The Trouble with Women
Chapter 3
The Old Hag and her House on the Hill
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Dinner had been a quiet affair, as always. There was a large table in the dining room, big enough for twenty people, yet it only sat two. Belfast and Vivien. The food had been served by the serving maids and Édouard himself, who had been studiously ignoring Vivien for most of the say. Combined with Belfast's piercing stare, Vivien could hardly wait to leave.
After she had excused herself, she had made her way quickly up the stairs of the main foyer and locked herself up in her room for the night. Her door had several locks, each taking a weight off Vivien's mind for the night. Her bedroom was perhaps the only place she even felt remotely safe from prying eyes and cruel intentions. Not even Belfast himself could pick the lock on her door without running into several other complicated contraptions barring his way in.
Now, Vivien rushed about her room relighting candles that had burned out due to her open window—she had always liked her window open to feel the cool ocean air coming inland for the night. It was strange that she would have so many locks on her door but then simply throw her security away and open up her window each night, welcoming thieves and marauders into her room.
Well, that thought was rather foolish because in order to do so they would have to scale a sheer vertical wall.
Upon replacing a candle that had managed to burn down to the end of its wick, she sighed in slight contentment, and blew out the match in her fingers before it managed to burn her. She'd done that many times – never quite quick enough to put out the flame.
She was about to retire to her bed, having shed her day garments for the free movements of her nightwear, and settle down with her lantern and new novel when she noticed a rather odd noise coming from outside her window.
Vivien hesitated for a moment before slowly setting down her book on her nightstand. She turned then, green eyes fixed on the window to the right of her large bed. Outside, the sky was dark and littered with brightly twinkling stars. A light sea breeze wafted into her room, picking up her gauzy curtains and billowing them playfully.
And she heard the odd yet familiar sound of boots on the gravel road.
Slowly—her morbid curiosity getting the best of her good judgement, which was by now screaming and ranting in the panicked state that it often went into when frightened—she approached the window on quiet feet.
As the view of the dark harbour and sea was revealed, Vivien's eyes slowly trailed downward, gaze running up the winding road leading to her manor and into the front parking way as her hands carefully closed around the windowsill. Then, she leaned forward ever so slightly and peered directly down at the front doorway, which was almost directly below her window, if not a bit to the left.
Shadows moved in the darkness below.
Vivien muffled an upcoming scream with her hand, and stumbled frantically away from the window just as an angered "bloody 'ell!" broke the silence below. It was followed by the sound of a man cursing angrily. Immediately, her mind began racing over her options.
It was either get out of her room and warn the household—risking being seen and therefore possibly dying a horribly and gruesome death, or stay safe in her tightly locked room and let the household sleep on in peace—until they found themselves awakened by the feeling of dagger between their ribs.
Now, Vivien might have been a complete nervous wreck and quite liable to get herself killed, which didn't lie lightly on her shoulders, but a complete coward and selfish betrayer, she was not! Well, at least not all the time…
--
Jack had decided everything had gone according to plan. So far. Currently, he was creeping up outside the Brideau manor with a group of men from his crew – the largest, dirtiest and most intimidating he could find. The rest, including Gibbs and Anamaria, had been left to keep watch over the Pearl. It was pitch black outside, the moon having drifted up over the horizon an hour or so before, and was now swathed in the thick clouds on the starry horizon.
It couldn't have been a minute past seven.
Jack, in the lead with an unlit torch in hand, turned and motioned to the fifteen of so men behind him, a wicked grin playing across his face. Rowing from the Pearl and docking in Saint-Denis had been easy, as had been sneaking through the streets. The only occupants had been French drunkards swaying along the winding cobblestone paths and even a few whores trying to lure in customers. They had gone unnoticed, all the way up the winding road to the house on the hill.
Only now where they coming to the hard part.
Behind him, someone tripped loudly in the inky darkness and swore, "Bloody 'ell! Ye cobswobble piece o' shit rock! Have ye no bloody respect?!"
Jack turned with an exaggerated sway, scowling. His eyes fell upon the culprit, a beefy man he had picked up in Virginia a ways back – John. He glared. "If you can be any louder, please feel free to run around the yard screaming!" he hissed. "I have no objections!"
John managed to look ashamed while the rest of the men snickered quietly. "Righ' Cap'n. Sorry."
Jack nodded shortly and continued towards quietly towards the door, his boots making the mutest of sounds upon the gravel. However, the effect was somewhat useless considering the idiots behind him were shuffling and tripping about like newborn babes. He tried to control his rising temper and took a deep breath before ascending the few steps to the large doors. His crew followed loudly.
Everything was silent save for the chirping of crickets in the warm spring night, and the crew of the Black Pearl watched their captain expectantly as he examined the door. They stayed like this a moment, in complete silence, waiting.
