The Captain's Daughter (London Beginnings Book #1)

by Jennifer Delamere

  Today Rosalyn saw nothing amiss. A group of women who lived at the charity house and had also come from the church were filing in the front door. Everyone else on the sidewalk was moving along, intent on their destinations.

  There was, however, a carriage parked at the curb. It was an open barouche, for the day was fine despite the cold. As Rosalyn and the others approached it, the woman sitting inside signaled for her footman to help her down.

  Rosalyn pulled up short, watching in stunned disbelief as the woman walked straight toward her.

  “Hello, Rosalyn,” Mrs. Huffman said.

  Rosalyn darted a nervous glance around, looking for any sign of Mr. Huffman—or the police.

  “Don’t worry, I came alone,” Mrs. Huffman said. “I wonder if we might have a word together—just the two of us?” She offered a small smile as she spoke. It was not at all the sort of expression Rosalyn would have expected from her. Not after all that had happened.

  “You are not here to accuse me of stealing or . . .” She stopped, unable to finish the sentence.

  Pointing toward the carriage, Mrs. Huffman replied, “Perhaps we might talk there?”

  “Is everything all right?” Nate asked. He moved to Rosalyn’s side, looking poised to offer protection as much as assistance. The whole family looked on with mystified expressions, but Rosalyn felt this was not the time to explain. “I will see you all back at the house,” she told them.

  “Are you sure?” Nate looked worried.

  “Yes.”

  After five years as Mrs. Huffman’s companion, she knew her well enough to see that she wasn’t lying. It seemed she truly meant only to talk. If so, it would be a great relief. Rosalyn had always regretted that she’d been forced to leave Mrs. Huffman without explanation.

  After a few last assurances to the Morans, Rosalyn followed Mrs. Huffman into the carriage.

  “Shall we ride as we talk?” Mrs. Huffman suggested. “It might make the conversation easier.” She signaled to the driver to set the carriage in motion.

  It occurred to Rosalyn that perhaps she ought to be worried. Was this a ruse to take her to the police after all? But no, she could not believe it. Still, she said warily, “Does Mr. Huffman know where I am?”

  “Rosalyn, you have nothing to fear from him. I know the whole story now.”

  “But how? And how did you find me?”

  “A few weeks ago, I got a very interesting visit from a remarkable young lady. Your sister, in fact.”

  “Julia came to see you?” Rosalyn’s initial reaction to this news was horror—what if Julia had miscalculated the Huffmans’ response? She might well have gotten Rosalyn sent to prison. “She should not have done that. If Mr. Huffman had been there—”

  “Oh, she didn’t come to the house. Somehow she knew I was fond of attending the Tuesday lecture series at the town hall. She came and introduced herself to me there.”

  Rosalyn had mentioned the lectures in her letters. How astounding that Julia had remembered.

  “Don’t be upset with your sister,” Mrs. Huffman urged. “I’m glad she came. I was distressed at your sudden disappearance and confounded by the news that you had stolen valuable items. I just could not believe you were guilty. It was so completely at odds with what I knew of your character.” She paused, sighing. “I wish I’d had as accurate an understanding of my husband’s character.”

  The pain with which she said those last words brought a lump to Rosalyn’s throat. “I’m so sorry.”

  The carriage pulled into Hyde Park and moved along the lovely carriageway bordered by grass and elms. Mrs. Huffman turned away, as though watching the passing scenery. But Rosalyn could see she was collecting herself and her emotions.

  Rosalyn could hardly believe she was driving through Hyde Park on a Sunday afternoon, just like the upper-crust folk she and Julia had watched from their park bench. She looked around at the passing carriages, wondering what joys—or perhaps sorrows—were in their minds right now.

  After a few moments, Mrs. Huffman spoke again. “When Julia told me your story—which was quite different from what I’d heard from my husband and the entire household staff—I felt at once that it must be true. Not only did it fit with what I knew in my heart, but your sister can be quite a persuasive speaker.”

  “Bossy, you mean,” Rosalyn answered reflexively. She gasped, surprised at herself for trying to make a joke at this time.

