The Pride of the King

by Amanda Hughes

  “Look Madame, a boat!” the boy cried.

  Lauren eagerly scanned the lake for The Pride of the King. It was only a French sloop. She felt silly hoping to see the fluyt. It would never appear here. It was not only dangerous but also impossible to navigate all the way to Fort Frederic through French territory.

  She shook her head and sighed. Since returning to New France, everyone associated with New England and The Pride of the King seemed like a dream to her, almost as if she had never left Kaskaskia at all. It was wonderful having everything familiar here at the fort; the French-speaking people, the customs, the attitudes, but it did not feel like home, and her loneliness returned. Night after night, she dreamed she was on the “Pride” again, the sun baking her skin and the breezes combing through her hair.

  Lauren looked up at Xavier and called, “We must return. Your mother will be wondering where you are.”

  “Only a moment longer, Madame Heathstone,” the boy pleaded.

  “Yes, yes a moment,” sighed Lauren. She looked out at the massive lake and leaned her head on a branch. It was the first warm week of spring, and the ground was drying up from months of snow. It was beautiful here at St. Frederic; the scenery, the quaint settlement, the graceful windmill, but she felt unsettled. She liked the community, and they welcomed her, but she was not one of them. The authorities did not seem suspicious, in fact they applauded her determination to return to her homeland and escape the cruelties of New England, but everything seemed lackluster.

  It all was too easy. She made negative comments about the English colonies, and the French commended her. She condemned the rigid puritanical Protestants, and they applauded her. In short, they admired her. There was no challenge.

  Lauren found her thoughts returning often to Pride of the King as if it had been a dream. Everything about James St. Clare and the crew seemed unreal to her. She blanched when she thought of that night by the lake when she kissed St. Clare. Obviously, danger had been clouding her judgment. He was nothing more than an arrogant scoundrel taking advantage of her.

  She drifted back to when she first came to St. Frederic. So much had happened since that night on the shores of Lake Champlain. It seemed longer than two months ago when Davi delivered her to the Moreau family in the settlement. He introduced Lauren as an acquaintance from the Hudson River Valley, an acquaintance who paid him dearly to help her escape to New France.

  The Moreau couple was overjoyed to have Lauren. The hardy big-boned dairy farmers were good honest people, married and childless for many years. Suddenly, they were blessed with several children one after another, the youngest being five when Lauren came to them. They were delighted with the blessings of children, but they also found it overwhelming this late in life. Lauren came along just in time to help with chores and childcare. In exchange, they gave her a room in the loft and food.

  As time passed, Lauren met the residents of St. Frederic and made a point of telling them that she had experience cooking for families of quality and distinction. She baked pastries for the officer’s wives, gifting them her specialty from New Orleans, bread pudding with caramel sauce. She hoped to gain an introduction to the few single gentlemen at the settlement, one being Julien Gautier. He was a visiting businessman from Montreal, the gentleman James mentioned earlier to Lauren, and she learned that this merchant had gained wealth and success in the fur trade.

  One afternoon as Lauren was beating rugs outside the Moreau house, a bride of one of the officers stopped with a question. Lauren noticed the basket of pastel flowers she carried matched perfectly with her pink complexion and flaxen hair.

  “Excuse me, Madame Heathstone,” she said. “My name is Ariel Devereaux. I know you are busy, but I am having Major Boyer and his wife and Monsieur Gautier to supper, and I am very unsure of myself in the kitchen. If you could spare some time, would you help me with some of the cooking and serving tonight? I would be ever so grateful,” the girl said, the color rising in her cheeks.

  “Certainly,” replied Lauren, pulling the kerchief off her head.

  Lauren smiled to herself as the girl continued down the road. At last, her opportunity had come to meet this Monsieur Gautier. Lauren marveled at how easy it was to befriend these people. After the suspicious snobs of Duke Street, everything here seemed effortless.

  That afternoon Lauren menu planned and shopped. She taught Ariel Devereaux table setting and some basic cooking techniques including a meuniere sauce for her fish and a gateau sirop for her dessert. To impress the guests, Lauren included an amusee` bouche’ to begin the meal.

