The Unlikely Master Genius

by Carla Kelly

  “Aye, miss. Something about the whiteness of my lover’s thighs, if memory serves me,” her husband said. “Chapter three verse fifteen, give or take.”

  “Give or take,” Meridee scoffed. “Precisely fifteen, and you know it.”

  “I do,” he replied seriously. “The wonder is that you don’t look askance at my strangeness. I can say and think what I wish, and you will not step away because you do not understand me.”

  What could she say to that? Meridee rested her head against his shoulder as equal measures of love and relief flooded through her. No one else might understand Able Six, but she knew she had married the most capable man on earth.

  She turned to look into his eyes, saying nothing—not because she had nothing to say, but because they had an audience. “What I do not understand, I accept,” she told him quietly, not surprised to see tears well in his lovely Greek, French, Italian, or maybe Spanish eyes. She leaned into his shoulder and slept, worn out from the last two days.

  Plymouth to Portsmouth was completely possible in a one long day, but not at the end of December, apparently. Snow mingled with rain meant a night at an inn, which brought no complaints from Meridee. She wanted to love her husband, and neither of them wasted a minute in doing precisely that.

  More practiced now, Meridee settled into the rhythm of love. Equally pleasurable was to simply lie beside her remarkable husband, spent, his arm under her head and gently clasping her shoulder in a manner both endearing and possessive.

  Drowsy, she listened to him tell her about years at sea, and battles, and his own confusion to find ways to communicate who he was and what he could do to much smaller minds.

  “I owe an enormous debt to Sir B,” he told her.

  “What did he do, my love?”

  “I told you about my encounter with the ship’s surgeon,” he said with a laugh. “A few days after I read all the books on surgery and pharmacopeia, Captain St. Anthony sat me down in the officers’ wardroom and made me describe my life.”

  “Did that frighten you?” She asked, wide awake.

  “A little,” he admitted. “I knew I dared not trust anyone in the workhouse. I was four and whipped for stealing a book from the classroom where I was supposed to pick up trash and sweep.”

  “You were reading at four?” she asked, still amazed at him.

  “Earlier, actually,” he said apologetically. Some part of him still seemed startled at himself. “Three. Remember that prayer book belonging to Mary?”

  She nodded, and kissed his chest because his hand had tightened around her shoulder.

  “I usually kept it under my pillow. One morning I was really hungry. I opened it to distract myself, and stared at what I didn’t even know were words. They turned into sentences. I understood them.”

  She knew without any light in the room that his eyes were closed and moving fast behind his eyelids. She put her hand up and covered them, until she felt him relax.

  “Thank you, Meri. Heavens, how have I managed without you?”

  “And I, you,” she said.

  “In my naïveté—I was three years old—I read out loud to the matron. She pinched me hard, and told me to say nothing because I was obviously bewitched.”

  “Oh, husband,” Meridee said.

  “I didn’t say anything, but I started reading everything I could lay my hands on.” He chuckled. “When books started to disappear, no one suspected me. Reading became an amazing distraction from hunger. Mrs. Six, don’t sigh so loud. Obviously I survived with my faculties intact, and other useful things.”

  She laughed at that. “Especially other useful things. My goodness, I daren’t tell my sisters how much I’ve learned in the last few days.”

  “You’re a quick study, Mrs. Six,” he teased. He turned serious. “It’s a been a lifetime of furtive learning, a lot of thinking and wondering whom I could trust. Bless Sir B for understanding I was different. He let me read every book, manual, and chart on his frigate. When his injuries grounded him, he handed me off to Captain Hallowell, with his own instructions, I am certain.”

  “I am still chagrined at striking that man, but he tried me to the bone, Able,” she said. “Don’t laugh.”

  “I wish I could have seen the look on his face,” Able the Incorrigible said.

