The Pirate's Widow (3 page)

  
“Hermit?”

  
“Indeed.
 
His name is Walter and he lives in a cave at the edge of the wood where
the forest gives way to the shore.
 
He
fishes and forages for his meals, gets water from the stream that runs through
the wood, and cuts his own firewood from the fallen trees in the forest.”

  
“And he chooses to live this way, cut off
from the society of others?”

  
“Oh, it is a profitable arrangement, I do
assure you.
 
Once his contract expires,
he will be well able to support himself on the stipend I will provide.”

  
“You have hired him to live in your cave?”

  
“Absolutely, I assure you, Mrs. Jenkins, it
is all the fashion to have a hermit in one’s grounds.”

  
“I confess I have never heard of such a
thing as a hired hermit but then I have been away from these shores for several
years.”

  
“Your late husband was a sailing man?”

  
Callie remembered telling the Misses Bates
when she rented Hyacinth Cottage that her husband had been a minister.
 
“He was a missionary,” she said, gazing out
over the colorful blooms that surrounded them.
 
“Our travels took us to many lands.”

  
“How interesting; that must be why your son
is so drawn to the sea.”

  
They had reached the front of the house and
Sir Thomas looked down over the green expanse of the lawn to the quay on the
river where Jem played, throwing rocks into the water.

  
“Yes, Jem loves the sea.
 
I daresay when he is older he will go to sea
himself.”

  
“Following in your husband’s footsteps,
perhaps?”

  
Callie smiled.
 
“No doubt, Sir Thomas, no doubt.”

  
An hour later, Callie sat beside Sophie
Bates at the long, gleaming table in the dining room of Sedgewyck Manor.
 
Sir Thomas sat at the head of the table and
Venetia Louvain at its foot.
 
Jem, seated
across from Callie, fidgeted in his seat, impatient for the long, formal meal
to be at an end.

  
Flora Louvain, cross at being seated nearer
to her mother than to Sir Thomas, fixed Callie with a haughty glare.
 
“Tell me, Mrs. Jenkins, do you often allow
your young son to eat with the adults?”

  
“Always, Miss Louvain,” Callie
answered.
 
“After all, Jem and I are
alone.
 
It would hardly make sense to
exile him to another room and both of us dine alone.”

  
“How singular.
 
I perceive that you do not care to follow
fashion in your daily activities.”

  
“It is true; I am no slave to fashion.
 
Given my choice, I will always choose
practicality.”

  
“Brava, Mrs. Jenkins,” Sir Thomas said from
the head of the table as he raised his glass. “You sound like a lady of
uncommon common sense than which I admire nothing more.”

  
“Thank you, Sir Thomas,” Callie said,
wondering at such a statement coming from a man who hired a human being to
decorate his garden because it was ‘all the fashion’.

  
A little whine came from the foot of the
table and Callie looked around in time to see a furry head appear, two limpid
brown eyes surveying the food on Venetia Louvain’s plate.
 
Sir Thomas’ former mother-in-law slipped a
piece of roast beef into the tiny dog’s mouth and it disappeared beneath the
table’s edge once more.

  
Jem was fascinated.
 
“What kind of a dog is that, ma’am?” he
asked.

  
Venetia fixed him with a stare that clearly
conveyed her disdain for his presence at Sir Thomas’ table.
 
“He is a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel.
 
His name is Sherbet.”

  
Jem widened his eyes.
 
“Shark bait?”

  
Callie lifted her napkin to her lips to hide
her smile but Venetia Louvain was not so amused.

  
“Sherbet!” she snapped.
 
“Sherbet!
 
And I think we’ve heard enough from you, young man, if you don’t mind.”

  
Jem looked at Callie and she bit her lips to
keep from smiling at his pleased expression.

He
went back to eating his dinner and Callie saw him examine an ornate silver
spoon and slowly begin inching it toward the edge of the table.
 
She knew that in a moment it would disappear
into his pocket and she stretched out her foot under the table and nudged his
leg beneath the embroidered table cloth.
 
When he looked at her, she gave a tiny shake of her head and he
reluctantly returned the spoon to its place beside his plate.

  
There was an awkward silence which Venetia
Louvain broke to say:
 
“Perhaps Flora
could entertain us at the pianoforte after dinner.”
 
She smiled thinly at Callie.
 
“My daughter is an accomplished musician,
Mrs. Jenkins.”

  
“Is she?
 
How lovely.”

 
“Do you play?”

  
“No, not at all, Mrs. Louvain.”

  
“What a shame.
 
Sir Thomas much admires musical talent in a
lady.”

  
“That is very kind of you, Mrs. Louvain,”
Penelope Bates said, “but I fear my sister and I must make our departure soon
after dinner.
 
I am afraid Miss Louvain’s
playing is a treat that must wait for another time.”

  
“Indeed,” Callie said, “how disappointing,
Miss Louvain, but I will so look forward to hearing you at another time.”

   
Callie looked around the room with its
exquisite tapestries and elegant paintings. A solid silver ship under full
sail, an enameled pennant flowing from the tall mainmast decorated the center
of the table.
 
And all this, she
reflected, had its origins in piracy.
 
If
Kit had lived, they could have retired into anonymity and built a life like
this; their children and their children’s children could have one day been
grand ladies and gentlemen.

