Regency Belles & Beaux

by Michele McGrath

  “You’ve read too many novels and you have a vivid imagination.”

  “It’ll work, I know it will. You can take a ship for America from Cove as well as from Bristol or Liverpool. Come with me, please. At least see me safely to my grandmother before you leave.” She stroked his cheek. He caught hold of her hand and held it still. “Don’t you want to?”

  “I do but I still think it unwise, for both of us.”

  “Nonsense. As long as we both say the same thing, we’re safe. Let’s make up a story now and stick to it.”

  “I suppose clergymen are far less suspicious than other people,” O’Rourke said thoughtfully. “With luck no one will question me, at least I hope so.”

  “Mr. Anselm’s curacy is north of Dublin. Is there a place called Danduck or something like that?”

  “Dundalk?”

  “Probably. That’s why he was getting off the ship in Dublin not in Cove. It’s nearer.”

  They spent the next few hours concocting a tale that sounded almost believable. Lucy tried to remember all the things Mr. Anselm had told her aboard the White Hart, weaving truth into fiction. It passed the time as ideas and arguments flew back and forth. At last they agreed a plan between themselves and outlined to Yannick and Paol the parts they would have to play. Neither man disagreed, especially when they were told that if any money was handed over, they could take it home with them. O’Rourke’s coat was too good for a shipwrecked prisoner so he exchanged it for Yannick’s jerkin although it smelt of fish. A scarf hid his tell-tale hair “until I can find some soot to darken it.”

  “I thought you used dye,” Lucy said.

  “Kinsale is too small for me to buy such a strange thing without it being noticed. Soot will do for now.”

  A red sun was sinking and shadows of clouds made patches on the sea when Yannick called out and pointed. She saw small blobs ahead of the boat riding on the waters.

  “Look, Lucy,” O’Rourke said, helping her up for a better view. “It’s the fishing fleet.”

  As darkness fell, the sprinkling of boats began to show lights on their masts. Yannick hoisted a rather strange trio of lanterns, a white, then red, then white.

  “That’s the agreed recognition signal,” O’Rourke told Lucy when she asked. “So our contact will know who we are.”

  Sure enough, a little while later a boat bore up to them and a light flashed three times. Yannick held up a lantern aloft then covered it in reply. The boat circled and came up beside them. A rope was thrown and made fast, tying the two vessels together.

  “Where have you come from?” someone asked in English.

  “Saint-Malo,” O’Rourke replied, in an English accent just as he had spoken in Portsmouth.

  “That’s a Jersey crabbing boat, not a Frenchy.” The rope started to be loosened but O’Rourke grabbed it and held it tight.

  “We were prisoners in Saint-Malo for all that, passengers on the White Hart out of London River. A French fishing boat took us to Jersey and these men brought us here.”

  “What’s the recognition signal?”

  “Tomcats prowl in the dark.”

  “Good. Thought you were one of these water-guards for a moment. Have you got the girl?”

  “She’s here. Tell him who you are.”

  “I’m Lucy Ridgeway.”

  “Who was your guardian?”

  “Mrs. Amelia Beckwith.”

  “Right. Get her aboard then and we’ll be leaving. We’ve stopped here too long.”

  A lantern was held to show the way. Lucy said her farewells to Paol and Yannick. Then O’Rourke took her to the side of the boat. He sat astride and helped her over. A satchel was thrust at him, which he passed over to Yannick, before he climbed into the other boat beside her.

  “What’s this?” The man who held the lantern asked. “Who are you?”

  “I’m the Reverend Mr. Anselm. My ransom was paid a day before Miss Ridgeway’s so they put us on the same fishing boat since I was going to Ireland too.”

  “We have no orders about you.”

  “I only want to come with you to Kinsale to see her delivered safe to her grandmother. I’ll make my own way from there. I have to go north to take up my curacy in Dundalk.” The light flashed into his face.

  “You don’t look like a clergyman to me.”

  “What do clergymen look like? We come in all shapes and sizes as far as I know.”

  “You smell of fish and your hands are sailor’s hands.”

