The Landlocked Baron (The Six Pearls of Baron Ridlington Book 1)

by Sahara Kelly

  “Not surprisin’, Ma’am. Given what’s goin’ on. You just let me take care of everythin’…Chidwell’s bringin’ up a nice cuppa for you.”

  As good as her word, Jean had her mistress dressed and was just finishing the final touch to a simple chignon when Chidwell tapped and entered with a tray.

  “Good morning, my Lady. I will not ask if you slept well, but please know that your concerns are shared by the household.”

  Rosaline nodded. “So Jean told me. Would you thank everyone on my behalf? I cannot say what a help it is to know that everyone at Ridlington is supportive of his Lordship.” She frowned. “Although how you all come to know about it is a question that might need answering in the future.”

  “I can assure you, my Lady, we all have his Lordship’s welfare at heart.”

  The maid agreed. “’Tis true, Ma’am. We’re family here, below stairs, and we really do feel a part of the Ridlington household.” She shrugged. “Having come from the Finchams? I can tell the difference. Forgive me for saying so, but I doubt anyone there would have lost a wink of sleep if it had been one of that family on the boat.”

  “I am reassured, then. And thank you both. Now I’ll have that cup of tea, Chidwell, and unless Miss Letitia or Miss Hecate come down demanding food, we need not worry too much about a formal morning repast. Perhaps a few scones in the parlor…I doubt any of us will have much of an appetite this morning.”

  Chidwell looked disapproving. “My Lady, if I may be permitted to say so, you should eat. If you’ll look outside, you’ll see a very grey sky and the wind’s picked up. There might be bad weather in the offing, which could delay his Lordship’s return for a few hours. It won’t do to have him find you faint for lack of food when he comes back…”

  “Damn.” She rose and walked to the window in time to see fat raindrops spatter against the panes. “I have a feeling this is going to be a very long day.”

  She had forgotten about Simon, though, when suggesting a skimpy meal. Walking into the salon about an hour after her early tea, she found him looking rather disconsolately at the serving dish containing the scones.

  “This is all? Are times really that bad?” His eyes were wide with concern as he turned to her.

  She chuckled. “No, silly. I just forgot that you might choose to join us for breakfast. We’re all upside-down over this damned trip of Edmund’s, and there’s not much interest in food at the moment. Not on my part, anyway.”

  “Or mine.” Letitia appeared in the doorway, looking as tired as Rosaline felt.

  “Good Lord. Don’t you have faith in Edmund?” Simon looked at the two of them as he walked to the bell and gave it a good tug. “Our brother, your husband, is a decorated naval hero. He’s captained ships a hundred times the size of the Rose of Ridlington, and taken them into Napoleon’s cannon fire, to boot. What’s the matter with you both?”

  Rosaline gulped and glanced at Letitia who stared back, wide-eyed.

  “Er…”

  “Precisely.” Simon concluded. “Ah, Chidwell, there you are. Be a good chap and bring us a pot of tea? And if Cook has any toast hanging around, I wouldn’t say no. Especially if it comes with her delicious blackberry jelly.”

  “I will see what I can do, Mr. Simon.” He shot a reproachful look at Rosaline. “I’m glad that someone in this family understands a body’s need for breakfast.” Head high, he took himself off.

  “I am chastised,” Rosaline sighed. “And I am sorry, Simon.”

  “No need.” He took a scone to pass the time until the toast arrived. “I would have eaten breakfast at the rectory, but I realized I hadn’t stocked the larder recently.”

  Seating themselves, Letitia and Rosaline watched him as he talked.

  “You need a housekeeper, Simon,” observed Rosaline. “Someone to take care of mundane details like that for you.”

  “She’s right, brother. Someone who can clean and cook as well. It will free you up for the things you want to do. Write excellent sermons, for instance. Visit the sick and the poor. You know, all the jolly exciting activities that are involved in being a country vicar.”

  “Ah. My sister is being ironic, I believe.” Simon munched away, unaffected by Letitia’s words.

  “Maybe, but she has a good point.”

  “Look. Here’s our tea.”

