“I wish you could come with me now,” Sophie exclaimed. Her brow creased, and her mouth tightened. “Did he say anything about the savages?”
“Only that he’d made friends with some of the Huron and Montagnais, even with a few Mohawks, occasionally even dressing as they do to hunt or travel through the forests. Of course, not all the tribes have signed peace treaties with France. Some are more dangerous than others, but he believed they were doing the same as any man would if his way of life was threatened. The missionaries have tried to convert them, but they’ve had little success. Unfortunately, war is the way of the world. Someone always wants what someone else has.” She shook her head. “I’m hungry; let’s see what Lucie has packed for us.”
Half an hour later, Isabelle, an uneaten apple in her hand, stared at the château in the distance. Papa, Mama, and Pierre were all buried here. Who would tend their graves once she, Sophie, and Murielle were gone?
Papa’s words came back to her—follow your heart. Her heart was with Sophie and Guy. She needed to go to New France. If her plan worked, Isabelle de Caen would die, but she, nameless and homeless, would survive. No one must ever know the truth. What she was contemplating was treason, and while she didn’t want to lose her head, she couldn’t stay here, marry the chevalier, and watch innocent people die because of it.
* * *
It was late Wednesday evening when Isabelle bid goodnight to Sophie and locked herself in her bedroom. She thought of the small crock under her bed—the one she’d stolen from the shed on Sunday. It would either mean her death or her salvation. She’d know which within twenty-four hours. Sophie’s ship sailed at daybreak Friday. Tomorrow morning, Isabelle would take her to the ship and bid her adieu—temporarily, she hoped.
The poor girl had cried herself into a tizzy tonight and Murielle had sedated her. The stablemen would be up to get the trunks shortly, but before they did, Isabelle had a few things to add to them. She stared down at the key in her hand and the footlocker Guy had brought her. She’d spent the last twenty-four hours perfecting the plan for her escape. There were dangers and pitfalls to be sure, but the more she thought about it, the more convinced she was it would work.
Isabelle removed the lightweight coat from Pierre’s trunk as well as his slouch hat and the papers she couldn’t read, convinced they had to be in some sort of code. She’d tried three different dictionaries to decode them, but to no avail. No doubt these were significant, so they’d have to return to New France. If things worked as they should, she would show them to Guy when she reached the colony.
As much as it hurt her to do it, Isabelle left all the personal correspondence and the rest of Pierre’s clothes in the small chest. She emptied her large trunk, opened the secret compartment in the bottom and put in a few of her mother’s jewels she wanted to keep, half the money Guy had given her as well as the money she’d had before, and Pierre’s papers. She repacked the trunk adding the mittens and slippers from Pierre’s chest and a few of her mother’s household items she’d requested for Sophie but intended to keep for herself if all went well. The best of her clothing had been packed for her cousin, but Isabelle removed her fur lined cape Papa had given her from the items she was supposed to take to Paris and added it to the trunk for New France. Three trunks would accompany Sophie to the ship tomorrow. Two would go below and stay there until she arrived in New France. The third, bulging at the seams, contained more than she would need for the journey.
The garments from the Queen would remain at Caen when Isabelle fled—all except one dress she’d packed at the bottom of one of Sophie’s larger trunks. Isabelle de Caen couldn’t very well vanish naked. The de Caen Emeralds and most of her jewels would stay here as well. She would have no need for them, and since the Emeralds were well-known, having them would paint a bull’s eye on her. Pulling out her small satchel, she added two chemises, one to wear to bed, a sleeping bonnet, a petticoat, stockings, an old brush and comb, and her black wool dress. She crammed in a thin shawl and a sunbonnet that all but covered her face, and the pair of solid shoes she’d purchased from the shoemaker on Monday. She searched for an extra pair of shoe ribbons, but couldn’t find any. She looked down at the pitiful valise. It would have to do.
