Volume 3 of the Frederick
Wentworth, Captain series
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Five years after they were
married in Gretna Green, Captain Frederick Wentworth and
his wife, Anne, welcome a son into the world. Within
weeks they are living on land and contemplating a new
life apart from the Navy. A Word, A Look reunites all
the character's of Jane Austen's Persuasion in a joyous,
humorous, and thoughtful whirl of Regency
life.
Disclaimer:
This is a first draft of the first chapter of A
Word, A Look, by Susan Kaye. There are no
guarantees of quality, or its inclusion in the final
novel. ~~SK |
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Chapter
One
February 09, 1820
Sir Richard, 38 gun frigate
At sea
Wentworth descended the
companionway with the grace of a man completely at ease on a
ship. It was his fondest hope that the short, graceless ship's
surgeon, Mr Hannigan, who trailed behind, would catch his foot
and stumble—but certainly not fall—whereby giving the captain
some relief from the man's incessant prattle.
"I am certain, sir, you will
agree that Llewellyn is grossly overstepping, and overstating
the need to move your wife to the sick-berth." The man neither
stumbled, nor fell, and was right on the captain's heels.
There would be no respite owing to an accident.
The ever-vigilant Marine
opened the door to his cabin. The man was nothing more than a
scarlet blur as the captain strode by without slowing. The
door to his bedchamber was standing wide open. He surveyed the
scene. Aside from Anne's absence, the only thing that
registered in his mind was a bloodstained sheet lying on the
floor by the bed.
"I told you, sir, she was
taken down to the sick-berth. I must say, sir—" Wentworth
turned. Hannigan thought better of continuing on with whatever
unremarkable thought he might be preparing to give voice. As
Wentworth headed to the door, he took a perverse amount of
delight in the sight of the stout fellow practically throwing
himself out of the way.
It did not take long for the
steady thrum of Hannigan's footsteps catching up to him, and
the prating to commence, yet again. "Lieutenant Everett was
unceremoniously tossed out and the place commandeered—"
Hannigan was just barely
able to keep up, and that was only due to Wentworth’s
responses to the crew's bobs and forelock tugging as he passed
by them. Only when Wentworth saw Eyerly, his coxswain, and
Kilmeade, a massive man with a child's wits, did he
slow.
Eyerly stepped forward and
nodded. The man had been with Wentworth from his first
command, the Asp, and was even now one of the captain's most
trusted crewmen, which allowed for the casualness of his
salute. "We carried her as if she was crystal, Sir." The giant
nodded in agreement.
Wentworth reached for the
curtain covering the entrance to the sick-berth. "Thank you,
gentlemen. Now back to your duties." There was only the
imperative, to get to his labouring wife, which left no time
for civility.
He opened pulled back the
sailcloth. The closed room smelled of sweat, vinegar and stale
food. He saw that the surgeon's assistant's hair was clubbed
with a black ribbon. An unfortunate choice considering,
according to Hannigan, his dear Anne was not likely to survive
the birth of their first child. Llewellyn's long snake of hair
swung to the side as she turned at the sound of his footsteps.
Llewellyn was an awkward
sort of woman. Lean in body, and stark in features. She lacked
any sort of physical refinement. Her clothes were generally
ill fitting, her cap perpetually askew. The cap was off and
with her hair back she looked rather shocking. What was more
puzzling to Wentworth was why she might need the hammer in her
hand. He looked farther into the gloom of the sick-berth to
see Anne, senseless, moaning in pain, and covered only by a
sheet.
"You see, the woman is mad!
She is ruining my sea chests!" It was a common practice for
the ship’s surgeon to make an operating table from sea chests
after they had been emptied of medical supplies and personal
items. Hannigan tried to squeeze by Wentworth to reclaim his
realm.
Llewellyn turned and
approached the men; hammer still in her hand. "I had to put
them loops on the table, sir. She needs somethin' to push
against with her feet." She leaned to the side to address
Hannigan. "I tol' you that, you silly—"
"Stirrups belong on a
saddle, girl, not on a table!"
"Madam! Tell me about my
wife." Wentworth had no time for the ridiculous sparring and
territorial dispute boiling up between his ship's surgeon and
the female loblolly.
