by Carla Kelly
Mary nodded. She hesitated only a moment, then put her hand on his chest. ‘You did a good thing today, as hard as it was, Cousin, but maybe that’s enough for now.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Tomorrow, I insist that you to take me to the nearest town with a mail-coach stop. I’ll go on to York and you can take Nathan to Dumfries and your own Christmas. It’s better that way. All I am doing is eating up your precious shore leave.’
He nodded, which pleased her and displeased her at the same time. She sat back and made herself calm. She had been disappointed before and she knew it would pass. Probably the captain knew that, too.
She rose and left his room quietly. Before she went into her own room, she looked in on Nathan, suddenly feeling as though her heart was going to break to leave him. She reminded herself that it really wasn’t possible, except perhaps in overwrought novels, to become so fond of people in such a short time. Maybe it was the season. When she returned to Edinburgh, she would admonish Mrs Morison never to volunteer her for adventures again.
With her own sigh, she removed her robe and crawled into bed. As her eyes closed, she wondered how she could thank the Everetts for all they had done for Captain Rennie.
She was almost asleep when her door opened. No one had knocked. She sat up, suddenly hoping with all her heart and soul that it was Captain Rennie. To her infinite delight, it was.
He leaned on a cane and he was clumsy, taking a little hopping step. Without even a by-your-leave, he sank down on her bed. She moved her legs to accommodate him.
‘I keep a cane for late-night trips to the place of ease in my cabin,’ he told her, conversational about something her mother would have blushed and fanned herself to hear. ‘I used to use a bottle, but that seemed a trifle gauche, after I started feeling better. D’ye mind?’
He lay down next to her and she discovered that she did not mind in the least. ‘It’s this way, Mary: I was lying across the hall, thinking how tired I am of sleeping by myself.’
‘I told you you were tired,’ she said, amazed at her complacency with such a liberty.
‘I wouldn’t have done this brazen thing, but I heard you look in on Nathan. Raise up your head.’
She did. He had a way of command without commanding that must have made him a good captain to sail and die for, she decided. His arm went under her neck and she settled in again, more easily finding that pleasant hollow where she had rested before, in the chapel.
‘Thank you,’ he said so simply. ‘I like the ladies, but Napoleon has made any congress with them nearly impossible. Sometimes just the homely pleasure of lying with someone like this is pure heaven. Damned cheeky of me, I know. I don’t expect you to understand me, but it’s true.’
‘I think I like it, too,’ she whispered to him. Like most people, he had his own fragrance, in his case, a bit of brine. But that might just have been her imagination. Mama had told her once, a bit censoriously, that she was prone to flights of fancy. Whatever it was, she felt her eyes closing. It had been a difficult day for her, as well, rendered almost heavenly by this final bit of sweetness before she slept. She knew in her heart that he would never interfere with her.
‘I promise I won’t stay long. Imagine what the Everetts would think.’
Strange. She hadn’t thought of the vicar and his wife since she went to his room to help him. Aunt Martha would have been shocked, but Aunt Martha was across the border.
She heard the hesitation in his voice when he spoke; it may even have been embarrassment. ‘The hardest time is before I sleep. I swing back and forth in my cot and review every battle, every broadside, every bad decision—’
‘Oh, please tell me that you do not,’ Mary interrupted. She put her arm under his head, which meant he had to turn closer to her.
‘I do. I think of men who might have lived, had circumstances been different. I stew and I fret until I wear myself out. What do you think of?’
She wasn’t going to tell him, because it was intimate and trivial at the same time, considering his own fraught life of constant war. He gave her head a little shake, as she had seen him do to Nathan.
‘Come on, Mary.’
‘I have a few disappointed hopes and I revisit them, if it’s been a difficult day, which in my case means Dina has whined about something, or my aunt has been heaving great gusty sighs which suggest I am somehow a drain on the family.’
He gave a small groan. ‘Shame on them.’
