Regency Belles & Beaux

by Michele McGrath

“My captain wants you to know who we are. This is Capitaine Auguste Rollin of his Imperial Majesty’s privateer Constanze. I am Patrick O’Rourke his ship’s surgeon and the only man aboard who speaks English. Capitaine Rollin speaks only French and a little German. He has several questions to ask you so he wants me to translate for him.”

  “We are not obliged to tell him anything that might harm our country.” Captain Hardie stared defiantly at him.

  “He understands but we are only interested in information which can be used to set you at liberty once again.” O’Rourke smiled. “First of all tell us your names.”

  Captain Hardie said, “Captain James Hardie of the brig White Hart. My wife, Annie, and my passenger Miss Ridgeway.”

  Another murmur.

  “Captaine Rollin regrets the necessity of keeping your men confined until we reach port but I am sure you will understand the necessity. There has been enough fighting for one day.”

  Captain Rollin held up a couple of papers on the desk.

  “He wishes to ask you about the manifest of the White Hart which he has just been reading. There are several items listed as being aboard in London but which are not on the ship now. Where are they?”

  “If you look at the papers you will find we loaded and unloaded twice since London, once at Portsmouth and later in Plymouth.”

  “So the rest of the cargo was intended for Cove?”

  “Part to Cove, some for Dublin.”

  “No doubt your owners are insured against loss?”

  “Loss at sea, yes, piracy no. We have always been able to outrun our enemies until now.”

  “Understandable if somewhat imprudent. Your vessel is fast but we are faster. We would have overtaken you even without hitting the mast. Fortune was with us earlier and has saved us some time and you more injuries.”

  “You have captured my ship and cargo,” Captain Hardie said, “No doubt you have ways of disposing of both of them. We’re your prisoners and I would like to know what your intentions are towards all of us.”

  O’Rourke conferred with the French captain and then he answered,

  “We usually transfer all the wounded to the local convent where the nuns devote themselves to the care of the sick. You, Captain, and the ladies will be quartered ashore until you can be ransomed. We will give you the necessary facilities to communicate with your employers or your families and hope for your speedy return to your own country. Your men will be offered the chance to serve the Emperor. If they decide to do so, they will be well paid.”

  “And if they refuse?”

  “Prison until such time as an exchange of prisoners has been arranged.”

  “Why were we sent for?” Mrs. Hardie said, asking the question that had been puzzling Lucy.

  “Captain Rollin wishes to put a cabin at your disposal, you and the young lady. He does not think it is fitting that you should be kept in the hold with the other prisoners.”

  “Thank you, for myself I prefer to remain with my husband and my friends,” Mrs. Hardie said defiantly, staring at the French captain.

  O’Rourke raised his eyebrows and translated both her statement and the reply.

  “Your husband can stay with you if he gives his parole not to escape or to assist his men to run away. We will find separate accommodation for Miss Ridgeway. Captain, do you agree to give us your word?”

  Captain Hardie was frowning, but his wife pulled at his arm and he looked into her pleading eyes. He turned to the French captain and muttered, “Yes.”

  “Miss Ridgeway, you were travelling to Cove not to Dublin. Does your grandmother live in County Cork?” O’Rourke asked Lucy

  Lucy could feel herself colouring and stared defiantly at him. “Why should I tell you any more, Mr. O’Rourke? My family history can be of no possible interest to you.”

  “On the contrary, it may lead to your early release,” he replied, to her surprise.

  “Tell him, Lucy. What good does it do to keep silent? Your family will have to find out what has happened to you as soon as possible.” Mrs. Hardie said. “You can’t stay in France forever.”

  I wonder if they would care. They don’t know me so they can’t have any feelings for me. I have left one trouble behind and fallen into another, Lucy thought but she replied. “My family live near Kinsale. My grandfather was General Sir Walter Ridgeway and my grandmother is Lady Mary Ridgeway. I’m going to live with her and my uncle.” There was a certain arrested look on O’Rourke’s face when she had finished but he only said,

  “I’ll arrange for you to be given facilities to contact your relatives.”

