by Carla Kelly
But what was that? Able tossed aside his book, listening intently.
She heard it, too, someone banging on the door, and, “Please help us!”
Meridee moved aside as Able leaped out of bed. He darted into their dressing room and came out with a knife. “Don’t leave this floor.”
Meridee threw on her robe and ran into the hall, determined to keep whatever ill fortune this was between her and the boys’ rooms. She listened, and held her breath when she heard the front door creak open. Voices and then, “Meri, come down here, handsomely now. No fears.”
She ran down the stairs, and stood still in surprise to see Jamie MacGregor, his hair wet and plastered to his head, his face set and frightened at the same time.
His arm was tight around a girl equally wet, and shivering visibly, even from a distance. Jamie looked to Able, and Meridee saw all the pleading, along with that ineffable dignity of the workhouse child that Meridee had first noticed in her husband.
“Master Six, help me! We don’t know where to turn except to you.”
“Come,” he ordered in that voice of command Meridee seldom heard in their home. “We’ll sort it out, won’t we, Meri?”
“I expect we will,” she said. “Come inside. Close the door.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Able knew Meri would never fail him. If he had a watch with a second hand, something he never needed, he would have given his wife four seconds to know what to do. She bettered his estimation by two seconds and held out her arms.
“My dears, come here,” she said. “My word, are you twins?”
Jamie nodded. With the barest glance at Able, he gave his sister a little push into Meri’s open arms. She grabbed the girl, who began to sob, and held out her arms again for Jamie, too.
He watched the three of them, knowing without seeing her face that Meri was in tears. She turned to look at him, and damned if he didn’t feel tears coming on too. Standing there, seeing this reunion of desperate children, he knew he would have given the earth for a sibling.
“Ma’am, I have lice,” said the girl, pulling away. “Maybe you shouldn’t ….”
Any sane woman would have leaped back. The unexpected reunion must have unhinged his wife, who pulled her close again. “I have a fine-toothed comb, and it works well. Don’t you worry,” Meri said.
Jamie was made of sterner stuff, but Able already knew that. “Let’s be kind to the good lady,” he said as he gently pulled his sister away. He kept his arm around her, obviously unconcerned for himself about wee beasties.
“Some introductions, Mr. MacGregor,” Able ordered.
The girl stared from Able to her brother. “Jamie,” she whispered, “he called you mister.”
“Master Six does that all the time,” Jamie said. “He says that if you want to be treated as a person of worth, you have to act like one.”
“This is my twin sister, Betty MacGregor,” Jamie told them. “Miss Betty MacGregor.”
He sent a silent plea toward Able, reminding the sailing master that the workhouse would always loom in the background. He wished he could assure Jamie that eventually he would forget all the misery of the place, but he couldn’t.
“Master, please don’t be angry.”
“That your sister found you? I couldn’t be more delighted.”
Meridee seemed to have regained her sanity, and probably not a moment too soon, because Mrs. Perry opened her door and glowered at all of them. “What in the world is going on?” she asked, evidently not a woman who thrived on commotion.
“Only the best thing you can imagine, Mrs. Perry,” Meridee said, which made Able wonder if the redoubtable cook realized how firmly she was wrapped around his wife’s little finger. “Consider this: Jamie MacGregor has found his twin sister.”
“I trust she’s not in trouble with a magistrate,” Mrs. Perry said, injecting a note of reason.
The girl shook her head, but the fear returned to her eyes. “I couldn’t stay at the workhouse,” she said. More tears made tracks down her dirty face.
“It will keep until we get you washed and dressed, and put some food in your stomach,” Meridee said firmly. “Mrs. Perry, you organize a bath, and I will fetch one of my nightgowns and some pine tar soap. Able, you and Jamie may retire to the sitting room.”
After pointing Jamie toward a comfortable chair and advising him to add some coal to the grate, Able followed his wife upstairs. He found her in their dressing room, pulling out a clean but faded dress and a petticoat. A nightgown came next. He knew she had plenty of those, most of them unworn lately. He put his arms around her.
“I have the distinct impression that you just found your maid of all work,” he said. He gave her a smack on the rump and walked downstairs, hand in hand with her.
