Chapter 36
“Wherein the stage is set upon a sparkling sea, and the players take their places.”
Henri walked beside her father and gathered the shawl a little closer about her shoulders.
She was glad of her new redingote a la hussard as the heavy red velvet was certainly warm which was definitely a good thing today.
There was a breathtaking view across the Cornish coast from here.
All spread out before them, the sea glittered a bright blue against a cobalt sky, and a chill wind snapped at her skirts as they walked the rugged coastline.
The crash of the waves raged far below them as the icy water threw itself against the grey rocks, and the gulls wheeled far above, their raucous cries piercing through the sound of the sea roaring and the gusting winds.
Her father shivered and looked at her in bewilderment as Henri suppressed a smile.
Never one to exert himself at the best of times, her father was rarely up before noon and certainly not up to anything further than tea, toast and perhaps a little undemanding conversation before late in the afternoon.
At least, she thought with satisfaction, he looked a little less shabby genteel now his debts had been cleared and he had money to buy some new clothes.
She just prayed his promise to curtail his excesses would hold, at least for a while.
Although she loved him dearly, she had no illusions about her only parent.
He was a weak man and a selfish one, though he would never for one moment do anything to purposely make his daughter unhappy, she had come to realise he would do little to go out of his way to make her life easier.
In accepting this fact, she had resolved to feel no guilt for the use to which she was about to put him. It had in fact, taken all of hers and Annie’s negotiating skills to winkle him out of the house and persuade him to take a walk with them - as it was such a very fine day.
They looked out to sea and Henri’s heart began to thud. Please God, please let everything go as it should. She shared a glance with Annie and knew the woman was echoing her own thoughts.
“Look, papa,” she said, pointing out to sea. “There’s the earl’s ship, The Revenge, he’s due home today I believe.”
Her father squinted out towards the horizon, his once deep brown eyes rather myopic and faded. “Is it, my dear? My eyes aren’t what they once were you know.”
“Oh yes, I’m quite sure, oh and look, here comes Lieutenant Bowcher.” She tried her best to look surprised and smiled with a warm expression at the young man whom Alex had made a point of introducing her to, as he marched with his company of men towards them.
“Good afternoon, Lieutenant, a very fine day isn’t it?
Are you enjoying some fresh air?” she enquired, looking at the man and his assembled militia with as much innocence as she could muster when her heart was beating in her throat.
She clutched her father’s arm a little tighter, hoping any trembling would be put down to the icy wind whipping around them.
“No, Miss Morton, I should say not,” the Lieutenant replied with a grave expression, not stopping to speak with her. “We’ve had a report, a sighting of The Wicked Wench at anchor. I’ve sent word to the Water Guard but we’re off to check the coastline, see if they’re bringing cargo in.”
“Oh, The Wicked Wench, is that not Captain Savage’s ship?” she asked.
But they were already marching away, and without another word the men strode past them, their excitement palpable.
“Good Lord,” her father said, watching them go and then pausing as he was about to turn back as one of the men shouted and pointed out to sea.
“What is it?” Henri called out as the Lieutenant retraced his steps with clear disappointment.
“He’s getting away,” he cursed. “Someone must have warned him off!” And then he grew quiet as he watched the scene play out in front of him.
“The earl’s got a score to settle though,” he said, brightening considerably as he saw The Revenge as she turned and set off in pursuit of the Wench.
“After the devil got away from him in Bordeaux.” He looked at Henri, his eyes alight with interest. “Is it true, Savage’s men attacked the earl’s house over there, to get their captain back? ”
Henri nodded, her expression one of alarm and she clutched her throat to add to the drama, though the true memory of that day made it all too easy to play along.
“Yes, indeed. The earl fought valiantly by all accounts, with his brother Lawrence, but the Rogue had too many men and they got away, though they left many of their own dead there due to the Sinclair’s efforts,” she added, not having to embellish the pride she found in her voice.
“Well, every dog has his day,” the Lieutenant said, turning to grin at her. “Look, The Revenge is gaining.”
