Spies and Subterfuge

by Christopher Hoare

  It was just that the finality of marriage, despite what Mr. Holmes had told her about the Marquess’ opposition, made it seem the ceremony before her was as dreadful as the trial before the magistrate for shooting the Frenchman. As dreadful as it could have been had she no powerful witnesses to testify on her behalf. Who would speak for her in this marriage?

  “Is His Lordship waiting for us? He is ready? What is his demeanor?”

  “He seemed pensive but resolved, when I left the cabin,” Captain Bell answered. “Quite as composed as I have seen other bridegrooms at the altar cloth.”

  Roberta raised her veil again to dab at the corners of her eyes. “Yes, and so shall I be. Shall we go on?”

  The cabin had been opened up to the bright light of late afternoon when she entered. Beyond the leaded windows the waves of the following sea heaved up and rolled beneath as Medusa and the squadron made good a course to approach the Westerschelde. Lord Bond, in the rather garish suit of clothes he wore in his American disguise, stood with the Chaplain and Lieutenant Farley, who served as groom’s man. A congregation of officers and men of the Medusa formed a human aisle for her to walk down.

  Roberta smiled shyly in answer to Lord Bond’s beaming welcome, but by the time the Chaplain began the service with, “Dearly Beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God . . .” her mind went numb and she barely heard a single word. It was only when she and Lord Bond were standing together before the Chaplain and that worthy repeated his words, leaning forward to look into her eyes, that she seemed to awaken in the middle of the ceremony.

  “I require and charge you both, as ye will answer at the dreadful day of judgement when the secrets of all hearts shall be disclosed, that if either of you know any impediment, why ye may not be lawfully joined together in Matrimony, ye do now confess it. For be ye well assured, that so many as are coupled together otherwise than God’s Word doth allow, are not joined together by God; neither is their Matrimony lawful.”

  The chaplain’s nasal voice that before had seemed no great asset to a man of the cloth, grew stronger in the wooden walls of the cabin and carried forward the words in the bound prayerbook he held between them. She watched and listened as Lord Bond took his vows, answering, “I will,” with a smile at her; and then it was her turn. She squared her shoulders and concentrated on the words addressed to her as if her life depended upon them.

  “Wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou obey him, and serve him, love, honour, and keep him in sickness and in health; and forsaking all other, keep thee only unto him, as long as ye both shall live?”

  Roberta felt the words echo in her person, taking possession of her and changing the life she had always known. She hesitated for the duration of a long breath as Lord Bond and the Chaplain held her eyes with their own. She gathered her strength.

  “I will.”

  Roberta awoke in the first glimmer of morning when someone came to rouse her husband. She heard the words, “We have Neuzen in sight, My Lord. Err . . . there . . . there looks to be a French sloop raising anchor in the offing.”

  When the man left, closing the door behind him, Lord Bond scrambled out of the bed he had had made up for them in the Reaper’s day cabin. She peered sleepily out of the covers to see him stride naked across the deck to pick up his trousers. She studied his powerful body and rippling muscles. Her eyes travelled down his hirsute chest and abdomen to reside momentarily on his manhood. How innocent it seemed as he pulled up the breeches to cover it.

  He looked up to see her watching, and smiled. “How are you this morning, my Sweet? Do you find the joys of marriage to your liking?”

  Did she? She paid attention to the invasive feelings in her body and found them more painful than joyful. Her wedding night had been nothing like the whispered tales young women might exchange in secure privacy and blushing intimacy. In truth, she hurt.

  “Would you please inform Annie that she may come to me, My Lord?”

  He paused his dressing, his head cocked on one side. “Not ‘my lord’ this morning, Lady Bond. My close friends call me Julian, and you are entitled to be more personal than that.” He walked to the bed and bent down to kiss her.

  “I believe ‘Gideon’ would be most appropriate in our present circumstances. What is the forename of Mrs. Paine?”

  His Lordship shrugged. “I’m afraid that is not known to me. The passport document does not name her; it is possible that they were but recently married.”

