The Admiral's Penniless Bride (11 page)

He poured a handful of pence in the astounded child’s hands. They spilled through on to her dress, which she
stretched out to receive them. ‘When we get home, I will ask Etienne to find you a crock to keep them in.’

She nodded, too shy to speak, and edged closer to Sally, who put her arm around the girl. Finally, it was too much, and she burst into noisy tears. Disregarding her odour and dirty clothes, Sally pulled her on to her lap, whispering to her until she fell asleep. When she slept soundly, Sally put her on the seat and rested the scullery maid’s head in her lap.

‘That landlord told me she hadn’t earned a penny because she kept breaking things and stealing food,’ Charles said, his voice low. ‘Perhaps Wilberforce should look closer to home, if he wants to see the slave trade.’ He leaned forwards and tapped Sally’s knee with his hook. ‘You’re quite a woman, Mrs B.’

She looked at him, shabby in old civilian clothes years out of fashion because he had never been on land for most of two decades. His hair could have used a barber’s shears, and he probably hadn’t been standing close enough to his razor this morning. There was steel in him, and a capability that made her want to crawl into his lap and sob out every misery she had been subjected to, like Twenty. All those years at sea, spent protecting his homeland, seemed to be reflected in his eyes.

‘Thank you,’ was all she said.

Starkey was aghast to see what they had brought home with them, but Etienne didn’t bat an eye. In no time, he had water heating for a bath. When the water was ready, and Twenty eyeing it with considerable fear, he appeared with a simple dress.

‘This was in a trunk in the room I am using,’ he said. ‘Here are some shears. Hold it up to her and cut it to size. That will do for now.’

‘Etienne, you’re a wonder,’ Sally said, as she took the bit of muslin and wondered which Fair Cyprian had worn it.

Twenty’s protests died quickly enough, when she saw there was no rescue from a bath, followed by a pine tar block that barely foamed, but which smelled strong enough to drive away an army of lice. Her hair was already short. Trapping the towel-draped scullery maid between her knees, Sally trimmed and then combed her hair until it was free of animal companions.

Dressed in the hand-me-down, Twenty stood still for a sash cut from a tea towel, and then whirled in front of the room’s tiny mirror. She stopped and staggered after too many revolutions, and flopped on the bed, giggling.

‘I’ll have something better made for you soon,’ Sally told her.

‘I couldna ask for more, miss,’ she said, and it went right to Sally’s heart.
I’m not sure I could, either
, she thought.

There were two small beds in the little room. While Sally made up one, over Starkey’s protests that he could do it, Twenty sat at the table in the servants’ hall and ate a bowl of soup, not stopping until she had drained it. Sally looked over to see Etienne struggling with his composure as he handed her a small roll, and followed it with two more. When Twenty finished, she yawned, moved the bowl aside and put her head on the table. In less than a minute, she slept. She woke up in terror and cried out when Starkey picked her up, but settled down when Sally took her in her arms and carried her into the little room. She sat beside the bed until Twenty slept.

‘She doesn’t have a name, Etienne,’ Sally said, when she came into the servants’ hall. ‘She is your pots-and-pans girl. You should name her.’

‘Vivienne, after my sister?’ he said decisively. ‘Vivienne was her age when she died. It is a good name.’

‘Very well. You can tell her in the morning.’

She went upstairs slowly, tired in body, but more in mind. Etienne said he would bring supper soon, but she craved company more than soup or meat. She looked in the sitting room and up at the ceiling, which had been painted a sedate soft white.

‘Starkey said it’s only the first coat,’ the admiral said from the sofa, where he sat with his shoes off and his feet out in front of him. ‘You can tell them tomorrow what colour you would like.’

It was utterly prosaic, but she burst into tears anyway, and soon found herself burrowed in close to the admiral, his arm about her.

‘I’m sorry,’ she managed to gasp, before a fresh wave of tears made her shoulders shake.

‘Oh, belay that,’ he murmured. ‘Is she going to be all right?’

She nodded, taking the handkerchief he held out with his hook. ‘I don’t know. Can we send for a physician tomorrow? When she was in the bath, I noticed her private parts… Oh, Charles, they’re all inflamed. Do you think that horrible man…?’ She couldn’t say any more. He held her close.

‘The physician will sort her out,’ he said, his voice hard. ‘Too bad I cannot have that man flogged around the fleet until the skin comes off his back in tatters.’

She shuddered. ‘You’ve done that?’