* * *
Guy paced the deck of L’Aigle Doré, ignoring the stiffness in his leg and the disquiet eating at him. He’d boarded the refitted warship Wednesday afternoon, watching as the men laded the last of the cargo Jean Talon had requested him to oversee aboard the vessel as well as his own goods and animals. A day or two aboard the ship before it sailed would give the stock time to acclimatize and get used to the rolling deck. Animals got seasick, just as humans did, some worse than others, but proper pens and cages as well as fresh air, good food, and plenty of fresh water went a long way toward increasing their comfort. He’d checked each crate, pen, cage, and container stored below ensuring everything was in order.
He’d spent most of Tuesday in Paris, hoping to learn for himself what had happened to Pierre. Unfortunately, it was just as the count had said in his note. The tavern where he’d met his fate didn’t exist. In its stead, a shoemaker, a dressmaker, a milliner, and a tailor shared the premises, and by all accounts, the little group had been there for years. People had entered steadily while he’d watched, and curious to see inside, he’d gone in and purchased a shawl for his mother. Despite what his eyes saw, his gut remained unsettled. Something was wrong, but he didn’t for the life of him know what.
This morning, he’d risen at dawn and now awaited the coach bringing Sophie to the ship, hoping Isabelle would accompany her. The week, the last he would ever spend in France, had brought him one disappointment after another, but the worst blow had been inflicted on Sunday when he’d returned from Caen. No wonder Isabelle had looked so desolate when he’d spoken with her, but why hadn’t she told him herself?
Upon his arrival, his mother had been quick to inform him that the upcoming marriage of Isabelle de Caen and the Chevalier d’Angrignon had been announced in church that morning and would take place in Paris within a fortnight. The after-church gossip had been full of censure, but no one would openly oppose it since the news had been delivered as an edict from the king. Poor Isabelle. If Louis had decided she was to marry d’Angrignon, nothing could be done to prevent it.
The fact that Isabelle would be remaining at Caen, a place where her father had suspected she would be in danger, worried him, but what could he do? He would be thousands of miles away. He could only pray her new husband, despite his hatred for the man, would keep her safe.
The sound of horses’ hooves on the planking near the dock drew his attention. He glanced up to see a carriage stop at the end of the pier where the ship was moored. The first mate, expecting the coach, ordered the seamen to help the stevedores load the baggage into the aft hold. Apparently, Madame Gaudier, a woman chosen by the great Colbert himself, would replace Sister Francis and chaperone and care for the young women aboard the ship. Sadly, the nun had fallen seriously ill, and her prognosis wasn’t good. He frowned. There seemed to be a lot of this unusual illness in France these days. Maman’s comments about poisons came back to him.
While Guy had known Sophie was sailing with them, he hadn’t expected her to oversee the new brides. Would she even know how to care for them? Perhaps he could enlist his mother to help her. Having something to keep her occupied would help the voyage be less tedious. All he could do was pray that no one aboard the ship would come down with the strange illness, if that’s what it was, and that they would have a smoother sailing than he’d had on the way over.
Captain Étier, a military officer with naval experience, who’d simply expected to take a refitted warship to her next assignment, had been relieved when a replacement for the chaperone had been found so quickly, even more so when Guy had added that he knew the lady. The last thing that man wanted to do was deal with nervous, frightened women.
Guy was certain the captain wasn’t happy having any female passe
ngers aboard his vessel. Since this ship and its crew were on a vital mission for the king, he’d accepted the slight detour and the fact that one of his passengers technically outranked him. As a former lieutenant with the regiment in New France, Guy was tasked with ensuring each of the new recruits was fully trained before they reached their final destination. Their lives depended on it.
The driver assisted a woman from the carriage, and his heart soared. The gown was too rich for it to be anyone but Isabelle. He walked as quickly as his limp would allow down the gangplank and approached the coach. The woman in purple silk looked up at him and although the resemblance was incredible, her chocolate brown eyes told him she wasn’t the woman he wanted. Why had he never noticed the similarity between the cousins? Seeing her, day in, day out, would be a knife thrust to his heart. Could he marry her as Isabelle had suggested and not dishonor her by dreaming he was in another woman’s arms?
