by Carla Kelly
‘Aye,’ she assured him. ‘It served me well enough for the other three cakes.’ She started for the front door, but the captain took her arm. His touch was gentle. She could easily have ignored him and extricated herself, except that Nathan watched them both.
‘I want to see this ring,’ he repeated. He released her, stepped back and offered no restraint.
He thinks I will fold like a hand of cards, she thought, and continued to the door, where she knocked.
Something in the way he had spoken told Mary there wasn’t any need to look behind her. In another moment, Nathan stood next to her on the step. Captain Rennie was just a step below, his expression daring her to do anything about it.
‘For goodness’ sake,’ she murmured under her breath and raised her hand to knock again.
The door opened before she could knock and she nearly hit the butler, an old ancient of days who probably would have toppled, if she had touched him.
His eyes filmy, he looked at her, then his smiled brightened. ‘Oh, it cannot be.’ He peered closer. ‘Are you Miss Ella Bruce from Carlisle, her what my master still yearns for after all these years?’
The poor old dear was mistaking her for Mr Maxfield’s long-gone lady love, if she could believe her ears. ‘I’m Mary Rennie,’ she said, ‘and I have come to see your employer about a fruitcake.’
Before she could stop him, the butler took Mary by the wrist and tugged her inside the house. He looked at the others on the doorstep. ‘Do you know these people?’
As much as she wanted to assure him she did not, which would probably force Captain Rennie to see the wisdom in her action and return to his own plans, she never had a chance. Ross ushered his son inside and shut the door behind the two of them.
‘We’re all Rennies,’ he said, after a glance in her direction that dared her to make any amendment to his bland statement.
‘What commotion is this, Reading?’
The man she assumed must be Tavish Maxfield came into the hall. His voice could not be called anything less than commanding, but it seemed to bear no relation to the little fellow with wispy white hair who stood fully a half head shorter than Mary. She tried not to gape.
The butler took all attention from her. Reading turned to his master, his hands fluttering about. ‘I do believe this is Miss Ella Bruce, sir! She has come from Carlisle, as I know you have been wishing and dreaming for decades.’ He gave her a fond look. ‘Now you can put that kissing ball to good use that you have been hanging for these past thirty Yuletides.’
‘Oh, no, I...’ Mary stopped when Mr Maxfield gave her the slightest shake of his head, his eyes lively.
‘Reading, take their cloaks and bring us some tea.’ He spoke firmly, and the butler nodded, doing as he was asked, then hurrying down the hall, rubbing his hands together and murmuring to himself. Mary watched, mystified.
Mr Maxfield cleared his throat. ‘My dear Rennies, won’t you come into my sitting room? Let me explain Reading to you and you can tell me more about the fruitcake.’ He gestured. ‘Mrs Rennie, allow me.’
They went into a cheery room that could only have belonged to a bachelor of long standing. Books perched on every chair, the mantelpiece and window ledges.
His eyes bright with amusement, Captain Rennie nodded to Nathan, who quickly picked up books and manuscripts from the sofas and wing-back chairs. Mr Maxfield nodded his approval.
‘Helpful lad,’ he said. ‘Do be seated, my dears.’ He looked at them for only a short moment; perhaps he was making sure his butler was out of earshot. ‘Dear Reading has been with me since I was a pup. He woolgathers now and is well-nigh convinced we’re both thirty years younger.’
‘It happens,’ Captain Rennie said.
‘Not in your line of work, I should think,’ Mr Maxfield replied.
‘No, indeed. Thanks to my—’ he glanced at Mary ‘—to Napoleon, there’s hardly a captain alive who rejoices in a thirty-year career.’ He looked down at his own deficiency and gave his wooden leg an experimental tap that made Mary smile. ‘Or at least survives with all the parts he started with. If your butler thinks Mrs Rennie is Miss Ella Bruce, I assure you my...Mrs Rennie is game enough to play along. Aren’t you, honey?’
I will thrash you some day, Mary thought. ‘Certainly I am game, my love,’ she replied just as sweetly and had the pleasure of watching the captain blush.
