Regency Belles & Beaux

by Michele McGrath

  He crept across the deck, opened the hatch and climbed down the ladders into the bilges. The smell made him gag, but he quickly smeared some of the filth onto his face and clothing. Then he paddled into the mess up to his knees. When he scrambled up the ladder, his shoes squelched and slipped but it could not be helped. He left the hatch open and went to find the other sailors. The first person he saw was LeCoq, the bos’n.

  “Where’ve you been?” he growled. “Thought you’d jumped overboard with that damned whore you brought aboard.” O’Rourke moved forwards and LeCoq moved back, waving his hand in disgust. “Keep away from me. You reek!”

  “I’ve been down in the bilges searching for her and I slipped. It’s where I’d hide, but she isn’t there. Haven’t you found her yet?”

  “No, and the Patron is raving like an imbécile. He was roaring for you, so you’d better get below. He has a hole in his head where the catin hit him. She did a good job, so he’ll be worrying about his beauty.”

  “I’m too dirty to go like this.”

  “He won’t worry about that. The way he was swearing, you’d think she cut his balls off.”

  O’Rourke grinned as he hurried away. He found the captain lying back in an armchair, one bloody rag held to his head another to his streaming nose.

  “Enfin!” he spluttered as his eyes opened and he saw O’Rourke. “I almost died of old age before you came!”

  “They only told me you’d been hurt a few minutes ago. Why isn’t Girard tending to you?”

  “He’s ashore, damn him. Got drunk and broke his arm so I had to leave him behind. Rollin tells me you’re a good enough sawbones. Prove it.”

  “Let me look at you, Capitaine.” O’Rourke removed the bloody clouts and looked at the injuries. His fingers probed the head wound and touched the swollen nose which was still seeping blood. Then he drew back.

  “It’s as well you have a hard head. Your skin is badly cut at the back but the bone has not been broken. The wounds need stitching and you will have a headache for a few days but no more provided they heal cleanly. Your nose must be packed with cloth to keep it in its proper shape, so you will have to breathe through your mouth until I remove the packing. Do you want me to start?”

  “Yes, yes, get on with it! But wash yourself before you touch me, you stink.”

  “I was down in the bilges looking for the girl. I’ll go and fetch my satchel.”

  He ran down to the gun deck, found water and washed his face and hands. The rest would have to wait and the stink should prevent anyone coming too close to him. Several of the sailors had already returned and told him that the search had ended.

  “The bitch has gone overboard, good riddance to her.”

  O’Rourke nodded and recruited two of the largest men to return with him to the captain’s cabin and another to fetch him hot water and cloths.

  “His head needs stitching and that will hurt. I’ll get him drunk but that won’t be enough. I’ll need you to hold him still.”

  “Merde! He won’t like that.”

  “He’s agreed to let me do it. Come with me.”

  It took some time and several glasses of the fine old spirit to get the captain in a fit state for O’Rourke to begin the operation. By this time the wounded man was singing an obscene song punctuated by groans if he moved too wildly. O’Rourke stationed a sailor on either side and began to clip away the captain’s curly black hair. The two long head wounds were deep and it was lucky for the captain that Lucy was not stronger or he would have been dead. O’Rourke cleaned the gashes and warned the sailors before he poured brandy into them. The captain reared up as if he had been stabbed and his shriek brought LeCoq to the door to find out what was happening.

  “Brandy in his wounds, that’s all,” O’Rourke told him. While he was working, he had been thinking how to obtain a boat and suddenly he saw an opportunity. “He’s in a bad way. If this stitching doesn’t hold, we may have to take him ashore. Where are we now?”

  “Abreast of the Île-de-Bréhat. We’ll be passing the coast of Jersey by morning.”

  “Can we land on Bréhat?”

  “It’s not the best of anchorages in this wind. We’d have to lie off and it’s a long pull in. Jersey would be better if it wasn’t held by the accursed English.”