  “My father has a yacht in Falmouth and I often used to sail with him. As for my clothes…”

  “He ripped them getting ashore in Jersey,” Lucy interrupted. “They were caught on some rocks. Mr. Anselm begged these things from the fishermen. Ask them if you don’t believe me.”

  The man asked the question and Yannick replied. Lucy still did not understand him but these Irishmen appeared to do so and one of them said,

  “Stay then. We’ll take you as far as Kinsale, but no trouble mind, or we’ll toss you overboard and you can swim the rest of the way ashore.”

  As he was saying the words, Yannick took matters into his own hands, pulling out a large knife and slashing his boat free. A shout and it veered away into the darkness. Lucy realised that its signal lanterns had already been extinguished but she nevertheless called out her thanks and waved.

  A man stepped out of the shadows. “They can’t see you in the gloom,” he said. “I’m William Cooper, Lady Mary’s agent, Miss Ridgeway. Your grandmother sent me to bring you to her. There’s a place been prepared for you for the journey. Come with me, please. You won’t be aboard long. We’ll be in Kinsale by morning.”

  “Mr. Anselm?”

  “I’m coming.”

  An enclosure had been built of boxes and tarpaulin just in front of the mast. It kept most of the spray away from them. There was only room for two so O’Rourke sat outside, listening to the talk.

  “So those men who brought you here were privateers?” Cooper asked. “I would never have guessed it.”

  “I don’t think they are. They carry people or messages to one place or the other, that’s all,” Lucy replied.

  “Well, they’re in league with the privateers anyway.”

  “I would still be in Jersey or even Saint-Malo if people like them hadn’t agreed to bring me to you.”

  “Did they treat you well? They did not give you any insult?” The man gave a slight shudder.

  “Certainly not. My only problem was that I didn’t understand what they said because their accent was so strong.”

  The boat had turned and at that moment Lucy saw the outline of land low rising in front of her.

  “The Old Head of Kinsale,” William Cooper told her. “You will soon be home.”

  “A home I have never visited.”

  “Your father’s home. Master Charles was a fine young man. He was much missed on the estate after he left to join the army.”

  “You knew him?” Lucy asked. “Tell me about him. He never spoke about Ireland or his family to me.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Mr. Cooper’s reminiscences passed the time but not quickly enough for Lucy. Almost at the end of her journey, she was in a fever of impatience and nervous about meeting her relatives. She also worried about what would happen to O’Rourke when they arrived. So she did not listen closely to Cooper’s stories.

  It was a relief when they entered the harbour and the sailors got out the oars to row them up to the quay. At the top of the slippery steps, Lucy looked around her at the small town. The sun had come out and the waters were sparkling. Green wooded hills seemed to nestle the houses between them and the bay was filled with ships and boats of all sizes. They had passed a large building on the way in, which Cooper called the Charles Fort where a great battle had taken place over a hundred years before. Cooper led them through the narrow streets of the town until they came to a church dedicated to Saint Multose.

  “My lady instructed me to bring you to the rectory Mis
s Ridgeway. Mrs. Warren, the vicar’s wife, will take care of you until you are sufficiently rested to continue your journey to the Abbey.”

  Lucy felt dirty and untidy. This feeling only got worse when she met the white haired lady in the vicarage drawing room. Mrs. Warren was small, voluble and neat. She welcomed Lucy kindly and O’Rourke as well.

  “Such a difficult journey for you both after your horrid experiences. Leave them with me, Mr. Cooper, and I will look after them while you inform her ladyship.”

  Lucy was swept off to a spare bedroom and a maid arrived with hot water. She was able to wash herself thoroughly for the first time since she had left Saint-Malo. With the maid’s help she even managed to attend to her hair which, to her at least, had acquired the smell of fish. She had just finished braiding it and pinning it up on top of her head to dry when Mrs. Warren arrived, carrying an armful of clothes.

  “These belonged to my daughter, but they no longer fit her, since she has several children now. She gave them to me to pass on to those who need them. Please accept one of them as a gift if it fits you. You can’t meet your grandmother for the first time in the clothes you are wearing.”

  “You know my story then?” Lucy asked her.