‘Good,’ Mr Maxfield said. He laughed, but it was a wistful sound. ‘Age has a way of catching us up. I must confess that since the fruitcake arrived, with its startling message, Miss Bruce has been the subject of some commentary in this little household.’ He sat back and steepled his hands, looking like the solicitor he was, albeit a short one. ‘Now tell me what little plot Ella’s silly nephew Malcolm Barraclough has hatched. I fear he is a frustrated romantic.’
* * *
Captain Rennie waited for Mary to speak. When she continued to regard the old fellow in silence, perhaps amazed at his frank understanding of his nephew, Ross decided he should atone for ‘honey’. After all, Mary had sprung him from the clutches of the law in Ovenshine. She had also forced him to spend time with the Everetts, perhaps the furthest thing from his mind when they went to Skowcroft, but probably the most correct. To be honest, he had enjoyed his visit with the vicar and his wife.
‘We’re after a Christmas cake, sir, a fruitcake, if you will. Apparently, your nephew sent it to you under the pen of Miss Ella Bruce, in the hopes that you would—’
‘He meant it most sincerely,’ Mary said, interrupting him. ‘Mr Barraclough told us that you were in love with Miss Bruce a few years ago...well, maybe more than a few years ago, but you were too shy.’
She stopped. From the charming way her face became so rosy, Ross knew she was shy, too. He put all his eggs in one fragile basket and covered her hand with his, surprising himself how gratified he was when she tightened her grip on his fingers.
‘That young scamp thought if he could send you a letter from Miss Bruce herself, you might work up your own courage,’ Ross explained.
‘Even after all these years,’ Mary added. ‘It’s probably not ever too late for love, Mr Maxfield.’
She stopped again, her face even more red. Ross could not think of a time in their admittedly brief relationship where he had seen her more lovely. I hope some man takes a good look at her, he thought in admiration. What’s wrong with the boyos of Scotland nowadays?
To his amusement, she gave his palm a little pinch, as if expecting him to do more of the heavy lifting in this conversation. He discovered that the last thing he wanted was to fail Mary Rennie. He shouldered right in.
‘That’s the short and tall of it, sir. Your nephew is a shameless matchmaker and he has been watching his dear aunt brood for too many years. What do you plan to do about this?’
Ross hadn’t meant to sound like a captain addressing a particularly dense midshipman, but that was his life and he expected results. He amended it with a more kindly gaze than he had ever given a midshipman and leaned back, keeping hold of Mary’s hand and putting it to rest on his thigh. Inez used to like that. Mary gave a little start, but she didn’t withdraw her hand from his leg. He wondered what Mary would do if he inched her hand a bit higher on his leg, but decided his credit wasn’t that good.
Mr Maxfield looked around, as though seeing his own sitting room for the first time. A ruddy colour had arrived in his own cheeks, which Ross thought quite charming. He didn’t know that elderly fellows blushed. The old fellow didn’t speak, though; Mr Maxfield was either filled with stronger stuffing than most midshipmen, or Ross was losing his touch this far from the ocean.
Mary took the initiative. She leaned forwards and touched Mr Maxfield’s sleeve with her free hand. Ross knew she could have just as easily pulled away her hand from his leg, but she did not.
‘Please, sir
, I hope you will consider the matter. Your nephew was most in earnest. There is a woman who loves you and here you sit.’
Look at her. Amazing woman! He recognised the lip tremble from last night with Sir Henry Pontifract in Ovenshine. He stared at Mary in admiration, convinced that Siddons herself could take lessons from his sweet cousin. He looked closer, wondering if she was in earnest herself. Touched, he dredged a handkerchief from his uniform jacket and handed it to her. He sat back to watch Mary Rennie work her magic.
‘Mr Barraclough told us that each Christmas season, Miss Ella Bruce droops a little. She puts up a kissing ball, then mopes about the place until she leaves for Stirling. I suspect it has something to do with you.’
Mr Maxfield was not any more immune to bare pleading than Sir Henry Pontifract. Although he had not known Mary beyond twenty minutes, the solicitor opened his heart. ‘Let me explain,’ he began, then stopped when the butler returned, staggering under a tray too heavy for him.
A nod in Nathan’s direction sent Ross’s son leaping to his feet to help. When the tray was safely lodged on a table and Reading dismissed—not without a pout and a forlorn backward glance—Mr Maxfield asked Mary to pour. She did, taking her time, while Ross wanted to climb the rose trellis in the wallpaper pattern in his urge to hear the old man’s story.
