Tides of Fortune (Jacobite Chronicles Book 6)

by Julia Brannan

  Beth sighed. She had thought that wearing dresses would be a constant reminder that she was female, and that masculine attire would help her to blend in more. Clearly that was not the case.

  “You put your point very well, Paul. I won’t wear them again while on board your ship.”

  “I would highly recommend that you don’t wear them when you are not on board my ship, either,” Paul suggested.

  The breeches and shirt were relegated to the bottom of Beth’s trunk, and two days later she asked Rosalie to help her to dye her hair. Although Rosalie had learned the method and obtained the ingredients, she was at first nervous about changing the colour of her former mistress’s hair, until Beth said she couldn’t care less what it looked like as long as it wasn’t silver-blonde any more. So, with regret, Rosalie covered Beth’s lovely tresses with a paste made of crushed black walnuts, and a few hours later she appeared on deck with hair of a mud-brown colour that enhanced the blue of her eyes, but did little for her complexion.

  “I thought it might help your crewmen to keep their minds on their work, and I realised that I need to know how often I’ll have to dye it to keep it brown when I’m in Britain,” Beth said when Paul and Elizabeth asked her why she’d done it. She hadn’t told Raymond and Rosalie of her intention to travel to Britain yet, although she had decided to tell them once they landed in France.

  “You do look very different,” Elizabeth observed, “and I must admit that when I saw you in Fort Royal, it was your hair that drew my attention and tellt me it was you. I’ve never seen hair of such a pure blonde before.”

  Beth was very heartened by this. Hopefully it would help to keep her safe as she travelled around the country in search of Alex.

  Apart from a short period when the ship was becalmed, which resulted in some rationing of food and water, the voyage went very well until they neared the French coast, some six weeks after setting out from Martinique.

  It was late afternoon on a very dull and gloomy February day. The clouds overhead were black and had been threatening rain all day, but had not as yet fulfilled that threat. Raymond and Rosalie, both on deck hoping to see the first sight of their new country, were wearing every item of clothing they possessed, and were horrified when Beth told them that it wasn’t a particularly cold day for the time of year.

  “I did warn you that you would struggle with the cold, not being accustomed to it,” Beth said sympathetically.

  “We…we will become accustomed to it,” Raymond said through chattering teeth. He was shaking as though he had the ague. “It is better than being a slave. If we remember that, then everything else will be easy to deal with.”

  Beth smiled. That was a very good way of thinking about things.

  “When will we see France, Monsieur le Capitan?” Rosalie asked.

  Paul, standing a few feet away from them, didn’t answer, being preoccupied with looking through his spyglass at the distant mist-drenched horizon.

  “Merde,” he said softly.

  “What is it?” Elizabeth asked, coming to stand beside him.

  “A British ship,” he said. “She is some way off, but she’s seen us.”

  “Can we fight her?”

  “No, my bloodthirsty bride, we cannot fight her,” he replied. “Well, we can, but there is nothing to gain by doing so, and much to lose, not least our lives.” He handed her the spyglass, and addressed Beth, Raymond and Rosalie, who had overheard the conversation and were looking very anxious.

  “She is a frigate with thirty-two guns to our eighteen; and we don’t know if there are more ships with her that are not in sight yet. Don’t worry, my friends,” he said to his three passengers, “we are in little danger. As long as we stay leeward of them, we should be able to outrun them. And they may lose interest when they see we are a lone ship. They will be looking out for fleets of merchant ships trying to enter or leave France. A single brig will hopefully not be interesting enough to chase.”

  He shouted a series of sharp orders across the deck, which resulted in a great flurry of activity from the crew. Raymond disappeared below decks, having been beckoned by a crew member. “But we will take precautions, just in case,” Paul added, winking at Rosalie, who looked absolutely petrified. “Do not fear, mademoiselle,” he said. “I will get us safely into port, but I think you should go below decks now. Not because anything terrible is about to happen,” he added quickly, on seeing her eyes widen even further, “but because it is about to rain very heavily.”

  Sure enough within a few minutes the rain began, reducing visibility even further. Beth accompanied Rosalie to the cabin, but returned to the deck a couple of minutes later. The rain was sweeping across it in sheets.

  “I’m accustomed to rain,” she said to Paul as she went to stand by him on the quarter deck. She pushed her dripping hair off her face. “I lived in Scotland for a time.”

  He nodded, but continued to watch the approaching ship.

  “Can we outrun her?” Beth asked.

  “Yes,” Paul replied, “depending on the wind. Right now she is out of cannon range, and I intend to keep it that way. My concern is that she is unlikely to be alone, and if another frigate comes upon us from, say, that direction,” he pointed into the grey gloom, “then we would be in trouble. I had intended to take us to Calais, because I know that would be convenient for you to try to take a ship to England, but I think there is a strong likelihood that if I continue with that course, we will be intercepted. Would it inconvenience you terribly if I were to make for Rochefort instead?”

  Beth had no idea where Rochefort was, but the extreme politeness of his request under what could rapidly become desperate straits, made her laugh.

