Chapter 3
Dale woke to an empty bed. Her hand slid over the sheet to feel the fading warmth. She looked around the room to see that their belongings were still there. Maybe Françoise was talking to Lucette. Inhaling the scent that was her lover, Dale smiled gently. Sights, smells and emotions ruled her life now, her five senses continually painting the loving image that was already imprinted on her soul. She rubbed her face into Françoise’s pillow, bathing her nose in the French woman’s scent.
She rose and got dressed, donning her cloak to cover the rip in her bodice. Opening the door Dale wandered down the hallway, closing her ears to the sounds emanating from behind closed doors. What on earth possessed Françoise to bring them here? The door to one of the front rooms opened and a portly middle-aged man staggered out, his hands fumbling for the buttons on his pants. “Well, well, well… Hey Lucette! Your quality of women is getting better!” He made a grab for Dale’s behind, giving it a firm pinch.
“Hey!” She swung around to face the lecherous man trying to feel her up. Her brow wrinkled as her anger showed. “Don’t… errr…” She stopped, realizing the language barrier.
“What is going on here?” It took a moment for the woman to assess the situation. “Henri, you have had your fun, now back to your wife…” Ushering the man out into the street, she turned her attention to her guest. “Dale… come.” Dale was surprised to see Lucette’s room was empty.
“Where’s Françoise?”
Lucette thought for a moment. “Elle est allée au marché… Errr… mar… mark…”
“Market ? Françoise has gone to the market?”
“Market. Oui.” The older woman studied the young blonde curiously. “You… Françoise…”
“Yes, we are a couple.”
“Cup… couple… ah oui. Bien. English not good.” Dale suspected that Lucette’s exposure consisted mainly of English sailors and that her vocabulary would be liberally spattered with many a salty word.
“How do you know Françoise?” Dale wanted to know.
“Quoi donc?”
“You… Françoise…” Dale brought her fingers together and saw the answering understanding in those aged eyes. “S’il vous plait…” Françoise was not going to tell her but this woman knew the whole truth.
“Non…. “ Lucette shook her head and waved her hands. “Non… non… non.”
Dale grabbed her hands, holding them gently. “Please…. I have to know.”
Dark brown eyes watched her, finally closing as if making a decision. “Le comte…”
“The Count? Françoise’s husband? What has he got to do with it?”
“It’s none of your business…” The deep voice resonated through the tiny room.
Dale’s eyes swept to the door to see Philippe standing there. “Ahhh, my handsome husband…” But the compliment was not going to get her out of trouble. Françoise put down her basket full of parcels and closed the door.
“I wanted you to leave this matter alone but you went behind my back.”
“That’s because I knew you would never tell me!”
“Did you ever think it was because I did not want you to know?”
“Arrêtez!” Lucette raised a hand to stop the argument. “What is going on?”
“Why were you going to tell her? She does not need to know…”
“Why not let her be the one to decide that, little one.”
“Tantine, I… I…”
“I understand, child, you do not want to appear a fool in front of her.”
“It is more than that, Lucette. Terrible things happened here, things that still haunt me.”
“And we all live with them here, child.”
“I know, tantine.” The young aristocrat sighed deeply. “I know. I am so sorry for what he did to you and your girls.”
“Do not forget to include yourself in that forgiveness, Françoise. You suffered too.”
“Maybe, but I am not the one carrying the visible scars of his tortured preferences.”
“But you helped… in your own way.”
“I know… but it is not enough, tantine… it is never enough.”
“Put your mind at rest, child. None of us here harbor any ill will against you. The money you sent us helped where it was most needed.” But Lucette could see that Françoise was not convinced. She would suffer for the rest of her life just as they all would under this roof. “Tell her. She deserves to know…”
Dale watched intently at the exchange, reading the bowed tenseness in the long lean body of her partner. Although she didn’t know the exact details she could read the conversation easily as if they had spoken English. “You don’t have to tell me…” she muttered. “I’m sorry, my love, for asking Lucette but I could see that you were troubled. I just wanted to help.”
Françoise’s mind raced in all directions. Should she accept Dale’s offer to finish it or should she reveal all? Would that revelation be the wedge to drive them apart? Maybe that was what had kept her from saying anything. The depth of her depravity would be too much of a shock for her young naïve companion. Piercing blue eyes looked over the top of her lover’s head to the woman standing behind her. A gentle nod told her what she knew she had to do.
“This…,” she whispered but she was unable to put any volume into what she wanted to say, “…this is my second home, chérie. I know this place well.”
“You…?” Dale was shocked. “You were a prostitute?” She looked deeply into those sad eyes. “I don’t believe it! No, no that’s not right.”
Lucette cleared her throat. Even with her bad English she was able to pick up what Françoise had said. “Non, mon petit cœur, for… him.”
“He brought you here?” Françoise could only nod in answer. “Why?”
“Bad man,” Lucette spat the words out, the venom tainting each and every letter, “Bad… bad man.”
Dale looked back at her lover, eager eyes urging the French woman to tell her all. “Remember when I said he was the devil? It was no idle comment, chérie. He was an evil man. His tastes in sex were…. Umm…”
“Perverse?” Dale thought the worst possible things and then some.
“Ahh… yes… perverse.” The young woman looked to Lucette for confirmation, receiving an energetic nod.
“He…” Françoise’s head hung in shame, only to be tipped up by a gentle finger. “He made me…,” she looked to Lucette, “…us do unspeakable things, chérie. When I say I have done everything, mon amour, I mean everything.” A lone tear was intercepted on its journey down her pale face. All was now laid to bare.
“Is that why you can’t have children, my love?” Dale kept her voice low, quiet and loving. It was such a sad, sad tale and certainly explained her hidden hostility towards the Marquis de Sade. Françoise had presented an air of disinterest whenever his name was mentioned but she had seen the little flinches or the occasional twitch of an eye. She was learning to read what the woman didn’t say.
All Françoise could do was nod. Her emotion had stripped away her voice, leaving it as nothing more than a whisper. “Some of these women were not as lucky as me. At least my scars were on the inside.”
“And no less painful, my love.” But the pain in those eyes clouded them, turning what was normally a clear brilliant blue to a muddy aquamarine. “You have nothing to be sorry for, just as these women have nothing to be sorry for. Do you understand?” Her hand rose to gently stroke a quivering cheek, calming the shaking soul underneath it.
“Now do you see why I did not want to tell you? He does this to me. I have never feared anything in my life, except him. I could not leave because he would hunt me down. Out of spite he would hurt these women here.”
“See? Honor-bound to the last breath, just as I knew you would be.” Dale smiled gently at the stoic façade.
“Pardon?”
“Even then you were thinking as much of these woman as you were of yourself. You were in a horrible position, my love, and yet you bore it to protect them.” Her hand lifted to point to Lucette.
“I… I never thought of it that way.”
“No… you wouldn’t. That’s just you. You take responsibility for everything, even when it’s not your fault. You are a good woman, Françoise Marie Aurélie de Villerey, whether you admit it to yourself or not.”
