Pride of the King, The (46 page)

They roared with laughter once more, and Lauren snapped the covers off her bed. She stood up and said, “Don’t bother. The room is yours.”

She gathered her things and slammed the door just as Gunnar Magneson raced up the stairs. “I meant to catch them, but I couldn’t get through the crowd in time!”

Lauren pushed the tousled hair from her eyes and mumbled. “Don’t worry, Gunnar. I slept long enough.”

Gunnar averted his eyes respectfully when he saw Lauren in her chemise and barefoot. She chuckled. “Oh I am sorry. Can you help me find a place to dress?”

“Well I’ll be damned!” a voice boomed. “Look at that!”

Lauren spotted a burly sailor staggering up the stairs toward her, wearing a lecherous grin. Gunnar pushed her quickly into a chamber bolting the door behind them. “This is no place for a lady, Miss.”

Lauren smiled wistfully. He was far too young to be this responsible. He should be swimming in streams and shooting squirrels.

“I must leave here tonight to find someone,” she said urgently. “But I cannot risk going out among those men. Is there a back staircase?”

“No, Miss.”

“I need to disguise myself,” she said, thinking out loud. “What about some of your clothes? May I borrow them?”

“Yes.”

“I must see the Chickasaw translators immediately. Do you know where they are?”

He nodded his head and unbolted the door. “I will be back with clothes, and I will take you to them. Mr. Cavendish gave me orders to watch out for you.”

Gunnar returned moments later with a coarse linen smock, breeches and a large felt hat for Lauren. She pulled the clothes on then stuffed her hair into the hat.

“We must tell Mr. Cavendish where we are going first,” said Gunnar as they walked down the stairs into the main room of the tavern.

Lauren made no eye contact as she passed through the room of drunken soldiers, farmers and sailors. There was a circle of men shooting dice in the corner and others played cards by the fire. Most of the patrons bellowed tavern songs at the top of their lungs sloshing beer and rum down the ample bodices of the blowsy whores on their laps. Two men almost knocked Lauren’s hat off as they pushed each other arguing about money.

She felt Gunnar grab her wrist and drag her over to the bar where John Cavendish was drawing beer for customers. Gunnar tried to talk to the innkeeper, but he did not seem to be listening. He was watching his wife Georgiana talk with an attractive young Major. The woman took a deep breath and leaned onto the bar allowing the soldier to look down her bodice, then pouted her lips, moving closer. The Major ran his eyes over her breasts then up to her mouth where he saw the sores. He jumped back and exclaimed, “Not on your life!”

The smile dropped from Georgiana’s face, and her eyes narrowed. Before the woman could act, Cavendish called, “Georgiana my beauty. There is a table that’s been asking for you all night. I have a tray for you to take to them.”

Angrily she pulled the tray into her arms then spotted Lauren. Georgiana set her jaw and turned away. Lauren had seen that expression before on Duke Street. Women frequently saw her as a rival for male attention, and Georgiana Cavendish was no exception. In the past men had fallen in line to bed Georgiana, but now because of her pox their ardor had grown cold.  

Lauren followed Gunnar out the door into the night. He pulled on his floppy hat, looked both ways, and then set out with Lauren behind him. The hour was late, but the hamlet was alive with activity. Drunken soldiers and sailors were everywhere, sporting with women near the river, smoking by the docks, staggering down the road toward the fort. Lauren was grateful she had an escort and a disguise, which made her resemble a teenage boy. They walked in silence down a path into the woods and soon the sounds of the tavern were indistinguishable. Gunnar carried a lantern as Lauren followed him along the trail, which led them to a clearing and a cabin on the river.

   Suddenly a large dog sprang into their path, standing stiff legged and snarling. Lauren froze as Gunnar put his fingers to his lips and whistled loudly. She heard a whistle in return from shore, and the dog relaxed. He trotted back in the direction of a dying campfire.