  “Captain Marsal,” she replied formally. “As long as I do not have to see a smirking redcoat or the inside of an English prison before I’ve had a chance to look for my husband, you can make for the moon if you wish.”

  “I don’t think it will come to that, my dear. Rochefort it is. It is a good way south of Calais, but I will provide you with the means to travel north. Have you told Raymond and Rosalie of your intentions yet?”

  “No,” Beth replied. “I thought I would wait until we land. I think they’ll want to come with me, but of course that is impossible. I expect to spend a little time in France helping them become acquainted with their new home though.”

  “But you do not wish to,” he said.

  She didn’t. Now she was so close to home, she didn’t want to waste another moment doing anything but searching for news of her husband. Every part of her wanted to find out, once and for all, if Alex was alive or dead. In my heart I want him to be alive so badly, I’m starting to convince myself that he is, she realised. She must not allow herself to believe that. If she did and he was dead, then she might never recover. And while she would have to take chances, she could not afford to be reckless in her haste. She had to be patient, a quality she had never really possessed.

  “I am responsible for them,” she said, evading answering his question. “I will see them settled before I leave them.”

  Paul smiled.

  “Well, we will see. Let us make land before we plan further. Now, I suggest you go below. You can do nothing here, and I think you will have a surfeit of bad weather in the weeks to come. Enjoy the comfort of a dry cabin while you can.” He made one of his elaborate bows, and, recognising it as a dismissal, Beth took his advice and made her way back to the cabin.

  By the time night fell they were a good way ahead of the British ship, but Paul mounted a double night watch, taking the first shift himself along with Raymond. When he came into the cabin shortly before midnight, drenched to the skin, he was surprised to find the three female occupants still awake, and lanterns lit. They were playing cards in an attempt to while away the time, and as he opened the door they all looked up at him as one.

  He walked in dressed only in breeches, his hair trailing in sodden rats’ tails down his back.

  “Ach, ye’re drookit,
man!” Elizabeth said, abandoning the cards and going over to a chest. She took out a cloth and threw it to him and he started rubbing himself down briskly, in an attempt to both dry and warm himself.

  “I apologise for my state of undress, ladies,” he said politely. “My other clothes are in the galley where it is warmer, although I doubt that they’ll dry before I have to go back on deck. I assume you’re all awaiting a weather and pursuit report?”

  “We can tell the weather report by looking at you,” Beth replied drily, “but yes, what of the pursuit?”

  “We were still well ahead of the frigate when I saw it last, but the rain means visibility is very poor. As long as no other ships converge on us, we will make land safely, sometime tomorrow, maybe the day after, God willing.”

  “At Rochefort,” Beth said.

  “Yes. It’s a good choice given our present circumstances, because Rochefort is a French naval base, and it is inland – we will have to travel six leagues along the river to get there, which means that there is no danger of the British firing on us in the harbour. They will not pursue us once we reach the river mouth. It will be too risky for them, and as we are only one small boat they will leave off chasing us. I am sure of it. My men will rouse me if there is need. So we can all sleep soundly tonight. Goodnight to you, ladies.”

  He set a good example by putting his nightshirt on, stripping his breeches off underneath, getting into bed and falling asleep immediately.

  “I assume he’s telling us the truth, then,” Beth remarked, amused.

  “Aye, probably, although he slept like that when we were being chased by four Dutch ships too,” Elizabeth replied. “But, truth or no, we canna do anything by no’ sleeping, I’m thinking.” It was good advice, and they all followed it.

  They sailed into the port of Rochefort two days later, having successfully shaken off the British ship and negotiated the serpentine loops of the Charente River. As they were unloading the cargo, the crew discovered that in the previous October there had been a second major naval battle at sea between the British and French, that the British had won a resounding victory and were now blockading France’s colonies, with the result that Martinique, among other French possessions, was unable to receive or send any provisions at all.

  “It seems that we left Martinique at the perfect time,” Paul said. “I think God is looking kindly on us. And it means that we will get a very good price for our sugar. Raymond; myself and the crew have had a meeting, and decided that you have worked so hard during this voyage you deserve an equal share of the proceeds.”

  Raymond, astounded, started to protest that he had worked much slower than the others, but Elizabeth interrupted him.

  “Never say no to money, laddie,” she advised him. “They wouldna offer it if they didna think ye deserved it. Just say thank you.”

  “Thank you, monsieur,” Raymond said, his eyes shining at the thought of actually earning money for working, a completely new concept to him.

  Beth looked on, worried, and later approached Paul to express her concerns.

  “Yes, I think they have a good deal to learn if they are not to be taken advantage of most cruelly,” Paul agreed. “But they are very fast learners. They have expressed their intention to travel to Paris, and Elizabeth and I have decided to travel with them and to make sure they are settled properly once there, so that you can set off on your quest as soon as you want. My wife wishes to see the city of my birth, and I very much desire to show it to her. I think a visit to Versailles will be a wonderful experience for her, and a chance for her to display her finery.”

  Beth smiled.

  “It will indeed,” she said. “She will love it there, I think. I have never seen anything like it, before or since.”

