by Erica Vetsch
“I’d best go with him. No man of my acquaintance has ever been able to shop from a woman’s list and get it right.” Mrs. Chapman tugged at her apron strings. “If you are agreeable, that is.”
The woman was probably used to operating without much oversight, having run Primrose Cottage for so long. He admired her initiative, wishing some of it would rub off on his steward.
“Very well.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew several gold coins. “Use what you need, keep an account, and return the rest to me.”
Mrs. Chapman’s brows rose, and she took the coins, letting then clink in her hand. “Surely this is far too much?”
“I’ll confess I have no idea of the cost of provisions. I left all that to my quartermaster and victualing officer, and the navy paid for it all.”
“Don’t you wish me to hand this over to Mr. Grayson to keep an accounting?” She stared at the coins as if she’d never seen so much money in one place before.
“No. I trust you to see that it’s well spent.”
“Would you also do me a favor, Mrs. Chapman?” Lady Sophia withdrew an envelope from her pocket. “Would you take this letter to the village and post it for me? I promised to write home regularly. If the duke doesn’t hear from me soon, he’ll be down here to investigate.”
“Of course, milady. I’ll do it first thing.”
Charles felt a bit like a herding dog, getting everyone outside. Mrs. Chapman set off with Grayson in a trap pulled by a shaggy gray horse with feet the size of portholes. The housekeeper wore a proud, determined look as she clutched Lady Sophia’s letter in one hand and her reticule in the other. Grayson seemed a bit down at the mouth being forced to run errands in the village rather than accompany them about the estate.
After being cooped up inside all morning, Charles wanted to strike out briskly across the open grass, but with the women along, particularly Lady Richardson and Betsy, he was forced to shorten his steps and reduce his speed. He’d elected to go bareheaded because the only hat he possessed was his naval bicorn complete with cockade, which would look ridiculous with his civilian garb. If he were forced to be on land for very long, he’d have to consult a haberdasher.
Please, God, don’t make me stay on land. Perhaps even now a command was opening up and Admiral Barrington was drafting his orders. Might he be back aboard a ship within a fortnight? Or at the very least, in Portsmouth seeing to the preparations needed to get his ship seaworthy and provisioned?
A sense of urgency dogged his steps, and he organized his tasks in his mind.
First, he needed to get the estate on a solid footing with a reliable man in charge. It was not looking as if Grayson would be that man. Should he inquire in the village, or should he send farther afield? He cast his mind to officers he had served with who were now retired. Might one be suitable?
While searching for the right man, he also needed to sort out the situation with the Pembroke girls. Should he take on the duty as their guardian in his uncle’s stead? If so, he would be responsible for providing them with an education and a safe place to live. The well-being of three young ladies was a serious task for which he felt totally unequipped. Still, with the proper boarding school, they might well flourish.
Lady Sophia stopped to listen to something Betsy was saying, reminding him that he had another responsibility. He had promised to see Lady Sophia and Lady Richardson installed in a cottage by the sea. It was a debt he must pay as quickly as possible. They had already sacrificed enough for him. He felt as if a clock ticked in the back of his mind, held by Rich. Beyond a certain date, Charles would officially be considered lax in fulfilling his promise to look after Sophie.
Debts delayed were debts betrayed.
As helpful as it was to have Lady Sophia, Lady Richardson, and Mrs. Chapman here at Gateshead taking care of the house and the girls, he mustn’t presume upon them any longer than he had to. He must be careful, because the longer he spent with Lady Sophia, the more his heart was in danger.
God, what is it You require? Each time I think I cannot possibly bear up under yet another responsibility or change, one leaps at me like a fish from a net. I long for order and clarity, but both elude me. Why won’t You make Your demands plain to me?
Thea quartered like a ship tacking against the wind. She was as restless as the sea. Had he ever possessed that much energy? His sailing masters had probably thought so once upon a time. He felt ancient beside Thea’s youthful vitality.