‘As I said, these would be difficult days. Generally I count a few blessings and close my eyes.’ It was true. There were many women in her circumstances who could only wish for the comfort she lived in.
He was silent a long while, but she knew he was wide awake. She wondered idly if he ever snored. ‘I came in here tonight because today has been a hard one and I just don’t want to revisit it. I discovered when I fell in love with Inez that just lying beside a fine woman made those dreams go away. You’re a fine woman, Cousin, and I don’t want bad dreams tonight.’ He ruffled her hair again and laughed. ‘I’ll be away in an hour or so. I’ll sleep better and I’ll owe it to you. Do excuse such impertinence.’
‘Well, then, close your eyes,’ Mary said.
‘Aye, aye, sir,’ he teased, then laughed. ‘I have to tell you something: I have—or had—another list.’
‘I’m afraid to ask!’
‘Years ago—I think I was a second luff—we all compiled lists of what we wanted in a wife some day.’
Mary laughed out loud. ‘A whole wardroom full of rascals did this?’
‘Aye. My blushes, Mary, we each had our own list!’
She made a face at him, her eyes lively.
‘My paragon was a tall, willowy lady with blonde ringlets. Oh, and a French-Caribbean accent, too. A low laugh, quite a ladylike one.’ He jostled her shoulder. ‘That rules you out on all counts, Cousin.’
She put her hand to her mouth to hide a distinctly unladylike guffaw. ‘Heavens, Ross! I think Nathan barely understands me. He’ll fare better with a French-Caribbean accent.’
‘I lost the list in some ocean or other. When the war ends, I’ll start looking for such a paragon.’
She’ll be a most fortunate lady, Mary thought, amused. I wonder if all men are this silly.
‘One thing more, Cuz. I took a look at my other list before I hobbled in here. We’re only a reasonable day’s journey from Ovenshine and brown bread and quince jelly at the Weeping Willow there. Are you game?’
‘Only if that list maker is still alive,’ she said, drowsy now and resigned to more travel with her captain. Funny how the matter didn’t bother her.
‘He is. I heard from him only a year ago. His letter was a bit garbled—he speaks in hyperboles and parabolas—but I think he even bought the Weeping Willow after he left the Navy.’ He grunted. ‘Probably bought it with all the monies he siphoned off from the Board of Revictualling.’
‘Brown bread and quince jelly sounds so ordinary,’ she said. She pulled her arm out from under his head, but turned her face into his shoulder.
He took a deep breath then, and Mary wondered if maybe she should not be so comfortable. Never mind; her eyes were closing and she did something no mother would ever have sanctioned for her daughter—she trusted a Navy man.
Chapter Twelve
Captain Rennie was true to his word and gone in an hour. He tried to be quiet, but his cane fell over. With an oath so salty that Mary gasped out loud, he went to his hands and knees, searching for the stick in the gloom of her bedroom.
‘You’re supposed to be asleep and not listening to a good round oath, Miss Rennie,’ he whispered, still managing to inject a measure of command.
‘How can I help it when you are so emphatic?’ she scolded, then put the sheet to her mouth so she could laugh.
When he found his cane, he leaned on it,
a hand on one hip, and glared at her until he started to smile. She couldn’t help but notice how nice he looked with a bit of moonlight shining through the fabric, even with just a leg and three-quarters. If this was what Mrs Morison meant by an adventure, Mary was finding it more and more agreeable. When Ross left her room, she only heard one more strangled oath when he startled the cat, who had come upstairs to investigate. Thank goodness the Everetts appeared to be prodigiously sound sleepers.
As for herself, it was easy to return to sleep. Mary moved into the warm spot her cousin had created, grateful for it, as well as the pleasant tang of whatever was the man’s personal fragrance. If such a thing never happens to me again, she told herself just before she slept, I have enjoyed this.
* * *
To Mary’s relief, the Everetts made no comment about any strange sounds during the night. If anything, there was a wistful look in Mrs Everett’s eyes, as though she did not want them to leave.