Isi and her husband stepped out of the shadows. Lauren pulled off her hat letting her hair tumble down, and the two women embraced. “You are safe,” Isi said.

Lauren sighed, “Most have not been so lucky. We must talk, my friend. I have so much to ask you.”

She nodded, and they walked down to the campfire. Isi’s husband threw several logs onto the embers, sending sparks flying. Lauren could see Isi’s eyes in the firelight, and she read fear in them.

“Tell me who is left,” Lauren said.

“I only found out yesterday about the slaughter,” Isi murmured. “Few are left. Some members survived near Lake Champlain, but everyone else is gone. All that is left of The Pride of the King
is in the south.”

“James is headed for the fluyt now.”

“Good. There are the three vessels and members all the way down to a place called Providence.”

James had shared little about his operation in the south with Lauren. There was still so much to learn about the man. A tug of loneliness pulled at her.

“Surely Gautier cannot reach that far into the English Colonies,” Lauren speculated.

“Lauren, I think these white men are capable of anything.”

“You are right. We must know more. I believe Gautier and his men will not be happy until The Pride of the King is completely in ruins. I must gain access to those close to Gautier to understand what is going on.”

Isi’s eyes grew large. “You are not going back to Fort St. Frederic,” she said.

“No,” said Lauren chewing on a nail, deep in thought. “That would be suicide. There must be another way.”

Late the next morning, Lauren came downstairs, stiff and sore but rested at last. She pressed several coins into John Cavendish’s hand insisting Captain St. Clare would want him to take compensation for her food and lodging. She took her breakfast outside on the front step of the tavern. Morning sunshine, rest and sustenance gave her new resolve.

She stood up, emptied the dregs of her tea onto the ground, and walked down to the water. Yet another journey was ahead of her, and she felt uncertain. She did not know where to go or how to begin this undertaking, and if she was not careful, she could lose her life.

Lauren did not hear Georgiana Cavendish walk up behind her. Feeling her presence at last, she jumped and turned around. The woman did not apologize, but instead looked boldly at Lauren then ran her eyes over her figure. Instantly Heloise’s words echoed in Lauren’s ears,
“No matter how fine your manners and attire. They will recognize the blight in you.”

Lauren raised her chin and said, “What is it you want?”

“I know you. I know your kind,” said Georgiana. “Years ago I belonged to Captain St. Clare.”

A look of disgust passed over Lauren’s face, and she turned away. She disliked this woman and knew that she could only mean trouble. She started up the hill toward the tavern. The woman grabbed her arm and said, “Listen to me you stupid slut. I can help you.”

“I think not,” Lauren replied and turned away again.

Georgiana called after her, “I don’t give a damn about you, but I do about St. Clare. I have what you need to put everything right.”

Reluctantly, Lauren turned around.

“Someone wants to destroy The Pride of the King, but it is more than that. I believe they want to ruin St. Clare, to rob him of everything he values and loves.”

Lauren remembered when Davi tried to kill her instead of James. It was apparent they wanted revenge not just elimination.

“With your French background you need to go up there and find out who is doing this and what they intend to do next.”

Lauren said sarcastically, “Really? That never occurred to me.”

Grabbing Lauren by the wrist, Georgiana hissed, “I’m not finished yet. For many years, I was a sutler following the British and sometimes the French armies all over the North Country. I had a pony cart and sold wares to the troops--liquor, tobacco and sometimes entertainment. There is knowledge to be had as a sutler. You are in the heart of everything.”

“So you are suggesting I become a sutler and a spy,” Lauren said.

“Yes, but if you are not careful you will get your neck stretched. It is very dangerous.”

“How do I become a sutler?”

“Take my place, cart and all. I have only just returned. Get that trashy Chickasaw to go with you.”

“If you care so much about the Captain why don’t
you
go?” asked Lauren.

“I would but I’m too damned sick. It turns my stomach to think that I have sleep night after night next to that creature Cavendish, but I have nowhere else to go.”

Lauren studied Georgiana a moment then asked, “What happened to him?”

