by Judith James
Sarah told him about Jamie, how much he’d grown, and how close they had become. She told him about Davey and Ross, and Killigrew. He told her about the chevalier, what he owed him, and how he loved and valued him as a friend. He described Algiers and Morocco for her, and all the things he’d seen in Africa, the fantastical, and the horrific. He described the battles, the dead bodies, and his own strange detachment. She couldn’t find any words to help him with it, but she listened, her arms wrapped tight around him while he relived it, and he wasn’t alone with it anymore. It was three days before they finally stirred from her room.
“I have no clothes, Sarah.”
“That is how I like you, Gabriel. I’ve decided to keep you this way.”
He laughed and tickled her, lying across her back and capturing an ankle, contenting himself by caressing her calf and playing with her toes as they talked. “I should go back, though, to collect some belongings and let Valmont know I’m still alive.”
“I’m afraid to let you out of my sight. I’m afraid I might lose you again.”
“Fear not, mignonne, we shall be as Castor and Pollux, ‘united by the warmest affection, and inseparable in all our enterprises.’ Wither thou goest, I will go, and where thou lodgest, I will lodge. Where do you want to live, Sarah? Here in London? We can stay wherever you like. I have more money than I could ever spend. We are rich.”
“We are richer than you think. Your ship, the one you left in Gibraltar, is waiting at anchor in Falmouth Harbor. Davey sailed it back, and Ross had your shares put in the bank, in case you should be found someday.”
“God bless them both! Did you see her, Sarah?” he asked excitedly. “Is she not a quick and lively little thing?”
“She truly is. She’s beautiful, Gabe. I’d rather hoped we’d go sailing together. In the last letter you sent you promised me travel and adventure.”
“Would it please you, mignonne?”
“It would please me very much, indeed. I would love to travel the world with you. We could go to the Sandwich Islands, and Japan, and visit the Americas, and I’ve always dreamed of going to China.”
Laughing, he kissed her toes, and reluctantly let her go. “If we’re to do all that, mignonne, I really must get dressed.”
Not ready to explain themselves, to leave their own private world, or to converse with anyone but each other, they snuck out late that night, whispering, laughing, and shushing each other like a pair of naughty schoolboys. Sarah, dressed in breeches and boots, looked every inch the part. Any fears, doubts, pains, or sorrows that might have stood between them, had been forever washed away in a torrent of lovemaking and sweet communion, and they were inseparable now.
Although the hour was late, there was a still a steady stream of traffic in and out the house on Chesterfield Street. They stole through the garden, and stopped under a balcony adjoining Gabriel’s private suite. “Here we are, my girl. Up you go.” Making a foothold with his clasped hands, Gabriel boosted Sarah easily up to the railing. She scrambled over, laughing and panting.
“Be careful, Gabe,” she whispered, reaching down to him. “You’re a lot heavier than I am.”
“I’m a sailor, my love,” he said, waving her hand away disdainfully. Leaping up, he caught the rail, one-handed, and pulled himself easily onto the balcony beside her. Flushed with the excitement of clandestine escapades in the dark of night, they forgot their purpose, and tumbled happily into his bed, kissing, squeezing, and struggling with their clothes.
“You ripped my shirt,” she complained, sometime later.
“You can use one of mine, mignonne. You wear them so much better than I.” He found her a shirt in one of his chests, grinning appreciatively when she put it on.
“Should we go and see your friend now?”
“No, he’ll be with his guests, and a woman after that. Tomorrow will do well enough.”
“Mmm. You know this room doesn’t seem like you at all, except for those,” she said, pointing to several instruments that took up most of the far wall.
“I don’t suppose I’ve really thought of it as my room. It’s just a place to sleep, if I can. Those? I don’t know … I thought it might …” He shrugged and made a helpless gesture with his hands.
“Do you still play?”
“No, Sarah. Not for some time now.”
Absently caressing her new shirt, she ambled over to the wall for a closer look.
