The Nine Lives of Charlotte Taylor by Sally Armstrong Page A

quality and deeply polished. There is a good Turkish carpet on the floor and several charming paintings in the rustic style. A small fire glows in the grate, not unwelcome now, as they are wafted ever farther up the coast toward the North Atlantic Ocean.
    “What a splendid sight you are for these eyes, Mrs. Willisams.”
    “If you would call me Charlotte, commodore …”
    “If you will call me George.”
    “Thank you, George. Your kindness has deeply touched me.”
    They settle comfortably in chairs before the fire. Walker attends to the filling of their glasses with his old Madeira while Charlotte seeks better knowledge of her saviour. His fame as a British privateer was widespread, as she now knows. He was particularly remembered for valour in his engagement against the Spanish battleship
Glorioso
.
    “But the wilds of Nova Scotia? However did you come to be there?”
    “Ah, my dear. You’ve seen a little hardship already in your young life, but much more may lurk for any of us. Twenty-five years ago, in London, there was a group of exceptionally greedy and politically influential owners of a squadron of four ships. The ships together were known as the
Royal Family
and I was in command of those vessels. These owners were most injudicious—and that is the best I can say—in their handling of others’ monies. When it became clear that the company was in a state of calamitous ruin, someone had to be blamed, someone had to be made bankrupt. I was that person. Someone also had to be imprisoned for debt that wasn’t his. I was that person too. Five long years later, the House of Lords heard my case and cleared me of all charges.”
    “You were betrayed.”
    “Betrayal, my dear, is a common recourse when the loss of money is encountered. Upon my release, I sailed immediately for Nova Scotia. The King’s administrators are not always as wise as they might be or as we might like. No one in the colonial office in Halifax had any interest in the northern shores of Nova Scotia when I arrived in 1764. The fishery, of course—everyone knew it to be a trade of very great proportions. But the French settlers—have you heard of them, the Acadians?”
    “I have.”
    “They were transported by their thousands to cause us less trouble. A most unpleasant, most regrettable business. They had been firmly anchored in their Arcadia, as they called it, for a century and a half and one way and another, many came back, or other Frenchmen came in their place. His Majesty’s government saw the French peril as very real.”
    “And was it?”
    Walker stares into the fire in silence. “A bad business indeed,” he finally says. After a moment, he looks up.
    “Look, your glass is empty. This must not happen.”
    He pours, then sits back and stares into the grate.
    “It was most difficult to persuade English settlers to move into an area so distant from the populated southern regions. But as a younger man I had once been charged with the task of charting the coastal waters of my native Scotland. I established fishing posts there and settled hundreds of families. I saw a valuable prize for the taking in this New Scotland, largely despised, like the old. That is when I established the fishing station and trading post at Alston Point. It was 1768.”
    “It seems almost more than one man could do.”
    “If you live long enough, my dear Charlotte, and must work for a living, it is surprising what comes about.”
    There is a knock on the door and Harding enters holding a tray almost too wide for the door.
    “Come in, my good man, come in and set it down here. That’s it. Very good. How is everyone tonight?”
    “They are all well, sir.”
    “Very good. Have Mr. Hampton send you up with a flask of my best claret.”
    “I have it ready, sir.”
    “Good. Fetch it then.”
    Walker lifts the covers.
    “I’m a Scot by birth, Charlotte, but I love my roast beef as any Englishman.”
    “Oh, George. It looks splendid!”
    “Here. Thank