  “I am relieved you didn’t,” Meridee scolded. “I had his full attention.” She thought a moment about the experience she preferred never to recall. “He said something I believe I understand now. ‘Bravissima,’ he said. ‘Success.’ ”

  “No surprise to me. When he gave me this ring for you, he told me how certain he was that I finally had myself a keeper,” Able assured her. “Everything I do now, I do for you and with you.”

  She kissed him once and then twice and then they moved quickly on to more serious endeavors.

  In late afternoon, Meridee took her second look at that huge port of the Royal Navy. “My brother-in-law’s parting words to me were to be careful in this city of sin and great wickedness,” she told Able.

  “His parting words to me were to keep you safe,” Able replied. “He doesn’t really trust the Royal Navy.” He laughed at that, a most knowing laugh, to Meridee’s ears. “There’s more vice available here than anywhere outside of Macao.”

  The mail coach let them off close to Gunwharf, where vessels unshipped their cannon before they went into dry dock for repairs, or into ordinary. While Meridee stood by their luggage, Able procured a carter to follow them to Saint Brendan’s. He secured a hackney and helped her in.

  In giving directions to the jarvey, he patiently explained, “Aye, St. Brendan’s does exist. Listen to my directions. It’s on Saint’s Way, a forgotten street. It’s a quiet place for serious instruction.”

  “What do you know about St. Brendan’s?” Meridee said.

  “Little more than you. You were here first,” he reminded her. “I suspect that although no one wants to admit it, Trinity House plays some role here. Captain Hallowell told you that Trinity furnishes navigational certification to merchant mariners, as well as some sailing masters. I never went that route, but it’s a worthy one. I strongly suspect Trinity has fingers in other pies that we ordinary mortals know nothing of.”

  You have never been an ordinary mortal, Meridee thought. She tucked her arm through his, smiling to herself at the proprietary glance he gave her. She was beginning to understand this husband of hers. If ever a woman had a protector, she did. And if ever a genius had a keeper, he did. What more could two people ask?

  “Here we are,” he said soon. “Look directly across the street to our home, Meri.” She heard all the emotion in his voice.

  It was a large stone house of two stories, intimidating in its size, though squashed between two similar buildings. Here I will live and make a home for my beloved, extraordinary husband, she thought, humbled. We will probably have our children here. She dabbed at her eyes, then darted a glance at her husband, who was doing the same thing.

  “We are two sillies,” she said.

  “Without a doubt.” He took her hands in his. “Meridee Six, the time for backing out is long past. Let me help you down.”

  Only a few minutes were needed to empty the cart that followed them. She stood beside their paltry possessions, looking at the quiet street wrapped in post-Christmas stillness. For a tiny moment, she wished herself back in the Devonshire countryside, where a glance out any window showed open fields. Gone were the days when she would feel free to roam, usually accompanied by her nephews. Portsmouth was probably noisy during the day, flaunting its rollicking reputation as England’s largest Royal Navy port. Besides, she was a matron now, with more on her mind than country gambols.

  After the carter carried their belongings closer to the front step, he tipped his hat to her and wished her well. What was it about her small size and youth that brought out the concern of others?

  “Be careful, miss,” the carter said, then smiled, showing the presence of few teeth. “All the same, welcom
e to Pompey.”

  “Thank you,” she told him, and walked up the steps, her husband beside her now.

  As she watched, Able took the key from his pocket and stared at it a moment, almost as if he could not believe even now that he had a house, he who had started life with demerits not of his choosing.

  “Key in lock,” she teased, which made him grin at her like a boy.

  “Key in lock,” he teased back. “I turn now.”

  So it was they were both laughing when he picked her up and carried her over the threshold. Once inside, he gave her a little toss, which made her shriek and tighten her grip on his neck. In turn, he made a gargling sound. She kissed his cheek; he kissed her back, set her down and held her close.

  They stood that way for a long moment, until he reached back with his foot and closed the heavy door. They still clung to each other, two sillies embarking on life’s further adventures as man and wife.

  “It’s getting dark,” he said into her neck.

  “Open your eyes,” she replied. “Must I do all the thinking?”