  Perhaps it was exactly what Mrs. Huffman needed. She actually laughed. “Oh, the bonds of sisterly love.”

  They shared a smile, and Rosalyn saw again the woman she’d first met six years ago—beautiful, carefree, self-possessed. Before she’d been hoodwinked into falling in love with a man who didn’t deserve her.

  “I will tell you exactly what happened. When Julia said she’d seen my emerald earrings in a pawnshop, I was naturally flabbergasted. Those were not among the items you had purportedly stolen. In fact, I was not even aware they were gone. I only bring them out for special occasions. But I went home, and sure enough, they were missing. I knew who must have taken them, because they are kept in a locked cabinet and only one other person knows where the key is.”

  “Are you saying Mr. Huffman pawned your earrings?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you confront him about it?”

  “No. In light of what Julia had told me, I decided I would do better to track them down myself. I went to London and got a police inspector involved. Mr. Huffman was in Liverpool on business, so he never knew. By the time he returned, I knew the whole story. The jewelry you had supposedly stolen was sold outright to cover gambling debts. The earrings he’d pawned for ready cash to make an investment. He intended to redeem them back before I missed them.” Another look of pain crossed her features. “My husband’s actions have gotten us into some financial straits. There are more issues than what I have just shared, but now that my eyes are open to the situation, we will get it sorted out. Rosalyn, I know I can never properly make amends. I can only give you my sincerest apologies and tell you how relieved I am that you are safe and sound.”

  The carriage moved out of the park, rolling into the fine neighborhoods that bordered it. Rosalyn was elated to be cleared of any wrongdoing. At the same time, she felt sorry for Mrs. Huffman, who would have to live with the consequences of being married to such a terrible man.

  Rosalyn knew full well the apology ought to have come from Mr. Huffman, but she wasn’t going to press the issue. It was enough just to know she was free.

  CHAPTER

  18

  TWO SHOWS? On Christmas Day?” Ma shook her head. “That’s not right. Think of all the actors and crew who won’t be able to spend the day with their families.”

  Rosalyn had been sharing news from a letter she’d received from Jessie. The company in New York had spent the past several weeks performing Pinafore even as they prepared for the official American debut of The Pirates of Penzance.

  Although in England the theaters were closed today, in New York the customs were quite different. According to Jessie’s letter, they were to present both a matinee and an evening performance.

  “Good thing we are more civilized than our American cousins,” Patrick quipped. “When do they have time to eat their plum pudding?”

  “Agreed,” said Nate, finishing off the last bite of his pudding with satisfaction. His family was nowhere near as destitute as the Cratchits in A Christmas Carol, but he still marveled at how his mother could pull together such a holiday feast on so modest a budget. “I can tell you I’m thankful we have time to savor this.” He was also grateful for some time off in the middle of the week. It was a rare treat.

  “We do have much to be thankful for,” his mother agreed.

  “And much to celebrate!” Patrick added.

  “Do you mean because you will be out of our hair as of tomorrow?” Hannah teased.

  “Exactly.” Patrick gave a little flourish with his fork before setting it down on his now-empty p
late. “It will be good to get back to work. But I was thinking of Rosalyn’s good news, as well.”

  Nate turned his gaze to Rosalyn. He’d been hard-pressed not to look at her during the meal. She wore a very becoming pink gown, one of the many frocks she had received from Jessie. The low neckline revealed her lovely throat and a hint of her soft white shoulders.

  Rosalyn’s expression added to her beauty. She was beaming with happiness. Her situation with the Huffmans had been resolved, and the worry of retribution or arrest no longer hung over her head.

  “I still say Mr. Huffman ought to be drawn and quartered,” Mary stated roundly. “Although even that would be too kind.”

  “Christmas is a good day to offer forgiveness,” Rosalyn said. “The best day, perhaps.”

  “Well spoken, my dear,” Ma said. She sent her gaze around the table. “What a joy it is to have the entire family gathered for Christmas.” Her gaze settled on Nate. “Families should always be together on Christmas.”