"Sir." She realised her duty
and bobbed a hurried curtsey. "I told him yesterday that it
wouldn't answer, Misses labouring up there, just under the
quarterdeck. She's a lady sir, and it's hard enough to get
fine ladies to scream like some need when birthin' a child.
But to have the crew caperin' right above her head, sir, you
can see how that ain't gonna come off."
"That is the stupidest thing
I have ever heard." Hannigan was evidently leery of the hammer
and rethought entering the room, and was now just off the
captain's left shoulder. Wentworth could feel the man nudging
him ever so slightly as he leant in to passionately make his
point. "She was given a gag, girl. It's not my fault she
refused to use it." Wentworth distinctly heard the man snort.
The idea of his Anne biting down on what could likely have
been a filthy knot of linen was disgusting.
"You know nothing about
ladies, sir." Llewellyn's chin jutted as she addressed the
surgeon. "It's quite clear you ain't never had any contact
with one by the way you treat this poor girl." She realised
her mistaken familiarity with the Captain's wife and looked
away.
Wentworth of course knew
nothing about the birth of a child, but he did know his wife.
Their nearly three years at sea had been difficult for Anne,
with precious few women to share it. The suitable companion
whom they hired to accompany her died only a month out of
Plymouth. When they had reached Valparaiso, the only other
woman, the sailing master's sister, had found comfort with a
rich cattle rancher from Buenos Aires. This left Llewellyn and
Mrs Wentworth the only women aboard the Sir Richard. They had
formed a proper friendliness, as two women from such differing
classes might under the circumstances, and this sustained them
over time.
When Anne had realised she
was with child, Llewellyn's society had become more important
then ever. His wife was genuinely partial to the loblolly, and
moreover, any deficiencies there might be in Llewellyn's
medical knowledge, Anne trusted her and would, in all
likelihood, wish her husband to listen to the woman's
reasoning./
"Such a comment is totally
out of line! Sir, I demand that—"
"Hannigan, you shall have
your say later. At the moment, Llewellyn is making some sense.
Please, continue."
The dim light threw shadows
and deepened the fear on the young woman's face. "I admit,
sir, I am the one who had her brought down here. Like I said,
she's embarrassed. It's bad enough when it's only women in
attendance, legs all sprawled out—" She closed her mouth and
touched her lip. "Anywise, she won't let loose with any sort
of noise for thinking of the men stoppin' what they're doing
and listenin,' and thinking about what's going on beneath
'em."
Dear Anne was sensitive
about being one of so few women in the company of over one
hundred men, and occasionally did speak of such concerns. "Go
on." Embarrassment alone did not explain Llewellyn's concern
over Anne's condition.
"Well, sir, it's the pains.
For the last few hours, they been slacking, both in force and
length." She took a breath, a new seriousness overtaking her.
"If she don't push mightily in the next one, or the one after,
I'm afraid we'll lose her." She made no apology by way of her
expression for adding herself to the loss, if it should
occur.
"What do you propose doing
about it?"
"There is nothing to be
done." A gust of warm breath blew across his left
ear.
He did not look away from
the loblolly. "Hannigan! Shut up."
Llewellyn dropped the hammer
to the floor, took the captain by the arm, and led him around
the table to a chair. She took his leave and removed his coat.
"You sit here, looking only at her." The gold buttons rattled
against a metal pan when she tossed it aside. He took his
seat. "Believe me, sir, you don't want to see what's goin' on
down there. But you just talk to her, sir. Encourage her, sir.
She's exhausted from havin' to go so long." She glared at
Hannigan for a brief moment. "If you must, making her a little
furious might not go amiss even." The girl cocked her head and
then took one of his wrists and unbuttoned the cuff,
indicating he should roll up his sleeves. "Getting her to push
is the main thing, sir." She was about to move away when she
said, "Remember, don't look the other way."
Wentworth's stomach twisted
as he contemplated just how horrible must the sight be if she
warned him off so vigorously. A quiet moan drew him out of the
morbid reverie.
