Pride of the King, The (23 page)

“I see,” said Lauren. “And my role was to attract men of wealth and power to this web of deceit.”

“Yes and you were good at it. Nevertheless, when General McAffee replaced Stuart, our operation fell. The man cannot be bought. An informant told him of our dealings, and he planned on arresting all of you at the dinner party.”

“What if they had caught us? What would have happened?”

“You would have been imprisoned,” he stated flatly.

Lauren gasped. All those years she had attended parties, consumed champagne and led a carefree existence never knowing the danger. “I appreciate you informing me after the fact,” she snapped sarcastically.

“Don’t play the innocent with me,” he said. “You knew Heloise was up to something.”

“I’m through with this business, St. Clare,” Lauren said, tossing her head.

“Oh you’re done, are you?” he replied. “Where will you go?”

“Back to New York.”

“How, pray tell?

“I’ll walk, if I have to.”

“Oh, of course! You’ll walk!” he repeated smiling. “Do you have any idea how far north you are?”

“Well I won’t stay here. It’s too primitive.” Lauren said. “I--I hate being outdoors.”

St. Clare started to laugh. “Outdoors or indoors your job now is to return to full health here in the Hudson River Valley.”

“Well, you should attend to your own health. I‘ve seen and heard your fits of coughing.”

He looked away. “My living quarters were substandard this past year. I’ll mend.”

“And what about your crew?” she said.

“What about them?”

“There’s no mending them. They’re misfits.”

His face darkened. “Misfits!” and he nodded his head briskly. “Well then you’ll fit right in because you’re a broken down old whore.”

Lauren gasped and tried to slap him, but he caught her arm in the air with a smack. With a menacing look, he held it for a moment, dropped it then left.

Ashamed she had scoffed at the crew, Lauren gripped the railing and ground her teeth, fighting back tears. 

“Are you alright, Ma'am?” It was the young man who had helped her and the Captain in the woods.

Wiping her eyes on her sleeve, she said, “Yes, you’re Isaac, aren’t you?”

“Aye, the First Mate.”

“I’m sorry, Isaac. I am just tired. It’s been a day of surprises.”

“Me and the crew surprised you a bit. Didn’t we Ma’am?”

Lauren started to protest but Isaac stopped her. “Not to worry. We’re used to it. We are unusual, all of us, and we are together on this vessel for a reason. Cause we’ve nowhere else to go.” Isaac smiled tenderly at Lauren and said, “You have nowhere else to go either.”

It was the first bit of warmth Lauren had experienced in months, and her eyes filled with tears. She looked away and cleared her throat trying to hide her emotion.

To ease her embarrassment he looked at the shore and explained, “When I was a tot, a pack of dogs attacked me and tore the nose right from my face. My poor mamma was beside herself. I bled a lot, and they thought I would die. After a while, I wished I had died. No one wanted to have anything to do with me. Everywhere I went people thought I looked disgusting, or they were scared of me, until I joined this crew.”

Gesturing toward the bonfire he explained, “They are all like me. Claypool there, he is blind. He is our boatswain. Groot’s a giant. He spends most of his time a running errands for the Captain. Over there is Robert, one of our hands. He’s a natural, to name just a few of us.”

Lauren looked quizzically at him. “What is a natural?”

“He is very slow,” he explained.

“And Henry Bologne?” she asked.

“Oh, he was deformed at birth.”

“But it appears several men have no infirmities,” she said looking around the fluyt and on shore.

“There you’re wrong. We all are outcasts of some kind, every one of us.” He took her hand and led her to the railing. He leaned over, pointing to the hull and said, “Read the name of the vessel. The Captain thought this described us well.”

Firelight flickered on the letters as Lauren read, “
The Pride of the King
.”

“Yes,” said Isaac in a voice heavy with sarcasm. “We are indeed the pride of King George. Are we not?”

Chapter 27

Shortly after Lauren joined the crew of
The Pride of the King
they dropped anchor in Albany. Standing on the deck, she stared at the landing longing to run away, run away from this group of misfit sailors and their Captain. She loathed St. Clare and his contemptuous attitude. She detested life on the river where she baked in the sun all-day and shivered at night. In New York City, there had been handsome men, witty conversations and luxurious surroundings, but here on board
The Pride of the King,
there was only drudgery and loneliness.

She hated the small stuffy bedchamber the ship’s company had erected for her in the hold of the vessel. She hated the fact that she had to lock her room for safety. She missed the spacious house on Duke Street and longed for the company of Heloise and Cornelius. She missed her friends in Kaskaskia, and her mind frequently drifted back to the Academy and Simone. It had been years since she had seen her sister, and she longed for her companionship.

As kind as they were, Lauren wanted no part of this group of sailors. She found herself an outcast among outcasts. Every night she cried herself to sleep, longing for her life of elegance and leisure in the city. In the morning she would awaken to puffy eyes and sore cracked hands from the numerous chores the Captain loaded upon her.

She was furious with her pedestrian image in the glass. Gone were the fancy dresses and her creamy complexion. Now when she looked in the mirror, her skin was burned, and her hair was wind tangled. She ate as much as the crew and gradually she lost her soft curves replacing them with hard muscles toned by heavy labor. Every night she slept a sound, dreamless sleep and even though the dark rings vanished under her eyes, she longed for late night indulgences followed by mornings of indiscriminate leisure.

As much as she longed to run away, Lauren remembered the cruelty of life on the streets of New York. She remembered the nagging hunger and her desperate attempt to survive. She remembered her illness after the baby was born and the decadent girls at Mrs. Vanoss’ house of pleasure. Everything was as clear and as terrifying as if it was yesterday. Therefore when the vessel weighed anchor that spring afternoon in Albany, Lauren was back on board the fluyt. She knew that someday she would escape this life of desperation and toil, but until then she must be patient and wait.  

