An adult stories – Orphan Ch. 01-04 by Alex De Kok,Alex De Kok This story was originally posted, unfinished, some time ago under my Frederick Carol nom-de-plume, but I withdrew it until I could finish it off and offer a complete tale. That plan was somewhat scuppered by the loss of my beloved wife, very suddenly, in November 2019, when writing suddenly seemed trivial. However, my wife was a writer herself, although not on Literotica, and I think she would have encouraged me to continue. Be that as it may, I have now finished it and offer it again, hopefully, for your reading pleasure. It is a novel-length offering and I plan to submit it in segmented form, in eight parts, four chapters or so at a time.
OrphanChapter 1
She was lost, she knew that now. A wrong turn taken somewhere in the unfamiliar lanes, the track under the mare’s hooves little used, certainly not by wagons, not any time recently. The trees had closed in on either side, and she had two choices. Forward, or back. From the sun, forward was her best option. If she could find the creek again, she could follow it back to the village, and once there, she knew the road well enough to find her way back.
Back, she mused. There’s no going back, because there’s nothing to go back to. Her home destroyed, her parents killed in the flames. Thank God for Uncle Silas, she thought. She almost laughed. Never married, her uncle was uncomfortable with young people, especially so with girls, but he was unfailingly polite to her, and she knew that she owed her present state in its entirety to the generosity of her mother’s brother. She’d barely even known of his existence until Thomas Marget, the lawyer, had read her father’s will, and she found that in the event of her parents’ death before she reached her majority, her uncle had agreed to provide a home for her until she was one-and-twenty. The journey to join him had been long, first the long journey south to Devonport from her Tyneside home, and then the trip to Guernsey, to her uncle’s house.
Silas Le Tessier had made her welcome, but had passed her quickly on to his housekeeper, Mrs Trevelyan, wife of his steward, John Trevelyan. In her middle years, her children married and moved away, she was glad to fuss over Silas Le Tessier’s orphaned niece, and had quickly made her welcome. The mare had been a nineteenth birthday present from her uncle, and he had made it clear that a simple ‘thank you’ was enough.
Through the trees, Roxane caught a gleam of light. The creek! Pray it was so. She urged the mare forward, emerging from the trees onto a little promontory overlooking the water. She couldn’t see far up or down stream, but she never even looked, for there before her in the creek was a schooner. A little battered, paint a little faded, she could see that even so the vessel was well maintained. Consequences of being a boat-builder’s daughter and only child, she supposed, for her father had always welcomed her to his workshop after her schooling, answering her childish queries with patience and humour.
She could see no presence on board the schooner, and she found herself wondering what it was doing this far up-stream. Hiding, almost. A sudden thought struck her. Smugglers! If they saw her? She reined the mare around, and drew her to a stamping halt.
“You’re not thinking of leaving now, are you, my dear?” Ragged, scar-faced, tall, there was an air of contained brutality about the figure.
“Would you make way, please? I wish to leave here.” She kept her voice controlled, but inside was fighting the urge to scream, for there was no mistake, the man frightened her.
Surprising her, he laughed, but the momentary surge of optimism she’d felt faded when he took the mare’s bridle. “You can’t leave yet, my dear. We haven’t been introduced.”
“Nor will we be,” she said, coldly. “I do not wish to know you, sir, so kindly release my horse and let me leave.”
Any trace of humour that may have been in his face vanished instantly. “No, I don’t think so. Know me you shall, and I shall know you.” Still holding the mare’s bridle, he moved to her side and with a quick lunge, had lifted her foot from the stirrup, continued the lift and she found herself falling, falling with a thud that took her breath away, flat on her back. Now, he released the bridle and yelled, and the mare, startled, bolted. She looked up, and hope drained from her, seeing him removing his belt, and begin to unfasten his breeches. She braced herself, trying to roll away, to get to her feet, looking wildly around for a way to escape, but his foot on her stomach stopped her. She screamed, as loudly as she could, knowing it was hopeless even as she did it. That it was the man’s thought, too, was apparent from the amused smirk on his face.
“Now, why make so much noise, girl. There’s no-one but me to hear you, for now.” He laughed. “You never know, you might even enjoy it.”
“Never, not with you,” she hissed. “I’d rather die.”
The smirk faded. “That can be arranged,” he said, “and I can amuse myself with your corpse, but it’s so much better when the girl co-operates, you know?”
“Never!”
He knelt between her legs, his breeches falling, and she stared, appalled, frightened, at the sight of his erection. She couldn’t help herself, she whimpered, and he laughed again, reaching for her skirts, to raise them, to reveal her. She was startled when he paused, wondering at the look of terror on his face, until she saw the blade at his neck, and heard the chill in the quiet voice.
