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 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 ‘tain’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 they 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 to 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 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 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. 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.