Tuesday, February 5, 2019

Joy V. Sheridan writes

Charity Amour
CHAPTER THIRTY, part 2


* * * 

Upon the quayside, with the drifting ghostly silhouette of the moving ship following the retreating tide, steel met steel. Jarvis, true to his dishonourable word, had located His Lordship and was at that precise moment testing his own swordsmanship against Lord Seyton Clover’s. It would be difficult to conclude who was the better fighter for they seemed well matched. Had it not been for the crashing blow delivered to His Lordship's unsuspecting and unprotected rear by an over-enthusiastic villain employed to hold Jarvis’s horse, then it might be possible to say that he would have added his own steel-scribed signature across Mister Darko Jarvis’ corpse. The heavy iron tureen laid him spark out and Jarvis was upon the point of running the prone body through when the sounds of a law enforcement officer made him turn upon his heel and flee.
The ‘Enterprise’ was well gone from the estuary when His Lordship eventually came to. He looked up groggily from the pallet in the barracks-room where he had been placed. Lifting a shaking hand up, he felt the coarse but clean swathing bandages about his head. “Look here, old chap.” 

The shoulders of the militia man shone heavy with gold braid. “I don’t know what your argument was with that chap this morning, but it seems to me he must have been a terrible dirty fighter. I heard the crossing of steel alright, mister, but I do not for the life of me see how that could have accounted for the wound upon your head.” “Was I ... fighting? I cannot recall it. Where am I? And ... for that matter ... who am I?” “You most certainly were fighting. I daresay I frightened your sparring partner off. He most likely thought that I represented the law or something. Well, you’re an Englishman, same as I am, Sir, and by the looks of you, I’d say you were a gentleman of quality. You're suffering from a concussion Sir, I daresay, and that’s what's made you forget your name. But from the papers you had on your person, Sir, it states that you are one Ebenezar Samuel Hinches, a fighting man, willing to be hired by any good employer.” “Am I?” Lord Seyton Clover looked somewhat baffled, but he had a quizzical smile upon his face. “Dear me, a fighting man ...” he continued to muse. “Yes, Mr Hinches. A fighting man and if your wound recovers sufficiently, you should like to join me and my small company of international fighting men, all mercenaries like yourself - and myself - we should be only too pleased to have you in our ranks. By the way, my name is Captain Bridges. Though me buddies know me as ‘Bee’.”

Madame Natalie d’Esprit took a lingering farewell look at the coastline of that land which had accommodated her and - to be true, at one point had provided more than an adequate fortune to her. It was now fast disappearing behind billowing curtains of opaque grey mists, befitting to a cold December day. 

She swallowed hard, wiped away a few, straying salty tears as they fell beneath the thick black veiling of her hat, over the immaculate make-up of her face. Then she turned on her neatly purple-leather shod heel and went in search of her maritime quarters. 

They had been favoured in their sailing with a fair, brisk wind, not overally boisterous or chilly, nor too slow so that the heavily canvassed ship would be becalmed. They were proceeding from the coastline of France, out into the Bay of Biscay, at a steady number of comfortable knots. 

In her cabin, which was rather luxurious as cabins on merchant ships went, Madame repaired her make-up and re-powdered her face. She wore a jaunty little lilac hat, set atop a wig of modest design and colouration. “Are you feeling alright, Claude-Marie?” “Oui, Madame. I am indeed, so very 'appy to be back wiv you again. If you but knew of the things I went through after that terrible, terrible night...” “You were fortunate indeed, my lovely, to escape at all! Tell me: how did you manage it?” 

Claude-Marie gave a perky smile. “I vas warned, at the very last minute, Madame, believe me, and I was therefore, able to make my escape. There was a delivery man who was sweet on me and he was wif ze raiders an’ he found ’is way to me an’ that, Madame, I swear, is ’ow I manage to retain my skin.” “I see.” “After that, believe me Madame, it was no easy matter. Wot wif ’aving to disguise myself as a country woman, to try to reach you! Mister Mellors... for a certain few favours... you know, Madame... he ’elped me to find you again.”

“And I, for my part, dear girl, am over-joyed to have you with me and not that oafish English peer who thinks he is a gentleman! Non, you are much my preferred type of companion! Yes, there is no need to fret anymore, Claude-Marie, we are on our way to a new life now. A new life.” “Ah Madame, but ’ow sad: for the Château was such an ... extraordinary place ... non?”

“Yes, wasn’t it, my dear? Never mind, we shall build anew, build anew! I have not told you yet of my plans, Claude-Marie, have I?” “Non, Madame, you ’ave not.” “How do you fancy life, say...” Here Madame d’Esprit’s eyes shone with expectant mystical realisation, “In the New World?” “Ze New World. That is, you mean Madame America?” “No less...” “Wif you, Madame, I should be ’appy anywhere. You are ze most brilliant, beautiful, resourceful, kindest person I ’ave ever known!” “Come here, then, my lovely and give me a kiss...” 

Madame d’Esprit, now in the process of removing her hat, beckoned the former Châteaulette to come to her. Eagerly she found the girl’s lips, her hands moved in unison with the swaying motion of the boat as they sank upon the billowing softness of the wellbolstered bunk. “Tell me, Madame.” “Natalie, now my sweet, only Natalie.” “Natalie: ’Ow did you manage to get rid of his Lordship, that Lord Rispian?” “Not easily I can assure you! Non; but I managed. So whilst he sails upon the good ship, ‘Endurance’, we shall be upon the good ship, ‘Honest Endeavour...’” “They sound very much the same.” “Oui, don’t they? Now my darling,that special kiss please...” The girl’s “Oui, Madame,” was muffled in the troughing hiss of spray and other moistures which resounded about the ship.
 

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