  “Can we use my own forename, then? Or is it insufficiently American?”

  His Lordship finished fastening his cravat and took a step toward the cabin door. “We must think upon it. You must fix some particulars of Paine’s hometown in mind, too—but there is no time now.” With that he rushed out, slamming the door behind him.

  Roberta lowered the bed covers to inspect the source of some of the pain. Her right breast displayed two red swellings marked by the imprint of teeth. She had two more lower down, one on her belly and the other . . . much closer to the region no one’s teeth had ever approached before. A smear of blood stretched across her thighs. She could but stare. Was this how married couples expressed their love?

  A knock at the door made her pull the covers up again. “Come in.”

  The door opened to reveal the face of the wife of Medusa’s carpenter’s mate, who had served as a lady’s maid before and volunteered to accompany her in this adventure. “’Tis not fittin’ Ma’am that thee should go new married with only the company of men,” she had said.

  Now, Annie approached the bed for a long look into her eyes. “Is everything well, My Lady?”

  “Yes, of course. Should it not be?”

  Annie seemed to doubt her. “If I may . . .” she paused while her hand stretched gently to Roberta’s neck.

  “Ouch!” Roberta recoiled. Her neck hurt, too. “What is it?”

  “A bite, My Lady. I do not know how we might hide it.”

  Roberta gingerly explored with the tips of her fingers. Her neck had another bite like those she had already seen. Her sight became blurred as her eyes filled with tears.

  “There, My Lady. Doesn’t you cry. We will put some salve on it. And then we have that Pear’s Almond Bloom to mask the marks.”

  “Is it always like this?” Roberta gasped.

  Annie looked away, and then she shrugged. “Some men—they doesn’t know what they does when they be all heated up, an’ their member be a throbbin’ fer relief. Show him tonight, an’ he will likely be mortified an’ contrite. But that don’t mean he won’t do en agin. It mought take some time to teach en.”

  “Oh my God. What have I done?”

  “’Tis on’y one little bite, My Lady. Not yet th’end o’ the world.”

  Roberta shook her head and lifted the covers. “I have these, too.”

  Chapter Ten

  Into Danger

  With Annie’s help, Lord Bond’s marks of passion were dressed with salve and hidden beneath a generous application of Pear’s Almond Bloom. Roberta felt as if she should seclude herself from the eyes of all the men on board the captured American Schooner Reaper, but that was not possible. The man who had roused her husband this morning had reported they were about to anchor at Neuzen in the French-ruled Netherlands. He had also said something about the approach of a French sloop of war.

  She needed to go up on deck to see for herself, but she must dress carefully first. “How are my eyes, Annie? Do they look red?”

  “Ah . . . ’tis not eyes they will be studying I guesses, Mi’lady. But I will try a little hamamélis water to dispel th’ red.”

  “Thank you, Annie. How I appreciate your help. Did you see the French warship when you were on the weather deck?”

  She laughed. “As much as th’ eye could see beyond the breeches o’ all hands. ’Twas the wonder o’ the moment but I doubts all their studyin’ an’ all his Lordship’s ’structi
ons will keep the Frenchies from drawin’ alongside an’ inspectin’ Reaper from stem to stern.”

  Roberta felt a cold fear penetrate her breast. “I hope we and our crew can pass as Americans as much as I hope our few American volunteers will keep our secret.”

  Annie paused in applying the clear liquid to Roberta’s eyelids. “I spoke to some of they las’ night. Seems they cares nought fer Stars an’ Stripes, nor Union Jack as long as the money be good an’ the food an’ drink plentiful.”

  “I hope you’re right.” What would the French officers make of her presence on a blockade runner? Had Bond thought of that? She supposed it would be better for her to be on deck when they boarded, rather than appearing to hide below.

  The sound of running feet from the deck above suggested that moment could be nigh. She turned her head from Annie and gestured toward her dress where it lay across a cabin trunk. “I must dress quickly; we must not let the French see that we have used the Captain’s cabin as our bedroom.”

