The Admiral's Penniless Bride (7 page)

She let out her breath in a gusty sigh. ‘This is a strange household.’

‘I can scarcely wait to see what tomorrow brings.’

She surprised him then, padding back inside her room, then returning with a light blanket. She tucked it around him, cutlass and all, all without a word. The door closed quietly behind her.

When Sally awoke, the rain was gone. She lay there a long moment, her hands behind her head, relishing the quiet. She was hungry, but without the familiar anxiety. She sniffed. Etienne apparently didn’t let his Gallic origins get in the way of an English breakfast. Of course, he had been cooking in the fleet since Trafalgar. She could dress at her leisure, and go downstairs to breakfast on the sideboard. There were no demanding old ladies, no employers to dread, no fears of being turned off and no quarrels about her begrudged wages.

She lay there, knowing she would give it all up for one more moment with Andrew, before the Lords of the Admiralty hounded him to death; another chance to walk with Andrew, Peter between them, as they held his hands and skipped him across puddles. She thought about the two loves of her life, then did something she had never done before: she folded the memory into her heart and tucked it away. There was no pain this time, only a certain softness in knowing how well she had loved, and how hard she had tried.

Sophia dabbed her eyes with the sheet and sat up, listening to voices on the lawn. She went to the window and threw open the casement to look out on the glory of the ocean. She rested her elbows on the sill, eyes merry as she watched Lord Edmonds—looking small and frail in the morning light—and her husband walk among the overgrown bushes, stopping now and then to retrieve keys.

What had frightened her so badly last night made her smile this morning. ‘You didn’t really have to sleep outside my door last night, Charles,’ she said out loud, knowing he couldn’t hear her. ‘But thank you, anyway.’

She turned around and stopped, while the tears came to her eyes again. She must have slept soundly, because the
blanket she had tucked around her husband was draped over the foot of her bed. The cutlass lay inside the entrance to her room, as though daring anyone to disturb her. She put the blanket around her shoulders, wishing for that elusive scent of bay rum. All her thoughts yesterday had been of how foolish, how weak she had been to allow a good man to feel so obligated that he would marry her, when he probably could have done so much better.

Her thoughts were different this morning. She relished the notion that of all the people in the world, she had encountered someone who cared enough to help her.

She went to the window again, this time to look at her husband only, walking and listening to an old man. She closed her eyes and opened them. He was still there; she hadn’t imagined him.

L
ord Edmonds would probably have stayed all week with very little encouragement, but he was gone before lunch, sent on his way in a post chaise which Starkey had engaged, after a short walk to Plymouth.

Bright escorted Lord Edmonds to the chaise and helped him in. He returned to stand beside her on the step, put his arm around her for obvious show and waved to the old bounder.

‘That’s it, that’s it, go away, Lord Edmonds,’ he said out of the corner of his mouth as he smiled and waved.

‘You’re quite good at that,’ she commented. ‘You know, looking as though you are sorry to see him leave.’

‘I’ve had plenty of practice with any number of members of parliament and lords in their chamber who thought they knew more about the management of the fleet than I did,’ he told her. ‘And lately, my sisters have given me ample reason to wish them to the devil.’

She turned to go back inside and stopped. ‘I can’t face that hallway again.’

‘I can’t, either. Let’s go down to the beach.’

She went with him in perfect agreement. He helped her down the wooden steps to the sand below, where the tide was out. As she watched, perched on a well-placed rock, he went to the edge of the tide and threw in ten keys, one at a time, sending them far out to sea.

‘They’ll sink in the sand or be carried further out,’ he told her, wiping his hand on his trousers. He sat beside her on the rock, waiting a moment before he spoke, as though choosing his words. ‘During our walk in the garden, I had told the old rascal that we were newly married. He wondered why we were sleeping in separate chambers.’

‘Oh, dear,’ she murmured.

‘I politely told him it was none of his business. Still…are we going to lie to my sisters? I own it makes me uneasy to prevaricate any more than I already have. Any thoughts?’

It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him her real last name, and what had caused her to use her maiden name. One or two breathless sentences would explain the matter, except that she knew the moment for confession has passed. Anything now would paint her as the worst sort of opportunist, and she couldn’t face more recrimination, not after the last five years. ‘No thoughts, really,’ she said, feeling the blush and slow burn of the hypocrite scorch her breasts and face. Maybe he would put it down to the delicacy of the subject.

‘I had planned to tell Fannie and Dora precisely why I was marrying The Mouse, but that would have caused The Mouse humiliation. I know. I know. I should have thought of that before I hatched this silly scheme. Maybe it shows you the level of my desperation.’ He turned to look at her directly. ‘So what are we? Long-lost lovers, or a marriage of convenience? Do we lie or tell the truth?’

She wondered if he was reading her mind, because his eyes had hardened in a way that gave her the shivers. She couldn’t look at him.

He sighed and returned his gaze to the ocean. ‘I just gave you my admiral look, didn’t I? I fear it is second nature, Sophia. If I tell the truth, that’s just humiliation for you, isn’t it?’