  O’Rourke glanced at him. “Don’t tell me French fishermen don’t go in and out whenever they wish.”

  The coxswain grinned. “Well, I won’t then. We’ve a man aboard who knows the way of it if you need him. Kerrien’s his name.”

  “Ask Mr. Madec to close the coast of Jersey as near as he can without being seen. Have Kerrien standing by to guide us and the skiff ready to be lowered. We should know by morning whether they’ll be needed or not. We’ll veer away if the captain holds his own.”

  O’Rourke did not expect his orders to go unquestioned since he was neither a sailor nor a member of the ship’s crew. Yet with the Matou’s own surgeon ashore no one would argue with him over the treatment of the captain’s wounds. He was packing the captain’s nose and bandaging the deep cut beneath it when Madec, the mate, appeared. O’Rourke explained what was happening.

  “What does the captain say?” Madec asked.

  “Look at him; he’s in no shape to say anything.” O’Rourke waved at Dupré’s slumped figure, swathed in dressings and with his mouth lolling open as he breathed. “Don’t wake him. Sleep is the best healer at the moment. It’s your decision, Madec, but if he goes into a fever, he’ll need better care than I can give him aboard this ship. Get us near to Jersey for now, and I’ll let you know if there’s any change. With luck he’ll recover enough that we won’t have to land.”

  Once Madec had left, O’Rourke sent his two helpers away with instructions to keep this part of the ship quiet so Dupré would be able to rest. As soon as they had gone, O’Rourke made certain preparations of his own. A quick search of the cabin and saloon gave him many things he needed. Pistols, a dagger, powder and ball all vanished into his knapsack. He knew where most masters hid their valuable possessions. Dupré was cunning but not cunning enough. O’Rourke pocketed all the gold and silver that he found. A further search produced a shirt, jacket and breeches. They would be too big for Lucy but she could not escape dressed as a woman. An elaborately curled wig completed his finds. He looked out of the door. Lucy’s cabin was nearby and he slipped inside unnoticed. He lifted the lid of her trunk and rummaged around making a bundle of a dress, shawl and shoes. He closed the trunk and left the captain’s clothes on top. Then he went back to the captain. In the corridor he called one of the sailors to sit with him while he got ready to leave the ship.

  On the gun deck, the off duty watch was mostly asleep but, as he was gathering his belongings, someone asked, “What are you doing?”

  “I may have to go ashore with the captain so I’m getting my things together.”

  He walked away towards the ladder, glanced behind him to be sure no one was watching and then ducked behind the bales where Lucy was hidden. Pulling out the bale silently was a difficult task and could not have been accomplished except for the creaking noises of a ship at sea which muffled the sound. Little by little he eased it out sufficiently for Lucy to squeeze through. She almost spoiled his caution by exclaiming when she saw him but he had been expecting something of the sort and clapped his hand over her mouth.

  “Hush, Alannah, it’s me,” he whispered.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Lucy had been aware of his movements as he pulled the bale out. Terrified, she remained as still as a mouse until O’Rourke reached for her. Thankfully she crawled towards him, trying to ignore the pain in her cramped limbs, but she could not suppress a moan.

  “Quiet, Alannah!”

  “It hurts!”

  O’Rourke took hold of her arms and then her legs and rubbed them hard. She had never felt such pins and needles before but she shut her teeth to stop herself making more noise. It was some minutes before she was able to rise to his feet with his h
elp. They climbed up the ladder and crept along the deck to the poop. O’Rourke pushed her into her own cabin.

  “What?”

  He breathed into her ear, “This is the last place they’ll look for you if they bother to do so at all. They think you’ve gone overboard, so the search has been called off. I’m going to leave you now but I need you to get out of that dress and put on the clothes that are on the bunk.”

  She groped behind her, touched them and said, “But these are men’s. I can’t wear them.”

