Matelots

by W. A. Hoffman

  “Are you engaged in anything this evening?” I asked Cudro.

  “I don’t know if I want to attend a wedding, even yours,” he said.

  I grinned. “Nay, I do not want any of you to attend, not because I would not have you witness a momentous occasion in my life, but because I do not want this occasion marked as being momentous.”

  He rumbled with amusement. “What would you have of me?”

  “Gaston would like to have some company this evening until I can return to him,” I said quietly.

  Cudro sobered and nodded.

  “I feel I will be well,” Gaston added, “but…”

  “You need say no more,” Cudro said softly. “I will stand by you.”

  “We were thinking if perhaps it was a small gathering: you and Liam, Otter, the Bard and Dickey perhaps.”

  “Julio and Davey?” he asked.

  “I adore Julio, but Davey can be…”

  “Annoying, I know.” He waved me off and then frowned curiously. “What of Pete and Striker?”

  “Have you seen them?” I asked.

  This only piqued his curiosity more. “Nay.”

  I sighed. “I feel I cannot explain… but they might not help Gaston’s mood.”

  Cudro frowned. “All right, I will take your word for it. What shall I say if they hear of it and invite themselves?”

  I shook my head. “Oh Hell, I do not know.”

  Gaston shrugged. “I doubt they will, but if they do, I will accept them.”

  “When?” Cudro asked.

  “I will need to leave for the ceremony at three,” I told him.

  “I will be at your house then,” he said and bowed.

  We left him at Massey’s and stepped into the street. Sarah was regarding me curiously. I had, of course, omitted mention of Gaston’s madness from the letter. I did not know what I should tell her now. Gaston solved the problem for me in his fashion.

  “I am mad,” he stated flatly.

  She frowned, looking from one of us to the other.

  “Truly,” he added. “I am prone to bouts of madness in which I lose my reason.”

  “Oh,” she said, and it was apparent from her expression she did not truly understand.

  “Tonight will be very trying for him,” I said.

  “I would imagine it would be upsetting for anyone under your circumstances,” she said carefully.

  “Aye,” Gaston said bitterly, “but whereas most men would become drunk and weep, I might attempt to kill someone.”

  He turned away and began to lead us down the street.

  Sarah looked to me with alarm.

  I nodded and shrugged. “I will explain some other time.”

  We did not know where the haberdashery was, but thankfully we quickly spotted a sign for “Belfry and Benton: Fine Men’s Goods” next to the apothecary. I applauded the location they had obtained. The inside was bright and airy, with whitewashed walls. There were shelves of hats, wigs, gloves, and everything else a gentleman of means needs to look presentable.

  Belfry did not look to be the buccaneer with whom I had sailed last summer, or the merchantman officer with whom I had arrived on Jamaica last spring: he appeared as a prosperous merchant should, in a fine coat, vest, breeches and a full complement of needed accessories from his own establishment, sans wig and hat. I was pleased to see he had chosen sensible cotton and not wool for his attire. Dressing as a buccaneer for several months had obviously taught him it was in his best interests to remain cooler in the tropics.

  He was delighted to see us, and quickly ran up to embrace Gaston and me. He next gave Agnes a polite bow, but then seemed confused by my sister. I made the introduction and then he was in his realm once again, bowing quite nicely and giving compliments. Once this was completed, he looked as if he had forgotten something, and then ran off to the back room with great enthusiasm. A moment later, he emerged with a portly but pleasant-appearing little woman in tow.

  “This, this, my good friends is my dear bride, Mistress Millicent Belfry. And this, my dear, is Lord Marsdale.”

  Then it was our turn to bow and curtsy. She was initially surprised at my appearance, but she quickly warmed once my title was introduced.

  “I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Mistress Belfry,” I said. “Your husband often regaled us with tales of you while…”

  A panicked look had descended upon Belfry, and he was waving me off.

  “…awaiting your arrival,” I amended, hoping that what he wished for me not to say was that we had roved together and not that he had spoken of her. This did indeed appear to relieve him.

