Regency Belles & Beaux

by Michele McGrath

  Neither Mrs. Hardie’s nor Mr. Anselm’s prayers were answered. A sudden shrieking crash made the whole ship shudder. There was a sound of creaking and things falling to the deck then a loud crack and a violent movement that knocked all of them down. Mrs. Hardie crawled up the stairs again and, this time, Lucy managed to follow her. So did a complaining Mr. Anselm. The sight that met their eyes was horrifying. A litter of wood and canvas lay spread across the deck. The brig had slewed around and was almost stopped in the water. A gun on the poop fired but then stopped.

  “The mainmast is hanging over the side,” Mrs. Hardie said. “The blighters! So that’s what the crash was. We can’t escape them now. The mast’s acting like a sea anchor, holding us here. Even if our men chop it away, they won’t be able to do it in time. The French’ll be up with us any minute.”

  Mrs. Hardie whirled and pushed her companions back down the stairs.

  “Where are we going?” Mr. Anselm asked.

  “There’s a hidey-hole where you can stay until they’ve boarded.”

  “What about you?”

  “Once you’re as safe as possible, my place is with the captain,” Mrs. Hardie said, sounding both grim and proud at the same time. Lucy admired her courage but she was frightened to death.

  Mrs. Hardie’s hidey-hole proved to be the chain locker, a dark space smelling of salt, damp and earth. The huge loops of the cable took most of the space but there was room enough for both Mr. Anselm and Lucy to squeeze inside.

  “Stay there until I send for you. One way or another it shouldn’t be too long.” She thrust the dark lantern into Lucy’s hands. “Pull the shutter across if you hear voices.”

  “What will happen to us?” Mr. Anselm asked in a quivering voice.

  “I don’t know. We’ve never been caught before,” Mrs. Hardie replied and left them to the darkness and their fears.

  It was as well that Lucy had taken firm hold of the slippery anchor chain because a huge bump on the side of the ship threw her to her knees. Mr. Anselm was not so lucky. He pitched forward into the hatchway and measured his full length on the floor. Shouting, a clash of metal, thumps and the sound of feet came from above and continued for some time. Then there was silence even though Lucy strained her ears to listen. It was singularly unfortunate that the moment when the sounds began again coincided with Mr. Anselm regaining consciousness and beginning to groan loudly. Lucy dropped down beside him and put her hands over his mouth to muffle the noise but she was too late. Footsteps approached and the hatch was pulled open. The lantern that was thrust into the chain locker was so bright she was not able to see who held it.

  “Qu'est-ce que c'est?” a rough voice asked.

  Lucy felt herself shrinking away from the outline of a big man who lunged at her and grasped her by the arm. She was hauled to her feet and out into the fo'c's'le. Other shadowy figures stood around but Lucy only had time for a glimpse because her captor thrust her up the companionway and into the dazzling light. She was dragged along the tilted deck and, when her eyes began to focus again, she realised how things had changed. Several men with axes chopped at the ropes holding the fallen mainmast. Even as she was halted for a brief moment the last strands parted and with a cheer, the mast and its rigging dropped into the sea. The ship lurched, becoming upright once more. She was forced forward again down the length of the deck and up the stairs onto the poop. No kindly Captain Hardie stood there, but a stranger wearing a blue coat with white lapels. He had a sword in his hand and he was bareheaded. He shouted some question at her captor but Lucy did not understand him. Although she was very frightened, she was unwilling to let her captors see her fright. My father was a hero, she thought, he would not want me to show fear. So she drew herself up and looked up at him. He returned her gaze and spoke to her but she shook her head at him. Then he said,

  “You… speak… French?” She only just realised what he had said for his accent was so thick it took her a second or two to recognise the English words.

  “No.”

  Then he shouted, “Patrice, à moi!” and waved his hand.

  She turned as a young man picked his way over the debris from the bows where a group of men were working. She was distracted by the arrival of a trembling Mr. Anselm. The man with the sword said something to him and Mr. Anselm replied.