  He laughed at that. “I’ll tell you right away, Mrs. Six, that you are in complete charge of all domestic matters in this house, including household financials. Arithmetic gives me the shivers. I’ll stick to the calculus. This house is your domain.”

  “This home,” she amended, which made Master Six take a deep breath.

  “It’s getting dark. As master of the Six Fleet, I’ll go find a lamp.”

  He let go of her, patted her hip, and went in search of a lamp. Meridee stood by the door, feeling surprisingly shy. How did I ever get so lucky alternated with, I’m in charge. Her practical nature took over quickly—all she really wanted was to crawl into bed with Master Six and jolly him a bit.

  She looked around, startled by a knock low down on the front door. Curious, she opened it and felt her heart turn over.

  There stood a small boy dressed in what she already knew was the uniform of a student at St. Brendan’s, sober black like her husband wore, but with a stitched-on crest of St. Brendan himself, holding a boat. Next to him stood an older student.

  “Welcome to our home,” she said. “I am Mrs. Six. Please come in.”

  As they entered, she thought of another workhouse boy, one bewildered and frightened at his strangeness in a place where a child had no hope, unless he found it within himself. These two lads were tidy and looked well-fed. She saw curiosity on their faces, but mingled with wariness—the workhouse look she sometimes saw on her husband’s face.

  “Your names, please?” she asked.

  “Jamie McGregor,” the older boy announced. “I am in my third year.” She heard the pride in his voice. “I will be at sea soon.”

  “Welcome. And your name?” she asked the younger one, kneeling down to be on his level.

  “David Ten,” he told her.

  She couldn’t help her sudden intake of breath, then felt a firm hand on her shoulder. Her husband helped her to stand.

  “Are you our welcoming committee?” Able asked. “Classes starts soon, I believe, promptly at two bells in the forenoon watch.”

  David Ten nodded, then ducked his head, as Jamie McGregor cleared his throat and gave him a pointed look. “I mean, ‘Aye, Master!’ ” David took a step forward. “Will we learn great things, sir?”

  “The greatest,” her husband said. “I promise.”

  David glanced at the older student beside him. Through a film of tears, Meridee saw sudden fear in the younger boy’s eyes. She watched him swallow that fear, and she saw a different kind of greatness take its place.

  David took another step forward, just a small step that made her touch his shoulder. A wary look, and then he relaxed visibly. “Jamie says no one will be beaten in your class if they don’t have a right answer.”

  Meridee leaned back against her husband and felt his involuntary shudder. She took his hand, because she was his keeper.

  “No one will be beaten in my classes,” Master Able Six said. “Anything else, lads?”

  “Nay, sir,” Jamie said. “He’s new. That’s all he wanted to know.”

  Meridee could tell David Ten had more questions. “Yes?” she prompted.

  “Headmaster Croker said I was to be one of your particular boys over here,” he said. “I am wondering ….” He stopped and looked at Jamie, who shook his head—a small gesture, the kind a lad makes who has served his own time in a workhouse and doesn’t want to be obvious.

  “Are you wondering where you will be slinging your hammock?” Able asked.

  “Aye, sir,” David replied, his voice no bigger than a whisper.

  Able turned to Meridee. “What say we look upstairs and find out?”

  “Aye, sir,” Meridee said promptly, which meant three men in uniform nodded their approval. “If there are spiders in the rooms, I will count on you all to protect me. I mean it.”

  Jamie grinned, but David nodded, all seriousness.

  Able led the way, holding his lamp high, throwing strange shadows against the stone walls. Who lived here? Meridee wondered as she took Able’s free hand. Were they happy? I intend to be happy. She kissed his hand impulsively, and she heard a small sound deep in his throat.

  The first chamber was empty. David peered inside. “No spiders,” he reported.

  The next room contained a handsome bed, already made, with two chairs, a chest at the foot of the bed, and a door probably leading to a dressing room. This is our room. We’re probably going to make some babies in here, Meridee thought, then blushed, even though she knew she hadn’t spoken out loud.

