The Wrong Ship Came To Port

Charleston, South Carolina

July, 1803

I dressed for my daily trip to Charleston to wait for Etienne’s ship to come into port. While it’s never known when a ship from France will arrive, based on my last letter from him, and having made the trip myself, I had an idea of what the window of his arrival would be. I had not heard any reports of bad weather so at around the six-week mark, I began my vigil.

I was now heavily pregnant, and would begin my confinement soon. This made me even more anxious for my husband’s arrival. We had been apart for almost two months now, and I did not want to labor without him. I had taken to sleeping in his nightshirt while he was away, and had to hide it from my chambermaids so they wouldn’t wash his smell out of it. I simply could not wait to languish in the summer months at our home with our baby away from the hustle, bustle, and drama of Paris.

As always, my beloved Nathalie would accompany me on my day trip. If the weather was nice, we would picnic under the large oak trees and watch the harbor from the park. It was becoming increasingly difficult for me to sit and stand, so today we would probably stick to the benches and fight the persistent gulls who were always eager for a bite of food.

The journey from Belle Sur to Charleston was about an hour long, and I would typically spend that time daydreaming about my perfect family life in South Carolina. After surviving The Terror, and the whirlwind rise of Napoleon, I craved the sweet and simple life I had left behind ten years prior. I wondered if my burgeoning womb carried a boy or a girl. What would they look like? I smiled at what a wonderful father Etienne would make, and the joy that would fill our home with all of us together.

However, on this day, now the 15th day in a row I had made my pilgrimage, there was an uneasiness in the air. Ominous, even. I couldn’t put my finger on what it was, but something felt off in my world. I expressed this to Nathalie in the carriage when she noticed my pensive expression.

“Ah, that means baby will be here soon,” she said, “All mothers get very serious before their confinement. It is the mind preparing the body. Do not fret. I am sure the ship is going to arrive soon. You never can tell with the sea. Sometimes she’s slow.”

I nodded and tried to push the intrusive thoughts from my mind, but the feeling remained. Arriving in Charleston, we sat by the sea and began to unpack the food Nathalie had brought for us. While it looked and smelled wonderful, none of it appealed to me.

“Yes, baby is going to be here in a fortnight, you mark my words,” she laughed.

I feigned a smile and set my gaze on the blue horizon. The wind was light today, and the sun shone high in the sky. The last heatwave had broken, and I was glad the air was not as oppressive today.

I saw what appeared to be a battleship begin to manifest on the horizon. It’s hulking presence growing more and more recognizable as it approached. My stomach began to churn. Battleships were never a good sign in a harbor like Charleston’s. The last letter I had received from France spoke of a relatively peaceful time in Europe after Napoleon’s successful Egypt and Italian campaigns. England wasn’t at war with anyone, either.

As the ship approached port, a crowd had begun to gather to see it into the harbor. “It’s an American ship, Papa!” a little boy squealed. That was a relief. We weren’t being invaded by anyone, so this must be official business of some kind.

“It’s the S.S. Chesapeake!” I heard a young man call out.

Interesting, I mused to myself. That was quite unusual. I could now see the giant masts of the ship with its sails fluttering in the gentle breeze. The stars and stripes of the flag waved back to the crowd with a flutter. Soon a path was cleared for the Governor and other military officials to greet the ship.

I waived over a uniformed aide de camp as my heft did not allow me to wade into the growing crowd. The young man smiled at me and made his way to the bench where Nathalie and I sat. When he reached us, he took off his tricorn hat and gave a stiff bow.

“Are you in need of assistance, my lady?” he asked, not hiding his glance at my belly.

“Can you tell me why the S.S. Richmond has come to Charleston?” I asked folding my hands over my belly to persuade him to give me more information in my delicate condition.

“Yes, ma’am, a French ship exploded at sea. It is to be believed that it was an assassination attempt.”

My heart leapt into my throat as I gripped the iron arm of the bench. With my other hand, I groped for Nathalie, “An assassination attempt on whom might I ask?”

“The Duchess of Claremont and her husband the Duke of Aix,” he answered confidently.

I was glad I was sitting, because had I been standing, my knees would have buckled. I started gasping for air and looking wildly around me, “I-I-I,” I stammered. Nathalie pulled out her fan and began furiously waiving it in front of me to give me more air.

“Are you in distress ma’am? Do you need assistance?” The officer called to me, but I continued to feel as though a horse were standing on my chest. I could no longer form words. And everyone seemed so far away. Nathalie brought a cup of lemonade to my lips, but I choked on the little bit she poured into my mouth.

“This is the Duchesse de Claremont. She has been waiting for her husband to arrive from Paris for weeks. As you can see, she is expecting. We need to get her inside! She is in shock, and it can harm her and the child!”

The world began to spin before me as the aide called other officers over to assist me. When they got me to my feet, my waters broke. It’s too early, I thought to myself, as Nathalie screamed for them to pick me up and move quickly.

As I was being jostled by the officers I looked up into the crystalline blue sky, “My darling Etienne,” I whispered. My sweet Etienne was gone.

Then it all went black.