Without Refuge

by Diane Scott Lewis

Bettina finally drifted off to sleep. Kerra invaded her dreams. She heard her sassy voice, her contagious laughter. An incorrigible, brave young woman who had married the man of her heart. Only to be destroyed by a normal female function. How could one so intrepid and vivacious die in such an ordinary way?

  * * * *

  The clangs and shouts of London invigorated Bettina, though the cold damp fog off the Thames seeped into her. Everett wore the rumpled, stained suit made in Paris, Bettina an old gown and spencer jacket borrowed from Maddie. Wrapped in their coats, they still shivered after alighting from the hired hackney in front of the shipping offices.

  “The last time I visited here was to sell my necklace and then travel off to America.” Wind whipping her hair, Bettina stared at the river: the clusters of boats in the “pool”; the dilapidated sheds of the Billingsgate Fish Market, and old London Bridge that stretched over to Southwark. She smiled up at Everett. “And missing you, most of all.”

  He ducked his head and kissed her. “I’m relieved to see this all again, but only since you’re beside me.” He glanced at the ugly gray building hunched behind them. “Well, I suppose it’s time to give Hobart the fright of his life.”

  They entered the drab foyer. The offices’ window had the name Camborne still on it. Hobart must have never changed the firm’s name.

  Everett took a deep breath, opened the office door and strode in. “Willard, your partner has returned. How has the shipping fared in the years since I’ve been away?”

  Hobart turned. His eyes widened, his mouth agape. “Everett? My God!” The large man rushed forward, arms spread. “This isn’t possible. Where have you been?”

  Bettina nudged up beside Everett. “I am happy to say it’s true. We’re sorry to shock you, Willard.”

  “Bettina is here as well? Shock doesn’t begin to explain it.” Hobart raked a hand through his sandy-brown hair. He slapped Everett on the back, then pulled him into an embrace. Hobart’s towering husky form enveloped Everett’s tall leanness. “I cannot fathom this…a resurrection of the first order. Tell me, oh, tell me everything.”

  “We have much to discuss, my good man.” Everett gripped Hobart’s shoulders. “First, I’d like to send a messenger to hire a courier to sail to Louisiana. I need to bring my children home.”

  Bettina’s heart fluttered at the prospect of holding her babies again. Too many months had passed. “My mother will accompany them, I’m certain.”

  “What about the business, Willard?” Everett leaned on a desk edge and stared about his old domain. “I need a job. Do you have another partner?”

  “I had one in the interim, but the old fellow died four months ago. I was just discussing with our solicitor the prospect of taking on another partner.” Hobart’s blueberry eyes glistened with merriment. “Times are still lean, but we manage. No one can match your experience with the firm.” He thrust out his hand.

  Everett shook firmly. “I appreciate it, old friend. I will need to borrow funds for clothes for the both of us, to pay the courier as well.”

  “The sale of Bronnmargh, that money is yours now,” Bettina said. When she’d sold Everett’s brooding manor, the money had been intended for Fred, the only legitimate heir.

  “She’s right. I invested it in the war, cannons and other munitions, no choice at the time. The funds have grown.” Hobart went to the safe and spun the dial. “I also have the papers declaring your wife as deceased.”

  Bettina stifled an inappropriate cheer, but she warmed inside. “Finally, you will make me an honest woman, Monsieur Camborne. How soon may we marry?” She leaned on the desk beside Everett and squeezed his hand.

  “As soon as I can arrange for the special license.” Everett turned and kissed her, lingering on her lips. She kissed back with equal fervor, slipping her arms around his neck.

  “Your old apartment above is still available,” Hobart said with a wink.

  * * * *

  Bettina smoothed down her cream-colored silk dress, rushed together by a seamstress. She tied the gold ribbon under her breasts on the gown’s high waist. Hobart’s wife Lucy had pinned up her hair in imitation of the Greek style worn in France. In the mirror she resembled a princess, though her life had been no fairytale.

  Three days past, Everett dispatched a special courier to America to bring their children— accompanied by Volet—home to England. He would’ve gone himself if not for his weakened health and the financial quagmire of rejoining his shipping business. He warned Bettina he wasn’t letting her out of his sight, much less out of the country.