Anne's eyes were barely
open. She fairly glistened with sweat, and her pale skin shone
even in the murkiness of the close room. He touched her jaw.
It was cool and damp. She responded by turning her head
towards him. Her wan smile did more to revive his flagging
heart than anything Llewellyn had instructed.
She touched his cheek with
an even cooler hand. "So, you have come to visit a sick
crewman. You are a fine captain." Her eyes closed and her hand
dropped silently to the sheet. Something nudged him from
behind. It was Llewellyn putting Anne's feet into the leather
footholds she'd hammered onto the table.
Wentworth held his breath,
but in seconds she grimaced and moaned again. He took her hand
and kissed her fingertips. "Annie, girl. How are you feeling?"
It was an insipid question, but he did not know where else to
begin.
"Tired." Her eyes remained
closed, but the pain she was feeling intensified.
Anne began a low moan, and
Llewellyn looked past the captain. "Another contraction is
coming on. Mr Hannigan, if you please." There was a peace pact
forming. Wentworth could hear the doctor moving around behind
him and then saw him join his loblolly. They conferred, and
the surgeon left again.
"Mrs Wentworth, you need to
push very hard this time. None of that weak tea like that last
time."
Anne opened her eyes a
little, but did not respond more.
Wentworth touched her cheek
and coaxed her tenderly. "Dearest, you must push."
Hannigan joined Llewellyn.
"Shall I?"
"Sir, you may need to do as
we spoke about. She's too tired. Not until I tell you, sir."
The latter was addressed to Hannigan.
A slight scowl crossed
Anne's face, as though she was pushing, but not with much
energy.
"Mrs. Wentworth, you must
give your babe all the help you can." She looked again to the
captain, and shook her head when the surgeon spoke quietly in
her ear.
Anne scowled again for just
an instant. Her eyes closed.
"Mrs Wentworth, please!
Push. Shout, whatever you must. No one will know now." Anne's
leg pressed on his shoulder as Llewellyn moved around.
It was clear that Anne was
almost too far-gone, and that gentle admonition would not be
enough to spur her to push. It broke his heart to use against
her private observations about her weaknesses, but he
occasionally did it with a man prone to underperformance; this
would be no different. "Never mind, Llewellyn. As you said
before, she is too much of a lady to make any noise, or strain
herself unnecessarily. The Elliot pride is not to be put aside
for something so common as childbirth."
Anne's eyes opened and she
gazed at him as though she'd not heard him
properly.
"Sir, that is really too—"
Hannigan was trying to come to her defence, but Llewellyn
silenced him.
"It is the Elliot way, after
all, to be above everyone and everything. Including nature."
All the terrible things he'd ever thought about his wife's
family were coming effortlessly to his mind.
Anne's eyes were now wide
open. She looked wounded. Wentworth leant as close as he
dared. "The Baronet would be mortified that his second
daughter would behave like any other uncultured female who,
with careless abandon, launch mewling brats, one after
another, into the world." The only thing redeeming the
wretched remarks was the fire lighting in Anne's eyes.
"This is your child." She
panted and struggled to rise onto her elbows. "How you could
say such things—" Her face crumpled, and she grunted deep as
she began to bear down to push.
He held her shoulders. "Yes,
it is. And won't Sir Walter Elliot be proud to introduce the
world to his grandchild, born of oh-so-common stock." It was a
term the baronet had used once at a party to describe his
son-in-law. When it had gotten back to Anne, she was livid.
She had always regretted not confronting and condemning her
father to his face. Wentworth would gladly endure the old
man's barbs if it aided in birthing his child.
Keep it up, Captain." There
was more, and vigorous, movement at his back. "Now, sir, if
you please." Llewellyn spoke low and with great calm to
Hannigan.
He knew not what was
transpiring behind him, and he'd not been told to stop. "What
would Mary say? She's done this three times now. And you not
even able—" There was a muffled cry and he knew he needn't
continue the taunts. She let out what sounded much like the
beginning of a hearty laugh, and then her head fell back. She
groaned loud and long, and then collapsed against his hands.
He lowered her to the table. He followed her down and rested
his head against hers.