  “Check for spiders, men,” Able ordered. “If Mrs. Six sees spiders, I might not be able to coax her in to it.”

  The students did as he commanded and looked around. “No spiders, Master Six,” Jamie announced.

  “That’s a relief,” Able said. “As you were, men.”

  “Sir, you might need to find a stepstool for Mrs. Six,” Jamie said. “She’s short.”

  “You’re right, McGregor. I shouldn’t just fling her up there.”

  The students giggled, reminding Meridee that they were little boys, even though destined for the fleet in a few years. “No flinging,” she said firmly, despite the fact that Durable Six was quite capable of flinging her anywhere. “I have my standards, where flinging is concerned.”

  They moved into the hall and opened the door on two more empty rooms. The first chamber on the other side of the hall showed a pleasant room with two smaller beds, chairs, and desks. David Ten forgot himself and tugged at her skirt. She looked down and saw the question in his eyes.

  “I believe this will be your room in two weeks,” she told him, and he nodded.

  The next chamber showed a nearly identical amount of furniture. The room beyond was empty, so they trooped downstairs. Jamie McGregor went to the door and David Ten followed more slowly. Meridee knew he wanted to stay right there. She thought again of another workhouse boy who never knew the delight of a mother reading to him, or singing to him, or making certain the coverlet was snug around his neck. She silently thanked the Lord God Almighty for the resilience of little children and vowed to be a mother to all of her St. Brendan’s lodgers.

  Able opened the door. Jamie McGregor touched his finger to his forehead. “Class in a week then, Master Six?”

  “Aye, lad. A week, and then every day after, excepting Sunday, until you go to sea.”

  Chapter Ten

  “What time is two bells in the forenoon watch, Master Six?” Meridee asked the next morning, after more important matters had been dealt with, including the location and reapplication of her nightgown, because the room was cold. She snuggled closer to her favorite warm body.

  “Nine in the morning,” he told her. “Day after tomorrow, my carcass will report to Headmaster Croker. I will probably have a stupid grin on my face from a surfeit of loving that seems to be my lot in life.”

  “Will people know what we’ve been doing?” Meridee asked.

&
nbsp; Her husband laughed loud and long. “It doesn’t show on your face, Meri. I doubt Headmaster Croker will leer at us. Shall we find out?” he asked, and flung back the covers, dragging her after him.

  She decided there must be a law against a husband looking so magnificent and wearing nothing but a smile. Able did compare most favorably to those Greek statues in her father’s book. He ruined the effect by scratching his backside and wandering into the dressing room, to return wearing a ragged robe.

  “Theodore Croker informed me that we were to report to the dining hall for our meals until our cook comes on board. I am hungry, Mrs. Six.”

  She dressed and went downstairs, wondering how to turn a centuries-old heap into a home, especially on a slender budget. Her optimism grew as she came into the kitchen, where her husband had found some ship’s crackers and dubious-looking cheese. He handed her a slice of cheese on the end of his knife. “It’s not too hard.”

  It was too hard, but she rolled it around in her mouth to soften it. She sat next to him, leaned into his comforting bulk, and surveyed the kitchen. The medieval fireplace she had been dreading was instead a modern Rumford. The pots and pans hanging on hooks close to it appeared to be new. Someone had made a serious effort to turn this kitchen into a place where edible food could be prepared and served. All she needed was a cook and a maid of all work.

  Dressing for breakfast across the street presented no difficulties, beyond Master Six insinuating his hands inside her gown when she asked him to button her up the back. “Durable Six, we’re going to be late for breakfast,” she said firmly.

  He took his hands out and buttoned her dress. “It begins,” he said to no one in particular. “I am Durable Six when I am in trouble?”

  She turned around, pulled him close, and kissed him.

  “I’m not in trouble?” he asked, his arms tight around her.

  “Not yet. I have every hope for you.”

  “I am relieved,” he declared. “I have many schemes that involve you. Mrs. Six, let us go to breakfast.”