EIGHTEEN
After leaving Maddie in the care of Mrs. Carmody, Cecily returned to her family, while Lord Sunderland cancelled his plans and made himself useful. He rode to London twice in one week, applied to his friends at Court to keep him informed, and enlisted several of his colleagues in the King’s Own to keep their ears open for credible rumors. To keep Maddie distracted from her fears, he took her for walks that led them away from the docks and drives that brought them into the country. When the dreary November days kept them indoors, he read aloud and engaged in the most inane of conversations, while Madame LaSalle kept a watchful eye.
“Do you find it ironic that you and my sister have become such great friends?” he asked. “My father had every intention of emigrating to the colonies, and from what you have told me of Charleston, I believe he would have selected that city for his new residence.”
“To be a rice planter?” Maddie asked.
“Possibly. Or a barrister like your grandfather. All that is in the past, of course. My mother refused, and would have broken off their engagement if he had persisted.”
“Then we surely would have become acquainted. So our meeting must have been inevitable.” She noticed that Sunderland’s too prominent jaw had become less square, more proportioned, while his misshapen nose lent him a very manly air. He was not achingly handsome, but his features were more attractive because of the beauty within his heart. He had been so kind to her, so generous with his time and tireless in his efforts.
“How different my life would have been,” he said.
How different her life would have been if the Admiral had married her mother when they first met, instead of letting her escape. If he had been as enthusiastic about emigrating as Sunderland’s father had been. Maddie saw before her a series of decisions that all girls had to make about their future, the very same decisions that others had faced before her. She could learn from their mistakes, although likely to make some of her own. And she had to choose which aspects of her life were the most important, the things most worth keeping, before she settled down into a woman’s existence.
“Tell me about Durham, about your home,” Maddie said. She was curious about his family’s estate, about the sheep, the farming and the enormous waterfall that was known throughout England. As long as he talked, she was distracted, and she needed to be distracted. As the days went by without news from the sea, she grew more nervous, with uncertainty gnawing at her from the inside.
Sunderland’s persistence paid off when Maddie learned of the naval action a full two days before the press issued any reports. He bought an atlas so that he could show her where Tenerife and Cadiz were located so that she could understand the detailed descriptions that came from unofficial channels. The despatches were incomplete, however. There was no definite word on the whereabouts of Admiral Lord Bransmore.
The national mood was one of deep mourning coupled with elation as word reached London of the death of Admiral Nelson during a victorious battle. For the first time, Maddie openly expressed her concern that her stepfather shared the same fate, with Sunderland doing his best to alleviate her despair with words of hope, spoken from a man who was familiar with the confusion of a battlefield. Time was the answer, but Maddie feared time had run out when the Ashford brothers arrived in Portsmouth.
“No, nothing, we have no news,” Lawrence said. “Until something is known, it is imperative that you come to London with us and await further reports.”
“This is a time to be with family,” Joseph said. He threw a pointed glance at Sunderland. “Perhaps you would be more comfortable in the country. Your uncle could send for Lady Jane and Lucy.”
“News will reach Spithead first,” Sunderland said. “As would Lord Bransmore and his fleet.”
“The race is not yet begun, my lord, but you seem to be waiting at the starting gate well beforehand,” Lawrence said. “Half a league ahead of the pack, is that your strategy?”
“It is a bit unseemly, Madeleine,” Joseph said. “One does not wish to tarnish a reputation with inappropriate attention.”
“Madame LaSalle is always with us,” Maddie said.
“Sirs, it is nothing of the sort,” Sunderland said, but he blushed to the roots of his stringy brown hair.
“We are grateful for your diligence and assistance, but it would be best if you were to retire,” Lawrence said. “Miss Ashford should not have been brought here. She was and is distraught, as one would expect, and thus in a position to be taken advantage of.”
With a deep bow, Sunderland took his leave. “Thank you,” Maddie said as he lingered for a moment at the door. “My gratitude for your help is beyond the power of words to convey.”
