The Birthright

by T. Davis Bunn

  Sleep and illness drew his eyelids closed, yet the words continued as a soft murmuring. “The clearest vision I have ever known of God’s love has been the moment you awaken, looking into your eyes.”

  “Shah, my love.” She stroked his brow and felt her fingers scalded by his unnatural heat. “You must rest now.”

  Although the bent-over position pained her mightily, Anne remained there till she was certain he was asleep. Finally his rasping breath eased, and she used both hands to push herself erect.

  As Anne left the bedroom, she heard the front door open. She walked into the parlor, where Catherine stood unbuttoning her snow-dappled coat. “This weather is positively atrocious!”

  “Even so, Cyril wanted to go see to his patients.”

  “Perhaps that is a sign he’s improving.” When Anne did not say anything, her mother demanded, “How is he?”

  “I…” Suddenly it seemed as though the parlor no longer held any air. She worked her lungs again, then said, “I fear his fever is returning.”

  “Oh, Anne, no.”

  “It happens, you know.” She tried to be the doctor’s assistant, speaking an honest summary. But the words caught in her throat, until it was a struggle to make any sound at all. “He has been so weakened by this, I cannot help but fear he may be struck by another bad night.”

  Catherine moved up beside her daughter. “Have you eaten?”

  “I am not hungry.”

  “Yet eat you must. There’s a child growing within you who must have nourishment.”

  She allowed her mother to guide her back toward the kitchen. Thankfully the poultice’s fumes had lessened somewhat. “I hope the baby does not grow too much more. I feel tight as a drum already. I honestly don’t see how I can carry this child another month.”

  “Just sit yourself down and rest. You do far too much as it is. I’ll warm you up a nice bowl of stew and then prepare some good fresh bread for baking with the evening meal. That should do you and your husband both a world of good.”

  Anne blinked away the morning’s second wash of tears. “I don’t know what I’d do without you here, Momma.”

  “That’s what mothers are for, haven’t you heard?” Catherine’s voice was overenthusiastic, as though seeking to dispel the surrounding gloom with the force of her words. “Now as soon as I’ve fixed your stew, I am going to go upstairs and write your father. It has been three days since my last letter, and I am certain he must be wondering what on Earth has happened to us.”

  Chapter 10

  The Portsmouth docks held the largest collection of men and ships Nicole had ever seen. With the midday light strong as the westerly wind, she was forced to shade her eyes with her hand as she came up the stairs from the captain’s great room. She had stood at the railing and watched the ship’s furious activity as it had maneuvered down the long channel, finally answering the port’s signal gun with cannon fire and flags of its own. Then at Emily’s suggestion she had gone down to change into the dress of midnight blue. Though it would make for a warmer overland journey, Emily felt the somber air would make a more fitting first impression. “After all, my dear,” she had reminded Nicole, “it is not just your uncle who will be greeting you. There will be the servants and the coachmen and any friends or relatives who might be gathered.”

  “Charles has no other living relatives in England,” Nicole said, but her mind had become preoccupied by the word servants. How ever was she going to cope?

  Emily noticed the sudden rush of anxiety and patted her hand. “Rest assured, my dear, you will do fine.”

  “How can you be so certain?”

  “Because I have watched the effect you have had upon the men gathered here. If you can charm the likes of my husband and his officers, I have no doubt that you will make your uncle very proud indeed.”

  The words had eased Nicole through the final stages of packing and dressing. But now, as she came up from the below-decks and found herself facing the bustling harbor, she quailed. “It’s positively enormous.”

  “Aye, some say the busiest port in all the world,” Captain Madden said proudly. “Home to His Majesty’s fleet, not to mention half the London-bound trade. Tea from India, spice from the Orient, silks from China, gold from the colonies. Trade is the backbone of our nation, you mark my words.”

  Nicole forced herself to turn and offer the captain her very best smile. “I cannot thank you enough, sir.”

  The ship’s master plucked the hat from his head. “Your servant, Miss Harrow.”

