“So I heard,” the marquis replied, which confirmed to Beth that he had been told Sir Anthony was ineffectual, at the very least. “Well, I must say, Lady Peters, that although I am sure your friendship was purely platonic, Monselle was not a…shall we say, a man of good character? If I was married to a lady as beautiful as yourself, I too would be jealous if such a man occupied your time. But you said Sir Anthony is no longer with us? My condolences, my lady.”
“Thank you,” Beth said politely. She needed to change the subject, quickly. “If it is not impertinent of me, may I ask if you have reached a decision regarding the fate of myself and my fellow passengers?”
“Of course, that must be your primary concern right now. I have heard of the appalling way those who fought for Prince Charles Edward have been treated by the Duke of Cumberland and his men, and I will not add to your ordeal by prolonging my deliberations. In view of the regard in which King Louis holds King James and his son, there is really only one decision I can make, and that is to treat you all in the same way as you would have been had you sailed to France itself. Tomorrow I intend, with your help as my translator of course, to inform all of you that you are no longer prisoners. You are free.”
On hearing this news Beth burst into tears, to her utter embarrassment and horror.
The marquis stood immediately and waved to the servant to bring some wine.
“My dear Lady Peters,” he said. “Please, do not distress yourself. I assure you, it is the last thing I wished to do.”
He offered her his handkerchief, which she took, wiping away her tears with impatience. The surge of relief, following hard on the reminder of Alex killing Henri, had caught her unawares. She fought to control herself, with some success.
“I am sorry, monsieur,” she said, once she could speak. “I am far from distressed. It is just…after two years in prison, I can hardly believe it. It was a little too much for me.”
The servant returned with the wine and poured a glass for her, which she accepted gratefully. She sipped at it, taking the opportunity to pull her temporarily scattered thoughts together.
“Won’t the British demand our return, once they know where we are?” she asked after a time.
“Possibly. Probably. But I am a man of my word. Once a promise is made, it cannot be retracted. I am sure the British will understand.”
He smiled in a way that told Beth he was really looking forward to making the British ‘understand’. At that moment she was almost in love with him.
The following morning when the marquis told the assembled crowd of Scots and English, in slightly more formal terms than he had used to Beth, that he was giving them their freedom, he got the same reaction from the majority of them as he had from her the previous evening. This time, however, he was a little more prepared for it and allowed them some time to absorb that they were not about to be sent back to Britain, or on to Antigua, or held in prison here until the British authorities decided what was to be done with them.
Free. They were free to do whatever they wanted. They were all free.
“Now,” he said, once they were all capable of listening to him again, “I am aware that you will need a little time to decide what you wish to do, and I will of course arrange for your accommodation in the meantime, and for you all to have food and clothing and a small allowance. I think some of you may decide to go to France, where many of your fellow compatriots are. If you wish to do this, I will happily arrange passage for you, either to France or to anywhere else you may wish to go. I cannot recommend that you return to your native land. But of course it would be your own choice. If you choose to remain in Martinique, then we will see if employment can be found for you. Most of you, I see by the ship’s list, have a useful trade. But you do not need to decide today, of course. You are all emotional and need time to take in this information, and to celebrate, I think.”
They had celebrated en masse that evening. They had spent over four weeks cooped up in a tiny hold, starving and despairing, and regardless of personality and cultural differences had formed a close bond based on their shared plight. Now they spent one night in the streets and inns of Port Royal, and in spite of the fact that every one of them got roaring drunk, the combination of shared despair followed by shared elation ensured that the only injuries sustained during the evening were due to walking into furniture and falling over due to excessive consumption of alcohol.
Captain Marsal and much of his crew joined the ecstatic throng in their celebrations, the captain being conveyed along the main street atop the shoulders of several of the ex-prisoners. Once back on his own feet he sought and found Beth, who, though having initially vowed to remain sober, was already on her third glass of tafia. She had watered it down, aware that having drunk very little in the last two years her tolerance for alcohol was not what it had been in the past.
“Ah! Lady Peters! I wished to speak with you before we all become too…happy,” he announced, bowing with his customary elaborate gesture. He had spoken about her with the governor, then.
“I am still Beth,” she replied.
“As you wish. I would like to have met Sir Anthony. He seems to have been an interesting man.”
“He was,” she agreed, “as are you. It was very kind of you to introduce me to the marquis personally. My accommodations are very luxurious as a result.”
“We are friends, Beth, and friends help each other, do they not? I also wanted to thank you for introducing me to the delightful Madame Clavering.”
“You are getting to know each other then, in spite of the language difficulties?” she asked. The night they had met, Beth had spent approximately half an hour translating between the two of them before the captain had decided his English, poor as he declared it to be, was adequate to the occasion. Beth, smiling, had left the two of them together.
“We are. You were right, she is a most spirited lady, and a delightful one. And she has kindly agreed to accompany me on my next venture in order to ascertain if she could take to the life.” Although he attempted nonchalance his eyes were sparkling, and as she looked up at him he smiled broadly.
“Oh, that’s wonderful!” she said, embracing him impulsively. He wrapped his arms around her and was whispering, “Thank you,” in her ear when the reason for their embrace appeared behind them.