  This must be French they are talking, Lucy decided. I wish I had learned that language instead of Italian. Then another thought crept into her mind. Not that I can remember a word of Italian either at this moment! She felt completely dizzy with shock and fright.

  As the young man climbed the stairs, Lucy stiffened. She recognised the blue eyes that looked up at her. Her own eyes dropped to the scar on his hand. This time there could be no mistake. What was her London acquaintance doing on board a French privateer that had just fought and captured an English ship?

  “Mr. O’Rourke,.” she said and this time it was not a question. “You stopped me from falling once in London,” she reminded him.

  “So I did. Lucy. Isn’t that your name?”

  She nodded “Do you have a double, Mr. O’Rourke? Or were you also in Portsmouth two days ago?

  He stared at her with a strange look on his face. Then the man with the sword murmured something to him.

  “My captain wants to know what you were doing in the chain locker,” O’Rourke asked.

  “Mrs. Hardie, the captain’s wife, hid us in there, me and Mr. Anselm,” she indicated the clergyman.

  “Why?”

  “She said it was to keep us safe. Your ship fired at the stern of ours so we would be better off in the bows.”

  There was a pause while O’Rourke translated. The captain asked something else.

  “What are you doing aboard this ship?”

  “We are passengers on our way to Ireland.”

  His brows rose. “Are you indeed? Why?”

  “Mr. Anselm was going to a new parish and I have been sent to live with my grandmother.”

  Another break for translation, followed by what sounded like rapid orders.

  “Oui, mon Capitaine,” O’Rourke replied. “I regret the necessity, but I am afraid I must search you both for weapons.” He smiled at Lucy. “I won’t hurt you, I promise. Hold your arms out and it will soon be over.”

  She gasped but obeyed. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Mr. Anselm struggling and heard his sharp grunt as one of the sailors punched him and he doubled up. She stood like a statue as O’Rourke ran his hand over her and down her skirts. He flipped up her hem so he could look at her ankles. Her poise broke then. She twitched the material out of his hand and swung a blow at him. It did not land for he ducked in time and caught her wrist in a hold she could not break. His laugh was the final straw.

  “How dare you!” she screamed.

  He shrugged. “Ladies have been known to attach knives or pistols to their legs. We always check these days. You’re lucky that you did not carry one.” He turned to the clergyman. “You are both to come with me.”

  “Where? Why?”

  “On board our ship the Constanze. This one will be taken in tow and it’s not safe for you to remain here in case the rope breaks. She has also taken some shots below the waterline and is leaking but we should be able to salvage her.”

  “I don’t want to go anywhere with you,” Mr. Anselm suddenly said. “Where are Captain Hardie and his wife?”

  “Already aboard our ship. They know the reality and have acted sensibly. If you won’t come willingly, then you will be brought whether you like it or not. Captain’s orders are to be obeyed.”

  O’Rourke waved to some of his men who closed in around the clergyman.

  “Come,” O’Rourke said to Lucy, holding out his hand. She hesitated for a second and then realised she had little choice. A protesting Mr. Anselm had been picked up and tossed over a sailor’s shoulder. She did not wish to be treated the same fashion so she gave him her hand. Again she experienced the strange tingle she first felt in London. O
’Rourke glanced at her sharply as if he also noticed something. Lucy did not have time to dwell any further on the sensation. O’Rourke led her down from the poop and over to the gunwales of the White Hart where a plank had been tied across the gap to the French ship. O’Rourke climbed onto the gunwale and stood there, steadying himself on the rigging. He held Lucy tightly and told her,

  “Hold onto me and walk forward. Don’t look down.”

  She shivered with fright but did as he said. A few steps later, O’Rourke jumped down and swung her to the deck of the Constanze. He took her hand again and led her below decks to a barred door. He stepped aside so one of the men following him could withdraw the bolts. Then drawing his pistol, he pointed it at the opening calling,

  “Stand away from the door or I’ll shoot!”