Penny and Lady Richardson walked side by side, the older woman’s arm tucked through Penny’s elbow. Charles had never known his grandmothers, but if he could pick one, he would make her just like Lady Richardson. Kind. Wise. Gentle.
Young Penny made him uneasy. If Thea could be believed, this girl on the cusp of womanhood was much enamored of the male gender. Returning her to an all-girls’ school took on a new urgency.
As they neared the cliff, he put his fingers to his lips and let out a piercing whistle. Thea skidded to a halt and looked over her shoulder.
He beckoned her.
She jogged back, eyes full of questions. Sunshine highlighted the freckles on her face, and wisps of red hair played about her temples and cheeks.
“Until I’ve had an opportunity to investigate the stability of that cliff and the staircase leading to the beach, I want you to stay away from the edge.”
“But we are going down there, aren’t we?” She turned so the breeze would blow into her face. “Sophie promised we could go down to the ocean.”
“That is my intention, but not until I am certain it is safe.” He put his finger under her chin until she was looking right at him. “You will stay here until I give you leave to move, understood?”
She lifted her chin from his touch and snapped a cheeky salute. “Aye, aye, Captain.”
Someone really should curb her insubordination. When it came time to choose a school, perhaps he should inquire into their discipline regimen. She needed to be taken in hand.
He approached the cliff, wary but unafraid. The ground seemed stable enough here, with a worn path cutting toward the edge. Some sort of daisy-like flower danced on the breeze in the tall grass, and he was reminded of the unkempt garden behind Primrose Cottage.
Sophie’s favorite place.
Why did it please him that his new property exhibited some of the same traits as the place she loved? God willing, he wouldn’t be here long enough to enjoy it, which meant Lady Sophia would not either.
At the cliff edge, a wooden platform and staircase jutted out. The staircase turned back on itself three times before ending on the sand far below. Charles had a good head for heights, having learned to climb the ratlines of a sailing ship at a young age, but he approached the first landing with care.
Like everything on the estate, the steps were in need of repair. They cupped and curled, separating from the nails holding them to the stringers. Salt air and sunshine were hard on wood. The railing seemed sturdy enough, but a thorough inspection and restoration were in order for the entire structure. Hopefully, the small village would boast a carpenter fit for the job. Finding one would be a task for his new steward.
The cove lay before him, two long arms of land arcing out in an embrace. At the base of the cliff, in the center of the arc, a long pier jutted into the water, and a sloop rocked gently alongside. The boat he’d been told about. She would bear some investigation. Near the foot of the pier, a covered shed listed, in worse condition than the staircase. Charles made his way down to the beach, pausing for a moment to listen and inhale. Brine, wet sand, fresh air, seabirds, the slap of water against a hull.
Peace.
Remembering the ladies waiting atop the cliff, he studied the rough face. He found several places where the rock had given way and crashed to the beach, leaving piles and shards of rubble. Closer to the water, the shore was smooth-packed sand with a few pebbles. No evidence that the rock falls reached the sea. Ribbons of seaweed marked where the tide had pushed in. The ladies shou
ld be safe enough as long as they stayed away from the cliff face.
When he reached the top once more, he found the girls seated in a circle on the grass. Lady Richardson showed Betsy and Penny how to braid daisy stems into a wreath. Thea lay back on the grass, limbs askew, like a rag doll.
“That one looks like a badger.” She pointed to a cloud. “And that one looks like a squashed pillow.”
“I rather thought that one looked like the Prince Regent.” Lady Sophia shielded her eyes against the afternoon sun. “How was your climb? Are we permitted to go down?”
“The stairs are safe enough, though we’ll have to take care. Once we’re on the sand, you must all stay away from the cliff itself. There have been a few rock falls, though I don’t know how recent.” He offered her his hand and helped her rise. “Miss Thea, you will go down with me, holding my hand the entire time. Lady Sophia, if you will take Betsy?”
Penny helped Lady Richardson to her feet and nodded to Charles that she understood that she would aid the elderly woman.