  He felt a pang of remorse. He knew his imminent departure for India was weighing on her mind, but he’d been hoping to get through the day without the subject clouding everyone’s thoughts.

  So far, the day had gone well. The morning had been cold but bright, the sunshine sparkling on fresh snow as they’d made their way to church. Everyone had taken pleasure in the service. Afterward, they’d returned home to enjoy this feast. But now the afternoon was waning, and this was when his mother often grew overly sentimental.

  Patrick wasn’t having any of that, however. He picked up the Christmas cracker next to his plate and gave it a sharp tug. It burst open with a substantial pop. “That’s a celebratory sound if ever I heard one,” he announced. He rummaged through the remains of brightly colored paper and pulled out a little tin whistle. “At last, an instrument I can play.”

  “Oh no,” Mary groaned. “Someone get that away from him, quick.”

  Everyone else followed Patrick’s example, pulling open their crackers and examining their little gifts. Nate watched Rosalyn unfold a delicate blue fan. It was no bigger than her hand, but she made a coquettish little motion with it, her eyes finding his as she did so. He swallowed, feeling his chest tighten.

  “What did you get, Nate?” Mary asked, displaying a pretty bracelet of fine, multicolored thread.

  Nate sifted through the paper and pulled out a tiny wooden boat. He held it up, examining it. It was just two inches long but nicely painted with blue sides and three white sails. He saw Rosalyn’s eyes flicker with a troubled look. His mother, too, gave a thoughtful frown. They were perhaps thinking of the boats that had taken loved ones away from them.

  “It’s the HMS Pinafore!” Patrick said brightly. “A souvenir to remind you of your brief time on our humble little ship—that is also the bestselling show worldwide,” he finished, not so humbly.

  “And The Pirates of Penzance—Rosalyn’s singing debut!” Mary added proudly.

  Nate saw his mother’s frown deepen. She alone of the household had not been completely thrilled at the news that Rosalyn would be trying her hand at performing. He understood her concern—being an actress was far more precarious than holding a steady job backstage. But like his brother, Nate was determined to keep this day joyful.

  He pushed his chair back from the table. “Shall we enjoy some Christmas carols?”

  It was the right suggestion. Soon they were assembled in the parlor, with Martha and Nate taking turns providing the music as they sang their favorite songs. Everyone’s voices blended well together, so long as Patrick didn’t sing too loudly.

  Nate played when they sang “The First Noel.” Rosalyn’s fine soprano seemed especially lovely on this graceful hymn. It put him in mind of another carol they hadn’t sung yet. As he began to play it, the others seemed inclined merely to listen and enjoy the music rather than sing along.

  He paused after the first chorus.

  “That’s such a beautiful song,” Rosalyn said.

  “Why don’t you sing it?” Martha suggested. “It’s perfect for you and Nate to do together.”

  Rosalyn tried to demur, but Mary said, “You can’t act shy now, Rosalyn! You’ll be singing before a much larger audience soon.”

  “All right, you win,” she said, turning eyes bright with laughter toward Nate.

  She was so beautiful. A lovely face to match her lovely voice. Nate drank in the sight of her, painfully aware that after a few weeks he might never see her again.

  Everyone was looking at him, perhaps wondering why he didn’t start playing. Collecting himself, he once more raised his bow. He played a short introduction, and Rosalyn gleaned exactly when to begin singing.

  What sweeter music can we bring,

  Than a carol, for to sing

  The birth of this our heavenly King?

  Awake the voice! Awake the string!

  Although the carol had some irregular timing, Rosalyn followed his lead flawlessly. It gave him such pleasure to hear her voice meeting and flowing with his music.

  The Darling of the world is come,

  And fit it is we find a room to welcome Him.

  The nobler part of all the house, here is the heart

  Which we will give him. . . .

  Nate was sure he’d never heard finer singing. Was he simply biased because he knew the person behind the voice? No. She understood the music and felt it deeply. It was a rare joy to come across. Possibly one of the best Christmas gifts he’d ever been given, and one he would remember for a very long time.