Captain Rennie said all that was proper, thanking the Everetts again for their many kindnesses. He excused himself from the breakfast table and, with Nathan, walked back to the Begging Hound to alert the postilion and his son. No snow had fallen during the night and it looked like a fair day for travel. Mrs Everett watched them from the breakfast-parlour window as she sipped her tea.
‘I think it must be hard for them to be apart,’ she commented to Mary. The vicar had already wandered down the hall to the book room.
Mary joined her at the window, her eyes on father and son. They hadn’t even left Skowcroft yet and she was already wishing York were days away. While the women stood together, shoulders touching in a way that charmed Mary, she told her hostess about the captain’s desperately sad voyage to Plymouth from Oporto, his infant son strapped to his body.
‘We live sheltered, quiet lives, because of men like your cousin,’ was Mrs Everett’s observation. She straightened her shoulders. ‘And men like my son.’
* * *
The post chaise was at the circle drive too soon to please Mary. With a tip of his cap to her, the postilion’s son took their luggage to the vehicle and then stood by the open door, expectant.
Captain Rennie and Nathan came indoors for farewells, taking both Everetts by their hands. ‘Your kindness to us was unparalleled,’ he said simply.
‘Come back and see us again,’ the vicar told him.
‘We shall see,’ the captain said, his words offering much sympathy but no assurance. He put on his hat again and bowed to them both. Nathan let Mrs Everett embrace him and smiled when she kissed the top of his head. They returned to the chaise.
‘I think the captain won’t be back,’ Mary said when it was her turn for a hug from her hostess.
Mrs Everett held her off a moment, the gratitude in her eyes unmistakable. ‘I think he will not, either.’ She touched her forehead to Mary’s. ‘Thank you for insisting he visit us. Will you return?’
‘Quite possibly,’ Mary told her and the vicar. She laughed. ‘Especially now that I am not such a ninny about England.’
She left them with smiles all around and walked towards the carriage. Mrs Everett followed her a step and touched her arm. Mary turned around.
‘Perhaps you can exert a positive influence on your cousin so he will not swear at the cat in the middle of the night.’
Mary laughed in surprise, then blushed at the implication. ‘What must you think of me?’ she murmured.
‘I think you two might be good for each other,’ Mrs Everett said. ‘I trust he is not too close of a cousinly connection?’
‘Not at all. But we are only going to York and then our separate ways.’ And he has this other list, Mary wanted to say, but changed her mind.
Her eyes merry, Mrs Everett blew her a kiss and closed the front door. There was a look on her face that suggested to Mary that the vicar’s wife didn’t quite believe her. I wonder if I believe myself, Mary thought as she accepted the captain’s hand to help her into the post chaise.
She sat opposite the two of them, arranging her skirts so she did not have to look at either father or son for a moment. She finally plumped her hands in her lap and glared at the Rennie men. ‘Ovenshine, and that is all! This is enough adventure for me. I’m off for York after Ovenshine and you are bound for Dumfries, where you are even more overdue.’
‘I thought she might say that, Da,’ Nathan told the captain, who nodded. ‘Do you think she is tired of our company already?’
Mary suppressed her smile as Ross shook his head. ‘How could that possibly be, when we are so charming?’
The glance father and son exchanged with each other had a loveliness to it that touched her heart. ‘Oh, you two!’ she said. ‘I refuse to indulge you, but surely you must see the value of Christmas in Dumfries with family.’
‘Are you so anxious to return to Edinburgh?’ the captain asked her after Nathan turned his attention to a little ball and cup with string attached.
Was she? It was a good question. Likely Dina would be moping. Uncle Samuel usually stayed longer and longer hours at the counting house during the festivities, blaming business. Mary understood his reluctance to come home early and be forced to endure endless boring details of new clothes and parties to suffer through that Aunt Martha always plagued him with from Advent to Hogmanay. And I am usually trying to placate everyone, Mary reminded herself. Every year it becomes more difficult.
