Pride in Regency Society: Wicked Captain, Wayward Wife / The Earl's Runaway Bride

‘There is nothing here except fishing smacks. Tell me, Mr Granby, where are these business acquaintances that my husband was visiting?’

The valet’s impassive countenance did not alter. ‘I cannot say, madam.’

She pulled her veil down over her face. ‘Well, help me out, Granby. We must continue with this charade, although there is no one here to witness it.’

‘Oh I think you are wrong there, madam,’ muttered Granby, giving her his hand. He nodded towards a group of fishermen who were mending their nets in the shelter of an upturned boat. Eve had noticed them looking at the carriage and as she stepped down one of the men came across to her, tugging at his forelock with his gnarled fingers.

‘Beggin’ yer pardon, mistress, we sees yer coming down the road and thinks—well, seein’ yer widder’s weeds—we wonders if you be the cap’n’s widder? Cap’n Wyldfire?’

Eve looked towards Granby and, as if aware of her eyes through the thick veil, he nodded slightly. She turned back to the fisherman. ‘Yes, I am,’ she said softly. ‘Did you—did you know my husband?’

A wide, black-toothed grin split his weather-beaten face.

‘Aye, mistress, we all knew Cap’n Wyldfire. Proper sailor, he was, from the King’s navy, no less, and very generous ’e was, too, allus ready to stand buff in the Stag of an evenin’. He told us he’d come down ’ere to take out the villains what is givin’ us a bad name, sellin’ us their smouch that was no more real tea than that there seaweed.’ The grin disappeared and he shook his head. ‘It were a sad day when he drowned, mistress, an’ no mistake. We was all of us sorry to see the end o’ such a brave one.’

Eve’s heart skipped a beat. ‘Were you with him, then? You saw my husband the night he—he—’

‘Lor’ bless you mistress, ’twas my boat, the Sally-Ann, he used that night. Wanted to get close to a brig that was sailing out o’ Hastings, see?’

‘And what happened?’

‘Oh, we got close, right enough, the cap’n and some of us had already boarded the brig, being friendly-like, and pretending we was interested in taking some o’ their cargo, but the Revenue cutter came up too soon. There was only a donkey’s breath o’ mist and as soon as they spotted her they set up the cry, knowin’ as how they’d been tricked. Set upon us, they did. The cap’n was quick to sound the retreat, got us all safely back on board the Sally-Ann, but one o’ they villains, he levels his pops at the cap’n and shoots him afore he can escape. Killeddead he was. Went over the side without a murmur.’

‘And did you not try to find him, to recover the body?’

‘O’course we did, but there was no sign of him and we had to make sail, for the sea was carryin’ us towards Nore rocks. It were dulling-up by that time and with the brig bristling with guns we decided to make for the shore. The Revenue cutter did give chase, but not long enough.’ The fisherman showed his contempt for their efforts by turning his head to spit. ‘They may’ve scared ’em off for now, but they’ll be back, especially now they knows the cap’n ain’t here to gainsay ’em.’ The fisherman shook his head, and said in a reminiscent tone, ‘Aye, a great one, was Cap’n Wyldfire; allus on the gammock he was, looking for excitement or any sort o’ bobbery. We’ve been watching the beaches every day since then, missus, hopin’ his body would be washed up so we could give ’im a proper Christian burial up at All Saints. And there’s still time. We’ll keep a look-out, don’t ’ee worry.’

‘Thank you.’ Eve opened her purse and took out a handful of coins. ‘Here,’ she said, pressing them into the man’s hand. ‘When you and your crew go to the Stag tonight, I pray you drink a toast to my husband’s memory.’

Again she was treated to the black grin.

‘Well now, missus, that’s very generous of ’ee, very generous. The sort o’ thing the cap’n would approve, if you don’t mind me sayin’ so.’ He tugged his forelock once again and turned to the little group behind him. ‘Stan’ up, lads, stan’ up and pay yer respects to Wyldfire’s widow!’

He tugged his forelock yet again as Eve turned back to the carriage.

‘Back to Monkhurst, madam?’ asked Granby, holding open the door.

‘Yes, if you please. But we will stop at the church before we leave Hastings, I think.’

All Saints Church stood on the eastern edge of the town, high above the harbour and surrounded by its graveyard. As Eve climbed down from the carriage a shiver ran through her to think that this was where Nick might have been buried. The wind blew in from the coast, tugging at her bonnet and pressing the black veil to her face. She folded it back and breathed in the fresh sea air.

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