For five years Anne and
Frederick had only one another to care for. First, they lived
unfettered in Bath. They had travelled a little and
entertained frequently. When orders had come, and Anne
expressed an earnest desire to sail with him, Wentworth had
relented. He was loath to admit she was so precious to him
that he put aside his one firm dictum: never willingly admit a
woman on board a King's ship. The only exception to this firm
rule was in the case of a mother visiting her sick—preferably
dying—son, or ladies invited for dinner or a ball onboard.
He was surprised she adapted
so well. They were as happy at sea as they had been in Bath,
perhaps more so.
At first, each in a casual
manner, voiced the opinion that if they never were blessed
with children, they should certainly be happy as those who
did. Even with their happiness, in quieter, more reflective
times, each expressed a concern that they were the reason
there were no children. Anne eventually confessing she would
be crushed if they had none.
For the present, such fears
were laid to rest.
He raised his head and
looked on his wife. The sallow light cast by the lantern
touched her skin, making it glisten brilliantly against the
surroundings of the miserable, smelly hole. Her face was stark
white, except for her lips, and two vivid patches of red at
her cheeks. Wild strands of hair clung to her sweaty forehead
and temples. Her eyes were closed and her mouth was partly
open as her breathing became more regular. The sheet had
slipped. He pulled it up to cover her. Anne had survived. She
was never more beautiful to him.
"Sir." Llewellyn was holding a bundle
in her arms. The child was mere inches away, and while the cry
seemed urgent, it was thin. "Your son, sir." Even the most
ungainly Llewellyn was rather pretty at this moment.
Anne raised her head a
little then fell back. "I can't see him" She tried to raise
her arms to no avail.
"We'll fix that." The
loblolly gently rested the boy on Anne's chest, and motioned
for the captain to put his arms around his wife's shoulders.
She leaned close. "I know it's awkward sir. But we have some
damage to repair, and you can keep her occupied." No moment of
happiness came without a price.
The boy was red as a cooked
lobster, and it was not easy to distinguish a genuine face out
of the folds and wrinkles on the front of the child's head,
but the captain had no trouble locating the mouth, and he did
discern a nose. He was able to imagine the rest. The one
saving grace was a mass of black hair atop the infant's head.
In fact, the child was rather hairy all around what little of
his face they could see. At least the boy would not be one of
those children who sported who a cue ball for a head with jug
ears. He then took closer note of the ears. Without a doubt,
now that the child was born, they would unfurl and become more
natural. All in all, until he could get a glimpse of the boy's
body, Wentworth was inclined to think the child quite
unattractive.
"Our dear, sweet Edward is
lovely, is he not, Frederick?" Anne's gaze was locked on the
child. He suspected she saw nothing of his crushed face, and
crumpled ears. It was obviously a mother's love that kept the
little devils from being abandoned immediately after birth.
Before his answer was required, Llewellyn joined
them.
"If the Captain will leave
for a bit, I'll see that the missus and Master Edward is
brought up to her cabin all safe and snug." She indicated that
he could step away, and she picked up the baby. The loblolly
looked down on Edward with the greatest of affection. He
wondered if all women possessed such an automatic, and blind
sort of tenderness.
"Should she not remain here,
where you can care for her properly?"
"Oh, sir, no, not in this
pool of filth. Mothers and new-born babes need fresh air and
good warming sunlight." Llewellyn smiled, patted the boy, and
turned away.
Her proclamation sounded
reasonable, and he did not possess any knowledge that would
counter it. He found himself staring at a minute smear of
blood on the otherwise pristine sheet covering his
wife.
In his career, Wentworth had
seen the floor of many a sick-berth awash in red. So much so,
it was vital that a boy constantly be tossing sand on the
floor so that those working could keep their feet beneath them
and not slip.
The sight had never
thoroughly sickened him, and only concerned him in that it
represented the vitality of his crewmen. So it was surprising
that the tiny speck now caused a painful twisting in his
vitals.
Llewellyn was speaking with
Anne, and they were smiling at the child. This was not his
place just now, and this was not a crewman, but his own dear
wife. For some reason, he hesitated to leave her.
