A Country Christmas (Timeless Regency Collection Book 5)

by Josi S. Kilpack

  “We like to, Master Six,” Gerald said promptly. “Are we going to play jackstraws?”

  “Perhaps at first. We will do something even better with them, I assure you,” Master Six replied. “It will be life-changing. As you were, men.”

  Chapter Five

  Able’s introduction to his actual employers passed off smoothly enough, conducted as it was in the vicar’s study, a book-lined room that held his immediate attention for the few seconds required to examine all the titles on the spines and memorize them.

  He was fast, but not fast enough for the man seated behind the desk, who rose and held out his hand.

  “You like to read, sir?” Mr. Ripley asked as they shook hands. He seated himself and gestured to a chair.

  “Aye, sir,” Able replied. “I’m a fairly quick study.”

  The vicar laughed and steepled his fingers together, appraising him. “You’re welcome to borrow any book you choose during your tenure here.”

  Book? Able thought. He took another quick glance at the bookshelves. It’s only 216 books. I’ll read them all in two weeks.

  Here it came. The vicar looked closer at Able. “Provided we choose to hire you to tutor our older children.”

  “Fair enough, sir,” Able replied.

  The door opened, and Miss Bonfort returned with a copy of herself, one looking older and frazzled and wearing her apron high. He rose and bowed.

  “Master Six, this is my sister, Mrs. Ripley.”

  Mrs. Ripley bobbed a curtsy of her own and sat down in the chair directly beside her husband’s desk. A glance at her current tonnage made him suspect she was due for confinement in a month or so.

  “Master Six, pleased to make your acquaintance.” Mrs. Ripley said. “My boys are already telling me that you will play jackstraws with them tomorrow.”

  “Jackstraws?” the vicar asked as his eyebrows rose into his forehead.

  “It is a wonderful way to introduce plane geometry to lads, provided you don’t mind if I snap some in half and in thirds,” Able explained. He laughed. “The jackstraws—not the lads.”

  Stony stares. “All we are asking for is addition, subtraction, multiplication, and division,” the vicar said, his voice firm and in control.

  “Certainly, sir,” Able replied, knowing he needed to come about and handsomely to placate this slower mind. “They will know those within a fortnight, which is why I propose geometry as well. Tomorrow will just whet their appetite and give them something to hope for, after we survive the tedium of rote cards and memorization.”

  Oh damn, he had gone too far. Two sets of skeptical eyes bored into him. He looked at Miss Bonfort, hoping not to see the same expression. To his relief but not his surprise, he saw only lively interest on her face. Bless your imaginative heart, he thought.

  “I think Master Six will work wonders with my nephews,” Miss Bonfort said.

  “Yes, yes, but geometry?” the vicar sputtered. “Who needs that?”

  Able opened his mouth to reply, but another glance in Miss Bonfort’s direction silenced him. The shake of her head was nearly imperceptible, but there it was. He kept his own counsel on geometry as surely as if she had jabbed him in the ribs.

  Miss Bonfort continued to smile so serenely at her brother-in-law, who set about straightening the papers on his desk. He looked for all the world like a man who hated to make a decision—or one who had never seen the likes of Able Six before, which was more likely.

  “Brother, he can use the work, and he comes well-recommended,” Miss Bonfort said quietly.

  Fidget and fiddle a little more. The vicar gave a great, noisy sigh and capitulated. “Very well, sir. Begin tomorrow,” he said. “I will pay you ten shillings a month for December.”

  “Thank you,” Able said. “You won’t be disappointed.”

  The result of that comment was another sigh. “So much to do this month,” muttered the vicar, “otherwise, I would do it myself.”

  “Shall I ask Mrs. Ledbetter to show Master Able to his room?” Miss Bonfort suggested when the vicar had returned to the business of tidying up a tidy desk.

  “Yes, certainly. We dine at six of the clock, Master Able,” Mr. Ripley said. “See that you are prompt.”

  With a shy smile of her own, Mrs. Ripley, hand on her belly, turned Able Six over to a housekeeper who, if appearances were not deceiving, must be the household supreme manager and she who must be obeyed. His suspicions were borne out by Miss Bonfort, who insisted on accompanying them to the guest room, fulfilling what he was coming to realize was her role as buffer in the Ripley household.

