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

8 March 1024, L’Isle du Grand-Blaireau

Amelia,

Yes, yes, all right, yes, I began this week in a sleigh driven by one Lieutenant Samuel Harkness of His Majesty’s Royal Army. The weather was fine, and so just before noon we departed from Amelie’s shop bound for the same picnic spot by the lake, destined to eat the same bread and mutton. Having devised a successful battle plan, and one, moreover, for which he commanded the requisite materiel, the good Lieutenant intended to make good use of it.

I must not be too harsh: I imagine that it is as hard to woo with limited resources as it is to wed.

I had braced myself for his inevitable questions about my past, questions I should have difficulty answering; but I needn’t have worried. Mindful of Jack’s dictum to get him talking, I asked him about his past service.

“I was commissioned during the war, you know,” he said, “Le Maréchal’s war. Served in Malague, and later in Provençe. Bad business—too many good men killed.”

“Captain Montjoy lost a limb,” I said—for I found I could not call your brother His Napes, not to the Lieutenant.

“Yes, quite so,” he said, shortly. He was silent for a long moment, until I asked him to continue.

Harkness had led his men under fire, capably it appeared, if without distinction; he had insisted on proper decorum in camp, as I could well imagine; he had done every inch of his duty. Finding himself in the presence of willing ears, he described that duty in detail, one battle at a time, one bivouac at a time, one soldierly infraction at a time. The infractions were those of the rank and file, of course, not his own. He avoided the more distressing details, those unsuited for a maiden’s ears; and though he omitted no detail that was to his own credit he spoke matter-of-factly, and without stretching the truth so far as I could tell. A rigid man; an honest man.

I occurs to me that I have never asked His Napes about his service. Perhaps I should.

The lieutenant’s account lasted through our meal and all the way back to town, so that he never did find time to ask me of my life in Cumbria. Perhaps, having met my brother, he believes he knows all that is necessary. I will confess that I was relieved, Amelia, for I quite dread telling him about poor Mr. Sloane-Price.

We parted amicably, and I returned to the Sloops.

His Napes has been looking for a girl to work in the dining room and bar parlor, as La Belle Lucie is preparing her trousseau for her wedding this May. Today he found one, of sorts.

I was polishing the silver in the dining room this morning when Corinne came and told me that Jack wished to speak to me. “He has found a new girl, I think,” she said, tossing her head back toward Jack’s office. I might have imagined the look in her eye.

I heard the new girl before I saw her, her cheery voice ringing in the air: “—am so tired of being pawed by the drunken soldiers. This will be much better, mais oui? I shall prefer it of all things.”

I entered to find the new girl seated in what I think of as my chair. Brunette, younger than I but older than Lucie, she was a medium-sized person who seemed to occupy a much larger person’s share of the room.

“This is Miss Gamble,” said Jack. “She’ll inform you of your duties.”

“Ne pas s’inquiéter,” she said with a dismissive wave. “I have worked before. How do you Cumbrians say? I am up to all the tricks, me!”

“You’ll find that serving at the Two Sloops is different than working at a common inn,” I said. “But I am sure you’ll pick it all up in time.”

His Napes relaxed visibly as I led her out of his office.

Her name is Eloise, and she has come to us from Le Cochon’s Head, Sergeant Allen’s inn down near the garrison. I am not sure where she came from before that; unlike Corinne and Lucie she is not a native of Bois-de-Bas. Wherever it was, I am inclined to think it must have been much louder than Bois-de-Bas, or Nexing Cross for that matter.

She does know her way around the bar parlor, though I would want to keep an eye on her in the dining room. Beyond that, I don’t what to make of her. I surely have never met anyone like her before, not even in my brief sojourn in Yorke with Mr. Sloane-Price. She has a knowing air, a sly smile, and a wicked gleam to her eye; and when she says she is “up to all the tricks” I worry as to just what those tricks might be.

Still, we needed a replacement for Lucie, and unmarried girls of an appropriate age are thin on the ground in Bois-de-Bas at the moment. In time I hope we can afford to hire a married couple, she to help in the inn and he to drive the caravan and assist M. Henricot, but for now I shall just have to hope that Eloise works out for us.

Cathy

Next letter

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Photo by Oleksandr Sushko on Unsplash