The girl left Anne and he
gazed at her. Her eyes were closed. She was so still and pale;
she could have been dead. Just then, Hannigan reasserted
himself into the little scene and Anne opened her
eyes.
At that moment, Wentworth
realized Anne, and now the child, were his greatest
weaknesses. The thought of them in danger caused him to
entertain the strangest, most disturbing thoughts. He had to
escape the suddenly oppressive sick-berth, and in separating
himself from his little family, get the thoughts out of his
head.
He kissed Anne farewell, and
with Llewellyn's full approval, left the surgery. Hannigan had
been urged to leave as well. Even the man's prating could not
penetrate the swirl of morbid thoughts ricocheting through
Wentworth's mind. They emerged onto the deck and the fresh air
washed over him. He finally began to breath.
He made his way to the
quarterdeck and nodded as he was alternately congratulated on
having a son, and briefed on the ship's little-changed state.
He thanked his officers, and took to a far corner.
The truth of the matter was
that his wife had risked her own life to give him a son. It
was terrifying to see the miracle, and to know that how it
progressed into the future was completely out of his hands. In
command of a ship, Wentworth knew his place and knew precisely
what to do when he was called upon. Here, on this tiny scrap
of hallowed wood, there was order. He reasoned that life
elsewhere was now, forever, chaos.
Llewellyn had wrapped Anne
and her baby together in clean sheets and like any good Tartar
warrior, overseen her being carried back to the captain's
quarters. After shooing away the men so helpful to her, she
had gently unwrapped them and placed Edward in the middle of
the bed, and helped Anne into a clean nightdress.
Mrs. Wentworth was
sufficiently recovered to take her son in her arms for the
first time. There were no words to describe her bliss when she
took the small bundle to her heart.
Anne's all encompassing love
for her husband had always amazed her, almost as much as his
free and generous love for her. But now, the unconditional
love she felt for this tiny creature was more astonishing than
anything she'd ever imagined or read of. In the previous
months, she'd allowed worry about the child, its future, and
her own abilities as a mother, to keep her awake at night.
But, even now the pain of his birth was receding as a dim
memory, and the fear of the child's future was for the time
being a mere flight of fancy brought on by too little sleep.
The overwhelming joy she felt was so all encompassing, it was
surely more than enough to sustain the child, herself, and
Frederick forever.
Llewellyn fussed about the
room as Anne lay content and happy, her arms curled around her
son. It took her a moment to realize the tiny, thin sound she
thought was a noise on the deck above them was in reality
Edward, uttering his first cries.
The loblolly came to the
bed, her hands on her hips. "It's 'bout time, Master
Wentworth. They usually cry right off, but not this one." She
knelt and touched his head. "I never seen a babe wi' so much
hair." Her expression was gentle and her eyes looked far off
to some other place. In a few moments, she was back to her
duties. "Now, remember, missus, feeding the boy will be right
painful, but only for a few days. Then it will come so easy,
you'll never know it's happenin'."
Anne opened her gown and
guided the boy to her breast. At the first instant, the pain
was blinding and shocked her. The searing discomfort was
almost worse than giving birth. Her only hope was that
Llewellyn was correct and the agony would decrease over time.
"Aye, the good book says
women will give birth in pain. It never says that after will
be worse for some." The loblolly's philosophical outlook was
not of much comfort at that moment.
Even with the pain, Anne
felt peace and an odd surge of spirit, which again dampened
doubts she'd harboured about her ability to mother a child.
There was a soft "pop," and pain lessened suddenly. She looked
down to see Edward had fallen asleep. The ordeal of his first
feeding was over.
"They don't stay awake long
at first. Just a few minutes here and there. Merciful,
eh?"
Anne covered herself. "Yes,
merciful indeed." She had no energy to say more, and so put
her head down and closed her eyes. Anne was confident that the
warmth of the bed, the pleasant sound of Edward's breathing,
and the natural movement of the ship would soon combine to
lull her into a quiet, calm sleep.
"Come." An interruption was
most welcome. Anne and the boy were asleep, but he could not
pull himself away from the doorway to look on them. An
enforced intermission was necessary. He pulled the door shut
and turned to greet Lieutenant Bloom, Sir Richard’s first
officer. He ducked as he removed his hat, sporting a generous
smile.
