Chapter 26
May, 1812 – Rio de Janeiro
As the French legions overran Iberia, the royal court of Portugal had escaped Lisbon and sailed for the relative safety of their overseas colonies.
Rio had abruptly become the capital of a major kingdom and the exiled monarchy raced to transform the town into a stately, palatine metropolis equal to its European counterparts. They were desperate to reassert royal authority, to feel noble and superior once more, and to recapture in flight an image of opulence and prosperity.
They made excessively munificent hosts, therefore, rushing to meet a wealthy guest’s every need or desire, no matter how minute or unusual, with nervous haste. Any distance was worth traveling, every modicum of effort worth expending, and no consumption was too conspicuous if the exertions meant a traveler might, on returning home from Brazil, remark to a peer that the Portuguese Empire was as rich and illustrious as ever.
Most of the city center had been expropriated by the nobility or traded to the royals in exchange for favor and titles. The Governor’s House had been converted into a new Royal Palace with the hasty addition of a third floor and a throneroom.
The parties were lavish, the fashions were splendid, the food was exquisite, and the captivating Madame de Ville-Chanceuse promptly became a popular guest for every occasion. Adelaide had made herself instantly famous at a ball celebrating Tryphena’s astounding victory, acting without the slightest glimmer of restraint or embarrassment, an object of fascination, gossip, sex appeal, and speculation. She had woken the next morning in a heavy haze to find a crowd of messengers and a stack of invitations.
But poor battle-scarred Tryphena had to be stripped for a much-needed refit and all but her most essential personnel were sent ashore or to receiving-ships to berth in the interim. There was no room for Adelaide amongst the carpenters and no money for private lodgings, but an alternative had quickly presented itself.
Hermes Allen had come to Brazil with an American diplomatic delegation, traveling aboard Trimalchio, one of the U.S. Navy’s hefty new warships. Allen maintained a large passenger-cabin as his studio and was all too happy to make space for his favorite muse.
It was a fortuitous association. The men from the British consulate and their parcel of soldiers, who had been watching Adelaide intently throughout the victory celebrations, suddenly began to keep their distance. Allen’s delegation had been sent to foster good relations and Adelaide now found herself traveling among some of Rio’s most honored guests.
While Captain Muir and his men struggled with their repairs and fought with corrupt dockyard officials, Adelaide toured the city with the Americans, viewing the strange tropical flora or one of the displaced monarchy’s ambitious new engineering projects. They traveled by hired coach and refreshments were provided at every station.
The carriages were cramped and rarely comfortable for guests of their size. Allen was at least as heavy as Adelaide, though a good deal taller. Captain Adams of Trimalchio had grown much too portly for the strained buttons of his uniform and the captain’s wife, who had accompanied him on the voyage, was a prim but pudgy woman. The foursome rode stuffed into the carriage together, jiggling and apologizing as it jostled about.
They were carted through the brand-new royal botanical garden, they were rowed around the Island of Snakes, they were hauled up to the peak of Corcovado, and they were led along the beach at Ipanema.
Any weariness on the part of their guides evaporated at the sight of Adelaide’s awestruck gaze and the sound of her delighted laughter. She beheld every landmark with genuine wonder and a torrent of fascinated questions. Even the carriage’s unusually exhausted horses seemed gratified.
The only eyes that did not light up at her passing were those of the captive Captain Aubert. As an officer he had been given a limited parole and could walk the town at his leisure, though always with a guard of British marines. He would fix Adelaide with a long glare, but she would take another bite of guava and pay him no mind.
On most weekdays the Americans would eventually return to the harbor and their enormous ship. The captain’s barge would be submerged nearly to its gunwales by the party’s combined weight and the oarsmen would be purple and gasping by the time they pulled alongside Trimalchio.
Captain Adams, despite his bulk, could still clamber up to the deck on his own as smartly as any seasoned mariner, but his wife and Mr. Allen would wait to be hoisted aloft in a boatswain’s chair like so much cargo. Adelaide, intent on impressing the Trimalchios with the skills she’d learned aboard Tryphena, would make a commendable effort to heave herself up but would invariably require the help of a few powerful hands.
