The Pride of the King

by Amanda Hughes

  For Henry’s benefit, she showed no emotion, but he spied her racing down the companionway to her room. She pulled off her clothes and stepped into a hipbath, lathering and rinsing her skin and hair. She put on a clean shift, laced her stays tightly, and chose a gown the color of amber to match her eyes. She piled her hair on top her head and looked at herself in the mirror. A little voice reminded her St. Clare was a married man, and she muttered to the mirror, “I don’t care!”

  Lauren placed a wide-brimmed, straw hat over her cap, tied the cream-colored ribbons under her chin and started down to the 'Red Lion'. When she arrived, the tavern was filled with men, smoking and drinking and talking loudly. It was dark in the establishment, the wood floors and paneling absorbing every bit of light. Lauren was hesitant to enter the tavern without an escort and looked in the door, biting her lip. Finally, she stepped over the threshold, waiting for her eyes to adjust.

  “Are you looking for Captain St. Clare?” a woman called to her. It was the female innkeeper Lauren had seen a year ago. The woman leaned over the bar, her face drawn and tired with a new baby on her hip. She was trying to retain her good humor in spite of the drunken customers seeking her attention.

  “Yes,” replied Lauren.

  “The Captain sends his regrets,” she shouted over the din. “He can’t join you tonight.”

  The blood rushed to Lauren’s face, and she clenched her fists.

  “I’m sorry, Miss,” the innkeeper said turning back to her work.

  Lauren stepped out of the inn grinding her teeth. The sign of an angry red lion swung over her head mirroring her own expression. In a fury, she pulled off her straw hat and stomped on it. It was only an hour ago St. Clare had demanded her presence, now he had other plans. It was unthinkable. “How could I have ever been so stupid,” she muttered, tossing her head. “I am nothing more than a business associate to him.”

  Furious and hurt, Lauren traversed the streets of Albany, returning to the fluyt. The sun had dropped low in the sky and already the streets were teeming with raucous workmen and prostitutes. On several occasions, Lauren had to break free from the clutches of an amorous sailor, hurling curses at him like a fishwife.

  Finally reaching the fluyt, she stepped onto the deck pulling her cap off and yanking the pins from her hair, her tresses tumbling down. She marched toward her room.

  “Why are you retiring so soon?” someone said.

  Lauren whirled around. In the dimmest of light, she could see James St. Clare, smoking his tobacco.

  “I thought--” she uttered.

  “You thought you would go to bed after Henry and I went to all this trouble?”

  St. Clare casually pulled a flake of tobacco from his tongue, then stepped back revealing a table set for two on the deck. A small seaman’s lantern sat in the center illuminating the seating area, leaving the rest of the vessel enveloped in darkness. She heard Mathias playing his fiddle from the stern of the ship.

  “I wanted to thank you for a job well done at Fort Frederic,” he said.

  “I-I don’t understand,” she stammered. “Why weren’t you at the tavern?”

  “I was here on board, getting your supper ready. The rendezvous at the ‘Lion’ was only a ruse to lure you away from the fluyt temporarily.”

  She searched St. Clare’s eyes for answers. Only moments ago, she had vowed never to trust this man again, but now this gesture of gratitude warmed her heart. She walked to the table, running her fingers over the white tablecloth, her anger melting away.

  “You must be hungry. Please sit down,” he suggested. St. Clare was wearing clothes he ordinarily reserved for evenings with the Dutch gentry of the Hudson River Valley. He wore a fine white linen shirt and cravat with an indigo blue vest, dark britches and his best boots.

  Lauren swallowed hard, trying to absorb everything, and sat down sweeping her gown under the table. She scanned the place setting for two with sparkling wine goblets and then looked up at the sky. The moist night air was blurring the stars slightly and across the harbor, candles winked in the windows of Albany. She could hear the waves gently slapping the hull of the fluyt, and when she looked across the table, St. Clare was studying her face. He opened his mouth to say something but suddenly changed his mind. Instead, he looked out at the city lights and said, “I have been on business in Albany recently. This is why I asked you here tonight.”

