Captain's Lady Page 6

  Francis wiped his brow with his forearm and took a mighty swig of the ale. “Things are looking up at last, Miss Alice. Mr. Barlow has told me how hard you worked after I left. You won’t be needing to do that again, I’ll be thinking.”

  Alice could only agree. Already the burden of the laundry, the cleaning and the cooking had been lifted from her shoulders and now that the coal had been delivered and the kindling chopped the fires and hot water could be safely left to Francis as well. To think of a fire in the morning room, blazing away, another in the schoolroom and, that unutterable luxury, one in her own bedchamber. How truly startling that had been when she’d first found it. Barlow had acted on his own authority over that one, as she’d never had a fire before in all her time with the Masterman family.

  “We are all of us so grateful to Sir Edward,” she told Francis.

  “Aye and me too, miss. Did you know he paid off my debts? He said his brother owed me the money. I don’t reckon he rightly did, but Sir Edward wouldn’t take no for an answer. It was a big worry gone, I don’t mind telling you.”

  A shy and quiet girl, Essie Matthews, slipped into the household without causing so much as a ripple. Deprived by two cruel blows of husband and baby daughter, her situation had been next to hopeless before Alice had found her. With her baby delivered and dead in the poor house not three days before, she had plenty of milk for Gabrielle. That Sir Edward had been moved by her plight was obvious to Alice, try to hide it though he did. His offer to pay for the baby’s funeral and a headstone for her husband thrown in had left Essie sobbing with gratitude. Gabrielle couldn’t be in better hands.

  Alice hadn’t been privy to the meeting with Scripps, but that it was eventful no one in the house was in any doubt. Barlow told her the attorney had looked like a death’s head as he left, without the account books he had so proudly carried in with him. She could only surmise the captain had a much better understanding of ledgers and accounts than his late brother ever had. It had been common gossip in the old servant’s hall that Scripps cheated Sir Gregory with impunity. No doubt his chickens had come home to roost. How absolutely glorious a thought.

  In short, all was well. Penelope took up only a few hours of her time now that Lavinia had finally given up her bed. She’d taken a whim into her head to teach her daughter embroidery and spent most afternoons with her. Alice occupied her free hours sewing for the baby. Darling Gabrielle was thriving now and growing already. With no prospect of a baby of her own this tiny cousin was surely the next best thing she could hope for. How she loved her. Sometimes, Alice was afraid she loved her too much.

  After only one evening of eating her dinner in the kitchen with the servants, Edward had bidden her join himself and Lady Masterman in the dining room. Alice allowed herself to imagine for a moment or two that he wanted her company, but common sense won out. He didn’t want her, especially. He wanted to avoid her cousin Lavinia’s undivided attention. No doubt anybody would have done to dilute Lavinia’s silliness.

  Why then, did she feel so…dissatisfied? Aimless? Restless? Having unaccustomed leisure time gave her freedom to think beyond where the next meal would come from or where she would find the next bundle of firewood. Not going to bed in a freezing chamber or completely worn out each night allowed her time to dream. What was it she felt? Perhaps it was spring fever. There was such a yearning deep within, but for what she couldn’t decide. There was no answer in the view from the schoolroom window, or from her pillow when she retired to her bed each night.

  Edward called on her services twice more for driving lessons. With a new outside man now employed to see to the horse and garden she wondered a little why he didn’t ask the servant to teach him, but perhaps he wanted to conceal his ineptitude, if his lack of skill could be called that. Really, there was very little to fault. She had only to mention something once for him to remember it.

  Nearly home! Trotting back from Winchester at the end of their second outing Alice sighed in utter contentment. There was nothing much else to tell Edward, now. All he needed was practice. They had just passed through the village and had begun the turn through the dilapidated entrance gates into the drive up to The Priory. The bank leading up from the roadside ditch twinkled with a pale drift of priMr.oses and the sun shone out of a blue sky only lightly dotted with cloud. All was right with the earth.