“That may follow, Master Six,” she said, and waved him off to the sitting room. “Sort out this matter with Mr. MacGregor.”
He could have told her why Betty MacGregor had probably run away, but he hadn’t the heart; Meri would learn soon enough. Under Betty’s grime and fear, he saw a pretty lass with red hair like Jamie’s and the same snapping green eyes. He remembered other young girls from Dumfries Workhouse, shy and winsome in their Celtic way, who turned wan and listless after reaching a certain age. Able trusted that someday there would be a fearful reckoning for evil men who preyed on the defenseless and ruined all hope.
Jamie sat in the chair closest to the fireplace, staring down at his hands. He got to his feet at once.
“Master, I didn’t know what to do, except bring Betty here,” he said.
“You did right,” Able said, happy to reassure his calculus student. “You are both from the Carlisle Workhouse, eh?”
“Aye, sir. Me mam and da drifted south from Glasgow for work, couldn’t find any, and left us in Carlisle.” He lowered his gaze and Able felt the boy’s shame. “Said they’d return for us, but that was six years ago.”
Able thought again that he had an easier time of it because he never had a single expectation of family. In his lively mind’s eye, he saw two little children waiting, their faces pressed to a barred window.
“Why did Betty run away?” he asked gently. “Or can I guess?”
Old eyes looked into Able’s equally old eyes. “You can guess, sir. She said the teacher started hanging around the girls’ dormitory. Claimed he was looking for stolen goods, but he was sniffing out the lassies.”
“Damn him. Too bad we cannot flog such men around the fleet.”
Jamie nodded. “He trapped Betty in a closet and she bit him, which meant he howled to the workhouse master, who put her in the Hole.” He looked up. “Sir, did you have a Hole in your workhouse?”
“Aye, lad. After two beatings for the same offense, down we went. Shared it with rattus norvegicus.”
That brought a slight smile to Jamie’s face that vanished quickly. “Ours had rats, too.” He leaned back, thought better of it, and straightened up.
“Go ahead and relax, laddie,” Able said. “I’m sitting here in my nightshirt, advertising my hairy legs, so I don’t think we’re standing on much ceremony.”
James leaned back and sighed. Able heard all the unhappiness in that small sound.
“She got lucky, did Betty. The grating was loose and she wiggled out.” Again that sigh. “She started walking south to Portsmouth in November. From Carlisle! She knew I was at Saint Something in Portsmouth and that was all. Not a penny to her name. Walking and hiding and walking.”
Able nodded at that bit of news, knowing that if Meri were to come into the room and hear the discussion of twelve-year-old Betty running away without a copper and probably no cloak, she would burst into tears. Meri, you have no idea how resourceful we workhouse rats truly are, he thought, and felt an odd sort of pride she never would have understood.
“I came south in a potato cart,” Able said. “Took me a few years before I wanted another potato in any form.”
“Betty stole food. Said her best night’s
work was in a village where the residents left puddings on their doorsteps for Father Christmas. She hid in barns. Probably what you did, Master Six.”
“Aye, except I wasn’t smart enough to run away at Christmas,” Able joked.
“Needs must, when the Devil drives, sir,” Jamie quoted. “I, um, imagine you were the smartest runaway in England, even at nine years old.”
“I managed, same as your sister did,” Able replied, amused at such an odd conversation. Meridee wouldn’t know what to make of it. He applied himself for a few seconds to the problem, then asked, “Does anyone know she is here besides us?”
Jamie made a face. “Of all people, Master Blake found her trying to eat out of the kitchen ash cans. He grabbed her and tried to drag her to … to Master Croker, I suppose, after she kicked him good and gave him what for.” He looked down at his hands again. “He called after her and said something strange.”
“Which was ….”
“ ‘I can help you find a good place with food. Trust me.’ ” Jamie gave a snort of derision. “Hah! As if old Blake would ever help any of us, think on.”
Able’s mind plunked him right back in the Bare Bones, where all over again he saw Master Blake whispering with a pimp. He knew it was physically impossible, but his blood seemed to run in chunks. He forced himself to listen to the boy.
