Newton and Polly

by Jody Hedlund

  “No, Mother. Let me answer it.” Polly attempted to follow, but with a stern shake of her head, Mother commanded her obedience. Polly sagged against the wall, closed her eyes, and began praying the Lord’s Prayer.

  The click of Mother unlocking the front door was followed by its squeak open and then Mother’s gasp. “John, thank heaven you’re safe!”

  John? Polly pushed away from the wall.

  “Where’s Polly?” He gasped out the words. “Is she here?”

  “Yes, and she’s fine.”

  Polly moved into the doorway, the sluggishness of moments ago disappearing. At the sight of John standing in the hallway framed by the gray sky and lifeless January landscape behind him, she drew in a shaky breath and blinked back sudden tears. He was alive.

  His frantic gaze landed upon her, his eyes wild, his hair disheveled. His nose had stopped bleeding, but his shirt and cravat were splattered with bright red. “Are you all right?”

  She rushed to him with the urge to throw her arms around him, but she stopped short. His chest heaved in and out from his recent exertion, his warm breath reassuring her that he was safe. A bruise was beginning to rise on his cheekbone. His nose was slightly puffy, and she wondered if the huge man had broken it. “Are you in much pain?”

  “None now that I’m here with you.”

  She tried to smile but her lips were tremulous. “I’m glad Billy found you.”

  “Billy?”

  “Yes, he brought me home and told me he would go back to the cave to help you…” The blankness in John’s eyes told her he hadn’t seen Billy.

  He gave a half grin, one that didn’t reach his eyes. “I freed myself.”

  “You did? How?”

  “Polly, darling,” her mother admonished with a nod toward all the other children watching with wide eyes from the drawing-room door. “Little ears are listening.”

  Once John was settled in a chair in the morning room, Polly pressed a hot cup of tea in his hand and her mother draped the wool blanket over his shoulders. Polly started to back away from him, but his fingers snaked around her wrist, and he glared up at her. The anger in his eyes took her by surprise.

  “You shouldn’t have turned back.”

  She bristled at his tone. “I was worried about you. Is that wrong?”

  “Aye.”

  She jerked free of his grasp and fisted her hands on her hips. “What kind of friend do you take me for? I only regret that I didn’t do more to help free you instead of running like a coward.”

  “Your hesitation only put you under suspicion. Now Charlie’s gang knows you were there with me. And they’ll be watching you closely.”

  Her ire escalated. “I only wanted to help you.”

  “As you can see, I didn’t need your help.”

  “Well, pardon me for not wanting to leave you with a knife pointed at your throat.”

  “Polly.” Mother’s gentle reprimand ended Polly’s tirade, but not her indignation.

  Polly dropped into the chair next to John’s, not sure if she was more irritated at herself for making matters worse by bringing herself under suspicion from the smugglers or at John for being right.

  “Let John tell us how he freed himself,” Mother suggested.

  Polly crossed her arms and glared back at John.

  He addressed Mother. “I don’t think the man intended to kill me. Frighten me. Aye. Scuff me up a bit. Aye. But not kill.”

  Mother folded her fingers in her lap but not before Polly caught sight of the trembling.

  “He dragged me into the cave and started to tie me up,” John continued. “But when he went around my backside, I used the opportunity to kick over his torch and stomp it out.” He lifted one of his shoes to reveal a blackened sole that was nearly burned away.

  “Thankfully the torch had only a small flame and went out easily, leaving us in complete blackness. In the commotion I was able to slip out of the cave and back the way I’d come.”

  “Did he chase you?” Polly asked with a glance toward the doorway at the same time as her mother, knowing her mother was thinking the same thing, that at any moment Charlie’s gang would be knocking down their door.

  “I didn’t hear anyone following me,” John answered. “I hid for a while just to make sure. But that doesn’t mean they won’t come after me. Eventually.”

