“What do you know of Lacombe, Capitaine? Has he been with your crew long?” the marquis asked as the two men shared a glass of brandy together in the capitaine’s quarters.
“No, Monseigneur. He’s relatively new with us. He joined the ship in Marseilles, but I must say he has been most diligent in his duties and his work,” Closon said, wrongly interpreting the inquiry from the marquis as a sign of support for his officer and thinking it best to praise him.
“And you’ve had no complaints about him or his manners?” the marquis asked skeptically.
“Why no, Monseigneur -- quite the opposite, in fact. On our voyage from Marseilles to St. Domingue many of the passengers commented to me personally that he was very solicitous. A very fine fellow, they all seemed to think. Why do you ask, Monseigneur? Is there something wrong?” the capitaine inquired, wondering if he’d misread the situation entirely.
“Perhaps not, Capitaine; I simply like to know who is on my ships, particularly when they wear officer’s epaulets,” the marquis said. Closon nodded, gently exhaling a sigh of relief, knowing that as capitaine, he would be held responsible for any trouble with the officers or crew. The marquis rose to go, bowing his thanks for the capitaine’s hospitality.
“One last thing,” Blaise remarked, stopping on the threshold of the doorway to the main cabin.
“Of course, Monseigneur?” Closon replied deferentially.
“You might advise Lacombe to limit his gaze and his society to those of his own station. Perhaps the voyage to St. Domingue was undertaken with passengers of a more familiar nature to him. On this ship, however, that is decidedly not the case. More than a few of the ladies find him somewhat of an annoyance, to put it mildly,” the marquis said.
“I understand, Monseigneur. I shall speak to him at once,” the capitaine assured him. Blaise nodded his head and turned to go, walking back along the deck to his quarters. He did not see or hear the man he had just spoken about, who had concealed himself in a currently empty stateroom next to the capitaine’s quarters and had heard everything, including the last bit of advice the marquis had imparted to Closon.
“A nuisance, am I? Mark my words, I’ll show you arrogant aristos what a nuisance I can really be! No man looks down on Claude Malveau. No man!” he swore, hissing his malevolence into the night.
Though there was a change in Lacombe’s conduct following Blaise’s conversation with the capitaine, it was a change more of focus than behavior. He was often seen in the company of Ginestas, engaged in conversation with the baron as the two men took long walks about the deck. Lacombe also avoided the ladies of high rank, particularly when they were accompanied by others of their society, turning his attentions instead to the ladies of more common background. His particular favorite was Virginie Dupluie, whose mother made much of Lacombe’s handsome appearance and the attention he paid to both herself and her daughter.
The principal beneficiary of this shift in attention was the Vicomtesse de La Bouhaire, who was now freed from the constancy of the unwanted surveillance she had been previously subjected to from Lacombe. Though relieved that Lacombe now had another target for his blatant scrutiny, she could still feel his eyes upon her surreptitiously whenever they were in common company. She made all effort to avoid him when she could, and was careful never to be without the company of someone else with whom she could take refuge if she saw him approaching, Éléonore and Julienne being her most favored companions. Francis, who was the most mistrustful of Lacombe’s intentions, had early on noted with suspicion the irregularity of the officer’s conduct, and was quick to point out his continuing concerns one evening to the marquis and the baron as they took exercise together about the deck.
“I say -- that man Lacombe is particularly irritating. When he’s not fawning all over me, he seems constantly in the background when he shouldn’t be. I wonder what his game is and why Ginestas seems inclined to be so cordial with him,” Francis said.
“He’s decidedly suspicious, I agree. Have you also noticed how his eyes follow every woman with a degree of attention that I find borders on the impertinent? What ambitions could he possibly have in such society? If he does not learn his proper place, I daresay he shall come to a decidedly bad end,” the Baron de Salvagnac declared, prompted by his son in law’s disclosures to reveal his own misgivings.
“Ginestas is ordure. It is his nature and habit to attract flies, that is to be expected. As for Lacombe, I have spoken to the capitaine about him already, apparently with not enough effect. I wonder what possessed Closon to take him on. I know we were short of men when the Héloïse left Marseilles, but it seems he’s not the type of character we would want as part of our crews,” the marquis observed, Francis and the baron nodding their agreement as they rounded the bow on their circle of the deck.
“I had held off on speaking with more severity in his case for my own reasons, but I feel I can do so no longer. I shall inform Capitaine Closon that I wish to have the man dismissed as soon as we make port in Nantes,” Blaise said definitively.
“Good evening, gentlemen!” A voice rang out from the shadows, startling the trio of evening strollers. It was Lacombe himself, the devil to speak of as it were, appearing from behind one of the cabin housings near the bow. Everyone halted at the unwanted and unexpected appearance of the man they were just speaking of, each wondering to himself how much of their conversation Lacombe had overheard.
“What a fine evening for a stroll,” Lacombe offered, wiping his hands together continually as if attempting to wash away the stain of some odious deed.
