Chapter Eleven
Isabelle sighed. Would he really pass off another woman as her? Other children as hers?
“My heart tells me you may be right, and it’s no worse than what I think he’s already done.” She chewed her lip. “I believe Pierre’s murder was a necessary part of this scheme. Too many aspects of it would’ve taken months to plan. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
“Do you think the chevalier was involved in Pierre’s death? That he’s behind the charges of treason and conspiracy?” Guy asked, his face deathly calm.
“I don’t know what to think, which is another reason I need to get to New France and find the truth, but I do know that, without Pierre’s death, I wouldn’t have been available for marriage, and this conspiracy couldn’t exist.” She threw her hands in the air unable to hide her frustration. “I’ve spent hours going over everything that’s happened, everything I’ve been told, and, while I have no proof the chevalier was involved in the deaths, I can’t help thinking he must’ve been. The only link between Papa and my dead husband is me, and I need to know the truth about this so-called conspiracy Pierre was involved with. I don’t know what I’ll do with whatever I find since stepping foot in France again would be my death.”
“Enough of this.” Aline stood and handed the mended shift to Sophie. “We’re safely at sea. Nothing can be done until we reach New France, but we have another problem.” She smiled at the young girl. “I can understand why Izzy couldn’t share her secret with you. My dear, you wear your heart on your sleeve.”
“Tante Aline’s right,” Isabelle shook her head. “Right now, after all that’s happened,” she indicated the chemise with her head, “you look as if you’ve found the prize coin in the cake. You must remain sad and solemn a while longer.” She gave her a quick hug. “If you look in the bottom of your trunk, you’ll find some of my older dresses. Murielle packed them, so that I would have clothing if my escape was successful. Bring them with you later today—only the old ones, Sophie. I’m the poor relative now.”
“Why don’t you just come and stay with me?” Sophie asked.
“Because that would make no sense to anyone aboard, and after the recent search, it might raise doubts. If the chevalier sends someone to New France, he might question the people on the ship.” She shook her head. “No, for everyone’s sake, I’ll be staying in this cabin with Aline for the duration of the voyage. Guy’s arranged it with the captain. Aline has offered to teach me the skills I’ll need to survive in the colony. I’ll be expected to marry, and I should at least know some of the basic skills a man requires from his wife.”
Isabelle turned to Aline. “Perhaps all the ladies could join us for lessons. I know Sophie needs to learn to be self-sufficient, too.” She put her arm around her cousin’s shoulder and walked her to the cabin door. “Now, go and see to your brides. Some of them may be suffering seasickness already. The first few days afloat, even in calm seas, can be hard. Come back later, and we can go on the weather deck for some fresh air.”
Sophie nodded. “You’re right, as always. I’ll be back in a few hours with the extra things from the trunk. I’ll bring you the lighter colors since I’m supposed to be the one in mourning, but knowing Murielle, we’ll both be wearing black, brown, or gray.” Sophie kissed Isabelle on the cheek. “My tears will continue, but they’ll be tears of joy and thanksgiving.” She left the cabin, closing the door behind her.
Isabelle collapsed into a chair. She was tired. The emotional trial of the past few hours combined with those of yesterday had drained her. “We can’t speak of this again. We can’t take the chance someone could overhear—a soldier, a sailor, or one of the brides.” She looked imploringly at them.
Aline nodded. “Quite right. I like your idea of giving all the brides lessons, too. It will give them something to do and provide less time for speculation and gossip.”
“D’Angrignon was speaking with another passenger, a gunsmith, who booked passage only last night,” Guy added. “I’ll try to discover what it was they were discussing, but to be safe, we’ll have to be very careful. Nothing can be said, not even in confession. This is a sin that you can share and beg forgiveness for with God alone.” He moved across the cabin and looked out the porthole, and then turned back to her. “People must meet Isidore Leroux as soon as possible and discover a shy, young girl, eager to embrace her new life. Be especially careful around Monsieur Martin since he’s the only one of the crew who met you, although I think his eyes spent more time on your bosom than they did your face.”
Isabelle nodded, feeling her cheeks heat. Hadn’t she expected as much?
“That’s what I’d hoped. I wanted to be remembered.”
Guy chuckled. “You did make an impression.”
“Guy, I need to go and speak with the ship’s cook.” Aline moved to the door. “I want to teach the women how to make some of my simpler recipes. Izzy, you look exhausted. This has been as hard on you as it has on Sophie. Why not lie down for an hour or so? Guy and I’ll eat at the tables below deck with the women who haven’t succumbed to seasickness. I’ll have them send up a tray for you later.”
“Thank you. After yesterday and this morning, I feel almost too tired to stand.”
As soon as the door closed behind Guy and his mother, Isabelle walked over to the porthole. The breeze had picked up, and these were heavier waves than earlier. From this vantage point, there was nothing to see but water. She sighed. How long before she would feel safe again?
