The Pride of the King

by Amanda Hughes

  He is right. I do not understand. She blinked suddenly as if waking from a dream. She realized at that moment that she had been deluding herself all along. She had rushed head long into his arms without thinking, impulsive as always, just as she had with Rene Lupone and that insipid tutor on Duke Street, even Julien Gautier.

  “Gabriel told me once I was restless,” she said.

  “Gabriel?” asked James.

  “It was a day like today,” she mused. “But the wind was icy then.”

  Lauren brought her eyes back to St. Clare’s face and said, “I am restless. He was right. I am restless and I will not wait for you, James. One day I will leave you, and that is something you do not understand.”

  * * *

  Lauren heard someone calling her name. She rolled over and propped herself up in bed squinting from the light which was being held in her face. The maid hovered over the bed, holding a candle. “Please, Miss, you are wanted in the sitting room right away.”

  The servant girl stepped back, letting the bed curtains fall. Lauren sat up, rubbed her eyes and slid out from the bed as the maid lit more candles. She handed Lauren a dressing gown and left the room.

  She took a deep breath, ran her fingers through her hair and started down the stairs holding a candle. She grabbed the railing to steady herself. It was late; the house was dark, and she could hear the sound of voices in the sitting room. When Lauren walked through the door, she saw Heloise sitting on the edge of a chair, a candle next to her on a stand. It illuminated her rumpled dressing gown and night cap. Her eyes were like saucers.

  St. Clare stepped up from the shadows, his expression like stone. He was dressed in a cloak and he was holding a tricorne hat in his hand. “Lauren, I have news.” He paused a moment, looked down at the floor then up into her eyes. “Isaac Burroughs is dead.”

  Lauren stared at him, and her jaw dropped. James swallowed hard and continued, “He turned up in Kingston two nights ago at a tavern. The customers didn’t like the way he looked, so without giving it a second thought, they dragged him out back and beat him to death.”

  Chapter 40

  Lauren spent hours in the garden at the Van den Berg manor watching leaves scatter in the autumn wind. Thin and dry as parchment, they tumbled over her feet or flew up into the cold, gray sky. Sometimes a maelstrom would sweep them up, sending them sailing in circles until the wind died down, and they dropped listlessly to the brown earth.

  Not until Isaac was gone, did Lauren realize that she was part of a family, an unorthodox mix of souls struggling to survive in a world that utterly loathed them. Until now, she had held herself apart from the crew, not wanting to admit she was part of the group, but now with Isaac’s death, Lauren realized their struggle and was proud to be among them.

  Along with this realization came the intense shame of betrayal. Lauren believed she had betrayed everyone and contributed to Isaac’s death, reproaching herself severely. She believed her romantic involvement with St. Clare drove Isaac away from The Pride of the King, and if she had been more sensitive, she would have realized her relationship with the Captain was detrimental to the young man. Eager to gratify her own desires, she felt she had plunged headlong into the liaison, succumbing to her impulsive nature once more.

  James’ reaction to the tragedy was even more severe. He drew into himself, refusing to speak of the matter to anyone, throwing himself feverishly into work all day and solitude all night. He was aloof to Lauren, and she in turn avoided him. Their last conversation had been on the bridge by the mill, and it had ended in a silence that endured. Heloise noted the couple’s estrangement and remained detached, encouraging Cornelius to do the same.

  The morale of the crew also worried St. Clare. The night they had learned of Isaac’s death, George Blasco and another sailor, Demetrius Miskowic disappeared. Everyone knew the men traveled to Kingston to find those responsible for Isaac’s beating and as anticipated, it ended badly. The authorities contacted Captain St. Clare several days later looking for the two, reporting that they had assaulted three men in Kingston and murdered another. St. Clare told them he knew nothing. Blasco and Miskowic never returned to the fluyt, and Lauren suspected they were hiding north of Albany in the Melungeon community.

  The situation remained static for weeks until Heloise received word one day that the Van den Bergs were returning home before the snows of late autumn. Suddenly, they must prepare for either social contact with the Van den Bergs or departure. They chose departure.