The chevalier entertained his guests, making sure that the wine and the conversation flowed smoothly, but his mind was somewhere else. It had been four days since St. Croix had stormed from the library. Gabriel’s reaction to Lady Munroe had been astonishing. He was well aware the man wasn’t the callous libertine most people thought him, but he’d always found him to be cool, verging on cold-blooded. He’d never seen him truly upset before. He wondered if he might have left for France, if he might have done himself an injury, or if Lady Munroe might know what had upset him so. Weary, worried, and increasingly perplexed, he pushed away Barbara’s grasping hands, stepped around a pretty raven-haired doxy, and set off for his bed, alone. He would visit the widow Munroe and make some inquiries of her tomorrow.
He stopped suddenly, turning to look down the hall. There was light spilling from under the door to Gabriel’s rooms, and he could hear the unmistakable sounds of merriment within. Damn the impertinence! These were private quarters and no one was allowed to enter here without express invitation. Nom de Dieu, they weren’t operating a brothel! He stood outside the door, collecting himself. Quiet laughter, the murmur of soft voices, and the discordant notes of piano and fiddle drifted from the room out into the hall. He was about to enter when notes turned into chords, and chords turned into music. Piano and fiddle coaxed and caressed each other, engaging and coalescing into a hauntingly lovely melody that spoke of yearning, pathos, and joy. His anger evaporated. He couldn’t recollect the last time he had been so moved. Curious, spellbound, he opened the door.
They were oblivious to everything but each other. St. Croix, barefoot and bare-chested bent over the keyboard, his fingers weaving an exquisite spell, his eyes warm and intent on his lady. She sat cross-legged on top of the piano wearing nothing but a shirt. Stunned, Valmont watched them, completely captivated. Gabriel was a virtuoso! His lady was enchanting! He waited until the last notes rolled, slowed, and stopped, then exclaimed into the silence, “Oh, well done, mes enfants! Well done, indeed!”
Sarah shrieked in surprise and slid hastily off the piano as Gabriel jumped to his feet, pushing her behind him. “Damn you, Jacques! Have you no manners? Has no one taught you how to knock?”
“Je suis désolé, mon vieux. Your pardon, Madame la Comtesse,” the chevalier said with a deep bow. “I was so enchanted, transported, in fact, that I quite forgot myself. Gabriel, dear friend, will you not introduce me to your lovely lady?” he asked with a disarming grin.
“Sarah, may I present to you Jacques Louis David, Chevalier de Valmont.”
“It’s a great pleasure, Chevalier! Gabriel speaks very highly of you,” Sarah said, smiling warmly from behind Gabriel’s shoulder.
“Does he really, my dear?” the chevalier asked, delighted. “I’ve always assumed I annoyed him terribly.”
“You do!” Gabriel snapped.
“He tells me you are his dearest friend. I am most grateful to you for your care of him.”
“It seems that I might say the same of you, mademoiselle.”
“She is to be called madame, Valmont!” Gabriel growled. Damn Jacques! He was trying to ogle her bare legs! It was time to set him straight. “Chevalier, allow me to introduce my wife, Sarah St. Croix, Madame St. Croix to you. Sarah? Perhaps you would like to retreat to the dressing room and find something a little warmer to wear.”
“Yes, Gabe,” Sarah said meekly, kissing his shoulder, slightly ashamed of herself for enjoying his jealous snit. She slipped quickly into the adjoining dressing room.
“Your wife! I am bouleversé, mon ami! Shocke
d! I never imagined!”
“I know you didn’t, Jacques,” Gabriel said with a wicked smile, relaxing now that Sarah’s legs were no longer on display. They both turned as she reentered the room a moment later, lost in one of Gabriel’s dressing gowns.
“Madame St. Croix,” the chevalier said, clicking his heels and making a formal bow. “It is a very great delight to meet you! Gabriel, mon ami, when you refused all the women who threw themselves at you, here and in Paris, I felt certain that … well, never mind. Clearly, you had a grande passion. And to think, she is your wife! How unusual! I am delighted for you both! Come now, mes enfants. We shall share some wine and celebrate and you will tell me of your grand amour.”
Gabriel and Sarah spent another month in London finishing up their affairs, moving back and forth between the town house and the house on Chesterfield Street. Gabriel ceded his share of the property to Valmont, refusing any compensation other than the chevalier‘s agreement to come to his aid if ever he was needed, which they both knew either would happily do for the other, in any case.