‘No, I am not so anxious,’ she replied honestly. ‘It appears to be my lot, however.’
‘Why?’
‘Ladies cannot really career about the countryside from public house to public house,’ she said, after giving the matter more thought. It sounded feeble to her, but she had no real answer. ‘Even for brown bread and quince jelly,’ she concluded, which was apparently whimsical enough to destroy her attempt at reason, because Ross laughed. Only a little, but he laughed.
‘They can, if accompanied by respectable gentlemen such as you find in this post chaise,’ he said with the lurking good humour that was a pleasant contrast to his anguish last night, remembering Inez and fraught days.
She smiled. ‘All the same, Captain, we both have places to be, and you know it.’
He nodded, gave her a philosophical look and opened the book beside him. Mary took the hint and turned her attention to the contents of her reticule, which yielded nothing more exciting than her tatting. Resigned, she started to take it out, when Nathan’s little toy hit the floor. She looked up to see him sleeping against his father, who wasn’t reading.
‘I’ll read and you tat,’ she teased. ‘Neither of us seems to be succeeding.’
‘He told me he didn’t sleep well last night,’ the captain said, putting the book beside him and swinging his son’s feet on to the seat. ‘He was afraid you would not continue with us. I suppose I was, too.’
Mary was silent a long moment, thinking about the comfort of his arms last night. ‘I gather I cannot resist brown bread and quince jelly.’ The tatting went back into her reticule. ‘What happened when you arrived in Plymouth with Nathan?’
‘There was some crucial bit of refitting that had to be done in drydock—I won’t bore you with it—and we were told we had only until the tide’s turning and not one second more. Ben Pritchert and I walked to his home. Maudie opened the door and I held out my son to her.’ He swallowed and tears filled his eyes. ‘She opened her arms and gathered him in.’
‘Was it hard to leave him?’
‘You’ll never know how hard.’
* * *
What is it about women? Ross asked himself as he watched an entire raft of emotions float by on Mary Rennie’s expressive face. By her own admission she was a spinster, but something deep inside assured him that Mary Rennie would have done precisely the same thing, had he given his child to her. He wanted to tell her more; she looked at him so kindly, her e
yes pools of sympathy, but no pity. When she cocked her head a little to one side, it was as though she had given him permission to speak.
‘That was the beginning of 1804. I lost my leg at Trafalgar in 1805, and my sailing master died saving my life when I lost my balance on a slanting deck a year later. I wish I could tell you it was a desperate battle, but it was just a little rumble when the dons and frogs came out to play at Cadiz. Hardly worth a poor sailor’s life and certainly not my sailing master’s.’
He didn’t mean to sound so wistful. He hoped his cousin wouldn’t think he was getting soft or foolish; he had never been either.
‘You did what you could, didn’t you?’
Again, she charmed him. He hadn’t known her more than a few days and Mary Rennie was already certain he had only a good side.
‘Aye, miss. After all these years fighting Napoleon, I have lots of prize money. I bought Maudie Pritchert a lovely house farther away from the docks and provided a more generous annual stipend than the Navy Board.’ There he went again, feeling wistful. ‘The only thing I cannot give her is the sailing master.’
Suddenly the chaise was too small. Or maybe Mary was too close. He banged on the chaise wall and got the attention of the postilion. ‘I’ll be back,’ he muttered to her when the chaise came to a stop.
Disappointed with himself, he walked to the edge of the road. The wind blew and he was glad of it, because he needed the wind on his face to give him some sense of where he was. He looked, but all he could see was snow and trees. Again that uneasy feeling struck him. He realised with some sorrow that maybe he was only home at sea.
He walked towards the little copse that edged the road, moving carefully because his peg sank into the snow. A little farther and he was in the trees. He heard the chaise door slam, and he felt his face go red, hoping Mary didn’t think he needed rescuing. He didn’t think he needed rescuing, but if he had to be honest, matters had changed since he had looked at her name above his in the inn at Carlisle.