“You were warned, Josiah Scrogg, warned that the next time you touched a woman who spurned your touch, I would hang you. Do you remember, Josiah?”
“Mercy, Captain,” her attacker whimpered, not daring to move because of the weapon at his throat. She raised her eyes, meeting the cool, level gaze of a pair of cold, grey eyes.
“He attacked you, madam?” the man asked, his voice courteous, educated, a hint of an unknown accent. His hair was dark, unruly curls escaping from under the crown of his battered tricorne, his face saturnine. She managed to nod, unable to give voice to her agreement. “You did not invite his advances?”
“No,” she managed to whisper. “He struck me, knocked me from my mare.”
The man nodded. “My bosun will fetch it for you in a moment. Your mount bolting free, and then your scream, were what alerted us. As well we returned earlier than we had planned. Can you stand?”
Roxane scrambled to her feet, trembling, looking around in alarm as two more men came into the small clearing, one of them leading her mare.
“Help the lady to her horse, Jenkins.”
“Aye, Cap’n,” said the one addressed. He turned an open, friendly face to her.
“Ma’am? Cap’n says to help you. Will you take the reins, ma’am?” She did so, moving almost numbly, and the man, Jenkins, smiled again. “Right, ma’am,” he said, cupping his hands, “You put your foot in there, and I’ll lift you.” A moment more, and she’d settled into her sidesaddle. She looked again at the scene before her.
The dark man spoke again. “Jenkins, Tabor, take this – scum – away. Hang him.”
“No!” It was a piteous wail from her would-be rapist. He turned a tear-strewn face to her. “Miss? You won’t let them, will you?”
She stared at him, then turned to the dark figure holding the blade. “He has raped before?”
“Aye.”
“And the woman? Women?”
“Women. Ruined.”
She nodded, a cold conviction in her that the dark man told only the truth. She took a deep breath, and when she spoke her voice was cold, controlled. “Hang him.”
The man gestured with his free hand, and Jenkins and Tabor dragged the rapist to his feet, and away, disappearing into the undergrowth. The dark man sheathed his blade, a knife, but long enough almost for a short-sword, she realised, a longer blade in place on his hip, and turned to her, doffing his hat.
“Allow me to introduce myself, ma’am. Alexander Gilroy, captain of yonder schooner, the Pelican.”
“Tyne-built?” she said, immediately berating herself for the inane question, but Gilroy looked at her, with a surprised smile.
“Aye, ma’am. Harrison’s yard.”
Unbidden, the tears sprang to her eyes, and she fought a sob. Gilroy stepped forward, alarmed.
“Ma’am, what is it? Have I offended you?”
She shook her head, dashing tears away with the back of her hand. “Nay, sir, not so. Harrison’s yard was destroyed by fire three months ago. John Harrison and his wife perished in the flames. My parents, sir. I am Roxane Harrison.”
There was instant concern on his face, distress, too. “Ma’am, my condolences, my sincere condolences. He built a fine ship. But ma’am, what do you here?”
“Lost, sir. I am staying with my uncle, Mr. Le Tessier, and I do not know the lanes as yet.”
“Silas?” There was surprise in Gilroy’s tone.
She nodded. “Aye, sir.” Surprise in her own, that Gilroy should know her uncle.
“The lanes not known yet, eh? Did you take a right turn in the woods back there? And ended up on this bank?”
“Aye, sir, I did.”
“Had you continued straight on, then you would have seen your uncle’s house as you left the wood. Go you back to the fork, and turn right, and you will be on the road.”
“Back to the fork, and turn right?” Gilroy nodded. “I thank you, sir.” She reined the mare around to leave, but his hand caught the bridle.
“Miss Harrison?”
“Captain Gilroy?”
“May I ask you to say nothing of what you have seen here? Particularly, the Pelican?”
She looked at him, then back towards the creek, but she had agreed in her mind almost as soon as he asked her. “And if I do speak of it?”
He smiled, rueful. “It could cause me some bother.”
“I owe you my virtue, Captain, perhaps also my life. You have my silence, my word on it.”
“Thank you, Miss Harrison. I ask only your silence on this, and I give you my word that my presence is honest, but best not noised abroad.” He bowed. “I bid you good day, and God speed.”
“Thank you, Captain, thank you, on several counts.” She reined the mare around, and was away, leaving Gilroy staring after her. Owe me your virtue, girl? Would that I might take it, too, but only with your every cooperation. And the chances of that are exceeding slim. He shook his head, rueful, but the image of the beautiful girl, the copper-red hair, the level grey eyes, stayed with him.
* * * * *Chapter 2
Gilroy’s instructions were true, and shortly after leaving the creek bank, Roxane was in sight of the Le Tessier house, approaching it from the rear. The lane led to the east, joining the main access just outside the gates to the house, and moments later Roxane was handing over the reins to Andrew, Le Tessier’s young stable boy.