Within days, it was common knowledge they were lovers, and that a startling transformation had come over St. Croix. Gone was the glittering disguise. The man who emerged from underneath was virile, powerful, and intensely alive. He doted on his lady in a way that was unfashionable, entirely unexpected, and the envy of all the ladies of the ton. His hard-planed features gentled and warmed, his cruel mouth softened and smiled, and his eyes glowed with a proprietary flame whenever he looked at her. They were inseparable. Wherever one was, there was the other, always touching, hand in hand, leaning in to each other to speak, and walking with arms linked or wrapped around each other’s waist. It was disgraceful, and they didn’t care. They were sought after everywhere, receiving many invitations, and accepting none. They enjoyed themselves with Valmont, whom Sarah quickly came to know and love, almost as much as Gabriel did, and when their business was done, they went home.
They were married in June, in front of Sarah’s family. There were flowers, and music, and Sarah wore a beautiful dress. Only Davey and the chevalier knew it wasn’t the first time. Things were a little awkward. Sarah’s family rejoiced in her obvious happiness and Gabriel’s safe return, but they were wary, too, unable to understand why he’d stayed away so long. He had no intention of explaining anything so private. It was enough that Sarah knew and understood. He hoped that things would improve and smooth with time, but it didn’t concern him unduly.
After the ceremony, they made their way down to the docks, accompanied by a merry throng of well-wishers. Gabriel’s ship, La Mignonne, strained and pulled at her ropes. Crisp and clean, newly outfitted and painted, flags flapping and snapping in the breeze, she was decorated stem to stern with bright ribbons and garlands of flowers. They bid farewell to friends and family with hugs, and tears. Gabriel surprised Valmont by pulling him into a fierce embrace
“I didn’t think I could live without her, Jacques. It was you who kept me alive so I could find my way back to her again. I love you, mon frère. Stay safe.”
The chevalier hugged him back. “I seem to recall you saving my skin a time or two. I love you, too. You and your Sarah are the only family I have now. You’re a lucky bastard, Gabriel. I envy you what you’ve found.”
“Perhaps one day we can find the same for you, mon ami, we’ll see you in a sixth month.”
Turning to Sarah, he smiled, all the joy and hope she gave him shining in his eyes, as he held out his hand. “Arise my love, my fair one, and come away, for lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone.”
EPILOGUE
Sarah sat in the captain’s quarters, checking the charts. It had rained for nearly three days, and she could still hear a gentle patter tapping against the skylight. It was a warm and cozy stateroom, furnished with solid armchairs, a settee, and a piano. A large and comfortable double berth was built into the wall. Gabriel had been giving her lessons in navigation, teaching her how to work out the position of the ship, sighting by the sun in daytime, and using the stars at night.
Pushing the papers aside, she crossed to where he sat, sprawled in an armchair, writing in his logbook. She pushed his long legs apart, kneeling between them, and hugged him by the waist, laying her head in his lap and nuzzling him.
“Mignonne, you are a naughty wench,” he said, setting his work aside and pulling her into his lap, kissing her soundly.
“What shall you do with me then, Lord Husband?” she whispered in his ear, biting his tender lobe.
“I’ll show you, wicked child!” Growling, he gathered her in his arms and dropped her unceremoniously into the bunk, diving in after her.
Much later, drowsy and content, she realized that she couldn’t hear the rain anymore. “Gabe?”
“Mmm?”
“I think the rain has stopped.”
“Shall we head out and see?”
There was nothing Sarah liked better than walking the deck under the moon and stars, with Gabriel’s arms wrapped around her. They poured some wine, and then barefoot and wrapped in blankets, they stepped out on the deck. They looked up in awe. The sky had cleared, and the stars glittered above them, diamond bright and impossibly lovely. The air was crisp and cool against their faces, and glowing wisps of silver mist skimmed and curled against the flat surface of the sea.
“Oh, Gabe. It’s beautiful!” she whispered, leaning back into the cradle of his arms.
“Sarah, look! Over there!” She followed his gaze and gasped in wonder as an orange plume of fire hurtled across the sky. It was followed by another, and then another. They could hear excited whispers and amazed exclamations as men in other parts of the ship stopped to watch the show. Enchanted and eager, like little children, they lay back on the deck. Wrapped in blankets and each other, bundled together against the cold, they watched in amazed delight as arcing trails of light streaked overhead, and the heavens danced before them.