  What he thought was a two-story house gloried in a short stairway to a third floor, that attic floor he was familiar with from his rooming house in Plymouth. He braced himself for disappointment.

  A glance at Miss Bonfort showed him a lady almost beside herself with glee. When she opened the door with a flourish, he knew she knew his thoughts.

  “Why, this is quite charming,” he said in surprise after a glance around at a narrow bed as virtuous as the one he had abandoned in Plymouth, but with a fluffy pillow and blankets in evidence. He saw a rumpsprung armchair with a reading lamp beside it and a three-drawer bureau for his modest possessions. A wool rug, shaving stand, and pitcher completed the tableau.

  “I will send a maid up to light the fire,” was all Mrs. Ledbetter said before she nodded to them and left the room. The door remained open, perhaps as a reminder for him to behave himself in a bedchamber with a single lady, should he think to practice some evil design.

  “She doesn’t approve of me,” Able remarked.

  “It took me considerable time to worm myself into her good graces, too, so don’t be despondent,” Miss Bonfort said. “Will this do? I hope you do not bump your head on the eaves.”

  “It will more than do,” he assured her. “I’ve never had a room this handsome, and I’m used to tight spaces.”

  “Dinner at six,” she repeated and turned to leave.

  He didn’t want her to go. He wracked his agile brain for some tidbit to keep her in his orbit a little longer and came up with something.

  “Miss Bonfort, your last name is familiar to me, except that I can’t quite place it,” he said, hoping he didn’t sound like a man with designs on a lady.

  Yet again she surprised him. “You know perfectly well why you remember Bonfort,” she said, her tone kindly but firm. “I am beginning to suspect that you never forget a thing, Master Six.”

  “You’ve found me out,” he said simply, hoping she would think he was joking. “There are Bonforts and there are Bonforts, but I think your uncle—cousin?—is Aloysius Bonfort, who is more than a mere navy employee in Portsmouth.”

  “You have me,” she replied, and made him suddenly wish that were so. “Uncle Bonfort is the chief victualling officer for the Royal Navy in Portsmouth.”

  “I’ve seen his name on a document or two,” Able said, recovering from a momentary and unaccustomed lapse in attention. “One of my tasks aboard ship is the proper displacement of cargo in the hold. I see his name and stamp often.”

  He wanted to ask why she wasn’t spending more time in Portsmouth to be seen of any number of naval officers, each of whom would probably duel with the other for the privilege of proposing. Yet here she was in a vicarage in the Devon countryside, seen of children and one sailing master who already knew he was infatuated, at the very least.

  “He’s a fine uncle,” she said, her cheeks rosy, as though she could read his thoughts. “I like to visit him, but the war keeps him more and more in his office.”

  She looked around his little room as if wondering what else she could do to make it better. “I’ll see that you have a glass and carafe of water—or something stronger, if you prefer.” She went to the open door. “I’m coming, Mrs. Ledbetter,” she said and flashed him a conspiratorial smile. “She watches out for me,” she whispered, then spoke normally. “See you at six for dinner.”

  Dinner was sheer deligh
t. Able found himself seated between his two little pupils, with a fine view of Miss Bonfort seated directly across from him. The blessing on the food went on too long, as though the vicar wanted to prove a point. Able sat as still as the lads on either side of him. James began to fidget before the amen, but Gerald held fast.

  He had never eaten so well, either. Dish after dish came his way—they served country style—and moved on after generous portions on his plate, which promptly disappeared. The soft rolls were made in heaven.

  Sixteen years in a hard service caused him to commit what he hoped was his only breach of decorum. From habit, he tapped the roll on the table, which made Miss Bonfort put her hand to her mouth in merriment.

  He realized what he had done and turned to James. “Lad, I am so accustomed to banging out weevils from bread that I committed a serious offense against the best bread I have ever eaten.”

  “Weevils?” James asked, his eyes huge.

  “They don’t eat much,” Able added. Even the vicar had to smile at that one.