He offered Wentworth a
sizeable, sailcloth wrapped bundle. "This was left in the
binnacle, sir."
Wentworth took it and went
to the table that took up a good portion of his Great Cabin.
"Thank you. I meant to bring down when I left the quarterdeck.
Was there any more news from the captain of the packet?" He'd
been briefed earlier on the mail packet's visit, but the
details, along with most of the other bits of ship's business
had been washed into the whirlpool of the captain's jumbled
thoughts.
"No, Sir. Other than Captain
Grant's heartiest congratulations on the birth of a son, there
was nothing of importance."
He was about to take his
leave when Wentworth asked, "Bloom, I believed you have
mentioned that you have children."
"Yes, I do, Sir. Three of
them. Two boys and a girl." He stood in anticipation of
another question.
Why he asked the question
was a mystery. Wentworth could not think of a single thing he
wanted to know about Bloom's children. He dismissed the man.
It was impossible not to see Bloom's puzzled look as he
left.
"God, it will get around
soon that the captain has gone daft." As he was about to take
a seat and open the mail, the door to the cabin opened and his
steward entered, holding the door. Eyerly backed in,
struggling with something. "Mr Eyerly, Mr Collins, what brings
you—"
They placed before him a
cradle. The men took their places on each end. They snatched
off their caps, their smiles wide.
"Sir, I have been delegated
by the crew to present this to you and Mrs Wentworth." Collins
fingered his cap for a moment and then continued "It comes
with our heartiest congratulations on the birth of the young
Master Wentworth."
Eyerly stepped forward. "Mr
Collins did the frame, and is from top to bottom responsible
for the carving at the foot and head. And each of the men,
even the little boys, with some help, took a hand in makin'
all the spindles, Sir." His pride in the crew's participation
was plain. "And Old Gordon knitted this here blanket." He held
up a deep grey square Wentworth calculated it would easily
cover a small baby. Eyerly put that aside and picked up some
other bits of cloth. "And these was sewed by mostly men who is
fathers, and have an idea what babies like to wear." He put
them back gently.
The Captain was speechless.
Mr Collins, the ship's carpenter, was known for his most
excellent craftsmanship, but not his speed. It was obvious
that the cradle was not something knocked together that day.
He was stunned not so much by the quality of the gift, but the
secrecy surrounding its creation. It would be quite possible
for Collins to work on a project without anyone knowing for he
had a small and private workroom. But to have the rest of the
crew so intimately involved—not only making the cradle, but
the sewing as well—and yet not have the entire scheme quickly
become common knowledge, was a testament to the men and their
desire to surprise him and his wife.
He'd done his best not to
sound sentimental and insipid when he thanked them, and asked
that both his and Mrs Wentworth's thanks be conveyed to the
men. He trusted that Eyerly would cover for him if he did not
accomplish that aim. "I will order a round of rum for the men
this evening, as a thank you." Wentworth took a seat and
pulled the cradle to him. The work on the frames was very
fine. Collins was a furniture maker on shore. The tooling on
the head was exquisite. Vines and leaves twisted and encircled
a bold "W" in the midst of them. The spindles were smoothed so
not to give splinters, but most were fairly crooked and ill
carved. But each represented so much more than the sum of
their workmanship. The captain gave the cradle a push. It
swayed back and forth as smooth as anything. For an instant,
he envisioned his son sleeping serenely in it.
Voices outside the door
broke in on his peaceable thoughts. Nearly at the moment he
heard them, the door opened and the marine stepped in. The
voices were louder and quite distinguishable now. "Sir. Mr
Hannigan wishes to see you." He lurched forward a little,
turned and told those behind him to back away.
It would seem the truce
struck earlier by Llewellyn and Hannigan was quite broken.
"Let them in." Wentworth's vision of little Edward in the
cradle dissolved instantly.
"Sir, I demand that—"
Hannigan's opening remarks were interrupted by his colliding
with the cradle. It swung back and forth wildly, catching him
in the leg twice before he could stop it. He glared at it, and
Wentworth was of the mind that the surgeon would have kicked
the furniture across the cabin had he not been under the
captain's close scrutiny. Wentworth glanced at Llewellyn and
saw the trailing edge of a smirk.