“Cavendish? Oh, that was years ago. I had a little too much rum one night and set the bed on fire. Damned fool dragged me out. His clothes caught on fire.”

Lauren stared at Georgiana.

“I wish to hell we would have both burned.” She turned and walked toward the tavern her hips swaying from side to side. She called over her shoulder, “The cart, donkey and supplies are in the barn. Take everything and get out. I don’t want to see you or that cart ever again.”

Chapter 49

Lauren accepted Georgiana’s offer of the pony cart and supplies almost immediately, and after finalizing plans with John Cavendish, Lauren Isi and Gunnar set off for Lake Champlain. After many hours of travel they stopped at the home of an elderly couple. John Cavendish instructed Gunnar to stay with them to operate as a courier for Lauren and Isi while they gathered information on Lake Champlain and to help them with their farm.

“Remember, my indigo skirt on the clothes line, Gunnar. It is the signal that we have news,” said Lauren. “
Bon chance and au revoir, mon ami
.”

The boy looked up from under his hat and nodded. Isi snapped the reins and the donkey snorted, pulling them away from the cabin. Lauren turned back to look at the farm. The smoke looked cozy curling up from the field stone chimney. The elderly couple Dutch and Lena Claus had immigrated to the Lake Champlain area from Prussia over twenty years ago. She wondered how the couple endured this life of isolation and grueling labor back in the dark interior. With the war escalating these simple people could expect not only privation but violence as well. It was not surprising that the couple was overjoyed to have Gunnar for the summer to help with chores and protection during raids.

Lauren and Isi rode in silence winding their way through the woods nearing Lake Champlain. They had been traveling for many days now, and they were road weary. The fog was thick that morning leaving a fine layer of mist on their skin and clothing. Lauren was sick to death of watching the rolling rump of the donkey as he obediently pulled the cart along the bumpy trail heading north. Her neck grew stiff and she rotated her head several times to loosen the muscles. Isi was quiet as usual, and when Lauren glanced at her profile the girl’s face was taut and her eyes were bloodshot. 

Isi asked, “How often will Gunnar come to look for a signal?”

“Once a week on the Sabbath. If he finds the indigo skirt hanging out he will come to us under the guise of delivering supplies. Gunnar will run information to your husband who will in turn run it to Cavendish.” The women could now speak freely in French. For many days Lauren had to remain mute carefully guarding her accent from the British patriots and soldiers they met along the road, but now they had at last entered French occupied territory, and Lauren could speak freely.

She touched her bodice to make sure the letter of introduction from Georgiana Cavendish was still there. Georgiana had instructed them to report to the French commanding officer and present this letter of reference when they found the encampment. Georgiana was well acquainted with those in charge at Lake Champlain, and she assured them there would be little hesitation to employ the women as sutlers once they read the letter of guarantee from her.

Isi straightened up cocking her head and listening. “What is that?”

“What?” questioned Lauren.

“I hear something--chopping, I think.”

In the distance were voices and they heard a cracking sound followed by a dull thud. The donkey jerked his head, startled at the vibration on the ground.

“Sounds like they are felling trees,” said Lauren. They observed stumps and brush along the trail and gradually the voices grew louder.

Suddenly around a bend two young sentries jumped out of the mist and into their path. One grabbed the donkey’s bridle while the other pointed a musket at them. “Present yourselves!” the young French soldier barked. He wore the blue uniform of a French officer.

“I am Madame de Beauville,” said Lauren. “And this is my Chickasaw slave, Isi. We are here to see your commanding officer.”

“About?” he demanded, stepping alongside the cart running his eyes over the canvas covering.

“We are sutlers,” said Lauren.

The young
bas officier
jerked his head at the sentry. The regular, a bony youth with stringy hair, dropped the donkey’s bridle and went to the back of cart throwing back the canvas to examine the contents of their wagon. After pushing some barrels and jamming his musket into to some clothing he gave a nod of approval to the
bas officier
.