Henri hardly dared breathe as Annie grasped her hand and they watched The Wicked Wench disappear from view as it rounded the sharp outcrop of rock that was a natural feature of this rugged coastline.
The Revenge was hot in pursuit and just as it too began to disappear, the almighty blast of cannon fire reverberated around the rocky cliffs.
There was return fire and the guns boomed again. And then all was silent.
The Militia men whooped and began to run, but Henri knew by the time they had crossed the distant fields between here and the far shore and arrived down by the rocks, all they would find would be enough debris of a sunken ship.
Just enough to clarify that The Wicked Wench was gone.
It would appear to have been blown out of the water and sunk with all hands on deck.
There would be enough barrels of fine French brandy washed ashore to make sure the militia were too busy fending off the locals to go looking too closely at the remains of what wasn’t actually a Brigantine at all, but another smaller ship, rigged with enough explosive to spread its debris far and wide.
The ruse would be clear enough if anyone took the trouble to investigate. Henri prayed they wouldn’t.
Meanwhile the Wench slipped away, to a remote little cove to be reworked and reborn once again as The Redemption, a name that had seemed appropriate to Lawrence.
Henri walked with her father and Annie, back along the cliff, praying that all had gone just as it should, and that Lawrence and his men were free to start afresh.
And so, the two women hastened their steps and chivvied along Lord Morton who was all excitement over the battle he had just witnessed.
He was hard pressed to be swayed from his plan to follow in the militia’s footsteps and see the wreck of The Wicked Wench going down.
By the time they reached the high-street, the village was abuzz about the death of The Rogue, thanks to the testimony from the men of the Flighty Susan, who just happened to be in a position to watch what had really happened and to ensure no one else could get close enough to call them liars.
Lord Morton quickly became something of a celebrity.
Besides the militia who were still trying to wrestle barrels of brandy from the beach more quickly than the villagers could spirit them away, he was the only man to have seen the actual conflict.
Something with which he was most helpful, embellishing with a little more colour than there had actually been to include seeing The Wench suffer and split apart under the weight of the bombardment that proved so fatal.
“Why, yes,” he said for the twentieth time, as yet another man demanded if he’d really seen The Wicked Wench meet her end.
Henri laughed inwardly and shook her head as her father puffed himself up a little, smoothing one manicured white hand over the thick silk of his new embroidered waistcoat.
“Yes indeed, the earl got his man, blew the devil to pieces, what,” he replied his eyes glittering with enjoyment at his new celebrity and brightening yet further as an attractive lady of a certain age, regarded him with interest.
When Alex finally set foot on land again, he was hailed a hero, along with his crew - who happened to be those men who usually served on the other two cutters.
Henri and Annie watched with amusement as he was carried into the local tavern to be toasted with enthusiasm, by both those who thought he’d finished off The Rogue and The Wicked Wench, and those who knew that he had saved them.
As his retinue were so forceful in their desire to celebrate, Alex was unable to come and talk to them as he was borne away, but to Henri’s relief he simply nodded to them in his cool way that all was well.
With a sigh of relief, she felt she was finally able to breathe again.
Lawrence was safe, and he would be back home again soon.
A special licence had been obtained - again - and they would be married and would return to Longueville to start a new life.
This had inevitably set tongues wagging as Miss Morton was marrying a different brother.
To hers and Lawrence’s horror, they discovered that Alex had concocted some story to his own detriment to make it clear why an innocent young miss like Henri could never countenance such a wicked rake as her husband.
The fact that Alex was rather brazen in admitting to her that the story he’d spread was entirely true, so she had no right nor need to trouble him with a fit of the vapours, did little to alleviate her guilt.
Lawrence was naturally furious, and Henri had been forced to intervene to calm things down, a role she suspected might become familiar.
The story did, however, serve the dual purpose of shining a very respectable light on Lawrence who had stepped into the breach and done the honourable thing.
So once again, to Lawrence’s chagrin, Alex had saved his younger sibling, and cast himself as the villain to do it.
Henri was beginning to see, as Lawrence had predicted, just what kind of man Alex really was despite his rather forbidding and high-handed manner.