‘Now then, sir,’ Mary said, when everyone had tea in hand and bread and butter within reach.
That was all the invitation Mr Maxfield needed. ‘I’m so short,’ he began, and described his humiliations as a youth growing up in Carlisle next door to Ella Bruce. To hear him tell it, Miss Bruce was the envy of nations with her fine looks, even temper and wisdom, which made Ross wonder why, with all these qualities, she had arrived at an antique virgin state. ‘How could I impress someone like her?’ the solicitor concluded with a violent shake of his head that sent his wispy hair into curious patterns. ‘So many times I tried to work up my nerve to travel beyond neighbourly small talk.’ He shook his head in sorrow. ‘I was never brave enough.’
‘Why the kissing ball?’ Mary asked.
The little man heaved a sigh worthy of one far more substantial. ‘I last saw her thirty years ago at this time of year. There she stood, in close proximity to a kissing ball.’ He shook his head. ‘I just wasn’t brave enough to kiss her.’ He thumped his leg with his hand. ‘That was all that stood between me and possible success!’
‘She never married,’ Mary said. ‘As you know, sir, ladies cannot move the matter forward.’ It was gently put, but Ross could have sworn he heard some real longing.
A little pressure on his thigh told Ross it was his turn. ‘Her nephew told us how many letters she wrote through the years and then tore into scraps,’ he said promptly.
He hadn’t told a lie that big since he was eight, but it had the desired effect. Mr Maxfield absentmindedly took the handkerchief from Mary’s hand and pressed it to his own eyes. ‘In the note her nephew manufactured, she is at Stirling?’ he asked from the depths of the handkerchief.
‘Her sister’s,’ Mary replied. ‘I don’t know the address.’
‘I do,’ Mr Maxfield said. He gave his nose a fierce blow.
‘Well, then?’ Mary asked, her voice so soft.
‘I will leave for Stirling tomorrow morning!’ Mr Maxfield declared. ‘I have been teetering on the brink ever since the fruitcake arrived with that little note tucked inside. You have swayed me,’ he said to Mary, then turned his solicitor’s gaze upon Captain Rennie, which Ross reckoned was only slightly more kind than the look he fixed upon midshipmen,’You probably have no idea what a gem you have in Mrs Rennie.’
‘Guilty as charged, like any husband,’ Ross replied promptly. ‘She tolerates me because I am so often at sea.’
He couldn’t help a sidelong glance at Mary, who looked away. Even the back of her neck was red.
Trust Nathan to reel in the conversation. Ross had thought he was packing away bread-and-butter sandwiches and paying no attention. Obviously he misjudged his son.
‘Please, Mr Maxfield, where is the fruitcake?’
Mary seemed to pounce on Nathan’s question with great relief. ‘Yes! Where, indeed? You see, sir, I was sent on a commission to retrieve four fruitcakes for my aunt in Edinburgh, who fears the ingredients are slightly off.’ She smoothed down her dress. ‘That is really why we are here. After fruitcake.’
‘I would have thought you would hurry to be with your husband, Mrs Rennie,’ the solicitor said.
Your turn to prevaricate, Ross thought gleefully.
‘This was an errand I...we...Nathan and I...could handle as we made our way south,’ she lied, every bit as facile as he. Chalk up another tally for Mary Rennie. ‘And as you can see, we found him.’
She astounded Ross then by voluntarily running her hand up his thigh a little higher. He broke out in a sweat. ‘It’s somewhere in the city, then? Further afield?’ Ross asked, not adverse to another day or more in Mary’s company.
They all looked at the old man, who threw up his hands. ‘Only yesterday, I mailed it to a friend in Knaresborough.’ He touched Nathan’s knee. ‘Dear boy, no one actually eats fruitcake.’
Chapter Eighteen
That cinches the matter, Mary thought, embarrassed, as the captain groaned and swore an oath probably only heard on his quarterdeck during times of stress. Our journey ends right here. I have finally disgusted this man with my silly errand. She took her hand from his thigh, something she should have done several minutes ago. She had only inched it higher to get him back for the ‘honey’. Trouble was, she was starting to perspire and she knew the room wasn’t hot.