  Captain Hardie asked, “There was another passenger aboard our ship, a Mr. Anselm. What of him?”

  “The clergyman?”

  Captain Hardie nodded.

  “Church of England?”

  “I believe so.”

  “His church can ransom him if they choose.” O’Rourke grinned. “They rarely do, pleading poverty and asking for a dispensation on the grounds of serving God, despite the fact they’re rich enough. Occasionally we respond to their plea and arrange to exchange such a clergyman for one of our own people. Let’s hope that Mr. Anselm will be able to resume his journey soon.”

  Though she was loath to admit it, Lucy was pleased to swap the hold of the Constanze for a cabin when their interview had ended. The only real difference was that she was locked in and denied the chance to come up on deck if the motion of the ship made this desirable. Determined not to think about that possibility, she stretched out on the bunk, shut her eyes and allowed herself to sway with the waves rather than fight against the sensation. Later on she could not believe that she had slept. Once she had awoken, time dragged and it seemed interminable until she was let out for supper. She had no light or facilities for tidying her appearance, so she felt unkempt as she walked through the door of the saloon. The Hardies, Captain Rollin and O’Rourke were already there. All the men stood up when she entered and the French captain said something to her.

  “My captain apologises for the necessity of locking you in your cabin earlier. If you would like to come with me now, I will show you where you can wash your hands.”

  He did not wait for her answer, but turned and walked towards another door, which had been concealed in the panelling. It led into a cubicle much larger than her own space but with the same narrow bunk. A looking glass hung on one wall, an ivory backed hairbrush and comb were held in a rack and there was a pan of water in a holder. A towel lay on the bunk.

  “Please use anything you need,” O’Rourke said and left her alone.

  Glad of the opportunity to make herself cleaner, Lucy set to work. When she came out, she looked considerably better. She could not help noticing that the French captain’s eyes followed her all the way from the door until she took her seat at the table. He continued to look at her throughout the uncomfortable meal. The food was better than that she had eaten on the White Hart although some of the flavours were strange to her. The conversation proved difficult for several reasons. A member of the company could not speak English and both Captain and Mrs. Hardie did not want to talk to O’Rourke. There were long uneasy silences. Whenever Lucy looked in his direction, she found Captain Rollin watching her, an odd expression on his face. Once he addressed her through O’Rourke, asking her about the things she liked to do. Rather surprised, she told him that she enjoyed dancing and talking with her friends. As she said it, she realised how childish it sounded but the captain seemed satisfied and did not address her again. O’Rourke tried to maintain a discussion about ships and the sea, but, faced with the stolid indifference of the Hardies, his efforts did not meet with success. Lucy was glad when the awkward supper ended.

  O’Rourke escorted her to her cabin and told her that, this time, she would not be locked in. They were now in French waters and it would not be too long before they reached Saint-Malo. She might come up on deck if she wished, but he warned her to keep away from the working of the ship in case she got hurt. As
soon as he left her she took him at his word, found her boat cloak and climbed up the companionway.

  Chapter Eight

  An eerie sight met her eyes. Stars twinkled in a moonless sky. The masts and sails were a deeper black against the dimness. Men moved around, half seen. Timbers creaked and she could detect a faint trace of waves. The boat seemed, in many ways to be similar to the White Hart, so she groped her way aft and climbed up onto the poop. A shielded lantern showed her where the helmsman stood, with O’Rourke beside him. She could hear the murmur of their voices. She walked towards them and the rustle of her skirts must have alerted them to her presence. They stopped speaking and the helmsman laughed. O’Rourke came forward and gave her his arm to steady her.

  “A fine night,” he said. “I’ve always loved evenings like this. My father used to call it a ‘velvet night’ because of the colour of the sky.”

  “Was he a sailor?”

