The Captain's Wallflower

by Audrey Harrison

  “No, that’s my brother William. He’s not home at present, although we are expecting him before Christmas,” Peter replied easily. “I’m the one taking Orders.”

  “Ah yes, I remember,” Alexander said, relaying to all the party that he had conversed beyond the inane social pleasantries with their relative.

  Amelia was the last to approach the pair; her stomach was fluttering so much she was afraid her internal butterflies were in danger of exploding out of her. “Mr Critchley, Captain Worthington. How are you?” she curtsied.

  The gentlemen bowed and responded that they were both well.

  “You have ventured out without Samson?” Amelia asked Alexander.

  “I told you she’d be more interested in the dog than you,” Richard said to Alexander, making Amelia flush deep red. It was harder to remain unfazed when being teased with some of your family looking on; especially when one of those family members had been a confidante just the day before.

  Amelia was embarrassed, but her natural humour came to the fore. “I’d always say the dog won, even if it was just to annoy.”

  “You’ve spent too much time with Richard,” Alexander harrumphed.

  Mrs Basingstoke invited the gentlemen to be seated, and all watched with interest as Richard guided his friend to the nearest seat. The housekeeper brought a tray of tea and edibles and, as Mrs Basingstoke poured tea and filled plates with cake and biscuits, Mr Basingstoke was able to watch his daughter.

  Amelia had taken the cup and saucer from her mother and approached Alexander. She touched his hand with the saucer and waited until he had taken the drink from her. She then touched her hand to his empty hand and, when Alexander had rested his hand on hers, she moved it to a little side table.

  “You can put your cup on this table if you wish,” she said quietly.

  “Thank you,” Alexander responded. He would always be at a disadvantage in a strange situation but, with unobtrusive help, he was able to feel more comfortable. Amelia then handed Alexander a plate of biscuits and described what was on the plate. “It sounds delicious,” Alexander smiled at her.

  “You’re a long way from London gentlemen. Do you have family nearby?” Mr Basingstoke asked when everyone was settled and eating.

  “I have friends in Lyme. We are staying with them for a few days in Upper Lyme,” Alexander said.

  “It is a trek to reach Charmouth from Upper Lyme!” Mrs Basingstoke said in surprise. “And in such conditions.”

  “I owe Miss Basingstoke a debt for introducing me to Samson; I could not visit Lyme and not pay my respects,” Alexander said easily.

  “But in this weather!” Mrs Basingstoke insisted.

  “I don’t mind the snow. It is difficult to walk in especially when being led, I admit, but I found it provides an unseen advantage.”

  “What’s that?” Amelia asked before her mother could say anything more about how inappropriate their visit was.

  “I normally only see darkness. Shadows and differing shades of grey and black. But the snow is so bright that, for the first time since the accident, I’ve seen light. I wouldn’t go as far as saying that I’ve seen white, but it’s definitely been brighter,” Alexander explained to the company.

  “It must have been really hard for you,” Peter said. “William told us about you on his last visit home. You were a hero on the day.”

  “I’ve never felt like one,” Alexander admitted. “I was trying to get my men and the ship out intact. I managed to do it, just.”

  “A difficult battle,” Mr Basingstoke acknowledged.

  “It was, but we out fought the French in a number of ways. Reflecting on the battle afterwards, it felt as if everything was in our favour.”

  “I will always thank God our son returned uninjured,” Mrs Basingstoke said with a shudder.

  They were interrupted by a knocking on the door. The rat-tat-tat inflicted made it obvious, to the family, at least who was knocking at the door.

  “Please excuse us a moment; it appears the snow has not hindered our two youngest boys in returning home,” Mr Basingstoke said good-humouredly.

  “We should leave,” Richard said making to move.

  “Not at all!” Mr Basingstoke responded. “Amelia, stay with our guests whilst we sort out the boys. I can only imagine what state they will be in.”

  The room fell silent as all the Basingstokes left the room except Amelia. Richard decided to help the conversation along. “So, are you missing London, Miss Basingstoke?”

