The Lies the Papers Told
Destiny’s Revenge commented on Aurelia’s absence or sudden return, which meant all had gone exactly according to plan. They assumed she’d been working for Copson and causing trouble in Calais after he’d finally turned over a noblewoman they’d heard little of and had never actually seen on board. Few cared if she’d ever existed at all, or if she merely hid among them—besides, there were enough pirates escaping awful pasts to care if a sad little rich girl was doing the same.
They only knew Rebecca Rowe.
At port, they spread word that Copson had recruited her in the spring after repeated attempts to get her to join his crew, since she was well liked and a formidable pirate. They said she fought valiantly against the French when they attacked Copson’s fleet in the Caribbean, and the crew had also discovered she’d battled Copson himself when he went mad with siren sickness.
And no one bested the immortal captain—no one but the woman he was said to love.
There was no moment anyone could point to as the one the notorious pirate fell in love with her. There was conjecture it was when she solved the final riddle to find Robin’s legendary treasure, or it might’ve been the day she was rumored to have won a game of poker against Copson and four infamous pirate kings he was known to associate with.
Many from Copson’s crew shared a story about a mermaid who’d stolen Rebecca’s voice to seduce the captain, and they said that’s when they first suspected Copson’s feelings. If anyone had any doubts, they vanished when the captain supposedly killed a man who touched her, and then he saved her after she went overboard in a storm. The couple survived to tell the tale—and began living together.
And then Rebecca Rowe killed Aurelia Danby in a fit of jealous rage after Copson stole her—again—from her royal wedding. The French said it was Copson who’d killed her, but the English liked the money from the captain’s stories and happily took the tales the pirates spread, which was that Copson’s lover had pulled the trigger.
After all, a woman pirate killing a lady was far more palatable, which made Copson still interesting as a murderer, but not a lady-killer. And with a fearsome woman at his side, he became much more romantic to the newspapers’ readers, and sales increased as ladies of all social stations began to giggle and wonder what it must be like to love such a wicked man.
People might not have talked about the murder so much or so quickly had the captain not sailed the Destiny’s Revenge through the Dover Strait. Witnesses in both Dover and Calais recognized the storied ship, and it immediately piqued interest—especially as Prince Pierre’s ship quickly left the harbor in Calais. At first, people thought there would be a battle, but only after the ships had sailed away did they realize Copson had stolen it altogether, and had done so rather easily after infiltrating the military in Calais while everyone thought he was in Africa.
Days later, his crew spread word that he and his lover—or wife, depending on who told the story—had renamed the prince’s ship. No one could say which of them had chosen the name, but the public agreed it was the most horrific, blatantly offensive thing they’d ever heard.
The Aurelia.
As though it wasn’t enough for them to steal and murder, they also reminded the public of the horrendous thing they’d done and paraded it through the Atlantic, mocking the French, English, and everyone who’d heard reports of Aurelia Danby’s abduction and prayed for her safe return.
It was tasteless. Horrible. And it sold thousands of papers.
There were other reports, which were not as widely read or cared much about since they were about the French king’s fourth son. Royal diamonds and jewels and small, priceless items had been taken from his home in what seemed like a grand robbery. That might have been bad enough, but copies of the prince’s financial records were also made public, revealing extensive gambling debts, embezzlement from the crown, and other misdeeds. One of the most embarrassing was a record of treatment after Captain Copson shot the prince in the Caribbean.
After hearing of this, along with how he’d paraded former mistresses and his illegitimate children in front of his now-dead fiancée at a party, the public couldn’t help but wonder if maybe he’d deserved to be shot in the church.
Such was the state of Pierre’s home—and the people who lived there—that blame for these mortifying revelations spread among his friends and lovers in spectacular fashion. Each of the prince’s friends blamed the others for a multitude of reasons until they fled to new cities where they could start over in peace.
They would have no peace, however, as details of their secrets spread through French papers to humiliate them no matter where they went. And no one was more humiliated than the prince who’d wrecked his own home and twice lost his bride to a vindictive pirate.
Meanwhile, the Danbys hid in their home and did not attend any parties for the shame of their peers discovering the depth of their neglect toward a daughter few knew existed. The papers mentioned them specifically as the parents of the girl who’d been stolen, and the family name began to appear next to the prince’s as his gross affairs were made public.
“Poor girl is better off dead,” many said, “than with a family who loves her so little.”
Word also spread about Copson scolding them on that dreadful wedding day, and with the knowledge of how much the pirate seemed to hate the family, no one wished to do business with them, lest the captain discover it and ruin them too.
But their anxiety was in vain, as Captain Copson and Rebecca Rowe cared little for the gossip and vanity of society. Their only interests were in what they might take from those who ruled proper society, and the ensuing entertainment.
After the death of Aurelia Danby, no one knew for certain where the pirates sailed. Many suggested they went to North Africa, or that they were pilfering the West Indies. Perhaps they stayed in Europe, or followed Atlantic trade routes to rob cargo ships and other pirates.
But as things of this nature often were, the fantasy was more exciting than the truth.