by Merry Farmer
Perhaps recognizing she was all at sea and clearly out of her depth, Captain Townsend took pity on her. “Come,” he said, squeezing her hand and breaking the strange spell he’d effortlessly cast over her. “I’m sure there’s an excellent afternoon tea waiting for us back at the house.”
“Yes…” she agreed and busied herself with putting up her parasol again. “Yes, I’m sure there is too. And we wouldn’t want the tea to get cold.”
“Just so.”
They moved on, heading toward a grove of exotic looking fruit trees. Golden, teardrop-shaped globes peeked out from beneath dark glossy leaves. “Actually, my lady, I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”
“Yes?”
“It’s a little personal though, so do feel free to tell me it’s none of my business.”
Calliope frowned. “Goodness. It sounds like a rather serious question.”
“I suppose it is in a way. It’s just that I’m curious. Someone like you—the daughter of an earl no less—why did you decide to accompany your uncle on such an arduous journey? I’ll grant you, Dr. Bell’s quest is interesting enough, but for the life of me, I’m baffled as to why you would want to join him in a search for the bones of a long dead, perhaps even non-existent bird.”
Calliope turned her head, thankful that the brim of her bonnet would shield her hurt expression. “You think that I’m odd.” She hoped that she sounded matter-of-fact rather than put out. “Not that I blame you. Most people do.”
“No.” Captain Townsend stopped in the middle of the lawn. “As I said once before, I think you’re intriguing.”
If only that were true. Calliope didn’t trust his silver tongue. Such pronouncements felt too glib. With a sigh, she looked back at him. “Have you heard of the Winthrop family curse, Captain? It’s well-known throughout the ranks of the ton.”
Beneath his beaver hat, Captain Townsend’s dark brows lowered into a frown. “I’m afraid I haven’t. But then I’m not often in England. And when I am, I don’t have time or the inclination to pay attention to scurrilous talk.”
“Well, I happen to be the current bearer of it,” she said and they resumed their walk. “At least according to my family and a good portion of polite society. And because that is the case, it seems that my uncle is the only one who is willing to take on the risk of having the accursed Lady Calamity Banks live within his household. Until we embarked on this expedition three months ago, I resided with him and my elderly maiden aunt, Hestia Bell, at his house in Oxford, right near the university.”
“You didn’t wish to stay in Oxford with your aunt?”
Calliope couldn’t suppress a huff. “I’m afraid the answer to that is no. Aunt Hestia was more than happy to see the back of me after her canary passed away. Apparently, it was my fault it somehow escaped from its cage and became her cat’s supper.”
“Why that’s utterly ridiculous.”
Calliope shrugged. “Perhaps. But it doesn’t matter whether the curse is real or not. It’s what others believe to be true that does. I don’t know if you came across the news nine years ago, but my dear father, the former bearer of the curse, died in a dreadful accident when I was eighteen. By all accounts, he was knocked down by a carriage in London one night. And then following my one and only ill-fated Season when I was twenty, my poor mama passed away from a terrible ague. From that time on, the Banks family shunted me from pillar to post because whenever anything unfortunate happened—if there was another death in the family or a financial loss of some kind, or if someone developed something as mundane as a simple toothache—it was attributed to me and the curse. I’ve had five homes within six years. Indeed, some even blamed me for my own mother’s death. The family physician maintained she died of pleurisy, a complication of the ague she’d contracted. But because I had been the one who’d suffered from a head cold to begin with, I must have made her sick. Ergo, it was my fault. And perhaps it was—” her voice faltered “—at least in this particular instance.” She bent her head and dashed away a tear as a wave of old guilt and doubt resurfaced.
“I’m so sorry to hear that, my lady.” Captain Townsend’s tone was grave, the light in his eyes sincere. “And of course it wasn’t your fault. But I feel compelled to ask… Didn’t you have a guardian? Someone who had your best interests at heart and could have intervened to put an end to this silly superstition?”