  As soon as there was sufficient space, O’Rourke put a hand on Lucy’s back and pushed her forward. Mr. Anselm was shoved in after her and the door was shut and bolted behind them. Suddenly arms went around Lucy and she found herself being hugged.

  Chapter Seven

  “Oh, my dear, are you all right?” asked Mrs. Hardie’s anxious voice. “Have those horrid men done anything to you?”

  “No, they only brought me here but where are we?”

  “This is part of the hold,” Captain Hardie said, “but they have strengthened the bulkheads to make the space secure, so we can’t get out. We’ve tried, even though there’s nowhere to go and there’s too many of them for us to fight.”

  “Was anyone hurt?” Lucy asked.

  “Mr. Barnes has a ball in his leg and there’s a couple of knife wounds. Lenny isn’t here and we don’t know what happened to him. He was still up on the mast when it was shot away, so we fear the worst.”

  “Oh, no! Poor man,” Lucy cried, horrified, remembering the kind sailor who escorted her in Portsmouth and told her all about his Bessie. She crossed her fingers tightly and hoped that he had survived.

  “What is to happen to us?” Mr. Anselm’s voice trembled.

  “People like you are usually held for ransom. The sailors will be conscripted into Boney’s navy or sent to a prison hulk. Wait and see. Be thankful that at least you’re still alive.”

  “Come with me, my dear.” Mrs. Hardie led Lucy further into the hold where there was a small space surrounded by bales of what seemed to be cloth. “Sit down. Be a while before we find out what’s happening, not that we can do anything about it in any case. Best to listen and say as little as possible. We can’t be a long way off shore and these privateers don’t hold their prisoners on board for long, or so I’ve been told. Too scared we’ll make the attempt to take over the ship.”

  “Will we?”

  “No, not unless they capture more people from another vessel and put them in here. We might try then. For now, there’s too many of them and not enough of us. No point in risking further injuries with such a small chance of success. We’ll have to hang on until the right opportunity arises.”

  Eventually they heard all sorts of strange noises, stamping, the capstan turning, the floor shaking and the sound of raised voices. Then the ship lurched and started to roll.

  “They’re towing the White Hart,” Captain Hardie said. “We must be nearer the coast than I realised for them to attempt that, with so many of our ships in the channel. Let’s hope the tow breaks and they have to run for it.”

  “Won’t help us, though, if that happens,” another voice objected, “we’re on the wrong ship.”

  “If a Britisher finds the White Hart with the rope dangling they’ll know what happened and where we’re likely to be. They’ll tell the owners and enquiries will be made.”

  “Much good that’ll do us,” someone muttered.

  At that moment they heard the bolts on the door being drawn again. Then O’Rourke’s voice called out,

  “Where are the injured sailors?”

  “What do you want them for?”

  “To tend to their wounds. Bring them out.”

  “No bloody Irish traitor’s going to touch me,” one man cried out. Even in the dimness Lucy could see a large dark patch across his shoulders. She suddenly realised that O’Rourke’s voice had changed back to the same accent he had used in London.

  “I’m a doctor,” O’Rourke said, “and I’ll help you if I can. It’s no use to either of us if you bleed to death, but choose for yourself. Stay there or come here, it’s all the same to me.”

  The man was pushed forward to the doorway and Captain Hardie said,

  “Do as he tells you, Harry. If this man is a doctor, you need him to fix you up. Bring Mr. Barnes and Tom forward as well,” he ordered.

  The other two men were half carried to several French sailors who took them away.

  “My captain also wants to see the ship’s master and the two women,” O’Rourke added. “The rest of you stand back.”

  “Dirty traitor!” The words rang in the sudden silence.

  “England’s not my country and Fat George’s no king of mine. Stand back, I say, and don’t give me a reason to shoot you. Captain, no harm will come to you and the women if you come with me, my word on it.”

  “And what’s a renegade’s word worth?” the same voice yelled.

  “Shut up!” Captain Hardie roared. “Have some sense, man. Now is not the time to insult a man with a pistol in his hand.”