  He steered the conversation away from that point, and for the next quarter hour they discussed general matters over toast and the most excellent blackberry jelly. But inevitably it arose again with the draining of the teapot.

  “About a housekeeper…” Rosaline brushed a napkin over her lips. “It really is a necessity, Simon.”

  He sighed. “I know. And the fact I will have to have one is being borne in on me constantly by any number of well-meaning village ladies, all of whom happen to have a cousin, or an aunt or some other relative in search of such an ideal position with such a delightful member of the Clergy.”

  Letitia giggled. “Well, yes, there is that. I’m sure many ladies would be just thrilled to act as ‘mother’ at tea time in the Rectory.”

  “I’m looking for a housekeeper, not a companion, sister. I can pour my own damn tea.”

  Rosaline gasped and clutched at her bosom. “Vicar. I’m shocked. Shocked to hear such profane sentiments.”

  Both Simon and Letitia laughed at that.

  “But seriously,” Simon moved on. “I do need someone, you’re right about that. But it can’t be just anyone, especially from Ridlington Vale.”

  “Why not?” asked Rosaline.

  “It’s a village, dear.” Letitia patted her hand. “Everyone knows everyone else’s business, more or less.”

  “Exactly,” concurred Simon. “As a vicar, I am privy to many people’s secrets, for whatever reason. They feel confident in allowing me to offer counsel when times are hard, or vent their emotions at others. Were I to employ a housekeeper, it would be difficult, if not impossible, to keep her ignorant of some of those discussions.” He pursed his lips in frustration. “It’s a small house. For a small congregation.”

  “All good points,” agreed Rosaline. “But still…there must be someone?”

  “Well there isn’t, yet. I haven’t stopped looking, but I despair of finding the right person.”

  Letitia opened her mouth to say something, but stopped, shocked as the rest of them at the loud crack of thunder that shook the window panes.

  “Oh no,” Rosaline shot up from her chair and ran to the window. “A storm. Dear Lord, why now?” She turned to Simon. “Can’t you do something?”

  “Do something? Me?” Simon’s jaw dropped.

  “Yes, you, dammit. You’re a vicar. Talk to…Him…” she pointed to the ceiling.

  “Chidwell?”

  “Simon…”

  “Darling Rosaline, I’m a good and—I hope—spiritual vicar. But I do not have any kind of personal communication with our Lord. Especially about the weather.”

  “Ugh.” She leaned her head against the cold glass. “At least pray for him, Simon.”

  He came to her side and put an arm around her shoulders, just as Letitia took up her post on the other side, holding Rosaline’s hand.

  “That we can all do, love,” she said, leaning her head against Rosaline’s. “And we are.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Edmund was more than ready to head for home. His passengers were below decks now, out of the damp and cold murk of this atrociously foggy dawn, and his men awaited his command.

  Then he heard it. The merest whisper, but it was there.

  Hoofbeats accompanied by a rattling noise. Unmistakeable to one trained in battles. While there were no horses involved with warships, there had been enough land maneuvering in Edmund’s past to tell him that there were armed soldiers—and more than a few of them—mustering somewhere on the shoreline.

  It was still not light enough to see anything clearly though.

  This was not a good situation for them to be in, since trying to make
sail at this point and in this kind of visibility would be madness indeed.

  Edmund was many things, but mad wasn’t one of them. However, he had a duty to protect these women since they were now passengers aboard his vessel and British into the bargain.

  His mind whirled as he silently moved to each of his men and gathered them in a tiny knot around him. They seemed to understand, frowning and crouching down low, as did he. “Not sure if you can hear it…” he whispered.

  They were all silent, and then there it was. The sound of a boat in the water and more oars, this time in perfect unison and accompanied by a quiet order to “ranger…silence”.

  “Frenchies, tryin’ to row on the quiet,” whispered one. “I hear’d that sound a’fore.”

  “Aye,” muttered another.

  “They be on us soon, at that rate,” added a third.