  Mother was silent, studying John as though deciding what to do next. Finally, she reached over and took one of his hands in hers. “As much as we are glad to see you again, John, I wonder if perhaps you should depart from Kent for a while—”

  John started to shake his head.

  “Just until this incident has the chance to defuse,” Mother continued. “We wouldn’t want to see anything worse happen to you as a result of being here in plain view of Charlie Baldock and his gang.”

  Polly wanted to deny her mother, to tell John to stay. How could she bear his leaving when he’d only just arrived? But at the same time, her mother was right. John would be in danger if he stayed.

  Newton leaned back in the cushioned elbow chair. The green damask had probably been new and fine at one time but was now pale and frayed around the edges. He suspected that’s why the chair was relegated to Mr. Catlett’s closet-like study across from the dining room at the back of the house. It was no longer fine enough to have a place in the drawing room, the showplace of the house.

  Mr. Catlett sat in a hard-backed oak chair with scrolling detail on the legs and arms. It too had likely been a fine, polished piece of furniture at one time, but now it was scuffed and faded. With each move Mr. Catlett made, the chair wobbled as though it might fall. But Mr. Catlett didn’t seem to pay any attention to his surroundings. Newton had learned during his last visit that Mr. Catlett was more concerned about honesty than making good impressions.

  They’d already spent the past hour discussing the looming threat of war with France. Many believed that the exiled heir to the English throne, Bonnie Prince Charlie of the Stuart line, would attempt an invasion in an effort to regain the throne from the Hanoverian King George, whom some believed to be a usurper.

  “Rumors abound,” Newton said, “that the Young Pretender, Charles, is even now in France assembling an army of French, Scottish, and disgruntled English, and that he’s planning to invade England in the spring.”

  “The problem is that we’ve been expecting a French invasion for years,” Mr. Catlett replied. “There has always been a lingering fear, ever since the Stuart king was deposed, that he would eventually attempt to regain the throne with the help of France.”

  “But never so much talk as now,” John insisted. “In every port I visited on the voyage home, people were saying that this time the invasion will happen. In fact, British agents in Paris have gotten word of preparations of forces at Dunkirk along with information that the crossing is feasible.”

  Mr. Catlett’s expression was grave. “That would account for the increase in active troops around the area and naval vessels sailing up and down the coast. The king is apparently preparing to defend London and Southeast England, including Kent.”

  Newton’s recent voyage was rife with the stress of avoiding French pirate ships, which were more numerous than ever before. “Too many English merchant vessels have been needlessly seized by our archenemy,” Newton said. “Now we’ve reached the point where most convoys need a naval escort if we hope to survive capture.”

  Mr. Catlett perched his elbows on the armrests and steepled his hands in front of his grimly set lips. “As much as I hate war, perhaps it’s necessary to put an end to the French bullying. If we’re finally able to stop the French from confiscating English goods, perhaps then we shall be able to control the smuggling and restore law and order to our coastal towns.”

  Newton had already relayed the day’s confrontation to Mr. Catlett and had learned too late about the threat Mr. Catlett had recently received. He realized now he should have heeded Polly’s warning not to go near the blasted cave. Even if he
was lucky to have escaped alive, his recklessness had put not only him in danger but now Polly, perhaps even the entire Catlett family. And he loathed himself for that. He silently cursed himself as he’d done a hundred times that afternoon and evening.

  Again, as before, Newton couldn’t keep from bringing their conversation back to the incident. “I think Charlie Baldock’s gang will be watching Polly closely.”

  “And watching you too?”

  “Aye. He likely won’t take his eyes from me.”

  The hollow, ominous ticking of the square pendulum clock on Mr. Catlett’s desk seemed to agree with his prediction. Only one brass wall sconce was lit, lending little light to the dark-paneled room, which did nothing to quell Newton’s fears. His scalp pricked at the thought that even now Charlie might have a man outside just waiting to break in and slit his throat.

  “I think we can both agree,” Mr. Catlett said, “our primary concern is keeping Polly safe.”

