Beauvallet

by Georgette Heyer

  ‘Ha, rogues!’ shrieked Joshua. ‘In a good hour!’

  ‘Beauvallet and spare not!’ sang out the boatswain, and reached the sands with a splash and a bound. ‘How fares your honour?’

  ‘Rarely!’ laughed Sir Nicholas.

  Master Dangerfield was at his elbow. ‘My God, sir, you have made it!’ he cried, and grasped at Beauvallet's hand.

  There was a fight in the air, all around the murmur of it. ‘Ho, Spanish Papishers!’ a voice growled. ‘Now see what comes to those who chase our Nick!’

  A second voice bawled out cheerfully: ‘Ay, have at ’em lads!’ and there was a surge forward up the beach.

  Sir Nicholas was only just in time to stop it. ‘Back, ye rogues!’

  The rush was checked, but there was dissatisfaction abroad. The Venture's crew had been spoiling for a fight all this past fortnight of weary waiting; the excuse was provided, the men were elated, and it was felt that those who had the temerity to harry the Venture's commander needed to be taught a lesson.

  ‘What, not one blow, sir?’ said the boatswain reproachfully.

  Sir Nicholas was amongst his refractory crew. ‘Back, dogs! Man me that boat!’ He beat them back with the flat of his sword. ‘By God, I will have you all in irons if you man me not that boat!’ he swore cheerfully.

  There was a chuckle, a concerted move seawards; daggers were slid home in their sheaths. Somewhere near her Dominica heard a rough voice say appreciatively: ‘Ho-ho! The General's back amongst us! I’m for the boat.’

  They manned the boat. They were disappointed at this tame ending, but it was held to be unhealthy for a man to go against the General's orders. His ungrateful behaviour upon being rescued by his faithful crew rather pleased them. Easy to see Mad Nick was himself still! There was a cheer raised.

  The bulk of the soldiers were pelting down the slope of the steep hill now. Sir Nicholas lifted Dominica high in his arms and waded out last of all to the boat.

  The crew became aware of the lady, and let another cheer. Many hands were eager to receive her into the boat, foremost amongst them those of Master Hick who had once had his face roundly slapped by her. She stood unsteadily, a hand on one fustian shoulder, the other lost in a great paw.

  Sir Nicholas climbed into the boat and waved farewell to Spain. ‘Give way!’ he commanded, and the long oars dipped in the water.

  Slowly they drew away, until the lanterns on the shore receded in the distance, and the last sounds from Spain died.

  Dominica crouched in the stern, stole her hand into Beauvallet's. His fingers closed over it; he looked down at her, and she caught the flash of his white teeth. ‘Safe now, fondling.’

  She nodded and sighed her content. Behind her, at the tiller, young Dangerfield spoke bashfully. ‘And a warm welcome for you aboard, señorita, be sure.’

  She smiled at him, but was too tired to speak. The boat cleaved on through the dark water until the tall sides of the Venture reared up before it, and they heard excited voices, and saw the light of a lantern dangled over the side.

  ‘Safe? Have you brought the General off? ’ shouted the Master anxiously.

  The crew let as hearty a cheer as they could for their somewhat winded condition, and something very like a yell of triumph went up from those aboard the Venture.

  Dominica was carried up the rope ladder and kissed at the top. ‘Welcome, my bride!’ Beauvallet said in her ear, and set her on her feet.

  Men seemed to surge around them, questioning, congratulating. There was some display of thanksgiving, not unmixed with many a ‘Said I not so?’ apparently addressed to those who had doubted Sir Nicholas’ ability to dupe all Spain.

  Beauvallet shouldered a way for himself and his lady through this excited crowd with a laugh and a jest flung carelessly. Dominica found herself confronting a small neat gentleman whom Sir Nicholas clapped on the shoulder. ‘Save you, Master Capper!’ he said. ‘I have work for you, as I promised.’

  ‘Sir Nicholas,’ – the neat man wrung his hand – ‘I count this escape as not less than one of God's miracles, and a sign to these Spanish Papists – a veritable Sign! What may I do to serve you?’

  ‘You may marry me, Master Parson,’ said Sir Nicholas Beauvallet.

  Epilogue

  And so we came off,’ says Joshua Dimmock, sure of the last word. ‘You say a miracle? Ho, we do not count such trifles as miracles in my master's service! Yet I allow it to have been a feat, and do not look upon my own part in it as contemptible. Sir Nicholas owned himself to be somewhat in my debt: a very unusual thing in him, I may say. However, we had some talk together whiles I was trussing his points that next day in his cabin, and “Joshua, my man,” says he, “be sure you are a rogue and a wind-bag, but I owe you some thanks for this month's work.” This was very acceptable to me, as you may be sure, not less so than a certain token that went with it. I wear it upon my finger to this day. Ay, a rare stone: it came out of the Indies.

  ‘But I run on. Sir Nicholas having said as much and more, and maybe puffed me up a very little in mine own esteem – for I took no account of certain holiday terms such as toss-pot and hempseed that went with his words, these being no more than the genial way he uses – he did me the honour to inform me that he was to be married that morning.

  ‘A rare morning's work, I warrant you! with the crew grinning and looking slyly – until I spoke with them. It was enough. I was become a man of some account, which was not marvellous.