  The crash of wheel hitting stone jolted her out of complacency with hideous suddenness. The gig bounced and jolted, startling both the occupants and the poor old horse alike. Sir Edward hauled on the reins, bringing them to a stop. Any beast other than Gladiator would have bolted for his stable, but he stood there, pawing the ground with his eyes rolling and his teeth bared, snorting with shock. His flanks twitched and trembled. Alice leapt down and ran for his head.

  “What the devil!” Edward secured the reins and wasn’t long after her in climbing down, but he strode instead around the back of the gig to find the cause of their accident. Hidden in last year’s blackberry brambles and only inches from the roadside lay a large block of masonry. Cursory inspection supplied its source immediately. The coping stone had rolled off one of the gateposts.

  “How could I have missed seeing that? Miss Carstairs, I do apologize! How completely clumsy of me. Are you hurt?” He hurried over to her, taking the bridle from her hand. “I wouldn’t for the world have subjected you to this. You were nearly thrown into the ditch! You could have broken your neck.”

  He’d had a bad fright, hadn’t he? She had to laugh at the expression on his face. “It’s only a mishap, Sir Edward. I’d completely forgotten about that stone. I should have warned you it was there. It’s my fault, not yours. It fell months ago. Neither Barlow nor I had the strength to move it. I became so used to avoiding it I never thought to mention it.”

  “This whole place is falling to ruin. If you’d be so good as to hold Gladiator for me again, I’ll remove it now before it causes any more alarms.”

  It was the work of only a moment for him to roll the stone away, but the effort was more than any Alice could have attempted. He made it look so easy she could only shake her head at the thought of her own puny efforts. How strong he was and how carelessly male.

  As he straightened up his coat brushed against one of the brambles. It was enough to precipitate an attack as fierce as any Frenchman’s. Catching in the cloth the vine twisted as he pulled and raked across his wrist at the precise spot where his glove ended and his sleeve began. The spines, at least half an inch long, did their work with great efficiency.

  “Ow! Dam—” With huge restraint Edward stemmed the curse that sprang to his lips. The brambles thorns had drawn blood. Muttering under his breath he fought to disentangle himself, only making matters worse until at last he ripped the offending branch away and stamped on it.

  “That’s the last straw! I’ll hire men from the village to clear this blasted jungle tomorrow.”

  Leaving Gladiator to his own devices Alice hurried forward. “Let me look.”

  By the time she reached him he had his temper under control again. He held out his hand. “It’s only a scratch. You can see for yourself.”

  She could see no such thing! A red stain spread rapidly over the cuff of his shirt as she watched. She pulled a handkerchief from her pocket. He was hurt.

  “It’s more than a scratch. The blood is running quite freely.” As neatly as she could she tied her handkerchief over the scratches. “Here, hold on tightly. I think Gladiator is over his fright by now. Let’s continue up to the house. This will need to be bathed.”

  Entering by the kitchen door she hurried to put off her bonnet and spencer before running to assist Sir Edward with his uniform coat. Luckily he had avoided staining it, although his shirt was a different matter. Cook clucked and tutted, finding some clean rags and a bowl of warm water.

  Alice pulled out a chair. “Here, sit at the table. If you’d allow me to roll back your shirt sleeve we can see the extent of the damage.”

  Edward tried
his best to hide his amusement as he held out his wrist for her inspection. “Truth to tell, Miss Carstairs, there’s very little damage. I’ve experienced much worse and lived, I can assure you.” With his right hand he unbuttoned his own shirt sleeve to reveal three ugly gashes, still oozing blood.

  Not convinced, Alice picked up his hand to see for herself how bad the wound was. Suddenly she stopped and looked up into his eyes, shocked more than she could say. Encircling his entire wrist a series of ugly, puckered scars marred his skin like some evil bracelet. Before she could stop herself she reached out her fingertips to trace the marks.

  Ruefully, he pulled down his shirt to cover the scars. “I told you I’d had much worse. Don’t look so taken aback.”

  “But what…who…when did these happen?” Had he been tied up? A prisoner, perhaps? Striving for calm she took up the rags and began bathing his cuts, not daring to look him in the face until she regained her composure.