  The special license obtained from the archbishop, they boarded the coach with Hobart and Lucy and rode the short distance to the parish church of Saint Magnus near London Bridge.

  Everett looked debonair in his formal attire, a striking white silk frock coat and breeches. At thirty-eight his hair had turned even more salt and pepper. But to Bettina this only enhanced his attraction. He was still that tall, formidable gentleman with a hesitant, charming smile that had taken her months to earn when she’d tutored his nephew.

  Elegant Saint Magnus soared around their intimate ceremony. Bettina wished Maddie could be here to share in this. Also Kerra…she shoved down that sadness.

  At the taking of their vows, Bettina refrained from shouting, “I do, and have done for a very long time.”

  Everett slipped on her ring and the parish priest pronounced them man and wife. Bettina touched the simple gold band, her eyes blurring with tears. Everett pulled her against him, and kissed her, very slowly.

  The priest cleared his throat, twice. Bettina broke the kiss to see the man’s cheeks flushing scarlet.

  They strolled from the chapel into the chilly wind. Bettina, dazed with joy, barely felt the cold. “Now when I refer to you as my husband, I’m at last telling the truth.”

  Everett squeezed her beside him. “You have always been my one true wife, Madam Camborne.”

  Hobart and Lucy escorted them to a local tavern to celebrate with champagne.

  At dusk, they returned to the apartment alone. He tossed coal into the grate and stoked up a fire to warm the parlor. “You did hear what the priest said, a wife must obey her husband?”

  Bettina laughed, her head fuzzy with wine. “Haven’t I always, mon mari?” She stepped to him and slipped his white frock coat from his shoulders. “I would like you to obey me now, in the bedroom.”

  “Remember our first night together?” He lowered his head and brushed his lips over hers.

  “When you took advantage of me?” She trailed her finger down his cheek. “And I insisted the next morning that you find your wife and divorce her?”

  “Not that part. I desired you so much, I couldn’t help ravishing you.” He kissed her again. “I was a fool who didn’t yet realize what love could be.”

  “I’m thankful you finally came to your senses.” She pulled him toward the bedroom. “I suppose we’ll have to explain our strange situation to the children when they’re older.”

  “Indeed. I’ll have to legitimize my own son and daughter.” Beside the bed, Everett unbuttoned and removed his waist coat.

  Bettina tugged his shirt from the waist band of his breeches, stroking her hands over his muscled chest. “You really don’t mind my not being able to have any more children?”

  Everett sat on the bed and pulled her down next to him. He kissed her earlobe then nuzzled her neck. “Isn’t it obvious, when I have you I have everything.”

  “Mais oui. So do I. You are my everything.” She trembled, her body heavy and hot, and crushed her mouth to his.

  Epilogue

  1800-1801

  Bettina opened the shutters of the little stone cottage, once a tenant farmer’s croft on the Camborne estate. Summer air drifted in with the honey scent of gorse blossoms. Purple hooded foxgloves wavered in the
breeze over a nearby field.

  Everett bought back the cottage, a half-mile south of Bronnmargh, and a few surrounding acres. He appeared as relieved as she to be rid of the crumbling estate, yet he wanted a piece of his forefather’s land and to be near his parents’ final resting-place.

  She stepped out and inhaled the freshness of Cornwall, such a contrast to the steamy, little changing seasons in Louisiana. Sprinkling feed for their few chickens, who pecked and clucked around her feet, she listened to the persistent waves that bullied the slate cliffs.

  On the other side of an adjacent apple orchard, construction on their new home would soon begin. She relished their settling out here, near Sidwell and Maddie.

  Bettina re-entered the rustic abode and checked on the bread baking in the oven. The smell watered her mouth.

  “Maman, I tried to wake Gen, but she always pushes me away. She hates when the rooster crows so early in the morning.” Chris pattered barefoot into the kitchen, his brown wavy hair tousled.