All the hubbub being
settled, Hannigan begin again to recite his claim. "I demand
that the ship's loblolly, Miss Louisa Llewellyn be disciplined
according to Article Twenty-two, of the Articles of War. The
article states—"
"I know what it states,
Hannigan. In essence, it forbids disputing with, striking, or
drawing a weapon on a superior officer." It would be his luck
that his surgeon would not only be a tedious pain in the neck,
but a sea lawyer as well. Wentworth was surprised that
Hannigan did not try for the more exalted Article Eleven. The
article forbidding anyone from disobeying a the orders of a
superior officer in a time of action would have carried a much
heavier penalty, and been simpler to brush aside as they were
not under fire at the time the two were bickering. As it was,
Hannigan had a point. Llewellyn had done more than her share
of disputing when it came to how they should care for his
wife.
Hannigan stood a little
taller. "I am happy to know you see merit in my claim, Sir."
He glanced towards Llewellyn, but she stood a little back and
he could not possibly see her.
Wentworth had a clear view
of them both, and was not particularly pleased with it.
"Indeed, Mr Hannigan, I do see your point."
When the captain took a
breath, the surgeon took the opportunity elaborate his
feelings. "I therefore, sir, demand that she be punished to
the fullest extent. She should be flogged, sir."
Suddenly Wentworth was very
tired of being the sole source of justice in this little
wooden world. Such a demand was ridiculous and Hannigan knew
it. Undoubtedly, it was his hope that to insist she be
flogged—which was not a very likely punishment for a woman
aboard a King's ship—he would achieve the satisfaction of
seeing her punished more harshly than might otherwise be
ordered. He suspected Llewellyn knew this, and was perhaps
counting on her close relationship with Anne to keep her from
being punished at all. Justice in this case would likely bring
no smiles to either of the parties.
Wentworth stood. "Be
reasonable Mr Hannigan. I will not order the flogging of a
woman, period. Moreover, I do feel that though Llewellyn is
bound as a member of the crew to follow the orders of her
superiors, I, in taking her part, am the one who usurped your
authority. Therefore, the greatest share of your complaint is
with me." Whether a gesture of contempt for Hannigan or a
perfectly natural gesture, Llewellyn cleared her throat.
Without regard to which, Wentworth turned his attention to
her. "As for you, Llewellyn, you did not hesitate to disregard
your superior in this situation. That being the case, you must
be punished." Hannigan too suddenly needed to clear his
throat. Wentworth glared from one to the other.
For some odd reason, the
whole of the situation suddenly seemed ridiculous. "What is
the date today?"
Both of the medicos looked
confused for a moment, and then each began their calculations.
"It is February ninth, Sir."
"Quite right, Llewellyn.
And, aside from the birth of my son, what momentous occasion
took place on this date, thirty-seven years ago?"
Wentworth almost laughed at
the confused scowls the question produced. "I will tell you.
February ninth is also my birthday." He went to the stern
windows and watched the ship's tidy wake cut through the blue
of the ocean for a moment. He turned back to them. "I am
prepared to be charitable in honour of the occasion.
Llewellyn, it is so ordered that your grog ration is cut off
for one week."
She could not help herself,
and clapped. Hannigan puffed up like a toad and began to
protest loudly.
"Silence you two. Need I
remind you my wife is just in the next room?" They both
quieted immediately. "Mr Hannigan, I appreciate your care of
Mrs Wentworth throughout the previous months. Llewellyn, I am
grateful you were able to help with the birth of my son. I was
particularly glad to see the short-lived bout of cooperation
you each showed in the sick-berth. May that be the rule from
this time on." He dismissed Hannigan. "Llewellyn, please
stay."
The door closed hard behind
the surgeon. The loblolly looked more triumphant than
relieved. "Do not mistake me, Llewellyn, I am grateful for
your assistance this afternoon. But do not crow too loudly,
and do not think that Hannigan is a fool. There are many men
on this ship who owe their lives to him and his skill as a
surgeon. You would do well to learn from him what you do not
already know."