“Did you fall, Miss Roxane? Your habit is quite muddy.”
She forced a laugh. “Aye, I did. Exploring, listening to the birds. I tripped over a tree root. I can be exceeding clumsy at times.”
“I doubt that, Miss Roxane, but ’tis easy to trip, that I know.”
“And trip I did. I had best ask Molly to brush it down when it’s dry.”
“Aye, my sister’s good at that, Miss.” He nodded, friendly, and led the mare away.
She made her way into the house, and at the sound of her boots in the hallway, Mrs Trevelyan came bustling out.
“Miss Roxane? Your uncle asks that you attend him in his study.” The housekeeper frowned. “Mayhap you had best change first. Leave your habit on the chair in your room, and I’ll have Molly take it for cleaning.”
“Thank you.” Roxane smiled at the older woman. “Was my uncle’s summons urgent?”
Mrs Trevelyan frowned. “I don’t think so, Miss Roxane,” she said, but her tone was hesitant.
“I’d best just wash my face and hands and change, then. Would you tell my uncle I’ll be with him in five minutes?”
“Of course.”
And five minutes later she tapped at the door of her uncle’s study, entering at his invitation.
“You wanted to see me, Uncle Silas?”
Her uncle nodded. “Aye, I did.” He frowned. “Mrs Trevelyan tells me me you came home muddy. Did you have a fall?”
She smiled. “I dismounted for a moment, listening to the birdsong. I fear I paid no attention to where I stepped, tripped over a root, and fell in a puddle.”
A smile, quickly suppressed, twitched her uncle’s mouth. “We have a guest for dinner tonight. Have you the skill to play hostess?” he said abruptly, surprising her, as there were usually only the two of them, and the meals were quiet, for Silas was no easy conversationalist.
“Hostess, Uncle? I think so. I will not embarrass you.”
Her uncle gave her a wry smile. “It would take more than a lack of skill at your acting hostess to embarrass me, Roxane. I thought only to introduce you to someone.”
“May I ask who?”
“A captain who does some work for me with his vessel. Captain Gilroy.”
Roxane fought to keep her face calm, but her mind was whirling. “I shall look forward to meeting the captain, Uncle Silas. At what hour do we dine?”
“At eight, but I would like you to attend me in the parlour at half-past seven, if you would. I have little small talk, as you know,” said Silas, his tone dry, and Roxane fought a sudden smile. “I feel sure the Captain will be delighted to meet you, rather than having to suffer my company.”
“You do yourself an injustice, Uncle.” Silas lifted his eyes to hers, one brow quirked, and again she fought to keep her face solemn. She contented herself with a nod. “At half-past seven in the parlour. Now? If you’ll excuse me, Uncle Silas, a bath would be welcome.”
She waited until she heard the clock in the hallway strike the half-hour before she left her room, freshly bathed, with clean linen. She had debated with herself as to which gown to wear, and had settled on the more modest of her choices. Molly had helped her pin up her hair after her bath, and she flattered herself that, even with the modest cut of her gown, she did perhaps look good.
The parlour door was ajar, and she heard low voices. Taking a deep breath, she pushed it open and entered. Her uncle and Alexander Gilroy were standing near the fire, each with a glass of wine in hand. Her uncle turned as she came in, and a faint smile came to his face.
“Roxane, my dear. There is someone I’d like you to meet. May I present Captain Gilroy?”
She bobbed in brief curtsey. “Captain Gilroy.”
“Alex, my niece, Roxane Harrison. She lives here with me now.”
There was no suggestion of recognition in Gilroy’s face as he bowed over her hand, but she sensed the sudden tension.
“Miss Harrison.”
“You are my uncle’s friend?”
He glanced at Silas, but there was no hesitation. “I trust that I am.” Silas nodded.
“Then I bid you welcome, Captain.”
“Roxane, my dear,” said Silas. “Pray, be seated. A glass of this fine claret, perhaps?”
“Thank you, Uncle. A small one, for I fear I must keep my wits about me if we have company.”
He turned away from her to pour her wine and her eyes went to Gilroy. He was looking at her, and he arched his brows, his eyes indicating Silas. She shook her head, no, and he nodded, mouthing a silent ‘thank you.’
“You are a ship’s captain, Captain Gilroy?” she said, to fill the moment.
“Indeed I am, Miss Harrison. A fine Tyne-built schooner called the Pelican. Built in Harrison’s yard.” Gilroy smiled as Silas passed her a glass of wine. “Harrison. A family link perhaps?”
She frowned, knowing that he already knew, but answered readily enough. “Indeed, sir. My father’s yard. Destroyed by fire, my parents lost in the flames. I owe my own life to the fact that I was staying at a friend’s house that night.” She could hear the bleakness in her own voice.