  Any illusion of romance vanished the minute St Clare brought up Albany and business. She remembered his wife. She pursed her lips and snapped her napkin open. “I see. What is it you wish to discuss?”

  “Well, our attempt at a contact in New France failed,” he said.

  Lauren was about to argue, but before she could speak, James held his hand up to silence her. “But without you, I never would have known that it was Gautier who was trying to kill me.”

  She frowned and shifted in her chair, wishing he had allowed her to go to her cabin instead of dining with her in the moonlight. Luckily, Henry Bologne broke the tension, rolling up with a tray of food, wearing his best smock and a gold earring in one ear. He avoided eye contact, handing them each a plate of food and bowing deeply. He had instructions to be on his best behavior tonight.

  “You deceived me earlier today with that note, Mr. Bologne,” Lauren said with a smirk.

  “That I did, Ma’am,” he said, a smile flickering on his lips. He continued to look down arranging serving pieces. “But I had to get you off the vessel so we could prepare everything here.”

  “I see,” she said raising her eyebrows. “We shall discuss it later.”

  “As you wish, Madame,” he replied with a wink, then left.

  The smell of supper reached Lauren, and she realized that she was ravenous. Everything looked delicious; there were chops in wine sauce, buttered carrots, pickled beets and Sally Lunn bread.

  Begrudgingly she said, “It has been a long time since anyone has cooked for me. Thank you.’

  St. Clare shrugged and poured Lauren a glass of wine.

  “Most of it was Bologne. You know he thinks the world of you. He missed you when you were in New France--we all missed you.” Lauren looked up as he said, “Some of us were in a closer proximity than others.”

  “Yes,” she smiled. “Some were in the neighborhood chapel.”

  They both laughed, easing some of the awkwardness. The food was delectable, and when Lauren was finished she sat back and sighed.

  The fluyt rolled lightly and a breeze blew her hair. “So what was the business you wished to discuss?” she asked.

  James wiped his mouth and said, “We had a bargain, you and I. You would identify a contact for me in New France, and I would give you land. Even though it was unsuccessful, I believe you have done me a much greater service.”

  “How so?”

  “You saved my life.”

  “Oh,” she chuckled, shaking her head.

  “You saved mine,” she returned.

  “You are to receive payment. There will be no more discussion. The papers have been drawn up for your land.”

  Lauren sat back in her chair, thunderstruck.

  St. Clare said, “If you want to make the Hudson your home, it is yours. “

  A smile spread across her face, and tears filled Lauren’s eyes. All her life she had searched for a place to belong, and at last she had found a home.

  Seeing her struggle to maintain her composure, James looked away.

  Wiping her eyes, Lauren sat up straight and whispered, “Of course this will be my home.” Maybe it was her imagination, but Lauren thought she saw relief pass over his face.

  “But what of Heathstone?” she asked. “What if he should find me? The land would be his to take.”

  James shook his head. “My dear Lauren, you are a landowner in the outermost reaches of the English Colonies. Do not give that man a second thought.”

  He stood up, lighting two torches then went aft. When he returned, Mathias was playing dance music. “Come now,” he demanded
holding his hands out. “Tonight is a celebration and you have never danced with me. It is time.”

  “No, James really,” Lauren protested, putting up her hands. “I couldn’t. I am not in the mood.”

  “Nonsense,” he said. “You have danced with everyone on The Pride of the King except the Captain. You owe this to me.”

  She smiled and reluctantly stood up. He took her hands and they started to dance. They twirled and parted, linked arms and swung around in circles. At first, Lauren’s dancing was stilted and restrained, but St. Clare took charge of her every movement and gradually she lost her inhibitions. Each time he brushed near her, she felt a shiver run up her spine. His breath on her shoulders felt delicious, and she felt her face grow warm under his gaze. Never in all the years she had been on Duke Street had a dance partner taken her breath away like this man.