  “You have to. They’re looking for a woman and you’re the only one on board. There’s a wig there, put it on as well. If you turn your head to one side, with luck, you’ll pass for the captain. Do as I say, I haven’t got time to explain it to you.”

  For a moment after he left her, Lucy stood still. She had often wondered what it would be like to run free, without being hampered by her petticoats. Now she had a chance to find out. She tore off her own clothes, leaving them in a heap on the floor and standing naked except for her chemise. Retrieving the pocket containing the pearls and the miniatures of her parents, she knotted its strings tightly to her bodice, tugging hard so it would not come undone. Then she struggled into the captain’s clothes. They were too big and she had problems tying the front lacing, never having done such a thing before. She pulled it tight and turned back the sleeves of his jacket. She used the belt that O’Rourke had given her to hold everything close to her body. A short cloak hid most of the deficiencies. In daylight she would have been immediately recognised as an imposter but in the darkness she might escape as he had said. She braided her hair and tucked it into the wig. The shoes were far too large. She would come out of them before she walked more than two steps. Her own would have to do. At least they would not trip her up. Once she had finished, she sat down to wait for O’Rourke.

  He was frantically busy. He relieved the sailor on watch and bid him bring the mate to the cabin. While he was gone, O’Rourke poured some more brandy down the captain’s throat. He unwrapped his bandages and frayed some of the stitches he had put into wound until they pulled apart. The flesh gaped open and the blood started to flow again.

  “Look at this,” O’Rourke said to Madec when he came into the cabin. “The wounds have opened up and he’s bleeding again. It’s the movement of the ship. I was afraid this would happen so he’ll have to be taken ashore after all.”

  “Wouldn’t it be better to take him back to Saint-Malo?” Madec asked.

  “I doubt he’d make it. If I can’t stop the bleeding soon, he’ll die. He’s lost a lot of blood already and he has a better chance on land. Did he tell you what he had planned for this voyage?”

  Madec nodded and O’Rourke continued, “I’ll see to him with Kerrien’s help, if we can land on Jersey. You take the ship and carry out his plans. He won’t thank you for waiting around if there are rich pickings to be had in the Channel. He’ll expect you to bring in a profit, even if he isn’t with you.”

  Madec’s eyes were big with alarm but he nodded. “I’ll do what I can. Tell me what you need.”

  “A stretcher, the skiff, Kerrien to guide us in, water and provisions. How soon before we close the shore?”

  “An hour, not more.”

  “Good. I’ll sew him up again and pack the wounds as well as I can. Bring the stretcher so I can ease him onto it and I’ll call you when I’m ready.”

  O’Rourke had replaced the stitches and wrapped up the captain’s head again before the stretcher was brought. He placed across two chairs and the captain was laid on it. When the sailors offered to carry it up onto the deck, he stopped them.

  “Leave him here for now. The less he’s out in the night air, the better. I need to truss him up so he won’t move until we’ve got him safely ashore. Go and get the skiff ready and rig the hoist.”

  As soon as the men departed, O’Rourke eased Dupré to the floor, pulled him behind the elegant press that stood in a corner of the room and tied him up loosely. He made sure that he was still alive, got to his feet and hurried to Lucy’s cabin. He eased open the door and hissed to her,

  “Quick. Follow me.”

  Lucy stepped out into the corridor and he led her to the saloon.

  “Sit there,” O’Rourke pointed to a seat at the table. As soon as she did so, he began winding bandages around her head, over the wig. When he was satisfied he seized the brandy bottle and poured it liberally over her clothes.

  “What?” she gasped, pushing his hands away.

  “You’re going to pretend to be the injured captain, so you have to smell as if you’ve been drinking. When the others come, you’re supposed to be unconscious so don’t make a sound or you’ll give us away.”

  He made her lie down on the stretcher, wrapped her in sailcloth and tied the whole bundle with ropes. He put a fine linen kerchief spread out over her face.

  “Can you breathe?”

  “It’s difficult.”

