by Anne Groß
The proprietor of the Dancing Bear looked at her suspiciously from behind his desk as she walked into the gloomy foyer. She tried not to make eye contact and forced herself to give a cheerful “Good evening” before racing up the back stairs. The inn wasn’t located far from the Quiet Woman, and was its nearest competitor. Adelaide was sure there was some overlap between the clientele, and that worried her. She did not want to be recognized. She had been relieved to hear that the wolfish man from the other pub was no longer in London, but his customers were loyal to the man, if not the business, and she risked being beaten a second time should they see her and remember.
If the proprietor of the Dancing Bear knew she was not welcome at the Quiet Woman, he did not say. Thus far he’d kept his mouth shut, even when they’d first arrived with Dodo bleeding and wrecked. He merely held out his hand for payment, and that suited everyone.
“Dodo?” she called into the bedroom as she pushed open the door. “I’ve brought you a gift,” she sang. She tugged at the curtain to let in more light. She’d forgotten to bring up a candle, which would have been an extra expense in any case. She tore her package open and Dodo grunted as the smell of hot meatpies wafted into the room. “There’ll be none of that dreadful stew tonight. Aren’t you pleased?”
Another grunt.
Adelaide pulled a chair up to his bedside and helped her friend to sit up. The movement caused a fit of weak coughing that brought tears to his eyes. When he finally settled, she gave him the meatpie and then rummaged in her carpetbag for the decoction of pain medicine Mrs. Southill had given her. When she turned back she gasped at the mess Dodo had so quickly created. In attempting to push the pie into his mouth without actually lowering his swollen jaw, he’d released the juices and they ran in rivulets down his chin and onto his shirt. Adelaide gently wiped his mouth with a corner of the sheet and began pressing crumbs between his lips. Almost as many crumbs were blown out as were swallowed. “No more,” he lisped after having eaten a mouse’s portion.
“Have more, Dodo. You need to regain your strength.”
“Don’t call me that,” he responded weakly.
Deftly, Adelaide pushed a spoonful of pain medicine between his lips before he could make any further protests. “Perhaps you’ll be more interested in food when your pain eases a bit,” she said pragmatically, wiping his chin again.
Adelaide ate her own dinner as she watched the decoction take hold of her friend. She could see the pain leave him. His forehead smoothed first, then his shoulders lowered and he loosened his grip on the edge of the blanket he’d balled in his fist. Slowly Dodeauvie’s eyes closed just as she finished her second pie. Adelaide cast a glance to the third pie, still sitting on the brown paper within Dodo’s reach. It would be such a shame to let it go to waste.
She was lifting it up to her mouth when she heard a characteristically derisive snort from Dodo. Guiltily, she looked up and met his open eyes. A self-righteous gleam came from them. “Greedy, greedy. You never change,” he whispered hoarsely.
“I didn’t think you were hungry.” Adelaide hastily wrapped the pie back up, thus removing the temptation. “Since you refuse to sleep, you must have reserves to spare. Lend me your energy.” Adelaide bent her head as though in prayer. “Let us seek the creature on the astral plane. Together we can reach farther than I can alone.”
“Not this again,” Dodo whined, pulling his hands out of her grip. “You must give up the chase. It’s over. The jewel is gone.”
“I must try. My life depends upon it.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You will live. Only I may kill you myself if you persist in this folly.”
“But if I don’t try to find the emerald, I can never return to Paris. La Société made that quite clear. You don’t mean to suggest I remain here in this pissoire of a city?”
“Oh, la Société, la Société, toujours la Société. . .” Dodo rolled his eyes. “Why do you worry about them? They’re kitchen witches! They know nothing!”
Adelaide sighed. Dodo too easily dismissed the reach and the strength of the women. While it might have been true that the women knew nothing of the hermetic philosopy that Dodo revered, they did understand the consequences of crossing the emperor. This was a lesson Dodo had not himself learned, despite having been censured and eventually placed on house arrest for distributing Royalist pamphlets. Adelaide was sure that even though she herself had not stolen the diamond, a judge would never listen to arguments for her innocence if the argument included magic and conjured golems. Her own sentence would not be as easy as that visited upon Dodo’s head. Those “kitchen witches” were no fools. “Speaking of fools, did I tell you Madame Southill was attempting to catch light?”
