by Carla Kelly
‘Aye, miss.’ He dipped into the bowl for another serving. ‘You and I are obviously from the righteous branch of the Rennies. Well, you more righteous than I, I shouldn’t wonder.’ He gave a private chuckle at that, which she had no intention of quizzing him about, then looked around her to see his son. ‘What do you think of this pudding?’
‘Da, we should begin every meal with a sweet.’
Ross gave his boy a look almost as mournful as the one on the Begging Hound. ‘We daren’t. Mrs Pritchert would set my leg on fire.’
Mary put her hand to her mouth to stifle what she knew was going to be an unladylike guffaw. As calmly as she had kissed his head, the captain took her hand away from her face. ‘We need a good laugh, my dear.’
She obliged, which somehow gave permission for the innkeep to peer around the door leading to the kitchen. The captain gestured to him. ‘Now we’ll have the rest of our meal.’
They decided on mutton stew, which made Nathan look mutinous until his father promised more lemon-curd pudding, since they had finished the bowl. Dark bread and marmalade rounded out a meal that Mrs Pritchert would have approved, sparing the captain’s leg, as Nathan reminded him. ‘D’ye think your peg would really burn, Da?’
‘I’d piss it out before that happened,’ the captain joked.
‘Stop it, you two!’ Mary exclaimed.
‘Have you no brothers?’ the captain asked.
‘Not one. Is this the kind of humour I would have been subjected to?’
‘Constantly. More pudding, please,’ Ross asked the proprietor when he came to clear the table.
* * *
‘Sir, could you tell me if a vicar by the name of Everett still presides in this parish?’ Mary asked when he returned.
The innkeeper looked at her for a long moment and she realised, with some embarrassment, that her accent was too thick for the Englishman. ‘Vicar name of Everett still here?’ she said slowly and louder, thinking that might help.
The keep nodded, to her relief, because she knew her face was flame-red. He pointed. ‘Go to edge of Skowcroft. Big house, red shutters,’ he said, just as distinctly, as though she spoke some rare language from Africa’s interior and the fewer words, the better.
Nathan grinned at the odd conversation, but Ross Rennie’s face lost its animation.
‘It’s stopped snowing, but we were just going to stay right here,’ he said quickly.
‘We are not,’ Mary told him, her voice gentle now. ‘The postilion and his son are half-frozen. Lemon-curd pudding is only part of what you need to do here.’
The captain was silent for a long moment, pressing his fingers against the bridge of his nose, while Nathan continued happily through another bowl of pudding.
‘I hadn’t planned on this,’ he said, but Mary chose to hear it as a feeble protest.
‘I think you did, Captain Rennie, on some level or other,’ she contradicted. Where her courage was coming from, she didn’t know, but she suddenly understood this man.
He tried one more time. ‘The Christmas cake...’
‘Can wait.’ She turned to Nathan, who had finished another bowl and sat there, looking dazed. ‘We’re going to visit the vicar, then we’ll be back here to stay the night.’
Nathan nodded, obviously content to do what she said, although she had not a particle of authority to command.
‘Well, Captain Rennie?’ Mary stood up and held out her hand. If he didn’t grasp it, she would leave her cousins alone and take the next conveyance to York, probably branded forever as a meddler by a distant relative she would never see again. You’ve been sent to find a stupid fruitcake and that’s it, she reminded herself. These cousins are so remote a relationship as to belong in another country.
Maybe the captain was right. Maybe she was trying to complicate a simple list of foods put together by homesick, hungry men during a long war. Like one of those sea birds that flew huge distances with elegant wings, but were clumsy on land, Doubt stumbled into the commons room of the Begging Hound and plopped down at her feet.
She was prepared to lower her hand and turn away when Captain Rennie snapped out of the doldrums he had sunk into and gave her a resolute look. He took her hand and she hauled him to his feet, using both of hers.
‘I believe you are right, Cousin,’ he told her. He pressed her hand tighter. ‘Don’t give up on me just yet.’
