Chapter 2 #2
Annie’s eyebrows hit her hairline and Henri sighed at the futility of trying to put anything at all past the wretched woman.
“The Nag’s Head?” Annie shrieked with alarm.
“Aye, I know it, but I ain’t never set foot in the place, ‘tain’t safe for a respectable woman, it ain’t,” she said, crossing her arms over her generous bosom with a disapproving sniff.
A sly grin swiftly followed, which was far less surprising and much more in character.
“It’s full o’ smugglers, miss. Oh, aye, the gentlemen are the only ones who drink there, though they ‘ave the best brandy you ever tasted ...” She stopped mid-sentence and pursed her lips. “Or so I’m told,” she added.
Henri rolled her eyes. “Where is it then?” she demanded, watching her perplexed servant with amusement.
“Ye take the old Chapel Road to the Market place, then the alley that leads to the quay. It be down there.”
Henri smiled.
“And why would ye be wantin’ to go down there may I ask?” Annie demanded.
“That is none of your business,” Henri said hoping she sounded authoritative. Annie’s eyebrows drew together but she didn’t query her any further.
Henri spent the rest of the afternoon avoiding her father and making plans.
By the time it had grown dark she had changed her mind about going down to the Nag’s Head a dozen or more times.
She knew it was dangerous, she knew it was foolish - and she determined to do it anyway.
There was no point in sitting about wringing her hands and wishing the world was kinder.
This world wasn’t kind and never had been and if she wanted it changed, she’d damn well have to change it herself.
The house was dark and silent when she opened her bedroom door, and the full moon slanted curious patterns across the polished wood floor to the stairs.
Bright silver light somehow seemed to amplify every tiny creak of the floorboards and made her anxious journey to the front door fraught with terror.
She stopped for a moment on the stairs to compose herself.
If she couldn’t even make it to the front door without having a fit of the vapours, she wasn’t going to get very far at all.
Once outside she took a breath and pulled her cashmere shawl tightly around her shoulders.
The evening was icy cold and the sky clear, a heavy frost dusting everything around her with glittering white.
Her breath billowed around her face, and she tiptoed down the gravel path, quite certain that her father and every servant would be alerted to her night-time activities as both gravel and frozen leaves crunched with incredible volume beneath her feet.
She walked with quick determination, keeping to the shadows and ducking into dark corners if she heard anyone approaching.
Henri made it to the Market Square without incident but knew that here she faced the greatest dangers.
The alley that Annie had instructed her to take was not in a salubrious part of town and in normal circumstances she wouldn’t even have braved it in daylight.
She knew well the only kind of women who would be walking there at night alone were not the kind she would wish to be mistaken for.
But there was nothing else to be done. If she wished to avoid marriage to a man she despised, this was her only option.
She pulled the shawl up over her hair and covered her face, and with her head down hurried into the alley.
She quietly thanked her good fortune it was such a bitterly cold night.
Everyone with any sense was tucked inside and by the time she stood beside the Nag’s Head she could see that the place was packed, even though the windows were fogged up.
She hesitated outside, peering in through the steamy glass.
The stench of the alley seemed overpowering against the clear, crisp air of the night.
The mingled scents of fish guts, urine and stale ale were already heavy on the air when a large man pushed his way out through the front door of the pub, bringing with him a thick waft of tobacco smoke.
Henri clung to the shadows until the man had gone on his way before taking her courage in her hands and reaching for the doorknob.
Once inside, her senses were overcome once more.
The perfume of too many people crammed into too tight a space, many of them long unwashed, was spiced with brandy and rum and a heavy pall of smoke.
There was a shocked silence as she entered, and she felt a prickle of fear run up and down her spine as the weight of their curious gazes fell upon her.
Scanning the room with desperation she prayed she would see her pirate.
Of course it was at this point and rather belatedly that she realised just how foolish that was.
He was unlikely to make himself easily seen and sit in full view of all, knowing the militia was after him.
Her cheeks burned as catcalls followed her path through the room, with invitations to put a smile on her face and give her a comfy lap to sit on, though the language used to encourage her might even have put Annie to the blush.
Ignoring them with a haughty expression, though she was well aware her cheeks were burning, she fought her way towards a filthy looking bar as the stench of the place became thoroughly overwhelming. Good Lord, had she just ruined herself for nothing more than a fool’s errand?
Her gaze fell upon a buxom woman who grinned at her, showing a row of uneven yellow teeth.
The strumpet was sitting in some fellow’s lap as he openly fondled her bare breasts.
Gasping in shock and beginning to realise just how far out of her depth she really was, she began to consider turning around and running for her life, assuming she still could.
She cursed her own mutton-headed stupidity and stifled a squeal as a hand reached out and pinched her behind with some enthusiasm.
Without thinking she simply reacted and turned to slap the face that belonged to the hand.
The deeply tanned and ruddy face seemed unmoved and in fact its owner simply roared with laughter.
She noted with dismay that there was no mark of the blow against his cheek even though her hand stung fiercely.
“‘Ere, Jay, thisun will warm ye up, I reckon,” the big man bellowed, pointing at her as a small rat-faced man beside him leered in response. Jay she presumed.
“Aye, Mousy, reckon she would ‘n all.”
Henri swallowed down the little bubble of terror that fluttered in her chest before she decided that she’d come this far, and she wasn’t about to give up.
“I wish to see Captain Savage,” she said, putting up her chin and ignoring the looks of incredulity that both men were giving her.
“I have something he wants,” she added, and then regretted that part as the looks became ones of mutual understanding.
“Oh, aye,” said the rat-faced man, smirking and looking her up and down. He wetted his lips in a manner that made Henri want to retch. “I’ll just bet you ‘ave,” he muttered with a leer.
Henri fought the blush burning up her neck and glared at the man.
“Considering I saw the militia out on the Market Square I would think you might want to take me to him sooner rather than later,” she said with as much heat as she could muster.
That, of course, was a lie, but lying seemed the least of her problems just at the minute.
The two men frowned with uncertainty, and for a moment she thought they would throw her out or at least question her further.
In the end she was alarmed when the big man grabbed her by the wrist and towed her after him.
The crowded room parted easily before his bulk, and she found herself following him up a narrow and rickety wooden staircase.
They continued along a dark corridor until they stood below a hatch in the ceiling.
The big man reached up and pounded three times on the opening.
“It’s me,” he said, the words terse, turning back to look at her with a frown. “There’s some woman ‘ere to see the Cap’n, says she’s got something for ‘im.”
Henri huffed as the unmistakable sound of men guffawing was heard through the ceiling. And then the hatch was drawn back.