  Before Lauren could make any plans, St. Clare called a meeting at the tavern near the manor. Although the main room of the public house was quiet, St. Clare asked for a room at the back for complete privacy. When Lauren walked into the tavern she recognized several farmers indentured to the Van den Berg estates playing cards near a window. They nodded respectfully to her as she passed, and two seamen talked quietly by the hearth. The room at the back was a makeshift dining room, consisting of a table and chairs in a dark storage area filled with casks of wine and beer as well as hams dangling from the ceiling.

  “Good evening, Lauren,” St. Clare said standing up and offering her a chair. Corny bent over Lauren’s hand briefly and sat back down. Heloise tight-lipped and sober faced was silent, smoke from her cigarette curling around her head. St. Clare offered Lauren something to drink, but she declined.

  “I will come right to the point,” he said sitting down. “There is no time to lose. We must depart tonight. The actions of Blasco and Miskowic have drawn attention to The Pride of the King and we must embark before a discovery is made.”

  “They are asking questions?” said Cornelius.

  “Many questions. Today the officials requested our log. They are very suspicious, especially now during the conflict with the French. We must make haste.”

  St. Clare rubbed his forehead then said, “Everything has changed so quickly since Isaac‘s death. Tomorrow we sail for Pennsylvania, where I will inquire about a man I have in mind for first mate. He is a Prussian, with whom I sailed many years ago. He is a trusted and loyal friend. They transported him here for acts of piracy, and I believe I can buy his servitude.”

  At any rate--” and he turned to Heloise, “You and Cornelius will accompany the 'Pride' up to Providence. I have a mark for you there and possibly some lucrative ventures. You will remain at that city until further notice. The crew and I will put out to sea.”

  James looked at Lauren. She sat erect in her chair, her face like stone, ready for an assignment. “Lauren--” he started.

  “I know I cannot go to sea. I understand this,” she interrupted. “But why am I not going to Providence?”

  “There are many reasons,” he said shaking his head. “I have made arrangements for you to stay on the Hudson and work at the 'Boar’s Head' with Mrs. Quill.”

  Lauren gasped, “So, I am being put out to pasture!”

  Not wanting to lose his temper, St. Clare said through his teeth, “It is the inn I spoke of a while ago near your land. The woman is getting on in years and is in need of another hand. You can live there until your cottage is built.”

  “Oh, I see,” said Lauren nodding her head. “You have made arrangements for my cottage as well? So I am to be the new mistress. What is it you English say? Oh, yes, now I remember, ‘A woman in every port.’ ”

  James slammed his hand down on the table. “I will not tolerate insubordination! You are still a member of The Pride of the King, and if I say you stay in the valley, you will stay in the valley!”

  There was a long silence while Heloise and Cornelius held their breath. Lauren did not flinch. She continued to look into St. Clare’s eyes, her chin held high. Suddenly she stood up and swept from the room, slamming the door behind her.

  * * *

  “What would you have him do, darling?” said Cornelius that evening in his dressing room. Lauren paced back and forth her fists clenched, and her eyes red. He lifted a powdered wig off his head and placed it carefully on a wig stand. “Y
ou would be furious with him if he used you to lure men in Providence,” he said. “And he cannot risk taking you to sea. Now admit it. He has no choice but to have you stay here.”

  Lauren stopped pacing and said impatiently. “But it seems as if I am being left behind just to wait for him.”

  “You are angry that you cannot go with him,” said Corny.

  Lauren sighed and slumped down on the divan her lips in a pout. “You are right.”

  Corny began remove his makeup. He sat at a dressing table in front of an ornate gold mirror. Bottles and hairbrushes littered the tabletop.

  “I don’t want him to leave, Corny. It scares me.”

  Corny turned and looked at her. “You must realize this is the life he leads.”

  Suddenly she sat up. “I must apologize to him.”

  “What, now?”

  Picking up her wrap, Lauren rushed to the door. “Do you know where he is? Is he down on the ‘Pride’?”