“May I accompany you gentlemen on your walk? There is no substitute, I find, for the freshness of the night air at sea, though one must be mindful of the danger that also lurks in the darkness. Mind the pitch and roll of the ship Messieurs, we wouldn’t want to lose anyone over the side now would we?” Lacombe said with a hint of menace. He began following along in step with their passage, not waiting for a response to his query, unknowing or uncaring that his presence was as unwelcome as his conversation. If, however, he had heard any of the previous discussion about him, he did not in any way appear to show it, either by his manner or his speech, which was cordial in every way.
“May I ask what you did before you joined the Héloïse?” Francis said at last, in an effort to relieve the awkwardness caused by Lacombe’s continued presence.
“I served aboard several other merchant vessels, Monsieur, in various different capacities. Slavers mostly, but none as illustrious as this fine ship…or with so fine a capitaine,” Lacombe offered, again in that manner of conspicuous flattery that gained him no favor with men of real character. At the mention that he had worked primarily on slave ships, the marquis’ expression, already dour, became quite severe.
“And how did you find such employment to be?” Francis inquired.
“Delightful, Monsieur, I must say. Never did care too much for Nègres myself. But the ones we carried were docile enough, and them that weren’t, they gave me the task of making ’em so. Nothing like the taste o’ the cat o’ nine tails to tame their black hides, especially them black vixens,” he said with a wicked grin. “No slavers in port heading for the Colonies. Guess I was just lucky to find the Héloïse. She was shorthanded from illness, which gave me my place.”
“Good night, gentlemen,” Blaise said with a turn toward the baron and Francis, thoroughly disgusted by Lacombe.
“Monsieur de Marbéville, if you’d care to accompany me to my cabin, I’d like to have a word with you,” the marquis said.
“Of course, Monsieur,” Francis replied, thankful for the excuse to part company with Lacombe.
“I’m afraid that’s all for me as well,” the Baron de Salvagnac echoed, turning away with noticeable disdain, as if there was a foul stench in the air.
“Goodnight to you all, gentlemen!” Lacombe exclaimed with an overzealous bow as the party broke up.
He smiled to himself as he watched his prey run for shelter, knowing that i
t was his very presence that had discomfited them so. The capitaine had told him to stay away from the noble passengers, but giving an order and enforcing it were different things altogether. Closon is weak and timorous. I’ve seen his type before and he doesn’t frighten me. Run run run my pretty gents, but you’ll not escape me. It won’t be too long before I’m off this ship, and a good deal richer than when I came aboard, he mused to himself with satisfaction, turning to go below and catch a few hours of sleep before returning to man the late watch.
Once alone in his small cabin, Malveau again thought through his carefully considered plans of enrichment and escape. He grinned to himself, unfurling a map he had drawn of the cabins on board and the inventory of jewels, gold, and other valuables he expected to find in them. For weeks he’d hovered close and listened well, cultivating the right friends, lurking behind the most promising victims to gain their secrets. He knew who was to be visited and who avoided; having ingratiated himself for a purpose, he was now fully prepared to see that purpose out.
Once we’re near the coast of France, just be patient for the right moment: a dark night, one with plenty of mist and no moon…that’s all you’ll need. Then it’s into their cabins, get their loot, and go over the side at night into the launch. Make your way to shore before they know you’re gone, then head south to Bigorre and find your old gang of smugglers in the mountains. They’ll take you back willingly enough, provided you return with enough spoils for everyone. Once there, the law will never find you, he mused, chuckling softly to himself.
Maybe I’ll even get my nose under the skirts for a sniff while I’m at it. That Dupluie girl seems willing enough; the plain ones always are. And if she ain’t willing; well, my knife always has a way of forcing ’em to be. He laughed at the thought. It might even do to take her with me as hostage. That way, they won’t dare to follow me in case things go wrong. The more he considered the idea, the more he liked it. A hostage would be just the thing to guarantee his escape, and his amusement.
“Bugger you all, I say. Just you wait, my boys, till we’re close to France -- the night is black and the sky is full of mist. Then, my pretty gentlemen, we’ll see who sticks it to whom after all,” Lacombe said, sneering maliciously into the night.
*
The next day as the Belle Héloïse and the convoy passed the theoretical midway point of the voyage, they ran headlong into one of the typically rough storms the Atlantic was known for: a fast gale of the type that tests the mettle of crews and the skill of capitaines. Everyone was sent below decks to ride out the tempest, the rolling and tossing of the ship keeping all confined to quarters. In the cramped cabins, the porcelain chamber pots overflowed from too much use and the pitching of the ship, adding to the general unpleasantness of the experience. For many of the passengers it was their first encounter with a storm at sea, and several believed, by the violent manner in which the ship was sometimes tossed upon the waves, that it must be their last. After several hours of being rolled about, seawater occasionally overflowing the decks and seeping into any unsecured opening, the ship finally outpaced the storm, transiting into calmer waters as the hours moved from large to small.
Captain Closon and his crew of officers worked diligently to check the condition of the ship, fix their navigational position, and determine what had happened to the rest of the convoy, which had become dispersed in the storm. Seamen were sent aloft to the crow’s nest in order to keep watch and avoid collisions. Torches were lit as signal beacons so that they might be seen in the gloom by the other vessels. For the ship’s officers and crew, it was a time of watchful alertness to ensure that no disaster befell them as they transited through the remains of the rough weather. Late in the morning as the fog began to lift, a shout of alarm rang out from high above the deck.