“Catch light?” Dodo looked surprised. “In her hands? How very interesting. I wonder what she plans to do with it if she succeeds.”
“Do? What on earth would she do with light? It’s just light,” Adelaide laughed. “You should have seen her! She looked ridiculous.”
Early the next morning while Dodo still slept, Adelaide breakfasted on the third meatpie and left the inn more confident that a solution would reveal itself. As she strolled back towards the London Docks, the gentle lap of the river against the stones on the shore calmed her. For a while, she stopped to watch four young boys slowly wading out into the water. They were filtering sand through their toes as they walked, and occasionally one or another of them would reach down and pull up what their toes had discovered. Bones, scraps of cloth, shards of porcelain, bent lengths of wire all had their buyers. Anything could be sold if there was enough of it. Adelaide admired their fortitude. She too was a scavenger, only her treasures were the hopes people discarded along the path of life. She’d pick them up and present them like lost handkerchiefs. “Did you drop this? Is this yours?” Nothing makes a person happier than being reunited with an abandoned dream.
She stopped before reaching the busy harbor to gather a small bouquet of wildflowers and tied it with a scrap of ribbon she found caught in the reeds. After shaking off the aphids, she tucked the bouquet into her bodice and inhaled the aromatic nosegay. It smelled more herbal than floral, and that made her think of lunch. Her breakfast would sustain her for a few more hours, but occupying her mind with fantasies of her next meal seemed like a harmless diversion as she walked.
Magret de canard, was the first dish she thought of, a plate full of fat duck breast, seared and rare, with a side of little roasted potatoes drizzled in a lovely wine sauce made from the deglazed juices of the bird. Un joli boudin noir, blood sausage with baked apples, tart and buttery, would be a delicious meal for a colder day than today. Adelaide could almost hear the sausages sizzling in the frying pan over the hot kitchen fire and nearly wished for fall weather to arrive. Even cassoulet, France’s equivalent to England’s boiled beef, sounded delightful.
The street Adelaide traveled down opened up and the crowd thickened. She barely noticed. She had thought of ten more dishes she found irresistible and now she ached for a familiar meal. Perhaps she could make a life for herself with a new name in France somewhere other than Paris—Marseilles, for instance. Unfortunately, she was not overly fond of bouillabaisse, the fish stew that was Marseilles’ specialty, and stuffed tripe stewed with mutton’s feet was dreadful. She felt a rush when the town of Lyon entered her thoughts. The people of Lyon loved food nearly as much as she did. Then her heart sank when she remembered it was the Lyonnaise Mothers that caused the town’s culinary reputation to soar. Those witches would certainly recognize her, and one of them would surely give her up to the ministry of police.
She stopped to stare at a ship. She knew they were all different—first class, fourth class, sloops, schooners—but to her they were merely a means to an end. She stood before a gargantuan naval vessel, prickly as a hedgehog with cannon, and longed to board just to go somewhere, anywhere.
She was imagining how she might survive as a stowaway when an urgent voice cut through her reverie. “Mademoiselle? Mademoi
selle Bonnediseuse? Where have you been?”
“Monsieur Noisette,” cried Adelaide happily, seeing the old tar pushing towards her past the usual crowd on the London Docks. “I’m pleased to see you.” Pleased indeed. Her fantasy had taken a turn and she was starting to become frightened.
“I expected you much earlier this morning,” Jacques looked slightly annoyed. “I only have a moment—I’m late to board my ship. There’s a Captain Charles Briggs, of the merchant ship Sea Otter who is heading for the Azores Islands.”
“Azores? I told you, I need to go to America,” Adelaide scolded.
“You’ll not find direct passage there from here, of that I am sure. All of England looks to Spain. The only ships heading to America’s coastline are those who wish to claim American ships for Britain’s gain and I can tell you right now you’ll not be allowed on one of those frigates. Those privateers will take no passengers, and certainly a woman such as yourself would not want to keep company with the likes of them.”
“Whatever shall I do?” wailed Adelaide. This was bad news indeed.