A wisp of a smile touched the aristocrat’s lips, finally getting a grasp on the memories that had haunted her for years. Maybe Dale was right. It was not fear that kept her there but a need to protect those around her. Hmmm… it was something to think about.
“Are you going to tell her everything, little one?” Lucette looked on with concern. “What about how he died?”
“No, tantine!” Françoise didn’t mean to show her anger but the words flew out of her mouth before she could temper them. “She is to never know, do you understand me? That is for you and I and we will die with that secret.”
“But–“
“I said no!” Françoise tipped her head back, trying to rein in her roiling emotions.
“Are you afraid that she will think less of you?” Lucette didn’t mind the anger. Le comte had that effect on everyone he ever met.
“Of course not!” She tried to sound indignant but they both knew the truth.
“Have you finished discussing what you’re not going to tell me? Just put your husband’s memory where it belongs… in the ground.” Dale really wanted to know but by her lover’s reaction that was something she just had to forego.
Françoise instinctively moved closer to her partner, her hand idly caressing the swell of breast peeking out from the torn bodice. “How do you manage to always say the right thing, mon cœur?”
“Because I know you, my love. You faced your fear and you defeated him.”
“I did?” Surprised eyes looked at her.
“Of course. You are here, he is not.”
The French woman’s head tilted back as she laughed. “Ahhh….only you would find a good side to bad memories.”
“It made you smile, didn’t it?”
“It surely did, little one.”
“Then my job is done.”
Lucette watched the interaction with keen interest, seeing with her own eyes the obvious love these two women had for each other. Even a blind man standing in the street could see that. She made a move towards the door to leave them alone.
“And where are you going, tantine?”
The older woman jumped. “Do not scare me like that, little one!” She had not been aware that she had been watched. “I am letting you two have some time alone.”
“If we wanted that, Lucette, our room is only down the hall. Come…” Françoise moved to the basket and extracted a piece of cloth. “Try one.” She offered Lucette a small hand-made pastry nestled in the cloth before offering them to Dale and finally taking one herself. “Hmmm… palets bretons.”
“So, what have you been up to?” Dale felt a need to change the subject.
“What you asked me to do, chérie.” Françoise reached into the basket and extracted two parcels, tossing them to her partner. “Those herbs you wanted and the cloth. And a few other things that I thought we would need.”
“But did you find the soap?” To Dale that was the most important thing.
“It was not easy, mon cœur. It seems that this city does not believe in bathing.” She pulled out two waxy bars and passed them over to Dale. “Non, I could not find the shopkeeper. I had to barter for these so use them wisely.”
Dale held the presents against her chest, as if jealously guarding them, before placing them back in the basket. “Soap… soap… soap…” She quietly sang with childish glee.
Françoise chuckled at her partner’s antics, pleased to see that look of joy on her face once more. “Come, we will leave Lucette to her business.”
“Tantine, if you need us we will be in our room.”
“I will knock first…” The older woman chuckled, knowing what will be going on in that room.
Françoise looked at the younger woman. “Good idea…”
* * *
The two women were walking down the shadowed corridor when a large hand grabbed Dale’s elbow. “Now, here is a willing bed warmer…”
“Monsieur, I am sorry but I have claimed her first.” The tall aristocrat tried to steer Dale around the man obstructing the hallway.
“You have no other business than to attend to me, wench!” His aggressive manner told her he would not take ‘no’ for an answer. He kicked in the nearest door and pushed Dale inside. Françoise followed closely behind intent on protecting her from the boorish peasant. “Now, get those clothes off quickly, woman. I paid good money for some service.” He was already reaching for his belt, fumbling with the rough hewn buckle that held his pants up.
They were cornered. If Françoise caused a fuss the man could look more closely at them and maybe discover that she was a woman. The walls were closing in on her as she realized which room this was. Dale looked over to see her lover standing stock still. “What’s wrong?” she murmured.
“This room…” she mumbled. At that moment, the door flew open and half a dozen women entered, moving to their customer and surrounding him. Lucette pulled the two women out, pushing them towards their room at the end.
“I am so sorry, little one. He was too quick for me.” She looked to see the tight jaw. “Are you alright?”
“That room.” Françoise took a deep breath, allowing the precious air to flow through her.
Dale looked at Lucette in inquiry. “Room… him… bad man.” Pale eyes widened and looked up at her partner. While Françoise tried to gain control of her emotions, Dale could see that her strong-willed, confident mate was held in the grasp of very powerful, hateful memories.
Françoise took a calming breath. “You are right… he is dead….” But even from the grave he had a hold over her. Now, leaving these shores was more important than ever.
“We have to get out of here,” she voiced shakily.
“Why? What’s going on?”
“It is too dangerous here, chérie.”
“But… but…” Things were moving too fast for Dale. “What is going on?” She watched her partner’s eyes flicker along the hallway. “If it’s because of him…”
“No!” Françoise said it a little more forcefully than she needed to. “No. There will be trouble here… soon.” Pushing Dale into their room, she moved around quickly and quietly, reaching into the bottom of their bag for some coin. “Make your pants, Dale.” She tossed the wrapped packet in the direction of the smaller woman. “I will be back soon.”
“Where are you going now?” Dale was still trying to digest all that she had been told so far.
“To find a ship…”
* * *
As she emerged into the dull light of a cloudy day Françoise breathed a sigh of relief. With a name from Lucette in her possession she went in search of a moneylender who would not ask questions about gold coin. The sooner they left this Godforsaken country the better.
* * *
Françoise stepped onto the wooden pier. Things did not look good. There was only one ship moored at the now-deserted waterfront.
“Monsieur…,” she addressed an aging fisherman sitting on the edge of a pylon, “where are the ships?”
“All gone. That one is the only one left.”
“When are more due?”
“Not for four or five days, monsieur.”
Damn… She now had no choice, unless they left Nantes and took to the road once again. Maybe Bordeaux… She took a step towards the waiting ship.
“But I would not travel on that one.”
“Why?”
“It is a slave ship, monsieur, or so I have been told.”
“Told?”
“I have not seen this ship before. It is smaller than the regular slave ships that stop here, but sailors off it claim that it is indeed picking up slaves.”
Burning blue eyes studied the vessel, noticing the garnish symbol on the stern. ‘Le Renard’. “Where will it be heading?”
“Where they all do. First to Africa then across the water to the Colonies.”
The Colonies? Maybe she could honor her promise to Dale after all. “America?”
“Non, monsieur. St. Domingue.”
Françoise looked at the ship once more. If it got them part-way there, maybe they could find another ship to take them the rest of the way. She ignored the possibility that they could be killed in a slave rebellion or end up stranded in a port that could be even more dangerous than the one there were now in. Her feet moved before she had even completed the thought, her mind made up.
“Your need must be great then, monsieur.”