  Corny opened his mouth then stuttered, “I--I don’t know. I mean he had a meeting somewhere else. I think.”

  Lauren stopped in her tracks, her hand on the door latch. “Who is he meeting?”

  “I--I don’t know.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t lie to me!” she snapped.

  Cornelius blanched.

  “His wife? Is that who he is meeting?”

  “No, no!” he cried rushing over to her and taking her hands. “Not his wife. Good gracious, no. Do not go bursting in there. It is a private affair. Come sit with me, darling. We’ll have a brandy.” Corny leaned out into the hall and called loudly, “Mother! Come here!”

  Lauren yanked her hands away, “Where is the meeting?”

  “Dearest, I beg of you sit down.”

  “Tell me!”

  Corny was mute.

  * * *

  The ground felt hard under Lauren’s feet as she marched down the road toward the tavern. Flakes of snow whirled around her lantern. The flakes dusted the brittle vegetation and frozen earth along the path. Her heart was pounding. At last she would see the woman who so captivated St. Clare’s heart. For months she had agonized over her rival; contemplating her beauty, her disposition, her station in life. She suspected the woman had money and was responsible for funding The Pride of the King, but it was all guesswork. St. Clare had given so few clues and guarded her identity so jealously, that she knew little. She believed that he protected his wife from the philistines of The Pride of the King as if she were some precious porcelain figurine, too fragile and valuable to share.

  Even though the hour was late, there was a light flickering in the tavern. It was obvious the innkeeper still had guests in the main room and had not yet banked the fire and gone to bed. The wind blew strong and Lauren pulled up her hood. Two horses waited under the tavern sign as she stepped onto the threshold putting her lantern on a bench by the entrance. As she lifted the latch of the door, a burst of wind pushed her into the main room abruptly.

  The first thing she saw was St. Clare seated by the fire. Because of her hood, he had not recognized her, and he returned to his conversation.

  “How can I be of service, Madam?” inquired the innkeeper behind the bar.

  Lauren said nothing, hanging her cloak on a peg. The tavern was empty except for St. Clare sitting by the fire with another person, a high backed chair concealing his companion‘s face. James was leaning forward resting his forearms on his knees, engaged in conversation. The innkeeper loaded a tray with steaming bowls of soup, a loaf of bread and a bottle of wine.

  Lauren ran her fingers through her hair briefly then stepped forward, smiling sweetly. “Please allow me to take this over. I want to surprise them.” Before the innkeeper could protest, Lauren pulled the tray over. It was heavy and she took a deep breath, steadying herself as she started across the dark dining room. The blood rushed in her ears and her heart thumped in her chest so strongly that she thought she would faint. The fire cast long shadows across the room, and flickered on St. Clare’s face. He watched his companion intensely.

  At last, she reached the couple. Breathless with anxiety, Lauren stepped up to look at St. Clare’s wife. The individual in the high-backed chair turned and looked at her. The blood drained from Lauren’s face. The tray slid to the floor with a crash.

  “What the hell!” James said, jumping to his feet. Lauren took several steps back as Monsieur Heathstone stood up from his chair. She gasped in horror.

  The innkeeper rushed over to clean up the tray, and St. Clare barked, “Leave us!”

  For what seemed like an eternity, Lauren stared at Heathstone. The only sound was the fire crackling in the room.

  James stepped forward and reached for her. “Don’t touch me,” she warned, her eyes never leaving Heathstone.

  Stepping back cautiously, James said, “Adair, you had better leave.”

  Bowing to Lauren, Adair Heathstone picked up his hat and cloak, and left the tavern. The moment the door closed Lauren turned to James and gasped, “He has found me!”

  “No, Lauren. It is not as it seems--”

  Consumed with panic, Lauren bolted for the back door.

  “No!” exclaimed James, lunging for her. He caught her and yanked her into his arms. “You are safe from him now. You are here with me.”

  “No! Let go!” she screamed.

  Like an animal, she began to kick and tear at him as he tried to restrain her.

  “Listen to me, Lauren! Stop this!” he roared.

  “Let go! I am his wife. He will take me away! He will take my land!”