  
“Tell me, Mrs. Jenkins,” Sir Thomas said,
“have you had any trouble finding domestic help here in St. Swithin?”

  
“To be honest, Sir Thomas,” Callie told him,
“I haven’t tried.
 
With only Jem and me,
we have not felt the need of servants.”

  
“Never say you do your own housework!”
Venetia exclaimed.
 
“But perhaps I should
have known.”
 
She stared pointedly at
Callie’s hands which showed all the signs of having known hard work.

  
“I do my own housework,” Callie
confirmed.
 
“Having always been an active
person, I confess I would find it hard to sit idly by while other waited on me
like some pampered invalid.”

  
“There is no shame in being an active,
useful person,” Sir Thomas decreed.
 
“Certainly it is a valuable talent in a lady to be able to undertake the
management of her own household. However, I should think you would not be
adverse to a companion who might help you around the house as well.

 
“Mrs. Louvain’s lady’s maid, Sawyer, has a
niece who is anxious to enter service with an eye toward eventually being a
lady’s maid herself.
 
I wonder if you
might consider taking her into your employ.”

  
Callie saw the alarmed glance pass between
Venetia and her daughter and although she really had no interest in hiring a
servant, smiled sweetly at her host.
 
“How very kind of you, Sir Thomas,” she cooed.
 
“I should be grateful for the help and the
company.”

 
“Excellent!”
 
Sir Thomas beamed at her.
 
“You
are a most agreeable person, Mrs. Jenkins.
 
Amenability in a lady is an inestimable trait.”

  
After dinner Gemma, the young niece of
Venetia’s lady’s maid, was summoned and readily agreed to accompany Callie home
and become a servant in her house.
 
She
had ambitions for the future but, she agreed, one needed to start somewhere.

  
The Misses Bates announced their departure
and Sir Thomas ordered his carriage, determined to see Callie, Jem, and Gemma
home to Hyacinth Cottage.

  
“You must not trouble yourself, Sir Thomas,”
Callie protested.
 
“Surely the Misses
Bates . . .”

  
“It is no trouble at all, I assure you,” he
replied.
 
There are too many of you for
the Misses Bates’ pony cart and I should be delighted for the opportunity of
seeing you home, Mrs. Jenkins.”

  
Though Callie would have just as soon
crowded into Sophie and Penelope’s little pony cart, the sight of Venetia and
Flora’s sour expressions was enough to make the prospect of a ride home in Sir
Thomas’ elegant landau more agreeable.

  
As they rode through the village, Sir Thomas
and Callie seated together, Gemma, her bundle at her feet, facing them, and Jem
happily ensconced on the box beside the liveried coachman, men doffed their
caps and tugged their forelocks, women and girls curtsied.
 
Callie felt very grand and although she knew
the obeisances were meant for Sir Thomas, she couldn’t help indulging in a
moment’s fantasy of what it would be like to be a titled lady accustomed to
receiving such deference on a daily basis.
 
No wonder Venetia Louvain so jealously guarded her position as Sir
Thomas’ mother-in-law and plotted to replace the daughter she’d lost with her
surviving daughter as Lady Sedgewyck.

  
They reached Hyacinth Cottage and Sir Thomas
helped Callie descend while Jem hopped down from the box and handed Gemma to the
ground.
 
He took her bundle and carried
it into the cottage as she followed him inside.

  
“There you are,” Sir Thomas said, smiling,
“safe and sound.
 
I trust you had a
pleasant time at the manor.”

  
“Most enjoyable,” Callie assured him.
 
“You have a lovely home.
 
Thank you for inviting us.”

  
“You must come again.”
 
He took her hand.
 
“I am so pleased to have met you, Mrs.
Jenkins.
 
I would like to know you
better.”

  
“I am flattered, Sir Thomas . . .”

  
“I am perfectly serious, ma’am,” he said,
his dark eyes searching her face.
 
“I am
no idle flatterer.
 
But I will take my
leave now in the hope of seeing you again in the near future.”

  
“I’m sure you shall,” Callie agreed.

  
“I will content myself with that, for
now.”
 
Sir Thomas raised her hand to his
lips and brushed a kiss on her fingers.
 
He made her an elegant bow and climbed back up into his carriage.
 
The coachman closed the crested door and
clambered back onto the box and Sir Thomas doffed his hand to her as the
carriage turned around and headed back down the narrow cart track toward the
village.

  
As Callie turned toward the cottage she
found Jem standing just outside the doorway.
 
Grinning, he made her a bow every bit as elegant as Sir Thomas’.
 

  
“Get inside,” Callie told him with mock
severity, “before I turn out your pockets and make certain you didn’t make off
with Sir Thomas’ silver.”

  
Jem laughed and skittered out of her reach
and Callie, feeling somewhat overwhelmed, followed him inside.

*
   
*
   
*
   
*

  
The door had no more closed on Sir Thomas’
guests when Venetia Louvain marched out of the dining room.
 

  
“Flora, my room, now!” she ordered as she
passed her daughter who still lingered in her place at the table.

  
Upstairs, Venetia dismissed her maid and
arranged herself on her chaise longue before fixing her daughter with a baleful
glare.

  
“Could you, for once, try not to look as if
you just lost your closest friend?”