.”

  “Timothée, then. So, Timothée, when will we reach France? How soon? Did you not say we were but days away?”

  “France? Yes, Mademoiselle, we are but two or three days away in good weather. Alas, it will be, oh, six months at least, perhaps even a year, before you see France.”

  “What? Do you jest with me?”

  “Mademoiselle, forgive our deception, but for your safety it was the only thing in honor we could do. Your little ship will never reach France. She will sink or be taken as a prize, perhaps even if she tries to make an English or Irish port. And you, admittedly, are a fugitive. To save you, I had no other choice but to get you off the ship, by any means.” He paused, and smiled apologetically. “We sail, Mademoiselle, for the Antilles and Saint-Domingue.”

  Chapter 30

  Fortune helps the Hardy ay, and Pultrons ay repels.

  —Scottish proverb, published 1721

  Nearly two months after setting sail aboard the King Fisher, Edward finally returned to London, no more to be an officer in the King’s navy, no more an incidental player, or so he hoped, in the politics and practices of assassination, no more a pawn to kings, lords, and rapparees, all of whom had better information than he had.

  Given the wind, tide, and the condition of the three vessels, Edward had sailed first to Ostend, an easier port to make in the circumstances. He’d spent more than a month there making the three vessels fit for sea again.

  If, upon stepping ashore in London after anchoring the King Fisher Sloop, Fortune Prize, and Carolina Merchant at the Downs, he expected immediate reward for his efforts on behalf of England, he was disappointed. Two weeks he waited, indulging in the meantime the Admiralty’s court martial regarding the brief loss of the King Fisher, for which he was acquitted of any negligence or dereliction of duty, before he was brought before King William. The Earl of Portland stood nearby.

  “I am impressed by your courage and great Fortune, Captain,” the king said quietly.

  “Thank you, Your Majesty. But without the courage, skill, and wit of my men, and a bit of luck as well, we would never have prevailed,” Edward replied, embarrassed for himself but proud for his crew.

  “Spoken like a leader, not a man seeking a boon from his King, much less a courtier seeking to elevate himself at the expense of others. I applaud your sentiment and manner. I might even suggest you are given to wisdom, in that you understand the role Fortune plays in the affairs of men.”

  “I am still developing my philosophy on that subject, Your Highness.”

  “Indeed? May I advise you, then? Remember that every bullet has its billet.”

  “I will remember your words, Your Majesty.”

  “That is entirely up to you. But I was not only praising you for your adventure at sea; I would thank you for bringing us the secret Irish letters with evidence of a plot against me, and even for your past service as a volunteer in my army.”

  “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

  “Lord Mohun has even sent me a letter praising you,” King William said flatly.

  “Lord Mohun? I must thank him, Your Majesty, but I cannot explain his generosity. We are not well-acquainted.”

  “He writes that you are boon companions.”

  Edward said nothing, considering that anything he said would be worse even than silence.

  King William continued. “You may tell me of the action you fought against the Dunkirker.”

  Edward described the adventure in detail, and noted especially the actions of the ship’s boy whose courage had facilitated their escape, for whom he asked for a letter a preferment. The boy had some letters and arithmetic. Perhaps education at a Blue Coat school and then an appointment as a midshipmen, Edward suggested.

  Near the end of audience, the king hung a small gold chain and medal around Edward’s neck as a reward for his actions on land and sea.

  “And what are your plans now, Captain?” King William asked.

  “I seek a privateering commission, Your Highness.”

  “Indeed? I wish you well, and believe there is little you cannot accomplish.”

  Throughout the audience, there seemed a bit of hesitation on King William’s part, but perhaps this was due to the natural aloofness of all kings. Edward had never been much impressed by nobility or royalty, and hoped this attitude had not been too obvious to His Majesty.

  Damnation to them all, Edward thought, to kings and princes and all their ilk.

  But he only said, “Thank you, Your Majesty,” bowed deeply, and stepped away; the audience at an end.

  In truth, Edward considered the king not all that bad, at least as royalty went, if a nation need even have a royal head of state. Perhaps the audience would be worth something one day, hopefully sooner rather than later.

  That afternoon, Edward resigned his naval commission without too much regret. He had no good news in London regarding his privateering commission, although this should have been no surprise, his having been at sea and unable to pursue the matter, and having, as far as he knew, no ship. No investors, no ship: no ship, no commission. Letters Jonathan had sent to Lloyds in Edward’s absence indicated only limited progress, some setbacks, and some reason for hope. Edward inquired at the Commissioners of the Lord High Admiral, but learned nothing except that inquiries had been made in his name, and a reply was mailed to his agent in Bristol.

