Once Upon a Pirate Anthology

by Merry Farmer

  “Clever Nelson. Clever Nelson,” crowed the parrot, flapping his wings and puffing out his chest. “Where’s my ginger biscuit?”

  Captain Townsend smiled. “Don’t be greedy, Nelson. Tom gave you one earlier.”

  “Aargh! Don’t be greedy. Don’t be greedy,” echoed the parrot. “Dead men tell no tales.”

  “Remarkable,” repeated Uncle Theo with wonder in his voice. “Truly remarkable. He’s quite the conversationalist. Don’t you think so, Mr. Lucas?”

  But Mr. Lucas, whose mouth was crammed with ginger biscuit, merely mumbled something that might have been yes.

  “You know, if we were on board the Andromeda for any length of time, I would love to document Nelson’s vocabulary and the variety of phrases he uses,” continued Uncle Theo. “He would make a wonderful case study for a research paper, wouldn’t he, Peewee?”

  Calliope made herself smile. Thank goodness the Andromeda was a privateer vessel and did not take paying passengers because being around Nelson and his master was ruffling her feathers and for a host of reasons she’d rather not think about. But not wishing to disappoint her uncle, she replied brightly, hoping her insincerity didn’t show. “Yes. Most definitely. It’s such a shame we’ll be in Port Louis soon.”

  “Bollocks and balderdash,” said Nelson and Captain Townsend laughed.

  “I apologize yet again for Nelson’s lack of manners, my lady, but even he knows you’re telling fibs,” he said. “Then again, I certainly can’t blame you for wanting to disembark sooner rather than later. The Andromeda’s crew—whether man or parrot—are an uncouth bunch after all. I did warn you.”

  Calliope reached for her tea cup to hide her irritation. Ha! How dare Captain Townsend call her out for dissembling, even though that’s exactly what she’d been doing? The cheek of him.

  So much for his assertion that he was civilized. What a pile of stuff and nonsense.

  It seemed this so-called ‘gentleman privateer’ was not only an inveterate flirt but an inveterate liar. She should have trusted her initial instincts. Yes, the sooner she saw the back of Captain Townsend and his rude parrot, the better.

  Chapter 6

  Port Louis, Mauritius

  Two days later…

  “Are you ready, Peewee?” called Uncle Theo through the door of Calliope’s bedchamber at Hôtel Desforges, a lodging house close to the harbor with a sound reputation. “I don’t want to be late.”

  “Almost,” she returned as she tied the blue satin ribbon of her straw poke bonnet beneath her chin then tugged on a pair of white silk gloves.

  Fortune must have been smiling on Calliope for once—and indeed Captain Pickering as well—because the Vestal had remained relatively intact and hadn’t sunk beneath the waves. Even though the ship couldn’t be rescued—the damage to the hull was too great—a good deal of the cargo had been salvaged: wheat, wool, Madeira wine, ale, copper, iron, and canvas, along with most of the crew’s and passengers’ belongings.

  Thanks to Captain Townsend.

  Calliope gave a sigh. Her opinion about the man was as variable as the wind. Not that it really mattered anymore considering she’d probably never see him again. She and Uncle Theo were about to embark on a hunt for dodo bones and heaven only knew where their search might take them. Mauritius might be a relatively small island but there were endless beaches, mountains, jungles, and mangrove swamps to explore.

  And the captain… well Calliope supposed he would return to hunting down Captain Michael Flint.

  Glancing at herself in the large oval looking-glass above the carved wooden mantelpiece, Calliope gave her reflection a nod of approval. One of the maids at Hôtel Desforges had done an admirable job of laundering all of her clothes so they were no longer stiff with brine or smelled like seaweed. Even her pale blue silk muslin, the gown she’d chosen to wear today, looked as though she’d just purchased it from a modiste on Bond Street. Which was just as well as they were about to visit the Governor’s residence, Le Réduit, and she wished to make a good impression.

  Snatching up her white silk parasol and reticule, she joined her uncle in the hallway outside.

  “Mr. Lucas is waiting for us in the landau out the front,” explained Uncle Theo as they descended the stairs to the hotel’s vestibule together.

  “You managed to hire a landau? My goodness,” exclaimed Calliope. “We will certainly be arriving at Le Réduit in style then, won’t we?”