“She gave him a kick for his pains and he changed his tune pretty fast,” Jamie said grimly. “He grabbed his leg and said he was summoning the watch.”
“That’s unfortunate,” Able said.
“She ran inside screaming my name and I heard her.” He didn’t try to stop his tears. “I didn’t want to leave her alone in the Carlisle Workhouse, but she insisted I go to St. Brendan’s and make my fortune.” He sobbed into his hands. “Was I wrong?”
Able knelt by his chair, his hand on Jamie’s back, wishing for Meridee to magically materialize and supply her special comfort. He reached toward the pocket where he carried a handkerchief, then remembered he was still in his nightshirt.
“Nay, lad, you were not wrong,” Able said. “Sounds as though Betty knew it.”
“She’s all I have, sir,” the boy said as he sniffed back more tears and tried to compose himself. “Sorry, sir.”
“No need to apologize to me, of all persons,” Able told him. “We workhouse scum don’t survive by hanging back. You didn’t, and from what I see now, she didn’t either.”
It sounded feeble to Able’s ears, but Jamie looked up. He pulled out his shirttails and wiped his nose. “Sorry, sir.”
“I’ll find you a handkerchief. I’m remarkably ill-equipped at the moment.”
“I’d rather you let me see Betty, sir,” he said quietly.
“Wait here. I’ll consult with the ladies.”
He knocked on the kitchen door, which Meridee opened. “She’s washed and I’m combing her hair while Mrs. Perry warms up the pease porridge,” Meridee said. Able saw all the compassion on her face. “Betty is so frightened. Could you bring in Jamie MacGregor?”
“He’s feeling the need, too. I’ll be right back.”
Telling Jamie to wait a moment more, Able ran upstairs, threw on his clothes and found a handkerchief. He commanded Jamie to make a hearty blow, and then shepherded the boy to the kitchen, where Betty, clean now, her hair wet, pulled him close with a sob.
He looked down when he felt Meri’s hand in his. “I’ll wager you didn’t suspect this might be part of our wedding vows: ‘Thou shalt render aid at all hours,’ ” he whispered.
Her grin told him more about the woman he thought he already knew inside and out. He clapped his arm around her shoulder, bumped her hip with his, and told her she ought to get dressed. He expected a visit from the magistrate at any moment, Mr. Blake being a heartless man. Whatever else he wanted to say about Blake could keep.
While Meridee hurried upstairs, Mrs. Perry sat Betty down in front of that evening’s warmed-up pease pudding. Betty stared at the bowl, and her lips started to quiver.
God bless Mrs. Perry. The cook gave the child’s shoulder a little shake and a pat, which seemed to give Betty permission to nearly fall on the food, shoveling down the thick stew as if it were her last meal on earth. As the level dropped in the bowl, Betty turned anxious eyes toward the stove. Mrs. Perry ladled in more food until Betty sat back, full for perhaps the first time in her life.
With a shy smile, she took the bread Mrs. Perry handed her, stared at the butter in amazement, and wiped the bowl clean.
Meridee came into the kitchen then, neat as a pin as usual, except that she hadn’t bothered to tie back her hair, which fell prettily past her shoulders. She held out a shawl to Betty, then draped it around her. “I don’t need two,” she said.
Betty tried to shrink into her chair at a knock that sounded like a peremptory summons. Jamie stepped in front of her, feet planted firmly.
“I’d better let him in,” Able said. “In fact, Jamie and Betty, let’s adjourn to the sitting room. Meridee, you and Mrs. Perry remain here.”
He led the twins into the sitting room, but Meridee wouldn’t stay in the kitchen. She took his hand. “Master Six, this is my house, too.”
“This might not be a pleasant interview,” he warned her.
“We’re in this together.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Meri’s hand in his, as if they always welcomed visitors at midnight, Able opened the door on a sour-looking fellow who had likely been ordered to leave the warmth of the magistrate’s office near Landport Gate to sort out some nonsense involving a runaway.
