“No, miss,” Annie replied with a cheerful grin. “T'is 'is lordship's, I been filching a bit now 'n then.”
Despite everything Henri dissolved into laughter and got to her feet to hug Annie as the shameless maid plucked the flask deftly back from her fingertips. “Oh, Annie, I am so glad you're here.”
Annie reached out and pinched Henri's cheek and clucked at her with affection. “No more 'n I am, my girl,” she said with a fond smile and then tucked the flask carefully into the crevice afforded by her capacious bosom.
Chapter 24
“Wherein trouble brews and storms gather.”
Lawrence braced himself against the hull and stared up at the beam as the ship lurched and bucked. He could hear the the snap of canvas as Alex's deep voice yelled to strike the royals. They were heading into the Bay of Biscay and the wind was already tossing the ship about like a careless child with a toy. Guilt layered thicker upon everything he was already feeling as he knew what a risk Alex was taking in heading into the bay in the winter. Calm and gentle enough in the summer months, from the autumn onward the weather in the bay was treacherous, raging out of nowhere and wrecking ships with ease. He'd done everything he could to dissuade Alex from his course but the pigheaded fool would hear none of it. Lawrence didn't fancy his chances of causing a mutiny, despite the fact that his quartermaster would have repeated every reasonable argument that Lawrence had put forward if he had an ounce of sense.
As Alex never employed fools he could only imagine the man's frustration matched his own over the worm that had got into his captain's head and addled his brains. The familiar tune of a song the children had sung back home when a storm approached circled in his head, making his skin prickle with foreboding. “Blow wind, rise storm, ship ashore afore the morn'.” A wreck on the Cornish coast was something to be prayed for and welcomed. It meant goods washed ashore, casks of wine and exotic fare from far flung places. For some it was the difference between starvation and survival, so he'd well understood his countrymen's glee and the children's excitement. He'd watched them himself, out on the Lizard, as a ship smashed itself to bits in a raging storm on the treacherous rocks of the peninsula. Being one of the poor bastards on board, though, that was another matter.
He got to his feet and paced as well as the rolling ship would allow, itching to go up on deck and feel the cold, dark heart of the storm closing in around them. Anything rather than remain stuck down here with only the rats or his own thoughts for company, both of which he had become heartily sick of some time ago.
It was two days since he had caught Henri and Alex on deck, looking ... comfortable with each other. He gritted his teeth and tried not to think about it. But like a tongue returning to a troublesome tooth, his thoughts inevitably returned a bare moment later. He had been allowed to walk the deck twice a day since then, and had come across them more than once, talking quietly, their heads together. He had noticed Alex's solicitous attitude, a gentle hand on Henri's arm, the touch of a fingertip to her face and the pretty blush that flushed her cheeks at his attentions. It was all very gentleman-like on his brother's part and perfectly in keeping with the actions of a fiancé getting to know the lady he intends to marry. And Lawrence had never wanted to knock his brother's damn head off more than he had over the past few days.
Jealousy and impotent rage burned through him no matter how hard he tried to tamp the feelings down. He made himself relive every argument with Alex, repeat every reason why he could not stay, why he had to leave, why they should marry and try to make the best of things. Every time he satisfied himself that yes, he was indeed in the right, he had chosen the best course for everyone. There was no doubt in his mind. His heart, however, refused to accept cold, hard logic. His heart was full of envy and misery and he hated himself for hating Alex. He was making the best of the situation after all, trying to put Henri at her ease, trying to make the girl happy. Because of course it would be best all round if she fell in love with Alex. Of course it would. And what wasn't there to love? He was handsome, powerful, incredibly wealthy, not to mention titled ...
His fist connected with one of the barrels that formed the wall of his prison cell and a dull, ringing thud echoed around the confined space as the liquid inside shuddered. He brought his hand away with the knuckles bleeding, but it didn't take the pain from his chest or ease his frustration. With disgust he sat back down on the pallet of his bed and put his head in his hands.
He looked up again at shouts from topside. Moving as far as his chains would allow he strained his ears over the continuous surge of the waves against the hull and the roar of the wind as it gained strength. Alex had called for all hands to shorten sail, and Lawrence could see in his mind's eye the crew battling to bring down the top gallant as the wind tried to snatch it away.
“Damn you, Alex!” he swore and yanked on the chains that held him captive. Pointless as it was he pulled and yanked and turned the air blue with rage and frustration and every filthy curse he could think of.
If not in answer to a prayer, surely in answer to his cursing, one of Alex's men hurried towards him, keys in hand.
“Capt'n said to free ye. All hands on deck,” the man shouted over the noise of the storm as thunder cracked overhead.
“About bloody time!” Lawrence yelled back, snatching his hands free and running to find his brother.
Chapter 25
“Wherein bottles and tempers are drained.”
Henri covered her ears and prayed to God for deliverance. The shriek of the wind, the groaning of wood under great strain and snap of sails and rigging, was punctuated by shouts and yells from the men on deck. All of this was quite stressful enough but nothing compared to the wailing of Annie.