Thea talked the entire way, asking questions and not waiting for answers before heading in a new direction with another query. He was reminded of her sister’s claim that Thea’s tongue was hinged in the middle. Once they were on the sand, Charles let go of Thea’s hand, and she made straight for the water.
“Can you swim?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I’ve never tried.” Her words drifted back over her shoulder.
“Then until you learn how, don’t get wet. I’m not in the mood to rescue you.” Swimming lessons. Girls who lived by the sea should know how to swim in case of an emergency.
He paused. These girls didn’t live by the sea. They were merely guests here until he could find a school to take them.
“Can I at least look for shells?” She planted her fists on her skinny waist, tilting her head as if exasperated with his strictures.
“As long as they’re on the beach and not in the water, be my guest.” With the rest of the ladies now safely on the sand, he headed toward the boat. At last, an environment in which he could feel at ease. Being with women, regardless of age, was well outside his comfort.
The sloop, the Shearwater, named after the seabird, he supposed, rocked gently on its mooring lines, stern facing the shore. Someone must care for the boat, because it was the first thing on the estate in decent repair. The sails were furled tightly and tied properly, and the ropes all looked fairly new. Someone had spent some time sanding and caulking the deck. The lines fastening the boat to the pier were long enough to allow the boat to rise with the tide when it came in. Whoever the caretaker was, Charles sensed it wasn’t Grayson. Nothing about the man spoke of ability around boats.
Burlap bags filled with straw or grass lined the edge of the dock to keep the boat from hitting the pilings. He hauled on a mooring line and pulled the sloop close before stepping over the padding and onto the deck. Tight, well-kept rigging and a sturdy mast, and when he looked into the bilges, very little water sloshed around. A trickle of excitement went through him. Perhaps if he were here long enough, he could take her out for a quick sail, just to get the feel of her. It had been a long time since he’d handled the tiller on a boat of this size.
The seas were calm, and the boat rocked only slightly, but he had no trouble keeping his balance. She was a trim little craft. He would enjoy sailing her in the coming days.
The boat shed looked a different situation. Listing slightly, with rafters showing in places where the shake shingles had blown or rotted off, the weathered boards looked fit for a bonfire. He climbed out of the sloop and headed back up the pier. The door to the boat shed creaked and dragged in an arc along the floor. Shafts of sunlight poked through the holes near the peak of the roof, but the corners and under the eaves remained in shadow. The smell of dank burlap and wet rope greeted him.
So did a pair of yellow eyes. He froze, adjusting to the gloom, trying to make out what it could be that stared at him so intently.
From a perch high in one corner, a large owl studied him. Two tufts of feathers stood up on his head, looking like ears and giving him a decidedly stern visage.
Charles exhaled. He would give the fellow a wide berth. No point in disturbing him. A quick poke around the shed told him that whatever it had been used for in the past, it was empty now. The floor had several wear patterns and grooves, but they were old and filled with sand.
If it weren’t for the owl, he’d have the building torn down. For now, he’d leave it. The bird had clearly been using it as an abode for some time, if the condition of the floor beneath his perch was any indication.
Emerging into the sunshine, he nearly ran over Thea.
“Can I go on the boat? What’s in there? It looks ready to fall over.” She tried to edge around him, but he moved a half step to the side.
“The place is ready to fall down—therefore it isn’t safe for little girls. There’s nothing of interest in there.” He hesitated. “No, that’s not correct. I’ll let you look inside, but you have to be quiet. Not a peep, understood?”
Her brown eyes widened, and she nodded, clamping her lips shut. He guided her to stand in the doorway. Without a word, he pointed to the corner.
The golden eyes blinked, and the bird shifted a bit on his perch, his wings spreading a few inches from his body as he resettled himself.
Thea exhaled silently, her cheeks puffing out. Charles eased her back and shut the door gently, lifting it so it wouldn’t dig along the pier boards.
