by Carla Kelly
* * *
It was almost a relief when she took off her apron after the last batch of bread was cooling and told Mrs Wilson that she and Rob had been invited to Lady Tutt’s house. ‘She only invited Captain Duncan, but I am his keeper and must attend, too.’
‘If her high-and-mighty ladyship is feeling any remorse for all the bread she has pinched in past years, you might appeal to her better nature to pay me,’ Mrs Wilson said. She made a shooing motion. ‘Go on! If you keep her waiting, you’ll never hear the end of it.’
Meekly, Rob took off his apron, too, and ran his fingers through his hair.
‘You already look splendid, Captain,’ Grace teased.
He could tease as well as she. ‘I’m hoping she wants to put me in her will,’ he said. He licked his finger and smoothed down his eyebrows, which made Grace laugh. ‘Or, at the very least, do odd jobs for her.’
‘She cannot ask you to do odd jobs, Captain, because I am your keeper.’
He grinned. ‘Gracie, even Elaine never called me her keeper.’ He shook his head, his eyes merry. ‘She knew better!’
* * *
‘That is the first time I have ever made a joke about my wife,’ he said later, as they walked toward the Tutt mansion. ‘It felt good, Gracie. Maybe that’s how it happens. At first, it was too painful to even mention her name. Once in Dartmoor, I thought I had forgotten the colour of her eyes. I hadn’t, of course. But now…’ He stopped, giving her arm a slight tap. ‘It’s fun to remember the good times.’
It was so personal, so intimate, but Grace was growing used to Rob Inman’s utter transparency. ‘I’d like some day to think of my father in a kind light,’ she said.
‘You will,’ he assured her. ‘Maybe not tomorrow, maybe not for years.’
‘I think too much anger turns a person bitter,’ she said, as they started walking again.
‘It can.’ He took her hand and she could think of no objection. ‘We’re a strange pair. Maybe only someone who has crawled across a deck on his knees can understand what courage it took for a baronet’s daughter to walk into a bakery and pledge to work off a debt.’
She nodded, unable to blink back the tears. His arm went around her shoulder then. ‘You’re ambitious, Grace, and I like that.’ He chuckled. ‘I don’t even mind that I’m worth thirty pounds a year to you, which makes me valuable to you.’
‘Am I crass?’ she asked, embarrassed.
‘Ambition is crass? Oh, it is not, Gracie! You want to own the Wilsons’ bake house. More power to you.’
She took his hand this time. He understands, she thought, excited. ‘I have ideas! I would bring in more sweets and more flavours of bread.’
‘Cinnamon bread with raisins. Have you ever tried it?’
She shook her head.
‘Oh, this is a deprived little island,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘I had no idea.’
She started to laugh then, realising in her heart that she had not laughed like that in years, if ever. Years of worry and work and anger seemed to turn into smoke and blow away. She stared at Rob Inman for a moment, then laughed again when he started to laugh.
In another moment they were both sitting on the roadside, back to back, leaning against each other as their laughter gradually subsided into isolated bursts of merriment and then just a general shoulder-shaking.
‘This is absurd,’ she managed to say finally. ‘I’m not certain why we’re laughing.’
‘I know something even better than cinnamon bread. We’ll try it tomorrow.’
‘We’re going to Exeter tomorrow,’ she reminded him. ‘To find Mr Selway.’
‘The day after, then. This will make the Wilsons a fortune.’
She looked over her shoulder, interested. He looked at her, too, until they were cheek to cheek. He was so close; he smelled lovely of cinnamon and yeast. She kissed his cheek impulsively. ‘Cinnamon drives me wild,’ she whispered and he started to laugh again.
He stood up and pulled her to her feet. ‘Gracie, you’re amazing. Behave yourself and let’s visit Lady Tutt.’
She was blushing furiously now, grateful only that no one else was on the side road to watch such total foolishness. ‘Thank goodness no one saw that.’
He grew suddenly serious and held her off. ‘Don’t be certain. Did I mention to you that I think we’re being watched all the time? I thought not.’
Chapter Thirteen
Grace looked around, her eyes wide. ‘Are you certain? Who? Why didn’t you say something?’