Then, Jack turned back to his men, sash flying, coat swirling, beads jingling and grinned.
"Now, gents, we knock politely on the door 'ere and ask for the dear presence of our Miss Brideau," he announced in a hushed sort of tone. "And don't forget to thank her kindly, because this old hag will make you some very rich men." With his right hand, he took hold of the knocker and slammed it thrice on the hard wooden door.
--
After fiddling and scrambling about with her numerous locks, Vivien finally managed to escape the confines of her room, and she flung open her door with as much force as she could muster. It swung in a wide arc behind her before crashing into the wall with a reverberating bang.
Then, gathering her meagre courage, she stepped out into the hallway. Lanterns were softly lighting the corridor, and a maid was just making her way silently down the hall when Vivien stepped forth from her room, fully clad in nothing but her nightclothes.
The maid was more than shocked by the loud crash that had come from the door as it hit the wall, but Miss Brideau herself dressed in her nightclothes in the middle of the hall at seven in the evening! The indecency! Belfast would have her head! But the maid didn't even have time to open her mouth before Vivien flew at her with wide eyes and trembling hands.
"Madame Gerard! You must run now as quickly as you can! Warn the cook! Warn the servants! Warn the house! Wake up Belfast!" she shouted frantically in the older woman's face, her own a look a frantic worry.
Madame Gerard stared at Vivien in shock. Truly, she had seen the young woman in frenzies, panics, but nothing like this! She's rambling, pauvres chere, she thought sadly, and furrowed her brow in gentle confusion. "Whatever are you speaking of, Mademoiselle?"
Vivien fought the urge to break down and cry. Of course, the woman didn't know what she was talking about!
"Bandits! Sneaking outside the house! They are there right now! I swear to you I heard them!" Vivien cried out clutching the maid's shoulders tightly, desperate for the woman to believe her. What if she was too late? What if they were already inside the house?
At that thought, Vivien shrieked, letting go of the older woman and spinning around, her ears keen for any strange noises. She heard none, but that didn't comfort her. Instead, she whirled back around, froze for a moment, and then sped off much like a wild animal, her bare feet pounding loudly on the floor.
Madame Gerard watched her go. "Mademoiselle?" she asked weakly, but her mistress was already rounding the corner towards the stairs.
The Brideau manor was a large house, but it was simple to navigate. There were two halls, one for each floor and each connecting to a myriad of rooms. Vivien's bedroom was on the second floor, not far from the winding staircase leading up from the large, open front foyer. Such was the reason she reached this particular section of the house within seconds of leaving the maid. Just in time to hear the loud knocking upon the front door.
She reached the railing overlooking the foyer just as a servant made his way to the door, posture stiff and straight. She would have yelled out for the man to stop, as no person in their right mind would open the front door to strangers at seven in the evening, but her voice was suddenly stuck somewhere in her throat.
She watched in mute terror as the door was opened, revealing a band of raggedly dressed men outside, their faces illuminated by torches. The servant seemed shocked, but wasn't able to say anything before he was cut off.
"Kind sir, good evening. My sincere apologies for the intrusion so late at night. However, if you'd be so kind as to direct me and my men to your employer we will gladly leave your midst as soon as possible," one man said in English, speaking for his group.
Vivien felt a solid weight drop in her stomach. Unlike herself, Pierre, the butler who had opened the door, could not speak English.
The man at the doorway seemed to figure that out a moment later as Pierre began to speak rapidly in French, all the while attempting to shut the door in his face. In one swift movement, he had drawn a pistol from his belt and whacked Pierre upside the head. He collapsed in a heap at the man's feet, unmoving.
And Vivien screamed, simply because she couldn't hold the ultimate terror of the moment within her any longer.
It was a mistake, and the men below were staring up at her within a second, matching grins of pure sadistic humour upon their dirty faces. At a gesture from their leader, the one who had knocked Pierre with the butt of his gun, several dirty men filed into the house. They were all large and equally intimidating, and by the time Vivien realized three were coming towards her, they were halfway up the stairs and drawing their swords.
She managed to find her senses at the terrified scream of a maid down below, and she turned from the railing and sped back down the hallway, legs moving as fast as they could carry her. Which wasn't very fast, evidently, as a shot whizzed by her head before she reached the corner leading back to the safety of her room.
Shouts rang out behind her, and the message she got from the men was somewhat like the exclamation "stop before I shoot your bloody head off!"
So she did, and she cursed the maids and servants because they had managed to make themselves so scarce at a time like this! God, what was she going to do!
A man spoke behind her, in English, his voice low and slurred, "That's righ', love. Now just turn around and face ole Jack here. And don't try anything stupid, savvy?"