“That’s the biggest bird I ever saw.” Thea hopped from one foot to the other. “He’s big enough to carry me away.”
“Probably not that big.”
“What kind of bird is it?”
“It’s an owl of some sort. Let’s go see the others. You can tell them about the bird, and you can let them know he’s not to be disturbed.” He started when she put her hand in his, as trusting as … well, as a child, he supposed. The contact felt companionable.
Lady Sophia and Betsy walked, heads down, looking for shells, and Lady Richardson and Penny were well down the sand to where the cliff curved toward the sea, but they were on their way back.
When the group was assembled, Charles produced a handkerchief for the seashells. “You’ll want to boil these for a while. Otherwise, there’s a chance that whatever called it home might still be in there, and they’ll begin to stink. I’ll carry them for you, if you like.”
Sophie handed the shells over, dusting the sand from her hands. “Thank you. I’ve never gathered shells before. It’s a delightful pastime, don’t you think?”
“If you want the best shells, you should come as the first tide goes out in the morning. However”—he raised his voice so everyone could hear—“no one is to come down to the beach without an escort. Girls, you are not to come without an adult. The cliff isn’t stable, the stairs are in need of repair, and while the ocean looks calm and inviting today, it’s nothing with which you should trifle.”
“We’ll stay away from the cliff,” Penny assured him. “And we know how dangerous the sea can be.” Grief flitted across her pretty young features, and he was reminded that their father had been a boatman.
Wherever the Shearwater had gone down, it couldn’t have been too bad a wreck. The boat had been salvaged, repaired, and now looked seaworthy.
“It’s beautiful here. I hope we can come again before we have to leave.” Sophie turned to look at the horizon.
Betsy’s eyes glistened, and she buried her head in Sophie’s side. “I don’t want you to leave. And I don’t want to leave either.” Her arms came around Sophie’s legs. “I like you. Why can’t we all stay?”
Lady Sophia bent and hugged the child. “I like you, too, sweetling.”
She looked up at Charles, and he felt lower than a seabed. He needed to move on with his plans for what should happen with these girls. It wasn’t fair to leave them drifting. He knew what they wanted, but how could he give it to them?
“The ti
de is coming in. We should return to the house.”
Sophie sent him a troubled look, but she clasped Betsy’s hand, indicating that Lady Richardson and Penny should go first. The ladies trudged up the stairs with much less enthusiasm than they’d gone down. When he would have taken Thea’s hand for the return trip, she avoided him and reached for Sophie’s other hand. Her little back was stiff, and her shoes made a defiant thump on each tread.
Charles lingered to look out to sea, waiting until the girls were on the second landing before he put his foot on the bottom stair. The kerchief of shells dangled from his fingers. There was no way to make everyone happy, and he should let them know his decision sooner rather than later. God had made him a sailor, not a father figure, and it was best everyone understood that. Then he could see to fulfilling his debt to Lady Richardson and Sophie by finding them a nice cottage for the remainder of the summer.
He’d sit the girls down tonight and explain things, and he’d ask Sophie for help drafting letters to send to the best boarding schools. At least he had the money, and now the social standing, to demand the best care and education possible. God had provided the means, and Charles would employ them to see the girls cared for properly.
He paused to look once more out to sea.
He heard the rocks as they gave way, and he’d turned halfway, to look up, only to catch a rock on the head that sent him tumbling to the sand. Blackness enveloped him as the seashells slipped from his hand.
CHAPTER 8
“HE’S TOO BIG to carry. Penny, go back toward the house. Try the barn. Or the nearest cottage. See if you can find someone to help us.” Sophie held her monogrammed handkerchief to the cut on the captain’s brow. It was right at his hairline and already swelling. She tried to straighten his limbs while not moving the handkerchief, but it was awkward. Her hands shook.
“How did this happen?” Mamie asked. “It wasn’t one of us climbing the stairs who dislodged the rocks, was it?” Her hands fluttered in distress. “The poor man.”