Armand’s First Letter. Amelia’s First Letter. Cathy’s First Letter.

11 January 1024, L’Isle du Grand-Blaireau

Amelia,

An unexpected joy of my life here at the Two Sloops is that sometimes I have time to pause and reflect. Back home at the Attic the only time I had for reflection was when I was dropping off to sleep. Between assisting John in his mad schemes, keeping the two of us fed and clothed on nearly nothing, and preventing the house from falling apart, I was always run off my feet.

Oh, John would have to slow down once in a while himself, when faced with an obstacle or a new idea; and a good thing, too, or we’d have perished in rags. He was always either thinking or in motion, and when he was in motion he insisted that I be at his side. I had to fit the housekeeping into the gaps, or attend to it while John was asleep. To my sorrow, laziness was never one of John’s vices.

The pace of life is much different here on the Island. I have my daily duties, supervising Corinne and Lucie, totting up the supplies and determining when to procure more, taking Mme. Henricot into town to buy food, and consulting with His Napes. I’m busiest in the late afternoon and evening when we have guests on the premises, but during the day there are lulls.

When I first discussed my duties with Jack he told me that he was the captain and I was the company sergeant major, the one who really keeps the company running. I took that to mean that he would manage the guests while I managed the staff. He would count the money, while I counted the spoons. He would represent the Two Sloops to the public, while I would keep to the shadows. I was happy with that notion.

But I was mistaken. Your brother is larger than life but there is only so much of him to go around, especially as he is at present the only one allowed to drive the caravan to and from Bois-de-Bas. In those intervals I must see to his duties as well as my own; and I must do the same for the rest of the staff, turn and turn about. It is my duty, I have discovered, to fill in the gaps: to pour drinks in the King’s Parlor, to wait at table in the dining room, to register guests and show them to their rooms, and to make the rounds of the public spaces, speaking to our guests and seeing that their needs are taken care of.

In sum, when His Napes is otherwise occupied, I must be His Napes; and so I am much more visible to the guests than I had expected. I happened to mention this to him one evening.

“That’s the way of battle, darlin’. It never goes as you’d expect,” he said.

I raised an eyebrow. “Do you mean to say that we are at war with our guests?”

“If the boot fits, darlin’, the boot fits,” he said. “But war is mostly about keeping your troops fed and healthy in uncertain conditions. You’re as much at war with circumstances as with the enemy.” He raised his glass and drained the last of his dram. “And then there is the enemy, o’course.”

And on reflection he’s not wrong. We never know how many guests we will have on any given night, whether staying with us or merely dining and enjoying the company in the King’s Parlor. And while most of our guests are well mannered, good natured, and pleased to be pleased we have already had one or two who have been difficult.

Last week we had one fellow, a soldier named Ryan from the local garrison, who drank too much ale and started arguing with some of the other guests in the King’s Parlor. We haven’t had many soldiers at the Sloops, for they usually drink at Le Cochon’s Head, down near the wagon works. We later heard that the innkeeper there, the former Sergeant Allen of His Majesty’s Army, had cut Ryan off for repeated brawling.

I was in the parlor at the time, and I signaled Lucie to fetch His Napes and M. Henricot as soon as I heard raised voices. In innkeeping as in war, I have learned, one must have contingency plans.

Jack was there in moments, and put a heavy hand on the man’s shoulder, interrupting an angry rant.

“Ryan, isn’t it? Come, let’s get you back to town.”

Ryan rose and squared up to him, red-faced. “But I ain’t done here.”

“Yes, you are, soldier.” Jack’s tone was stern and no nonsense.

Ryan looked him boozily up and down. “You think you can take me?”

“You’d strike a one-legged man? Nice piece of work you are. But this is no place for brawling.”

Ryan’s face reddened further, which I wouldn’t have thought was possible. “Ain’t it, though? We’ll see about that.” He made to throw a punch and found his arms held by M. Henricot, who was now looming behind him.

His Napes leaned in and looked Ryan in the eye.

“You need to consider, soldier, that there are two ways off of this island. You can come with us and return to town the slow, comfortable way; or M. Henricot can throw you in the river and you can return the fast, eventful way.”

There was steel in your brother’s voice, and iron in M. Henricot’s grip, and in the end Ryan chose to go peacefully. Ryan’s companion rose to follow, but came to speak to me first.

“Thank you, Miss Gamble,” he said. “He would come, and I thought it best he didn’t come alone. He won’t be back after this, our captain will see to that.”

“I rather think you’ll find that Jack’s ahead of you,” I told him. “He was a captain under Lord Doncaster, you know, lost his leg in Malague. He has views about this kind of thing.”

The soldier brightened. “Was he now?”

I nodded. “Served as His Lordship’s aide while Lord Doncaster was the governor here.”

“Thank you, miss,” he said, grinning broadly. “I’ll spread the word.” And then he tipped his head to me and was off.

There were raised eyebrows in the room after they left, but on the whole the assembled company was well pleased.

Later I asked His Napes whether he’d really have thrown Ryan in the river.

“Not more than once, darlin’,” he said. “Not more than once.”

I still don’t know whether he was serious or not. But do you know, barring miscreants like Ryan I am surprised to discover that I quite like dealing with the guests.

Cathy

Next letter
____
Photo by Amadej Tauses on Unsplash