Gilroy grimaced, obviously troubled. “My apologies, ma’am. I should not have mentioned it.”
“You were not to know, Captain.” But you did, so why mention it now?
“Was it accident, Miss Harrison? Or arson?”
“So far as I know, sir, accident.” She was about to say more, when Silas interrupted.
“Alex, please, let Roxane be. Can you not see that the question disturbs her?”
“Indeed, Silas, I do most humbly beg Miss Harrison’s pardon. I should have changed the subject. I trust you will forgive me, Miss Harrison?”
“Indeed, sir.” She took a deep breath, and forced her tone to lightness. “Pray, tell me, what is it your ship carries?”
Gilroy again exchanged a glance with Silas, but there was no hesitation in his answer. “In faith, almost everything, Miss Harrison. Your good uncle manages to find me cargoes most times that I land here.”
The conversation became general then. Gilroy was a good raconteur and had her laughing with his anecdotes. The clock struck eight and the echoes were still in the air when Mrs Trevelyan announced dinner.
“Roxane, my dear. Take Captain Gilroy to the dining room, if you will. I must see Trevelyan for a moment.”
“Of course, Uncle Silas. Captain? This way, if you will.”
Gilroy followed her into the dining room. For a moment, they were alone, and Gilroy turned to her, his face anxious. “Miss Harrison, I beg again for your pardon in mentioning your parents. Believe me, I am not so callous or careless of another’s feelings to be deliberately cruel.”
She gazed at him for a moment. “So, tell me, pray, what was your motive?”
He frowned. “Miss Harrison, to be perfectly candid with you, I fear I am unsure.”
Roxane stared at him. That he was embarrassed by his queries, she doubted. Alexander Gilroy had demonstrated nothing except a level-headed sensibility in her brief encounter with him earlier.
Gilroy shrugged. “I had mentioned my vessel’s builder. It seemed natural to enquire if it was a relative.”
She nodded. “I understand.” She gave him a wry look. “I fear the thought still haunts me.”
“And quite understandable. I’m afraid that I also have some bad news. Scrogg? That would-be rapist?”
“What of him?”
“Jenkins left him in Tabor’s charge while he passed my instructions to hang Scrogg to my first officer, but when Jenkins went back, Tabor had been stabbed and Scrogg was gone.”
Roxane gasped. “What of Mr. Tabor?”
“He will live, but will be excused duty for some time, I feel.” Gilroy frowned. “Please, Miss Harrison, promise me this – that you will not ride deserted byways alone? Your uncle knows of Scrogg’s escape, but not of your involvement, and will raise the matter with the watch, but we have no way of knowing where he goes. He is most probably still on the island, but we do not know.”
“I shall take care, Captain Gilroy. You have my word on that.”
He nodded, and smiled. “Please, let us change the subject. That mare of yours. A spirited beast?”
Roxane smiled, appreciating Gilroy’s effort. “A little. Enough to make me take care, but not enough to make me fear I might lose my seat.” Her ear caught a step in the hallway. “I think my uncle may be rejoining us.”
“Indeed. May I seat you, Miss Harrison?”
“Thank you, Captain.”
The meal was enjoyable, the conversation light, Mrs Trevelyan’s service efficient and unobtrusive. Roxane found Gilroy’s anecdotes interesting, amusing, and responded to his attempts to relax her with appreciation. Finished, her uncle stood.
“If you will excuse us, Roxane? Captain Gilroy and I have business we must discuss.”
“Of course, Uncle Silas. If you’ll excuse me? Captain, it was a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“The pleasure was mine, Miss Harrison.” He bowed over her hand. “Your servant, ma’am.”
* * * * *Chapter 3
Alone in her room a little later, Roxane wondered about Alexander Gilroy. Why was the Pelican hidden in the creek? Was he a smuggler? Was her uncle involved? A knock at the door startled her.
“Yes? What is it?”
“Your uncle would like you to join him, Miss Roxane.” The maid, Molly.
“Please tell him I shall be straight down, Molly.”
“Yes, Miss Roxane.”
Unusual, Uncle Silas wishing to see her apart from at meal times. Only one way to find out why, and she made her way downstairs, to her uncle’s study, and tapped on the door.
“Come in,” he said, and she entered, to find him still with Captain Gilroy.
“Roxane,” said Silas. “Alex has told me of your encounter this afternoon, and the real reason you came back muddied.”
“I thought you wished no one told of our meeting, Captain?”
Gilroy smiled, rueful. “Circumstances change, Miss Harrison. Certain information has come to our ears which makes the presence of the Pelican a little less hazardous. Parlez-vous Français, mademoiselle?”
The sudden French startled her for a moment, but she answered readily. “Mais oui, m’sieu, certainement.”