Ashamed of himself and his wayward thoughts, he approached Sophie and bowed.
“Madame Gaudier. I’m Guy Poirier, an old friend of Pierre’s. Do you remember me, even just a little?”
As Pierre’s widow she deserved every bit of respect he himself did, and although he knew she was an imposter, he could never reveal that secret. While Sophie smiled, he could see the ravages of sorrow on her pale face, a face so like Isabelle’s. Her eyes and nose were red from crying. Going to New France because you wanted to, was one thing. Being forced to go someplace where you’d be completely alone, was another.
“Good morning, Sieur, I do remember you. Anne and I were very close, and she spoke of you long after you’d left the vicomte’s home for school. You were her hero as you are now mine. I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to thank you for your kindness. Izzy,” she called into the carriage, using the pet name she’d given Isabelle years ago. “Look who’s here, just as you said he would be.”
Guy’s heart soared.
Isabelle stepped out of the carriage, rendering him speechless. Why had he thought Sophie resembled her? This woman was magnificent, vibrant, and full of life. She glowed, reducing the other to a mere shadow.
The men unloading carriages and wagons nearby stopped in their tracks, their mouths gaping open at the sight. Gone was the despondent woman from Sunday, replaced by a beauty who would turn heads at court. No man who saw her today would ever forget her. Never before had he envied and despised a man at the same time as much as he did the chevalier right this minute.
While the dark wine color might be appropriate, the gown she wore didn’t befit a woman in mourning, but he couldn’t deny how well it suited her. A small velour cape covered her shoulders, exposing most of the burgundy and silver striped silk shimmering in the sunlight. Cut very low at the bodice, it revealed her milk white bosom, marred only by the garnet necklace she wore. Unlike Sophie’s pale face, her cheeks had been rouged, her lips stained, and her eyes made larger and brighter somehow. A feathered, burgundy bonnet sat atop her long hair arranged in ringlets.
“Good morning, my lady,” Guy said, stepping closer to her and bowing. “You both look lovely, truly the brightest flowers on the wharf today. Allow me to offer my good wishes for your upcoming nuptials.”
Isabelle nodded. “Thank you. I would’ve preferred more time, but the king’s orders must be obeyed.”
Had he seen anger flash in her eyes?
At the abrupt order from the first mate, the men returned to their labor, secretly casting glances at the women as they worked. The first mate came over to the trio to be introduced. Reluctantly, Guy did the honors.
“Monsieur Martin, may I present Madame Sophie Gaudier who’ll be sailing with us, and Dame Isabelle de Caen, fiancée to the Chevalier D’Angrignon, the future Countess de Caen. Ladies, Monsieur Lucien Martin is first mate on L’Aigle Doré; he’s second-in-command to Captain Étier.”
“Enchanté, Mesdames.” He removed his hat and bowed deeply. “Madame Gaudier, welcome to L’Aigle Doré. We’re very grateful you could join us on this voyage. Hopefully, the trip will be a pleasant one for you. We’ve made many modifications to the ship to ensure your comfort. If there’s anything you need, please let me know.”
Guy watched Isabelle step forward and hold out her gloved hand. The man took it and placed a chaste kiss on it. Jealousy flashed through him even at this innocent gesture.
He pictured the future awaiting the woman he’d always love, imagined her at the chevalier’s mercies, and clenched his fists. He would like nothing better than to run the chevalier through, kidnap Isabelle, and vanish with her, but to do so would be to commit treason himself. Isabelle giggled softly and brought him back to the moment.
“The pleasure is ours, sir. I’m certain Sophie will be safe in your capable hands. Could we have a tour of the ship? I know she’ll get to see it during the voyage, but I won’t.” She pouted and batted her eyelashes. “Do say it’s possible. I don’t want to leave Sophie any sooner than I have to.”
“While I would love to give you a tour, madame, I can’t,” Monsieur Martin said, smiling and shaking his head. “My duties require me to stay at my post and supervise the provisioning. The ship must carry enough to see us to New France. Perhaps my lord would do the honors?”