“Listen to me. Ask Captain Briggs for passage to the Azores Islands. From the islands, you have a much better chance of finding another ship that is continuing west. Furthermore,” Jacques started walking backwards, drawing Adelaide along with him deeper into the Docks, “the captain speaks French.”
“You must introduce me!”
“Unfortunately I cannot. I do not know him personally. I only heard from another sailor that his ship sails soon.” Jacques was now rushing her down the street at an uncomfortable pace. Any previous thoughts Adelaide might have had regarding his gentlemanly nature were forgotten as she struggled to keep up.
“But I can’t just throw myself at his mercy,” she huffed. “What would he think? I need an introduction.”
“An introduction from me is meaningless. Neither my accent nor my position ingratiates me to others who do not know me. Besides, I’m in quite a rush,” Jacques stopped suddenly. “The Sea Otter is being loaded today—you’re in luck. The captain will be nearby, overseeing the storage of his wares.” Jacques bowed and pointed to a large three-masted ship that creaked and pinged loudly against its moorings. “Here’s where I’ll leave you. Best of luck, Mademoiselle,” and he turned and ran off.
Adelaide took a deep breath and tried to calm her zinging nerves as she walked towards the end of the quay. Having to make a stop in the Azores Islands seemed like a huge risk for getting stranded, but what choice did she have? She stepped into the flow of the dock workers who were busy preparing the Sea Otter for sail, and was drawn along as though pulled by a rope. Despite feeling as though she’d lost control of her own fate, there was something about the ship that soothed her. The Sea Otter was broad, with plenty of room for cargo in her hips. As crate after crate was hauled on board, she sank deeper into the water, but no one seemed concerned. A large man on board, as broad around the middle as his ship was about the bottom, was overseeing all the activity. Given how he was pointing and shouting orders, Adelaide felt she could confidently assume he was the captain.
“Sir,” Adelaide called out, “Excuses-moi de vous déranger! Capitaine Briggs. Je vous en prie.” The man turned and acknowledged her with a bow, a look of curiosity on his face. Adelaide dove in, speaking French rapidly. “I’m so glad I have found you. A mutual friend sent me to speak with you. He said you were a gentleman, and would not hesitate to help a woman in distress, such as myself.”
“A mutual friend?” He turned back to his men and shouted curses, distracted by his duty. “Name him,” he demanded, turning back to her. He spoke with a thick English accent, but thankfully, he was understandable.
“I know how this must seem, but the present political situation calls for discretion. I would not give our friend away, so indiscriminately, in this day and age.”
Briggs leaned over the ship’s rail to try to study her more closely, then pushed past his own men to descend to the dock. “You have reason to worry, considering our nations are now at war,” he said when he reached Adelaide’s side. His smile reassured her. “I think I know who sent you, but I’ll remain mum on the matter.”
“You may name the man if you wish, but I’ll not confirm or deny. I’ll not risk his position.”
“Surely you know that if our mutual acquaintance is here in England, then there is no shame in being a Royalist. England welcomes you.”
Adelaide burst into crocodile tears. “I cannot see that it is anything but dangerous to use that word around me. It has brought such sorrow to my life, and yet my heart swells at the title. Yes, I am a Royalist. My family has been destroyed by the Revolution, destroyed by the Empire. I cannot go back.”
“Napoleon has forgiven the noble families of France. You may indeed go back, should you wish it.”
“To what?” Adelaide demanded. “My family’s estate is no longer in our possession, but in the possession of the people,” she spat. “The people! As if they had toiled as long and for as many generations as we did. As if they deserved it!” Great, fat tears rolled from Adelaide’s eyes, rimming them in red and blotching her cheeks. Her passion was quite stimulating, especially when she took great, heaving breaths of air that caused her flesh to shudder. “No. I will not reveal the name of our friend who pointed me in your direction. The repercussions, should they fall on his head, would be too horrible. And he was so kind as to suggest you could take me to my family.”
“Mademoiselle,” the captain said gently, offering his handkerchief, “please do not be so distraught. Where is your family?”
“America,” sniffed Adelaide.
“America? But our friend is mistaken. I’m not going to America.”
“Our friend said you were going to the Azores Islands, and from there I might be able to find a means for continuing my journey.”