  “It’s all right. Genevre prefers to sleep longer than you, longer than most of us.” She bent and kissed his forehead. “If you hurry and dress, you can help Papa with the horses. We’re riding to the Tremayne’s this afternoon.”

  “I’ll be ready. I always want to help Papa.” Her son scampered into his room. Tall for his eight years, he was lean and intelligent like his father. In minutes, Chris rushed from the cottage.

  Bettina poked her head into the tiny alcove where her daughter slept tangled in her blankets. No one would suspect a devilish nature from that angelic face.

  Volet had arrived in early June with the children. Fred opted to stay in Louisiana working for the printer. He had no desire to return to England, but sent a long, affectionate letter to the uncle he thought he’d lost.

  After a month’s visit, Volet returned to America two weeks ago in July. “Someone has to look after Frederick...and Jean. With you giving me your interest in the cafe, I’ve established a full, contented life there. Jean has asked me to marry him, soon.” Her mother had looked younger and more radiant than Bettina could remember. “Now you, my courageous daughter, can start anew with your husband and sweet children.”

  “There’s fresh bread and butter, Genevre.” Bettina tugged down the covers.

  The five-year-old glared up with her big blue eyes. She rubbed a hand through her pale blonde hair. “I’m still sleeping, Maman.” Genevre burrowed under the blankets again.

  “A few minutes more, only.” Bettina caressed her daughter’s silky tresses that poked out the top and returned to the kitchen. She poured coffee from the tin pot and sipped. Outside she saw Everett leading out his black stallion, Onyx, a horse Maddie had boarded at the inn all this time. Chris followed on his father’s heels.

  She went to the window and waved. Everett waved back, then threw her a kiss.

  “My life is perfect,” she whispered. Stripped of her title, lands and riches because of the French Revolution, Bettina was thankful for the tide that had thrust her into England.

  * * * *

  Bettina spread out the bouquet of wildflowers over the grave with its shoddy wooden cross. Flowers of an untamed nature, to match the spirit of the woman who lay here. She sighed and sniffed back tears.

  Her body taut, Bettina closed her eyes and said a prayer for Kerra. “If not for you, I’d never have met Everett. And I wouldn’t be the resourceful person I am today. You were my guiding angel, Kerra...maybe you still are. God bless you, mon amie, now that you have His ear close by.”

  A duck quacked and rippled water in the pond as a breeze sent the aroma of wild garlic through the air. Bettina walked the few yards back to the farmhouse and stepped into the kitchen where the delicious smell of a fresh baked cake surrounded her.

  “Is our girl restin’ peaceful?” Avis Tremayne looked up from the table where she sprinkled sugar on a cake for Hester’s sixth birthday. Kerra’s mother-in-law, her face lively beneath a black cap, barely reached Bettina’s shoulder.

  “She is, yes. Mister Camborne and I will provide her a granite headstone as soon as possible. If you have a favorite verse…or one Kerra would have liked, let me know and we’ll have it engraved.” Bettina hugged the tiny woman.

  “Bless you, Mrs. Camborne.” Avis crinkled up her eyes. She turned back to the table. “Ain’t we Lordly, celebratin’ a birthday just like the King.”

  “Your cake is a beautiful creation, fit for any king.” Bettina smiled and entered the parlor.

  Charlie stood at the fireplace, cuddling his infant son on his hip. Both he and his boy had the bright, coppery-colored hair of the Tremaynes. Charlie, lean and handsome in soiled work clothes, had deep lines etched between his brows and at the corners of his mouth. He and Everett discussed grain prices, Charlie’s gestures lethargic, as if the world pressed down on his shoulders.

  Maddie sat in a rocking chair with three-year-old Little Bettina on her lap, the child Kerra named for her. “No need to suck that thumb, you best listen to your Aunt Maddie.” Maddie plucked the child’s thumb from between her lips. With her dark hair and resemblance to Kerra, the little girl mirrored her aunt as well.

  Christian and Hester helped to set the table. “No, Hester, the fork goes on this side, my grand-mere showed me how to do this.” He rearranged the utensil.

  “Nay, there’s no special side.” Hester grinned and dragged the fork back where she’d first placed it. Her red hair framed a face with Kerra’s green eyes and impish smile.