She looked over her shoulder to see dark eyes studying her carefully. “It is, monsieur. My wife’s father is gravely ill and we need to get to America as quickly as we can.” The intense stare softened a little but she was not sure whether the reason was good enough, at least in this man’s eyes. “Thank you for your assistance.”
Boldly she strode along the pier, the wooden planks vibrating with each sturdy step. She stood at the bottom of the gangway looking up at the deck. A couple of burly sailors glanced up from their work, their weather-beaten faces scowling at her approach.
“I wish to see the Captain!” Her voice was deep and strong, the words reverberating through the wood for a moment before floating away on the fresh sea breeze.
Neither of them spoke but one dropped his rope and walked off towards the cabins. A moment later another man emerged, dressed in clothes that were more for show than practicality. “Yes?” His voice was deep and gravely and spoke of malevolence.
Françoise took an instant disliking to the man. She almost turned away but a scuffle at the dock front strengthened her resolve. How long could the trip be anyway? “I am looking for passage to St. Domingue, Captain.”
“I do not take passengers, at least not willing ones…” He laughed loudly, his stained decaying teeth on full display. The two sailors joined in the joke chuckling in response to their Captain.
“Nevertheless, monsieur, I am asking for passage for myself and my wife.” The grin changed from one of joviality to one of hunger.
“You are in a hurry to get out of France?” His eyes narrowed as he tried to find the truth in Françoise’s azure eyes.
“In a way, Captain. My wife is from America and her father is gravely ill. We need to get home as quickly as possible.” She kept her gaze calm and unwavering as she spoke the words.
“One hundred livres… each.”
One hundred…? Françoise felt her jaw tighten at the outrageous price but they both knew he held all the cards.
“And you sleep below deck.”
“One hundred more and we get the Captain’s cabin.” She could see his eyes widen at the offer. Greed was a strong motivator. Slowly a smile crossed his craggy features.
“I suppose it would not hurt me to sleep with the crew for one voyage.”
“Very well, it is a deal. Let us shake on it, Captain. I would hate to think that the deal would be changed without my knowledge.” She moved towards him when he offered no such courtesy. Distastefully she grabbed his hand firmly, shaking it forcefully. “The deal is sealed, Captain. When do we sail?”
“Tomorrow morning with the tide. We will sail to Ouidah first before continuing to St. Domingue. I have a package or two to pick up there before we continue.” He turned his back, walking away chuckling at his own joke. As Françoise left the vessel she made a mental note to shop for more weapons. She felt was going to need them.
* * *
Now that the most immediate business had been taken care of, Françoise set off to find the most important one. She drew out the piece of paper Gérard had given her and read the name. Sébastien Baptiste. The man who held Gérard’s trust and her future in his hands. Quickly she negotiated the narrow cobblestone streets avoiding the groups of armed men where she could. A skirmish was brewing even she could see that. She only hoped that the combatants kept away from one another until they had left on the tide.
The small livery finally came into view where a brawny middle-aged man was working industriously over his anvil with a large hammer. When it was safe to do so, Françoise crossed the final few feet from across the street, approaching the man carefully and silently. “Monsieur…,” she shouted, trying to raise her voice over the din of his work.
The palest blue eyes she had ever seen slowly slid over her, as if trying to decide whether she was friend or foe. “Yes?”
“Gérard sent me…”
“Gérard?” He looked up and down the street, motioning the tall woman to follow him. “You know Gérard?” Françoise handed over the letter she had been jealously guarding all the way from Anjou.
“Did…” Françoise was nearly afraid to ask for fear of hearing of its demise. And yet Dale was still here. She did not understand how the mirror worked but wouldn’t the magic die if the mirror was broken?
“Oui, monsieur…” Sébastien looked at the paper in the semi-darkness, moving closer to the open door to read the note. “Philippe Théroux, your property is safe. It arrived yesterday.”
“Oh, monsieur, I am indebted to you. Merci beaucoup.” Françoise hadn’t realized that she had been holding her breath until the tightness in her chest told her to breathe.
“No need. Gérard asked for a favor, which I gladly give. He is a good man.”
“Indeed he is, monsieur, indeed he is.”
“What do you wish me to do now?”
“There is a ship in the harbor, ‘Le Renard’, leaving on the tide in the morning. Can you arrange delivery first thing?”
“You do not want me to deliver it today?”
“Non, monsieur. I have a feeling the Captain cannot be trusted. It would be better for me to be there to receive it.”
“As you wish, monsieur.”
“I thank you, Sébastien. In these hard times it is hard to find someone to trust.”
“Anything for Gérard, Philippe. For him to ask such a favor he must hold you in high regard.” Françoise smiled. If only the blacksmith knew.
“I also need to find some weapons. I fear this journey is not going to be a smooth one.” Sébastien disappeared for a minute returning with two daggers and a heavier sword than her rapier. She studied the workmanship. While not finely crafted, they were sturdy, well made and quite serviceable. “Did you make these?”
“It is not common knowledge.”
“Are you prepared to sell them?”
“They are a gift… to Gérard’s friend.”
“Non, I cannot accept these…”
“Philippe, I offer them freely. It sounds like you will be more in need of them than I will.”
“I do not… it is too… thank you, Sébastien. That is most generous of you.” Françoise was touched by the man’s generosity, handing over goods to a person he did not know all because of the recommendation of a friend. “I am in need of a pistol.”
“Say no more. Two streets that way…” A pudgy finger pointed up the gentle incline. “Look for the shop front of Marcel Jugnon.”
“Monsieur, Gérard has chosen his friends wisely.” The words drew a grin from the blacksmith. “Here…” She handed over some coin to him. Not gold but livres, but valuable just the same.
“There is no need, Philippe.”
“Take it. I am sure you can use it.” She saw him hesitate as his hand hovered over hers. “For taking such good care of my property, Sébastien,” she murmured, a small smile touching her lips. Those crystal blue eyes touched hers and then dropped to the coins in her hand. Before he could change his mind she flipped his hand over and poured the coins onto his palm, closing the hand into a fist. “Until tomorrow then.”
He looked up at her, a rare smile touching his leather face. “Tomorrow.” She left the workshop without another word, her footsteps a little lighter. They had passage and the mirror was safe.
* * *
Trying to make a pair of underpants was turning out to be quite an undertaking. No scissors to cut the material with, and now she would give her life savings for a sewing machine. Dale had momentarily considered just going without them but it was more than a matter of clothing. It was a matter of coping in a world without mechanical aids.
She had grown accustomed to the unusual sounds emanating from the other rooms, only because it never stopped. Day and night, all the time. Dale chuckled. She was living in a bordello. Her mother would have a hissy fit. A major hissy fit. Sucking her thumb after another needle prick in a long line of needle pricks, her hearing picked up a new sound. The sewing was put aside before she stood and went to the door, gently opening it a crack to see what was going on.
“But… but… madame…”
“Non.”
A young girl, maybe seventeen years old, was pleading with Lucette. It was desperate and emotional and the other woman was vainly trying to discourage whatever the young woman wanted.