“I have a complaint from Master Leonidas Blake of St. Brendan the Navigator School,” he said, holding out a document. “A runaway snooping around ash cans in the alley. Why this couldn’t wait until morning I could not tell you, but the man insisted. Vehemently.”
“Please come in,” Able said. “We’ve gathered in the sitting room, and you are welcome to join us there. Meri, could you ask our cook to provide Mister … Mister ….”
“Walter Cornwall. Now look here, I don’t need—”
“—Mister Cornwall with something to warm him?”
“We have tea, but I think such a cold night demands something a little more rigorous,” Meridee said, just as Mrs. Perry barreled out of the kitchen.
Mrs. Perry’s glower bordered on a snarl that made the magistrate take an involuntary step back. Meri and Mrs. Perry returned to the kitchen while Able led a more subdued Walter Cornwall into his sitting room. Cornwall looked over his shoulder, which made Able silently cheer Mrs. Perry’s ability to terrify bullies.
Eyes determined, the twins sat close together. Betty shook visibly, no matter how tight her brother’s arm around her shoulder. Able wished he could tell the terrified girl that she was never going to fight another battle alone, not with her brother there, and what Able already knew was a formidable pair in the kitchen.
And one person more. Without knocking, Headmaster Croker strode in, dressed in his black academic robes. His impressive rig-out included a stunning gold collar around his neck bearing a pendant of St. Brendan, whose enamel glower almost equaled Mrs. Perry’s. Able had to bite the inside of his lip to keep from laughing. All the scene lacked was Captain Sir Belvedere St. Anthony to demand entrance.
Good God, he had underestimated the headmaster, who stood back deferentially while Sir B rolled in, clad in his best uniform, complete with the distinctive star signifying the wearer as a Knight Commander of the Order of the Bath.
With what he personally considered masterful aplomb, considering how much he wanted to laugh until he hurt himself, Able ushered the two men into his sitting room. Sir B’s valet pushed the chair close to the fireplace. Headmaster Croker sat beside the twins, who stared, mouths open, eyes wide.
“Gentlemen, what a delight to have you in my sitting room,” Able said. His wish that Meridee would quickly materialize to help weave him through this labyrinth was answered. He felt a soft hand against his back and then her arm twin
ed through his.
“What an honor, gentlemen,” she said. “Make yourselves at home.” She turned kindly eyes on the constable. “Mr. Cornwall, Mrs. Perry has a fine mug of grog that should keep you warm, once you resume your … your … beat, is it called?”
The stunned man nodded and took the tankard from Mrs. Perry. Cornwall drank his grog in what sounded like one gulp. He set the tankard on the end table, which made Mrs. Perry mutter something about rings on good furniture. Snatching up the offending mug, he moved it from hand to hand until Mrs. Perry relieved him of it and stomped out of the room.
“Mr. Cornwall, what business have you with St. Brendan’s?” Captain Sir Belvedere St. Anthony said. His timing was exquisite and well-remembered by Able, who had watched Sir B haul a seaman up short on the deck and threaten him with what sounded like kindness at first, until it modulated into menace. He began to feel sorry for Walter Cornwall, and for Master Blake, too, even though he was nowhere in sight, thank the Lord. Able didn’t think his sitting room large enough for one more bully.
And here came the lodgers, clad in their nightshirts. Led by the redoubtable Nick, they found a space along one wall and sat there, interested.
“Lads, you needn’t be here,” Able said.
Nick stood up. “Master, we considered the issue and decided you might need our support. Mates stick together, as you have told us,” he said, in a voice that oozed leadership. He ruined the effect with a grin. “Besides which, this looks more interesting than sleeping.”
Meridee chuckled at that artless rejoinder. “I agree,” she said. She gave Able her sweetest smile. “Please let them stay, dearest.”
His face warm, Able glanced at Sir B, who was trying to suppress his smile. Headmaster Croker didn’t even try. He gave Mrs. Six a courtly bow. “I hope Dearest listens to you.”
“He does now and then,” Able’s incorrigible wife replied.
Sir B cleared his throat. An ordinary mortal doing that would attract little attention, but Able knew his former captain had taken the art of throat clearing to its highest level. Silence reigned.