It was a quixotic thing to say, but after all, here she was in Skowcroft, not precisely snowbound, but with no mail coach nearby. ‘I won’t give up on either of you,’ she assured them both.
* * *
After settling the luncheon bill, Captain Rennie spent a moment outside with the postilions, who seemed content to spend the night in Skowcroft. The ostler had room for them in the barn and Preston declared their wants were few. The captain sent them indoors to find their own meal. With an expression lodged somewhere between resignation and pique, he gestured for Mary and Nathan to join him.
Shop owners were already at work on the snow in front of their establishments. With Mary on one side of him and Nathan on the other, Captain Rennie began a slow progress through the village.
‘I’m not too confident about my leg on snow, you two,’ he warned them. ‘If we all go down in a heap, you can both walk away and pretend you don’t know me.’
Nathan laughed. ‘Da, you’re quizzing us.’
‘Not for the world,’ his father said, the humour back in his voice. ‘I’ll be upended like a Galapagos turtle.’
By the end of the street, he seemed more sure of his footing. After another few yards, there was the church with big house, red shutters next to it. He stopped and took a deep breath. Mary had linked her arm through his. She nudged him forwards, and he pressed her arm against his side, keeping her close, as though he needed her, which she found flattering. No one had really needed her since Papa took sick and died.
‘Suppose they swoon or rage and rail at me?’ he asked her in a low voice, so Nathan could not hear.
‘How long ago was...?’
‘Before Trafalgar.’ His expression turned from uncertain to wishful. ‘It seems so long ago. Dale would be twenty-three now if...’ His voice became purposeful. ‘Nathan, you go ahead and knock on that door.’
His son raced ahead, surefooted on the snowy path. Obviously the vicar didn’t have servants eager to shovel walks, or any young boys at home, Mary decided.
‘What do I say to them?’ he asked her suddenly.
She didn’t know what to tell him, because the door opened just then. A small, grey-haired woman stood there, smiling at Nathan. She looked up at Mary, and the captain came closer. The smile left her face when she saw his boat cloak and tall bicorn hat, visible signs of his profession.
Oh, please, Mary thought.
They hadn’t reached the steps yet and the captain had stopped. Gently, he untwined his arm from Mary’s, took off his hat, and made a sweeping gesture and bow.
‘Madam, are you Mrs Everett?’ he asked. ‘I am Captain Rennie. I...I believe you had a letter from me.’
Eyes wide, the woman’s hand went to her throat. She watched him calmly for a long moment, then came down the snowy steps and directly into his arms. Mary turned away because tears threatened her vision. Nathan crowded close to her, and her arms went around the little boy as he stood in front of her.
Bereft mother and post captain stood close together, arms around each other, consoling each other without a word spoken. Mary swallowed and blinked back her tears as a man in priest’s garb came towards them from the church so close by. In another moment the circle of two had become three.
It was never about lemon-curd pudding, Mary thought. A greater epiphany struck her, far more startling than the earlier one in Edinburgh, when she decided she was weary of relatives. And you didn’t know i
t until I told you, Cousin.
After a moment of silent mourning, the three separated. The vicar, smiling now, to Mary’s astonishment, gestured towards the wide-open front door.
‘What a bunch of loobies we are!’ he chided gently. ‘The Church of England has no provisions for heating the great outdoors at your average vicarage.’
Captain Rennie laughed, and Mrs Everett patted his chest, as though comforting him.
Nathan looked up at Mary. ‘Is everything all right, do you think?’ he asked, keeping his voice low.
Mrs Everett heard him anyway. She touched his head. ‘Everything is quite fine, my dear,’ she assured him, then looked at Mary. ‘I should apologise for grabbing your husband! Do come in, Mrs Rennie. And what is your name, young man?’
‘Nathan,’ he told her. ‘That’s my father,’ he informed her, in case there might be any doubt. ‘This is Cousin Mary, not my mother, although I like her a lot.’