  “Oh, my Lord, I cannot imagine what he would say that would be of any interest to a nobleman such as yourself,” she said with reddened cheeks.

  I considered attempting to quash her reference to my title and then thought better of it. I would not win that battle, and it would merely cause hardship and confusion to wage it.

  She was also delighted to meet Miss Williams, as she had not had a chance to meet many ladies of my sister’s status before, and gushed about that a little too. My sister bore it well, but seemed as pained as I, which pleased me.

  However, when Belfry next introduced Agnes as our bondswoman, and horrifically, Gaston as my friend, I knew I must set matters right. I endeavored to do so without causing him to lose dignity in the face of his wife.

  “While our dear Miss…” I started to say.

  “Agnes Chelsea,” my sister said quickly.

  As Agnes was staring at the floor in mortified embarrassment, I thought it good my sister supplied a surname for me, as I had just realized I did not remember the girl’s; and perhaps I had never heard it. I had a friend named Chelsea once, in Paris, and I was sure I would have recalled that name.

  I attempted to finish smoothly. “Aye, while Miss Chelsea did begin our acquaintance as a bondswoman due to unfortunate circumstances in her life, she is from a fine family and is a free woman and my sister’s good friend.”

  This of course amended Mistress Belfry’s earlier polite nod into a small curtsy and a “Delighted to make your acquaintance.”

  Agnes seemed pleased with this turn of events, though she did cast a curious glance at me. I supposed that was because she still was our bondswoman.

  Then I was on to the more serious offense. “And though I am sure Mister Belfry’s intent was to save having to explain some of the more curious customs of the buccaneers, I must insist that Mister Gaston Sable here is not my friend, but he should be properly known as my matelot.”

  Belfry winced, but he awarded us a sincere nod of apology from behind his wife’s shoulder.

  “Mate-lo?” Mistress Belfry said with confusion, and turned to regard her husband.

  “It is a buccaneer term for a man’s partner,” I said.

  “Oh,” she nodded. “So you’re partners in owning the ship Mister Belfrey mentioned.”

  “Nay, Mistress,” I said carefully. “Among the Brethren of the Coast as the… older buccaneers refer to themselves, a matelot is a man’s… husband, for lack of a better term.”

  “Oh,” she breathed. She blanched and then flushed and her gaze darted from one to the other of us. “Oh,” she said with more force. At which point she took a step back and I decided she was not so very pleasant after all.

  “Sable?” Belfry asked in the awkward silence that followed. “I am sorry I did not know your surname,” he told Gaston.

  Gaston, who had been admirably stoic throughout, responded quietly. “It is my family name, but its use is a recent thing for me in the West Indies. Will has arranged for me to become an English citizen.”

  “Oh that is wonderful, what with…” Belfry trailed off quickly.

  “Perhaps you can visit us some eve once we return from roving, and we can tell you all the tales,” I said.

  “I would like that,” Belfry said. His eyes said he would like that very much. “Dickey said you would all be sailing very soon to raid with Morgan.”<
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  “Aye, we sail to the meeting in two days,” I said.

  “Well, I am pleased you stopped by to see the shop,” he said.

  “Actually, I came to make purchases. I am to be married this afternoon to a bride my father sent for me.”

  “Oh, that’s wonderful,” Mistress Belfry said, and then cast an angry glance at Gaston.

  I was compelled to say, “I will not cease my wayward habits, I will merely be married in order to produce an heir. It is the way of the nobility. If fortune smiles upon me, I shall only see the woman for perhaps a month each year.”

  She was, of course, further appalled by my attitude about the matter, and quickly excused herself to the back of the shop; and we soon heard heavy steps above us, where I assumed their living quarters to be.

  “She comes from a devout family,” Belfry said apologetically in her wake.

  “I guessed that,” I said kindly. “Your happiness with her is all that matters.”

  “I am happy,” he sighed, “but I feel I shall miss the sea. I envy Dickey.”