Gilroy smiled. “You were right, Silas. Like a native. Miss Harrison, what I am about to tell you, if you agree to my doing so, will render my life endangered if you speak of it to anyone. Your own, too, so I will quite understand if you decline right now and leave us.”
She regarded him, surprised, her curiosity piqued. “You intrigue me, Captain Gilroy. Is what you wish to tell me in any way illegal?”
He laughed, surprising her. “Not in any way that breaks our king’s law. The French law, ah, well, most definitely so.”
“So it breaks French law? You have intrigued me even more, Captain.” She glanced across at her uncle, to see him watching her, calm, unsurprised. “Do I listen to him, Uncle?”
“If you wish to serve your country, my dear, I think yes. You may listen, and then decline, and neither Alex nor I will think any the less of you.”
She regarded the two men for a long moment, her bottom lip caught between her teeth, and then nodded. “I shall hear you out, Captain. Please, go ahead.”
“What I have to say to you must be kept a secret, from anyone and everyone, unless I, or your uncle, tell you otherwise. Is that understood, Miss Harrison?”
“It is, Captain. Please continue.”
“You know me as Captain Alexander Gilroy, of the schooner Pelican, which I believe you suspect to be a smuggler’s vessel. Is that not so?” Gilroy smiled, his eyebrows arched in query.
“I’m afraid that was my surmise, Captain, yes. And you are not a smuggler?”
Gilroy laughed. “On the contrary, Miss Harrison, I am indeed a smuggler, but a smuggler who works for his king and country. As well as being commander of the Pelican, I have the honour and privilege of being Captain Alexander Gilroy of his Britannic Majesty’s Royal Navy. It is my duty to infiltrate British spies into those territories of Europe occupied by the forces of Napoleon.” Gilroy grimaced. “Which as you know, has until recently been most of Europe.”
“Indeed, sir.” Roxane studied Gilroy for a moment. “There is obviously more, Captain. Please go on.”
“Miss Harrison, I need a wife,” said Gilroy, hiding a smile at her sudden consternation. She stared at him, acknowledging, but hiding, the excitement within herself. Gilroy let the smile out. “A pretence.”
“Ah,” she said, startled by the sudden disappointment she felt, but keeping her face calm, even though her thoughts were turmoil. “In France, I would surmise?”
Gilroy glanced at Silas, “You were right, Silas. A quick-witted girl.” He turned back to Roxane. “Quite right, Miss Harrison. I must go into France. What could be more innocent than a man and his bride, on a short bridal tour, a honeymoon, if you like. A man and his wife might travel more easily than a man alone, or perhaps two men. And no-one will be surprised if they wander idly.”
“Seeking what?”
“A rendezvous with an English agent.”
“Ah. You know where?”
“I know where he was. Whether he is still there is to be determined.” Gilroy regarded her calmly for a moment. “Miss Harrison, there could be danger.”
She nodded. “I suspected there might. That does not change my mind. If any small part I might play would be good for England, for Britain, then play it I shall.”
“Can you handle a gun? A pistol?”
“Yes.”
Gilroy smiled. “Anything else?”
“A fowling piece.” She smiled suddenly, startling Gilroy. “In truth, Captain Gilroy, I shoot well.”
He laughed, turning to her uncle. “A treasure indeed, Silas.”
Her uncle nodded. “Her mother’s letters to me always praised Roxane.” He smiled. “I knew my sister well, and she never lied.”
Roxane flushed. “Uncle Silas, please desist.”
“Nay, my dear Roxane, I do naught but confirm your mother’s high opinion of you.” Her uncle smiled. “I have not told you, niece, but that opinion is one I share, having come to know you better.”
She stared at him for a moment, then stepped forward and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you, Uncle Silas.”
Her uncle moved uncomfortably. “Well, yes, very well, Roxane. Now listen to what Alex has to say, if you will.”
“Miss Harrison, I plan to sail on the morning tide, on the first of the ebb. Just after three of the clock, which means that I would have you come aboard this very evening.” He paused.
She nodded. “Pray, continue, Captain Gilroy. But first, may I make a suggestion?”
“Of course.”
“We are playing a part, yes?”
“Indeed so.”
“So you will not be Captain Alexander Gilroy of His Britannic Majesty’s Navy? Who then will you be?”
“Capitaine Henri de Boeuf, smuggler extraordinaire, a votre service, madamoiselle.”
“Merci, mon Capitaine. And I am to play the part of your wife, no?”
“If you are willing, then yes. And?”
“Would it not make more sense if we address each other by our false identities, so that we become used to it? We lessen the chance of mistakes that way, do we not?”
“We do indeed, Miss Harrison. So, as my wife, may I ask your name?”