She nodded, thinking of times in the past five years she had been humiliated, from the ringing denunciation of her late husband by the Admiralty lords, to the quick glances of former friends, only to have them avoid her, until she disappeared into cheap lodgings.

He was waiting for her to say something. ‘I think you should tell the truth,’ she said, her voice low. ‘Just get it over with. Maybe they will leave you alone then. That’s what this is all about, isn’t it?’

He seemed struck by that notion, which surprised her. ‘I suppose it is,’ he said finally, and he sounded disappointed, as though something had changed, but she couldn’t see it. ‘I’m sure you are right. Still…’

After a long, long silence, he nudged her shoulder. ‘Maybe I can manage one more lie,’ he said at last as he stood up and offered her his arm again. ‘Why should you be embarrassed again?’

‘I don’t mind,’ she told him.

‘You should,’ he said. ‘After all, you’re the wife of a retired admiral now and someone of consequence.’

‘I’m a penniless lady’s companion!’ she said, feeling anger flare, where before there had been embarrassment. ‘Who are we fooling, when it is just the two of us?’

He stopped then, took her hand from his arm and clapped his arm around her shoulders for a brief moment, as though trying to squeeze a little heart into her. ‘No,
you’re Lady Bright. Humour me. Lady Bright. Sounds perky, doesn’t it?’ He grew serious, matching her mood. ‘We’ll think of something.’

When?
she wondered as they went into the house. She made a point to look up at the ceiling, with all the naughty cupids.
This kind man has married me. I need to start proving my worth
, she told herself. She returned her gaze to the man beside her. ‘Charles, it is time we took the bull by the horns. This house must be painted, and soon.’

‘I know. The neighbours, is it?’

‘The neighbours. We will visit them and ask for advice. We will throw ourselves on their mercy and see if we can poach a bailiff.’

‘Madam, why didn’t I think of that?’

‘Simple,’ she told him. ‘You are used to commanding people. Now it is time to grovel and plead for help. I am going to change into my one other dress and my ugly but serviceable walking shoes.’

‘Just near neighbours,’ he told her a half-hour later, as they went down the front steps.

Sally peered into the bush by the front door. Penelope the Statue was now recumbent, and Starkey was busy on her with a sledgehammer, pounding her into smaller chunks to haul away. ‘That’s a good start,’ she said. ‘We are moving towards respectability.’

‘I wonder if lemon trees would grow in this climate,’ her husband said as they walked down the weed-clogged lane. ‘I would like lemon trees flanking the door.’

‘We can ask our nearest neighbour.’ Sally pointed to the end of the lane. ‘The banker?’

‘Yes. The estate agent apologised over and over for that particular neighbour. He feared I might take exception to
settling in the vicinity of a Jew. I assured him I could stand the strain. Hypocrite!’

They came to the end of the lane. ‘Now we stop and look both ways,’ he said, amusement in his voice. ‘Such a quiet neighbourhood! Come, my dear, let us visit our neighbour.’

The lane was far tidier than their own, which the admiral pointed out to her with some glee. ‘I expect the man would like our rutty mire to look more like his entrance. I think the estate agent had it all wrong, Sophie dear;
we
are the liability.’

‘Speak for yourself, Charlie,’ she teased, happy to see him in more cheerful spirits.

‘Let us be on our best behaviour. You say Jacob Brustein, founding father of Brustein and Carter, is banker to half the fleet? I love this man already.’

He knocked on the tidy door, then pointed to the small box beside the door. ‘It’s a mezuzah, Sophie. If we were Jewish, we would put a finger to our lips and then touch it.’

Sally looked around with interest and envy. While not as large as the ramshackle house across the road, it was everything the admiral’s was not. From the honey-coloured stone, to the trellis of yellow roses, to the delicate lace of the curtains in the front room, she saw perfection.
I am too impatient
, she thought, as she watched a cat in the window stretch and return to slumber.
This effect is achieved over the course of many years.

The door was opened by a pleasant-looking housekeeper. The admiral removed his hat. ‘I am Admiral Bright and this is my wife, Sophia. We have come to call on Mr Brustein, if he is available to visitors.’

‘Come inside, please,’ she said, opening the door wider. Sally could hear the faintest of accents. ‘I will see.’

The housekeeper left them standing in a hall lined with delicate watercolours. ‘This is elegant,’ Sally whispered.

‘Makes our place look like an exhibitioner’s hall,’ the admiral whispered back. ‘At least the parts that don’t look like a brothel.’

‘Hush,’ she whispered, her face flaming. ‘Behave yourself.’

A moment later she heard footsteps, light but halting, and turned to see a leprechaun of a man coming towards them, leaning heavily on a cane, his face lively with interest. He wore a suit even older than her husband’s, and a shawl around that. White hair sprang like dandelion puffs around his head, except where it was held in place by a skullcap. As he came close, she saw that he barely came up to her shoulder. She curtsied; he gave her an answering bow.

‘Well, well. It’s not every day that an admiral comes to call,’ he said, his accent slightly more pronounced than the housekeeper’s. ‘And his pretty lady.’

Charles bowed, then held out his hand. ‘Sir, I am lately retired and I think I am your nearest neighbour. Admiral Bright at your service. This…um…pretty lady is my wife, Sophia.’