  “No, Lauren!” With all of his strength, St. Clare pushed her against the wall, pressing his body against her, holding her face and making her look at him. “You are not his wife!”

  Still she did not hear him. Lauren kicked his shins and clawed his arms.

  “Listen to me. You are not his wife!”

  Mad with panic, she continued to struggle furiously, flinging curses at him in French.

  “Stop it, now!” James demanded. “You are not his wife!”

  Exhausted at last and panting, Lauren blinked, trying to read St. Clare’s eyes. At last she listened to him. “What? What did you say?”

  “You are not his wife, Lauren. You are my wife!”

  Chapter 41

  Lauren stared at James, trying to comprehend his words. “I am your wife. Are you mad?” She tried to wrench free again and James tightened his grip.

  “Listen to me. That was not Heathstone you married in New Orleans all those years ago. That was me.” Lauren tossed her head trying to clear the hair from her eyes and said, “Well, then you are better at masquerade than I realized.”

  “It was a marriage by proxy.”

  “What?”

  “Proxy, stand in. Heathstone was my stand in. Think back Lauren, the ceremony was in English. You did not understand a single word. I approached the Mother Superior asking for the hand of a French orphan girl, and by the time you were of age, I was in a British prison. Heathstone went in my place.”

  Lauren’s eyes grew large with astonishment. “Then the marriage is not real?”

  “Oh, it is most certainly real and legal. The royals have done marriage by proxy for centuries.”

  Lauren blinked as if waking from a dream and pushed the hair from her face. James loosened his grip and stepped back.

  She pulled at her gown, straightening her bodice and skirt, her eyes never leaving St. Clare’s face. “Why?” she gasped. “Why did you want to marry me?”

  James did not answer at first, searching for the right words. Finally he said, “I needed someone who could introduce The Pride of the King to New France. I needed someone who knew the language and the way of life, so we could infiltrate the French colony. I could find no one suitable in New England, no one at all, so I contacted the Ursulines to ask for the hand of an orphan girl.”

  Lauren said nothing. She was too overwhelmed to speak. She thought of all the times she had cried herself to sleep thinking she wa
s married to an old man, how she had fled New France and lived on the streets of New York terrified and hungry and how James had held her in his arms over and over again never admitting the truth about their marriage.

  Suddenly the frenzy of betrayal ignited within her. Her eyes narrowed and she said, “All this time you played me for a fool!”

  Before he could stop her, she slapped him squarely across the face and said, “I hate you!” and bolted out the door.

  * * *

  Moments later, Lauren threw open the entrance of the Van den Berg manor with a crash and shouted, “I want to talk to both of you!”

  Heloise and Cornelius stood frozen at the top of stairs. They were dressed in traveling clothes, their eyes like saucers. “We must make haste, dear,” Heloise said uncertainly to Lauren. “Corny and I are to leave for Providence tonight.”

  “No one goes anywhere until I get some answers,” Lauren ordered, slamming the door behind her. She swept up the stairs and Heloise and Cornelius stepped back as if she was about to strike them.

  “How long have you known?” Lauren hissed leaning close to Heloise.

  The feather in Heloise’s hat quivered nervously. “About what, dear?”

  “You know what I am talking about. How long!”

  Heloise swallowed hard and stuttered, “Since-well, since before the brothel. We knew long before we met you at Madame Vanoss’ establishment.”

  Lauren gasped. “You knew who I was before you approached me at that whore house?”

  “Yes-yes we did. Vanoss had been looking for you for months. The moment she found you, she notified us. We came immediately to interview you to make sure you were the girl from the Ursuline convent.”

  Lauren studied Heloise’s face.

  “She--” Lauren struggled to understand. “She worked for the ‘Pride’ too?”

  “No,” said Heloise. “But she has known Captain St. Clare for years.”

  Lauren turned away, running her hands through her hair. Cornelius stepped up to steady her, easing her down onto a hall chair.

  “I hated knowing everything and not telling you, darling,” he said. You must believe me. Mother and I could say nothing. We did not like deceiving you.”