“Sails to the southeast!”
The crew increased their vigilance to the highest level of preparedness, on edge until the origin and nature of the ship sighted could be determined. The interloper was carefully watched, the capitaine adding sail to maintain his distance until its origin could be verified. As mid-afternoon approached and the weather began to clear, the vice-amiral’s flagship could be seen to the northwest, along with one of the escorting warships to the south and the Belle Creole just ahead of her. There was much speculation that perhaps the sail they had seen was the Fantassin, which might have also been blown off course during the storm, but another sail spotted in the direction of the first made it clear that their convoy was not alone.
Signals were sent to the flagship that unidentified vessels had been sighted, and the tension rose as everyone prepared for the dangerous but exciting prospect of a hostile encounter at sea. The passengers nervously hoped for the best, some among them perhaps regretting their earlier desire for adventure. Not long after the detection of the second set of sails, the haze lifted just enough for the crew to see the newly sighted ships begin to adjust their heading, turning toward the Belle Héloïse and her escorts.
“They fly the ensign!” A cry went up from the lookout.
The ship was suddenly a beehive of activity, Capitaine Closon giving orders to adjust his course to bring them closer to his escort with all possible speed, signaling with lanterns and flags that hostile ships had been positively identified on the horizon. Aboard the vice-amiral’s flagship, the officer of the watch reviewed the signals coming from the Belle Héloïse and immediately went to inform Capitaine de Palgrave and Vice-Amiral de Baudrie of the news.
“Two warships, you say…and probably frigates. Any sign of the Fantassin? Where the devil has d’Armillac gone to? No doubt we’re a match for any two ships, but we can’t take the risk that the merchantmen will be put in any danger,” the vice-amiral said thoughtfully, standing at the center of a council of officers on the command deck of the flagship. Heads nodded in agreement.
“Signal to the other ships that I want to know where the Fantassin is at once. Keep men aloft and maintain a steady lookout. We’ll try to outrun them for now… the weather should help us escape. Have the merchantmen stay as close as possible to us. If the winds stay as they are, whatever happens they won’t catch us today. Tomorrow, however, may be another matter entirely. See that all ships are in battle trim at once,” the vice-amiral ordered resolutely.
The orders given, the crews swung into action. Signals were sent to the remaining ships of the convoy, the effect of which could be seen immediately as men began to swarm over the decks like ants in a frenzy of activity. The Pomerol swung to the southeast of the convoy so that she could act as a screen for the rest of the ships. The Bon Majesté adjusted her own course to put herself at the head of the formation and protect the Belle Héloïse and Belle Claire.
Aboard the Belle Héloïse, the rest of the day was spent in considerable excitement and conversation. There was much nervousness for the safety of the cargo, and especially for the safety of the women. The worst fears of all on board were that the ladies should be captured and taken prisoner. In order to rouse everyone’s spirits, the crew was inspected and paraded before the passengers, the nobles conspicuously sharpening their épées as an act of solidarity with the common sailors. Further encouragement for the crew in the form of a generous ration of brandy as a backstop to their bravery was also provided.
The weather, however, decided to intervene, rendering visibility more obscure as the convoy headed on a more northeasterly course, the hours passing slowly with no further sighting of the enemy ships. By the evening meal, excitement had once again passed over to nonchalance with the habitual game of cards becoming the focus of attention. The Baron de Salvagnac sat at table paired with Francis against Julienne and Baronne Salvagnac when one of the junior officers, seeking perhaps to curry favor with the marquis, came to report on the latest happenings.
“What news?” Francis inquired, providing the young lieutenant with the opening he’d been seeking.
“We still sail on a northeasterly course. The Pomerol’s been ordered to take up station
to the south of us in order to keep an eye out for the enemy ships. The vice-amiral’s sure we can outrun them though, unless the wind changes,” the officer explained.
“Any sign of the Fantassin?” the Marquis de Blaise inquired from his nearby seat.
“None yet, Monsieur le Marquis,” the lieutenant replied, suddenly aware of the tension around the table and the anxious expression on the beautiful face of the Vicomtesse de La Bouhaire who sat near Madame de Marbéville.
“I know Capitaine d’Armillac, though; he’s a brilliant seaman. They were probably just blown off course in the storm. I’m sure they’ll turn up any time now. If she’d been in trouble we’d have heard her cannons fire to alert us,” the lieutenant said, seeing the tension lessen slightly at his hopeful words. He remembered then that the marquis had a son aboard the Fantassin.
“If there’s a clear sky on the morrow I’ll wager we’ll see them before mid-day,” the officer said with more confidence than he felt.
“Let’s hope you’re right,” Francis responded.
Unable to keep up the necessary public pretense of nonchalance when her anxiety for Nicolas was nearly all-consuming, Sérolène excused herself and returned to her quarters. Julienne retired with her, accompanying Sérolène to her cabin in an effort to try and alleviate her unease. The maids, who had been sprawled out on the floor on their makeshift beds, stood up as the ladies entered and began to help Sérolène undress, the extent of her worry clear by the pallor of her face.
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