  “I forgot, you have been there, several times. Will you then accompany us? Paris is after all, en route to Calais, in a manner of speaking.”

  “I’ll gladly accompany you part of the way,” Beth replied. “But I cannot come to Paris itself, no. Even with my hair as it is there is a good chance I would be recognised and that it would be reported both to King Louis and the Elector that I am not in fact dead. Unfortunately part of Sir Anthony’s persona was to be at the very centre of every gathering, which meant we were extremely visible to the whole court.”

  “Ah, that is a shame, for I would like very much to show you some of the beautiful places you certainly will not have seen. But c’est la vie! At least we will have the pleasure of your company for a few more days. I am sorry that I cannot help you to travel to England. But I dare not put my men in such danger – they would not agree if I suggested it in any case, and I have no contacts that I can call on who would be willing to attempt such a voyage.”

  “I think I do have such a contact,” Beth replied, hoping that was true. “I will find a way.”

  “Indeed, I believe you shall. You have the most remarkable will, although I urge you to be very careful. But first you must tell Rosalie and Raymond that you do not intend to stay in France.”

  He was right. She had put it off because she was dreading it. She was sure they would want to come with her, and she had to dissuade them whilst giving them as little information as possible, for their own sakes as well as hers. But the time had come. Better to get it over with.

  “But I thought that we were all going to stay together, maybe live in Paris!” Rosalie cried when Beth told her and her father that in a few days they would have to separate.

  “Are you not then a friend of the king?” Raymond asked.

  “No. Well, that is, I am acquainted with the king, although I wouldn’t call him a friend. Part of what I told Pierre was true, and part of the gossip also, which I know you overheard, Raymond,” Beth said. “My husband and I did visit Paris, and he did fight a duel and kill a servant of the king’s. But it was not because I was having an affair with him. Louis certainly showed an interest in me, but I would never have been unfaithful to Sir Anthony.”

  “Because you loved him,” Rosalie said, sighing wistfully. Beth smiled. Soon she would be sighing over her own first love. Hopefully he would be deserving of her.

  “Yes,” Beth confirmed. “I cannot come to Paris, because I would be recognised.”

  “But you told Monsieur Pierre that you were travelling to Paris to find out whether your husband was alive or not,” Raymond said. “Do you not then intend to seek him out? And followers of your King James are in no danger in France, are they? So why do you not wish to be recognised?”

  She had hoped he would not know that. But of course he did. How many years had he spent standing silent and unobserved in the background while the society of Martinique gossiped about the latest news from France? He probably knew almost as much about the Jacobite rising as she did.

  She was silent for a moment, while she pondered how much she could tell them. Not Sir Anthony’s true identity; she would never tell anyone who didn’t already know that. But she could trust them with her own secrets.

  “It is very important that I not be recognised. I did not tell Pierre the truth,” she said. “When I was with the marquis in Martinique, I asked him to add my name to the list of those who died on the voyage. The authorities in England believe that I’m dead. It’s crucial that I am not recognised by anyone who may pass on the information that I am very much alive.”

  Raymond’s brow crinkled in a puzzled frown.

  “I am not staying in France, Raymond,” Beth said. “It is unlikely that my husband will be in Paris, or that there will be any news of him there. I intend to travel to England, and once there I will be able to find out whether my husband is alive or not, because I will go to people who will know.”

  “This is why you wished to change the colour of your hair,” Rosalie said. “It was not because of the sailors.”

  “No, it was not, although I think it helped. My hair colour is the reason I was arrested – I was recognised by the…by an enemy. It will help me, I think, when I go back. And I will keep away from L
ondon, where I am also well known.”

  Raymond smiled.

  “Now I understand,” he said. “You cannot take us to England, because if you do we will draw attention, being black, and that will be dangerous for you.”

  “Yes, and for you too. France and Britain are at war. I think you will be safer here, and happier too. You speak French, not English, and can make a good life here. Paul has told me that he intends to see you settled, which reassures me. I will miss you. But I have to do this.”

  “And if your husband is dead? You also have no intention to make Monsieur Pierre the happiest of men?” Raymond asked.

  Beth laughed.

  “No, I have no intention of ever going back to Martinique. I would die first.”

  “This is very good news to me, Beth, because Monsieur Pierre was not a good man, and not a man who would make you happy,” Raymond said.

  “What will you then do, if the news is bad?” Rosalie asked.

  “I will stay with the people who are dearest to me, and make the best life I can without my husband. But I cannot tell you where that will be.”

  “But how will we know if you find him?” Rosalie cried. “I couldn’t bear not to know!”

  “Hush, child,” Raymond said to his daughter. “You have borne many things worse than this. We will trust in fate. But I would ask you to make me one promise, please?” he added, turning back to Beth.

  “If I can, I will, yes,” she said.

  “I would ask you to wear the amulet that I gave you at all times, until you are safe,” he said earnestly. “I spoke true to you when I said that it gives very strong protection.”

  She smiled, and reaching up to her neck, touched the leather thong that the charm was strung on.