Dale opened the door further and poked her head out into the hallway. The action stopped the conversation. Lucette looked over her shoulder and motioned for Dale to return to her room. But the young woman was never one to do as she was told. All she would have to do was ask Françoise for an answer to that. Her heart leapt into her throat as the front door opened, sending her scurrying for the relative safety of their room.
* * *
Françoise felt the tension release in her neck once she walked back through the bordello front door. Things were getting very agitated in the streets. There had been some shoving and swearing amongst small groups of armed men, but so far the peace was still intact. As the tall woman entered she encountered a heated discussion between Lucette and a young girl.
“Madame, I have no where else to turn. Pleeaassee….”
“Errr… “
“Rosalie.”
“Rosalie, this is no life for you. Do you not understand that?”
“But… but… madame…”
“Non.”
A flash of movement caught Françoise’s eye as she saw Dale’s head slip back into their room. “What is going on?”
“Monsieur please, this is a conversation between Madame Lucette and myself.”
“Girl, this is not a customer. He lives here.” Lucette spotted two plump chickens dangling from Françoise’s large hand.
“This is for dinner.” Françoise handed over the poultry, smiling at the look of gratitude in those thankful eyes. “I hope you have someone to cook these. You know cooking is not a skill of mine.”
“I am sure that is so, little one.” She raised her voice to be heard out the back. “Honorine, I have something for you!” A small middle aged woman trotted out from the back of the establishment, wiping her hands on a ragged cloth. “Our friend here has donated these to the pot. Treat them well.” Almost reverently she carried the feathered fowl back towards the kitchen, mumbling to herself about how to cook them.
“She is a little cracked but she can make anything edible.” Lucette smiled at the antics of their resident cook, a victim of the harsh times they had been living under. She looked at the waif standing in front of her. Her house was becoming as much a haven for women as it was a bordello. Sighing, she looked at Françoise for help.
The aristocrat looked down into pleading eyes. “Oh… non, non, non, non… Stop looking at me that way, tantine.”
“I have no more room… Philippe. She does not deserve a life here and you know it.”
Rosalie didn’t like being ignored. “I am not going with him. I am trying to get away from one man. Why would I go to another?”
“And yet you want to work in a bordello!” Françoise snapped. “You cannot pick and choose as you like girl. Especially here. Maybe it would be better if you return home to your husband.”
“Husband? Oh no, no, no. He… he is evil. My parents have sold me to marry him but I will never be his bride.”
That struck a chord within her. Damn. This was her tale all over again. Françoise looked deep into the child’s hazel eyes, trying to ascertain the truth within them. “Awwwww….” She walked away in disgust. Why did everyone think she could solve their problems?
* * *
Dale went back to her sewing awaiting Françoise’s arrival. Moments later her partner stepped through the door throwing a couple of parcels into the basket sitting on the floor. “And what are you doing?”
“Sewing, like you asked me to.” Dale tried to put on her best innocent face.
“Then why were you looking out the room?”
“Asking Lucette for help?”
The tall French woman pursed her lips at the seated woman batting her eyelashes at her. “I doubt that, chérie. And stop trying to distract me. I know you were being curious. That could get you killed, you know.”
“It didn’t stop you though.” Dale knew she had won when her lover’s lips slowly parted in a smile. “What did you find out?”
“We leave in the morning… with the mirror.” She wasn’t sure how to tell Dale that it was a slave ship, deciding it was better to get her out to sea first before revealing it.
“Really? And where are we heading?”
“St. Domingue.”
“Where on earth is that?”
“It is a French colony over the sea. Somewhere near America, I believe. I am not sure.”
“Home?”
“Not quite, chérie, but close enough. From there we will seek passage the rest of the way.”
“I knew you could do it…” Dale threw her arms around her lover, smothering the porcelain skin in kisses. “I love you…” she murmured.
“Moi aussi, ma chérie.” Françoise drew Dale’s lips towards her own, bathing herself in the loving glow of her partner’s affection. The kiss was warm, amorous and hinting of pleasure to come. “Now, mon cœur, I have things to do before we sail.” The brunette tried to pull away but was held firm by a determined young woman. “Chérie, please. There is not much time…”
“There is always time, my love.”
“Not this time. We sail first thing in the morning and there are still some things I must try to find.”
“I don’t need anything but you.”
“And I you, Dale, but love alone will not sustain our hunger or our safety.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Dale backed away, letting her eyes slide over the French woman’s obvious assets. “I think you could satisfy my hunger.”
Mon Dieu…. “Grrrrr……” Francoise turned on her heels and left the room while she could. “You are going to kill me,” she muttered.
“I’ll try, my sweet,” came the melodious voice from behind her. “Maybe I’ll finish that bedtime story tonight.”
* * *
A few muttered expletives greeted Lucette in the hallway. “Is there a problem, ma chérie?”
“My partner was trying to convince me to stay, tantine.”
“Then why are you fighting it?”
“Because we sail in the morning.”
“So?”
“It is a slave ship, tantine.”
“Oh…. Is that wise?” Concern etched that older woman’s face. “What is to stop them robbing and killing you while at sea?”
“This…” The rapier dangling at the French woman’s side was grasped intensely. “I will not give up without a fight.”
“Is there no other course?”
“The harbor is empty, tantine. There will be no ships for another four to five days.”
“You can always hide here… Philippe.” The madam stumbled on the name.
“Trouble is coming, tantine. We cannot stay… and neither should you.”
“Leave? I do not think so.”
“The streets are full of men, angry, drunken men, tantine, and they are all intent on looking for a fight. I do not want you caught in the middle of it.”
“And where am I supposed to go, eh? I have lived here most of my life. These girls are in the same predicament. This is all we have.”
“But…”
“Non. If you have to go, then fine. Do what you have to do. But do not ask me to leave.”
“You are the most stubborn…” Francoise was frustrated. Why couldn’t they see that it was getting dangerous here? She could not force them to go but she wished she could do something.
“Ma chérie. I think that finger you are pointing is facing the wrong direction.” With that final comment, she turned her back and walked away, chuckling at the answering growl from Françoise. Maybe the vendors in the street won’t give her as much trouble as this old woman.
* * *
The sun was valiantly trying to shine through the smattering of dark cloud. Françoise looked one way then the other, trying to decide which way to go. The pistol was her first priority so she walked in the direction of the livery, waving at Sébastien as she passed and continued up the hill. As he had directed, she found Monsieur Jugnon’s shop two streets away.
The bell above the door announced her arrival and a slim man with wire rimmed glasses emerged from the back. “Monsieur? How may I help you?”
“I am in need of a pistol.”
“But…”
“Sébastien Baptiste directed me to you.”
“Our city does not want troublemakers, monsieur.”
“I am leaving in the morning aboard the ship moored in the harbor.”
“Oh… un moment.” He disappeared through the curtain, leaving Françoise alone to look around the shop. There was not a weapon in sight. Instead trunks, chests and boxes of varying sizes and quality were on display, eager for purchase for the long sea voyages many had taken in the past and would take in the future.