  ‘There was Master Dangerfield at that bridal, the ship's Master, our surgeon, and myself. Be sure I was bidden, and rightly so, for setting aside some other small matters, I was so near to being my mistresses's tirewoman in those last few days as makes no matter. A very mettlesome lady, that; I do not deny it. She was married in her riding-dress, for she had none other, and a strange sight it was to see the bride so shabby and the groom so point-de-vice. But I regret that murry taffeta doublet and the new trunk hosen. However, let it go. You say my lips are sealed as to that lost pack, for there was that other pack I was bound to leave behind at that smuggling port. I warrant you Sir Nicholas made merry work over that: I bore all with a patient countenance.

  ‘I talk more and no more. The marriage over there was some feasting, and the crew in high fettle. We made all speed for Plymouth Sound, but I doubt my master and mistress cared little when they came there.

  ‘At Plymouth I bestirred myself a little, as I know how, bought some slight matters for my lady, which she was pleased to approve, and call me a proper tirewoman, and set about the ordering of horses and a coach. My lady stayed aboard till all was ready. She was in no case, says she, to show herself to England. Yet I never saw her own herself put-out by the loss of her wardrobe. She took all as it came, and made merry over it, and I am bound to say I was very much her servant before that voyage was over.

  ‘We pushed on to Alreston in rare style, my lady in the coach, Sir Nicholas riding close beside, and myself a little behind. My lady must needs have the curtains drawn back to look about her on our countryside. So he would have it known, but my reading of the matter is that she wanted to look upon my master. And he upon her, God wot!

  ‘You may be sure our home-coming fetched up a rare gallimaufry at Alreston. There was never a one there had thought ever to see Sir Nicholas again. I believe my lord mourned him already as one dead. But in we swept at the gates, up the avenue to the house, and fetched up there with something of a flourish. It is our way. The good-year! We had the whole household about us in a trice, and I make so bold to say that I have never before or since seen my lord in such a taking of joy. For he is not one of those who wear the heart upon the sleeve, as the saying is. He had not near done wringing my master's hand and hugging him about the shoulders when Sir Nicholas puts him off and begs leave to present his lady-wife. A rare thing it was to see my lord's jaw drop! “What!” quotha. “You have brought her off, Nick?”

  ‘Sir Nicholas handed my mistress out of the coach. I warrant you he looked proudly
, with that gleam of the eye and that cock of the pointed beard we all know. Well he might throw up his chin! She was a very lovely piece – with all proper respect I say so, be it understood.

  ‘She was colouring up finely and holding tight to my master's hand. She felt herself stared at, and maybe I feared they might look coldly at her. But my lady had the word then. “Oh, my dear!” cries she out, and took my mistress into her arms and well-nigh wept over her. You ask me why she should do so? I am bound to say I do not understand these women's coils. She bore my mistress off into the house, and that was the last I saw of them until the dinner-hour.

  ‘My lord had me in then to the winter-parlour. It was pretty to see my mistress, pranked out in a gown of my lady's, lisping her broken English to my lord, and ever and anon looking to Sir Nicholas to give her a word she needed.

  ‘My lord was pleased to speak me very comfortable words, which had not often been his wont towards me. I had a fat purse from him at a more convenient time, but at this present he gave me thanks for having brought his brother off safe. You may lay your life my master let out a laugh at this, but my mistress gave me a rare smile, and vowed my lord had reason. When I consider, I must allow he had. But modesty forbids me to dwell on this.

  ‘What more? Little enough. We were off to London not so long after, and I leave you to judge what Sir Francis said when he heard our tale. I speak of Drake, the Admiral: you will have heard of him, maybe. What my master told Master Secretary is a matter not revealed to me. Suffice it that lean Walsingham rubbed his hands over it. Of that I am assured.

  ‘As I remember, the Court lay at Nonesuch, and thither we went. I warrant you the Queen's Grace fairly crowed to see my master back, and, as I heard, thought it a rare jest he should lay down Don Cristobal's Golden Fleece at her feet.

  ‘“Is this the best that Spain can show, rogue?” says she. She hath a merry, boisterous way when she is in the humour.

  ‘“Why, no, madam,” says my master, and brings her up his lady. “This is the best, madam, and as such I present her to you: your Grace's newest subject.”

  ‘Maybe she was not so well pleased with that. I have heard it said that her Grace never liked to see a personable man wed. Be that as it may, she could not well turn pettish now. My mistress had a hand to kiss, and got a tap on the cheek from her Grace's fan. “How now, mistress?” says her Grace. “Do you shackle my bold mad Beauvallet?”

  ‘After which she had very little more to say to my lady, but kept my master beside her a full hour, telling her how it had fared with us in Spain.

  ‘In my opinion, the affair passed off better than might have been hoped for, considering her Grace's high temper.

  ‘We were off soon after to Basing, where you see me now. Ay, we lie snug enough, and if you remark that I am become a personage of some note I am not to deny you. I do not say that my master shows this to the world, for that is not at all his way, but I am bold to tell you that I am very indispensable both to him and to my mistress. Which is not at all to be wondered at, I hold! But we have never found a pair of stocks with gold quirks about the ankles to match with those we lost at Vasconosa, and I cannot but deem the throwing of them to the winds, as it were, a very wanton piece of work. But thus it is always upon Sir Nicholas’ affairs.’

  About the Author

  Author of over fifty books, Georgette Heyer is one of the best-known and best-loved of all historical novelists, making the Regency period her own. Her first novel, The Black Moth, published in 1921, was written at the age of fifteen to amuse her convalescent brother; her last was My Lord John. Although most famous for her historical novels, she also wrote twelve detective stories. Georgette Heyer died in 1974 at the age of seventy-one.