Once safely aboard they would be served a sumptuous dinner in the captain’s cabin. Adams had not sailed with a private cook of his own, but Allen’s wealth had snapped up the services of Sophrosyne’s former chef. Tryphena’s drafty cabin and its tasteless hardtack quickly became distant memories.
They would finally retire, thoroughly sated, to their respective quarters, there to be overcome by glutted drowsiness. On some evenings, though, an inspired Hermes Allen would bid Adelaide pose for a new portrait, depicting her now as Helen, now as Sappho, now as Lysistrata. He would eagerly uncover his easel; she would eagerly uncover her glowing figure.
But on weekends or special occasions—and there were many special occasions in Rio—the delegation would receive an invitation from one of the noble houses. An exiled lord would request the honor of their attendance at a garden-party on his estate. A newly-minted baron would beg them to join him in a celebration at his recently purchased manor.
“A full-course dinner will be provided,” read Allen, squinting at the letter over his breakfast. “More eggs, my dear?”
“Urrp,” said Adelaide.
“I believe I shall visit a tailor beforehand,” Captain Adams agreed, unfastening his waistband. “Madame, I remember you mentioned needing a new dress…”
Adelaide nodded. She reached for the toast, but the plate was an inch too far and she couldn’t muster the energy to sit up.
“…and you, sweetheart? Would you like something, ah, roomier from the dressmakers?”
“No,” lied Mrs. Adams. “Unlike you wastrels, I have been able to practice moderation and temperance.”
She practiced neither that night at the baron’s ball, however. They weren’t halfway through the meal before she’d filled up on so much mondongo her dress had split down the middle. Only a hurried folding of her arms prevented the table from seeing her bare bosom.
Fortunately she had been seated beside Adelaide, no stranger to such experiences, who sent a servant for a shawl, some festive ribbon, and another round of caipirinha.
The dinner dragged on and on. Music began to fill the ballroom and couples began rising from their seats, but despite several offers from handsome suitors neither Adelaide nor Mrs. Adams demurred to dance. Captain Adams wandered off to gladhand with the baron and Allen slunk away to flirt with the baron’s zaftig wife.
“The most fun I’ve had since we left Baltimore,” Mrs. Adams shouted, again.
Adelaide sat back and watched the elegant dance that had coalesced. As the partners clasped hands, she clasped hers to her gurgling stomach. As they traipsed about in their swirling rings, she massaged her taut flesh in soothing spirals. As they leapt fancifully to a sudden flutter in the music, her paunch bounced with a sudden belch.
While she watched the dancers, two stiff, uniformed men watched her from the mezzanine.
“We should have arrested her as soon as she waddled ashore,” growled one. “My men could have brought her to the consulate that very day. We could have her back in London by now, telling us everything and anything we could want to know.”
“Lower your voice, man.”
He didn’t. “The longer we let her roam free like this, the more harm she can do. The prince regent’s most recent proposals for sending regiments to Spain have already leaked. The French knew of the numbers almost before we did.”
“We can’t simply arrest her.”
“She is an enemy agent! I am certain of it.”
“She is also a guest of our allies…a very public guest. And these are allies we cannot dare to offend. And now she’s under the protection of these bloody Americans. We can’t afford a diplomatic incident with them. Tensions are high enough…they could declare war at any moment. I think neither of us wants to be responsible for that.”
The first man sighed. “Damn it all, she’s good. She knew just how to position herself.” He shook his head. “I say, you would hardly guess she could be such a master of espionage and intrigue by simply looking at her. I suppose that’s part of the genius.”
A rending crack interrupted the music. Adelaide had leaned too far back and her chair had given out beneath her. A crowd rushed to her aid, but that famous laughter assured them all she was unharmed.
“But this beguiling ‘cover’ may also provide us our opportunity,” murmured the other agent. “Tell our men to leave her be.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“Quite. Let it be known: Ville-Chanceuse is to be allowed every conceivable liberty…she is to be made as comfortable as possible.” He smiled. “Too comfortable. Then, once our political constraints are lifted…we’ll have her right here in our grasp.”