  Edmund pressed his finger to his lips, silencing them while he thought. Then an idea struck. “All right, men. Here’s what we’re going to do…”

  Within no more than two minutes Edmund had the stage set for what he hoped would be a way of avoiding the damned French military.

  He barely had time to ask his passengers to remain completely silent before a large rowboat appeared from the shadows and headed toward the Rose.

  A regimental officer stood in the prow, armed with a musket which he held casually in one hand, the business end pointing skyward. He looked businesslike but mostly at ease. It wasn’t reassuring in the least.

  Edmund, as per his plan, hung over the side with his hair mussed. He hoped he looked pale.

  “Ahoy Capitaine. Un moment de votre temps, si’l vous plait…”

  A moment of his time was all Edmund was prepared to give. “Oui…mais être rapide, si’l vous plait…” He prayed they would be quick.

  The officer frowned, but plowed forward. “Avez-vous vu quelqu'un quitter le rivage aujourd'hui?”

  Edmund could answer this honestly since he’d seen no-one leaving the shore. “Non.”

  “Êtes-vous sûr?”

  Keeping his voice as weak as possible, he called back his answer. “Oui, M’sieur.”

  “Personne du tout?”

  Irritated, because when he said no one he meant no one, and he was telling the absolute truth, Edmund made the decision that now was the time for action.

  “Oui…oh…merde…excusez-moi…”

  He pulled away from the rail and dashed starboard where he leaned over the side, grabbed the convenient slop bucket beside him, and to the sound of horridly violent retching, dumped the bucket’s contents into the ocean, unseen by the rowboat to their port side.

  The sound was exactly as he’d hoped it would be, and reminded him of the many times he and his shipmates had returned to their ship in much the same condition. Although on those occasions it was more likely to have been the result of some appallingly bad wine than the arrival of a rowboat full of French soldiers.

  After a moment or two, he returned to the conversation, his sleeve wiping across his lips. “C’est l’ague.”

  He noted the look of distaste on the Frenchman’s face. But to give the man his due, he persisted in his duty. “Et votre équipage—combien?”

  “Quatre. Tous malades.” Or at least four crewmen pretending to be sick.

  At that, one of the lads took his turn over the side with another bucket and Edmund was quite proud of the uncannily accurate sounds that accompanied the performance. It nearly turned his stomach too, since it was already full of nervous butterflies.

  Now for the final touch…”Voulez-vous monter à bord?” Inviting them aboard was a gamble, but they had to know they were free to leave, just in case.

  “Er…non, merci.” The response was prompt and a tight knot unraveled in Edmund’s belly so rapidly he was tempted to dash to the other rail and once more vomit overboard—only this time without the need for a slop bucket.

  His gamble had paid off and he heaved a sigh of relief instead. “Très bien, Monsieur. Bonne journée.”

  Good day and good riddance, thought Edmund, as the soldiers rowed away, moving past the Rose of Ridlington and probably to the next unfortunate vessel moored along the shoreline.

  He blessed the French prisoners with whom he’d spent some time learning their language, and he blessed the quick minds of his crew and their ability to grasp a simple plan in no time at all.

  Nobody liked illness. It was a universal fact Edmund had used to his advantage. And it had worked. But he didn’t want to chance it again.

  He waited, impatient to be underway, but knowing that impatience could be the worst enemy of all in situations like this. He’d had similar experiences—an overwhelming need to get a battle underway, but having to wait, sometimes hidden by islands or darkness, for the right moment.

  Naval strategy required every bit as much courage as land battles, and probably equal amounts of restraint. He’d learned all of this during his years with the Navy. But it never got any easier.

  Finally, when he could hear nothing but the occasional gull and the slap of the waves against their hull, he sighed with relief and walked to his crew, still keeping as quiet as possible.

  “All right lads,” he kept his voice low. “I owe all of you a round at the inn when we get home. But let’s give it a few more minutes before we get underway. Just in case Frenchie has a few friends covering his arse in another boat…”

  He saw the grins and the youngest leaned toward him. “Make sure it’s the best ale, Cap’n. Chillendale’s the tastiest I ever ‘ad.”