The vicar ushered them up the front steps while Mrs Everett apologised again. I’m not so certain I would have corrected you, Mary thought, which brought colour to her cheeks. It seems like a waste of words, explanation and more apology, and I will never see you after today, dear lady. Mary decided that once the lost fruitcake was found and she was home in Edinburgh, she would have to ask herself why she wanted to be so casual about her association with Captain Rennie. It pained her to think that proper manners vanished by close association with members of the Royal Navy. Maybe she was getting old and careless.
The vicarage was warm, simple and welcoming, with samplers bearing admonitory Bible verses crowding the walls, silent testimony to many daughters or a single, zealous one. A maid appeared and soon found herself staggering under a boat cloak, tall hat, Nathan’s overcoat and Mary’s ordinary grey cloak. A few whispered words to the same maid resulted in tea and biscuits in a few minutes. A quiet word from Captain Rennie to his son sent Nathan seeking a shovel. Soon the scrape of shovel on walkway was heard, which made Mrs Everett smile.
‘How kind you are, Captain,’ she said, passing him the plate of biscuits. ‘Our youngest son is even now at St Stephen’s and our yardman is a little old for snow.’
‘He’s happy to oblige, ma’am,’ Ross replied. ‘He lives in Plymouth and seldom sees snow.’
They all sipped tea in silence, as though no one knew quite what to say. Since Mary was seated so close to the captain, she leaned against his arm. ‘I believe you should show the Everetts your list, Ross.’
He gave her a sudden smile, and she realised she had used his Christian name without coaxing. ‘It’s a good place to begin,’ he said simply and took the much-creased paper out of his inside pocket. He handed it to the vicar and pointed to the name he had underlined.
Mr Everett nodded and smiled, even as he dabbed at his eyes. ‘Look, Lavinia. Dale never could resist the lemon-curd pudding.’
She took the sheet from him and lovingly ran her finger across her son’s name. She read through the entire list, then looked at the captain, her eyes bright with unshed tears. ‘What is this, Captain?’
‘The wishes and dreams of homesick men, my dear,’ he told her, taking the paper from her. ‘It made the rounds in many a wardroom. Everyone added his favourite food, and where to find it.’ He ran his finger down the list. ‘You’ll notice that some of the boys and men put their own homes.’ He took several deep breaths. ‘When did you receive the letter I sent? In 1803, not long after your son died of the fever near Otaheite, I handed it off to a passing frigate bound for Portsmouth.’
‘We received it in December of 1805,’ the vicar said, when his wife could not speak. He leaned forwards, his eyes earnest. ‘Did he serve king and country well?’
‘As well as any man I commanded,’ Captain Rennie replied. ‘Dale had an aptitude for mathematics.’ He leaned back, his shoulder touching Mary’s now. ‘Let me paint a picture for you of deep-blue water in the middle of the Pacific, a calm day and the sun high overhead. I had five earnest midshipmen on the quarterdeck gathered around my sailing master, Ben Pritchert, as he instructed them in the finer points of longitude and latitude. Mr Everett never made a mistake.’
Mrs Everett sighed and looked out the window at the snowy scene. ‘He was a long way from home.’
‘The HMS Militant was his home.’ Ross Rennie swallowed. ‘He was one of my sons. I mourned his passing. I suppose I still do.’
Again there was silence, except for the scrape of the shovel outside as Nathan worked his way towards the street.
‘Will you send your son to sea, Captain?’ Mrs Everett asked.
‘If he chooses to go, just as your son chose,’ he reminded her. He took a small book from his pocket, thumbed through it and held it out to the vicar. ‘October 15, 1803. And here are the co-ordinates of where your son lies. Do you have a marker for him in your graveyard?’
The Everetts clutched each other’s hands. ‘We do.’
‘Then copy this and carve it on his stone. I would have given the earth to have seen him safely home, but it was beyond my power. We have all been ruled by a monster, but thank God he is on Elba now,’ Ross said. ‘Excuse me, please.’