“Oh, Guy, do say you will,” Isabelle begged, her now bare hand on his arm.
He could feel her heat through the thin linen of his shirt, imprinting itself on his skin.
“It would be my pleasure,” he answered, grateful he sounded normal, not as off-kilter as he felt, grateful for the opportunity to spend a bit more time with her.
Chapter Eight
Guy couldn’t take his eyes off Isabelle. He’d never seen her this flirtatious. No doubt she was trying to put on a brave front for Sophie who looked as if she were on her way to meet her maker.
“Thank you, my lord,” Monsieur Martin said. “Please don’t take them any lower than the work deck since those on duty last evening are asleep below.” He smiled at Isabelle. “Even in shore, a ship must guard against pirates who would steal from her. Now, if you will excuse me ... enjoy your tour.”
The first officer saluted the party and moved to meet a wagon full of crates pulling up beside the carriage.
“There are pirates in Le Havre?” Sophie asked, her eyes large. “Where are they? Are they hiding? Where’s their ship?” She twisted her head around trying to find them.
Isabelle chuckled. “I’m sure he didn’t mean real pirates, Sophie. More than likely he was talking about simple thieves who make their homes on the docks.”
“Quite right,” Guy confirmed, covering her bare fingers on his arm with his. “There are any number of homeless people and orphans who live in the area. Some look for work; others search for whatever they can steal.”
A current of sexual energy travelled up his arm and suffused his body with heat. The muscles in his groin tightened, but he forced them to relax. He smiled down at the woman beside him, and the warmth in her eyes took his breath away. Clearing his throat, he led her along the wharf and up the gangplank, Sophie following in their wake, glancing nervously behind her.
“L’Aigle Doré is a grand dame in her own right,” he began, helping them step down onto the vessel. “She’s one of France’s older warships, one hundred and seventy-five feet long, weighing fourteen hundred tons, and carrying eighty-four cannons. She has two missions on this tour. First, as an envoi of the French West India Company, she’ll deliver her passengers and cargo safely to New France, then, working for the king once more, she’ll travel down the Atlantic coast to Guyenne near the equator. That colony, founded only four years ago, is France’s only toehold into the riches of South America, but it’s in a precarious position, surrounded by Spanish, Dutch, and Portuguese. She’ll remain there to protect the colony until she’s relieved or recalled.”
Isabelle cocked her head to the left and smiled, her eyes slightly narrowed.
“You mean these soldiers and sailors won’t be returning to France this year?”
&n
bsp; “Not for at least ten years. They all knew this when they signed on for this duty. Their families will receive a much higher rate of pay to make up for it. Improvements have been made to the ship, which, while they won’t all be available to them on the leg to New France, I’m sure they’ll enjoy in Guyenne,” Guy continued, still holding Isabelle’s hand as he spoke. “The ship carries a crew of sixty, fifty soldiers, and eighteen passengers, including my mother and me. Twenty soldiers and the passengers all disembark in New France, where six additional officers will join the ship.”
“Where will everyone sleep?” Isabelle asked, frowning.
“Since the ship is not expected to engage in battle, although the cannons could be used if necessary, the sailors will sleep on the lower deck. That’s a deck above the cargo hold where your things will be stored, along with the rest of the baggage and supplies. The soldiers will be housed in the crew quarters on the gun deck, while Sophie and the brides will be on the upper deck at the front of the ship in a section called the forecastle.”
Isabelle looked up at him. “Will your mother stay there as well?”
“Maman and I have cabins on the quarterdeck, near the captain’s quarters. The other passenger, a priest, will stay in that area as well as the rest of the naval and military officers. There are eight cabins there including the captain’s, but at least two will stay empty unless he gives them to other members of his crew or the soldiers. Of course, there’s still time for more passengers to book passage ... At the moment, we’re standing on the weather deck or main deck. Do you see the closed in area to the left near the bow and the pens on the right? Those will house the animals we carry to New France with us. Some of them will provide fresh meat for the journey as well as eggs and milk.”
The Price of Honor (Canadiana Series Book 1) Page 9