“My own name, Roxane, for ’tis a common enough name in France, or perhaps Lucille, as that is my middle name. My mother sometimes called me Lucy. If you were to call me Lucy by mistake, no one would think other than that you called me by an affectionate diminutive.”
“Ma chere Lucille! Bravo!” Gilroy turned to Silas. “My friend, were you to bring me the most consummate actress in the world, I doubt she would come close to your niece in intelligence.”
“You flatter me, Henri.”
Gilroy bowed. “Ah, Lucille, I do but speak the truth.”
She smiled. “Perhaps, but allow me my modesty. We sail at three, you say?”
“Indeed so.”
“Then I must pack, for I would prefer to have some of my own clothes, particularly small clothes, if we are to be away by then.” She frowned.
“Something bothers you, Lucille?”
“If we are to play man and wife, I should be wearing a ring.”
“Indeed.” Gilroy fished in his pocket and produced a small leather pouch. Opening it, he tipped into his free hand a simple, plain gold ring. “This was my mother’s. I feel that she would approve of my asking you to wear it.” He held it out to her, and she took it, slipping it onto her ring finger. A surprisingly good fit. She held her hand out.
“A fine fit, Henri.”
“It is all of that, Lucille. Very well, pack what you need, but if possible, pack light. Once in France, we will be travelling on horseback, as we do not know in advance which route we will be taking, and I fear that a coach will not necessarily travel everywhere we may need to go. We will surprise people, but I have played the eccentric before and will again, if needs must. You, of course, as my obedient wife, merely follow my example.”
“Of course, husband.” She paused.
“Yes?”
“You will give me the details of our enterprise later, I take it?”
Gilroy nodded. “It will take us up to three days to make our rendezvous. Those three days should be enough for me to appraise you of your part in this venture. Now, Miss Harrison, and I address you by that name for the last time until our safe return, God willing, are you certain of this? I will think no less of you were you to withdraw.”
“Captain Gilroy, answer me this. Will my playing this part help my king and country defeat the tyrant Napoleon?”
“I believe that it will, yes.”
“Then you cannot offer me this adventure and then deny it to me. Now, if you will excuse me, mon cher Henri, I must pack.”
“Until later, chere Lucille.”
It didn’t take her long, and within the hour she knocked at her uncle’s study door.
“Come in.”
Silas was alone, in his armchair beside the fire. He made to rise but she signalled him to remain seated and took the chair opposite. Silas smiled.
“You favour your mother.”
She smiled. “So I have been told. Uncle, am I doing right in this?”
He reached out and took her hand. “Yes, my dear Roxane, I believe you are. You are going into possible danger, yes, even great danger, but it is my sincere belief that the task before you and Alex is very important to Britain and our allies in this war. Goodness knows, I hate to see you risk your life but, and believe me, I am truly sincere in this, having come to know you better I do not believe there is another of my acquaintance more fitted to this role. I shall pray for you, my dear Roxane, pray for your safe and successful return.”
“Thank you, dear Uncle Silas.”
“I have something for you.”
“For me?”
“Yes. I would like you to devise a way to secrete this about your person, just in case.” He passed a small wooden box, heavy, across to her. She opened it, curious, to find that inside was a lady’s pocket pistol. Normally only of a small calibre, good only at very short range, it might still kill a man if the right spot were hit. She looked up at her uncle.
“You wish me to carry this?”
“I do. I know that such a pistol has the reputation of much noise and little harm, but this one has been modified to take a larger ball. Still of a rather short range, but more stopping power. I pray that you never need to use it, but if you do, I pray too that you do not hesitate.”
She nodded. “Thank you, Uncle Silas.”
“I never married. The only woman I ever loved died of a fever less than a month before our wedding day. You, dear Roxane, are the nearest I will ever have to a daughter of my own, so carry that pistol, and if you ever need to use it, do not hesitate. I want you back safe.”
“Then I shall do everything in my power to ensure that I come back safe, Uncle.” She gestured. “I am packed and ready.”
“Alex will be back presently.”
“Do you know where we go?”
“I’m afraid I do not. All I know is that Alex makes rendezvous with a French lugger in two days, and that the information the lugger carries will decide your destination.”
“Then I must contain my impatience.”
“I fear so, but I think that is Alex returning.”
It was, and Gilroy smiled at her. “You are ready?”
“I am. For quite what, I know not, but no doubt things will become clearer in a day or two.”
“Pray that they do. One thing I forgot to ask. What manner of sailor are you?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“My apologies. What I meant was, are you prone to seasickness?”
“Never in my life so far, but no doubt there will come a day.”
“The forecast is fair, but that can change within the hour. If you are ready, then I see no reason to delay. Silas, you will pass the despatches back to England?”
“The brig sails at nine. The despatches will be on it. My word on it.”
