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

15 February 1024, L’Isle du Grand-Blaireau

Amelia,

Lt. Harkness, that sprig of Cumbrian nobility, has continued his campaign. He has come to the Two Sloops for dinner at least once a week over the past month, constantly alert to his surroundings in what I am sure is a proper attitude for an officer on the battlefield; and I have performed my duties with brisk efficiency on those occasions, refusing to engage. He has twice asked to speak with me, but I have been able to plead the press of business, for Lucie’s suitor’s courtship has prospered and I have been compelled to fill now. We are now looking for her replacement.

The lieutenant ran me to ground yesterday in Bois-de-Bas—by utter chance, so far as I can tell. I had come to town for supplies, and was chatting with Amelie at the counter when the door to the shop opened in a burst of cold air. Lieutenant Harkness bustled in, closing the door tightly behind him, and pulling off his gloves went to warm himself at the stove in the corner.

“Bonjour, Lieutenant,” said Amelie to him, her eyes dancing.

“Bonjour, Mme. Tuppenny,” he said, turning his head to greet her; and then his eyes widened and he turned to face us fully. “Good day, Miss Gamble.”

I stood up straight, for I had been leaning over the counter. “It’s a bit cold and wet, don’t you think, Lieutenant?”

“It would not do for me to contradict a lady,” he said, walking over, “but it seems a fine day to me, Miss Gamble.”

Amelie gave me a merry look, and vanished among the shelves behind the counter.

“Might I have a few words?” he said, when she’d quite gone.

There was no graceful way out of it, Amelie having seen to that, so I nodded and led the way back over to the stove. If I must “stand fire,” as His Napes puts it, I might at least be warm.

“How may I help you, Lieutenant?”

“I quite understand that you have social obligations on Sundays, Miss Gamble. Perhaps there is some other day of the week on which I might persuade you to join me for a sleigh ride?”

“Not today, certainly,” I said, with a wave at the weather beyond the frosty windows. But I had discussed Harkness with Amelie and Elise at the hot springs the previous Sunday, and they had given my my marching orders.

“You think you do not like him,” said Elise to me, “but you do not know him, n’est-ce pas?“

“And if you wish to be free of him,” said Amelie, “you must let him make his case.”

“Mais oui!” said Elise. “He will be tres difficile until you do. And who knows? Perhaps the horse will learn to sing.”

And so, hiding my reluctance, I said, “Perhaps on Monday, if the weather is fine?”

He smiled broadly. “I shall pray that it is. Thank you, Miss Gamble.”

We agreed to meet at the store at 11 o’clock the following Monday morning, weather permitting. Lieutenant Harkness insisted on loading my supplies into my sky-chair, and I flew back to the Two Sloops.

“I don’t understand, Jack,” I said over our drams that evening. “Why has he taken to me?”

The stove crackled as Jack considered. “I expect he admires your character and good sense, after the way you stood up for Private Hoxney. But more than that, he’s lonely, darlin’, and you’re a Cumbrian lady of good family. It’s the voice, and the manner: you sound like home.”

“A lady in greatly reduced circumstances,” I said.

“What?” said His Napes, gesturing at the Inn all around us. “These are the best of circumstances, ain’t they just? I’ll put the Sloops above any other inn in Bois-de-bas.”

I shook my head at him as he laughed at me. “I was never a fit match for the son of a baron,” I said.

“Third son of an impoverished baron. He’s on his own; shan’t get a penny more from his da’, as his da’ hasn’t a penny to spare.”

“And I suppose his impoverished family and lack of wealth should make him all the more attractive?”

“That’s for you to decide, darlin’.” He threw back his dram, smacked his lips, and then regarded me soberly. “Have a lovely sleigh ride, and let him talk. That’ll tell you all you need to know.”

“How do you mean?”

“Can’t fight a battle without good intelligence. You’ll learn what kind of lady he’s looking for, and then you can choose to be that lady—or not.”

“And if not?”

“Then show him the lady you mean to be, darlin’. And make it stick.”

I nodded soberly.

And so there it is, Amelia. I shall send you a despatch after the skirmish.

He does have a lovely smile.

Cathy

Next letter

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Photo by Andrea Stark on Unsplash