  Perhaps she felt the same way. When they’d finished and everyone was clapping enthusiastically, she wiped a tear from her eye as she gazed at Nate. “Thank you.”

  Given the freedom to follow his own inclination, Nate could have spent hours basking in the way she was looking at him. But he became uncomfortably aware that the clapping had stopped and his family was watching the two of them with particular interest. When he saw Mary and Martha exchange knowing nods, he knew their imaginations were running in directions that could never mirror reality.

  Even though it pained him, he was glad for an excuse to leave. The stable owner had given him the morning off, but in exchange, he’d required Nate to work that evening.

  Wiping down his fiddle, he said, “I’ve got to leave. I have to get the horses bedded down for the night.”

  This brought a murmur of discontent. No one could deny he had to go, but it was the disappointment he saw on Rosalyn’s face that nearly did him in. Feeling a lump rising in his throat, he bid everyone good-night and walked swiftly out the parlor door.

  He went to his room to change into clothes suitable for the stable. When he came back downstairs, he found Patrick dressed for the outdoors and waiting for him in the front hallway.

  “I’ll walk with you a ways,” Patrick offered.

  “Are you sure you want to go out in the cold?”

  Patrick gave his stomach a pat. “A bit of a walk will do me good after that dinner.”

  It was a plausible answer, but Nate guessed his brother had another motive for joining him.

  Patrick walked stiffly down the front steps, but once they were on the sidewalk, he moved easily. Their feet crunched on the snow as they made their way down the street.

  “Rosalyn looks very fetching today, doesn’t she?” Patrick began. “I don’t think I’ve seen her in that frock before.”

  Here it came, just as Nate had suspected. “So you want to torture me about leaving, just like Ma.”

  “You ought not give up on Rosalyn, you know. Women will do amazing things for love.”

  “Well, they won’t go to India,” Nate retorted. “I think we’ve already proven that.”

  Patrick was not to be swayed. “I saw what happened in there just now. In fact, there’s something special in all your interactions with Rosalyn. I can’t recall ever seeing it between you and Ada. I think you were simply enamored with Ada because of her beauty. Not that Rosalyn isn’t beautiful—indeed, I would say she
is more so.”

  “I don’t think a married man should be speaking of the attractiveness of another woman.”

  “Don’t change the subject,” Patrick admonished.

  “I think of her like a sister,” Nate said.

  This was patently absurd, and Patrick’s expression confirmed that he knew it. “Really? Let’s think on that. Stop and get a good picture in your mind of Mary and Martha.” Patrick did indeed pause for emphasis—although the fact that they had reached a busy intersection could have caused that. “Now tell me you think of Rosalyn just as you do of them.”

  It was impossible to even attempt Patrick’s suggestion. Nate said nothing, just stared out at the street.

  Patrick studied his face. “No, I’m thinking not like a sister.”

  Seeing a break in the traffic, Nate strode swiftly ahead. “I’m going to India. She will not leave England. That’s the end of it.”

  “If you ask her, and she turns you down only because she won’t leave the country, then it seems to me you should set aside this mad idea of chasing a commission.”

  Not knowing the full story, Patrick was blithely recommending the one choice Nate could not make. Sick with frustration, he picked up a clump of snow and threw it at a tree.

  “You know the police force would accept you in a trice.” Patrick’s voice was mild behind him. “Inspector Browne at church has told you the same thing. He thinks you could even become an inspector, once you’ve gained enough experience.”

  “I’ve got a profession. I don’t need to seek another.”

  “Nathan Stuart Moran.” Patrick spoke each word with distinct emphasis, laying on an Irish accent as thick as their mother’s. “If you are a soldier, why don’t you act like one? Soldiers are brave. They fight for the victory. So are you a soldier, or aren’t you?”

  “This isn’t a skirmish we’re talking about.”

  “No. It’s a fight for love—which is far more dangerous.”

  “Don’t I know it,” Nate rejoined harshly.

  Patrick surprised him by responding with a hearty laugh. It was so infectious that Nate had to crack a tiny smile.