  “You’ll get it. But not enough to make you lose it all over the side.”

  “Nah. That stuff’s too good to throw back up.”

  There was a low ripple of laughter. Then another crewman spoke. “Wotcher think, Cap’n? We gonna set sail in this damned fog?”

  Edmund looked north, toward home. And for a second, the fog thinned, allowing a brief shaft of light to dance over the water. He nodded. “Yes, let’s up anchor. See if we can run the tide up the shore without need for sail yet.” He took a deep breath, letting the unique scents of the sea percolate his brain. “I think the wind will be rising, especially once we’re off the point.”

  There were a couple of nods of agreement. Clearly these men were no strangers to the eccentricities of sailing and their endorsement of his opinion was comforting.

  “Time to go home, lads.” Edmund spoke quietly but firmly. “Time to go home.”

  *~~*~~*

  The hours spent waiting for Edmund’s return had to be the worst Rosaline had ever suffered through.

  The storm had unleashed its fury along the coast, with savage gusts of wind bringing down a few branches, rain beating against Ridlington Chase as if trying to wash it away, and vivid lightning streaking across the sky. The consequent thunder was loud enough to rattle the rafters and made everyone jump.

  The Hussars had been invited into the old conservatory as soon as the deluge began, and their Lieutenant had been effusive in his gratitude.

  “Truly, my Lady, I have no idea how we’d have managed. The tents would have been lost for certain.”

  “We couldn’t possibly have left you all out there,” said Rosaline. “Especially not when shelter is available.” She glanced around. “I’m sorry it’s a bit cramped for all of you.”

  “Not to worry, Ma’am. We’re under cover and out of the worst of it. Thanks to you and the other ladies.”

  Letitia and Hecate were standing to one side chatting with two young gentlemen. Rosaline felt the decided twitch of what must have been a motherly instinct. She turned back to Mansfield. “I will make sure that some food gets sent to you. The fireplace cannot be lit, I’m afraid, since it hasn’t been tended for a couple of generations now. We dare not test it for the moment. But I believe that other than a bit of a chill you all should manage satisfactorily until the storm passes.”

  “Indeed, my Lady. We will. And on behalf of the 10th, our thanks.” His mustache quivered with gratitude as
he turned to his men. “C’mon now then, lads. Three cheers for Lady Ridlington.”

  Rosaline felt her cheeks flush as she received three hearty “Hip Hip Huzzah”s. Letitia and Hecate came to her side. “I believe it’s time we left these fellows to their privacy, my dears.” She put a firm arm around each shoulder and led them out of the conservatory.

  “Why Rosaline,” grinned Letitia. “Were you concerned with our speaking to such brave men?”

  “And so charming, too,” giggled Hecate.

  Rosaline kept her grip firm and her step steady. “It’s not you I’m worried about. It’s them.” She sighed. “You are lovely women, and if you’ll forgive the informality, you’re both ripe for the plucking. I’d rather not start the harvest in the conservatory of Ridlington Chase, thank you very much.”

  Even though their cheeks colored up at that, the two girls chuckled and nodded and made their way toward Edmund’s office. Over the last few hours it had become a sort of sanctuary, as if their being there would bring him home sooner.

  The grins faded as they all made for the large bow window overlooking the fields that led to the sea. The clouds were still low, the rain solid and although it looked as though the thunder might have moved on, the wind still howled.

  No less turbulent were the thoughts of the three women in the room. One man figured largely, as was demonstrated by Letitia as she shivered at a crash of thunder.

  “He was almost a stranger when he returned to Ridlington, you know.”

  “Yes, I know how it was.” Rosaline stared into the rainy sky.

  “And yet, even though we’d been apart for so many years, he walked in and treated us like cherished family. People he barely knew.” Hecate sounded amazed.

  “That’s the sort of man he is,” responded Rosaline. “You are his family. I believe his years at sea taught him the value of the bonds between people, whether shipmates at sea or family at home. He found something in his career that he never found here, and he brought it back with him. A sense of duty and loyalty to those who depend upon him. When he came here, his affections were awoken again, along with everything else.”