Here’s the first scene when Mercedes and Edmond meet, quite by chance. No romance, just fish vending.
A whistle, shrill, cut across my reverie. I was near a ship docked by the pier, a ship called the Pharaon. A group of sailors gathered around a group of barrels on the shore, as though they were taking a break from the unloading. They were an interesting batch, slightly crumpled and unshaven, some unsteady on their legs. Obviously they had been at sea for some time.
The piercing whistle sounded again from one of the younger ones. He sized me up as though he might eat me. I was no wilting flower, although my cheeks warmed with embarrassment. I set my jaw, held my head high, and prepared to snub them walking past. It was what any self respecting Catalan woman would do when confronted with a group of French sailors.
“Madamoiselle,” said the whistler, “Pray, do not break my heart. Don’t ignore me. Come and talk to me.” His fellows laughed at him and at me.
He was forward, and part of me grudgingly respected that. I stopped. “Your heart is probably made of stronger stuff than you give it credit for,” I countered. More laughter. I smiled at the jovial fellows against my better judgment again.
“You are a cruel, cruel mistress,” the sailor said, his hand covering his chest. “A beauty like you, to dismiss me out of hand.”
I had no quick come back for that, deciding that now would be a good time to be quiet and walk by. I masked my smile and turned my back to them. “It’s no good, Jean, to address a high handed Spaniard.” Think what they would, I thought. I was on my way.
A bellow sounded from in front of me. “Mr. Valmont!” I followed the voice. For such a young man, such a loud voice came from him. He was dressed in sailor blues, silver buttons, and black shoes with silver buckles. Clearly he was in charge of the crew, as they scrambled, trying to busy themselves, trying to not look as though they were talking to me. I smirked, amused by their discomfort. He came toward me as he barked at his crew. “Your orders were to unload these goods, and I find you harassing women on the street.”
“We’re sorry, Sir,” said Valmont, my would-be lover. I covered my mouth so they wouldn’t see my giggles. It would have been rude to enjoy their discomfort so much.
“You certainly will be.” The young man’s eyes flashed angrily, as his voice chilled to a quiet tone. “First of all, all of you will apologize to this young lady for your impertinence.”
A chorus of apologies erupted from the crew, their words stumbling over each. Who was the young man who could command such immediate obedience from such a rough and tumble group? His dark eyes looked at me solidly, scrutinizing me. “I apologize for these ruffians,” he said sincerely. “They were going home this afternoon, but I believe they can stay with the ship for a few hours longer this evening.”
A collective groan sounded. I shook my head. “Men should not be separated from their wives and sweethearts after a long time away merely because one of them is kind enough to praise me.” Was that really what I wanted to say? Yes. No harm had come of Valmont’s words except my discomfort.
Valmont’s hands rolled around his hat, which he had removed. “Not only a beautiful lady, but a compassionate one,” he said.
He who was in charge narrowed his eyes. “The ice you stand on is thin enough, Valmont.”
“Sir,” said one of the other men, “since when has it been forbidden to praise a beautiful woman?”
“You mistake this lady,” he said, “for something she is not. Madamoiselle,” he said to me, “if I may have the honor of asking your name?”
His manners were fine indeed. I felt my cheeks warm again. “I am Mercedes Mondego,” I said softly. “I am from the Catalans.”
“Those are fine fish you are carrying, Madamoiselle Mondego,” said he. “I am Edmond Dantes, the first officer of the Pharaon, and alas, irresponsible enough to leave my crew unsupervised so that they might harass you.”
“Please,” I said, “no harm was done whatsoever. They have apologized and I have forgiven them. Let them complete their tasks and go home.”
“Only because you ask,” said Dantes. “You lot,” he yelled, “get to it! Mr. Valmont, I will hold you personally responsible if these barrels are not at Morrel and Sons in one hour. You will not like it if I do.”
They began to work. He watched them, but talked to me. “I apologize again for the crew,” he said.
“Well,” I smiled at him. “At least they have good taste, if they are inelegant in their technique.”
He smiled at that and it changed him. His face softened, although his eyes were still wise. “I must find some way to make good with you.”
“Perhaps,” I said, sensing an opportunity, “you know someone who could use a very large fish for this evening’s supper? Or two?”
“I do,” he said. Over my shoulder, he called to the ship. “Is Andre still here?”
“Aye, Sir,” a burly man yelled over the edge of the ship. Voices echoed back in the ship and a young boy ran down the gang plank, freckles and sandy hair, thin.
“Yes Sir,” said the boy.
“Please escort this young lady to M. Morrel and then return right here.”
“M. Morrel?” I asked.
“My employer,” said Dantes. “The man who owns the Pharaon. Mention my name. I assure you, he’ll be happy to buy your fish.”
“You are kind,” I said. I meant it. He had impressed me with his responsibility, even if the infringement upon me was slight. “I hope we meet again, M. Dantes.”
“I share the same hope, Madamoiselle.” He left me in the company of Andre, calling, “Shore up that rope! Steady with that crate!” as he returned to work, watching the sailors carefully lower a crate onto the dock.