‘That and more, and for less offense, Sophie,’ he said. He put his hand over her eyes, closing them. ‘Don’t think about it. The best thing that happened to Twenty was you.’

‘Her name is Vivienne. Etienne named her.’

She sighed, happy to close her eyes behind his hand. He kissed the top of her head and cradled her against his chest.

‘It’s a tough world, my dear,’ he said.

‘Not here, not in this decrepit den of thieves,’ she said softly. ‘I’d like a very soft green in this room. Of course, that might require new furniture.’

She felt him chuckle, more than heard him.

They were sitting like that, close together, heads touching, when Starkey opened the door and cleared his throat.

‘Sir, your sisters are here.’ He paused, and closed his eyes against the horror of it all. ‘They have brought Egyptian furniture.’

Charles groaned. ‘Oh, Lord, there you go—new furniture.’

S
ally tried to sit up, but her husband had anchored her to him. She heard his intake of breath and looked at the door to see two ladies staring back, their mouths open, their eyes wide.

‘Charles,’ one of them wailed. ‘What have you done? And without our permission!’

‘My sisters,’ the admiral said in a flat voice. He released Sally and got to his feet, holding out his hand for her. ‘Sisters, my wife.’

The ladies in the doorway continued to stare. Finally, the younger one spoke and it was not a pleasant tone of voice.

‘Charles William Edward Bright, What Have You Done?’

Dear me, she really does speak in capital letters
, Sally thought. She glanced at her husband, who had turned bright red. ‘Breathe, dear,’ she murmured.

He cleared his throat. ‘Fannie and Dora, I have somehow managed to find myself a wife without any assistance.’

Now what?
she thought, eyeing the women. They were noticeably older than their little brother, and from the angry looks they darted at her, obviously considered themselves the last court of appeals for their little brother.

Charles tucked her hand in the crook of his arm and towed her to the door. ‘Fannie and Dora, let me introduce Sophie Bright. We were married in Plymouth recently. Dearest, the one on the left is Fannie—more properly Mrs William Thorndyke—and the other one is Dora, more properly Lady Turnbooth. Their husbands have predeceased them, and they have ample time on their hands.’

‘The better to provide our little brother with the guidance he requires on land,’ Fannie said, not acknowledging Sally’s curtsy.

‘You have taught me well,’ Charles said smoothly. ‘I managed to find a wife on my own.’

‘She’s from Scotland!’ Dora burst out. To Sally’s chagrin, she buried her face in her handkerchief and the feathers on her bonnet quivered.

‘Dora, it’s not another planet,’ her brother said, with just the merest hint of exasperation in his voice.

‘Oats! Mildew!’ Dora exclaimed, which made Charles’s lips twitch, to Sally’s amusement.

‘I speak English,’ Sally assured them. ‘Won’t you please have a seat? I will inform our chef of your arrival.’

‘You needn’t bother,’ Fannie said in the brusque tone of someone used to commanding the field. ‘I know how to handle French cooks. I will go down there and tell him what is what. I have done it before.’

Sally glanced at her husband.
This is one of those duties you have outlined
, she thought.
Let us see if I can earn my keep.
‘Mrs Thorndyke, that is my responsibility.’

Fannie didn’t surrender without a fight. ‘He is French! I can handle him.’

‘So can I,’ Sally said, grateful they could not see her heart jumping about in her breast. ‘Do have a seat and visit with your brother.’ She couldn’t help herself. ‘I know he has been expecting your company.’

Shame on her. Sally set her lips firmly together as Charles struggled manfully to turn his guffaw into a cough. ‘Bad lungs from all that cold weather on the blockade,’ he managed to say. She closed the door behind her, but not before he gave her a measuring look.

She leaned against the door for a moment. When she composed herself, she noticed a rough-looking man in the foyer. ‘Yes?’ she asked, wondering where he fit into the picture.

‘I gots a wagonload of furniture,’ he said, with no preliminaries. ‘Nasty black dogs to sit on—Lord ’elp us—a statue of a bloke wearing a nappy. ’E walks funny, too, one leg in front of t’other.’

A pharaoh would have been right at home with our over-eager Penelope beside the front door
, she thought, wishing Charles were there for this delicious interview. ‘Just leave the dogs and statue in the wagon.’

The man revolved his battered hat in nervous hands. He eyed the sitting-room door with something close to terror. ‘Them gentry morts will ’ave my ’ide if I don’t unload.’

‘And I will, if you do,’ she said sweetly. ‘What a dilemma.’ She took a firm stance. ‘This is my home.’