  “Not at all!” Amelia replied with a laugh. “I hope never to have the need to visit again. I certainly had my fill of the frivolities.”

  “The benches will never be the same again,” Alexander said with mock sorrow.

  “Who are you visiting?” Amelia asked, changing the subject, curious to know if they shared the same acquaintance.

  “A retired Admiral l served under as a young officer. I learned a lot from him and always intended visiting him.”

  “So you are to be away from your families at Christmas?” Amelia asked.

  “No, it’s a short visit,” Richard responded.

  “Oh,” Amelia was suddenly disappointed their visit would not be longer. “It’s a shame I wasn’t able to see Samson before you left.”

  “If the snow isn’t so bad, we can bring him for a visit tomorrow before we leave Lyme,” Alexander offered. He did not need to have sight to know the expression on Richard’s face at his words. Throughout the trip, Richard had been expressing his feelings on travelling at this time of year and in the weather that had descended on them. Alexander without doubt would have to withstand a lecture from his friend as soon as they left the house.

  “I would like that very much, thank you,” Amelia responded.

  “It is time we returned to the Admiral’s House, Alex,” Richard said, standing. “Miss Basingstoke has two brothers to welcome home.”

  “We are all to be together this Christmas; it’s wonderful to be home with everyone,” Amelia said happily.

  “No cousins?” Alexander teased.

  “Definitely no cousins!” Amelia laughed. She led the gentlemen out of the drawing room and made her curtsey in the hallway. Richard made his bow but Alexander held out his hand. Amelia placed hers in his; it was good to feel how her hand felt small in his large one as he raised her hand to his lips and kissed it.

  “I’m blaming sight loss for forward behaviour,” Alexander said with a grin at Amelia. “Until tomorrow, Miss Basingstoke.”

  “Good-bye,” Amelia whispered continuing to feel the burn of his lips on her bare skin long after the gentlemen had left the house.

  Chapter 10

  Amelia tried not to stand at the windows watching for Richard and Alexander; she really did, but the morning seemed to be dragging and, although it had rained overnight, the snow would still restrict easy movement as it was now a deep covering of slush. Her three brothers had ventured out doors to choose a suitable Christmas tree and gather holly to decorate the house; it was tradition for every picture frame and windowsill to be filled with evergreens the children collected each year. Amelia had declined the invitation to accompany them, an unknown action previously. Although from experience, she would have been covered in snow and extremely wet if past years were anything to go by when accompanying brothers who enjoyed targeting each other with snowballs.

  Amelia had lain awake long into the night reflecting on the unexpected visit. Oh, how good it had been to see him again! She had known she missed Alexander, but the way her heart lifted as he walked into the morning room, she would never forget. The weight she had been struggling under since their last meeting had not seemed the burden it was until it eased. She had felt embarrassed because she was being watched by her family, but it did not remove the light-headedness she had felt at being once more in his company.

  She had been selfish enough to be grateful for the promise of another visit. Samson was very dear to her, but nothing in comparison when she though
t of another visit off Alexander. Amelia had forced herself to acknowledge that the visit would be the last time she saw him, but her heart kept pushing that thought to one side, focusing on the excitement of being in his company once more.

  Watching the lane through the window, she eventually spotted Peter leading the way home and ran to put on her pelisse and bonnet. It would take her mind off the promised visit if she helped with the distribution of holly.

  Luckily for Amelia, the snow was too wet and slushy to provide good ammunition for snowballs, so she was spared the pounding that would have been forthcoming in previous years. She took some of the holly from Benjamin and followed the group as they entered the house.

  Just as she was brushing her boots on the boot scrapper a movement caught her eye, and her heart lurched when she realised that two figures and a large dog where making their way along the same pathway her brothers had walked only a few moments before.

  She held back from entering the house, placing the holly out of the way of the doorway. Samson would be wet and probably smelly; it would be best if her mother did not meet the dog in such a state. Amelia thought it best to work out a way of keeping the two apart.