  Lord Bond stood beside Midshipman Willis and Lieutenant Farley on the small poop deck of the Reaper, his hands clasped behind his back to present a figure of calm and confidence for his scratch crew. The French corvette shortened sail as it drew alongside. He could see a boarding party assembling on the weather deck and a longboat being swung overside preparatory to being lowered into the water.

  “You have the Reaper’s papers to hand, Mr. Monkman?” he asked Farley, using the American captain’s name. Caleb Monkman was at this time held in irons aboard the frigate Medusa.

  “I have those to hand, Mr. Paine, sir. Do we tell them you have chartered the Reaper for this voyage, tho’ there are no documents to that effect aboard?”

  “Bluff, Mr. Monkman. We show a sheaf of papers and trust their poor knowledge of the English language to ensure they will find nothing to kindle suspicion in their minds.”

  Their conversation paused as Roberta appeared in the companionway, her brilliant red hair carefully pinned under a plain bonnet and her face and carriage seeming as calm as if she were walking in the Strand. By Jove, she was every bit the prize he had anticipated.

  “Come and stand by us, Mrs. Paine,” he said as she approached. “I trust all is well below?”

  “Indeed, husband. Annie is even now moving our bed-linens and effects to a smaller cabin on the orlop.”

  Her eyes held a hint of reproof, perhaps in amusement rather than censure. He lifted his chin in response—he had a great deal to prepare; surely she could be trusted to attend to domestic details. “Well done,” he managed.

  The French longboat was now in the water as the vessel’s bow anchor plunged into the deep. He nudged Farley and then sent Willis to the side to watch the longboat’s progress.

  The officer aboard the sloop demanded their identity and Farley walked to the rail. “The schooner Reaper out of New Bedford,” he replied in English, “bound for the French Netherlands. Can you offer us a pilot, Monsieurs?”

  “Veuillez à l’ancre, Monsieur American,” came the response, “Nous inspecterons votre bateau.”

  Lord Bond translated for his captain and the anchor was released. He then watched as the French boarding party descended a rope ladder into the longboat; steeling himself to remain calm. Had he forgotten anything? Would the French find something amiss? Would they know that he was the second Gideon Paine in the country—had the real Gideon Paine alerted the authorities to the documents aboard the Reaper?

  How could the man know . . . unless Elise’s people had failed to abduct him and a second letter from the American ambassador had sent him to Neuzen for them? The boarding party were now seated aboard the longboat and dipping their oars into the waves.

  He must have made some sound, for Roberta reached out a hand to his. He looked down as he squeezed hers, and then up at her face. She seemed calm but he fancied her eyes held a question.

  “Nothing to worry about, dear Girl. We will be ashore in an hour and taking our places in the coach to Antwerp.” He looked about at the faces of Farley and his seamen and formed his own into a bored expression. “I hope they will be quick.”

  Several of the men grinned and Willis chuckled. Then came the sound of the longboat against their side. The rope fastening of the ladder tightened and then a hand appeared, followed by a three-corn hat and an impossibly young and impossibly serious face. Good lord, did the Frenchies man their warships with midshipmen? This one seemed even younger than Willis.

  The young fellow took hold of the scabbard of his cutlass as he threw one leg over the rail. With only the slightest pause, he leaped nimbly onto the deck. “Ou est monsieur le Capitain?”

  Farley stepped forward. “Caleb Monkman of New Bedford. Welcome aboard the Reaper, dear ally.”

  The young officer’s face relaxed. He took his hand from the scabbard to shake that of the supposed American captain. “Nous ne vous retardera pas long, Monsieur. Have you seen les Anglais à la mer?”

  Farley shrugged. “Not at night, Sir.”

  The young man frowned slightly. “La nuit? Ah . . . je comprend.”

  A second and a third man climbed from the longboat as this conversation limped along. Then another officer climbed aboard. He immediately stepped across the deck to Lord Bond and Roberta. “And who may you be, Sir?”