  “If you do… and this endeavor does not meet your liking in the long term, I believe there might be a plan afoot to enter into a shipping enterprise. My sister, who learned much of business from my father, was discussing that very thing last night with Theodore and Striker.”

  I turned to Sarah. “Mister Belfry was an officer on the ship on which I sailed here. I believe he has worked upon merchantmen for most of his life.”

  “I have indeed,” he said quickly, and regarded my sister speculatively.

  “Then perhaps I will consult with you as our plans develop,” she said.

  “I would be delighted, Miss Williams, to offer any assistance I can,” he said happily.

  I was amused, and thought it likely he would be at sea again within a year. Especially as, though he was quite good at complimenting and encouraging a client on the behalf of his shop, he had little aptitude for matters such as choosing the cravats or hats they would require. That had been Dickey’s purview; and Dickey had, of course, deserted him for the sea.

  Sarah was of much more use in the matter, as she had witnessed what fashionable young men in London were wearing this last year. However, she became exasperated when I could not describe the color of the coat I was to wear. Agnes could have, but she did not know which coat I spoke of. I was finally sent back to our house to fetch it.

  When I returned, I found the shop filled with our cabal.

  Liam caught me as I came in the door. He spoke quietly. “We be pleased to watch after yur matelot, since ya got ta go an’ abandon ’im to do…” He trailed off with a disapproving frown.

  I thought he would have been well paired in his judgmental nature with Mistress Belfry. The irony amused me, though his words did not.

  “What I must do,” I said firmly. “Liam, remember he is in favor of my doing this thing.”

  “Then why we all be worried ’bout ’im goin’ mad o’er it?” he asked.

  I sighed. “Because, though he wants the outcome, mainly my inheriting and children, the actuality of what I must do, as in lying with the bitch, is irksome to him.”

  He grumbled but acquiesced and let me pass.

  Julio was next in my limited choice of paths through the throng. “Do you want us about tonight?” he whispered.

  “Julio, I trust your diplomacy as I do few others, but I would not have you both about if Davey will be prone to saying something… annoying.”

  As I said it, I thought it likely Liam would be a larger culprit in that matter.

  “I will keep a tight leash on him and not let him trouble Gaston,” Julio said with a smile.

  “Thank you.”

  I finally worked my way to where I had last seen Sarah, and found only Dickey, Gaston, and Agnes.

  Dickey snatched the coat from my hand and held it up to my face with an exasperated sigh. “Will, truly, you should have visited the tailor weeks ago.” Then he was going through the haberdashery’s stock with Belfry in his wake.

  Knowing that matter was now in good hands, I asked, “Where is Sarah?”

  “Striker wished to speak with her,” Gaston said quietly and gestured toward the back room.

  I looked about: Pete was not in evidence, but the Bard was eying me.

  “What is going on?” the Bard asked.

  I sighed. “I am marrying the damn bride my father sent. I would invite you all, but it is not a matter I wish to celebrate.”

  He frowned. “I am sorry to hear that, but nay, that wasn’t my question. Pete and Striker are not speaking. And who is that woman?” He jerked a thumb at the back room door.

  “She is my sister,” I said quietly.

  I looked about and saw Liam sigh. All eyes were upon us now: most filled with curiosity, especially those of the new members of our crew, Nickel, Ash, Burroughs and Bones.

  I jumped up to sit on the counter and addressed them all. “In order to supposedly secure my inheritance, I am to marry a bride my father has sent. I am not inviting any of you to the ceremony, as it is not a matter I wish to celebrate. Please have a party in my absence and celebrate the fact that you are not me. As to other matters…” Inspiration came to me, and I thanked the Gods.

  “The woman Striker is speaking with is my sister.” I looked to the Bard. “She knows a bit of business from my father and wishes to do something of import while we rove. To that end, she was discussing the start of a shipping concern with Striker and Theodore last night while I was involved with the other matter. Pete was disagreeable to the…” I sighed purposefully and regarded all of them again. “You all know Pete dislikes women, and he likes his matelot talking to one, for whatever reason, not at all.” I shrugged. “They seemed ready to quarrel afterwards, and I have not seen them since.”