‘Charming. Admiral, you have an account with me.’

‘Along with most of the fleet, I think,’ Bright said. ‘Two months ago, I bought that excuse for an estate that has probably been offending your eyes—not to mention your sensibilities—for decades.’

The old man nodded. He gestured them into the sitting room, where Sally had seen the lace curtains. The cat in the window opened one eye and then the other, then left the window to twine around Jacob Brustein. He gently pushed the cat away with his cane. ‘Go on, Beelzebub. If you trip me up, I’ll be less than useless.’

Sally picked up the cat, which went limp in her arms and started to purr.

‘He is the worst opportunist in Devon,’ Brustein said, indicating the sofa. ‘But he brings me mice every day, thinking I am unable to catch my own. One cannot ignore benevolence, in whatever form it takes.’

They sat. Jacob nodded to the housekeeper, who stood at the door, and she left. ‘You have come calling?’

‘We have indeed,’ Bright said. ‘My wife assures me that is what people do on land. Since I have spent the better portion of twenty years at sea, I must rely on her notions of what is right and proper.’

Brustein turned his kindly gaze on her. ‘Then you are probably in good hands.’

‘My thoughts precisely,’ Bright replied.

Sally was spared from further embarrassment by the arrival of the housekeeper, this time with tea and small cakes. She set the tray down in front of Sally, who looked up to smile, and noticed tears in the housekeeper’s eyes.
I wonder what is wrong?
she thought. She glanced at the old man, who seemed to be struggling, too. Uncertain what to do, she asked, ‘Wou-would you like me to pour, Mr Brustein?’

He nodded and wiped at his eyes.

‘I hope we have not come at a bad time,’ Bright said. ‘We can come another day.’

With that, Brustein took out a large handkerchief and blew his nose vigorously. He tucked it back in his coat, and settled the shawl higher on his shoulders. ‘This is an excellent day. You will understand my emotion when I tell you two that you are my first neighbourhood visitors.’

Sally gasped. ‘Sir, how long have you lived here?’

‘More than thirty years, my dear.’ He indicated the tray in front of her. ‘Would you pour, please? As for the
cakes…’ he shrugged ‘…I suppose it is too early for such things.’

It was, but Sally decided she would tug out her fingernails by the roots, rather than embarrass the man. ‘They are very welcome, Mr Brustein.’ She picked up the teapot, determined not to barter with the old fellow’s dignity for one second. ‘One lump or two, sir?’

Brustein looked around elaborately. ‘The housekeeper would insist I get nothing but one. Since I do not see her, three.’

She did as he asked, then looked at her husband, who watched Brustein with a certain tenderness in his eyes that surprised her. ‘And you, Charles?’

He shook his head. ‘None. Just tea. And one cake.’

Their host noticed this exchange. ‘You have not been married long, if your wife does not know your tea habits, Admiral.’

‘True,’ Bright said, accepting the tea from her. ‘Peace allows a man certain privileges he never enjoyed before, or so I am learning, eh, Sophie dear? No one ever visited you? Well, the old rogue across the road was no bargain, so you were none the poorer there.’

‘People have always been willing to bank with us,’ Brustein said, after a sip. ‘But visit?’ He shrugged.

‘I’m embarrassed for my other neighbours,’ Bright said. ‘Shame on them.’

Brustein shrugged again, holding his hands out in front of him in a gesture more eloquent than words. ‘But you are visiting me now, are you not?’

‘We’ll come back, too,’ Sally chimed in. ‘I like your house.’ She laughed. ‘I like any house that doesn’t have naughty cupids on the ceiling!’

Brustein’s eyes widened. ‘I had heard rumours.’

‘All true,’ Bright said. ‘I assure you that I bought the scurrilous place for the view!’

Between the two of them, Sally and her admiral spent the next few minutes describing—in muted tones—the result of one old rogue’s hobbyhorse. The tea level lowered in the pot and the cakes vanished one by one. When they finished, Brustein told them of his arrival in England in 1805 from Frankfurt-am-Main at the request of his cousin, Nathan Rothschild, who had begun his British sojourn in Manchester as a cloth merchant.

‘When Nathan got into the London Exchange, he needed more help, but I found life more to my liking in Devonshire.’ Brustein sat back, and Sally was quick to position his ottoman under short legs. ‘Thank you, my dear. Admiral, she is a treasure!’

‘I know,’ Bright said softly, which made Sally’s face go warm. ‘And she blushes.’ He smiled at her, and was kind enough to change the subject. ‘Do you still go into the office, sir?’

‘Once in a while. I have turned the business over to my sons, David and Samuel. William Carter died several years ago, and we bought out his family. We’ll keep the respectability of the Carter name, though.’

He pulled out a pocket watch then, and gave the Brights an apologetic glance. ‘I must end this delightful gathering,’ he said, the regret obvious in his voice. ‘My wife, Rivka, is not well, and I usually spend most of my morning with her. She will wonder where I have gone.’

‘We wouldn’t dream of keeping you any longer,’ Sally said quickly.