  The old lady smiled. “Part of it at least. Lady Mary and I are old friends and she told me you were coming to her but not that you would arrive here without any baggage of your own.”

  “I lost it in France…”

  “No need to tell me more now, or ever if you don’t want to. Get dressed. The Abbey isn’t far away and Sir Edgar keeps swift horses. Your grandmother will be here directly and will, no doubt, bear you off with her as soon as she can.”

  Lucy looked through the things she had been given, which showed a few signs of wear but were clean and pressed. She gladly shed the black dress, giving it to the maid for the poor, secretly pitying the person who would wear it next. She removed the pocket that was still tied to her chemise and took out the locket with the miniatures of her parents.

  This will prove to my grandmother who I am, she thought, if she should need such proof. She laid it on the table ready to carry with her.

  It was lovely to be clean and to have fresh clothes next to her skin. The dress she chose had a high waist in the current mode although the type of trimming was no longer in fashion. The lovely soft cream, however, suited Lucy’s dark colouring and the material flowed as she walked. She had to lace the slippers high and pull them tight, because they were too large for her. She put Captain Dupré’s string of pearls around her neck. After all, he has the rest of my possessions on board the Matou, she thought. I can’t give these back and I don’t want to. He’s welcome to all those awful dresses, except for the amber one, of course. I wish I could get that one back. Then she laughed. She had arrived. She looked almost the way she wanted to look again. Crossing her fingers, she wished hard. If only my grandmother will like me and I like her. Mrs. Warren is nice and she’s my grandmother’s friend, so I will hope for the best.

  With this thought in her mind, she went downstairs and into the drawing room. Mrs. Warren was pouring out tea from a silver pot. A transformed O’Rourke sat beside her and he rose at her entrance. She blinked, looking at the figure in a rusty black frock coat, a white shirt and a black cravat. He was almost unrecognisable. His hair had been slicked down and seemed to have been darkened. No doubt he had raided a chimney for soot. She smiled at him as he brought her a cup of tea.

  “Mr. Anselm has been telling me your adventures, Miss Ridgeway,” Mrs. Warren said. “You will find your life here in County Cork tame by comparison.”

  “I am glad my adventures are behind me, ma’am. A little tameness would be pleasant for a change.”

  They all laughed. The conversation continued with Lucy describing the life she had lived in London and O’Rourke relating Mr. Anselm’s imaginary story. Lucy found herself liking Mrs. Warren more and more. She seemed both kind and sensible. Lucy kept hoping that her grandmother would be similar. Not very long afterwards, the noise of horses’ hooves and wheels on the gravel drive brought everyone out to greet the new arrivals.

  A smart carriage drew up to the steps with a tall, stately lady holding the reins. A man servant sat beside her. He hopped down and handed his mistress out. Lady Mary was tall with piercing blue eyes, dressed all in black. Lucy’s heart sank as she lifted a lorgnette and stared at her through it, reminding her painfully of Lady Westmore. Lady Mary did not smile as she said in a rather hard voice,

  “So you must be Lucy, my granddaughter. You do not favour your father.”

  Lucy stood up straight and met her eyes, then she dropped a small curtsey. “I am held to be more like my mother, ma’am, although she was a great beauty and I am not.”

  Lady Mary’s brows rose and then she turned to O’Rourke,

  “And you are Mr. Anselm, a most unfortunate cleric, or so my agent tells me.”

  O’Rourke stepped forward and bowed over her outstretched hand.

  “I’m delighted to make your acquaintance, ma’am. Now I can pass over my charge to you.”

  “And glad to do so, no doubt.”

  Lady Mary smiled at Mrs. Warren and said, “Thank you for your help, Elizabeth.”

  “No trouble at all, Mary. Won’t you come into the house and have some tea?”

  For a moment it looked as if Lady Mary would refuse and then she turned to her groom and ordered him to walk the horses while he was waiting.

  Served with fresh tea, the lady seemed to thaw a little. She spoke first to O’Rourke, asking him questions about their journey, although her eyes rarely wandered from Lucy’s face. Lucy felt uncomfortable and, when she had to speak in her turn, she became tongue-tied. Under her grandmother’s scrutiny, she found it hard to remember the story of the false Mr. Anselm and almost tripped herself up but managed to stop in time. Although O’Rourke kept his face bland, at another small blunder he shook his head slightly at her.