Looking at the delivery man, she was struck by the fact that it
was
her home, lascivious cupids and all. She considered the shabby man before her and felt her resolve slide away.
There cannot be much between this man and a workhouse.

‘Wait here.’ She returned to the sitting room, and gestured to her husband, who was sitting between his sisters, both of whom were talking at the same time. He looked
up, relieved, when she called his name and came into the hall, closing the door behind him.

‘Your timing is exquisite. You are obviously my
deus ex machina
,’ he told her.

‘I continue to be an expensive one.’ Sally explained to him about the delivery. ‘If he doesn’t deliver the Egyptian furniture, I doubt your sisters will compensate him for his efforts. I don’t want that on my conscience, but I also do not want wooden jackals or pharaohs keeping either of us up at night or frightening the help.’

The admiral thought a moment. He looked at the delivery man, who continued to revolve his cap in his hands. ‘Behind this manor is a stable. My man Starkey can show you. Unload the furniture there. What is your fee?’

The man named it and Charles paid him. ‘That was simple enough, Sophie,’ he said, after the man had left. ‘Too bad I cannot unload my sisters there, too.’ He eyed her. ‘What is causing that wide-eyed stare, Sophie? Did I not pay him enough?’

She couldn’t help the stare. She had never met anyone like him. ‘Charles, you solved this problem in less than thirty seconds! I am stunned, that is all.’

‘Quick decisions are a lifetime habit, my dear,’ he told her, all serenity. ‘It seems I made a quick one a few days ago.’

So he had. All she could do was look at him, her mouth open, until he gently reminded her to ‘go belowdeck and alert my crew’.

She did as he asked, but not before he took her hand, bowed over it and kissed it. The door to the sitting room opened. He looked her in the eye and pulled her close to whisper in her ear, ‘We are madly in love, or so I have told my sisters. Tell Etienne to bring up some soup, cold if he can manage it, and nothing else. It will offend his Gallic
pride, but hopefully encourage my sisters to leave tomorrow.’ He took the moment to kiss her cheek. ‘Now. Back I go to the lion’s den.’

Etienne was not a slow man; he understood precisely what Sally wanted. ‘I will even put in too much salt and burn the bottom of the pan.’ He sighed. ‘I wouldn’t commit such a desecration, if this were not a worthy cause, Lady Bright. There might even be some mouldy bread in the bin.’

She heard pans in the scullery and looked in to see Twenty—Vivienne—washing dishes. The child looked up and smiled. ‘I’m not tired any more, mum.’

Sally felt tears prick her eyelids.
I think we have all wandered on to a good pasture
, she thought, as she nodded and returned upstairs, where Starkey waited to tell her he had prepared two rooms for her sisters-in-law. ‘I moved your clothing and other items into the admiral’s room, as well,’ he told her, his face impassive.

‘But…’

He easily overrode her. ‘Admiral Bright commanded it. After all, you
are
newly married, and there is a pretence to maintain, isn’t there?’

There was something in the dry way he spoke that told her volumes about his feelings. She felt her face grow hot, but she spoke calmly. ‘Yes, there is, Starkey,’ she said, keeping her voice steady even as her stomach churned from the arch look he gave her. ‘We know this charade is to spare him his sisters, and so we shall.’

I do not have an ally there
, she told herself as she entered the sitting room again. Two cold faces turned to glare at her, but there was the admiral, looking nothing but relieved.

‘Sophie, dearest, I have been telling my sisters—our sisters now, eh?—that you and I have been faithful
correspondents for several years, since the death of your husband in battle.’

Oh, my goodness
, she thought.
We’re creating a monster.

‘I wonder you did not say anything in your letters to us, brother,’ Fannie told him, looking far from mollified. ‘We could have visited…uh…Lady Bright in Bath.’

And then the admiral was looking at her, too, his eyebrows raised hopefully. She had no choice but to prevaricate. ‘It was a matter of some delicacy,’ Sally said finally. ‘Surely you understand.’

Sceptical looks assured her they did not, but she had no idea what to say next, except, ‘Etienne informs me that there is only soup. We will not be fully staffed until some time late tomorrow.’ She held her hands tightly together, so they would not shake. ‘We have arranged for you to sleep here tonight, and will wish you Godspeed tomorrow, when you leave.’