“That would be my cousin, Eustace, the new Lord Winthrop.” She attempted a smile. She appreciated that all of the captain’s usually flippancy had disappeared and he seemed genuinely concerned for her. “Unfortunately, he’s easily swayed and whenever anyone complained about my noxious presence, he simply capitulated and endeavored to find another situation for me. His wife couldn’t stand me. She thought I was responsible for the twenty pounds she gained in the first year I stayed with them following my mama’s passing. Though I rather suspect it was all the cakes and sweets she ate that did it. I expect the bills from Fortnum and Mason, and Gunter’s were enormous.”
They’d arrived back at the house. Beneath the covered veranda which rather resembled a greenhouse considering the number of lush potted plants filling the space, Calliope could see a lovely silver tea service and an array of delicate petit fours and sandwiches had been laid out upon a wrought-iron table. Two more liveried footmen and a maid stood in the cool shadows, waiting to attend them.
“So there you have it, Captain Townsend,” Calliope concluded as she handed her parasol, bonnet, and gloves to one of the footmen. “I am the family scapegoat. At least Uncle Theo is happy to have me in his life. And I am more than happy to be his personal secretary and support his academic endeavors, wherever they may take him.”
“And is that enough for you?” Keen interest glimmered in Captain Townsend’s dark blue gaze. “Are you fulfilled, Lady Calliope?”
“I—” Before Calliope could respond, her uncle and Mr. Lucas emerged from a nearby set of French doors.
“Calliope,” Uncle Theo exclaimed as he approached the afternoon tea table. “Such wonderful news. In a week’s time, Governor Farquhar has offered to host a banquet dinner here at Le Réduit. It will afford us the opportunity to meet with members of the Mauritian Scientific Society as well as some of the island’s oldest residents who may recall tales about the dodo. With any luck, we’ll discover some new intelligence that will aid us in our search.” He rubbed his hands together and grinned. “I cannot wait.”
“That is indeed wonderful.” Calliope returned her uncle’s smile.
“It certainly is,” agreed Captain Townsend. “I’m very happy for you all.”
When Le Réduit’s butler appeared and announced the governor was ready to receive Captain Townsend in his study, the privateer bowed politely. “If you’ll excuse me, Lady Calliope, Dr. Bell, and Mr. Lucas.”
“Of course,” said Uncle Theo. “Don’t let us keep you.”
As Calliope watched the captain go, and then all through afternoon tea, she couldn’t help but dwell on his question, rubbing at it like a bruise that had never quite healed.
Am I fulfilled?
Since she’d begun living with Uncle Theo and had voluntarily taken on the role of his personal secretary, she’d always thought so. But science was his passion, not hers, and in a secret place in her heart, she knew that she still yearned for everything she’d dreamed about all those years ago when she was a young, starry-eyed debutante about to be introduced to Society. She wanted a husband who loved her just as much as she loved him. She wanted children. Lots of them.
She wanted a place that was truly home.
A place where she belonged.
She didn’t want to be viewed as an object of pity, or derision, a nuisance, or even worse, a burden.
Not that her uncle ever made her feel that way. But no, if Calliope were truly honest with herself, she knew the life she lived wasn’t enough and perhaps never would be. And in some ways, that was even more lowering than the idea that she was cursed.
“So, how goes the hunt for Flint?” asked Robert Farquhar as he settled into the leather chair behind his ornately carved teak desk, a steaming cup of coffee in hand.
Jonathon grimaced. “Not well. Although I did manage to prevent him from plundering a merchant vessel in distress. The Vestal. It was thrown off course and ran aground on a reef south of Pointe D’Esny. Lady Calliope, Dr. Bell, and his academic colleague, Mr. Lucas, were on board.”
“Yes, Captain Pickering visited yesterday and informed me of your role in the rescue.” Farquhar smiled. “And thanks to you, the crew, passengers and much of the cargo were saved. You have my congratulations on a job well done.”
Jonathon inclined his head. “Thank you. Although I would have been happier if I’d managed to capture the Orpheus as well.”
“I have no doubt that you will.”