  Mathias finished his tune but struck up another immediately, and they danced again but this time more intimately. James drew Lauren closer, pressing his body against hers more firmly. They danced around the deck and each time Lauren was near James he would pull her firmly to his chest looking down into her face as if he was about to kiss her.

  This time when the music stopped, he did not let go of her. He pulled her close and kissed her, running his hands up and down her back and over her arms.

  “I can’t breathe,” she gasped.

  “Tell me to release you and I will,” he murmured, burying his face in her hair. Lauren’s legs felt weak. His hands held her upright as his kisses grew more urgent. He bent her head back and ran his lips down her neck lingering where her breasts met her gown. His firm thighs pressed against her legs.

  “Did you love Gautier,” he asked. “I must know.”

  “No, James. I never loved him. How could I?”

  He stopped and looked into her eyes, then scooped her into his arms carrying her to his cabin.

  After a while, the music stopped, and old Mathias went to bed. The torches burned low, and Henry Bologne rolled out on his platform to clear away the dishes. He pulled himself up and snuffed the torches, then turned to look at the shoreline. He remembered a girl he had known a long time ago in Albany and wondered if she ever thought of him. She had kissed him on an autumn night like this one. He chuckled and shrugged his shoulders, jumping back down onto his platform. He glanced at the Captain’s cabin and smiled, congratulating himself on a job well done.

  Chapter 38

  Lauren wound through the streets of Albany the next day, a basket on her hip, shopping for fresh meat and produce and pretending as if nothing had changed. She could see from shore the crew of the fluyt hanging on the side of the hull, making repairs and attending to their duties. It was the same as every other morning, but in Lauren’s world everything was different.

  She reached up and touched her face. It was hot and sore, burning from James’ kisses. Although clean shaven, he had run his lips and whiskers over her so many times he had chaffed her skin. They were up before sunrise, dressing without words, but before he stepped out the cabin door, he pulled Lauren into his arms telling her to come back to him that night.

  When she climbed back on board The Pride of the King that afternoon he caught her eye, holding her gaze only for a moment before returning to his work. When he looked at her it warmed her as if she were standing in the summer sun after a long winter.

  He remained aloof and detached, in keeping with his role as master of a merchant vessel, but he did acknowledge Lauren with small gestures. He would give her the faintest of smiles at mealtime, assign her with duties on deck to be near him or grab her wrist for a moment as she passed by. She delighted in these quiet acts of affection, and they sustained her until the evening when they could be alone. She knew she had moments with him that no one else would ever share, and those intimacies were gifts which set them apart from every other soul on earth.

  “Mr. Bologne,” said the Captain as they finished their duties one evening. “I would like a moment of privacy.” He nodded toward the stern of the fluyt where Lauren was standing. Immediately Henry stationed himself as a buffer between the crew and the Captain as he walked toward Lauren.

  “You are watching the sunset?” he said leaning on the rail beside her.

  “James, the crew will see us,” Lauren warned, looking behind her.

  “No one will see us. Henry is standing guard, but we must talk about this, Lauren.”

  The two had been meeting every night for weeks, but the secrecy was putting a strain on them.

  “Even though our relationship is of no surprise to the crew, you and I have agreed not to flaunt it in front of them. We are to remain in our roles as members of The Pride of the King by day, but by night we must break away and be ourselves. When we have free time we cannot deny our need for intimacy. I would like to take you ashore tonight. There can be no hiding that from the ship’s company.”

  “It will be awkward.”

  “Yes, at first but Lauren, I am the supreme authority on this vessel. The crew must accept my choices.”

  She cocked her head. “Does that go for me too?”

  “Yes,” he replied softly, looking at her face as if he were memorizing it. “Now get your hat or cloak or whatever it is you women wear in the night air. We are going for a walk.”

  James took Lauren on shore, and they followed a path along the river. It was one of the last warm nights before the autumn turned cool and the trees skeletal. The leaves seemed to capture the low light of sunset, making the colors more brilliant than ever. The couple did not speak until they reached a clearing where James told Lauren they would build a fire.