  “Honestly, I never give it a thought, Miss Carstairs. Don’t look so troubled. It’s a badge of office, if you like. Find a sailor anywhere from the Channel blockades and you’ll see something similar.”

  He really did sound quite matter-of-fact about it. Alice pulled herself together. “But what would cause such a thing?”

  “It’s very simple. Cold weather and wet clothes for weeks on end. The canvas cuff of a sea-coat is a very rough thing. Constant chafing in a spell of winter weather produces a sore and then salt water adds to the discomfort, I’m afraid. It’s a short step to an infection. They’re nothing more than an irritation, though. Some of the old-time sailors call them gurry-sores, or pin-jinnets. These are very old, I assure you. I haven’t had one since my midshipman days and wouldn’t have had them then if I’d had the wherewithal to purchase myself some wool fat ointment.”

  “And have you got these…gurry-sores on both arms?”

  She had to see for herself. Without waiting for permission she undid the buttons on his right wrist. There were fewer of the circular scars here. But much worse, a puckered, red line extended away up his forearm.

  “Edward!” Horrified, she could only stare.

  His hand closed over hers. “Out of the frying pan and into the fire! I’d forgotten about that one. It’s an old wound and not worth troubling yourself over. Indeed I wasn’t even relieved from duty once it was stitched up, as we were in a lively dispute with some Frenchmen at the time, as I recall.”

  How could he possibly have forgotten about a wound like that and then be so matter-of-fact about it? It was a whole different world, wasn’t it? She should have realized. It took her a few moments to calm down and try to match his mood. “I’d forgotten you’re a fighting man. Did you win?”

  He laughed outright at that. “Oh, yes, we most surely won, or I wouldn’t be sitting here talking to you now.”

  She swallowed, then had to do it again to try and clear the emotion that clogged her throat. “Of course not. I hadn’t thought of that. How very stupid of me. I’m so very glad that you did win.” No wonder he regarded his tussle with the brambles as nothing much to speak of. Alice shook her head. She didn’t really know much about him at all, did she?

  He stood up from the table, looking down at her as he dried his wrist with a linen towel. “You are, aren’t you? Your cousin might well disagree with you.”

  Had Lavinia made herself so obvious to him? How stupid she could be.

  “I’m so sorry for—”

  “All is well, Miss Carstairs, believe me. You don’t have to apologize for anything Lady Masterman might say. Her opinion is naturally affected by her change in circumstances. I’m told new mothers often have distempered freaks, as I have seen for myself! Let’s just leave it by saying I’m very glad also that I lived to tell the tale.”

  It wasn’t until some time later when he’d gone to change his shirt she suddenly realized she’d called him “Edward” to his face.

  “Oh, heavens!” She pressed her palms to her flaming cheeks. “What must he think of me?” She’d called him Edward in her thoughts almost since she’d met him, but how forward of her to say it aloud!

  * * * * *

  She stood by the schoolroom window two days later, looking out over the wheat fields now undoubtedly tinged with green. If Edward had even noticed her slip, he hadn’t said a word about it. Her awkwardness in his company had soon vanished, especially after Lavinia insulted Lord Nelson at dinner that night. Edward hadn’t had a chance to say a word. Alice had been the one to hotly defend her hero.

  Spring had established itself at last. Penelope sat with her pencil, attempting to sketch the view. In fact, she’d managed to capture the shape of the distant hill quite well. Perhaps her natural talent could be developed into an accomplishment.

  A tall figure came into view riding his newly acquired bay gelding. Alice smiled a little. A glance told her that Edward wasn’t at home upon a horse, although she could well imagine his grim determination to master the animal. No doubt he would soon be quite accustomed to the beast, a versatile gelding broken to both saddle and harness, rented from Farmer Reid after the last mishap with Gladiator. Her smile turned to an outright laugh as she remembered the horse’s new name.

  She’d been invited to the stables to inspect him.

  “I was going to call him Boney,” Edward told her, “but I’ve changed my mind. Soult doesn’t suit, so I shall call him Ney.”