May, 1812 – Rio de Janeiro
As the French legions overran Iberia, the royal court of Portugal had escaped Lisbon and sailed for the relative safety of their overseas colonies.
Rio had abruptly become the capital of a major kingdom and the exiled monarchy raced to transform the town into a stately, palatine metropolis equal to its European counterparts. They were desperate to reassert royal authority, to feel noble and superior once more, and to recapture in flight an image of opulence and prosperity.
They made excessively munificent hosts, therefore, rushing to meet a wealthy guest’s every need or desire, no matter how minute or unusual, with nervous haste. Any distance was worth traveling, every modicum of effort worth expending, and no consumption was too conspicuous if the exertions meant a traveler might, on returning home from Brazil, remark to a peer that the Portuguese Empire was as rich and illustrious as ever.
Most of the city center had been expropriated by the nobility or traded to the royals in exchange for favor and titles. The Governor’s House had been converted into a new Royal Palace with the hasty addition of a third floor and a throneroom.
The parties were lavish, the fashions were splendid, the food was exquisite, and the captivating Madame de Ville-Chanceuse promptly became a popular guest for every occasion. Adelaide had made herself instantly famous at a ball celebrating Tryphena’s astounding victory, acting without the slightest glimmer of restraint or embarrassment, an object of fascination, gossip, sex appeal, and speculation. She had woken the next morning in a heavy haze to find a crowd of messengers and a stack of invitations.
But poor battle-scarred Tryphena had to be stripped for a much-needed refit and all but her most essential personnel were sent ashore or to receiving-ships to berth in the interim. There was no room for Adelaide amongst the carpenters and no money for private lodgings, but an alternative had quickly presented itself.
Hermes Allen had come to Brazil with an American diplomatic delegation, traveling aboard Trimalchio, one of the U.S. Navy’s hefty new warships. Allen maintained a large passenger-cabin as his studio and was all too happy to make space for his favorite muse.
It was a fortuitous association. The men from the British consulate and their parcel of soldiers, who had been watching Adelaide intently throughout the victory celebrations, suddenly began to keep their distance. Allen’s delegation had been sent to foster good relations and Adelaide now found herself traveling among some of Rio’s most honored guests.
While Captain Muir and his men struggled with their repairs and fought with corrupt dockyard officials, Adelaide toured the city with the Americans, viewing the strange tropical flora or one of the displaced monarchy’s ambitious new engineering projects. They traveled by hired coach and refreshments were provided at every station.
The carriages were cramped and rarely comfortable for guests of their size. Allen was at least as heavy as Adelaide, though a good deal taller. Captain Adams of Trimalchio had grown much too portly for the strained buttons of his uniform and the captain’s wife, who had accompanied him on the voyage, was a prim but pudgy woman. The foursome rode stuffed into the carriage together, jiggling and apologizing as it jostled about.
They were carted through the brand-new royal botanical garden, they were rowed around the Island of Snakes, they were hauled up to the peak of Corcovado, and they were led along the beach at Ipanema.
Any weariness on the part of their guides evaporated at the sight of Adelaide’s awestruck gaze and the sound of her delighted laughter. She beheld every landmark with genuine wonder and a torrent of fascinated questions. Even the carriage’s unusually exhausted horses seemed gratified.
The only eyes that did not light up at her passing were those of the captive Captain Aubert. As an officer he had been given a limited parole and could walk the town at his leisure, though always with a guard of British marines. He would fix Adelaide with a long glare, but she would take another bite of guava and pay him no mind.
On most weekdays the Americans would eventually return to the harbor and their enormous ship. The captain’s barge would be submerged nearly to its gunwales by the party’s combined weight and the oarsmen would be purple and gasping by the time they pulled alongside Trimalchio.
Captain Adams, despite his bulk, could still clamber up to the deck on his own as smartly as any seasoned mariner, but his wife and Mr. Allen would wait to be hoisted aloft in a boatswain’s chair like so much cargo. Adelaide, intent on impressing the Trimalchios with the skills she’d learned aboard Tryphena, would make a commendable effort to heave herself up but would invariably require the help of a few powerful hands.