* * *
Guy closed the door to the cabin, hoping Isabelle would be able to sleep. It had been unfair of him to suspect her the way he had, but fear, anger, and jealousy did strange things to a man.
By thwarting the chevalier and to a lesser extent the countess, she’d made powerful enemies, the kind who wouldn’t give up easily. No matter which way Guy looked at it, he couldn’t see d’Angrignon giving up his path to power and possibly the throne. That meant, when he couldn’t find Isabelle, he would search for an imposter, and if he did that, no one must ever know the real Isabelle de Caen still lived.
The chevalier could beg the king’s indulgence on the wedding date, and once the pretender was in place, no one would know the bride wasn’t who she claimed to be. If he kept her isolated at Caen, it could work quite nicely, especially if the lady in question had fallen on hard times and was only too eager to cooperate. It was a bold move, but the chevalier wouldn’t be the first one to attempt such a coup.
What didn’t fit was Isabelle’s assertion that Pierre’s death was part of all this. The allegations of arming the natives and possibly putting the colony in danger didn’t seem to fit with that plan. What could d’Angrignon hope to gain there? There had to be more to it, and as Isabelle had said, those answers were in New France.
Guy set his concerns aside, smiled down at his mother, and escorted her along the companionway, ready to take her to the galley, but she put out her hand to stop him.
“Let’s walk outside for a few minutes,” Aline said. “I could use some air.”
Leading his mother up to the stern deck, deserted at this time of day, Guy took a deep cleansing breath.
“This was an excellent idea, Maman. Brisk, clean, sea air helps a person think.”
Below them, on the weather deck, one man pulled buckets full of water from the ocean and threw them onto the flooring, while another squatted and scrubbed the deck with a large stone. Above them, others scampered monkey-like in the rigging adjusting sails to suit the first mate’s orders shouted up from below.
“It’s an interesting way to clean a floor,” Aline noted, watching the sailors at work. “Perhaps I should try it on my kitchen table. It would do a much better job of cleaning than a rag and soap.” She turned to Guy. “You’re still in love with her. I can see it written on your face each time you look at her. What are you going to do about it?”
There was no point prevaricating. Somehow his mother had known what he was thinking and feeling almost all of his life. He huffed out a breath.
“Truthfully, I don’t know, but I hope my feelings aren’t as obvious to others as they are to you.” He leaned against the railing, his hands laced in front of him. “I never expected to see her again.”
“Your secret is safe, but a mother knows. You could marry her,” she said, her head cocked to the left, her brow furrowed slightly. “At the moment, she sees you as a hero, a savior, but with a little encouragement, her gratitude could turn to love. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”
“More than you can imagine,” Guy admitted. “She’s always been my sun, my moon, and my stars, the light of my world. When we were children, I used to watch her play. Her laughter would fill my heart. I didn’t dare speak to her because I was too shy and too far beneath her. When Pierre and I went to Lyons for school, I told myself I’d be able to forget her, but she haunted my nights. When I heard she’d married Pierre, I got so drunk it took two of my strongest men to put me to bed, and still she walked through my mind.”
His mother reached up and touched his shoulder.
“And now, you feel loving her dishonors him?”
He nodded, the truth eating a hole in his empty stomach.
“When Pierre showed up in New France without her, I couldn’t understand how he could leave her behind, but he really hadn’t. Every time he spoke of her was like pouring vinegar on an open sore, but I thirsted for knowledge, encouraging him to tell me more. She was my secret obsession, my sin because I coveted her, but I never begrudged Pierre for marrying her. He was my friend, and I loved them both. Now, he’s dead, and I’m as deeply besotted with her as ever. Am I being disloyal to Pierre and deceitful to her? She needs my protection, not my lust.” He turned away and stared at the horizon.
“You’re being much too hard on yourself, my son. Your emotions are far deeper than mere lust. Instead of looking at why this is wrong, see why it is right. Life is a series of challenges, opportunities, and disappointments. God has given you a second chance with Izzy. To use one of your military terms, He’s levelled the field. We both know she’ll have to marry soon for her own protection. Why not you?” She turned toward the short flight of steps. “Now, I’m ready to see the galley and meet the cook before he sends our midday meal to the cabin and disturbs Izzy. I hope the man will be amenable to sharing his kitchen and workspace.”
Settling his mother with Monsieur Rigaud, the cook, Guy left the galley in search of something to do with himself. Aboard the ship, his sole responsibility involved training the soldiers, but he would wait until they all had their sea legs to begin.
After checking on his men and the animals, glad to see that none of them were any worse for the wear, he went to look in on the other male passengers, hoping to find out what the gunsmith had been discussing with the chevalier.