  He loosened the cloth and said, “It’s not for long. Once we’re off the ship, you can push it away. Quiet now. I’m going to call them.”

  He shouted and Lucy started trembling. She heard movement in the room and she was lifted up. The swaying motion as the sailors carried her made her giddy but she tried not to think about it. She counted the men’s steps to take her mind off her nausea and for a wonder it worked. A cold wind flapped the cloth over her face making her realise that they were out on the deck. Lucy heard sounds above her as the stretcher was set down.

  A voice gave sharp orders which she did not understand. A hand slid into her coverings and she froze in fright until she recognised O’Rourke’s voice speaking in French,

  “Il est vivant.”

  He disappeared and Lucy felt herself swayed up into the air and dropping again. Hands caught the stretcher and she was put down on a wildly shaking boat. More voices spoke, the boat steadied and the motion became more bearable. The kerchief was pulled from her face as a finger pressed her lips to keep her silent.

  Lucy looked up into a sky from which the stars were fading at the approach of dawn. The air smelt of salt with a tang of wood smoke. Above her head the sail flapped, driving the boat forward. A man shouted and suddenly she saw a white wave rolling past the stern. The boat changed course several times and then the kerchief was flung over her face again, blotting out the world.

  A rasping sound, voices calling, a sudden lurch to one side. What was happening? Another lurch and the skiff grated onto the shingle. Hands fumbled at the stretcher’s fastenings. She was swayed up and down. Spray sprinkled the cloth concealing her face. Shuffling steps sounded among the stones and then the stretcher was set down. It was uncomfortable, but she bit her lip so she made no noise. Voices spoke again and then she heard footsteps fading away. The cloth was whipped off and O’Rourke bent over her, a knife in his hand. He cut the ropes, peeled back the sailcloth and helped her up. She swayed, unable to balance, so he sat her on a rock.

  “I’m going to fetch a few things from the boat and then we must leave before Kerrien returns. He’s gone to bring a friend of his to help us.” He plunged down the shore and collected a couple of bundles which he dumped at her feet. Then he shouldered one and gave her the other. “Hurry, he won’t be away long.”

  He took her arm and supporting her, pulled her forward over the rocks. Her shoes were not meant for such work and soon enough the stitches burst and the leather split. She stopped with a cry but he forced her on.

  “He’ll find us if we stay here. We must keep going.”

  “I don’t think I can. My feet are bleeding.”

  “Only a little longer.”

  Afterwards, Lucy was not sure how she managed to continue but, as the sun rose over the horizon, they found a path leading up onto the cliffs. At the top, O’Rourke looked around and led her to a thicket of bushes where he allowed her to sit down. He dropped his bundles beside her and said,

  “Stay here. If anyone comes, crawl underneath those branches. No one will be able to
find you there.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “To see what Kerrien’s doing.”

  No one came, so Lucy had no need to hide. The time passed slowly and she found herself jumping at sounds, which turned out to be nothing more than the wind or the cry of a hungry bird. Shuffling feet on the path below her made her scramble towards the bushes until O’Rourke cried,

  “It’s me.”

  “What’s happened? You’ve been so long.”

  “Kerrien’s taken the skiff and sailed away.”

  “He didn’t search for us?”

  “He came back with his friend and they both did for a while. They found the stretcher and the sailcloth. I don’t know what they thought about that. I expected Kerrien to come this way but he only stood and talked to the other man. Then the two of them pushed the skiff into the water. Kerrien got in, raised the sail and left.”

  “What about the other man?”

  “He went back the way that he came. He climbed up the cliffs and headed west. I doubt he’ll raise an alarm. Kerrien’s a local so he wouldn’t want anyone to know he’s been here. A stray word in the wrong place could get him captured next time and he’ll have a price on his head just as we all do in this trade. He probably told his friend to watch out for us, but that he had to leave to catch up with the Matou. So we’re safe for a while.”