The sitting room lapsed into silence until Sunderland’s footsteps faded away. “Did he think that I would never notice a Parker nosing around the Admiralty?” Lawrence asked. “That a dragoon would not stand out among sailors?”
“It was for my sake that he went to London,” Maddie said.
“Precisely,” Joseph said. “Now, his business is finished and we need not concern ourselves with him.”
“Pack your belongings. Choose the city or the country, but you must remain in one place so that we can send an express when we have news.” Lawrence nodded to Madame LaSalle, who was loitering in a corner waiting for orders. She went off in search of Sophie and Maddie knew that she was leaving Portsmouth whether she liked it or not.
“I prefer Farthingmill Abbey, well away from the funereal air in London,” she said. To cling to hope was easier if she avoided the realization that hope had run out for one family and a mistress with a fatherless child.
During the short time it took Sophie to fill the trunks, Maddie paced the sitting room and prayed for a miraculous letter to arrive, but there would be no miracles that day. To further delay, she ordered tea and listened to the Ashford brothers grumble about interlopers and buccaneers. Their phrases were obscure, incomplete, but revealing. As best as Maddie could judge, there was bad blood between the Parkers and the Ashfords. It was no different than any of countless feuds between Low Country families, often stemming from jealousy or a silly misunderstanding that became a battle cry. And like all those feuding families, no one remembered why they were feuding, or why they kept at it.
For ten days, Maddie spent hours riding around Farthingmill Abbey, taking every fence and hedgerow until Nipper decreed that she was about to ruin the gelding. She took to walking, and came in one cold day to find a brief note from the Admiral, sent from the port at Gibraltar. She was giddy, floating on air for weeks. Shortly before Christmas her stepfather arrived home an invalid. And a disagreeable one at that. He would not be put to bed. He would not allow the footman to assist him in walking up the stairs, and he snapped at Maddie when she offered him beef tea, fortifying tonics, or a poultice to ease the pain in his leg. For three long hours he sat in his library with his foot on a stool, brooding.
“If you will not speak to me, I will leave you to your thoughts,” Maddie said when she reached the limit of her patience. Had she not fallen into his arms, sobbed with joy over his return, only to be embraced with little enthusiasm? Had she not offered amusements? Did her throat not ache from reading aloud for two hours without respite? And what of her hands, the muscles aching from having to write for him because his clerk was invalided out as well? She could not guess at what more she might do to demonstrate how glad she was to have him back.
“Madame LaSalle will join Sir Anthony’s household at the end of February,” the Admiral said.
“As I shall no longer need a governess by then, sir, I am very happy that the Powell girls can benefit from Madame’s knowledge. Although I shall be sad to say good-bye.” But not too sad. Maddie was weary of the scolding that had grown more frequent and strident over the past several months, as if Madame was determined to squeeze in every last drop of discipline.
“You are not to encourage Sunderland.”
“I have no intention of encouraging
anyone,” Maddie said. She would not make a fool of herself, not like others she had watched chase after an adored gentleman with no interest in being caught. Better to be seen as almost unattainable, to be the prey. To appear to be ripe for plucking was to appear desperate for a match of any sort, and that would lead to all sorts of unpleasant entanglements. Seeing that her statement did not lighten the Admiral’s mood, Maddie slid off her chair and sat at his feet, where she leaned against his good leg. He absent-mindedly stroked the top of her head, still deep in thought.
“Did your mother ever speak of Armand du Marais?” he asked.
A kind face, though dark and wrinkled. Deep blue eyes. Papa carried from Captain du Marais’ ship, to die at home. Mama distraught. Scattered images tumbled through Maddie’s brain at the mention of a name from her childhood. Her parents had been to France on business and the Captain escorted them home, through the English blockade. The gentleman’s features were no longer clear, like her own father’s face was blurred in her mind. Something Mama had said, about their gratitude to Monsieur, and Maddie was to say “merci” for the beautiful porcelain doll that the man gave her. Then another sentence replayed in her thoughts.
“Un homme plus dangereux.” She whispered it, to feel the words on her tongue, but she had no idea what her mother had meant.