Once safely aboard they would be served a sumptuous dinner in the captain’s cabin. Adams had not sailed with a private cook of his own, but Allen’s wealth had snapped up the services of Sophrosyne’s former chef. Tryphena’s drafty cabin and its tasteless hardtack quickly became distant memories.
They would finally retire, thoroughly sated, to their respective quarters, there to be overcome by glutted drowsiness. On some evenings, though, an inspired Hermes Allen would bid Adelaide pose for a new portrait, depicting her now as Helen, now as Sappho, now as Lysistrata. He would eagerly uncover his easel; she would eagerly uncover her glowing figure.
But on weekends or special occasions—and there were many special occasions in Rio—the delegation would receive an invitation from one of the noble houses. An exiled lord would request the honor of their attendance at a garden-party on his estate. A newly-minted baron would beg them to join him in a celebration at his recently purchased manor.
“A full-course dinner will be provided,” read Allen, squinting at the letter over his breakfast. “More eggs, my dear?”
“Urrp,” said Adelaide.
“I believe I shall visit a tailor beforehand,” Captain Adams agreed, unfastening his waistband. “Madame, I remember you mentioned needing a new dress…”
Adelaide nodded. She reached for the toast, but the plate was an inch too far and she couldn’t muster the energy to sit up.
“…and you, sweetheart? Would you like something, ah, roomier from the dressmakers?”
“No,” lied Mrs. Adams. “Unlike you wastrels, I have been able to practice moderation and temperance.”
She practiced neither that night at the baron’s ball, however. They weren’t halfway through the meal before she’d filled up on so much mondongo her dress had split down the middle. Only a hurried folding of her arms prevented the table from seeing her bare bosom.
Fortunately she had been seated beside Adelaide, no stranger to such experiences, who sent a servant for a shawl, some festive ribbon, and another round of caipirinha.
The dinner dragged on and on. Music began to fill the ballroom and couples began rising from their seats, but despite several offers from handsome suitors neither Adelaide nor Mrs. Adams demurred to dance. Captain Adams wandered off to gladhand with the baron and Allen slunk away to flirt with the baron’s zaftig wife.
“The most fun I’ve had since we left Baltimore,” Mrs. Adams shouted, again.
Adelaide sat back and watched the elegant dance that had coalesced. As the partners clasped hands, she clasped hers to her gurgling stomach. As they traipsed about in their swirling rings, she massaged her taut flesh in soothing spirals. As they leapt fancifully to a sudden flutter in the music, her paunch bounced with a sudden belch.
While she watched the dancers, two stiff, uniformed men watched her from the mezzanine.
“We should have arrested her as soon as she waddled ashore,” growled one. “My men could have brought her to the consulate that very day. We could have her back in London by now, telling us everything and anything we could want to know.”
“Lower your voice, man.”
He didn’t. “The longer we let her roam free like this, the more harm she can do. The prince regent’s most recent proposals for sending regiments to Spain have already leaked. The French knew of the numbers almost before we did.”
“We can’t simply arrest her.”
“She is an enemy agent! I am certain of it.”
“She is also a guest of our allies…a very public guest. And these are allies we cannot dare to offend. And now she’s under the protection of these bloody Americans. We can’t afford a diplomatic incident with them. Tensions are high enough…they could declare war at any moment. I think neither of us wants to be responsible for that.”
The first man sighed. “Damn it all, she’s good. She knew just how to position herself.” He shook his head. “I say, you would hardly guess she could be such a master of espionage and intrigue by simply looking at her. I suppose that’s part of the genius.”
A rending crack interrupted the music. Adelaide had leaned too far back and her chair had given out beneath her. A crowd rushed to her aid, but that famous laughter assured them all she was unharmed.
“But this beguiling ‘cover’ may also provide us our opportunity,” murmured the other agent. “Tell our men to leave her be.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“Quite. Let it be known: Ville-Chanceuse is to be allowed every conceivable liberty…she is to be made as comfortable as possible.” He smiled. “Too comfortable. Then, once our political constraints are lifted…we’ll have her right here in our grasp.”