  “I mean this sincerely. You and your dear wife have taught me well and graced me with friendship besides.”

  The captain’s chest expanded, and his vast sideburns seemed to bristle further. “The pleasure has been all mine.”

  “Ahoy there!” A voice drifted up from over the side. “I say, do you carry a passenger by the name of Miss Nicole Harrow?”

  The captain walked to the rail. “Who wants to know?”

  “Gaylord Days is the name, sir. Privy to Lord Charles, earl of Sutton.”

  “Then the answer is yes.” He turned to the bosun and ordered, “Rig the rope ladder and the bosun’s chair.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Then the captain bent back over the rail. “Mr. Days, how did you know? We made a record crossing. There’s no chance of the mail packet having beaten us over.”

  “You’re the fifth ship I’ve come out to meet, sir.” The rope ladder was tossed over as the vessel was moored, and then a solid man who appeared to be in his fifties made hard work of clambering aboard. He paused at the top to adjust his periwig and straighten the lapels of his long coat with its shining gold buttons. Then he gave a deep bow. He wore dark breeches tucked into knee-high white stockings, a frilled shirt, and square-toed shoes with bright gold buckles. “Your servant, sir.”

  “The fifth ship, you say?”

  “Aye. I’ve been lodged here in Portsmouth for six days now, with orders to meet every ship that arrives from the northern colonies. Lord Charles is all afire to have…” His eye then caught sight of Nicole standing well away from the discussion, not hiding, but certainly not pushing her way forward. The stocky man could not help but gape. “Y-you are Miss Nicole Harrow?”

  “Yes.” Even to her own ear, her voice sounded quieter than the gulls’ constant crying. Lost and small and afraid. “I am.”

  “I am ever so glad to make your acquaintance, ma’am.” He bowed, then resumed his staring. “You’ll forgive me, but Lord Charles said nothing of my being sent to meet, well, a lady such as yourself. Dark-haired, tall, and fetching was all the description he cared to give me.”

  Captain Madden seemed to find the servant’s surprise most amusing. “Her beauty is nothing compared to her charm, I assure you.”

  “Thank you, Captain,” Nicole said.

  “With your permission, Miss Harrow, my officers have requested to pay their respects and see you off.” The captain gestured them forward. Behind the row of officers, dressed in their very best uniforms, stood many of the ship’s crew, who had also turned out en masse to bid her farewell. For Nicole’s dinnertime stories had filtered down through the ranks, and not a one of the men had remained untouched by the young lady’s tales.

  Nicole made her way along the line of brightly uniformed gentlemen, thanking each in turn.

  Next to last was the handsome Gordon Goodwind, who removed his hat and bowed so sharply his saber’s tip rattled against his boot. “You have brought us good fortune, Miss Harrow, and graced us with a memorable voyage.”

  “You are too kind. All of you.” She searched for something to make her good-bye more personal. “Mrs. Madden informs me that you are to be brevetted a captain. Did I say that correctly?”

  “Aye, ma’am.” The lieutenant’s gaze was as straight and pointed as his sword. “This grand lady of a vessel is to be mine.”

  “I have no doubt you will make Captain Madden very proud.”

  “I thank you for the words and the co
nfidence, my lady.” Goodwind colored slightly as he bowed a second time. “I shall be visiting relatives in London between journeys. Perhaps you would be so good as to permit me to call—”

  “That will do, Mr. Goodwind,” the captain broke in.

  Nicole did her best to soften the captain’s chop. “I would be honored, if I am there.” She then stepped over to Andy Potter, whose face turned so brilliant red it looked as if he might explode. “I shall always remember your welcome, Mr. Potter.”

  “Oh, thank you, miss,” he stammered. “I…I count it a great blessing the day you boarded our ship.”

  “As do we all,” the tall lieutenant said.

  Nicole turned to Emily, hugged her close, and whispered, “I cannot do this.”

  “You can and you will.” The lady’s face was wreathed in smiles. “What is more, my dear, you will shine.”

  “Will you come to see me? That is, if it’s not too far?”

