The Pride of the King dissolved after James St. Clare’s death. Henry Bologne and Samuel Claypool came to visit Lauren on one occasion, but after that she never heard from them again. She suspected that life had become difficult for them after The Pride of the King disbanded. She understood entirely. It had become difficult for her too. Isi visited as well, but eventually she was called back to her people on the Mississippi.
Lauren frequently thought of Heloise and Cornelius, Rene and his mother Anne, and those who had given their lives for The Pride. They were all lost to her now, but in their place she had James’ child. As the years passed so did her grief. She devoted her life entirely to Janie and her home on the Hudson where she had found happiness.
One spring afternoon when the river had been open for several weeks, and the trees had sprouted their pale green leaves, Lauren stood on a ladder trying to hook a newly painted sign to the bracket outside of the tavern. Her copper-colored tresses had returned, tumbling down her back, as always an unruly mess. Janie sat under a tree, now three years of age, playing with a corn husk doll Gunnar had fashioned for her.
A donkey cart bumped down the road and Lauren looked up. It was driven by one of the boys from town, and someone shouted from the back seat, “Haven’t you put that sign up yet!”
Lauren climbed down and waved to Mrs. Quill, who was sitting in the back of the wagon her legs dangling. The boy stopped the cart at the steps of the inn and helped Mrs. Quill down, removing her trunk and thumping it up the steps. Stiff and sore from the ride, the matron complained excessively to the young man but pressed a generous tip into his hand.
“How was Albany?” Lauren asked helping the woman to a bench under a maple tree. Mrs. Quill could see the Hudson glisten in the distance, the water open at last, fresh and cold from recently melted ice.
“It was tolerable,” she replied removing her hat. Mrs. Quill ran her eyes over Lauren then the child. “You two look well.”
“So do you,” agreed Lauren.
“It was good to be gone from this brutal place during the winter,” Mrs. Quill commented with a shiver.
“Gunnar looked after us and Polly too.”
“I see you are putting up the new sign,” the woman said nodding.
Lauren held it on her hip and scrutinized it. “Polly is talented at painting. The fluyt is perfect.”
“The Pride of the King,” read Mrs. Quill. “It’s a good solid name for an inn.”
“I am glad it lives on,” said Lauren wistfully. She reached over and tousled Janie’s curly auburn hair, set the sign down, then picked up a broom and started to sweep the steps. “Tell me about your stay. Does your cousin enjoy her new home in Albany?”
“She does,” said Mrs. Quill, brushing some dust off her sleeve. “She had other guests who arrived the day before I left. They were tiresome flibbertigibbets, but my cousin was impressed with them. They once owned property up here on the Hudson. The mother and son that is--”
Lauren stopped sweeping and looked up. “Mother and son, do you remember their names?”
Mrs. Quill sighed, “Oh, I don‘t know.”
“Bench? Was it Bench?”
“Why yes, that's it," Mrs. Quill said, frowning. "My Heaven’s do you know those pretentious snobs?”
Lauren dropped her broom and began to laugh. “Why yes I know them, Heloise and Cornelius Bench! Tell me everything,” demanded Lauren, sitting down and grabbing Mrs. Quill's wrinkled hands. “Tell me where they have been, what they have been doing.”
Mrs. Quill blinked several times looking at Lauren, surprised at her enthusiasm. “Well, my, my,” the matron said leaning back. “They said they were in London for several years, then for a short time in the West Indies.”
“The West Indies!” gasped Lauren, shaking her head and smiling.
“They had an enjoyable time there, living with some well-to-do family. My cousin told me in confidence, that the old gentlemen that was with them had been convicted of some crimes here in New York and imprisoned down there in the Indies for several years. He was quite ill. The Benchs brought him back.”
The smile dropped from Lauren’s face.
Mrs. Quill continued, “The man’s health had been bad--”
“Old gentleman,” Lauren interrupted. “There was an old man with them?”
“Yes, a most disagreeable sort, such a gravelly voice. I do believe he was enamored with me,” she said grimacing. "He was constantly asking me questions."
Lauren jumped up, her heart pounding and grabbed Mrs. Quill by the arms. “What was his name?” she demanded.
“What? Well, I don’t remember. Honestly! What is wrong with you?”
“Was it Fitch? Leopold Fitch?”
The matron blinked and replied, “Why, yes. It was.”
Lauren threw her head back and laughed. “Ha! He survived. Somehow that man always survives!” She began to pace back and forth, shaking her head and laughing.
“Have you lost your mind?” Mrs. Quill barked, but Lauren didn’t hear her.
She dashed up the stairs into the tavern, returning a moment later with a bag stuffed full of clothes. She threw a cloak over her arm and said breathlessly, “What time does the packet return to Albany?”
“At--ah--at half past four,” she said looking at Lauren as if she was daft.
Lauren scooped Janie under her arm and ran down the road, her hair flying in the wind. Over her shoulder she cried, “Tell Polly to take care of the tavern. It may be a while, but when I return, it will be on The Pride of the King!”
About the Author
All her life Amanda Hughes has been a Walter Mitty, spending more time in heroic daydreams than the real world. At last she found an outlet writing adventures about audacious women in the 18th Century.
Her debut novel, Beyond the Cliffs of Kerry http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004V12JIK was published in 2002, followed by The Pride of the King http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0056QJOVE in 2011 and The Sword of the Banshee http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00BB0NR9E in 2013. Amanda is a graduate of the University of Minnesota, and when she isn’t off tilting windmills, she lives and writes in Minnesota. Please visit her at http://www.amandahughesauthor.com
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