He shrugged, as serious as she was, even though his face was still ruddy. ‘Maybe because it seems silly. It’s Emery.’
‘Why would he do that?’
‘Remember that henchman of Lord Thomson’s who was waiting for us on the other side of that little knoll?’ he asked, as they resumed walking. ‘The really ugly customer?’
‘Yes. I think Lord Thomson called him a butler, but between you and me, I’ve never seen a butler who looked like a road mender.’
Rob nodded. ‘I see him around Quimby, whenever we are there.’
‘I don’t doubt you,’ she replied. ‘But Emery?’
‘I think he’s watching Ugly Butler—that’s what I have been calling him—who is watching us.’
‘Then thank God for Emery!’ Grace lifted the door knocker.
* * *
Lady Tutt received them in her best sitting room. They knew it was her best because her butler told them so.
‘Amazing,’ Rob whispered, looking around a room overstuffed with furniture in the Egyptian style.
‘Hush, I am admiring the wallpaper,’ Grace said. It was an Italian scene, with coy flirtations between shepherds and shepherdesses who looked too overweight to cavort much.
‘Good God,’ he whispered back.
Lady Tutt swept into the room with the triumphant air of a spider who had captured a multitude of moths in her web.
‘What do you think of my wallpaper?’ she asked the
parolee.
‘Words fail me,’ he said.
‘Nothing like this in your country, is there?’ Lady Tutt positively crowed.
‘Not that I have seen,’ he told her, ‘and I’ve been to Boston, New York, Philadelphia and Baltimore. Charleston, too. But I live among pretty ordinary folk on Nantucket and we’re not given much to…uh…the finer things.’
With a gesture—probably as well practised as her entrance—Lady Tutt had them sit. In a moment, there was a clanking from the hall as a maid struggled with a tea cart of majestic proportions. Grace glanced at Rob, who smiled even more broadly.
‘Lady Tutt, you know how to entertain,’ he said, with what sounded like total sincerity to Grace. ‘Are those…could they be… .éclairs?’
Before she replied, Lady Tutt glowered at Grace. ‘He looks a trifle thin, Grace. I’d have thought you would prepare a more lavish table for someone compelled to eat so poorly on an American vessel. I realise he was subsequently lodged in one of our most enlightened prisons, but obviously not long enough for his own good.’
Grace couldn’t think of a reply that would do such a stupid sentence justice. She should have trusted Rob Inman. He could lie about wallpaper, apparently, but that was all.
‘Lady Tutt, I was fed well enough on the Orontes,’ he told her. ‘It’s a ship and had its own challenges, I assure you. The problem came in Dartmoor, which everyone in England ought to be ashamed of.’
Lady Tutt frowned. ‘Impossible! Only last week, the administrator of prisons visited our ladies’ society—we go about doing good now and then. He assured us it was a modern facility in every way. Practically new.’
‘I’m not mistaken,’ he told her, trying to sound both apologetic and emphatic at the same time. ‘I lived there a year and would have died, if Lord Thomson hadn’t sprung me.’
Lady Tutt still didn’t look as though she believed him, but graciously chose to soldier on. She indicated the overloaded tea cart. ‘Have whatever you’d like, Captain.’
Rob needed no urging to eat. He loaded his plate, then popped an éclair in his mouth. ‘Excellent, Lady Tutt. I will rescue you any day of the week, if éclairs are involved.’
Lady Tutt tittered. ‘I cannot imagine what I choked on.’
Umbrage and purloined bits of bread, Grace thought grimly, as she selected an éclair.
She sat back and watched Rob Inman calmly eat his way through the tea cart, modestly deflecting Lady Tutt’s effusive thanks for her survival as she poured tea from a hyper-ornate silver pot, and sent the maid running for more éclairs.
When she had finished—Rob had discovered caramel-coated biscuits and showed no signs of stopping—Lady Tutt folded her hands in her lap. ‘There now. Since you were so quick-witted to save me from a terrible death, as—’
‘I was,’ Rob said earnestly, which made Grace press her napkin hard against her lips.