“Hmph. I wish I had your confidence.” Jonathon took a sip of his own coffee. “The annoying thing is, I suspect Flint has a lair close by that he scarpers off to. Perhaps on the Isle of Bourbon, or even Madagascar. But for the life of me, I can’t flush him out.”
“And the navy hasn’t been able to track him either.” Farquhar’s tone was as grim as Jonathon’s mood.
“No…” Jonathon sighed heavily. “It’s beyond frustrating. It also makes me wonder if there’s someone here on Mauritius that Flint is paying to turn a blind eye to his illicit activities. An accomplice. Because he must have a base somewhere along the Mauritian coastline so that slaves can be smuggled onto the island to sell to the French plantation owners. Or perhaps he has a base on Île de Bourbon.”
“Yes. I suspect you’re right,” agreed the governor gravely. “I’ll keep an ear to the ground and make sure the naval vessels stationed here continue their regular patrols. Flint has to run out of luck one day. Now, on another subject entirely,” Farquhar leaned forward, his elbows on the leather blotter, “would you care to attend the dinner banquet I’m holding here next week? If you’re available of course. It might be a rather dry affair considering it will essentially be a meeting of the scientific society, but I’m sure you’ll liven up proceedings. And Maria would love to see you as always.”
“Of course,” said Jonathon. “I should be able to manage it. Tomorrow, I intend to sail south again and scout along the coast for any suspicious activity before I spend a few days at Belle Mer. While my plantation manager is competent, it’s been some months since my last visit and I do like to keep an eye on things myself. So, all going well, I will be back in time.”
“Excellent.” Farquhar rose to his feet indicating their meeting was at an end. “Maria and I will look forward to seeing you then. I’m sure Dr. Bell and his niece will too.” The governor grinned. “Lady Calliope seems like a delightful young woman, doesn’t she? I’m certain she’ll have more than a few admirers at the banquet next week. The bucks of Port Louis, are always keen to make the acquaintance of any new, eligible females who’ve arrived on the island. Especially young women with a title.”
“Yes. No doubt.” Even as Jonathon said the words, an unfamiliar feeling began to niggle at him. He was loath to call it jealousy.
Although deep down, he feared it might be exactly that.
Chapter 7
Le Réduit, Mauritius
A week later…
“Ouch!” Calliope crashed into Mr. Lucas and they both came to a grinding halt in the middle of Le Réduit’s dance floor. After the first blast of white-hot pain had passed, Calliope’s abused appendage began to throb ominously inside her thin satin slipper. “I think you’ve broken my little toe.”
Mr. Lucas didn’t look the least bit mollified though. “My apologies, my lady,” he said without meeting her gaze. Around them, the waltz continued, couples swirling by. The string quartet didn’t falter. “But you did stumble.”
Calliope’s mouth flattened. What rot. If there weren’t other people in close proximity, she’d be tempted to employ one of Nelson’s favorite phrases and tell the lying sod to blow it out his bunghole. The man was a terrible dancer and he was the one who’d tripped and planted his over-sized hoof on top of hers. But there was no point in arguing so she said, “I think I should like to sit down, Mr. Lucas.”
“Yes, my lady.”
Calliope reluctantly took his proffered arm and she hobbled over to a vacant damask upholstered sofa located at the edge of the crowded room. Mr. Lucas offered to fetch her a glass of punch but she declined. She could tell by his expression that he didn’t really want to and she’d had enough of his company for the moment. Why he’d asked her to waltz to begin with, she had no idea considering he’d spent most of the dance staring at her décolletage—which was decidedly odd as she was certain the man did not fancy her in the slightest.
After Mr. Lucas mumbled something about seeking out her uncle and took his leave, Calliope subsided with a weary huff into the chair’s plush cushions; she rather suspected she looked a lot like the wilting gardenias, roses, and daylilies in the floral arrangements decorating Le Réduit’s ballroom.
It had been a long evening.
When she’d arrived at Le Réduit tonight in the company of Uncle Theo and Mr. Lucas, there was both eagerness and anticipation in Calliope’s heart. Not only was there the possibility that her uncle and Mr. Lucas would make some headway with their investigation at long last, but she was also looking forward to seeing Captain Townsend. He’d announced he intended on attending the banquet during the return trip to Port Louis following their first visit to the governor’s residence.