  From Lloyd’s he posted letters to Bristol, and a week later Jonathan’s reply urged him to return to the western seaport, as now it seemed he might have good news. Also at Lloyds he found a dozen letters of inquiry and interest in his venture, and he spent an entire day replying to them. More were to arrive over the next week. He would be surprised if London investors actually took their chances on what was in essence a Bristol venture, but who knew? Perhaps it would all work out after all.

  On the brighter side, there would eventually be some reward from his recent adventure, in the form of prize money derived from La
Fortune and the Carolina Merchant. It might be months before he had this silver in his hand, but sooner or later he would.

  Immediate substantial reward may not have been forthcoming, but notoriety was. He now bordered again on fame or infamy. The London Gazette noted his recent adventure, and Randal Taylor published a single sheet front and back describing in detail and with fair accuracy his action at sea. Several young women flirted obviously with him, and a few prostitutes, from the most expensive to the least, even offering themselves for less than their usual charges; one, a Venetian, or so she said—and her Italian accent seemed real—even offered herself for free.

  Admittedly, Edward was sorely tempted by these women, having been weeks at sea. It was not that he was necessarily averse to those of the trade—he had known a few in his time—but he had largely avoided them for more than a decade. He thought it wise to continue to do so, for he had little taste for the French or any other venereal pox; plus he despised taking advantage of women of any standing, for which many of his contemporaries thought him a fool, although only Jonathan said so to his face. Edward had sympathy for the poor to middling sort in this trade, and could not afford the most expensive.

  Although he passed on these offers, believing them all ultimately intended to pick his pocket of the prize money he had not received, he did seek out the woman who had helped him in Hanging Sword Alley. He gave her a silver patch box made from a pair of English crowns, and also a guinea and crown to replace those confiscated by the thief-takers.

  “So, you finally asked my name?” she asked, shaming him. “It’s Lizzy—Elizabeth, I mean—Cates. That should make me easier to find if you ever need my services in Hanging Sword Alley again. I’m not always available at a moment’s notice to rescue famous pirates.”

  Edward took off his hat to her, kissed her hand, and bowed as deeply to her as he had the king.

  Lord Mohun, having finally returned to London, sought him out. They drank, Mohun three cups for Edward’s one, they almost quarreled, they almost drew on each other, and they drank again. Edward was glad to be rid of the rakehell in the wee hours of the morning, and suspected the man would sooner or later get his deserved reward in the form of sharpened steel thrust repeatedly into his body.

  Oddly, Handsome Harry was not to be found in London. After a few inquiries, Edward learned that the pompous lord had been there but had returned to Bristol or Bath with his latest mistress. He had not received the accolades he expected from his small role in Edward’s London adventure, and after waiting a few weeks for the king to thank him personally, he’d departed unrewarded.

  Edward saw a play while he was in London, The Country Wake, or perhaps it was the Royal Mischief, or maybe even the Country Mischief or the Royal Wake, he could never remember such titles, they all seemed much the same to him, this one with parts played by the great actresses Anne Bracegirdle and Elizabeth Barry.

  Edward thought he saw a former amour of his, poet and playwright Aphra Behn, in the audience; but knowing how she felt about those who had deserted the Jacobite cause, he chose not to discover if it really were she seated nearby.

  Having some time on his hands, he sought out the competing publishers James Knapton, at the Crown in St. Paul’s Church-Yard, and Randal Taylor, near Stationer’s Hall. Both expressed great interest in a memoir of his travels and adventures among the buccaneers and beyond, and Edward agreed that he would write it as soon as his next adventure was over, and offer it to the highest bidder.

  Matthew Prior’s country cousin put herself in his way more than once. As ever, she had good intelligence.

  “My cousin Mat, the poet, has great praise for you, sir,” she told him.

  “Indeed? Are you sure?” Edward replied, smiling warmly.

  “He also told me I should stay away from you, that your luck may be even more dangerous than your reputation.”

  “Now I do believe you. Where may you and I share a bottle of good wine?”

  “You’re bold, sir: you assume I won’t take my cousin’s advice?”

  “I assume you’ll test his advice and send him a report. I assume that’s why you’re here.”

  She almost blushed. “Then, sir, let’s drink some wine and see how much scrutiny your character will bear.”

  They conversed as they had on the road, of the great world and of all the small matters that make it so, and with much better wine this time. Yet they took their relationship no further; perhaps the woman took her cousin’s advice, or if not, was herself wise enough not to venture her reputation on a tryst with a notorious sea rover. They parted ways amicably, although Edward did wonder if his luck with women were waning. Then he wondered if he had not been lucky at all in his consummations, but merely the object of pleasurable manipulation by spies and their ilk.