  “No, a surgeon, like me, but we used to go fishing together. We lived in Kinsale then before we moved to Wexford.”

  “Kinsale? Where my grandmother lives?”

  “The very same. I don’t think your family lived there when I was a boy, I can’t remember them. I heard about your grandfather when I went back to Kinsale for my aunt’s funeral some years later.”

  “What did people say?”

  “A stern man but fair. My uncle worked for him for a while and he agreed.”

  “What made you become a privateer?”

  “I needed work after I left Ireland. I got arrested in Dublin. My uncle bribed the warder and smuggled me aboard a ship to France. I did several jobs while I drifted down the French coast until I came to Saint-Malo. By then I’d run out of money but since I’d finished my medical course and I knew something about ships, I signed on with privateer. They’re always short of doctors to tend the wounded.”

  “Doesn’t it bother you to fight against your own country?”

  “England’s no country of mine.”

  “But Ireland’s part of England.”

  “There’s six hundred years of uprisings and rebellions to say you’re wrong. It would take all night to tell you the whole history but I have a personal reason for my opinion. My father was caught tending the wounds of so-called rebels in Wexford and British soldiers shot him out of hand. My mother became ill after that, so she sent me and my sisters to her brother in Dublin, to keep us away from any reprisals. A few years later I went to a meeting with a friend from medical school. The army broke it up and neither of us ran fast enough to escape. My friend didn’t have a rich uncle like me and they hanged him, God damn them to hell.”

  “Is that why you said King George is no king of yours?”

  “His soldiers killed my father and my friend. They would have killed me. Aren’t those sufficient reasons?”

  “Perhaps…” Lucy hesitated. “Why does there have to be so much war and killing? Why can’t everyone just live in peace?”

  “There has never been true peace ever since the world began and I doubt there ever will be. Certainly Ireland won’t be at peace until we are free of the English.”

  “It was you in Portsmouth, wasn’t it?” she asked, finding herself out of her depth and changing the subject to one which really mattered. “Why did you say we’d never met?”

  “In Portsmouth you might have got me arrested. I shouldn’t have been there and I called myself another name, pretending to be an Englishman. The man with me had to be convinced that you were mistaken. Fortunately he accepted my word although I know you weren’t sure. I’m sorry I lied to you.”

  “But why did you go there at all?”

  “Now that I can’t tell you. When you’re ransomed, you might easily pass the information on to the authorities.”

  “That you were in Portsmouth? So?”

  “If you told the right people it could lead to my arrest in either England or Ireland if I ever had to go there again. Then I wouldn’t live long. An Irishman who is also a French privateer, would be quickly condemned.”

  A shout from the steersman made him turn and leave her standing by the rail. Lucy stayed for a little while, looking out at the stars and thinking about what he had told her. It was so different from the life she led in London. That held few surprises and sometimes it became a bit boring. The only young men of her acquaintance had been the relations of her school friends. She tried to imagine any of them walking the deck of a warship with a sword in their hand and found she could not. O’Rourke was a strange man, she decided but the spark between them had been real. How could she like a traitor to her country, even though he had good reasons? She was attracted to him even more strongly because he was the only one aboard this ship who spoke kindly to her in her own language. At this moment she decided she would welcome a little kindness no matter what the consequences.

  Next morning, a change in the motion of the Constanze awoke her. The ship seemed to have lost speed and be gliding through calmer water. The noises over her head made her curious. She sat upright in the darkness, listening hard. Then she got up, tidied her clothes and hair and picked up her boat cloak. She hurried up the stairs and out onto the deck. They had come to a halt and anchored opposite the walls of what Lucy thought at first was a huge medieval castle. It looked far bigger than the Tower of London until she realised it was in fact a large town with walls surrounding it.

  “Welcome to Saint-Malo,” O’Rourke said in her ear and she wheeled around. “I’m to accompany you and your companions ashore to find you accommodation. It won’t be very grand I’m afraid, but better than being kept aboard ship.”