“Very well. It is time, Lucille.”
“Then, pray, let us go, Henri.”
* * * * *Chapter 4
The Pelican was busy when they went on board. She was conscious of curious looks, but no-one said anything. A fair-haired man in officer’s clothing greeted them.
“Captain. We’re ready to sail whenever you wish. Water is topped up, but we need more victuals if we’re out for more than a month.”
“Thank you, Mr James. Roxane, may I present Sam James, my first lieutenant? Sam, this is Roxane Harrison, but to everyone on this ship except we three and Mr. Collins, Madame Lucille de Boeuf.” Gilroy kept his voice low, but no-one was within earshot.
“Ah. I see. Ma’am, your servant.” James took her hand and bowed over it.
“Mr James.”
“Sam? Is the cabin ready?”
“Aye, sir, it is. Fresh linen on the bunk, as you requested, and, er, sanitary facilities. Madame de Boeuf should be comfortable.”
“Thank you, Mr James.” Gilroy turned to Roxane. “This way, please. Your bags will be brought in a moment.” He turned, leading the way below. Used to being on similar vessels, Roxane knew when to duck, and what to hold on to, and was unsurprised to find herself being led to the captain’s quarters.
“You should be comfortable here, Lucille.”
“Your quarters, Captain? Where do you sleep?”
“The Pelican is without a second lieutenant at the moment. Mr McKay is presently recovering from a broken leg. He will rejoin the ship next time we make port, but in the meantime I have appropriated his cabin.”
She smiled. “It might have made more sense to put me in Mr McKay’s cabin, would it not?”
Gilroy laughed. “Aye, happen it would, were it bigger than the locker with a bunk that it is. In my cabin, at least you will have space to turn around.”
She nodded. “Thank you, Captain.”
“The door locks. You will be safe, I promise, but lock it anyway. I suggest you get what sleep you can. As I said, we sail at three. Inevitably there will be some noise, but I shall endeavour to keep it to a minimum.”
“Not at the risk of endangering the Pelican, I trust? I have sailed before, Henri,” she said, and he smiled, “and I am well aware of normal ship noise.”
“Very well, ma chere Lucille. I bid you goodnight. Tomorrow?”
“What about tomorrow?”
“Hot water for your toilet? What time?”
“I am used to rising early, so any time after seven.”
She enjoyed the little voyage, and reflected on how much more she might have enjoyed it had it not been a time of war. Gilroy managed to make time to make her at ease, introducing some of his officers, but to them all, except Sam James and the surgeon, Collins, she was Lucille de Boeuf. It was dusk of the second day when they made their rendezvous.
The French lugger was salt-stained, in need of a coat of paint, a working boat. The captain was a disreputable-looking, unshaven individual, surprisingly young for his position. Roxane found out why when Gilroy led her to the wardroom, where James and the French captain sat. The two men looked up at her, James smiling, the French captain alert, curious.
“M’sieu le capitaine,” said Gilroy, “ma femme, Madame Lucille de Boeuf.”
The captain stood, and bowed to Roxane. “Madame.” He looked up at her and smiled. “Has this reprobate told you what you’re getting yourself into?” he said, the English pure, clear.
Gilroy grinned at the startled expression on her face. “Lucille, may I present the Honourable Rufus Le Bon, Commander Le Bon, although for the moment he is Pierre Dulon, captain of the Belle Arc.”
She nodded. “A fellow officer?”
“Indeed,” said Le Bon. “Normally the captain of the bomb ketch Ares, but for the moment creeping in and out of French ports, pretending to be French.” Le Bon shrugged. “Most of the crew are related to me, either by birth or by marriage, and a third of them French by birth. It gives me an advantage.”
“I can see that it would. It is my pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir.”
“The pleasure, Madame de Boeuf, is entirely mine.”
The lugger landed them in a little cove, out of sight of any habitation. Le Bon himself conned the boat which took them ashore, and carried Roxane’s bags, while Gilroy carried Roxane, to keep her feet dry in the waves breaking on the beach. He lowered her above the high water mark, and Le Bon put the bags beside her.
“Thank you, Captain,” said Roxane.
He gave a Gallic shrug, and made a face. “I only wish I was collecting you after a successful mission, rather than leaving you to French mercy.”
Roxane smiled. “I, too, Captain. Thank you.”
Le Bon nodded, and turned to Gilroy. “Look after her, Alex.”
Gilroy nodded. “I will.” He gestured towards the lugger. “Time you left us.”
“I fear so.” Le Bon held out his hand, and the two men shook hands, then Le Bon turned on his heel without another word and in moments, was on his way back to his ship, barely visible beyond the surf, and Roxane appreciated easily why the Belle Arc carried such dark-coloured sails.