“So, I leave ye alone for ten minutes and find ye in the arms of another!” Elizabeth said.
Paul pushed Beth away as though indeed guilty and was trying to formulate an explanation in English, when Beth spoke.
“Well, if you leave a handsome and dangerous man, and a Frenchman at that, alone in a street full of free and tipsy women, you’ve only yourself to blame!”
“Free. Aye, there’s a word I didna think to hear in a long time,” Elizabeth said, her feigned jealousy forgotten. “Wonderful, is it no’?”
Captain Marsal visibly relaxed as the two women embraced. He really needed to learn about British humour.
“I believe you’re going to become a pirate,” Beth said once they’d released each other.
“Privateer,” Paul Marsal said automatically.
“Of course. A privateer,” Beth amended.
“Aye, why no’? I must admit, I’ve developed a taste for adventure over the last years,” Elizabeth said. “I canna really see myself going back to sewing shirts in a wee bothy somewhere, wi’ the only highlight a monthly visit to the market. Can you?”
Could she? That was the problem Beth had mulled over in her mind for the next few days while she had gone through the motions of translating for the other Jacobites as they sorted out all the paperwork and administration needed to find jobs in Martinique, or to arrange passage to France.
Each afternoon she ran an impromptu French class on the shady porch of the governor’s timber-framed, white-painted house, where she tried to instil basic French vocabulary in all those willing to learn, whilst they drank fresh lemonade and slaves fanned them with huge leaves.
She also a
ttended mass every day while she was staying in the marquis’ house. In Britain she had only been able to go to mass a few times a year, due to a combination of the fact that she’d had to keep her faith hidden from her family, and that there were punitive laws in place regarding public worship for Roman Catholics. Here she had no such restriction, and it felt wonderful to sit in the quiet, peaceful church listening to the soothing tones of the Latin service. Every day she lit candles, one for Alex and one for the rest of the MacGregors and MacDonalds. She had no idea how many of them were alive, and what their lives were now like, but it comforted her to pray for them.
During dinner, which she took with the marquis, he regaled her with stories of his eventful life as a commander in the French Navy. He was an excellent raconteur, and she listened with fascination as he told her about the time he had been attacked by the British in the dead of night as he passed the Straits of Gibraltar. He had had only three ships to their four, but had nevertheless prevailed.
“It was ungentlemanly of them, because we were not at war at the time, you know,” he explained. “They gave the excuse that they did not know our nationality, which was ludicrous as we were openly flying our colours. I think they expected it to be an easy conquest, but in the end we sent them scuttling away with their tails between their legs, and crippled one of their ships in the process – broke the mast, you know.”
“It must have been terrifying for the men, to be attacked in the middle of the night,” Beth said, thinking of how frightened they had all been when down in the hold wondering what was happening above.
“Perhaps. But it also gave me an opportunity to get the measure of my crew. You can only tell the real worth of a man when he is under pressure. It was a valuable lesson for all of us.”
“Do you miss those days, wish you were still commanding a fleet?” she asked, her mind still pondering Elizabeth’s words of a few days ago, and wondering if it was possible to settle for a quiet life once you’d experienced an adventurous one.
The marquis sat and thought for a minute.
“Sometimes,” he admitted finally. “And sometimes I regret not marrying and having a family too. But you know, it is not possible to do everything in one life. One must take the opportunities when they arise, as I did when offered the governorship of this beautiful island. And one must also accept when it is time to make way for a younger man. I am nearly fifty. And I am content.”
The marquis waved his arm and his servants, or slaves, Beth was not sure which they were, came to clear the dishes. Beth accepted a brandy and they adjourned to the salon.
“I have a proposal for you, Lady Peters, which might suit you. I have an acquaintance, a Monsieur Delisle, who owns a sugar plantation on the windward side of the island near Sainte Marie. They have recently lost a child, and Madame Delisle is feeling a little low in spirits. She was in Paris for a time, but now she has returned she is not settling in well here. Her husband thinks it might lift her mood to have a companion, someone vivacious and intelligent who can help her to readjust to her life here. And of course I thought of you.”
“I am not sure I could help anyone adjust to the life here, monsieur,” Beth said. “After all, I have yet to adjust to it myself.”
“That is true. But you have an enthusiasm and a zest for life that is most beguiling. You are not one to mope about the past, I think. You look forward. I think you might be able to encourage Madame Delisle to take the same attitude, and so embrace your life here together, as it were.”
Beth was thankful that he had not seen her standing by the window of her bedroom at night, gazing at the moon and wondering if Graeme, Jane and Thomas, Sarah or any of the MacGregors were also looking skyward and thinking of her. Missing her, as she was missing them so dreadfully.
But he was right. She could not go home; it was too dangerous, for her and for those she loved. She had to make a new life. Why not here? She was tired of adventure, of continuously having to be alert for danger, of never knowing if she would see the sun rise on another morning.
“You do not have to decide now,” the marquis said, taking her silence for reluctance. “I only received his letter today. He will not expect me to reply immediately. And you are most welcome to stay here for as long as you please.”