She had lowered her eyes
when it was clear the captain was in no mood to take her side
in the row. She now looked up. "Yes, Sir. I apologise,
Captain."
"Then along with your ration
being suspended, I order you to apologise to Hannigan as well.
Now please go in and see if my wife needs anything." She
bobbed and left him.
He resumed his seat and
pulled the mail to him. He sorted through the various
cloth-covered parcels. Most were letters of importance only in
the family news they carried. Only one stood out.
Wentworth untied the string,
broke the various seals, and greedily read the
contents.
He sat back in the chair and
tossed the letter aside. "Well, it would seem that my brother
is quite correct, the Lord indeed does giveth, and taketh
away. And in this case, all in one day."
*
Crown Hill,
Shropshire
The evening sky was clouding
as it deepened into night. It seemed appropriate that the next
day’s journey would begin under the gloom of rain. Catherine
Wentworth stood before a window in the bedchamber she shared
with her husband. The view was one she had known from her
girlhood. Immediately under the window was the kitchen garden.
In the summer, the sweet scent of marjoram, pungent garlic,
fresh rosemary, and numerous other fragrances were the mark of
the warmer months.
The door opened and closed
without her turning. Only her husband would be entering at
this hour. "Everything is ready for our departure." Edward
Wentworth divested himself of his coat and waistcoat, and then
joined his wife at the window. "I tried to thank your father
for use of the carriage. He waved me off, saying something
about it giving him a reason to check it over and grease the
wheels and such." He kissed her cheek. "As if we are doing him
the favour."
"I have been thinking about
Mrs Frederick Wentworth all day. When I woke, even before
thinking about leaving home, I thought of her." Their leaving
the next day was too painful to speak about, and the only
thought on her mind otherwise, was her
sister-in-law.
"It is close to her time.
Perhaps she has been delivered."
She sighed and took his
hand. "We can pray for the best."
Edward took her in his arms,
and whispered, "All this will soon be over and we will be in
our new home."
"We will be away from here.
I am not certain we shall ever be home again."
The next morning,
Wentworth’s father-in-law offered him a small pouch. "I
understand you need to leave the area. And don't give me any
palaver about not taking this." He took Edward's hand in his
own and wrapped Edward's fingers around the pouch. "This won't
bring the justice you deserve, but it will see that you all
are comfortable for a while."
Edward slid the money into
his pocket. "This proves I must leave Crown Hill. I can't even
muster up the energy to argue with you. And some of our
greatest clashes have been over money." Both men laughed as he
mounted the cart. He picked up the reins then offered his
hand. "I shall always appreciate everything you've done for
Catherine, the children, and me. Not only in this, but in
every other way."
Mr Keye kept hold longer
than was reasonable. "Edward, remember that not everyone
believes the lies. As it says, this too shall pass." Keye
walked away and to the carriage. "Catherine, you behave now."
Mrs Wentworth smiled and nodded.
Mr Keye stepped close to the
door and motioned for the children to come to him. He touched
each one’s head. "The two of you take care of your mother and
father for me, you hear?" The two small heads, one golden and
the other dark, nodded vigorously. "There are my good little
ones." He stepped back. "I shall expect word as soon as you
arrive."
"Fear not, Sir, I shall use
some of this to pay for an express from Somerset." The good
byes were playing out as long and painfully as he had feared.
"Walk on." Wentworth snapped the reins, and the horses
shivered and bobbled as the four found their
stride.
Mr Keye was beginning to
walk away when Catherine leaned out the window. "I love you,
Father. I shall see you soon." When she could no longer endure
the sight of her father standing alone in the drive, she sat
back and absently watched her children’s feet swinging against
the seat. She felt sick to her stomach, fearing she would
never see him again, despite what she said so
hopefully.
Edward waved one last time
and turned to forward to face the back of the carriage. If
there were the slightest chance he could survive in Crown
Hill, amidst the rumours and distrust, not only on the part of
his ex-parishioners, but on his part as well, he would have
pulled the wagon to a halt, and declared their exodus
cancelled. However, there was no possibility of this, and he
pressed on.