A plain, rough hewn but sturdy chest caught her eye. Their supplies were mounting and needed a home. Her mind returned to the avaricious look in the Captain’s eye, his mind as easily read as his face. This particular chest took her fancy because of the large lock that hung from the clasp.
“Monsieur…” The voice cut through her thoughts as the vendor returned with two identical pistols. “Twenty livres each.”
“Twenty?”
“I will include a good supply of ammunition for free, monsieur.” Despite his reluctance to sell weapons, his eyes told a different story. He was a carpenter who didn’t sell weapons… at least not publicly.
“Fine.” Françoise schooled her expression as the man smiled, seeing easily through his veiled concern about violence. “I am also interested in that chest.” She nodded her head in the direction of the plain chest, unaware that his eyes had landed on the ornate piece sitting next to it.
“Fifty livres.”
“Fifty!!?! For that?”
“It took many hours to make, monsieur. Surely, you do not begrudge me for the craftsmanship put into its making.”
“It is just a box.” Craftsmanship? Obviously what Françoise considered fine craft work was not the same as what this man thought.
“But the carvings alone took me a number of days.”
“Carving? Oh, non, non, non. The one next to it. The one with the lock.”
“Oh…” His forlorn face nearly made her laugh. His precious livres were flying out the window. “Fifteen livres, monsieur, but as you can see it is very plain.”
“That is all I need, monsieur. Nothing more.” No, anything more ornate would only draw the Captain’s attention. “I will give you twenty if you can deliver it for me.”
“Twenty? Of course.” His eyes gleamed with greed. “And where would you like it delivered?” He only hoped the young man didn’t say Paris or Bordeaux.
“Lucette’s… on the waterfront.”
“Luc…??!?” The artisan looked Françoise up and down with a new eye.
“Lucette is family, monsieur. Be careful what you say.” Françoise was starting to feel sorry for the brothel madam. They all scorned her in public but behind closed doors many of them had turned to her establishment for comfort. Hypocrites. “I would like that lock reinforced, monsieur, and two keys please.”
“As you wish monsieur. It will be delivered later today, along with the pistols.”
Françoise nodded then watched the man’s face light up as coin after coin hit his palm. The country was in turmoil and still money was eagerly sought after, probably even more so now.
“I have a… dilemma. I wish to block a door without using a lock and key. Do you have any suggestions?”
“Hmmmm….. “ He thought for a moment, his index finger resting on his lips and tapping out a rhythm. “Stop a door opening…” Without realizing it he turned his back and walked out the back, disappearing for several minutes before returning with several chunks of wood in his hands. The solid clunk of the wood hitting the table drew Françoise’s attention away from the trunks.
The shop keeper sorted through the off-cuts finding one he thought suitable for the job. “Maybeee….” He slipped the wedge in between the door and the floor, effectively blocking it.
“Simple but effective. Very good… monsieur you are a genius.” Now she could get some sleep on the voyage and keep the human hounds at bay.
* * *
It had been a long, long day. Françoise sat at the dinner table quietly, allowing the brisk conversation to flow around her. She had no energy to participate and Dale just gave up trying to glean the thread of conversation from her. The venture had been enlightening, drawing out a skill she didn’t know she possessed.
“And where are you from, monsieur?” Edith was the smallest girl in the establishment, her brown curls bouncing merrily. Françoise had seen her earlier escorting a bull of a man into one of the front rooms and wondered how on earth she survived such an encounter.
“Anjou.”
“Are you staying in Nantes for long?” Sabine’s dark looks made her one of the busiest girls in the bordello.
“Just passing through. We’re sailing on the tide tomorrow.”
“Oooh, travel. I always wanted to travel.” Violette had listened to all the sailor stories and harbored a desire to sail. She had been one of Lucette’s longer serving girls and she had been slavishly saving her coin to do so. “Maybe England or Portugal… or maybe Italy.” She had yet to make up her mind where she wanted to end up.
Dale watched the conversation and could see her lover faltering. “How about we call it a night?”
The murmur was barely registered by the French woman. “Call it… a night?”
“Let’s go to bed, my love.”
“Chérie, I do not think…”
“To sleep, Philippe. You are out on your feet.” The tall aristocrat did not argue, instead pushing herself back from the table slowly.
“Tantine, I am sorry. I am tired and…”
“No need, little one. I was wondering how long it would take you to retire.” The older woman smiled benevolently. “Your eyes were half closed.”
“Ahh.” It just took too much effort to reply. “Good night.”
“Good night.” The chorus echoed along the walls as the duo walked down the corridor to their room. The familiar muffled cries of ecstasy continued night and day and never abated. It seemed Lucette did a brisk business.
“I’m just tired listening to all of that…” Dale muttered. “All that sex would become tiresome, don’t you think?”
“Oui, chérie, very tiresome…”
“Oh… I’m sorry…”
“Do not be. It was my choice, not yours.”
“Do you…” Dale was afraid to ask. “Do you miss it? I mean, they say variety is the spice of life.” She was pulled up short by her companion.
“I have never… never… regretted my decision, mon amour. I love you with all my heart.”
Dale could feel her eyes welling up. “But… I know so little. Can you…”
“Do you not realize yet that all that does not matter? I have not lost any of the pleasure just because you are inexperienced. Matters of the heart and mind are more eternal than fleeting pleasure, my love. I have never been happier.”
“Really?” A look of wonder crossed those impish features.
“Oui, really. I would move heaven and earth for you, chérie. You are the only one who ever loved me for who I am. Me… Françoise. I thank God every night for sending you to me.”
Dale was pleased to know that she wasn’t the only one thanking God. Gently she guided her lover through the door to their bed, pushing the exhausted woman to the mattress. “Come on, sleep time for tired aristocrats.”
“But… no… aristocrat.” Françoise could barely form the words as sleep overtook her, unaware that her clothes had been loosened before Dale joined her. Tomorrow was another day.
* * *
Françoise slipped out of bed, careful not to disturb her sleeping partner. She had wanted to see Lucette alone before they left and now was as good a time as any, if not better. It was a change of shift, if she could call it that, when husbands went home to their wives and husbands came in on their way to work.
“Tantine,” she called quietly, the door to their bedroom clicking closed behind her. “One moment of your time.”
“Of course, little one. Just give me a moment to show my cust… err this gentlemen into room two.” The older woman gave her a wink. Dirty old man… Seconds later Lucette emerged looking worn out. She steered the tall aristocrat into her own room.
“You should get some rest, tantine.”
“I did, child, but somehow it never seems enough.”
“Maybe you should turn to one of your girls for help.”
“Non, they are too busy on their… backs. Heh…”
A thought popped into Françoise’s head and it was a ridiculously simple solution. “How about that girl? You know, from yesterday? What was her name?”
“Rosalie.”
“Ah oui. Rosalie. Train her as your assistant. You will get some rest and it will keep her off the streets and out of beds.” Françoise studied Lucette. “You look tired, tantine. You know… you are not getting any younger.”