However, as the evening progressed, it became evident to Calliope that the affair would be a disappointment in more ways than one, despite the fact Governor Farquhar and his lovely wife, Maria Francis, had spared no expense and provided a lavish banquet along with a string quartet to entertain them all. At least fifty guests were in attendance—including five members of the Mauritian Scientific Society and nineteen of the island’s oldest residents—but sadly, not one of the guests they spoke to, had any information to impart about the dodo. There were no family stories or local legends beyond the most superficial of tales. Some had never even heard of the bird. Certainly, no one had ever come across any dodo remains.
It was most disheartening to say the least.
And then of course, Captain Townsend hadn’t put in an appearance.
Naturally, he might have legitimate, pressing reasons not to attend the banquet; he was tasked with hunting down a notorious pirate after all. So, it was beyond foolish of Calliope to think he might be able to spare the time to further their acquaintance.
However, it seemed her common sense had flown right out the window. Whenever she thought about seeing Captain Townsend again—which was often—she was as giddy as a girl about to embark on her first Season. It was a complete turnabout on her part considering how much his alternately rude, provoking, and high-handed behavior had put her in a state of high dudgeon during their first few encounters. But then, during their stroll in Le Reduit’s gardens, he’d revealed a softer, perceptive side. One that had totally disarmed her. No wonder she was at sixes and sevens.
Calliope adjusted her position on the sofa and winced as her injured toe protested. At least the throbbing had begun to subside. She suspected it was only bruised rather than broken. Looking down, she could see her white satin slipper was horribly scuffed and there was a dirty mark on the fine ruffle along the hem.
A despondent sigh slipped out. In another uncharacteristic flight of fancy—she wasn’t one to follow the latest fashions by any means—she’d purchased her lovely new gown from a French modiste in Port Louis, in the hope of catching Captain Townsend’s eye. The ‘cerulean blue’ silk muslin with delicate vandyke lace trim was the perfect foil for her red hair—at least that’s what the modiste had told Calliope. And the low-cut neckline was apparently tasteful, not scandalous. Calliope was pleased her mother’s exquisite sapphire and diamond jewelry—the necklace and earrings—matched beautifully too.
But in the end, her att
empt to impress Captain Townsend had all been for naught.
Calliope sighed despondently as she watched the other guests dance a quadrille. Maria Farquhar was busy conversing with several Mauritian matrons in an elegant reception room where a post-prandial supper had been laid out. And Uncle Theo was still ensconced with the members of the scientific society in the dining room; Calliope imagined he and Mr. Lucas would be busy chatting for some time yet. She wasn’t sure where Governor Farquhar had disappeared to.
In contrast to the balls she’d attended during her first Season, she hadn’t been a wallflower at all tonight, so she really couldn’t complain too much. It had been years since she’d last danced and she’d quite enjoyed it… until her toe was stomped on. Aside from partnering Mr. Lucas, she’d already danced several lively country dances with various gentlemen: a dark-haired French merchant with a curling moustache whose English was so heavily accented, he was difficult to understand; a spotty-faced but pleasant young man who couldn’t have been older than nineteen; and a middle-aged Scotsmen with a rather florid complexion and a paunch who smelled like pipe tobacco. But now the soles of her feet were sore, her little toe ached, and she was hot and tired and just generally out of sorts. She wouldn’t be dancing anymore.
Perhaps she just needed some fresh air to revive her flagging spirits and dispel her self-indulgent pique about Captain Townsend’s absence.
There’s no point in pining for the moon, she told herself as she rose and then limped across the room. Passing though the French doors, she emerged onto the veranda. Several other guests had decided to take the night air as well and lingered in secluded corners. Lamps glowed softly from their hidey-holes amidst the lush curtain of flowering vines hanging from the veranda’s roof. The laughter, chatter, and music emanating from the ballroom along with the heady perfume of fragrant blooms drifted around her. Somewhere in the dark garden, a night bird called.