Instead, he found Father Samuel in his cabin. The elderly man lay on his small cot, as green as green could be. The ship’s physician had provided peppermint tea to ease the man’s discomfort. At the moment, Marc, the cabin boy, spoon-fed the liquid to him.
Monsieur Giroux, the gunsmith, wasn’t in his cabin. Guy found him on the gun deck inspecting the cannons.
“I see mal de mer hasn’t affected you, sir,” Guy asked as he approached the man. There was still something familiar about him that he couldn’t place. “How are the guns?”
“I’ve just begun my inspection, your lordship. I was speaking with the chevalier earlier on the pier—I’d gone to stretch my legs while I could—and he mentioned something that unnerved me. Apparently, there are Barbary pirates in these waters and white women are highly prized by the Ottoman sultans. Considering we carry fifteen women, including your mother—”
“Sixteen. Her niece by marriage travels with her.”
“Another one to worry about then. I mentioned my concerns to the captain and offered to inspect the guns. I’ve only just begun, but from what I can see, they’re in excellent condition,” Giroux said, smiling. “These demi-cannons can fire thirty-two-pound solid shots from over three hundred feet away, a blast powerful enough to penetrate more than three feet of solid oak. They can de-mast an enemy ship at close range. Monsieur Martin assures me that the men are well-versed in their use. This ship should be able to give a good accounting of herself if she’s forced to fight.”
“Let’s hope she won’t have to until she reaches the second stage of her mission. Since France continues to war with Spain and the bulk of our navy is involved there and in the Spanish Netherlands, the only ships that would dare attack us, other than the pirates you mention would be Spanish privateers. With the women aboard, I would prefer not to engage in a naval battle, regardless of the odds.”
Monsieur Giroux nodded, continuing to examine the firing mechanism on the cannon next to him.
“Of course. And I suppose we can’t ignore English privateers either. The captain was pleased not to have missed the tide. Do you think the chevalier will find his fiancée? Did you know her well?”
Guy smiled, hiding his surprise. An interesting question. Why would the gunsmith even suppose that?
“When we were children, yes. Isabelle was most distraught when I saw her yesterday when she brought her sister to the ship. No doubt she’s returned to the comfort of the abbey for a few days. Her sister was married to my best friend.”
Giroux looked up. “The traitor Gaudier. The chevalier mentioned it earlier.”
So that was d’Angrignon’s game. He would discredit Pierre through the colony’s newest citizens. Guy bit his tongue, knowing he couldn’t defend Pierre but needing to say something.
“It’s a most unfortunate situation, one based on circumstantial evidence, I’m told. The man I knew was honorable. For the sake of his widow, let’s agree not to speak of that tragedy. If you’ll excuse me, I need to attend to another matter.”
Guy still couldn’t shake the feeling he’d seen the gunsmith before, but left him to his inspections, going up to the weather deck to find the captain. D’Angrignon’s words about pirates bothered him. Why would the chevalier have even mentioned that? But it fit with the nagging in his gut over the other things the man had said.
“Captain, if I could have a moment?” Guy asked, stepping over to stand near the wheel.
“Of course, my lord. What can I do for you?”
“I understand there have been pirates in the area,” he began. “Since we were more than three hours late sailing, how will that affect us?”
Captain Étier frowned and handed the wheel to the man at his side, motioning for Guy to follow him over to the gunwale on the right of the ship.
“I didn’t want to worry the ladies or our other passengers but still being so close to shore at nightfall isn’t something I wanted. Monsieur Giroux mentioned that to me, and I’d heard rumors yesterday ... To that end, I’ve adjusted our course. Since the sky has clouded over, I’m hoping no one will notice, but we’ve been traveling northwest rather than simply west, and it’s my intention to skirt English territorial waters as long as we can. Neither the Spanish privateers nor the pirates will attack that far north, and despite what the man believes, I know the English won’t bother us.”
Guy nodded. “A wise decision, sir. I was hoping you would consider doing something like that. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to speak to the sergeant.” He indicated the twenty men on the deck below them performing musket drills.
“Very well. I need to meet with my officers, too. I’ll double the watch for the next few days. This ship is too valuable to fall into enemy hands as is its cargo.”
Guy descended the stairs to the deck, pleased the captain was as conscientious as he was.
“Sergeant, are these the men who’ll be remaining in New France?” he asked once he was close enough to be heard.
“Yes, my lord.”
“While it’s my intention to work with all the men, with your permission, I thought I might spend additional time talking to these men about fighting with the natives, maybe giving them pointers on hand-to-hand combat. It’s not at all like the art of war they’ve been trained for. Knowing what to expect may keep them alive.” His hand went up to his scar.
The sergeant frowned and scratched his head.
“I’ll be remaining in the colony at the fishing port of Saint Pierre. What’s so different? Will the Dutch to the south attack?”