  Little boys being what they were, one thing led to another and he found himself describing the Battle of the Nile—a slimmed down, less gory version—to interested listeners long after the final course. The footman lingered to bring out more sliced apples, which occasioned a visit from the cook, until Mrs. Ripley asked her more agile sister to hurry belowstairs to invite everyone up to listen.

  He told them of the Swiftsure’s late arrival on the scene in Aboukir Bay because they had been sent to reconnoiter Alexandria, Egypt. Rear Admiral Sir Horatio Nelson was still unsure where the French fleet was and sent Swiftsure out on a frigate’s duty.

  “The frigates are the eyes and ears of the fleet, but Sir Horatio had none,” Able explained, taking another slice of apple. “When we got wind of the battle, we crowded on sail for Aboukir Bay.”

  “And fired on the whole lot of the Frogs?” James asked, which earned him a frown from his father and a reprimand from his mother to mind his mouth.

  “We couldn’t. It was dark, and Captain Hallowell didn’t want to risk firing at a Royal Navy ship,” Able said, remembering that moment, as well as the precise latitude and longitude, the number of crew on deck, and the other ships on the water. “As it was, he nearly fired on the Billy Ruffian.”

  “There never was a ship named that,” Gerald scoffed, ever a realist. This earned him another hard stare from Papa, but nothing more, because everyone was focused on the story.

  “Master Gerald, you are correct. It was the HMS Bellerephon, but British tars being what we are, we call it Billy Ruffian,” he explained.

  “You did end up shooting something?” James asked, sounding so impatient that Able nearly smiled.

  “Aye, we did, lad. We pounded the French Orient until it exploded,” Able said. He never forgot anything, but he wished he could forget that moment on the deck of the Swiftsure when the sailing master was skewered through with a splinter from the ship’s own railing, and the job of sailing master became his.

  “I became the sailing master after the master died,” he said, knowing that was enough information for little boys who probably thought splinters were mere irritations under a fingernail. “Next, we subdued the Franklin and, finally, the Tonnant. Not a bad evening’s work.”

  James uttered a sigh of satisfaction. A glance assured him that Mr. Ripley had fallen under the spell of the battle, and so had Miss Bonfort, her chin in her palms, her elbows on the table. Mrs. Ripley looked too gravid to be comfortable until the next Ripley put in his or her appearance.

  “I have to hear more,” Gerald said solemnly. “I simply must.”

  “Not tonight,” his father said, vetoing any further sea stories.

  “But Master Six, why are you here and not on a ship?” James asked, determined the narrative continue.

  “Solely because the First Consul of France, Napoleon Bonaparte himself, and our First Minister, Henry Addington, struck a peace accord,” Able told his audience. “I am living ashore on half-pay, along with most of the Royal Navy, as long as the peace holds.”

  “Will it be long, sir?” James asked, even as his father pulled back his chair and took him gently by the arm.

  “No. There is more war to wage.” Able clapped his hands together, suddenly tired of all his thinking and rethinking. “I will tell you more tomorrow, when you report to . . . to . . .”

  “. . . the classroom at . . .” Mrs. Ripley supplied.

  “. . . at two bells in the forenoon watch,” he finished. “That will be nine of the clock. Good night to you.”

  It was all too much, he decided, as he started down the hall to the stairs. He wondered what it would be like to not remember everything, to not know chapter and line of every book he had ever read. To think he had assumed when he was poor Number Six in the workhouse that everyone learned the way he did.

  “Does your brain ever hurt, Master Six?”

  He turned around, almost surprised but not quite. He waited for Miss Bonfort to reach him. He knew he could feign ignorance and joke about the matter, but she seemed to understand him. How, he knew not.

  “At times,” he admitted. “Then I go to sleep.”

  She nodded and held out a book. He took it. “The Lives of the Martyrs,” he read. “In case I get bored before two bells in the forenoon watch?”

  “In case. Good night, sir.”

  He smiled as he opened the door on a room that was warm and tidy. Tired, he kicked off his shoes, stripped, and crawled into a firm enough bed but with no lumps. The pillow smelled of lavender, so he thought of great fields of the aromatic herb he had seen in southern France in more peaceful times.