“Are you ma mère now little one?”
“Someone has to…” Françoise let her eyes speak to the older woman, telling her without words her feelings. “I… I… was fearful of coming here, Lucette. So much pain. But you know that only too well. I am sorry for not coming sooner. I had never forgotten here, please understand that, and it was because of it that I could not return.”
A firm hand grabbed her arm. “There is no need for explanations, Françoise. I do understand. Things have been busy here anyway, even more so since the unrest. All this heightened anxiety and fear has driven the men to my door. I can barely keep up with the demand.”
“Unrest? Or is it war? Whatever it is always stirs up the emotions and the libido, tantine. You are performing a valuable service.”
“Valuable service?” The woman laughed loudly. “Valuable service… I have never been called that before.”
“The reason I wanted to see you before I go is to give you this…” She handed over a sack, watching the woman’s eyes widen at the sound of clinking of coin as she did so.
“Oh non… keep that. You will need it in the New World.”
“Tantine, we are comfortable. Do not worry about that.”
“But business is good, mon petite cœur…”
“Then keep it for when you all grow old.” She saw the woman hesitate. “Please, tantine. For me. Take it.” Gnarled hands flexed as Lucette held onto the sack, her fingers barely able to cup the money bag.
Dark gray eyes traveled from the youthful face she had been watching down the body to the floor. Her vision hesitated on the bulge in the pants before continuing. “Well then, I have something for you, Françoise.”
“Moi?”
“Oui, toi.” She chuckled. Such innocence in a well experienced body. Lucette went to an aged cabinet in the corner, extracting something wrapped in cotton. “You are barely a threat with that…” She handed over the parcel.
“With what, tantine?”
“Just look…”
Françoise unwrapped the material. “Oh…” She looked pointedly down to her crotch. It looked like she was going to get her fantasy after all. Suddenly, she was worried where it had been before.
“Never fear, Françoise, it has never been used.”
“How… how did you know I was thinking that?”
“Ah, chérie, your nose crinkles up right there…” Lucette brought up a finger to touch the bridge of the taller woman’s nose. “On a ship full of men we cannot have you looking less than impressive now can we?”
“I suppose not, tantine. But… you giving it to me is… is… strange.”
“Oh, tish tosh. I am sure your little Dale will not object either.” With that final word she gave the young woman a wink, ushering her out the door. “Honorine is serving breakfast now if you hurry.” She was not ready for the crying that would come.
* * *
Dale woke to another empty bed. Getting up at daybreak was for the birds. She lay on her stomach, her eyes fixated on the trunk that now occupied their room. Her lover had been busy yesterday, that she knew, but the appearance of the casket lent testament to how much the woman had actually accomplished.
“Did I wake you?” Dale’s eyes swiveled to the opening door and the owner of the voice.
“No…” she mumbled into the sheet, sleep still lacing the word.
“It is time to rise, chérie. The ship will sail soon and we must not miss it.”
“I know, I know.” But the energy involved just seemed like too much trouble. All she wanted to do was to drift back to sleep wrapped in Françoise’s loving arms. A swat on the backside made her jump. “Hey! I was getting up.”
“Uh huh.” Françoise’s eyebrow rose, telling the young woman what she thought of that statement. She moved away and propped herself near the door.
“Did you have to buy so much stuff?”
“Stuff?”
“In the trunk. Are we going to need all that?” Dale rolled onto her back, stretching like a feline and sending her partner’s pulse racing.
“Need? Errr…” Françoise’s mind was mush. She was still exhausted from the shopping yesterday and now Dale was teasing her mercilessly. “Please do not do that. Breakfast is waiting…”
“Do what?” Green eyes looked over at the woman leaning negligently against the wall. While she looked relaxed, the gleam in her eye told a different story. “Oh…” She smiled wickedly. “Is that so bad?”
“It is when we are in a hurry. Come on, wench. Move.”
“But we may not have another chance until we reach land again.” Dale’s voice had dropped to a seductive whisper.
“I know, ma chérie, believe me I know, but now is not the time.”
“Oh, but I think it is…” The blanket was slowly pushed aside to reveal pale skin to her gaze.
Françoise could feel her upper lip getting moist. When a beckoning finger asked she couldn’t help herself. “I hope I have some palets bretons left…”
“Palets… what?”
“Those…ummm, cakes, because there will be no meal for us…”
It still took some moments to get undressed but Françoise knew that in time she would find a shortcut or two in that department. She could feel the heat of the stare as it slid down her body, resting on the point where her pants hung open. Her eyes danced merrily as Dale’s gaze reached her face, blushing lightly at being caught so openly ogling her.
Françoise wasted no time climbing into bed, knowing very well that time was short and Dale was more than ready for whatever she had in mind. Her lips sought the well-known territory and found it waiting for her, stimulating her senses easily to seek the pleasure she had always found there.
While Dale didn’t mind the intense attention, Françoise’s urgency was blinding her senses. “What’s the hurry?”
“We have a boat to catch, chérie.”
“Oh, yeah. I forgot.” Once her lover’s lips touched her all thought left her.
Françoise chuckled at the blonde’s confusion. It was extremely gratifying to have that effect on her. “Oui, one of us has to remember, little one.” Her fingers gently massaged the soft skin and defined muscle, as if preparing the way for her assault.
“I have an idea…,” Dale was a little reticent about taking control.
“Of course…” Françoise silently cheered as Dale took the initiative. Her inexperienced partner had come a long way in such a short time and she applauded the woman’s courage to take such as step. She smiled as Dale rolled her over onto her back and descended, turning her own body at the last second so that she was facing away.
Françoise kept silent as Dale probed her with her tongue, knowing what her lover wanted in return. She would not spoil the surprise by informing Dale that she knew exactly what she was doing. This was her ‘idea’, as she called it, and it would remain that way. “Mon Dieu!”
Dale smiled. Her advances had been a success. As she laved the moist skin she almost jumped when she felt Françoise’s tongue for the first time. Time and again she stopped as her French woman teased her, making her forget to breathe. Now she could see what the attraction was to this particular position and she concentrated all her efforts on pushing her partner to find that elusive plateau.
The temperature in the room rose steadily as breathing became heated and bodies became moist. For a moment out of time all was forgotten. Their flight, their danger and the fall of a dynasty held no meaning, only the fulfillment of their desire. They worked in perfect harmony. One swipe of a tongue was reciprocated, drawing a response from the initiator.
Dale didn’t know how to describe what she felt. It was as if she was pleasuring herself, her actions leading to an identical sensation on herself. She liked it, not only because it felt good but because she knew Françoise was feeling the same.
The sensual haze she was in buffered the sudden change, not aware that a finger had been substituted until she felt….it. Her muscles clenched in response to the wriggling digit, but for only a moment until she relaxed and allowed its entry. When a thumb joined in she couldn’t hold back the moan that had been building in her.