  The Devereaux had one of the finest homes in the settlement with a sitting room, a dining room, two bedchambers, a stillroom and a kitchen. Although it was a far cry from the townhouses on Duke Street, the dwelling was comfortable by Fort Frederic standards.

  “Go now and enjoy yourself, Madame Devereaux,” ordered Lauren. She had just completed the meal in the young bride’s kitchen, and the guests were arriving. She put her hand on Ariel’s elbow and gently guided the girl to the dining room door.

  “Everything looks wonderful. Thank you, Madame Heathstone,” the girl said.

  “Oh, and here,” Lauren said arranging Ariel’s hair. “Allow some strands to fall around your face. It looks softer.”

  When the girl left the kitchen, Lauren ducked down to glimpse her own image in a small cracked mirror on the wall. She pulled off her mob cap, put on a clean apron and put her hair in a knot, letting a few strands frame her face too. After peeking outside the door, Lauren stepped back to the mirror and pulled out a tiny pot of color, applying a hint of red to her cheeks and lips. Then lacing her bodice tightly, she yanked her shift down underneath her dress to reveal the tops of her breasts.

  Grabbing a tray of food, she stepped out into the dining room quickly surveying the table to make sure everything was in its place. The fine china was arranged meticulously, the napkins looked crisp, and the vase of pink flowers looked charming. Lieutenant Devereaux, a gangly pock-faced youth was at the head of the table looking uncomfortable. Ariel was at the other end wringing her hands in her lap while Major Boyer and his wife joked with Julien Gautier.

  Lauren served the elderly couple first. They were dressed in modest evening attire and sported poorly fitted white wigs. They congratulated Madame Devereaux on the lovely appearance and aroma of the food. While she was serving the first course, Lauren looked up and locked eyes with Julien Gautier. He took her breath away.

  He was a tall, broad shouldered man, in the prime of his life, with jet black hair, light skin and piercing black eyes. He wore his hair tied back in the fashion of the day, wore a blue woolen frock coat and matching waistcoat. His crisp, white linen shirt had just a hint of lace at the neck and wrists.

  Lauren placed Gautier’s plate in front of him. As she stepped back she caught the scent of his cologne and felt her stomach jump. The rest of the meal, Gautier watched Lauren as she moved around the table, discreetly trying to catch her eye. When Lauren raised her eyes to meet his own she felt the color rise in her cheeks and a smile flickered on her lips. He was so unexpectedly dashing that she felt aflutter.

  At the end of the meal as Lauren was retrieving the dessert plates, young Madame Devereaux said, “It would be unfair if I took credit for the exceptional fare tonight. Madame Heathstone is responsible for this remarkable repast.”

  Lauren looked down modestly.

  “My dear,” said Madame Boyer putting a monocle to her eye. “Where ever did you obtain your skills?”

  “The good sisters of the Ursuline Order in New Orleans,” Lauren said quietly with a curtsy.

  There were murmurs of approval, and Julien Gautier asked, “Certainly you have served in this capacity before?”

  Ariel answered before Lauren had a chance. “She has Monsieur Gautier, but not here in the English Colonies. She is new to our settlement and works as a nursemaid for Monsieur Moreau. It is a shame to waste such talent. Is it not?”

  “Indeed it is,�
� agreed Julien Gautier burning a look into Lauren.

  * * *

  Lauren‘s thoughts returned to the present. Sliding off the branch she called, “Come along, Xavier. We are late.”

  She brushed her skirt off and reached up helping the little boy down from the tree. Giving him a squeeze before putting him down, Lauren remembered the little girls at the convent and how she had loved to hold them. It felt good to have a child near her again.

  “We shall race, Xavier. Are you ready?” she exclaimed.

  “I am ready, Madame!” the boy said, crouching down with one chubby leg thrust forward.

  “Go!” cried Lauren.

  Off they dashed, through the meadow, down the hill toward the settlement, Lauren holding her skirts up, staying two strides behind little Xavier.