And she did, fighting the sudden urge to simply vomit and pass out.
Vivien more or less gaped in frightened shock at the man before her, frozen to the spot, for her feet didn't seem to want to cooperate with her mind, which was screaming at her to abandon common sense and run!
The first thing she noticed, perhaps, was the fierce look about him…and his rather long, sharp, all too pointy sword pointed right at her. Not only that, but he held a pistol too, and it seemed to be aimed more or less in the general direction of her head.
His dark eyes were narrowed, his skin tanned, and he sported a moustache and odd-looking beard. Wound around his head of wild hair, which was tangled, plaited, beaded, and riddled with various items and dreadlocks, was a red scarf of sorts, atop of which sat a beaten tri-cornered hat. Truthfully, she wasn't really concerned about his hat. It was his state of dress and his overall appearance that terrified her the most.
He looked like a pirate. And indeed, only a pirate would show such an inappropriate amount of chest. The fact that the men behind him seemed equally as worn and rough could have attributed to that realization, also, but she found within a moment that didn't really matter. What did were the pistol, the man, and the large sharp sword.
He leered at her, revealing several golden teeth in his smirk, and when he spoke, it was in a low, slurred tone.
"Milady, would you be so kind as to direct me towards your mistress, Mademoiselle Brideau, is it not?" he said, and the men behind him continued to look quite threatening.
Vivien didn't reply. She was far too frightened out of her wits to respond to even the simplest question. And what was she to say, anyhow? That she was Mademoiselle Brideau, and please feel free to harm me in any way you can before you leave, Monsieurs. And what did they want her for? And where was Florette when you needed her? Vivien thought to herself in a panicked sort of way, her feet still not obeying her wishes to run like the dickens.
"Can you not speak?" prompted the man, now frowning, pistol still aimed and sword at the ready.
Really, like she was going to jump at him in a flurry of nails and teeth, determined to gouge his eyes out! She could hardly breathe, let alone find the magnanimous effort and bravery needed to do something like that!
So, Vivien stayed rooted to the spot, even as the sound of the marauding and sacking in her home continued on downstairs.
The pirate turned a sideways glance at his fellows. "I think she's frozen up, mates," he grinned. They chuckled, their voices making Vivien ill.
One of his men stepped forward, a particularly hairy and large fellow. There was a cruel sneer on his dirty features. "Then I say we help thaw 'er out, aye!" he shouted, his words joined by accompanying "aye's" from his mates.
He was silenced with a studious glare from the pirate with the pistol. There was a frown on his face. "There'll be none of that whil—" he started, but was drowned out by the sound of a woman's voice from down the hall.
"Mademoiselle Brideau! Vous devez éviter ces hommes! Courez, Mademoiselle!" Florette shrieked, her words followed by the pounding of feet on the floor.
Vivien watched as the pirates exchanged a surprised look between them as Florette latched onto her arm, trying to pull her away. Still, though, her feet refused to move, and she merely stumbled slightly to the side. Her eyes were wide with fear as a new realization came upon her. Now the men knew her last name. They knew who she was.
Florette was pulling frantically at her. "Mademoiselle Brideau, courez rapidement!" she hissed hysterically, and tugged Vivien so hard she nearly fell backwards. She supposed they looked rather ridiculous, a lady frozen stiff and her maid trying to haul her out of danger.
Someone cleared their throat loudly, and both women froze to turn and stare at the pirates. The one with the gun looked rather pleased, and he addressed them both with much flourish, sword waving wildly as his pistol stayed locked on them.
"My ladies, if you'd be so kind as to stop panicking. You aren't going anywhere as I have a rather important matter to discuss with Mademoiselle Brideau here," he almost crowed with delight, a delighted smirk showing golden teeth.
Florette pulled Vivien up and steadied her slightly, a frown on her face. That was when Vivien realized the woman had never learned English, and no doubt had no idea what the pirate was saying. So, ignoring the man, she took her mistresses arm and began to pull her away from the pirates, shouting, "Laissez! Laissez!" at the men. Vivien, of course, was much too terrified to move, much less walk.
And the final straw came when the pirate frowned and cocked his weapon resolutely. "Nay. Stay where you are, lass," he deadpanned. The men behind him inched forward, ready to spring to at a moment's notice. Vivien literally trembled. Florette swore in French. The pirates advanced.
Quite abruptly, with the threat of death hanging over her, Vivien found she couldn't take it. She just wasn't built for such stress.
So she fainted
--
French Translations:
Pauvres cher – poor dear
Vous devez éviter ces hommes! – loosely translated as: 'you must get away from those men!'
Courez! – run!
Courez rapidement! – run quickly!
Laissez – Leave!
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--Cayenne Pepper Powder