  Stomach full, heart in tune, Master Six settled into as much somnolence as his mind ever allowed him. He closed his eyes and noticed something remarkable. For the first time he could ever remember, he felt his shoulders relax and slope downward. He thought a moment, wanting to end a good day in a perfect way.

  “‘Chapter One: Common Notions,’” he murmured as cares slid from those lowered shoulders. “‘Number one: Things which are equal to the same thing are also equal to one another.’” He thought through two, three, and four, his mind on Miss Meridee Bonfort, who seemed to be figuring out his great secret. “‘Number five: The whole is greater than the part.’ Is that so, Miss Bonfort?” he asked out loud. “Euclid thinks so. Shall we find out?”

  Chapter Six

  By two bells in the forenoon watch, Able Six was ready for his pupils. He stood looking out the window upon a winter’s scene of rolling land and trees still shedding their summer’s ballast. He stood on tiptoe, but no, there was no ocean in sight, which caused him some disappointment.

  The room rejoiced in the morning sun, so he had no fault with the lighting. The chairs looked hard, though. The table contained two neat stacks of thick paper he had requested, as well as single sheets, scissors, and pencils, plus a ruler.

  He looked up at a timid knock on the door and opened it to find his pupils standing there, each with a cylinder tube of jackstraws in hand. He glanced at the mantelpiece clock.

  “Excellent, men,” he said. “Two bells in the forenoon watch. And you brought along your jackstraws.”

  He thought about the hard chairs, then sat down on the floor cross-legged, instead. Gerald and James looked at each other, grinned, and sat down, too. Able opened one cylinder and poured out the jackstraws, setting them up, and releasing them. They played quietly through three rounds.

  Instead of setting them up again and letting the jackstraws fall a fourth time, Able counted out ten and arranged them in rows, which took up a good portion of the floor. By now, the boys were lying on their stomachs, watching with interest.

  “Gerald, take five away from the ten, and let’s see what we have,” he directed.

  Gerald promptly did as he was asked, going through an entire row of numbers that got larger and smaller, then larger again as he added, subtracted, and moved around the jackstraws with increasing ease, according
to Able’s instructions. James watched and took his turn, with none of Gerald’s hesitation.

  Since it was just as simple to make practice cards sitting on the floor, the boys spent the morning each making a set of addition cards and then subtraction. By the time Miss Bonfort, a baby on her hip, called them to luncheon, the cards were done. Able smiled inside to see their reluctance to leave the floor and troop down the hall.

  “After luncheon, spend some time doing what you wish,” he called after them and was rewarded with a snappy salute from James.

  “You’re a wonder, Master Six,” Miss Bonfort said.

  “Numbers are fun,” he said with a shrug as he got up from the floor with a groan.

  “Feeling our age, are we?” she teased.

  “I am but twenty-six,” he replied. “I blame a cutlass jab to my hip that nearly did me in at Camperdown.”

  “You could use a chair, as nature intended,” she reminded him, her eyes lively.

  And that was the precise moment when Able Six, a strange man with the lowest background imaginable, decided to pursue Miss Bonfort, even though he didn’t yet have permission to use her first name, and he was scraping by on half pay. She was bright, and he thought she was on to him. Better to find out now. He couldn’t say things were moving too fast, because his entire life and mind moved too fast. Why waste a minute more?

  He indicated Fox’s Book of Martyrs lying on the unused table. “I can give this back to Mr. Ripley now,” he said. “Better return it while I can still walk unaided down the hall, despite war injuries that would elicit sympathy from a more tenderhearted female.”

  She laughed out loud at that bit of hyperbole and did as he thought she might. She picked up the book and turned to the table of contents. “How does Chapter Five begin?” she asked, innocently enough.

  Able rubbed his hands together, because this was a game he relished. “You picked a good one, Miss Bonfort.” He closed his eyes and saw the words on some cosmic sheet of paper. “‘When the reformed religion began to diffuse the Gospel light throughout Europe, Pope Innocent III entertained great fear for the Romish Church.’ Am I close?”