  When they reached the door of the Moreau residence, Lauren scooped Xavier up in her arms and burst through the door. Two of the children ran over and hugged her legs.

  “I won, Mamma! I won again!” the boy cried with glee, his cheeks glowing.

  Gray haired Madame Moreau looked up from the hearth and smiled at her son. “How is it you win everyday, my pet? You are most amazing!”

  Lauren laughed as she set Xavier down, her eyes sparkling and her hair tumbling everywhere. Grabbing her shawl from the peg she said goodbye and started out the door. Walking briskly down the road, she reached up and twisted her hair into knot. The sun warmed her skin, and she took a deep breath of the afternoon air, thick with the smell of rich soil and pine needles.

  Lauren looked up at Fort St. Frederic. It was much larger than Fort de Chartres in the Illinois country. The limestone walls were massive, and a drawbridge spanned a dry ditch which encircled the entire fort. Most impressive was the redoubt, or citadel, a tall building within the confines of the fort, four stories high which housed a bakery, a powder magazine, and officer’s quarters. Lauren thought it resembled the castles of old with the French colors flying overhead.

  Passing the fort she headed toward the lake toward the home of Monsieur Gautier. Even after several weeks of employment, Lauren was still amazed at the elegance of Monsieur Gautier’s residence. It was a cottage near the windmill overlooking Lake Champlain. The back of the home was hidden from view by trees, but the front of the residence had been cleared for an expansive view of the lake. Windows were extremely rare in the settlement, and Gautier had two installed in the cottage to look out over the water. Lauren suspected he put these in not only for the view but to set himself apart from the ordinary villager.

  Julien told Lauren that the first few years he came to St. Frederic he had stayed in the citadel, but when it became necessary that he must return every summer he had the cottage built for privacy.

  She found his cozy cottage utterly charming. It was small but the design was exceptional. The plaster walls in the sitting room were painted a golden hue to compliment the browns and blues of a lush oriental rug on the hard wood floor. Two high-backed upholstered chairs sat in front of the hearth with intricately carved legs and one wall of the sitting room had a mural of the French countryside. However, what amused Lauren the most was an end table sporting a ‘trick of the eye’ on its surface. When she first saw the table she thought a deck of playing cards rested on the tabletop but it was, in reality only a painting, an optical illusion, or trompe-l’oeil, a hugely popular art form in Paris.

  The kitchen had every modern convenience, and Gautier’s bedchamber reflected the taste of a man used to fine things including a large maple wardrobe, curtained bedstead with an indigo blue duvet and an inlaid washstand from Paris.

  Lauren loved coming here to cook and keep house and was pleased about the progress she was making with Gautier. Initially he was very reserved, speaking mostly about daily affairs at the fort, but lately he was complimenting her on her personal appearance. His manner was always respectful, but as each day passed Lauren could see he was becoming increasingly infatuated with her. She found him to be a refreshing change from St. Clare who was surly and argumentative, eternally poised for a fight.

  Julien explained to Lauren that he came to the fort from Montreal every spring after the first thaw to meet with the voyageurs and buy furs. Coming inland allowed him first choice of furs before they reached the larger centers like Montreal and Quebec. Then when the voyageurs returned to the interior in the fall, he returned to Montreal. His company shipped these furs to France where they were made into hats and garments. He returned to Montreal in the fall to conduct his affairs from there.

  Julien expected an orderly home and supper waiting for him every evening when he returned from his appointments at the fort, and he paid Lauren handsomely to complete these tasks for him daily. The routine had been the same for several weeks until one day she had been instructed to set another place for supper. She heard the front door open and looked out from the kitchen noticing the door to Monsieur Gautier’s bedchamber was closed. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. His habit was to return from a day of work, wash before supper, change his clothing and then read until supper.

  Lauren put the finishing touches on his meal and peeked out in the sitting room to see if the guest had arrived yet. He was still sitting alone reading.