“Ahh, ma chérie… so…” Françoise’s words died in her mouth when Dale copied her, vigorously stimulating her and setting her blood afire. She could barely keep her senses from flying apart as her climax approached suddenly, sending her body into spasms of delight.
Dale felt the woman tense, her hand slowly being coated in moisture. It was deeply satisfying that she had outlasted her more experienced partner… but only just. As soon as that thought had been formed she body threw itself off the familiar cliff and broke into a million pieces on the rocks below. It was a shattering experience, and certainly a very nice way to wake up in the morning.
As much as the French woman wanted to while away the hours in bed she knew it wasn’t possible. There was precious little time to reach ‘Le Renard’ before it sailed. “Now, we must move.” She stood, trying to stop her legs from shaking. Her hand descended on the naked backside next to her. “Now, Dale!” she admonished her lover.
“I blew it, huh?”
“Not now Dale… Get your mind off such things.”
“No, I mean… never mind.” Her twentieth century colloquialisms were going to be the death of her. Dale swung her legs out of the pallet and stood, swaying slightly as she sought her equilibrium. “I hate this crack of dawn shit…,” she muttered.
“My my, mon cœur, such language.” That was one word Françoise had figured out fairly quickly. She poured a liberal amount of water into the ceramic bowl. “Now quickly wash up because we have to leave now.”
* * *
Françoise stood at the dock watching the two young men struggling with the full trunk. As she had predicted the farewell was awash with tears, more on Lucette’s part than her own. She had already shed all the tears she had years ago. Now there was very little left.
Beads of sweat dotted the young faces straining under the weight. “Up the gangway to the Captain’s cabin. Thank you.” She patted them on the shoulder as they passed, feeling a certain amount of sympathy and agony as the weight of the box cut deep into their hands. Her eyes slipped to the Captain, noting the gleam in his eye. At least it was heavy enough to slow him down stealing it.
Dale stood patiently by, filled with a feeling trepidation about the up-coming voyage. On land they had a certain amount of control over where they went, but out at sea they were at the mercy of the crew. She tugged on her lover’s sleeve, pointing to a large man driving a wagon along the waterfront.
“The mirror…” Françoise murmured, trying not to let her voice carry. “That is Sébastien. It seems he is a good friend of Gérard.”
Dale just nodded, accepting that those few words told the complete story. The wagon changed direction, slowly moving along the pier towards them. The horse’s head hung down, as if finding the load too heavy, its legs moving in a shuffling gait.
Françoise paid the two lads the agreed amount, plus a little bit more for their trouble. The burly blacksmith nodded as the boys went by, his arms bulging as they took the weight of the mirror as he lifted.
“Ah, monsieur…” Françoise greeted him jovially. He gave her a wry look. “Sébastien.” His lips gave way to a smile. “If you would not mind, could you put it in the Captain’s cabin for me?”
“Of course.” His deep voice was rich and full and seemed to suit his build. Françoise couldn’t help but like him. He walked slowly but steadily up the gangplank, the crew parting the way like the Red Sea at his approach.
“Merci, Sébastien.” For the Captain’s benefit she added, “And could you remove the glass from the frame?” But she could see the look of confusion on Sébastien’s face. “It was a wedding gift from my parents. I am taking it home. The glass can easily be replaced and I do not want the frame to be damaged.”
“What shall I do with it?”
“Get rid of it.” Françoise stared him straight in the eye, trying to impart everything she was not saying. “The gift is not very valuable but it has great sentimental value.” So it is not worth anything to you… you bastard. Would the Captain accept the explanation and leave it alone? The tall French woman followed the blacksmith on board, guiding her wife up the gangplank. “Are we ready to sail, Captain?”
“As soon as you have completed your business… monsieur.” But he was impatient. Françoise could hear it in the words. He didn’t like being at the beck and call of someone else, despite working for whoever owned ‘Le Renard’. He was a man who set his own times and his own rules.
Ten minutes later Sébastien emerged. “All done, Philippe.”
“Thank you, mon ami.” A noise from the street drew everyone to the railing. Shouts and clanging of metal could be heard but nothing could be seen.
Françoise made a move to run down the gangplank but a gentle hand stopped her. “Where do you think you are going?”
“It is what I feared.”
“Feared?”
“Oui… feared.”
“Cast off now!” While the Captain barked out his order, Françoise watched as a group of women exited Lucette’s, bundles clutched in their hands.
“Stay!”
“This is my ship, monsieur! I give the orders here.”
“Wait!” Her eyes were riveted on the one person she knew to be Lucette. “Lucette!” she bellowed, hoping that her voice would carry the distance. “Over here!” She was pleased to see the woman’s head turn her way. “This way!”
“Get us out of here… now!” The crew was slow to respond, not sure whether to obey or not.
Before the swarthy man had a moment to think, a rapier point was at his throat. “You are not going anywhere, Captain.”
“Do you know…?”
“Oh yes, I know. I know that you are not going anywhere without those women, Captain.”
“You paid berth for two, not for… for… more.”
“And you would willingly allow them to die in a fight that is not theirs? Innocent women… Captain?” She spat out the last word, feeling that he didn’t deserve the title.
“Innocent? They are just whores from that bordello!”
“But they are my responsibility.” Françoise paused for effect. “We will wait.” The point of the blade touched his skin and pricked it. The brunette smiled with satisfaction as a bead of blood accumulated there. She looked over her shoulder at the women, seeing them scurrying along the pier. “Hurry, Lucette!” At that moment, the noise erupted, a cacophony of sound from loud voices, swords clashing and pistols being fired. The two groups of men, who had approached the waterfront from two different streets, merged. Anger and frustration flowed over the fight like molasses, holding the crowd in a constant state of hostility. While the women had a good lead on the mêlée, someone had spotted the fleeing women and fired his musket. One woman fell and the rest of the group stopped to help.
“Oh… non, non, non, non.” Françoise grabbed Dale’s arm and pulled her towards the Captain. “Take this…,” shoving the rapier handle into her hand.
“But…” Before she could finish her sentence Françoise was gone, already flying down the gangplank at breakneck speed and onto the pier, her long legs eating up the precious distance between the ship and the women.
The Captain observed the young woman now holding the sword, weighing his chances of wrestling it off her.
“One move, Captain, and I will tear off your arm.” Determination and menace laced the blacksmith’s words. He had observed the man edging towards Philippe’s wife.
“Stay out of this, blacksmith,” the swarthy man replied. “You should not be here. Leave.”
“Non.” Dale wasn’t sure what had transpired but could see there was a standoff between the two men. She jabbed the point into the Captain’s expansive waist, returning the end to his throat. “Sebastian.” Her American accent changed the pronunciation but she made herself understood, the older man looking in her direction. She smiled in friendship and found the sentiment reciprocated.
“Where is your First Mate?”
“I will not help you.” The Captain’s chin remained firm, just begging for the brawny man to hit him.
“Is the First Mate here?” He directed his question to the crew.
“Oui, that would be me.”