  “Yes… About that… ” Uncle Theo frowned. “When Captain Townsend offered—”

  Calliope stopped dead in the middle of the entry hall, bristling with irritation. “When did you speak to Captain Townsend? We bid him farewell at the docks two days ago.” Doesn’t he have pirates to catch? A parrot in dire need of etiquette lessons to look after? Decks to swab with discarded silk gowns?

  “If you let me finish, my dear gel… I saw him this morning when I was making a few purchases in the main street. As luck would have it, he rents a house not far from here. So when the good captain offered us the use of his carriage, well, I couldn’t say no. His conveyance will be far superior to anything I could have arranged. And generous fellow that he is, he’s also offered to drive us. So rest assured, we’re not inconveniencing him in the slightest. It seems he has business with the governor too.”

  Calliope closed her eyes momentarily and prayed for patience. It seemed Uncle Theo was determined to play matchmaker again. Why else would he keep describing the privateer in glowing terms or engineering opportunities for them to meet? It’s not far to Le Réduit, Calliope reminded herself. Just smile politely. Hopefully Captain Townsend will be on his best behavior.

  And hopefully he won’t put me to the blush.

  Of course, Calliope knew he simply had to throw her a wolfish smile, or wink, and she’d turn into a puddle of reluctant longing at his feet.

  Blast him.

  She was only just beginning to realize she was more annoyed with herself than with the captain and that her waspish behavior was but a frail armor. She wasn’t usually affected by a man’s attentions—not that she received all that much masculine attention anyway given her unfashionable copper-red hair, ‘cursed’ reputation, and unconventional bluestocking ways. But there was something about Captain Townsend that unsettled her equilibrium in a most disconcerting way. She didn’t want to like him, but she feared that she just might.

  When they emerged onto the front steps of Hôtel Desforges, Captain Townsend got down from the driver’s seat of the landau with a fluid leap and gave a gentlemanly bow.

  “Good afternoon, Lady Calliope,” he said with a charming smile. Beneath his marked black brows, his eyes gleamed with warmth for once rather than amusement. “You look well today.”

  “Thank you,” she replied with a polite incline of her head. She refused to say he looked well too even though he did. In fact, he looked utterly breath-taking in a beautifully tailored navy-blue tailcoat, artfully messy cravat and ash-gray silk waistcoat. Form-fitting ivory pantaloons, shiny black Hessians, a black beaver hat and kid riding gloves completed his ensemble. Indeed, Captain Townsend wouldn’t be out of place in Hyde Park or one of London’s exclusive gentlemen’s clubs.

  Holding out one large, gloved hand, he handed Calliope into the elegant open carriage. She took a seat opposite Mr. Lucas, Uncle Theo joined her, and once Captain Townsend vaulted back into the driver’s seat with an athleticism that had Calliope quietly swooning, they were on their way.

  Captain Townsend drove the landau at a spanking pace through the relatively wide, palm tree lined streets of Port Louis with their white-washed stone buildings. Indeed, it wasn’t long before they were on the open road, heading for the hills where Le Réduit lay.

  It was another fine day with nary a cloud in the azure blue sky and Calliope’s spirits began to soar like a bird winging its way toward the sun. How ironic that the winter weather here in Mauritius felt more like a Mediterranean summer. It certainly made a change from the perpetually dismal weather
in England, and in actual fact, the northern hemisphere in general.

  As the landau began to wind its way upward, Calliope was delighted by the wonderful view. If she’d had her sketch book, easel, and water colors with her—and they could afford the time—she’d be tempted to paint it. Through the trunks of exotic looking trees, so different from anything she’d ever seen in England, she caught glimpses of Port Louis’s bustling harbor and causeway, and the deep blue waters beyond. Inland and to their left, rising above Port Louis and dominating the horizon lay a jagged mountain range.

  “If we weren’t otherwise engaged this afternoon, I would suggest a visit to the botanical gardens and nearby Church of Pamplemousses,” called Captain Townsend over one wide shoulder. “But alas, it is in the opposite direction to the Governor’s residence.”

  “That’s quite all right,” returned Uncle Theo. “I understand Le Réduit has excellent gardens.”