For months, they sailed up and down the Hudson delivering supplies to villages and hamlets along the river from the merchants of Albany. Isaac told Lauren that it was unusual for
The Pride of the King
to be transporting legal
goods, but General McCaffee’s presence in New York City prevented them from sailing out to sea where they could obtain the lucrative contraband from the Spanish or Dutch. The routine was always the same, deliver their cargo by day, then move to a secluded location on the river and spend the night. The next morning they would move to the next village and repeat the process again.

Lauren had seen little of James St. Clare since her arrival several months earlier. Frequently he was on shore conducting business with the patroons of the Hudson. Much to Lauren’s surprise, these landed gentry seemed to respect St. Clare and treat him as an equal. She spied him on several occasions walking side by side with the powerful looking men, and she knew that he went to their sprawling estates at night to dine and discuss business. She scoffed at these pseudo-aristocrats of this valley, dismissing them as country bumpkins.
They had to be fools to associate with St. Clare. Couldn’t they see that he was a boorish commoner, nothing more than an ambitious profiteer?

   When Lauren was near the Captain, he ignored her. He was too busy barking orders at the crew or reading maps with Isaac, but one morning as she scrubbed the deck with her holystone, he approached her to say that she now was in charge of the galley. He informed her that she was to shop for food at market each day and prepare an evening meal each night for the men.

After he left, Lauren rested back on her ankles considering the idea. She had always loathed the bland boiled cooking of the English and if this vocation meant reprieve from menial labor then she was in favor of it.

Every morning after that she would sling a basket over her arm and go to the local village to purchase ingredients for a sumptuous meal. She would walk up and down rows of brightly colored produce, inspecting fruits and vegetables plucked fresh from the vine. She would purchase smooth, creamy butter and loaves of rye bread, juicy red meats and fresh catch from the river, then build a fire on the shore and cook the crew a hearty supper fit for nobility. She remembered the succulent recipes the Ursulines had taught her and introduced the men to delectable sauces and seasoned meats, mouth-watering tarts and savory stews. Night after night, they gobbled down her exceptional fare then applauded her abilities. Each morning they would speculate about her supper menu and nag her relentlessly for samples throughout the day. The meals opened dialogue between Lauren and the men, and she found her loneliness subsiding.

Many days Isaac Burroughs would keep Lauren company as she peeled and chopped, kneaded and baked. He would tell her stories about life at sea and on the river. Robert, the simple-minded lad would run errands for her when she needed help, and Henry Bologne would make her laugh with his gift of humor. Mathias, the runaway slave, always had a kind nod for her and the giant, Ben Groot continued to amaze her with his grand manners and boundless intellect.

The only one Lauren did not like was George Blasco, the ship’s carpenter. He was short and stocky with curly black hair covering his head and entire body. It pushed out of the neck of his shirt and ran up and down his bulky arms. He had a pug nose and always smelled of stale spirits. What Lauren hated the most about him though was that he wore two faces, one for the Captain and one for the crew. He ingratiated himself to St. Clare in his presence, but the minute the Captain went ashore he cursed him and assassinated his character to the others.

Lauren knew that Blasco was wanted for murder, and she never doubted for a moment that he was capable of it. She knew that he was a skilled artisan, but still it surprised her that the Captain was gullible enough to give this reprobate shelter. Nevertheless as long as Blasco did not bother her, it was none of her affair. 

The weather had grown sultry by late June and the days had grown long. One afternoon, Isaac lounged under a maple tree chewing on a blade of grass while Lauren bent over a fire stirring bouillabaisse. The crew had just finished unloading barrels of molasses and Isaac was taking a break during the heat of the day. Isaac spent every free moment he had with Lauren. Most of the women he had known recoiled from his disfigured face, but Lauren was different. She was not afraid of him. She did not belittle or reject him because of his appearance; in fact, she seemed to invite his companionship.

Lauren enjoyed their time together as well. She loved Isaac’s gentle voice and sensitive manner. Unlike the other crew members, he was not afraid to comment on the beauty of things or speak of his true feelings. “Isaac, I have been wanting to ask you something for a long time,” Lauren said straightening up from the bouillabaisse, “What do you know about the Captain? Who is he? Where did he come from?”

Isaac looked over at the vessel cautiously then back at Lauren. “He is a very private man,” he said rubbing his chin. “It took me several years before I came to know him and even still he is a mystery to me. You see, the Captain has never known his parents.”

“What of it?” Lauren replied. “Neither have I.”

“No, I mean he doesn’t know
anything
about his family or himself. He was abandoned at such a young age he doesn’t even remember his own name.”

Lauren blinked in disbelief. “He doesn’t even remember his name?” She reflected a moment then asked, “How can children that young survive all alone?”

Once again, Isaac looked over at the vessel to see if the Captain was around. “I suspect one would become like an animal. Don’t you agree?”

Lauren remembered the day she ripped food from the jaws of a dog and nodded slowly. She knew firsthand the misery and desperation of starvation.

“How long was he without a home?”

“Most of his childhood, eventually he was snatched off the street and indentured to a gunsmith in Albany, but they must have been cruel to him because at the age of fifteen he ran back to the streets and was picked up by a press gang.”

“What’s that?”

“A press gang is a group of thugs hired by King George to press young men into the Royal Navy. Usually it is against their will. It was at that time he chose the name James St. Clare.”

“Why that name?” Lauren asked.

Isaac chuckled. “Well, he told me that James was the first name he saw when he opened the Bible and St. Clare was the name stamped on a barrel of brandy at the Albany landing.

Lauren smiled. She pondered it a moment then asked, “If he was so destitute, how did he obtain
The Pride of the King
?”