“That may be true, but what if you cannot?”
“I’ve no other choice than to place my fate into the hands of God.” Adelaide wiped her eyes and daintily dabbed her nose. “I’m afraid I cannot pay you,” she said in a near whisper. “My family has no knowledge of where I am. They don’t know where to send money. I’ve only just learned of their whereabouts, but I’ve been so afraid any communiqués from me would be apprehended and used against me.” Adelaide bent forward, placing her head in her hands, “I’ve been so afraid,” she said again, with a hoarse cry.
“Oh my dear, my dear,” the captain soothed. “Think nothing of payments. After all you must have gone through, it would be monstrous of me to demand it.”
Hidden behind the captain’s borrowed handkerchief, Adelaide smiled.
“But,” the captain continued, “I’m afraid it would be just as monstrous if, due to my generous soul, I was unable to pay my sailors for their work.”
Adelaide’s smile froze.
“I’m certain your family, once you are reunited, would be amenable to forwarding payment for your safe passage? Do you not think so?”
“Oh yes. Yes,” cried Adelaide, “I know they would be most grateful to you and would shower you with their gratitude.”
The captain smiled. “I hope their gratitude would not be extravagant, only enough to share their token of appreciation with my men. It’s most difficult to be captain of a merchant ship these days and keep a good crew, what with the confounded frogs, begging your pardon, lying in wait to do us harm, and those Barbary bastards too, begging your pardon. These are truly hard times indeed.” The captain sadly shook his head and his graying blond curls bounced at his shoulders. “Hard times, very expensive risks,” he repeated, glancing quickly at Adelaide to assure himself she understood.
“Surely you realize that I myself am not responsible for any seafaring hardships.” Adelaide caught the elderly gentleman’s gaze, opened her eyes as wide as she could in an expression of earnest innocence, and then fluttered her lashes casting her gaze downwards in a show of humility and submission.
“Naturally, my dear,” he blustered. “Natural
ly you would have nothing to do with this dreadful state of affairs. It is for me to worry about. I beg your pardon for burdening you with my worries. Such talk does not befit a woman of your sensibilities. Please,” he waved his hand in an invitation, “you must dine with me this evening aboard my ship. Perhaps that would be enough to convince you not to embark with us tomorrow morning. Perhaps by then I’ll have discovered a more sensible solution for you.”
“I would gladly share your table. You honor me, capitaine.” Adelaide plucked the nosegay of flowers from her bosom and offered them as a gift. “Please accept these as a token of my gratitude.” She looked up through her lashes and smiled shyly. The captain, despite his solid stance, was entirely thrown off balance by Adelaide’s performance, an unusual state for an old seaman accustomed to rolling waves.
THOMAS NEEDS A TOKE
The coughing started as soon as her head cleared the water and didn’t stop even as the rope tightened under her arms. The force of her body expelling seawater was so strong that Elise was sure she’d tear her stomach muscles and break her own ribs. She wasn’t dead, but a deep aching cold, the kind of cold that felt like needles in your creaking joints, made her wish she was. She kicked out against the waves and thrashed her arms against the unkindness of life. Suspended in the air alongside the ship, she was a soaked and choking worm on the end of a fishing line slowly rising from the sea. “Pull!” called a familiar deep voice from below and her ears rang with the shout.
Up she went, rising past the hold, the orlop, past the lower and upper gun decks. Without ceremony or finesse, she was hauled over the rail. Hands grabbed her shoulders, then they grabbed her ass to pull her in like a marlin, flopping her onto the deck head first in front of a small crowd of sailors and soldiers. The rope was wrested from under her arms and thrown back over the rail. Then, as Elise continued to cough and choke, another was hauled up from out of the sea. He gracefully climbed on board, taking the helping hands of his comrades as he swung his long legs over the rail. In an instant, he was kneeling at Elise’s side. Gently cupping her chin, he lifted her face and Elise was drawn to look into Thomas’s blue eyes. The cold water turned his cheeks rosy pink in stark contrast to the three lurid white scars that crossed his features at odd angles. The sudden eye-contact was startling; the tenderness of his touch too much to take when she wanted so much to remain angry with him.