Guy nodded. “It’s possible, but the Dutch won’t be the ones to worry about. Regardless of nationality, all the colonials have natives fighting with them. While Micmac are more common on the coast, they, like the Mohawk, prefer close quarter combat. Although some of them have been armed with muskets, most still prefer war tomahawks—a type of hatchet—and knives. The braves are so attuned with nature, they can travel the forest and leave no sign of their passing. Ambush is their specialty. I could teach your men to defend themselves against such attacks. Learning some basic words in their language might help, too.”
“I would appreciate that, sir. I hope to leave the army and settle in the colony one day.”
“Very well. We can start this afternoon. Tell the men to come up to the deck wearing only their britches and boots. Most of the braves fight wearing even less than that. I’ll leave you to your drill.”
Guy smiled. This was exactly what he needed to stay busy.
Returning to the galley, he found his mother still discussing matters with the ship’s cook. Doctor Sirois, the ship’s physician, sat at the table making notes and drinking a cup of spiced wine. Guy joined him.
“Good day, doctor. I looked in on Father Samuel earlier. The man seems to be having a rough go of it. Is this his first crossing?”
“My lord. It is. The priest is elderly and by far the worse one, but we have three women and half a dozen soldiers sick, too.” The doctor shook his head. “If they’re sick now, with seas as calm as these, they’ll suffer badly in the rougher waters we’ll see before we make port. If they don’t get their sea legs, some may not survive the voyage. It isn’t uncommon. On crowded ships, the captain often loses more than 10 percent of his passengers.”
Guy frowned. His mother, Isabelle, and Sophie seemed fine, and he hoped everyone would survive. He didn’t want to be the bearer of bad news when they landed.
Excusing himself once more, he noted the slightly rougher seas and went back to check on the animals. The stallion was restless, but one of his engagés was brushing the animal, trying to calm his fears. Guy left him to it.
With nothing else to do, Guy returned to his cabin. Surely, it wouldn’t hurt to check on her. The connecting door, a structural alteration he’d requested for this trip, stood ajar. He walked to the doorway and looked into the room.
Isabelle lay on the bed facing him. He could tell from her even breathing she was asleep. How lovely and innocent she looked. He was growing accustomed to her altered façade, and found it pleased him as much as her usual appearance did. He closed the door to give her privacy and walked over to the porthole.
As he crossed the room, he noted the bed had been made, his clothes put away, and the chamber pot emptied. Guy had offered the cabin boy twenty-five écus to do that job for both himself and his mother, and the boy had jumped at it. It wasn’t much, but if he could spare his mother the trip to the beakhead, it was worth it.
The thought of Isabelle having to do such work disturbed him. He didn’t doubt for a second she could do it, he simply didn’t feel she should have to, but poor farmer’s daughter was part of her disguise, and there was nothing he could do about that, unless he married her.
Was his mother right? Was this his second chance at winning Isabelle’s love? Was it fair to take advantage of her gratitude? He hated himself for the thought, but he selfishly wanted her to give him freely the love she had given Pierre. He knew, from the kiss they’d shared, there was passion between them, and while his lust wasn’t something he prided himself on, he could build on it. Physical attraction and gratitude would do. His mother was right; whether he liked the idea or not, the truth was Isabelle would have to marry within a year.
Could he let another man have her? The very thought made him ill. He had nine weeks—nine weeks to make her realize Pierre was gone forever and make her fall in love with him. He couldn’t lose her again. The chevalier’s shadow rose in his mind. If she were married, she’d be safe, right? But if the chevalier married another and passed her off as Isabelle and then discovered the truth, how long would either of them live? Forewarned was forearmed.
For the sake of his heart and his soul, he had to woo her and win, but most of all he had to rid her of any association with Isabelle de Caen. He checked the clock-watch he wore around his neck, a gift from Jean Talon, the intendant. It was almost noon. He’d promised to join his mother in the galley. He eased open the connecting door, cringing when it creaked. Isabelle’s eyes flew open, startled by the sound, but she smiled when she saw him. Sitting up, she stretched, and rose from the bed.
“Have I been asleep long?” she asked. “I’m famished.”
He smiled at her. Fair or unfair, he had no choice. He would convince Isabelle they had a future together or die trying.
“A little more than an hour. It just so happens, sleepyhead, I’m on my way to join my mother for the mid-day meal. I stopped by to see how you were doing. If you like, I’d be pleased to escort you to the table.” He held out his arm. “Shall we?”
Isabelle laughed, the sound filling him with joy.
“How can I possibly refuse such a gallant request?”
Guy chuckled in reply, confident he’d made the right decision. He would find a way to bury the truth. He would protect her, help her clear Pierre’s name, and after he’d done so, he would ask her to be his wife. Maman was right. Courtship was a lot like war—you needed good strategy and a sound battle plan.