  She’d burst out laughing. “Sir Edward, are you seriously going to call a horse Ney, of all things?”

  “What’s wrong with—oh.” It dawned on him. He had the grace to look abashed “Neigh. I see what you mean. That’s ridiculous. How stupid of me.”

  “It does suit him, though. I think you should call him Ney. There’s no reason why you can’t call him anything you like.”

  So Ney it was, even though the groom shook his head over it.

  Sir Galahad on his charger, no less. But was he happy? From the little she’d seen of him in the past two days, she doubted it. Lavinia was always enough to try the patience of a saint and now that she’d left her room she was doing her very best to bully her brother-in-law into acquiescing to all her wishes. He was too much of a gentleman to answer her in kind, but neither was he the man to put up with her folly for much longer.

  But wait, what was this? As she stood there and watched him she realized that something was wrong. The bay wasn’t pulling at the bit, as she’d first thought, but being urged along at what was an intemperate speed for an inexperienced rider. Edward had only ventured as far as the village, hadn’t he, so what had brought him home in such a hurry? Curiosity warred with circumspection, but not for long. She just had to find out what was wrong.

  “Penelope, I think we’ll go and practice your piece on the pianoforte. The light is not quite good enough for sketching at the moment.”

  It just so happened the only instrument in the house was situated in the drawing room. If Edward wasn’t there he would be very close by. On her way down the stairs Alice felt a qualm of conscience at her subterfuge, but quelled it firmly. If he needed her help she must be ready.

  They arrived in the main hall together. Something had indeed upset him. He strode across the checkered tiles toward the book room, clutching a newspaper in his fist. He hardly seemed to notice Alice.

  She had to call out to gain his attention. “Sir Edward, is something amiss? You don’t seem yourself this morning. Are you unwell?”

  He pulled up short at the sound of her voice. “Miss Carstairs! I beg your pardon. I didn’t see you there. I don’t know what to think. The news is unbelievable. The tyrant has escaped and I’ve only just learned of it. What fools did they have in charge of him? Whoever they were they deserve to be hanged to let such a thing occur.”

  What did he mean? Had something happened? “The tyrant? I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t understand you. Who has escaped and from where?”

  “Bonaparte himself, of course.” The newspaper rustled as he shook it out. “Here, read it
for yourself. The emperor and his henchmen fled Elba at the end of February and even now may be in France.”

  The emperor? Napoleon Bonaparte? Alice could sense his agitation at the news. Was it so very bad? What harm could a defeated man do with the Peace Congress meeting in Vienna?

  “Bonaparte? But how can this be? Surely he was securely imprisoned?”

  When she made no move to take the paper Sir Edward snatched it back again.

  “You don’t appear to understand the gravity of the situation, madam. This man has the character to raise an army of dissatisfied regulars by his simple presence. I must go to London at once. The admiralty will have something for me. I’m certain of it. They’ll need every man they can get. There’s not a moment to lose.”

  London? But he couldn’t go to London. Dismay filled her as she stared at him. They needed him here, at The Priory. Alice sucked in a little breath. She needed him here. She wanted him here. In the few days she’d known him she’d come to rely on his strength. Everything was suddenly turned upside down once again at the thought of his going away. Without him, Lavinia’s silliness would be given full rein. Penelope would take shameless advantage of the change to run riot through the house. Would Scripps seek his revenge and spread his poison when he discovered he was safe from Sir Edward’s wrath?

  What was she doing? Alice pulled herself up short. Now wasn’t the time to become hysterical. How selfish she had become. There was a light burning in Edward’s eyes. He wanted to go to London. He hadn’t succeeded in his career, becoming a post captain at such a young age, out of duty alone, had he? He loved the life. He wasn’t worried and alarmed by the news, he was excited by it. He reminded her of a hound, sniffing the air, knowing full well that the hunt was to meet. This was such a different person, alive and so much more vital than before. He’d been devastated when his frigate had been decommissioned. She could see that now. What was to be done?