  “Yes, indeed.” Captain Townsend slowed the matched grays pulling the landau as he negotiated a particularly tight turn in the road. The trees on the hillside were now beginning to thin out and Calliope had a glorious uninterrupted view of the verdant countryside, the coastline and the vast Indian Ocean. The vista was truly breathtaking.

  In a little under an hour, they were pulling into the gravel drive leading to the mansion. Captain Townsend explained that the present residence had been built by the French governor Antoine de Guiran in 1778 and that the extensive grounds extended over two hundred and forty acres.

  “It’s lovely,” remarked Calliope as the landau approached the elegant two-story building of white-washed stone with its long verandahs supported by slender columns. “And you’re right, Uncle Theo. The gardens are indeed excellent.” Emerald green lawns were interspersed with well-tended garden beds. Everywhere her gaze landed there was an abundance of vibrant flowers, shrubs, and copses of lush trees.

  “All thanks to Governor Farquhar and the botanists Boyer and Helsenberg.” Uncle Theo patted his coat pocket. “And I have Dr. Boyer’s letter of introduction right here.”

  As soon as the landau drew to a halt, several African footmen decked out in fine livery appeared and approached the carriage to assist. Captain Townsend tossed the reins to a boy who’d emerged from round the side of the house—presumably from the stables—before alighting and offering to help Calliope down himself. His attentiveness confounded her, but she decided to accept his assistance with good grace for once. After all, it wasn’t every day that a handsome man offered her his hand and then his arm to escort her anywhere.

  Over the years, Calliope had discovered that for the most part, she was invisible to the opposite sex. A part of the wallpaper or the furniture. A shadow at the back of the room. As inconsequential and unremarkable as the forgotten, dusty tomes on her uncle’s crowded bookshelves in Oxford. It was nice to be in the sun for once, warmed by the flash of a handsome smile. She just had to remind herself that’s all she could ever expect from a man like Captain Townsend.

  On reaching the covered portico festooned with a fuchsia-hued bougainvillea, a footman swung the glossy front door wide open revealing a cool, shadowy hallway. Once they’d handed over their hats and gloves to another footman, Captain Townsend introduced Calliope, Uncle Theo, and Mr. Lucas to the silver-haired English butler who appeared. Then they were all ushered into a roomy parlor with high ceilings, white wood-paneling, and finely carved ebon and mahogany furniture.

  Calliope was surprised to see a well-rendered oil painting of a stout looking dodo bird hanging above one of the silk upholstered sofas. As she studied it, Captain Townsend joined her.

  “Do you like art, Lady Calliope?” he asked, regarding her rather than the painting, with focused interest.

  “Why, yes. I do,” she replied. “Although I could never render something as fine as this,” she gestured at the painting, “I do love to dabble with water colors.” Casting a shy glance the captain’s way, she added, “So I must thank you again for retrieving my belongings from the Vestal. Amongst my things were my paints, brushes, and my folio of art. My pictures might not have great artistic merit, but I’m fond of them all the same.”

  “I should like to see them some time, Lady Calliope. I’m sure they’re very good.”

  “And I’m sure you are just being kind.”

  Captain Townsend laughed. “Kind? Now that’s a quality not generally ascribed to someone like me.”

  Before Calliope could think of some way to respond to the captain’s unexpected self-effacing comment, His Excellency, The Honorable Robert Farquhar, Governor of Mauritius, entered the room. A lean, attractive looking gentleman of middling age, he greeted Captain Townsend warmly before turning his attention to the rest of the group.

  “Dr. Bell, I’ve just read your letter of introduction from the marvellous Dr. Boyer,” said Governor Farquhar. His dark brown eyes regarded Uncle Theo with keen interest. “And I must say, I’m thoroughly intrigued by your proposed expedition. I do believe our fledgling scientific society will be as well. I can’t wait to hear more.”

  Uncle Theo beamed. “I’m most heartened to hear that, your excellency. And I sincerely appreciate that you are able to spare the time to listen to our plans,” he gestured toward Mr. Lucas. “And of course, any support the scientific society can offer will be most welcome too.”

  “Capital,” rejoined Governor Farquhar. Turning to Calliope he added, “My lady, I’m afraid my dear wife, Maria Francis, is seeing her modiste in Port Louis this afternoon. But a tour around the gardens followed by tea on the veranda can be arranged if you would like. I’m sure that it will be a far more pleasant enterprise than listening to us gentlemen drone away in my stuffy study.”