  “Anywhere would be preferable to that,” she agreed, “especially if my cabin door is locked.”

  “Despite my excellent company?”

  Lucy decided to give him a set down, so she answered, “Especially.”

  O’Rourke grinned and did not seem to be disturbed by her reply. “You don’t speak French and even I have trouble with the local accent. Most of the people use a barbarous language called Breton. You have to be born here to understand them properly. The only English speakers you’ll find are prisoners like yourself plus a few Irish like me. I guarantee you’ll be longing for my company before the day is out.”

  Someone hailed them from a boat on a heading towards the privateer. The captain shouted his orders. Sailors draped rope ladders over the side as the shallow vessel came alongside the ship. Ropes were thrown aboard and made fast. Mr. Anselm, Captain and Mrs. Hardie appeared on deck, accompanied by Captain Rollin.

  “This boat has come to take you ashore,” O’Rourke said.

  Two men climbed over the rail and steadied Lucy and the others as they clambered down into it. Later, Lucy admitted to herself that she had been terrified that her feet would slip or she would let go of the sailor’s hand and tumble into the water. O’Rourke came with them. Once they landed on the quay, he led them through a massive gate and into the narrow streets of the city. Grey stone walls towered on every side, making the pathways gloomy even though the sun shone. The buildings looked as if they were leaning towards each other, trying to trap people between them. Lucy shivered and resolutely tried to put the thought out of her mind. Now was not the time to imagine horrors.

  They met few people until they moved further into the town and then they came into an open square where people were selling food and other goods. The place was busy. Men and women were walking about carrying baskets and parcels. Everyone seemed to be talking to each other loudly. Never having been anywhere but London before, Lucy found the sights and odours strange. The street cries held no meaning for her and she wondered what they meant. She kept turning to look this way and that, trying to watch everything that was happening and she lagged behind her companions. When she looked for them again, she found that they had vanished. She stood still for a moment, horrified, unable to move. They couldn’t be far, surely? Her frightened eyes searched the faces of the people passing by. Most of them ignored her but some of the men made eye contact
and she shrank back against the wall. A woman passed, stopped and turned back, planting herself directly in front of Lucy. She had a pale face, with unnatural pink spots on her cheeks. She would have been marvellously dressed if her clothes had been new and clean. Her pelisse was made of a deep red velvet edged with lace, but it was stained and the hem was torn. Her bonnet boasted several tattered feathers and was trimmed with bedraggled flowers. She gave off a powerful smell, perfume of roses over another sharper odour, which Lucy did not recognise. The woman smiled at her and said something. Lucy shook her head to show she did not understand.

  “Do you speak English?” she asked.

  The woman laid a gloved hand on her wrist and her fingers tightened. Then a voice spoke beside her. She turned to see O’Rourke. He dropped his hand onto the woman’s. She clutched Lucy’s but then her grip opened as he pushed her aside. She stepped backwards and began to shout at him in a thin cutting voice that made heads turn towards them. O’Rourke took Lucy’s hand and pulled her away.

  “Where were you? Who was that awful woman?” Lucy gasped.

  “Someone you don’t want to know. If she approaches you again, don’t stop, walk to where there are other people about. Saint- Malo can be a dangerous place. Don’t go out alone.”

  “I won’t.” Lucy shivered. “But where were you?”

  “In here.” O’Rourke turned into another street. Captain and Mrs. Hardie were standing in a doorway with a woman who was quite different from the one in the street. This woman wore a homespun dress and a large white apron. She had a cap on her head with little wings that stood out above her ears. Her smile was warm and her voice was soft but equally incomprehensible.

  “This is Madame Arbez. You will be staying with her while you are in Saint-Malo.”

  Lucy smiled at the woman and received a beaming grin in return.

  “Madame Arbez is used to English visitors although she has only a few words of the language. She will make you comfortable and feed you. I’ll come back this evening and bring you paper to write to your family.”