‘…from a terrible death,’ Lady Tutt continued inexorably, ‘I invited you here to show you that I bear no hard feelings over America’s cruel perfidy in so underhandedly attacking British shipping, with no provocation.’
Grace pressed harder and glanced at Rob again.
‘Uh, Lady Tutt, I think you have that backward,’ he said, after another longing look at the caramel biscuits. ‘Was your source the same prison administrator?’
‘Heavens, no!’ she declared. ‘It was a member of the Admiralty. We believe it is the duty of every benevolent society to know what is going on in one’s country. At least, what is approved for ladies to know.’
‘Um, aye,’ he replied. ‘Actually, the Royal Navy has an ungentlemanly habit of snatching American sailors off their ships and impressing them.’
‘They would never,’ Lady Tutt said, all complaisance. ‘The Admiralty officer said the Royal Navy was only guiding home Englishmen who got mixed up in America, somehow.’ She patted his hand. ‘That’s why you’re confused.’
Rob struggled on doggedly. ‘Lady Tutt, there is also the matter of British fur traders inciting Indians to burn and loot American settlements along the frontier, and scalp my countrymen.’
‘Surely nothing more than a rumour, young man. Your president is such a hothead.’
You might as well urge the tide not to go in and out, Grace thought, amused.
‘President Madison has been called many things, but not generally a hothead,’ Rob said, but Grace could tell he was weakening under Lady Tutt’s barrage of misinformation. He took a sip of tea to fortify himself. ‘At any rate, I was glad to render you a service in the bakery. We can both agree that was a good thing.’
‘Indeed we can, Captain Duncan,’ Lady Tutt said, sailing serenely on, convinced of her facts. She indicated Grace with a nod. ‘Grace, it wasn’t necessary for you to accompany the captain here today. I don’t recall inviting you.’
Grace felt her face grow warm. ‘You didn’t, Lady Tutt,’ she managed to say.
‘That is the term of my parole,’ Rob said quickly. There was an edge to his voice that Grace knew was not her imagination. ‘I cannot leave Lord Thomson’s estate without Grace Curtis, or I will be shot. That is a fact. I need Grace Curtis.’
‘What a silly rule,’ Lady Tutt said. ‘I believe I will write to the Lord Admiral and have you released to my custody.’
The captain shook his head. ‘The condition must stand, Lady Tutt. I know you are impervious to any possibility that England could be at fault in this war—’
‘She is not,’ Lady Tutt interrupted.
‘Ah, yes. I promise faithfully not to ruin anyone in
Quimby with my republican sentiments. You’ll have to excuse us now.’ He glanced at Grace. ‘It’s getting dark and I turn into a werewolf once a month.’
Grace stifled her laughter by holding her lips tight together and looking across the room. Lady Tutt didn’t even blink. She held out her hand and Rob took it, giving it a firm, republican shake, and not a kiss.
‘Dear, misguided boy. If you ever need anything, I would be happy to oblige,’ she said, as she rose as gracefully as her bulk would allow and walked them to the door of the sitting room. ‘I owe you my life, after all. Good day, Grace.’
‘She didn’t listen to a single word I said,’ was his first comment as Grace hurried him from the mansion so she could laugh. He shook his head and ducked theatrically when she pummelled him. ‘What? Maybe I could turn into a werewolf. Never tried it.’ He shook his head. ‘I’m sorry she was rude to you.’
Grace shrugged. ‘I’m never used to it, but it bothers me less and less.’
He took her arm. ‘You’re a terrible liar. It bothers you.’ He shook his head again. ‘Grace, if I had stayed there one more minute, my head would have exploded!’
‘Or your stomach,’ she teased. ‘I gave up counting the éclairs.’
‘Wise of you.’
* * *
Twice, Rob had taken her arm and stopped on the way back to Quarle, listening to other footsteps, which had finally stopped, too. ‘Ugly Butler,’ he had whispered both times.
‘I can’t keep calling him that,’ he said finally, as they came onto Lord Thomson’s estate again, once they were through the vicar’s orchard.
‘I rather like it,’ Grace said. ‘Ugly Butler.’
‘Grace, you’re a rascal,’ Rob teased. ‘Why didn’t I notice that before?’
