She did worry about the consequences for Betsey. Young Charles had been placed, over his great protests, with the same apothecary shop where his brother Tom was apprenticed. Betsey was the last child still at home, always her mother’s darling, and coming to that interesting age requiring the greatest guidance. Fanny dreaded leaving her to her mother’s care, at once negligent and over-partial. But Betsey had never submitted herself to Fanny’s gentle admonitions. What little influence Fanny had obtained over Betsey was lost when Fanny incurred her sister’s lasting displeasure for throwing off Mr. Gibson. Betsey still mourned his loss and resented Fanny for abandoning him. To destroy her own health and peace of mind in the vain hope of improving Betsey’s character, understanding and temperament was a sacrifice even greater than Fanny’s tender conscience could prescribe as a duty.
By way of amends for leaving, Fanny promised to send her mother every shilling she could spare out of the interest of her meagre savings. Mrs. Price was indeed willing to relinquish her daughter on those terms.
Accordingly, after almost a year and a half of patient attendance upon her mother, Fanny left for Bristol where she was greeted with great affection, and her friends promised to restore her to good health once again. She was immediately swept up into the busy concerns of the household—Mrs. Butters had a large acquaintance and most of her activities revolved around her philanthropic or political interests. The widow’s parlour was always open to her many like-minded friends who gathered to discuss, confer, argue, and eat Mrs. McIntosh’s excellent refreshments. It was a way of life which was congenial and stimulating to Fanny, particularly after the intellectual poverty of her mother’s home.
Even Mrs. Butters’ lady’s maid Madame Orly had taken up a cause that was dear to her heart—she made frequent pilgrimages to Stapleton Prison to visit the French prisoners of war. The circumstance of a Frenchwoman residing in England, wishing to bring succor to her captured countrymen, needs no apology. And Fanny was pleased to accompany Madame Orly, for she thought if she could bestow some charity upon the captive men, it would atone in some measure for her abandonment of another prisoner, a friend who was seldom out of her thoughts.
The walk to the prison, outside of Bristol, was reckoned such a pleasant one, that scores of people chose it for a weekend excursion. The grounds surrounding the prison commanded a fine view of the area. Those bold enough to pass under the arched gate set in the high stone walls could gape at the French prisoners of war confined there.
The day chosen for Fanny’s first excursion was uncommonly lovely. It was really March; but it was April in its mild air, brisk soft wind, and bright sun. Mrs. Butters had declined to join them, pleading fatigue, and Madame Orly never walked when she might ride, and the distance—two miles there and back—was too far for Fanny to accomplish as yet, so the ladies were conveyed by James McIntosh, the old coachman.
Fanny was surprised to learn from Madame Orly that the prisoners of war were permitted to hold a market for several hours every day, to sell little items of their own manufacture—carvings of wood and bone, ship’s models and the like, by which they earned a pittance to supplement their meagre rations. She resolved to carefully survey the articles for sale in the prison, and purchase anything with the appearance of usefulness or ornament.
Madame Orly’s thoughts, as became evident to Fanny, revolved around one prisoner in particular.
“Their captain, Captain Duchesne, he could have taken his parole and gone to live comfortably in some country village, but non, he declares he will not leave his men.” Madame Orly had a great deal more to say about the captain—his goodness, his gallantry, and a suspicion began to dawn on Fanny, a suspicion soon confirmed when the ladies reached the prison and were admitted, along with others, to the courtyard where the prisoners sat or walked or lounged.
Captain Hippolyte Duchesne, an elegant man of middle years, appeared at their side at the instant of their appearance in the courtyard. He greeted Madame Orly with cordiality and begged the honour of being introduced to Fanny. He expressed his eternal gratitude for the foodstuffs ladies had brought, and with an efficiency and dispatch which belied his extravagant and formal manner of speaking, attended to its distribution to the sickest and weakest of the prisoners. Then he asked to be granted the very great favour of escorting the ladies about the prisoners’ market.
The captain cut a much better figure than the regular soldiers, who gave the general impression of being dirty, ill-shaven, and idle-looking. Some glowered with resentment at their visitors, no doubt feeling themselves to be not unlike specimens in a menagerie. Some were clad only in trousers, many had no shoes, or wore only sandals fashioned out of braided straw. Their forlorn condition aroused Fanny’s compassion.
“I think their diet must be inadequate,” she exclaimed to Captain Duchesne, “Some of these men are like scarecrows.”
The captain asked to be permitted to compliment Fanny on her excellent French, and then answered, “The food supplied here is of poor quality and the rations are not generous, this is true, but my unhappy countrymen might be better clothed and better fed, save for their own improvidence. It mortifies me to acknowledge anything to the detriment of my own men, Mademoiselle Price, but these fellows will sell their food, their clothing, even their teeth, to obtain ardent spirits and tobacco. Or they will lose everything at gambling. But I cannot speak of the vices of these men before a young lady so innocent and charming. With misery and degradation,