  Finally, all matters of naval and royal duties done with, Edward was away. He took post horses to Bristol, making the trip in less than two days. Muddy and sweaty, with his Scottish backsword, recovered from the captain of the Fortune, at his side and a brace of pistols in their holsters laid over his left arm, he strode into the Black Swan to surprised looks, followed by smiles and “Huzzahs!”

  After an hour of questions and answers, someone suggested the entire company retire to a tavern where they could better celebrate his escapades and hear the rest of his tale. Coffee, after all, was a business drink, liquid sobriety, it put the edge on the man who must come to terms, settle accounts, and sign agreements. Wine, brandy, rum, and punch were the drinks of comradeship and celebration. As the party slowly headed out the door, Edward was finally able to speak with Jonathan privately, after promising to meet everyone soon at the Cup of Gold.

  Jonathan was all smiles, but with a hint of reservation, an odd combination, Edward thought.

  And smug, the bastard looks smug!

  “Well,” Edward demanded, “the news? Damn you, have we a ship and investors? Will we get a commission after all?”

  Jonathan smiled more broadly and tried to hold back his reply, but could not.

  “It’s all but done, Edward, it’s all but done,” he said in his lowland Scots accent. “The Commissioners intend to issue a warrant as soon as you sign. There’s the bond to be posted and the usual details, but it all will shortly be.”

  “How? And the ship? We do have the ship, the Virginia? The old letter from you, one you sent while I was at sea, said the owners would not sell, that you had to seek another ship. How then?”

  “Edward, relax, we must get you to a tavern soon, or to a woman. You have the ship, the Virginia Galley, as you desired.”

  “They changed their minds, then? They realized the profit the ship would have as a privateer, they will retain an interest in the ship, then? Surely this is it. Damn, I knew it would all work out in the end.”

  “And how do you think it did all work out, Edward?”

  Damn him, Edward thought, the bastard’s smug!

  “Your smile, Jonathan—damn you, sir, why that smile?” Edward asked, grinning just as broadly.

  “It’s knowing that you don’t know how you came by this commission for a private man-of-war.”

  “I know damn well it was much due to my philosophy, although admittedly I might need to rethink it a bit. I kept my distance from Fortune and her minions until Fortune came to me on my terms. At sea I escaped my captors, I recaptured my ketch, I captured a French corsair and an English prize. And there’s my experience in the West Indies and other places as a privateer—privateer, mind you, or perhaps a buccaneer, but a pirate only in the narrowest sense. Doubtless all of this together drew the other investors we needed. They saw profit in a captain who knows when to fight and when to run. And there’s you: there’s your losing often to Deigle at cards,” Edward said, smirking a bit. “No one is better than you at selling the truth, no one can find and deal with investors better than you.”

  “Indeed? Well, that’s surely one way it might have happened. Yes, you recovered the King Fisher entrusted to your care, and
a captured merchantman too, and even captured a French privateer. But you also first lost the King Fisher, although outmatched. And you also lost your quarry—it’s said you were in pursuit of an assassinator, but that he escaped. Some have said you could’ve done more to capture him.

  “You also rescued the Virginia Galley, but what you don’t know is that her owners wanted to sue you for damage to ship and cargo during the chase. They were desperate, having creditors at their door. This suit came to naught, by the way, as I’ll soon relate. As for your other experience, once a pirate always a pirate in some minds, and there are many who think you would take their ship and go off pirating in the Red Sea, or run to Prince James to serve him as a privateer.

  “And Deigle? Handsome Harry, it turns out, has less influence at Court than I thought; mea culpa, although he has had enough to move things along at the Admiralty. Further, I discovered that my lord Deigle considered setting up another as captain, some pimply bastard of his, I heard. However, for some reason—some influence upon him perhaps—in the end he decided you should command this venture after all, which to some of his few friends he now pretends is his. And it seems it may have had something to with your ability, after all.”

  “Indeed?”

  “Indeed. Something about his recent mistress, that Upcott woman, believe it or not; he’s become quite enamored of her, or at least of her flesh. A bit worried, though, that some Scottish privateer might be boarding her by night. He thinks this can’t happen if the rover is seeking prizes elsewhere.”

  Edward shook his head and snorted ruefully, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “There are plenty of other privateers out there to board her; he’ll discover this by and by. Something I haven’t told you—you must keep this between us—is that that bastard Lynch came to London, apparently to kill me and rob me of the letters I carried. I left him dead in an alley and told no one, although the king’s intelligencer suspects me. I wonder if Lydia weren’t involved with Lynch, if she had a hand in my attempted murder, and whether or not we should warn Deigle.”