  “Aye, sir. I’d have it no other way.”

  “Then what do you propose that we do, John? Should I attempt to have Charlie arrested? Without his leadership, the gang might fall apart.” The suggestion was empty. They both knew how difficult such an arrest would be. Mr. Catlett had been unable to prove that Charlie had been associated with the illegal tea that he’d confiscated during Newton’s last visit. It was almost always impossible to prove a smuggler’s connection with the goods, especially because anyone who spoke out against the gangs feared reprisal.

  Newton shook his head. “If you go anywhere near that hidden tunnel with your officers and confiscate the smuggled goods, then Charlie will know we betrayed him. He’ll take revenge upon both Polly and me at some point.”

  Mr. Catlett sighed wearily. “I don’t like ignoring crime, especially one as large scale as this. But if I pursue it, I’ll be putting Polly into grave danger.”

  Newton’s body eased against the chair pads. He’d been concerned that a principled man like Mr. Catlett might put integrity and justice above the personal safety of his family. He was relieved to hear that Mr. Catlett wasn’t planning to do anything that would bring Polly further risk.

  “Something like this was bound to happen sooner or later,” Mr. Catlett said, his shoulders sagging and his face pale. With new threads of gray in his hair, he looked to have aged ten years rather than one since John had last seen him.

  “I think the safest course is for Polly and me to stay close to home until this all blows over.”

  “And what if it doesn’t blow over?”

  “It will. Once Charlie sees that we didn’t give away his location, he’ll realize we’re not working against him, and he’ll leave us alone.” At least Newton hoped so.

  “My wife was right to encourage you to leave,” Mr. Catlett said. “Charlie didn’t like you the last time you visited, and he’ll like you even less now.”

  “I won’t turn tail and run at the first sign of danger. In fact, consider that by staying, I might be of use in protecting your family if any gang member should come calling.”

  Mr. Catlett met his gaze directly, as Newton was learning was his custom. “I’m grateful for your willingness to protect them, John. Truly I am.”

  But…

  The word hung unspoken in the air.

  “I don’t want Polly to get hurt.”

  “I don’t either. Believe me, sir. That’s the last thing I want.”

  Mr. Catlett glanced down. “I don’t want Polly to get hurt by you, John.”

  Newton sat back. He wanted to pretend he didn’t know what Mr. Catlett was referring to. But he did. He wasn’t yet the man he needed to be for Polly. He’d spent much of his free time during his last voyage gambling and drinking gin and rum with his mates. Without his father there, he hadn’t had the advantage of being able to sneak into the captain’s cabin to borrow books to read. With little to occupy himself, he’d all too easily given in to the pursuits of the other sailors.

  Now that he was back on land, the guilt for his indulgences had reared up to wrestle with his conscience, especially now that he was with Polly. What would she think of him if she knew what he’d done over the past year?

  He had consoled himself during dinner and evening activities by telling himself that he would be a better man for her, that he wouldn’t drink again, that he’d try to be more responsible, especially now that his father had lined up a new position as a ship’s officer for his next voyage.

  “She likes you,” Mr. Catlett said. “And I can see why. You’re a charming young man.”

  “I vow that I’ll cherish her affection.”

  “She’s still very young.”

  “I have all the time in the world to wait.” He didn’t consider sixteen all that young. But he’d wait an eternity for her if necessary.

  Mr. Catlett sat quietly for several minutes, and again the ticking clock grew louder. Finally, he unfolded himself from his chair, unbending his long limbs slowly. “Since she’s still young, I shall trust that you’ll remember to regard her as a sister at all times.”

  A sister? He’d never be able to see Polly as a sister. A friend? Mayhap. But his feelings for her ran too deep to ever think of her as a sister. “Aye, aye, sir. You have no worries with me.”

  Mr. Catlett clamped him on the shoulder. “I like you, John. I pray that God will continue to guide you in the paths that he has planned for you.”