  “Actually, we live in London when my husband is not abroad. If you’re sure you would like to see us, we would be honored, wouldn’t we, James?”

  “Delighted. We would be delighted.”

  “But I thought Uncle Charles lived in the country.”

  Emily smiled even more broadly. “Oh, the things you will see,” she said and patted Nicole’s arm. “The wonders still to be discovered.”

  Nicole had no choice then but to turn back to where the manservant waited. “I am ready, sir.”

  “Very good, ma’am.” He had a discerning eye and so took a moment to study the way the entire ship seemed poised and waiting to honor Nicole’s departure. “I can see Lord Charles was not mistaken in his choice, Miss Harrow.”

  “Far from it,” the captain declared.

  Gaylord Days made equal hard going in his descending from the vessel, taking another moment at the bottom to readjust his wig and coat. He received the chests and settled them himself, then waited as Nicole was helped into the bosun’s chair and eased gently over the side.

  As she began her descent the captain commanded sharply, “Present arms!”

  The officers doffed their hats and stood at attention as Nicole disappeared over the rail. Gaylord Days met her with, “They do you great honor, Miss Harrow. I’ve not seen such a display other than when there’s an admiral or royalty about. Not ever in all my born days.”

  She was seated alongside Gaylord amidships, as fore and aft the six men leaned heavily into the oars. Gradually they pulled away from the ship, drawing hard across the inner harbor’s protected waters. Nicole kept her eyes focused on the vessel, watching as everything she knew and had gotten comfort from moved farther and farther away. She whispered to herself, “Where am I going?”

  “Harrow Hall, Miss Harrow,” Gaylord replied, for his ears were as keen as his eyesight. “Lord Charles has delayed his move to London until you have time to settle yourself.”

  She straightened and tried to clear herself from the tides of uncertainty. “How far is it from here?”

  “A good day’s journey by carriage. There’s a coaching inn midway, where we can overnight in comfort and safety.”

  “Carriage?”

  “Aye, miss. You can see it waiting us there upon the quayside.”

  Nicole gasped at the sight of the gleaming coach. It was tall, shining with gold leaf, and drawn by six of the finest dark steeds she had ever seen. Three men stood awaiting their arrival, all in longcoats and powdered wigs. Above the carriage door was embossed an elaborate royal seal.

  She turned back around and stared at the ships and the harbor, but saw nothing. She then murmured to herself, “Carriage.”

  Chapter 11

  Charles paced impatiently back and forth across the forecourt. Never had he felt so anxious. He pulled the gilded pocket watch from his waistcoat, glanced at it, and let out an indignant snort. How was it possible for time to crawl so?

  That morning, a young man had arrived from the coaching inn between Harrow Hall and Portsmouth Harbor, shouting with the excitement of bringing good news. The servant, Gaylord Days, had ordered him the previous night to leave at first light. But the boy had ridden the first hour by moonlight, so elated was he by the prospect of earning a reward of silver farthings. Would Lord Charles recompense him for the news that the carriage would be arriving that very day? Indeed, Charles had sent the weary but immensely pleased innkeeper’s son off on his return journey with a handful of silver jingling in his pocket.

  “Here you are, sir!” Maisy Days rushed down the front stairs. She was a broad woman, with a cheery red face that looked for reasons to smile. But she was not smiling now. She carried herself with a rolling gait across the forecourt, stopping only when she was close enough for Charles to see the indignant flush to her cheeks. “Here it is just gone two o’clock in the afternoon, and my good cooked lunch has gone stone-cold, sir. Stone-cold!”

  “I am not hungry,” Charles said.

  “That’s your head talking and not your middle,” she retorted. “I’ve been with you nigh on forty years and I know you well as anyone on this here earth. And within the hour you’ll be hot as a boiled rooster, stomping about and giving everybody the sharp end of your tongue. Now is that the impression you want the young lady to have of this place?”

  “No, no, I suppose you’re right.”

  “ ’Course I am.” She shooed him back across the cobblestone concourse. “Give me no end of trouble, you do. If Will were to try your tricks, he’d soon hear from me, if I may say so, sir!”