‘You were too busy looking around for something to eat,’ she retorted.
* * *
Emery came into the kitchen as she finished preparing dinner, offering no explanation for his tardiness. She smiled at him, touched by his willingness to keep an eye on Ugly Butler for them and his modesty in not admitting it. I suppose we all like a little drama in our lives, Grace thought, as she watched with appreciation as he set the table.
‘Emery, maybe you should have been a butler,’ she told him. ‘You’re good.’
He gave her a slow wink, which made her laugh.
‘Emery, do you want any help with the dishes?’
He shook his head. ‘I think you’d rather be sitting with the captain than drying a plate or two,’ he observed.
She could have been embarrassed, but what was the point? ‘Emery, you are wise beyond your advanced years,’ she teased.
Rob was sitting on the front steps, which he seemed to prefer, even though it struck Grace as strange. What would my father say? she asked herself, as she watched him a moment, then joined him. Do I even care?
‘Do you sit on your front step in Nantucket?’ she asked.
‘I have a nice porch with chairs,’ he told her. ‘I like to watch the sun go down over the bay. Elaine would knit and I’d prop my feet on the porch railing and howdy my neighbours.’ He sighed. ‘I wasn’t home much.’
‘Who lives in your house now?’
He shrugged. ‘No one. Maybe some spiders and mice now. Of course, Elaine’s father was my agent for the house, so it is probably let. I want to go home.’
She heard the frustration in his voice and the longing. Would I miss Quimby if I left it? she asked herself. Better not to even think about it. She was here and that was that. Still… It was impulsive, but how to ask him?
‘Rob, suppose someone from England wanted to settle in America. Wouldn’t they shun…that person…because she—or he—was British?’
He thought about that, shaking his head. ‘Nantucket has its fair share of Lady Tutts, I assure you. But if you can do something well, no one would disparage you. We look out for each other.’
She was sitting a step down from him. He eased himself down and sat next to her. ‘You—or someone like you—could start with nothing and become something. I did.’
Grace shook her head, exasperated with herself. ‘Why am I even asking this?’
He leaned against her shoulder, just a brief pressure. ‘Maybe it’s time for a change, Grace.’ He smiled. ‘Or…someone you might know, of course.’
* * *
She thought about what he had said as she brushed her hair and braide
d it, sitting cross-legged on her bed in her nightgown. Summer was in full bloom and the room was warm. She had opened the windows in hopes that a breeze would pass her way, but nothing stirred outside.
Her head told her that no place could possibly be as perfect as Nantucket. Rob Inman was just homesick and glorifying his small island. Her heart wanted to see it through her own eyes—the beaches, the grey-shingled houses, the sea gulls.
Rob knocked on her door and her heart jumped a little. She knew it wasn’t Emery, who had retired an hour ago. She tugged her nightgown down around her ankles and reached for her shawl.
‘Yes?’
‘May I come in?’
He was still dressed, but he had pulled his shirt tails out of his trousers and removed his shoes. He closed the door and pulled a chair closer to the bed.
‘Grace, if we go to Exeter, I’m certain we’re going to be followed by Ugly Butler.’
‘Why?’
He shrugged. ‘Why is he following us now? Be sure to take along that parole document. Lord Thomson would like nothing better than to shoot me, or, at the very least, return me to Dartmoor. I’m not in favour of either scenario.’
She put her brush in her lap, wondering why she had worried about him seeing her in her nightgown. He was all business. ‘Then let us do this, the local bonecracker stops at that junction where we sat the other day. The first one comes by before the sun is up. Let’s take that one to Exeter.’
‘And we won’t tell Emery.’ In answer to her look, he held up both hands. ‘Honestly, Grace. The less he knows, the less danger we will cause him.’
‘True. I hadn’t thought of that. We’ll tiptoe out of the house like thieves in the night.’
‘I like that plan.’ He frowned then, and she saw his embarrassment. ‘I don’t have a penny to my name for the carriage.’
‘Mr Selway left some money with me,’ she said. ‘It’s not much, but it will get us to and from Exeter, and buy a sausage or two for a noon meal. Mr Selway will furnish us with more when we visit him.’