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

24 April 1024, L’Isle du Grand-Blaireau

Amelia,

How swiftly things can move here in Bois-de-Bas when Armand waves his hand! And how slowly when he cries, “Stop,” though he isn’t always as successful at the latter.

The men His Napes hired to clear the path to the waterfall have spent the week clearing the new staff area on the far bank of the river, and not just them, for Armand arranged for an additional crew. 

His Napes has forbidden me to go take a closer look—”Fallin’ trees, darlin’,” he said. “Even a crêpe de chêne’d lay you out flat, and there are some bronzewoods over there. Best stay away.” But I can follow their progress from the bridge, and I do.

There will be quarters for the women who work at the Inn, and a bath house, and also a space to land the sky-chairs and caravan when they are not in use.

“If we are to preserve our guests from temptation,” said His Napes, “we should make a good job of it.”

I’ve been delighted to see that the crews aren’t simply cutting down all the trees on that side of the river. A man came and surveyed the land on that side, which isn’t especially flat, and set out a plan. They know what needs to be built, and though they are leaving room for expansion they are also leaving as many trees in place as possible, especially the bronzewoods—not simply because they are majestic, though they are, but because they are an infernal nuisance to cut down.

The cut trees are being hauled to mills down below. I asked if we’d use the wood for the new buildings, but His Napes has no such sentimental notion, nor any of cutting enough wood on the island to build everything we will need. “It takes too long to season, and all,” he said. “We can’t wait. And there are hundreds of square miles of forest down there that can spare us a little wood for up here.” And after telling me this, he winked at me. “Not that I might not have a little project or two in mind for our wood once it’s seasoned.”

And no more would he say, of course.

Bois-de-Bas’s need for a magistrate and constable were the talk of the Hot Springs this past Sonnedi. The woman were in favor of Armand being appointed magistrate, “as he’s been doing the job already,” and enough said, but His Napes tells me that Armand has set himself against it. 

“My cousin thinks he has too much influence on the affairs of the town as it is.”

“And he’s quite busy,” I said in my mildest tones. His Napes chuckled.

“And he’s quite busy,” he agreed, and told me that the good money was on either Armand or Marc Frontenac being appointed, and most likely Armand. “He’s known and respected in Mont-Havre, and he’s shown himself able to be fair to both the older families and the newcomers.”

“And the constable?”

“That’s looking to be Corporal Willis, from the garrison. He’s at his twenty, and as he’s met a girl from town he don’t wish to re-enlist. He’s a steady man, never caused a lick of trouble at the Cochon’s Head, and her family likes him. He wants to stay here in Bois-de-Bas, but he’s a city boy, knows nothing of farming or woodcutting but what others have told him. This will give him a position and a livelihood, and they’ll be able to marry.”

“Cheers all round,” I said. “Yet another wedding in the offing.”

“It’s going around, darlin’. La Belle Lucie, and now Willis and his girl. I wonder who’ll be next?” And here he gave me a pointed look.

No, Amelia, I still haven’t spoken to him about Lt. Harkness’ proposal, or that I rejected it, though he can’t have missed that the lieutenant has not taking me riding in almost a month.

I last spoke to Harkness on Monday morning, when I went to collect our supplies from Amelie’s shop. He rode up just as I was finishing at the counter, and quietly insisted on loading the parcels into my sky-chair. 

Afterwards he said to me, “Miss Gamble, I shall be returning to Cumbria before the end of the week. I do not expect to return to Armorica, so I shan’t see you again. Before I go, I wish to apologize for my manner when you explained your reasons for declining my offer.”

“You were most gentlemanly, Lieutenant,” I said.

“But inwardly I condemned you,” he said, looking down. “I have had much time for reflection. As an officer, I am more than acquainted with what it is to be young and—”

“Stupid, Lieutenant?”

His lips curved up at one end. “I would have used a kinder word, Miss Gamble.”

“But I would not.”

“No, you would not. I see now that you have judged your past deeds as they deserve, and have turned your back firmly upon them, all with intent to make what amends you can; and the resolve and courage I so admire are the marks of that judgement. I salute you, Miss Gamble.”

“I thank you, Lieutenant.”

We stood there for a long moment, there by my sky-chair; and at last he said, “Goodbye, Cathy. Farewell.”

I said, “Goodbye, Samuel.”

He nodded; and in one swift movement mounted his horse and was off.

We would not have been happy together, I think, even if I could have returned to Cumbria with him; and yet my pillow was damp with tears that night.

Cathy

Next letter

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Photo by Marcin Krawczyński on Unsplash