  John was tempted to respond that he wasn’t so sure God was guiding him at all and that it was up to him to make sure he was his own wind in his sail. “Thank you, sir,” he said instead, knowing he would only prove himself more unworthy if he revealed his spiritual struggles to Mr. Catlett.

  Newton bade Mr. Catlett a polite good night and then excused himself.

  The truth was, during his last voyage he’d had a lot of time to think about his faith. He couldn’t be certain that God was involved in anyone’s life. He’d almost begun to wonder if the concept of God was merely a buoy for weak-minded people to rely upon instead of truly working things out for themselves.

  After all, he’d tried plenty of times in his past to live a righteous, God-fearing life. On one of the voyages with his father, he’d resolved to renounce the world, the flesh, and the devil. He had turned to asceticism with hours of prayer, Bible reading, meditation, and even fasting. But in the end, nothing had changed in his life through the experience. He hadn’t felt any closer to God. He’d only become boring, morose, and unsociable.

  In hindsight, he couldn’t reason out any benefits in denying himself. Why work so hard to please a God who didn’t seem to care? Why strive to be perfect, when perfection was unattainable? Why deny the desires of his flesh, when they were so prominent? Mayhap, religion offered some people a way to feel better about themselves with all their rules. Mayhap they found security and safety in their traditions. Mayhap the idea of a loving God comforted them.

  But his experience with God had been much like his experience with his father. So far he’d only managed to be a disappointment and failure. And he didn’t really care all that much anymore about trying to gratify a God who was so hard to please.

  He plodded silently up the stairway, then stood on the landing for a moment and stared through the dark at Polly’s door. He’d been harsh with her earlier and now wished he’d taken a tender approach. He needed to apologize and make sure everything was still all right between them.

  The voice of reason warned him to go directly to the boys’ room, that he shouldn’t put her into a situation that might compromise her reputation. Or his. If he went into Polly’s room, Mr. Catlett would shoot him on the spot if he learned of it. But a deep need to see her rose strong and swift. Before he could talk himself out of going to her, he crossed the hallway, turned the doorknob, and opened the door a crack.

  In the darkness of the room lit only by starlight, it took him a moment to realize she wasn’t in the bed but rather was kneeling beside it. Her head was bowed on her folded hands and her long hair was loose
and flowing down her back.

  He stepped farther into the room and closed the door behind him as quietly as he could. The click, however, was enough to gain her attention, to cause her head to snap up and for her to swivel. At the sight of him, she gasped and jumped to her feet. Her plain nightdress covered her from head to toes and even the length of her arms. Even so, Newton’s mouth went dry as he took her in.

  “John,” she whispered. “What are you doing in here?”

  For the briefest of moments, he imagined what it would be like on their wedding night. He would have every right to walk into her room, sweep her into his arms, and kiss her all night long. He would never have to leave her again. She would be his.

  She didn’t move except to hug her arms across her chest.

  He didn’t dare move either for fear that he might do something he’d regret, something that would likely scare her and most certainly get him thrown out of the Catlett home. And what’s worse, they’d never let him back in the house.

  “You shouldn’t be in here,” she said. But thankfully she didn’t sound angry, only surprised.

  He reached behind him, his fingers fumbling against the cold brass doorknob. “I wanted to apologize for getting angry with you earlier. I should have realized that you aren’t the sort of woman to flee from danger.”

  At his admission, her stiff bearing seemed to relax slightly. “I didn’t want to abandon you, John.”

  “I know. So will you forgive me for being cross with you?”

  “Of course.”

  He gripped the doorknob to hold himself in place.

  “Will you leave on the morrow as mother suggested?” she asked.

  “You should know that I’m not the sort of man to flee from danger.”

  “I’m worried for your safety.”

  “Good that. I like knowing you’re worried about me.”

  “Charlie Baldock is much too dangerous a man to offend.”

  “I’ll be fine, Polly.”

  Her silence told him she didn’t believe him.

  “After being away from you for almost a year, you can’t expect me to leave again so soon.”