The north-east wind coming in from the sea and up the mouth of the river to where she stood on the wooden revetment whistled under her hem-line and cut into her bones, causing her weak ankle to ache with more persistence than usual. She paid it little heed as she focused on her father’s ship. Her ship. La Belle Saumur lay some distance out to sea, beyond the point where the beacon stood marking the entrance to the river channel. Dieu merci! God had decided to spare her after all. A huge sense of relief burst through her: the ship represented her family’s livelihood, a means by which to stay free and independent of any master…or husband. She just wished her mother saw it that way, rather than trying to force her into a marriage that she neither needed nor wanted.
Squinting her eyes against the weak morning sun that had begun to push through the mist, she watched as two men on board lowered the anchor, testing the rope to make sure that it pulled taut into the water—La Belle Saumur had obviously just arrived. The big, square canvas sail flapped uselessly in the wind; the crew, having released the fore and aft stays, had not yet managed to roll the bulky sail up to the yard arm. The long hull rode low, indicating the amount of cargo on board, but the three or four lighter ships she had just dispatched from the slipway had now reached the vessel and were starting to unload. The tide was too low at this time of day for the heavily laden ship to enter the mouth of the river. The shipmaster, Captain Lecherche, would have to wait a few good hours before the vessel could be towed in to a safer, more sheltered harbour.
‘Mam’selle de Lonnieres, Mam’selle de Lonnieres!’ Geoffrey Beaufort, one of the more prosperous merchants of Barfleur, flung his arm up, waving at her from one of the lighter boats. As the vessel crunched up on to the shingle, he jumped out, his sturdy leather boots splashing in the shallows, to run up the planked slipway to greet her.
Emmeline hugged him, her fingers touching the sticky sea-salt of his cloak. ‘Praise God that you are safe. For the last few days I have had some horrible reports of the weather in the Channel…’
‘Never fear, young mistress.’ Geoffrey frowned at the exhaustion around the maid’s bright green eyes. ‘You shouldn’t worry so much. You look tired.’
‘La Belle Saumur is all we have, all I have,’ she replied simply, self-consciously drawing her hood more firmly about her blond head.
‘Your shipmaster and his crew are the best and most experienced around.’
She nodded. ‘And for that reason I continue to hire them. Only them.’ She bit her lip suddenly. ‘I was worried, Geoffrey. You are more than a week late back from England.’
The merchant clutched a pudgy hand to his chest. ‘And for that you will have to forgive me, Emmeline. I couldn’t resist staying on for the market fair at Winchester. ’Tis only once a year and a shame to miss it. Such excellent quality of cloth to be purchased there! It will sell well here and at a good price, too.’ He caught her slight frown. ‘Worry not, young lady, I will pay you for the extra time; your shipmaster made sure of it.’ He grinned wryly, his cracked lips stretching thin. ‘Just look at how much I managed to bring back. And I sold all the wine.’ Emmeline glanced down to where the lighter was unloading. It took three men to lift the huge sacks of cloth out of the vessel and into the waiting cart.
‘And you broke the wine casks down, Geoffrey. I can see from the weight of the cargo how low the ship rides in the water. They must be in pieces so you could get that much in the hold.’
‘I will cover the cost.’
Emmeline nodded readily in agreement. At the moment, she could scarcely afford to cover the cost of putting the wine casks back together again, a complicated job at the best of times and normally the responsibility of the ship’s owner.
‘Wait, I have something for you, mam’selle.’ Geoffrey beamed. ‘A message from your sister.’
Emmeline frowned, nibbling at the fullness of her bottom lip as Geoffrey fumbled in a leather bag that hung from his waist belt. It was rare for her elder sister to make any contact with her family in Barfleur, appearing instead to want to sever all ties with her humble past and to build a new life in England with a rich nobleman. The few missives Emmeline had received contained news of great wealth, of vast lands and castles and of the doting concern of her husband Lord Edgar. In the early days, just after Rose had died, Emmeline had felt ashamed at her sister’s behaviour, but now, the feeling had dwindled to a dull fleeting sadness.
As Geoffrey handed her the tightly rolled parchment, Emmeline’s fingers shook as she untied the red ribbon, unrolling the paper so it flapped in the wind. Securing it as best she could, with one hand at the top, one hand at the bottom to stop the paper curling in on itself, she quickly read the contents. Her heart went cold as she scanned her sister’s hastily scrawled words: I live in fear. Please help me. I have made a terrible mistake. Please forgive me.
Emmeline closed her eyes.
Her sister’s words danced before her mind’s eye: the writing jerky and ill formed, a message seemingly scrawled in haste and desperation, her sister’s anguish apparent on the page. It formed a marked contrast to the last time Emmeline had seen Sylvie, dressed in her expensive finery, standing in the doorway of the cottage in Barfleur. She had been defiant then, arrogant and proud, uncaring as to what her family thought of her, uncaring that she had left her baby daughter Rose in their care. She had craved a life of luxury and nobody was going to stand in her way.
‘Something’s amiss,’ Emmeline said slowly, opening her eyes to stare at Geoffrey, distraught.
‘Not bad news, I hope?’ Geoffrey frowned, studying Emmeline’s anxious look.
‘She’s in some kind of trouble,’ Emmeline replied, shakily. ‘When did you last see her?’
‘I was fortunate to spend a night at Waldeath, as a guest of your sister and her husband, Lord Edgar.’
‘How was she? Is she in good health?’
Geoffrey spread his hands wide, unsure of his words. ‘She appeared a little jittery, but—’
‘—’tis always the way with her.’ Emmeline finished for him with a helpful smile, immediately putting him at his ease. Sylvie was well-known for her highly strung, skittish behaviour. ‘Thank you for carrying the message, Geoffrey.’ She tucked the crackling parchment into the embroidered pouch that hung from her girdle. A vague sense of unease swept her body, her mind already trying to work out how she could reach Sylvie.
‘I shouldn’t worry too much, Emmeline,’ Geoffrey patted her arm. ‘Her husband appeared to dote on her.’
‘If La Belle Saumur can manage one last crossing before the winter storms set in, then I will visit her in England,’ Emmeline said. But Geoffrey didn’t hear. His gaze was diverted by a brightly coloured family group moving toward him across the jetty. The high-pitched, gleeful cries of the small children merged with the screeching of the seagulls above them.
‘Ah, there is Marie…and the children!’ Geoffrey beamed in delight as his family emerged from the jumble of warehouses set back from the river’s edge. Emmeline’s soft mouth lifted at the sight of her friend. Almost the same height as her husband, Marie carried her thin frame gracefully, despite having three small children clinging to her skirts. Beside her, Emmeline was almost half a head shorter, her creamy skin and blond hair contrasting strongly with Marie’s ebony locks and darker skin. Emmeline often cursed the more rounded curves of her own figure, despite the constant admiration from her mother. She had found it difficult to do business in the world of men, when all they would do was stare at her body rather than listening to her words. Luckily, most of the merchants who chartered her ship were old friends of her father, using La Belle Saumur out of loyalty with the assurance of a safe crossing and an experienced crew. Younger merchants tended to charter the newer, faster ships that were being built farther along the coast at Caen and Dieppe.
‘I swear they have grown in the few weeks that I have been away!’ Geoffrey exclaimed, lifting