  “Of course,” replied Calliope with a smile. She was only Uncle Theo’s assistant. A personal secretary of sorts. And it was his research expedition.

  “And I would be happy to escort you about the gardens, my lady,” said Captain Townsend.

  “Oh, I wouldn’t want to put you out—” she began but the captain waved a dismissive hand.

  “You won’t be doing anything of the sort,” he said. “Besides, it will give His Excellency, Dr. Bell, and Mr. Lucas the opportunity to meet privately.” He caught the governor’s eye. “I trust that I may speak with you afterwards, sir.”

  “Most certainly,” Governor Farquhar replied. “And then we can all join Lady Calliope for tea on the veranda later.”

  After retrieving Calliope’s parasol and their hats and gloves, Captain Townsend offered his arm and led Calliope down a neat gravel path, past parterres of brightly hued blooms where butterflies hovered.

  A gardener doffed his cap and smiled at them, his teeth a flash of white in his darkly handsome face and Calliope tilted her head in acknowledgment and smiled back.

  When they were out of earshot, she remarked quietly. “It both surprises and saddens me that the British Parliament has abolished the abhorrent practice of slave trading but hasn’t emancipated all slaves at the same time. It doesn’t sit well with me. No one should own another person. Everything within me believes that it’s wrong.”

  “Ah, you’re an abolitionist then, Lady Calliope?”

  She sensed Captain Townsend was regarding her intently. “Yes, I would say that I am,” she replied, meeting his gaze steadily. “Uncle Theo holds similar views.”

  “As do I. While I do believe Governor Townsend is not a supporter of slavery personally, he has disclosed to me he treads a difficult path here in Mauritius. The French settlers, of whom there are many, would certainly rise up in protest should he attempt to change the status quo too quickly. In the meantime, I hope to lead by example.”

  Calliope stopped by a pond beneath the canopy of a large, willow-like tree and closed her parasol. A flash of orange below the lily pads suggested the presence of goldfish. “How so?” she asked, surprised that Captain Townsend was more progressive in his thinking than she’d hitherto believed.

  “I own a sugar plantation just outside
of Mahébourg. Belle Mer,” he said, following her into the shadows cast by the tree’s graceful drooping branches. “But after I purchased it, I emancipated each and every slave. The workers on the estate and at the house are all free men and women and earn a wage. It has made me unpopular with quite a few folk in some quarters—some even think that I am mad—but I don’t give a jot. Doing what is morally right is the only thing that matters.”

  “It seems I have misjudged you, Captain. When we first met, I believed you to be a thoroughly dishonorable, unprincipled character. Clearly, you are not.”

  He laughed then, a deep rich sound. In the dappled shade, his eyes darkened to indigo reminding her of the wide blue ocean. “You give me too much credit, my lady. Don’t ever forget I’m a ruthless privateer at heart.”

  “Yet only a few nights ago, you declared you were civilized, Captain Townsend,” she challenged, turning to face him directly. For some unfathomable reason, she felt inexplicably bold.

  “I am when it suits me. But right at this moment, I’m not sure that it does.” The amusement in his eyes was suddenly replaced with shimmering heat and he drew closer. So close she could see the steady beat of his pulse just above his cravat. Smell his delicious, spicy cologne.

  Without conscious thought, her gaze fluttered to the captain’s wide mouth. For the first time, she noticed a small scar on his top lip, right at the very corner. An unfamiliar but not altogether unpleasant warmth began to gather in secret, feminine places. Her nipples hardened and her stays felt far too tight.

  Was Captain Townsend going to be uncivilized and kiss her?

  A searing blush spread across Calliope’s cheeks. Desire fought with common sense and an unwelcome flicker of self-doubt. The captain was probably just teasing her again. A worldly, roguish man like him couldn’t really want her, a freckle-faced, red-headed spinster.

  Could he?

  “I… We… we should…” Calliope stammered, unable to formulate anything more than an incoherent and utterly feeble protest. It might be the middle of the afternoon, but she was essentially taking an unchaperoned tour of the gardens with a charming wolf dressed up in gentleman’s clothing. They shouldn’t linger here in this secluded spot for too long.