Mercifully, dinner was short. There was only so much attention to attach to leek soup, especially lukewarm soup with the flavor of burned pot competing with rancid butter. The hour in the sitting room seem stretched as taut as India rubber. It came to a merciful conclusion after one of Admiral Bright’s more gory stories of sea battle, followed by shipwreck, starvation and imprisonment. ‘And that, dear sisters, rounds out my career as a midshipman,’ Bright told them as Fannie waved ammonia under Dora’s nose until she sneezed. ‘Unless you wish to hear about that regrettable instance of cannibalism.’ Dora yanked the ammonia out of Fannie’s hand and held it closer to her nose. ‘No? Another day, then. Perhaps when you return in a month or two. At Christmas?’

What could they say?

Her head was pounding by the time the sisters closed the doors to their respective rooms, one of which had been hers. She only hoped Starkey had removed all trace of her presence. Admiral Bright seemed to take it all in his stride. He opened the door to his room wide.

‘Starkey informs me there are no other beds in the place, Sophie.’

She glared at him. He staggered back as if she had shot him, which made Sally put her hand to her mouth to squelch her laughter. She let him tug her inside.

‘I know, I know. It seems strange to me that the former owner could have had only three beds on this floor, considering how he used this property. Perhaps no one was particular. There
are
soft rugs in the empty rooms.’

Sally gasped. ‘What
won’t
you say?’ she asked. ‘Better I should ask, what did you say to them?’

‘No more than you heard,’ he told her. ‘I didn’t have time to fashion a great big whopper. Sit down, Sophie. I won’t bite.’ He patted the bed, where he sat.

She pulled up a chair from its place in front of the fireplace and sat there. ‘So we have maintained a correspondence of some four or five years’ duration.’

‘Indeed we have. You were the soul of rectitude, and I was busy in the fleet. We scarcely set eyes on each other in all that time, but after a visit to Bath after Waterloo, one thing led to another, and here we are.’

‘Do they really believe you?’ she asked.

‘I hope so.’

‘You could have told them the truth. Maybe it would have been best.’

He began to unbutton his shirt. One button seemed to hang up in the fabric, so she sat beside him and undid it
for him. He undid the cufflink on his handless arm, and held out the other arm so she could undo that cufflink.

‘I considered it, but why should I embarrass someone who is doing me a favour? I remain convinced that once my sisters see I have managed to tie the knot without any more meddling from them, they will get bored and leave me—us—alone.’

‘You know them better than I do,’ she said doubtfully.

‘I’ve been long years away from them, too,’ he replied, as he pulled the shirt collar away from the harness and looked at her.

Without a word, she twisted the small metal tab that held it together.

‘Help me off with my shirt, will you?’ he asked, bunching up the fabric in the front.

She did as he asked. Holding the shirt, she watched as he shrugged out of the harness, exposing his maimed arm. He set the harness and its attached hook on the night stand by the bed. He held up his arm.

‘You can see it was a clean amputation. The surgeon marvelled at how neatly that rope had separated me from what was obviously an accessory, since I seem to manage well enough without it.’

She looked at his arm, feeling the hairs on her neck raise, and then settle. ‘Does it ever hurt?’

‘It did when it happened. God, the pain. And then I swear I could feel my fingers. Wiggle them, even.’ He smiled at her. ‘It never hurts now.’

He went into his dressing room. She pulled the chair back to the fireplace and sat there. When he came out, he was in his nightshirt. He plopped down in the chair next to her, putting his bare feet on the ottoman. He took her hand, running his fingers lightly across her knuckles.

‘I have put you in a bad spot. After all the nonsense, and
political manoeuvring—yes, even at sea, God help us—and constant vigilance, all I wanted when I came onshore was to be left alone, and my sisters wouldn’t allow it.’ He didn’t even seem to be aware that he had raised her hand to his cheek. ‘I think they meant well, but they will never understand that I just want to be left alone. I married you as a buffer, but that is hardly fair.’

She thought about what he was saying, even as he rested the back of her palm against his cheek. She felt the motion acutely, and the slow warmth spreading upward from her belly. He seemed unmindful of his action.
I know my place
, she reminded herself. A gentle resistance to his touch made him release her hand and look at her, apology in his eyes.

‘What’s the matter with me?’ he asked suddenly. ‘I am forty-five years old, long thought to be a sensible man, and I am telling lies—real prevarications—right and left. I don’t understand myself right now.’

He leaped up from the chair, stalked into his dressing room again, and returned with his threadbare robe. He frowned, looking into the distance, as he tied an expert bow one-handed, then sat down again.

To lighten the moment, she looked at his robe. ‘Please tell me you didn’t order another robe from the tailor today,’ she said. ‘I rather like that shabby thing.’