  Amelia walked to the waist-high boundary wall that separated the front garden from the wide-open lane that passed by the house. She stood at the open gateway with a welcoming smile on her face.

  Samson pulled more than usual in his hurry to reach Amelia, but Alexander had the dog under control. When they were within a few feet of Amelia, Samson, unable to contain himself any further, lurched at her with an excited yelp, pulling Alexander with him.

  Amelia and Richard were to think later that it was as if time had slowed. Samson’s jump knocked Amelia from her feet, landing her in the slush of the lane. The force of the pull was so unexpected and with such strength that Alexander did not have time to prepare himself for such an extreme shift in balance. He seemed to follow the dog through the air, but in an effort to prevent landing on where he presumed Samson and Amelia where, he twisted himself away and instead of falling onto the two bodies intertwined on the ground he hit the boundary wall with a sickening thud.

  The cry that followed the action would haunt Amelia for months afterwards; Alexander rolled away from the wall, his greatcoat soaking up the slush he was rolling in. The wetness was ignored while he grabbed hold of his head, rolling around in pain. Amelia could see the blood running through Alexander’s fingers and struggled to push Samson off her in an effort to reach Alexander.

  Richard reached his friend first and pulled his handkerchief out of his pocket and bent to Alexander, pushing the material onto the wound. Richard gritted his teeth; the wound was bleeding profusely. “Alex?” he said urgently, amazed that his friend was not already in an unconscious heap on the ground.

  “Richard? Oh, good God Richard!” Alexander groaned, his face a sickening green colour.

  “Alex, we need to get you inside.”

  “No! Richard. Get. Doctor. Johnson,” Alexander said through gritted teeth.

  “Yes, later. We need to get you inside first,” Richard insisted.

  “No! Richard, I need him here now!” Alexander said. “Richard, I need him! Now!”

  Amelia had moved to Alexander’s side. The other members of Amelia’s family had moved outside at the noise but were holding back slightly. “Mr Critchley, please go and send a message to Dr Johnson. Captain Worthington needs to be seen by him urgently. We will take care of the rest.” Amelia’s voice was much steadier than she felt.

  “But—,” Richard started.

  “Now, Mr Critchley,” Amelia said firmly. Her tone was enough for Richard to spring into action, looking to Amelia’s brother Peter, who took the concerned friend around to the stables. The luxury of walking was no longer an option, no matter what the weather. Increasing one’s speed by horseback was necessary.

  “Thank you,” Alexander moaned quietly.

  “Captain Worthington, my brothers are going to carry you inside,” Amelia said gently, while at the same time replacing the already blood-soaked handkerchief with a clean one of her own. She had enough experience with so many brothers to know that a head wound bled more than a wound on other parts of the body, but she was still very concerned. Her heart was pounding so hard she was sure her ribs would be bruised later. Thoughts were running through her head, but she had to focus, so the words ‘keep calm, keep calm’ were being repeated time and again.

  “Miss Basingstoke, I apologise, but I am going to embarrass myself further,” Alexander croaked out, before turning his face into the ground and vomiting.

  Amelia did not move away; she stroked Alexander’s hair, keeping back the thick strands that had come loose from the neat queue he usually wore as he emptied the contents of his stomach onto the slush. When it was obvious there was no more, Amelia stood and allowed her brothers to lift Alexander and carry him into the house. He was taken to a spare bedroom, Amelia following like a worried mother hen.

  Peter had returned to the group when he had seen Richard away and now looked at his sister with a slight smile. “Give us a few minutes, sweeting. We need to get these clothes off him. We don’t want to be dealing with a chill as well as his injury. You could take the dog out of the room at the same time.”

  Samson had been at Alexander’s side since the fall. His tail had almost disappeared between his legs, and he acted very sheepishly; it was as if he knew he had inadvertently caused the accident.