  He pushed his way out of the door and turned, waiting until his wife and Lucy joined him. When the door was slammed and bolted again, O’Rourke said,

  “You and the ladies walk ahead and climb up to the next deck, Captain. Head aft to the saloon. These sailors will follow you so don’t try any tricks.”

  “Where are you going to?”

  “To look after the injured, as I said. Your three and a few of our own. I’ll join you when I’ve finished.”

  In the light of the lantern, Lucy could see the captain shrug.

  “No point in playing games if there’s nowhere to run.”

  He marched forward. Lucy followed after the captain’s wife, her thoughts in a whirl. What was going to happen next? Why did the strange captain send for them? What did O’Rourke mean when he said England wasn’t his country? Ireland was part of England, surely? She couldn’t decide whether she was still attracted to him of if during the upset of the day, she had learned to hate him.

  Obediently they climbed the stairs and marched aft. The light was better here, due to several hanging lanterns. Lucy could see that the passageway was both wider and smoother than the one on the White Hart. They came to a door at the end, with a knob of polished brass that gleamed in the lantern light. Captain Hardie wrapped at the panel.

  “Entrez!”

  The room that met Lucy’s eyes took her by surprise. Panelling and rich furniture, a carpet under foot and curtains hanging beside the huge stern window made up the furnishings. A man was sitting at the table, with a pile of papers under his hand. He was the same one Lucy had seen with a sword on the deck of the White Hart. He rose to his feet, gave a small bow and waved them to the seats facing him.

  “Sit… please.”

  The French captain sat back in his seat, reached down into one of the drawers of his desk and withdrew a bottle and three glasses. He looked at Mrs. Hardie.

  “Du vin, madame?” he asked, making as if to pour her a glass.

  For a moment, it seemed as if Mrs Hardie would refuse then she sighed and nodded.

  “Mademoiselle?”

  “What is it?”

  “Red wine,” Mrs. Hardie replied. “The French drink a lot of it.”

  “I’ve never tasted wine.”

  “A little won’t harm you. It’s warming.”

  Mrs. Hardie put her finger onto another glass, indicating a small amount. The captain poured up to the mark and handed it to Lucy. The glass was a fine one but the drink tasted harsh as she sipped. She gasped as the liquid carved a path of fire down inside her. When she looked up she realised that both Mrs. Hardie and the captain were observing her w
ith amusement. Neither of them apparently had any difficulty in swallowing this vile potion.

  Having no language in common, they all sat in an uneasy silence until O’Rourke returned. As soon as he came through the door Captain Hardie grunted, “What has happened to my men?”

  “How are they?” Mrs. Hardie asked before his question was even answered.

  “The man called Harry has a long gash across his back which I have stitched. He is comfortable enough for now. A bullet went through the fleshy part of Barnes’ leg and came out on the other side. I have cleaned it as best I can and applied a poultice to draw out the dirt. If the wound heals cleanly he should be able to use it again. If not, then it must be cut off.”

  “What about Tom?” Mrs. Hardie looked hard at him.

  “The third man? A chest wound and deep. I have done what I can but I am not sure he will survive. He has lost a lot of blood.”

  Mrs. Hardie swung around to face the French captain. “Murderer!” she cried and would have risen but her husband put his hand on her shoulder pressing her back down into her chair. The captain had obviously understood her words and hissed a reply. O’Rourke translated.

  “My captain says that our countries are enemies and this is the fortune of war. He regrets the plight of this man but we too have injuries. It’s not his intention to kill unnecessarily but in battle people are wounded and sometimes die. With luck, all your men will live. It is possible, certainly.”

  “Lenny, is there any word of Lenny?” Mrs. Hardie asked.

  “Who is Lenny?”

  Captain Hardie explained and O’Rourke shook his head.

  “No one has mentioned him to me. If he was not in the hold with you and his body wasn’t found on the deck, we must presume he fell into the sea. If he can swim, he may have survived. We were close to the land when your mast was hit. Let’s hope so. We’ll enquire when we get to Saint-Malo. Someone will have seen him if he reached the shore.”

  The French captain spoke again.