  Charles crossed the outer hall from which he could see the two downstairs maids frantically completing their cleaning. Will was also at work, standing on a ladder and polishing the top panes of the open front windows. From his perch he looked down and grinned conspiratorially. All the staff wore smiles that afternoon, all except Maisy Days and himself.

  Charles asked the indignant woman, “Do you think Nicole will like the old place?”

  “What a question. I wish you could hear yourself, I do. Walking about like a man what’s lost his way, squinting into corners and not seeing a thing.”

  “There’s a great deal riding on this, you know.”

  “And not a thing that’ll come from your going on so.” She pointed him into the smaller dining chamber. “Sit yourself down there, while I go warm up your soup. Again.”

  “I’ll just have a bite standing in the kitchen.”

  “No, sir, if I may be so bold. A meal I have prepared will be eaten sitting down.” She handed him a linen napkin and waited until he had assumed his position at the head of the table before turning back to the kitchen, muttering as she went, “Greeting the young mistress what’s come all this way, wearing a waistcoat dripped with his lunch. Not in my house, sir. Not in a thousand years.” Her words were punctuated by the kitchen door shutting firmly behind her.

  Charles pulled a wad of folded pages from his coat pocket, notes he had written three mornings before. There was so much he wanted to say to Nicole—words of welcome and explanation—he had decided to jot them down rather than risk forgetting something vital. Yet now as he looked them over, they seemed so formal, so very wrong for the occasion.

  Maisy returned, bearing a steaming bowl and a plate of freshly baked bread. “Here you are now, a goodly portion of stew. It’ll warm you right up.”

  He refolded the pages and stuffed them back into his pocket. “I wish I knew what to say to the lass.”

  “None of that, now. She’s not coming for the night, you know. She made the promise you wanted, did not you tell me that?”

  “Two years, that’s what she said.” Charles took a spoonful of stew but tasted nothing.

  “Well, then.” Maisy crossed her arms, clearly intending to stand there and make sure he ate. “What’s important is how she finds things over time. It’ll all be new at first, but she’ll grow to like the place.”

  Charles looked up at the woman he had known all his adult life. “You think so? Truly?”

  “She’s coming all t
his way, is she not?” But she saw the desperate appeal in his face and so softened. “I will tell His Honor something I’ve not said, no, not ever. You came back from your journey to the colonies a changed man. And if that young woman has an ounce of sense to her name, she is going to see this as well.”

  “I think,” Charles said, “she already knows.”

  “If she’s half the woman you’ve described to me, I am not the least bit surprised. Such things as this are what’s important. Not the old place and all these here trappings. I’ve heard you say that often enough. Give her time, I say, and she’ll see this as well.”

  Charles felt the first faint easing of tension since his greeting the young rider that morning. “You are a dear woman, Maisy Days.”

  She turned fierce once more. “I am annoyed at the hole you’ve made in my day, is what I am. Here with a guest arriving and me with a kitchen to run. Now you sit there and finish what’s been set before you.” She then patted his shoulder before whirling around and walking back to the kitchen.

  But once Charles was alone again, all the worries and tensions returned. He forced himself to eat, yet he might as well have been spooning dust into his mouth.

  “Sir! Oh, sir!” Young Will Days clattered down the ladder and raced across the hall. “I hear horses!”

  Charles overturned his chair in his haste to rise. He rushed to the front door and then stood motionless, as all around him gathered the excited household staff.

  “Quiet, everyone!” But all he could hear was the hammering of his own heart. So he pushed open the door and walked to the edge of the front terrace. He strained and then caught the drift of a faint drumming of hooves. “That must be them!”

  Maisy’s voice rang out, ordering the staff to come together for the formal greeting. Paying particular attention to the younger people, she went down the line and made sure the livery was spotless, the maids’ caps were in place, their aprons tied properly.

  Charles walked a few paces away from them, frightened. What if Nicole despised the old place? What if she despised England? What if he had made a terrible mistake in bringing her here?