Without another word, he got up and left the room. Mary held her breath as she heard the front door close. They all looked out the window to see him take the shovel from Nathan and continue to the street.
The vicar took a sheet of paper from the escritoire and a pencil and copied the co-ordinates. ‘Close to Otaheite,’ he murmured, then handed the little book to Mary. ‘A place we will never see, Lavinia.’
Mary looked at the book in her hand, realising with a start that she held a meticulous record of all the dead on Captain Rennie’s ships, probably from the time he first commanded. The number shocked her, but as she looked at it, she began to suspect why he had insisted on accompanying her to York. You just wanted to have some fun, didn’t you? she asked herself. How can a man carry around such a book? Should I have insisted you come to the vicarage?
‘We miss Dale,’ Mrs Everett said simply when the silence seemed too large for the room. ‘Time has passed and smoothed some of the rough edges.’ She went to the window. ‘We remember the lovely times and now we know exactly where he was buried. I can’t begin to express my gratitude to Captain Rennie.’
Chapter Nine
I’m a coward, Ross thought after he finished the walkway and stood with Nathan, who admired their work. I don’t want to go back in that house, except that I left Mary there.
He thought he could walk away with his son right now and Mary would not follow him. She owed him nothing, really. Possibly she was even feeling some guilt at forcing his hand, however gently, with the Everetts. He knew enough of her in their brief acquaintance to be certain she would continue to York in search of a silly fruitcake, achieve her objective and return to Edinburgh. He and Nathan could return right now to the Begging Hound and chivvy the postilion into driving on. They would be at his sister’s home in a day or two, as he had been planning for months. Beyond something to chuckle about with Nathan in years to come, that was the end of the story.
He had left his hat and cloak inside and his little book, the pernicious butcher’s bill he had kept through the years. He could send Nathan inside for those and Mary would not follow him.
Ross opened his mouth to ask his son to do precisely that, but stopped. The door opened and there was Mary, coming towards them now. He could not then have explained the relief that swept through his body like small arms’ fire. She was not about to abandon him. He could have fallen to his knees in gratitude, because he had two knees still.
I told you that a man can do anything with two knees, he thought irrationally, as she walked towards them. As she approached, he wondered if she would find half a leg repugnant to look at. Good thing he would never know, because he decided he didn’t want to be abandoned by her just yet.
She came right up to him with no hesitation and something militant in her eyes, as though she expected an objection. He vaguely remembered her expression from a similar one his wife used to direct at him when she knew she had a better idea than he did. Generally, Inez was right. He waited, probably aware, as Mary couldn’t be, that her expression was entirely wifely. He wondered about that as the thought idly flitted through his brain that it was a pity she was not tall, willowy and blonde.
She was kind, but firm. ‘Cousin, the Everetts have invited us to stay the night, and I have accepted.’
He knew better than to argue. A smile played around his lips as he thought of legions of midshipmen and lieutenants who had regarded him with fear and trembling. They would never in an eon of time ever have thought a woman would tell Captain Rennie what to do. He decided he rather liked it, even though the prospect of an entire evening with the Everetts terrified him. He nodded.
God bless the ladies. She touched his arm. ‘They look on your visit as a gift from heaven, Ross.’
‘You’re not bamming me?’
‘I would never.’ A smile played around her lips. ‘Well, I might, but not about this.’
‘Very well, Mary. If you insist.’
‘I do.’ She did not seem startled at his immediate acquiescence, which delighted him on some level that he hadn’t visited in years. Mary turned to Nathan. ‘Do you like to sing? Mr Everett said that he is taking his young parishioners carolling tonight.’ She glanced at Ross and gleefully he noticed a bit of uncertainty in her expression now. ‘Adults are welcome, too, but I don’t know...’
‘Can’t you sing, Cousin?’ he asked.
‘I can, but there’s a lot of walking.’
‘We’ll only go as far as you want,’ he teased. ‘After all, if you get cold, we can set my leg on fire to keep us warm.’
‘Didn’t you just tell me how you could p...put out a fire?’