Gilroy took Roxane’s hand and turned to the man who had met them. “My dear, this is Jean-Pierre Ducos, an old friend. He cannot speak, so do not expect it. Jean-Pierre? Ma femme, Lucille.”
Ducos nodded curtly, then gestured towards the trees.
“Come, wife,” said Gilroy, “we must get well away from this beach, in case the lugger was spotted.”
The horses were waiting for them. A spirited dark bay for Gilroy, a smaller, gentler, bay mare for Roxane, and a packhorse, with a pack frame, to which their bags were quickly fitted. No more than three or four minutes after saying goodbye to Le Bon, they were mounted and leaving the beach, threading their way through dunes and scrub, to find themselves on a narrow road. Ducos pointed North, and Gilroy nodded.
“Au ‘voir, mon ami,” he said. Ducos gave a wry smile, nodded to Roxane, and headed away, South. Gilroy turned to Roxane. “Into the lions’ den, I fear.”
“Where do we go?”
“St. Clair de Bethune, for our first night, but for the present, we need to be several kilometres closer and then as the afternoon moves into evening, we ride into St. Clair and pretend we’ve been riding much of the day.” Gilroy paused. “The horses will be unreasonably fresh. Will it embarrass you if I infer that we dallied somewhere along the way?”
Roxane laughed. “We are posing as a newly-wed couple, no? Then such dalliance is not only normal, but expected.” She gestured. “Oh, I shall probably flush and look embarrassed, but that will seem natural enough, surely?”
Gilroy nodded. “It will, most surely. For now though, we find somewhere among the trees to spend some time waiting.”
It was a long day, some of which Roxane slept away, some she watched while Gilroy dozed. They’d found a spring, so fresh water was not a problem, and they had enough supplies from the Belle Arc for the day. Gilroy had resisted the temptation to take more. As he’d said, ‘We’re on our honeymoon. We eat well, in inns and taverns, not hard-tack and ship’s biscuit lurking in the woods. No one will be surprised if we take time to, well, indulge ourselves.’ He gave her a wry look. “We did not make time to discuss this properly, but I trust that you realise the necessity, that we must share a bedroom?”
Roxane nodded. “I had worked that out for myself, cher Henri. I am sure I can rely on your honour and gallantry?”
Gilroy nodded, face sober. “My life on it.”
“Well, then, we’ll manage.” Roxane giggled suddenly, and Gilroy’s eyebrows arched in query. Roxane flushed, but held his eye. “We may occasionally have to make relevant noises, else we incur suspicion.”
Gilroy laughed. “I’m sure we’ll manage.”
“You must be the guide in that, as I fear I have no experience in such a situation.”
“I think that is the case for both of us,” Gilroy began, but paused at her look of surprise. He smiled, a little wry. “I meant of marriage, not the, um, er.” He faltered to a halt, and Roxane surprised herself by continuing.
“The way of a man with a maid, perhaps?” she said, feeling heat in her cheeks.
“Exactly so, but may we change the subject? I feel myself floundering.”
“Surely not, Henri.” She broke off at his signal to be silent. “What is it?” she whispered.
“I thought I heard voices,” he said, his tone pitched to carry only to her. He eased to his feet and moved to the edge of the trees, peering out carefully. he watched for a minute or two, then Roxane could see him relax. He came back, smiling.
“A shepherd, a small flock, and two dogs. ‘Tis as well the dogs were too busy containing the flock to wonder about our scent.” He moved over to the horses, and began tightening the cinches. “We’ll give him a couple of minutes and then join the road.”
“Henri?”
“Oui?”
“Remind me of the background for these parts we play?”
“We play the part of a small businessman and his new bride. We have persuaded my sister and her husband to look after our affairs for a few days while we indulge ourselves in whatever newly-weds do when they have time to do so, and are spending a little of our money on ourselves. What think you?”
“I think that in this new France, following their destruction of the aristocracy, to seem higher than the small business folk we pretend could be dangerous. I fear only that we are too well-dressed.”
Roxane was surprised by Gilroy’s laugh. “Consider this, chere Lucille. We are newly-wed, I am besotted with you, and have spent some livres on pretty clothes for you, so that you look your best. That some of these clothes may once have belonged to aristos is their loss, and our gain.”
Roxane laughed. “It sounds plausible, mon cher Henri.” She sobered. “God willing, it will see us through.”
“Amen to that.” Gilroy gestured towards the road. “You are ready?”
Roxane drew a deep breath. “As ready as I will ever be.”
“Then, we go.”
* * * * *Well, folks, there you have it. The first four chapters of a story that runs to thirty-three chapters. Given that this is an erotic site, I should warn you that the sex doesn’t come into it until about chapter twenty-five! Constructive criticism welcome and remember to give me an address to reply to if you ask a question!