He was being kind, she knew that, but she could not stay for long in the house of a bachelor without exciting gossip. And he was a devout man, a man of high morals and very high standing in the community.
“If you do choose to accept, I think you will be happy in Martinique. The people are very friendly and welcoming. And Monsieur Delisle will give you a handsome allowance, as befits your station as a member of the English nobility,” the marquis added.
“Rather than as an ex-convict,” Beth said drily.
“My dear Lady Peters, you must not think of yourself as such. It is no crime to assist in the restoration of a king to his rightful place.”
“I do not think the British Government or my family see it that way, monsieur,” she said. “To them I am a traitor.”
“Did you ever declare allegiance to the Elector of Hanover?” the marquis asked.
“No,” Beth replied. But I did lie to him, and to his son, and to the whole of the nobility that you feel I belong to.
“Well then,” said the marquis, “you cannot betray someone you have never paid allegiance to.”
“You are very kind, monsieur. And in return I must be honest with you before I accept your friend’s offer. I am not a member of the English nobility. My father was the second son of a lord, that is true. His brother inherited the title, and the family turned against my father when he married my mother, who was a Scottish seamstress. My husband was not really called Sir Anthony Peters; nor was he a baronet. It was an assumed identity. That is common knowledge in England. His true identity is unknown to the authorities, and I will never divulge it to anyone. And that is why I was transported, when real ladies were not. If your friend still wants me to be his wife’s companion when he knows the truth, then I will accept. But I cannot accept a salary commensurate with that of a lady, under false pretences.”
The marquis smiled at her.
“My dear, there is more to nobility than a mere title. You are the granddaughter of a lord, therefore you are of noble birth. You display excellent manners, are learned, intelligent, and clearly at home in all echelons of society. Regardless of your family’s or your country’s opinion, you are well-bred and principled. I cannot think of anyone more worthy of the title ‘Lady’ than yourself, although I could name a good many who claim such a title with far less justification. But if it makes you feel at ease, then I will tell Monsieur Delisle what you have just told me. If you wish to accept his offer, of course. Please, take the time you need to consider.”
“I don’t need any time, monsieur. If you consider me to be suitable for the position, I would be honoured to accept your friend’s kind offer.”
There. It was done. Now there was no going back, no point in spending nights staring at the moon and yearning to sail back to her friends in Manchester or her family in Scotland. She was sick of danger. It was time to move on, to embrace a new life. She was ready to do so.
On Monday the marquis had called her into his study to advise her that Monsieur Delisle had written back to say that he was delighted she had accepted, and that he would send a carriage for her on Wednesday, if that was not too soon.
“No,” Beth said. “I think the sooner I embrace my new life the better, although I will miss the others who came with me. But they will soon be moving on to new lives too.”
“Indeed they will,” said the marquis. “Ten of the men have asked to go to France and will embark in due course. I suspect more will follow. But many have decided to stay here, so I think you will perhaps be able to visit each other, or at least communicate from time to time with them. I will provide you with their addresses once they are settled, if you are agreeable.”
“That would be wonderful! And of course y
ou can give them my address too, if you would be so kind.”
The marquis nodded assent.
“You might also like to know that the good Captain Ricky has already embarked for Britain with the unfortunate news about his ship. I trust he will not be treated harshly. He really had no option but to surrender, in view of the odds. And I am writing a letter to the Duke of Newcastle to give him the names of those who sadly did not survive the passage, so he may inform their loved ones.”
“I doubt he will condescend to perform such a service, but it is kind of you to think of it, monsieur,” Beth said. He really was a lovely man. Living in a colony governed by such a kind man could surely only be a positive experience, a peaceful one. She was ready for some peace.
“I will leave you to gather your things together. Are your dresses ready?” he asked.
“Yes. If you will be so kind as to inform me of the cost, I will of course repay you once I receive my allowance from Monsieur Delisle,” Beth said.
The marquis looked shocked.
“You will do no such thing, madame!” he said. “Consider the gowns a small remuneration for your services as a translator, and for listening patiently to an old man reliving his youth.”
She laughed.
“Your tales were fascinating. I thoroughly enjoyed them, and you are far from old,” she said with absolute honesty. She turned and made to leave the room, but then stopped at the door.
“Monsieur le Marquis, may I ask one more small thing of you? It may seem a little surprising, but I would be obliged if you would perform it.”
“Anything, madame.”
She told him her request, and although it did seem a little surprising, once she had assured him she was certain of her decision he agreed to acquiesce to it.
Now she sat waiting, and hoping she had done the right thing. She could have requested to go to France, and have thrown herself on the mercy of King Louis, but she was unwilling to put herself in the debt of anyone who wanted to seduce her. Her facial scar had not disfigured her as she had hoped it would, and was now merely a fine red line running from the corner of her left eye across her temple before disappearing into her hair, which had grown over it. Soon, she had been told, it would fade to silver and be almost invisible. There would be too many painful reminders at the court of King Louis anyway. No, she had made the right decision.
Tides of Fortune (Jacobite Chronicles Book 6) Page 8