  “Of course,” Amelia said, bending down to look at Samson, who had crawled under the bed. “Come on, boy, let’s go,” she said gently. Samson refused to move, not even looking at Amelia. “Come on, Samson!” Amelia pleaded. Samson whined slightly, finally looking at Amelia, his eyes seeming to beseech her. “Peter, Samson will not leave him without a fuss; I think it’s wisest to leave him where he is; he won’t get in the way; I’m sure of it,” Amelia said with conviction. She could not separate a remorseful Samson from his master. She closed the door behind her, leaving her brothers to attend Alexander.

  Mr Basingstoke approached Amelia, stopping her from pacing backwards and forwards across the landing. Amelia had changed out of her wet clothing in record time, not wanting to be far from Alexander, but as yet the door had not reopened.

  “I’ve settled your mother in the drawing room,” Mr Basingstoke said quietly.

  Amelia was fully aware that her mother was no use in a crisis. How her parent had survived bringing up eight rowdy boys she had no idea and could only put it down to the naturally calm nature of her father.

  “How is he?”

  “I don’t know,” Amelia responded worriedly. “His wound still bleeds. I’m concerned that it is his head, with the wounds already there—”

  “I understand, but we must let the doctor assess him. Who is this Dr Johnson?” Mr Basingstoke asked.

  “I have no idea. I’m presuming he is the Captain’s own doctor, but that would lead to delays. He must live in London. Should we send for Doctor Dickinson?”

  “If he is still conscious we shall speak to him in a few moments and let him decide, but if he deteriorates I will not hesitate in calling in our own doctor,” Mr Basingstoke reassured his daughter.

  Eventually the door opened, and Benjamin allowed Amelia and her father into the bedroom. It was a small room, used only to house guests on the few occasions that all the family were at home. With four men and one worried young woman huddled within its confines, it seemed tiny.

  Amelia immediately approached the bed. Noticing that as well as being relieved of his clothing and dressed in a clean, dry nightshirt, another clean cloth had been placed on Alexander’s wound and was being held in place by Thomas. Alexander was grey, the colour seeming to be heightened by the whiteness of the nightshirt. No heart-racing thoughts of seeing Alexander in a state of undress entered Amelia’s head; this was not the time for day-dreams.

  “The bleeding is easing, but the move and changing his attire has taken it out of him,” Thomas said
quietly.

  “Papa?” Amelia asked.

  “Yes, my dear, we shall send for the doctor.”

  Alexander moaned a ‘no’. Amelia approached him. “Captain Worthington, you are not well; we need to get a doctor to you.”

  “Doctor Johnson,” Alexander whispered, but the words cost him dearly, his pallor going even paler than it had been.

  “My boy, your doctor is on his way, but we can’t risk a fever developing,” Mr Basingstoke said, placing a hand on Alexander’s arm to reassure him.

  “No, please no,” Alexander whispered.

  “As you wish,” Mr Basingstoke said with a sigh. It was obvious that every word was costing Alexander a great deal, so he must feel strongly about being seen by his own doctor. Mr Basingstoke capitulated for the moment; he did not wish for the guest to upset himself further.

  “Papa?” Amelia asked, her eyes saying everything her words could not.

  “We cannot force him,” Mr Basingstoke said. “I just hope this doctor of his arrives quickly.”

  Everyone eventually left the room at Amelia’s insistence. She was more than capable of tending to Alexander, and she did not wish for an audience while she did it. She had sat with her younger brothers during their childhood illnesses so there was no real surprise that she would volunteer as nurse. Only Mr Basingstoke knew the reason that Amelia could not leave the Captain to a member of staff, and it was not the moment to separate his daughter from the man who had captured her heart. The room quieted, and Amelia sat beside the bed. The bleeding had stopped, but she regularly checked Alexander’s temperature. She was not sure if he lost consciousness or not, but he lay very still as if afraid to move and never opened his eyes.

  The bedchamber door opened slowly, and Richard peeked in. “Your father said I could see Alex,” he explained in a whisper. He stepped into the room, looking like a man who had dashed across country on horseback in diabolical weather; his breeches were splattered with mud and stained with the effects of slushy water. His boots would be handed over to a horrified valet; their usual shine long gone.