  Lord Bond reached out a hand to shake the officer’s. “A merchant in tabac, Capitaine, from Massachusetts. Mr. Gideon Paine and his wife Roberta.”

  The officer’s eyes scanned him briefly and then rested upon Roberta. “Welcome to France, Madame.”

  Lord Bond watched anxiously as Roberta smiled and inclined her head ever so slightly, forswearing the polite English bow, as would any good American republican. “Thank you, Sir. I look forward to my visit.”

  Bond smiled and placed an affectionate hand on her arm. “My wife has not been to your fine country before.”

  “Bon. Is the cargo of the ship yours, Sir?”

  “Only the tabac, Sir. The cotton and the rum belong to the ship owners.”

  The officer’s eyes brightened. “Rum, from les Indies?”

  Lt. Farley joined them. “You must have a cask, Sir. The owners will be pleased to present one to you.”

  “I have thanks for you. Très généreux.”

  “I would be pleased to offer you a present of tabac, as well,” Lord Bond said.

  After that, the inspection seemed less forbidding. Nothing out of line was found and the captain offered to lead the Reaper into the Oostkade in Neuzen and arrange for the supply of spars and planks to repair the storm damages.

  Lieutenant Farley and Roberta stood beside Lord Bond on Reaper’s poop deck as they set sail again. Farley turned and smiled. “Well, Mr. Paine, it feels very good to be an American today.”

  “Indeed, but I think I will keep to my plan to have the Reaper remain at Neuzen, in the event we may wish to leave in a hurry. Have you seen my Nederlander this morning? I will want to load a shipment of tobacco aboard to be conveyed to Antwerp.”

  “We sighted the hoogaar astern of us at dawn, Sir. They were then in the process of making an inshore course, as would be expected for any coastal vessel looking to evade the English blockade. I would expect them to make Neuzen this afternoon.”

  Lord Bond turned to Roberta. “That makes us too late to take the afternoon diligence for Antwerp. I will need to supervise the cargo aboard Nederlander.”

  “There is also the matter of our visiting the Guard offices, as the corvette’s captain informed us, to present our documents,” she replied.

  “Yes—it seems an unusual formality. In my earlier experience, all aboard were deemed to be identified as passengers of the vessel they landed from.” He smiled to make his observation less ominous. What did it mean? Were the French now alerted for possible spies arriving by sea?

  With Reaper moored in the East Quay and the French corvette sailing away into the Westerschelde, Lord Bond led his womenfolk and two young American sailors carrying Roberta’s luggage to the
hostelry beside the quay. His intent to book accommodation until the departure time of next day’s coach hit an immediate stone wall.

  “Avez-vous la passe de la Police, Monsieur?”

  Lord Bond drew himself up. “I will go to the police after I have secured accommodation for myself and my wife.”

  The young man behind the counter shook his head. “Impossible! La passe, Monsieur.”

  Roberta smiled at the man behind the desk and spoke in French. “Mr. Paine has not met with this requirement previously in the Low Countries, Sir. Please excuse his manner. What is the intent of the measure?”

  The young man’s expression softened as he regarded her. “Je ne sais pas, Madame. The order, she come from les soldats two day before.”

  Lord Bond took a deep breath and put on a conciliatory face. “In that case I will gladly do as you ask. May you find more comfortable seating for my wife as she awaits my return?”

  “Certainement, Monsieur. You will find le Prefecture at le Oostkade, sept maison to ze gauche.”

  “Merci.”

  Bond had the American sailors set down the luggage and found them a few francs before he left. “You had best get back aboard. The hostelry staff will do as necessary, now.”

  The older of the two looked at the coins in his hand. “You shouldn’t ought, Mr. Paine, Sir. I reckon we was happy to be o’ service.”

  “My pleasure,” Bond replied. “When you go aboard you may inform Mr. Monkman that I will come to discuss the tobacco shipment after we have settled ourselves here.”