  This will never do, Lucy thought to herself. I must do something to change the subject before I betray him. She reached into her pocket and drew forth the locket.

  “My guardian, Mrs. Beckwith, gave me this before I left London, ma’am. It contains miniatures of both my parents. I thought you might like to see it.”

  Lucy handed the locket to her grandmother who snapped the little catch and opened it. Lady Mary looked down, her face rather white.

  “Mary are you all right?” Mrs. Warren asked.

  “Look at this, Elizabeth.” Lady Mary handed it to her.

  “It’s the miniature you had taken of Charles as a young man. Didn’t it go missing from your drawing room?”

  “It did, right after he had come home on leave for the last time. He must have taken it to give to that woman.”

  That was too much! Lucy was on her feet, her eyes blazing, all caution forgotten.

  “You are speaking about my mother! She always wore the locket when I was little. She was wonderful, kind and loving and beautiful. My father adored her. He never cared for me after she died because I am like her and he could not bear to be reminded of his loss. How dare you call her ‘that woman’!”

  Lucy reached down and twitched the locket out of her grandmother’s hand. Mrs. Warren got to her feet and tried to put an arm around her shoulders.

  “Dear, dear, calm down, I beg of you.”

  Lucy stormed from the room, tears streaming down her cheeks. In the hallway she hesitated, not knowing what to do or where to go next. A step made her turn and O’Rourke caught her in his arms.

  “Don’t weep, Alannah. I’m sure that your grandmother didn’t mean to hurt you. She blurted out the first words that came into her mind. From her point of view, your mother was the person who separated her from her favourite son. Give her a little time to adjust.”

  O’Rourke drew out a kerchief and mopped Lucy’s tears. They were standing too near each other but O’Rourke stepped back as soon as the door opened and Mrs. Warren came out.

  “Lucy, wi
ll you come back into the room, please? Your grandmother has something to say to you.”

  “Don’t leave me.” Lucy took hold of O’Rourke’s hand and gave him a tug but he pulled back.

  “Lucy, this is a family matter. I’m a stranger to Lady Mary. I should wait here.”

  “No you must come. I won’t go without you.”

  “Very well, but if Lady Mary orders me to leave, I’ll obey her.”

  He received no such order. When they came into the room, Lady Mary was standing at the window looking out. She did not turn around, but she said in a stifled tone,

  “Forgive me for speaking in haste. I never met your mother, Lucy, and I do not know what she was like. Your father wrote to me in very much the same language that you have just used. You sound like him too, as Elizabeth has just reminded me. I agree with her that it is the part of a daughter to defend her mother, so it is best we forget what was said.”

  She turned slowly and frowned at the sight of Lucy’s red eyes. Her own face was white and Lucy thought she looked somewhat bleak. Lucy felt herself incapable of words so she just nodded.

  “Very well then. Elizabeth, we must go. I have been here too long and the horses will become chilled if we leave them any longer. Lucy, fetch your bonnet and pelisse, please.”

  “I have none,” Lucy looked at her defiantly but Mrs. Warren broke into the sudden silence.

  “I will lend Lucy a cape and a bonnet. She will no doubt tell you the rest of her story later on.”

  Lucy turned to O’Rourke.

  “Mr. Anselm?”

  Answering her unspoken question, O’Rourke said,

  “Mrs. Warren has taken it on herself to allow me to stay here until the next stagecoach departs for Dublin. Apparently the vicar enjoys debating with brothers of the cloth though whether he will find my views interesting remains to be seen.”

  He kissed her hand and bowed to her. She thought she detected a slight tremor as he touched her but she could not be sure because of her own trembling. She did not have time to dwell on it, however. A cloak was put around her shoulders. Mrs. Warren set a rather dowdy bonnet on her head and tied the strings. Lady Mary swept out of the door after thanking her friend for her hospitality. The steps of the carriage were let down. Lady Mary climbed inside and gestured for Lucy to sit beside her while the groom took up the reins.