  Bonfires dotted the shoreline up and down the Hudson; occasionally a voice could be heard across the water or a dog barking in the distance. Their fire reached to the sky, sparks soaring into the night. James sat down on the ground, his arms resting on his knees and pulled Lauren next to him.

  “We used to build fires even bigger than this when I was young,” he said. “The boys and I would wrestle and dance around them like goblins.”

  Lauren looked at him as he watched the light, the flames reflecting in his eyes. “I wonder what happened to them all?” he mused. “I wonder if they still live.”

  “They were without homes too?” she asked.

  He nodded. “I still see their faces on the street to this day. Once you have lived on the street you see them everywhere.”

  “Yes, they are everywhere,” Lauren agreed. “In doorways, behind necessaries, hiding in cemeteries.”

  “You have a sister, do you not?” he asked.

  “I do. She is my twin, but we do not resemble each other.”

  “Do you miss her?”

  Lauren took a deep breath and shook her head. “No, if Simone were to see me today, she would think me coarse and depraved. She has taken vows with the Ursulines and is living a life of seclusion and safety in a convent in New Orleans.”

  The fire snapped and popped, filling the silence as they stared at the golden light. In spite of the flames, the air felt damp rolling off the river, and Lauren crossed her arms.

  “We weigh anchor day after tomorrow,” James announced.

  “Where are we going?”

  “We shall resume our normal route on the Hudson, but we will be sailing past your land.”

  “We are?” she gasped, sitting up straight.

  James grinned, and touched her cheek. “Does that make you happy?”

  Lauren’s face was beaming. “That makes me very happy!”

  “We shall walk it together tomorrow,” he said.

  * * *

  Preparations for departure started the next morning, but Lauren noticed Isaac was absent. She had not seen him for a long time, and it was highly unusual for the first mate to be gone the day before a departure.

  As the evening came to a close, Lauren approached Samuel Claypool, the boatswain. Although the man was blind, he used his keen sense of touch and hearing. He frequently had Robert at his side to be his e
yes, checking rigging and inspecting lines. He coordinated and supervised many duties on the vessel, and Lauren knew he would be the one to ask. “He’s been gone for near four days now, Ma’am. The Captain had us searchin’ everywhere--taverns, pleasure houses, even the alms house. He’s nowhere to be found.” Samuel took off his cap and scratched his bald head, his white eyeballs rolling.

  “Did he say where he was going, Mr. Claypool?”

  “No, Ma’am, he went drinkin’ and whorin’ with the rest of us that first night, and we lost track of the lad.”

  Lauren sighed and thanked Samuel. When she spoke with James that evening in his cabin, he could add nothing more. “It will be hard to go without him. I couldn’t ask for a better first mate, but I am confident he will turn up by the time we return,” James said.

  His words were optimistic, but Lauren saw him pour several fingers of brandy and toss it back quickly. As infatuated as Lauren was with James, there was a side to him she could not penetrate. He was guarded and reserved in almost every way. They spent their first weeks together quelling their passion, but as time passed Lauren longed for more intimacy, an intimacy that can only come with the knowledge of another person's heart. They spoke of many things, taking their discoveries as far as they were able, but there was an emotional reluctance in James she could not breach. He seemed unable to give of himself fully, always holding something back. She sensed an undercurrent of mystery in the man which she thought may stem from his untamed youth, but there was another possibility which she did not want to admit. It was the possibility that James still loved his wife.

  The Pride of the King weighed anchor the next day in a rain shower. Clouds rolled overhead all day, drenching the crew, and then the sun would break through long enough for another shower to gather. Lauren stayed below most of time taking inventory with Henry and organizing food in the hold and in the galley. Once again there were large crates of firearms to work around, but Lauren knew it would only be a short duration before the cargo was gone. The “Pride” never carried weapons or powder too long in case a customs inspector boarded her.