‘Pardon me,’ Captain Rennie said quickly, and there was no mistaking his own embarrassment. ‘It’s just that...Knaresborough, you say? Out of curiosity, why didn’t you just throw it away?’
It was Mr Maxfield’s turn to look askance. Mary held her breath, wondering what the solicitor must think of them. Not that Captain Rennie’s language reflected on her, precisely.
‘Sir! I think that from our combined accents— Nathan is our exception—we are three Scots. Have ye no national pride?’ the solicitor scolded. ‘I wouldn’t dream of throwing away food. One merely sends fruitcake on.’
Mary glanced at Captain Rennie. His lips began to twitch. In another moment, he seemed to cast all burdens to the wind as he laughed. ‘Mercy!’ he said finally, dabbing his eyes. ‘My dear Mary—all kindness to your aunt aside—there is a reason why no one put fruitcake on my wardroom list.’
A puzzled look on Mr Maxfield’s face led to more explanation of the list and the vicar in Skowcroft, followed by evil tidings in Ovenshine. By then, the solicitor was eating his way steadily through the bread and butter that Nathan had left, amazed at their journey. Shadows began to slant across the sitting room and the old butler had been peeking inside the room for the past half-hour, at least
It was Mary’s turn to steer the conversation back to the fourth fruitcake. ‘Who did you send it to, sir?’ she asked.
‘Bartemus Whitney, Number Twenty-five Corydon Circle,’ Mr Maxfield replied. ‘He is in the export business.’ The solicitor giggled. ‘Perhaps he will send your Christmas cake to Napoleon on Elba!’
‘I sincerely hope not,’ Mary said, suddenly tired of her adventure. ‘I don’t fancy an ocean voyage. I don’t know your country, sir. How far is Knaresborough from here?’
Mr Maxfield fixed her with a kindly eye. ‘I am teasing you, Mrs Rennie. It’s a mere fifteen miles. I could send him a note to dispose of it and—’
‘Oh, no!’ Mary exclaimed, chagrined at the puzzled look Mr Maxfield gave her. ‘I mean...Knaresborough is on our way to Scotland, is it not?’
‘Aye, lass.’
‘We can pick it up on our way through the town, sir,’ she assured him. ‘Nothing simpler. No need to write to Mr Whitney.’
‘We could never do that,’ she replied, looking to Captain Rennie to back her up. To her dismay, he seemed to be enjoying the whole exchange. ‘Could we, my dear?’ she asked him point blank.
* * *
‘Certainly not,’ he agreed. ‘You barely know us, sir.’ He took out his much-folded list. ‘Besides, there is a duck à l’orange I most specifically want to try at the Maiden’s Prayers on Hinckley Street in your very own York. We will leave for Knaresborough in the morning.’ He bowed to Mr Maxfield, then gathered Mary close with his arm around her waist. ‘Good luck with Miss Bruce, sir. I trust you will be as pleased with her as I am with Mary Rennie.’
His fingers were warm on her waist, even edging a little lower than Mary thought proper. There wasn’t a thing she could do except smile at their host, wish him Happy Christmas while she wished Ross Rennie to the devil and let Reading retrieve their coats.
‘Let’s find the Maiden’s Prayers,’ Captain Rennie told the postilion as he helped them into the chaise again. Light snow was falling now.
She still couldn’t say anything, not with Nathan so lively and wide awake. She tried, though. ‘Captain Rennie, you really don’t owe me any more attention,’ she said as they started off. ‘Knaresborough was never in the bargain!’
Trust such an unscrupulous man to bend her will to his so adroitly. The captain turned to his son. ‘Nathan, she doesn’t want us around.’
The little boy’s face fell. ‘It’s hard to imagine anyone not wanting us around,’ he said.
‘Certainly I want you around,’ Mary declared after a speaking glance at Nathan’s father, grinning in the shadows from his corner of the chaise. ‘Nathan, you are a delight. It’s just that you have a journey and I have a journey and they are not one and the same.’
The boy nodded. ‘I couldn’t have sprung Da from the magistrate last night,’ he told her simply. He leaned close to her and whispered, ‘I don’t think he would have visited the Everetts, either.’