“Was she?” The Admiral paused, stared at the fire, and then resumed. “In love with him.”
Even though she was a child, Maddie could not forget the distress of the day, standing on the pier at Riverside while Papa was carried into the house on a litter. Mama was in tears, and Captain du Marais was so gentle, offering aid and assistance to the limits of his powers. Dread and gloom, yet a warm current of charity ran through the scene. A jealous man might confuse love with simple human kindness, and Maddie suspected that the Admiral was a somewhat jealous man.
“He frightened Mama, or so she said, but I cannot understand why. He was a very nice man when I met him. The doll that I brought here, he gave her to me.” Maddie folded her arms on the Admiral’s knee and rested her chin on her hands. “Perhaps it was he who was in love with her. Perhaps he fell in love with Mama when she and Papa were on his ship.”
“They sailed with him?”
“To bring Papa home from France when he was dying,” Maddie said. “Grandfather told me that Mama had helped Captain du Marais during the war and so he helped her in return.”
“Yes, she did help the rebels. Your mother was a very brave woman. Only sixteen.”
“How did she help?” Maddie asked. “Are you feeling unwell? Have I tired you? Would you like me to read to you a bit? That might be more restful than all this chatter.”
“Let us go down to supper. I will feel better after I have eaten. Then I would like to review our plan of attack upon society this winter.”
Maddie shifted her legs to stand, but her stepfather pressed down on her head. “You asked me to describe the engagement but I could not find the words earlier. I have a few words now, and probably more later.”
Words could not describe a naval battle that was pure action and emotion, or so Stephen had often claimed when Maddie demanded a full account. There was horror and elation, her brother said, fear mixed with courage and blind obedience to orders. It came as no surprise then that the Admiral’s speech was halting as he painted an image of the Republique as it led an escape from the rout off Trafalgar, an escape that nearly succeeded. Two ships engaged in close combat, two ships commanded by masters of naval battle, but only one could win.
“His wounds were fatal,” the Admiral said.
“His poor family,” Maddie said. She wanted to feel sympathy for those who had lost a loved one, but another emotion forced its way ahead. Stronger was her joy in knowing that her beloved stepfather had not been the one to fall, but then she criticized herself for not mourning the death of someone who had played an important role in her family’s past. Was it to be a period of sorrow, or one of elation? The dilemma left her feeling restless, eager to move.
Even the Admiral squirmed, as if he could not decide between sitting or standing. His fingers fumbled around in the breast pocket of his dressing gown in a distracted manner, his eyes focused on something other than his surroundings. He took her hand and pressed something deep into the palm, something metallic with sharp prongs. When Maddie opened her fist she burst into tears. Mama’s lovely green eyes were held within the facets of the emerald, the ring bringing back the touch of her mother’s fingers on her cheek, filling the girl’s heart with longing for the happiness of childhood.
“This was your mother’s, was it not?” the Admiral asked, but he did not wait for an answer already known. “Du Marais retrieved this from pirates who had raided the convoy your mother sailed with when she left Charleston for the last time. It is returned to you.”
The ring no longer fit on Maddie’s thumb, but the feel of the gold band had not changed. For a moment, she was six years old, sitting on Mama’s lap on the piazza, waving her right hand so that the emerald caught the sun and made green sparkles on the floor. “When you grow up this shall be yours,” Mama had said. Mama, who would not see her little girl grow up and take her place in the world. It was unbearable.
“He said. Before he died, he said,” the Admiral mumbled. A tear slid along the crease in his cheek. “You will break my heart one day, my dear.”
“No,” Maddie said.
“One day you will leave me.” The Admiral struggled to his feet.
“I will not.” They had only each other, could he not see that? The emerald that she would wear on the ring finger of her right hand was the symbol of their bond so that she would never forget. Soon she would be expected to choose a husband, but no man on earth would claim her as his bride if he did not guarantee a place in their household for the Admiral. Maddie would rather die a spinster than abandon the one who had opened his heart to a very naughty child not deserving of his love.
The Second War of Rebellion Page 25