“Do you remember, Gabriel?”
“Oh, yes, mignonne! I will never forget. We were on your balcony, sailing together under the stars. You shared your world with me. It was the first time I held your hand, the first time I held you in my arms, the first time I dared to dream. It was the night my life began.”
Alone, lost inside a nightmare world, all Gabriel had ever wanted was companionship and a place to belong, but Sarah had given him so much more. She had taught him to trust in friendship and in love, and by believing in him, she had taught him to believe in himself. He had faced his demons, and with her help, he’d survived them. He would always carry scars, but the wounds had healed and the adventure was just beginning. They sailed together, under the stars, fellow journeyers in life, and love. He was a man with an enormous capacity for love, and Sarah had released it. Forgetting the stars, the ship, and his men, he adored her with its full measure. There was only Sarah, and he kissed her with all the ardor in his soul.
AFTERWORD
I’ve always been drawn to independent people who rebel against stereotypes and challenge the conventions and norms of their times. There’s a tendency sometimes, to think such behaviors, particularly among women, are unique to our modern age, but anyone who reads the works of historian Antonia Fraser will find accounts of women who led troops, went to war, ran their own business, wrote books and plays, dressed and lived as men, secured divorces, abandoned husbands, and didn’t die of shame. Although some of Sarah’s behaviors are unconventional for the time, they are by no means unique. A century earlier, Hortense Mancini, Duchess of Mazarin, made a practice of wearing men’s clothing, and was soon the mistress of a smitten King Charles II. Thirty years after this story takes place, the novelist George Sands, a French Baroness who counted among her lovers Chopin and Jules Sandeau, lived her life in men’s clothes and traveled about Paris smoking a pipe. Dekker and van de Pol, in their study The Tradition of Female Transvestism in Early Modern Europe give several examples of women who lived their lives disguised as men. They go on to say there were several cir
cumstances in which it was considered acceptable for women to “cross-dress” giving the examples of flight or escape from dangerous circumstance, sexual play, during travel, and ‘while carousing.’
Women also traveled, often alone, sometimes together, and some made a name for themselves as travel writers. Brian Dolan’s Ladies of the Grand Tour gives a fascinating account of these accomplished ladies (who included bluestockings, divorcees, great ladies, and courtesans) and their adventures on the fringes of society and the fringes of Europe. Among them was Mary Wollstonecraft, writer, philosopher, and feminist, who in 1792 wrote what is now considered one of the first major feminist treatises A Vindication of the Rights of Women.
Contrary to popular belief, women also went to sea with their men. Ships with women living, as opposed to traveling, on them, were referred to as Hen Frigates. Cordingly’s fascinating Seafaring Women is filled with stories of the ‘surprising number of women who went to sea, some as the wives or mistresses of captains, and some dressed in men’s clothing.” Perhaps most interesting of all, according to Life At Sea in the Age of Nelson, by Steven Pope, women travelled aboard warships and were present in numbers at all the major battles of the era, usually as assistants to the surgeon. Most were the wives of officers, but the rules governing soldiers allowed each company of marines to travel with five women. It could be argued that Sarah’s travels with her cousin Davey, and later Gabriel, were not terribly unusual for the time.
These women weren’t stereotypical and they didn’t fit the norm, but they were real flesh and blood people. Like Sarah, many of them, particularly those in the upper classes, paid a price, facing ostracism and social disapproval, but they also lived adventures and lives forever closed to their more timid sisters.
Sarah would have had to be unconventional and far from timid to become involved with someone like Gabriel. This book is in large part his story. Brothels like Madam Etienne’s, frequented by men, and even some women of quality, were not unusual in Europe, and young boys and girls were sometimes taken from the streets and sold into prostitution, a practice, unfortunately, that persists to this day. Although it might be shocking for some readers, I’ve attempted to deal honestly with the after effects of childhood abuse as well as battlefield trauma. The Age of Illusion, by James Laver gives a gritty, entertaining, and sometimes shocking account of the manners and morals of the period, including the darker aspects.