  “You must let the ‘lady’ have her way.” Bettina smiled at her son.

  Genevre rushed over to the fireplace and grabbed her father’s hand. “Sit with me, Papa.”

  Everett lifted her up and kissed her plump cheek. “My beautiful, girl. Your wish is my command.” She wrapped her arms around his neck, a rare smile on her face.

  A lump formed in Bettina’s throat at seeing them together, this father and daughter who hadn’t met one another before June.

  Maddie winked at Bettina. “That feisty mite loves her papa. She has him right in her palm.” She cuddled her niece, looking so natural with her.

  “We both do…love him, I meant.” Bettina laughed and put her arms around her husband and child.

  “No, he’s mine. My papa.” Genevre whined, elbowing her mother aside.

  “A determined nature, like her lovely mother.” Everett chuckled and patted back the child’s arm. “Show your respect, my dear.” Genevre pouted, then gave Bettina a kiss.

  “Let us eat. I want my cake,” Hester sang out. “I’m queen today.”

  “Yes, or as you say, aye, I’m hungry.” Chris rubbed his stomach.

  “Come on then, let’s light the candles. Gather round.” Avis carried in and placed the sugar nut cake on the parlor table.

  “Merci, Madame. I’ll bring in the lemonade.” Bettina retrieved a crockery pitcher from the kitchen then approached the table with Everett and Genevre. Maddie hefted up her niece and joined them.

  Hester hovered close, squirming with excitement as Charlie lit seven candles.

  “Why seven, sir, when she’s only six?” Chris asked.

  “This extra one’s for her to grow on.” Charlie turned a crooked smile on Hester. “Luck for the comin’ year, sweeting.”

  “Make a wish now, Hester,” Avis said in a soft voice to her granddaughter, her hands gentle on the child’s shoulders. “Then blow out every candle, to keep them good spirits beside you, an’ the bad ones far away.”

  Hester scrunched her eyes tight for a moment. When she opened them, her cheeks bulged with air and in a whoosh every candle flickered out. The others clapped and called out happy birthday.

  “What did you wish for?” Chris asked, bouncing on eager toes.

  “Not s’posed to tell.” Hester grinned toward her aunt and father. “I wished for Aunt M
addie to come an’ live with us, so Papa won’t be lonely no more.”

  “Hester, my gracious.” Avis covered her mouth as if to smother a gasp at the girl’s innocent remark. She snatched a knife and sliced the cake in quick strokes.

  “Oh, nay, I couldn’t leave my inn, child.” Maddie’s cheeks flushed, and she urged Little Bettina forward for a slice of cake.

  “I didn’t know Maddie could blush,” Bettina whispered to Everett. She picked up a plate and handed a slice to their son.

  “They might think to pursue such a relationship,” he whispered back with a wink. He helped Genevre to her portion. “Everyone should be as happy as I am.”

  “You will have me blushing.” Bettina kissed his cheek.

  “Now, Hessie, that’s a very nice wish. Truly, Aunt Maddie, she has no time to worry over us.” Charlie leaned down to his daughter, his ruddy face turning even redder.

  “I’ll keep looking out for all o’ you, so don’t fret.” Maddie sat again, eyes averted, with Little Bettina in the rocking chair. “Now eat up afore it gets stale.”

  Bettina fought down a laugh and poured lemonade into cups for the children.

  She was filled with an easy happiness, watching her adored husband, children, and dear friends.

  * * * *

  The apple blossoms scented the spring air as Bettina strolled with Genevre through the orchard. The child bent to pluck up bluebells and closer to the cliffs, the sea-pinks.

  Bettina picked a buttercup and brushed it under her daughter’s chin. “I see yellow, you are still innocent, and perhaps you like butter, too.”

  “Maman, I’m six now, I’m not a baby.” Genevre laughed and scurried off, tossing the flowers as she went.

  “Don’t grow up too fast,” Bettina called after her. At footsteps behind her, she turned.

  Everett came up and put his arm around her. “Are you ready to move into our palace tomorrow?”