  This explanation appeared to assuage the lot of them.

  “I am not used to doing business with women either,” the Bard said.

  “Well, if you want Gaston’s money involved in the endeavor, you will overcome your objections,” I said.

  The Bard shrugged.

  I glanced at my matelot, who was standing safely behind the counter with Agnes so that he was not crowded in the narrow store. He grinned. Then he snatched my tunic to pull me to him and whisper in French, “As usual, your tongue and wit are blessed by Mercury, but it might not be enough if they discover the truth of the matter.”

  “And what is that?” I asked. “Did Striker indicate he had made a choice?”

  “I do not know,” he sighed. “He came in with the others and spoke only to Sarah. I could not overhear his words, but they were quickly off together behind the closed door.”

  I swore quietly and he released me.

  I looked to Agnes: she was standing with her back to the wall next to the door in question, with her head slightly cocked. I thought I should chide her for listening, but then she flushed and moved away from the wall quickly; and I was thankful someone had been in a position to learn things that need be known. Not that I truly wished to know what her actions seemed to imply.

  I thought it likely I should strangle Striker.

  Thankfully, Dickey was loudly explaining how a wig made a man appear dignified, while Liam argued that it was just foolish, and then donned one to everyone’s amusement. Thus none had witnessed what I had, or were paying the matter of Striker’s whereabouts much heed at the moment.

  I looked to the Bard again and leaned to him to whisper, “Where is Pete?”

  “On the ship,” he said grimly. “He got good and drunk last night, by himself. Striker slept on the quarterdeck.”

  “Oh, Bloody Hell,” I sighed.

  “My sentiments exactly,” the Bard whispered. “In your opinion, does Striker wish to marry?”

  I considered my answer, and thought it permissible to say something to the Bard. “He does not wish to leave the sea and become a planter, but he does wish to have children.”

  “And if his matelot were any other than Pete, he
would not have much problem with the matter,” the Bard said astutely.

  “Aye.”

  “What of your sister?” he asked.

  I did not choose to misinterpret his question. “They are enamored of one another.”

  He grimaced. “Is she as smart as you?” he asked a moment later.

  “Aye.”

  He shrugged eloquently. “We’ll weather what comes of it, then. The two of them feudin’ all the way to Cuba and beyond is going to be a real pain in the arse, though.”

  “Aye,” I sighed.

  A woman’s very loud “OH!” cut through our ruminations and our friends’ revelry a moment later. Belfry rushed to the back door. As I could not ascertain whether the sound had issued from my sister or another, and thinking that I did not wish to view the aftermath of the matter that could have elicited such a sound if it were indeed her, I chose to stay where I was.

  A red-faced Belfry stepped back through the door and announced awkwardly, “Mistress Belfry had a little stumble on the back stair. She is fine. Do not be alarmed.”

  Agnes slipped through the door behind him, and he followed her.

  The others returned to trying on wigs, except for Cudro, who was aware something else was amiss. I shrugged at him as he approached.

  On one side of me, the Bard was chuckling mirthlessly; on the other, Gaston was livid.

  I leaned to my matelot. “What is wrong?”

  “What is wrong?” he hissed. “The bastard has likely deflowered your sister in the back room of a haberdashery. If he has made some decision, he could have at least waited until they were married.”

  When I viewed the matter that way, my own ire rose. We were through the back door as one, leaving the Bard and Cudro to say what they would to one another.

  We did not find Striker, but we did find Agnes helping my very flushed sister straighten her skirts and lace her stays. Belfry was arguing quietly with Mistress Belfry at the top of the stairs.

  Sarah looked around and spied Gaston and me, and her hands came to her face with shame.

  I crossed the space and pulled them away. “What happened? Not that I am blind, mind you, but…”

  “I wanted to kiss him,” she said quietly. “And he me, and then… well it was… we began to touch, and then there was not enough touching in all the world to please us and… oh damn, Will, I feel so wanton.”