At first her maid had been stoic, if a little green around the gills, as the storm had gained upon them. At which point Annie had taken to making an earnest attempt to finish anything that she might have left in Alex's decanter without the slightest attempt at subterfuge or covering her tracks.
“What will you say when he asks where his rum went?” Henri demanded. “For I shan't cover for you!”
“Miss Henri!” The woman had screeched, clinging onto the bed with one hand and the decanter with the other. “If I survive this voyage, which I bleedin' doubt, I'll take any punishment 'is lordship cares to give for stealin' 'is rum, but for the moment my needs are greater an' it t'ain't doin' no one the slightest bit o' good in that bottle!”
Henri knew her maid of old, and suspected she'd be more likely to say the decanter had smashed in the storm, once she'd drunk it dry, but found little point in trying to wrestle the spirit from her. Especially as it seemed to be calming her nerves. In truth Henri had taken a nip or two herself but found it was only making her increasingly nauseated. She thanked God she hadn't fallen to seasickness before on the journey, for if this was a taste of it, it was miserable indeed.
She squealed as the ship lurched and Alex's chair screeched across the floor and tilted on two legs before smashing itself back on all fours once again.
“Oh, my Lawd,” Annie cried. “We're all gonna die!”
Well the rum had been calming her nerves in any case. Henri sighed as it now seemed that the wretched woman was blind drunk and hysterical. She briefly considered joining her, before thinking how badly Alex and Lawrence would view that kind of behaviour and decided that she would simply have to endure.
“Oh, Annie, do be quiet!” she shouted, joining the woman on the berth and steadying herself as best she could as the boat pitched and lurched.
Annie's lip quivered for a moment before the woman nodded, took a deep breath, smoothed out her skirts with great solemnity… and passed out.
“Well really,” Henri muttered, and then was forced to grab hold of both her maid and the decanter before both rolled off the bed and hit the floor. Wedging the decanter between the wall and the mattress, she pulled the cord free from her dressing gown. Muttering oaths as Annie snored, she tied her to the bed as securely as she could manage,
braced herself in the corner of the berth and prayed.
She awoke with a start. Her heart pounded with anxiety, breath coming too fast as she looked around her ... and found everything utterly still. The quiet was unnerving after the incredible noise of the storm and did nothing to ease her racing heart. The room was in disorder, the chairs lay on their sides, and a bright white light was slanting in through the cabin window. Untying and then climbing over Annie, who groaned and clutched at her head, she ran to the little porthole and looked out.
The sky was white and overcast, and the sea smooth and grey and quite untroubled.
Henri let out a sigh of relief and quickly set about righting the room and tidying herself as best as she could. There was clearly no point in trying to rouse Annie who was making pitiful noises from the bed. Henri poured her a large glass of water and forced it into Annie's hand before making her way on deck.
She found Lawrence standing at the rail, looking at the dark mass of land that was now clearly visible on the horizon. He smiled at her as she approached, and she returned it, noting as she did that he looked tired and worn. With a wave of sadness she also marked that he was back in chains. He lifted his wrists, winking at her.
“No one is taking any chances with port in view. I think they're worried I might try and swim for it.”
Henri looked down at the swirling grey waters as the boat cut through the waves and shuddered at the idea.
“Don't even joke about it,” she said, feeling chilled by the very idea. It wasn't as icy here as it had been in England, but nonetheless the water must be freezing.
“Oh, I assure you I got quite wet enough last night, I have no desire to do it again,” he said, laughing.
Looking at him with concern she reached out her hand. “Oh, Lawrence, your clothes are still wet. You need to change at once before you catch a chill.”
He tutted and looked at her with amusement. “Alex is just as wet as I am and he's still on deck. I don't think it likely the men will take well to their prisoner being given a fresh set of dry clothes, not when everyone else is wet and cold and going about their business.”
She frowned at him and nodded. She could see his point but was now only concerned that the whole crew would go down with influenza.
“You'll be on the Longueville estate by dinner time,” he said, a moment later, and she saw a wistful look in his eyes.
“When was the last time you were there?” she asked.
“When I was fourteen, we came with mother.” He looked out over the increasingly green horizon as France came into view. “Father was furious, said it was madness. There was a truce between England and France that year, but he said it couldn't last. He was right of course.” He turned to her and grinned. “But mother was determined to see Longueville one last time.” His smile faltered. “Of course none of us knew then that she was ill. She died the following spring.”
“Oh, Lawrence, I'm so sorry.” She covered his hand with her own but he withdrew his, frowning and looking around to see if anyone had noticed.
“You shouldn't be speaking to me,” he said, turning and walking away from her.
Henri looked about and saw no one who was the least bit interested in them. The men looked cold and tired and were going about their work with the methodical concentration of exhaustion.
“How long did you stay?” she asked, following him as he leaned against the rail further along, the chains clattering against the wood as he moved.
He huffed at her but she just returned a placid smile that made it quite clear she wasn't going anywhere.
“Just for the summer,” he said.
“Was Alex there?”