“Sir…”
“Rumkey.”
“Monsieur Rumkey, are you going to stand by while women are slaughtered needlessly?”
“Are you not going to help?” Rumkey was curious as to why the blacksmith did not go himself.
“If I leave, who will protect madame here? I am not as fit as some of your crew. Please… monsieur… they are in need of your help.”
The small, wiry man could not ignore the plea. He had secretly condemned the Captain for his non-action but he was not in a position to argue. Under the threat of the much larger man he could answer the call. Rumkey motioned to two of the younger men and they set off down the gangplank at a fast pace, quickly reaching the struggling group.
“Merci, Rumkey.” As much as the First Mate wanted to answer he just nodded, pleased that he was able to help after all. Damn the Captain…
* * *
Françoise reached the distressed women. “Tantine… quickly. There is not much time.”
“But... but…” The older woman’s eyes looked to the fallen woman.
Françoise looked to see the life leave the vacant eyes. “We cannot help her now. Come.” She moved to the back of the group trying to physically move them towards the ship. Progress was slow and she could hear the approach of angry men behind her. “Now, tantine!” She started to push, fear lending strength to her encouragement for them to move.
“You there! Stop!” Pistol fire broke through the noise. Françoise felt the brush of a lead ball as it whizzed past her head. She couldn’t help but look over her shoulder at the two men running towards her.
Françoise shoved the group frantically. “Go! Do not look back! Just go!” She turned to face the two men, reaching for a sword that was no longer in her possession.
Her pursuers slowed to a walk, sly smiles crossing their faces. “You do not need to run, monsieur.”
“I think I do, since you seem to be shooting at total strangers.”
“Only those who run.”
“We run because you are shooting at us, monsieur.”
“Only our enemies run, monsieur.” His pistol rose to aim at her chest.
“Enemies? We are all Frenchmen, monsieur. We get rid of the aristocracy and now we turn on one another?” Françoise saw the hesitation in their eyes. “Are you all so eager to die? And for what? A little pushing and shoving and now it is war?”
“It is not war, monsieur. It is…” He thought long and hard. “…a disagreement.”
“A disagreement?” Françoise’s voice rose in anger, despite the pistol leveled at her. “Look…” She pointed to the waterfront at the fighting there. “Go on… look.” Both men turned. “That is a disagreement?” She continued her tirade. “Is this a disagreement?” Françoise pointed to the dead woman lying nearby. “This is not a disagreement, this is madness.”
* * *
The two crewmen intercepted Lucette and her girls on the dock and ushered them up the gangplank to safety. Like the others, they stood at the railing to watch the confrontation unfold.
* * *
“I do not want any part of this, messieurs.” Françoise turned away and walked slowly towards the vessel, praying that she was not going to get shot in the back for her trouble. She kept her gait slow and smooth, walking confidently to the gangplank and up the board to the ship. Dale flung herself into the French woman’s arms and was only grabbed by Françoise’s instincts alone.
Françoise’s insides were shaking. A lot of back slapping and hand shaking nearly sent her sprawling to the deck, but Dale’s arms had a tight hold on her and kept her upright. As the ship moved away from the dock, Françoise looked back at the pier to see the two men standing there, stock still. Her eyes met theirs for a moment before they turned and walked back towards the fight raging onshore.
Françoise could feel the older woman next to her and knew what she was looking at. “I am sorry for your loss, tantine.”
“Florette had been with me for many years, ma chérie.”
“I remember her.”
“And she remembered you. She will be missed.” Lucette looked at her establishment, already in disarray from the scuffle. “Why?”
“Why? Who knows? With the aristocrats gone maybe their anger needed to be vented.” Françoise turned away from the carnage. “For now it is a confrontation here and there. Let us hope it does not escalate to war.” She sighed before lowering her eyes to Lucette. “I will not be coming back.” But the older woman did not reply.
* * *
Dale stood apart from her partner, allowing her the time to say goodbye to her homeland. She studied the strong profile of the one she had chosen and felt a clutching at her heart. What was she thinking? She herself had not been given time to mourn her loss, instead a leap through the mirror ended her life in the future. But Françoise now had the chance to come to terms with what had been and consciously move forward. A gentle breeze ruffled the French woman’s hair as a knowing smile crossed her lips, bringing an answering smile from Dale.
“Madame…” The deep voice of the blacksmith interrupted her thoughts.
“Dale, monsieur.” She would have to see Françoise about more French lessons.
“Et moi Sébastien.”
“I know.”
He continued the conversation but Dale had to raise her hand. “Non… no… errr… speak… français. Ummm….” She thought hard. “Je ne parle pas français.” Was that right?
“She does not speak French, Sébastien.”
“Oh… sorry.”
“Why? It is not her fault.” Françoise had stepped up behind her wife, placing her hands on the smaller woman’s shoulders. “If you become her friend you will not be disappointed.” If the man only knew that Dale’s intervention in her life had saved them all. “I am sorry that I have taken you away from your home.”
“It could not be helped, Philippe. It just… happened.”
“It certainly did but…”
“Non, Philippe. Do not start thinking about what might have been. I am here and I am alive. I may or may not have survived that battle onshore. It is all in the past now. We move on.”
“How very philosophical of you… my friend.” She smiled as she muttered the last two words.
“Oui… friend.” He held out his large callused hand and shook hers, her long elegant fingers disappearing into the large slab of meat that was his fist.
“How very cosy.”
Françoise glanced over the blacksmith’s shoulder at the Captain with a look of disdain. “How may I help you, Captain?”
“Help? You nearly got us all killed! Rumkey! Place Monsieur Théroux under arrest and throw him in the brig.”
“Brig, Cap’n? Do you think that is necessary?”
“Are you questioning me, Rumkey?”
“No Cap’n.”
“Then lock him up.”
“But Cap’n, we don’t have the extra men to take care of a prisoner.”
“I don’t care if he rots in Hell!” The vision of livres flying away crossed his mind’s eye. “Then… then… tie him up. I do not care. Get him out of my sight.” He looked around the crowded deck. “And get rid of the others…” He turned away in disgust. “Trouble…,” he muttered but his eyes momentarily lecherously skimmed over Dale, leaving the poor woman feeling naked and unclean.
“Monsieur, please follow me. I would suggest you stay out of the Captain’s way until he calms down.”
“Monsieur… errr….”
“Rumkey, monsieur.”
“Rumkey. That is an unusual name.”
“My real name is René but no one uses it. Earlier in my life I earned the reputation of not partaking alcohol, so I was given the key to the crew’s rum supplies.”
“Ahhh, Rumkey. Very good.” Françoise watched the small wiry man walking in front of her. So, here was the First Mate and a silent supporter to her cause. She estimated he was middle aged and probably a veteran sailor. The position of First Mate was a trusted one given to a sailor of great trust and experience. He was not one to be swayed by idle chatter or wild disclaimers. She had a feeling that this man still had an important part to play in this voyage. As to what that was would reveal itself all in good time.
* * *