  Julien looked up at her and said quietly, “Madame, I hope you do not mind. You are the guest this evening.” He put his book down and stood up. With a playful bow he said, “Would you do me the honor of joining me this evening?”

  Lauren smiled and nodded. Her heart skipping, she returned to the kitchen, unpinned her apron and removed her cap letting her auburn tresses trail down the front of her burgundy dress. She picked up the tray of food and went out to the table. Gautier stood up and took the tray from her and said, “It is apparent you have been on both sides of the serving tray, Madame. Tonight you shall be served.”

  “Each has its privileges and drawbacks,” she replied taking a chair.

  He smiled at her. The atmosphere seemed charged with excitement. Gautier brought Lauren her plate of food, took his own and sat down. She thought he looked handsome tonight. He was dressed casually in a brown waistcoat, white shirt and dark britches, but even in this simple attire Gautier looked elegant and well bred. His dark eyes distracted her, and on several occasions she had to look away from his intense gaze.

  They talked of many things, Julien leaning forward listening to Lauren, eager to learn about her. Lauren asked questions too, wanting to know more about this mysterious aristocrat from Montreal and why he was here in the backwoods of New France.

  “I must apologize if I am intrusive,” he said, taking a sip of red wine. “But where is your husband? The man would have to be mad to let you go.”

  Lauren looked down at her plate and sighed, “Monsieur, it is most tragic. He disappeared on the streets of New York City shortly after we were married.”

  Julien looked at Lauren sympathetically and said, “I am sorry. You think he is perhaps--dead?”

  “Or imprisoned,” she added. “Although I searched everywhere in that city, he was no where to be found. It has been difficult,” she lied, touching a napkin to the corner of her eye. “But one must go on.”

  Finishing his meal, Gautier wiped his mouth and rose from the table. He walked over to Lauren and held out his hand. “Come let us walk by the lake and enjoy this beautiful evening.”

  Lauren stood up and brushed closely to him but instead of stepping back, he pulled her close. Lauren met his gaze for a moment then looked down. He raised his hand, stroked her cheek then let go of her. They walked along the shores of the lake in the moonlight. Loons were calling in the darkness, and they could hear the lake splashing gently against the shore.

  Under the shadow of the windmill, Julien lifted Lauren’s face and kissed her lightly just one time. Lauren was swept away by the restraint he showed and the respectful distance he kept. His slow approach and light touch teased her intensely and left her filled with passion, wanting more. Rene had been her only experience with men from New France, but
he had been young and clumsy. This time a grown man wanted her in his bed, a Frenchman experienced in love and the art of seduction.

  Julien pulled Lauren into his arms and kissed her again but this time with more urgency. Suddenly, she remembered it was Sunday, and there was a sentry stationed in the woods from The Pride of the King. It could be St. Clare himself watching her kissing Julien, and she pushed the Frenchman back abruptly.

  “What is it?’ he said breathlessly.

  “I am afraid someone will see us,” murmured Lauren.

  Gautier began to laugh. “Oh, my little one,” he whispered scooping her into his arms. “If it’s privacy you want, then we shall go inside.”

  Chapter 35

  The month of June Lauren spent in the arms of Julien Gautier. Gone were the stiff and formal suppers in the evening; now the dining was intimate, in the cottage bedchamber where Lauren and Julien would feast on fresh summer berries, cheeses and wine. Julien treated her like his princess, lavishing her with gifts and surprises at every turn. It was always something new, trinkets and ribbons, fabrics and perfumes to pamper and please her.

  “Oh, Julien, this scent is divine,” Lauren cooed one evening putting her wrist under his nose. “It must have cost a fortune.”

  Pulling her onto his lap, he said, “Luxuries are indeed expensive here on the frontier, but you are worth it, my little one.”

  Lauren blossomed under his care. She felt like a woman again and took long baths, smoothing oils on her skin and combing different scents through her hair. Everyday she would attend morning Mass, spend the day with the Moreau children, then late in the afternoon walk to Julien’s cottage, prepare an evening of culinary delights then fuss with her appearance until he arrived.