He nodded. “He had leave in August, spent the whole month with us. We sailed and fished and swam. It was the best summer.” She smiled on seeing the merry blue of his eyes again as he remembered. “You'll love it there, it's a beautiful place, over four hundred years old,” he said with enthusiasm. “Well it was,” he amended, shrugging. “I don't know how it faired during the war. But if it still stands ...” He paused and she could see he was picturing the place in his mind. “The gardens and the surrounding countryside are simply stunning, so green and lush, and the house is full of hidden corners and ghosts.”
“Ghosts?” she repeated in alarm, before rolling her eyes at him as he laughed at her.
“Well of course, all the greatest houses have at least one ghost.”
She pouted at him, convinced now that he was simply teasing her.
“Yes, she is the ghost of Marguerite,” he continued. “A pretty young maid who worked for the Comtesse de Longueville sometime in the fifteenth century. The story goes that the Comte seduced her and got her with child. She was in love with him but he denied the child was anything to do with him and threw her out in a storm. She was heartbroken and managed to sneak back in and hide. The next day when he was away from home, she went to his bedroom, and she cut her own throat.”
“Oh my!” Henri stood with her own hand closed protectively around her throat, feeling quite uncertain whether she would like Longueville at all.
Lawrence gave a heavy sigh. “They say you can hear her singing in the corridors on stormy nights.” He laughed at the horrified look she was giving him. “Well that's what they say! Though neither Alex nor I have ever heard her,” he added.
“Well that is a great comfort, I'm sure,” she muttered, shivering.
“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you.” He chuckled, looking thoroughly unrepentant.
“Hmmm.” She sniffed and looked away from him before curiosity got the better of her. “What else is there to see?”
She listened, enraptured, as he described the grand old house, the river and the forests, the ancient church and the endless stretches of white sandy beaches where he had played that last hot summer. He talked as though he would show her all of it and then stopped quite abruptly, and turned away from her.
“Of course Alex will show you everything,” he said, sounding bored now, though she wasn't fooled for a moment.
“I wish you'd show me, Lawrence,” she said, her voice soft, as she laid her hand on his arm. She watched as he looked down at it, still for a moment, before shaking her off.
“I won't be there,” he said, his voice cold, before shouting at one of Alex's men. “You there, your captain instructed I be taken back to the hold.”
And with sorrow forming a lump in her throat she watched as he walked away from her without a backwards glance or another word.
Chapter 26
“Wherein a home is discovered, and our heroine agrees to play dirty.”
Lawrence was right of course, she adored Longueville. From the moment the carriage turned the corner onto the long gravelled drive that led to the house she was enraptured.
It was a long, symmetrical, rectangular building three stories high and on each corner stood a round tower. To the left of the great house sat a row of smaller dependences and behind them she could see the church tower. Glorious lawns and topiary laid out around the front of the house with wide gravel paths and a fountain that splashed prettily.
“Well I am relieved to see it still stands at least,” Alex said from beside her as the carriage drew up in front of the house. “But if you would please stay here until I am assured that my men have made a thorough investigation of the place.”
Henri nodded and watched as he stepped outside the carriage. He had sent his men on ahead and they had heard nothing to suggest there was any trouble, so Alex had been content to bring her straight to the house.
“Oh, Annie, isn't it beautiful?” she sighed, looking out of the carriage window with pleasure. Annie, who was still suffering the results of excess, made a non-committal sound before returning her head to the side of the carriage and closing her eyes once more.
The night, falling fast and heavy, brought a low mist creeping over the surrounding countryside, but Longueville looked solid and welcoming, and Henri longed to go inside and explore. Of cou
rse then she was struck with sorrow, as she realised what she truly wanted was to see it with Lawrence, who was chained to one of the wagons bringing supplies from the ship. She shivered with melancholy and moved her feet from the hot brick they'd been on as it was now stone cold. Shifting in her seat she strained to look behind her, to see if she could see him but the night was closing in and nothing but dark shapes could be discerned moving about in the gathering gloom.
She could hear shouts from the men as they unloaded and the glimmer of lamps was flickered past as they moved from place to place. Little by little the house came alive, a warm glow surrounding it as lamps and fires were lit inside, and the sweet scent of wood smoke was redolent on the cold night air.
Henri tapped her feet on the brick to try and bring some feeling back as she could no longer feel her toes and then jumped with alarm as the carriage door swung open.
“Forgive me for keeping you so long in the cold,” Alex said, giving her his hand. “We had to be certain there were no unwelcome surprises awaiting us.”
“And were there?” she asked, stepping out of the carriage and hearing the soft crunch of gravel beneath her boots.
Alex turned to help Annie down before placing Henri's hand on his arm and guiding her towards the house. “No,” he said, the relief evident in his voice. “I believe we have lost much of the silver but those servants we have left have been with the family all of their lives. They were, and still are, fiercely loyal to our mother who they adored, and so to us. We have been remarkably lucky,” he added and she looked up to see him watching her in the candle light. He paused and looked down at her. “Please do not take this the wrong way as I know it does not signify, please understand that by now I feel quite assured that it is Lawrence you care for and that this will change nothing, but I want you to know - if we can only get Lawrence to see sense - I am going to give him Longueville. So this ...” He gestured with the lamp he held towards the house. “This would be your home.”
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