The Admiral's Penniless Bride (14 page)

Charles picked her up and sat in the chair with her in his lap. She thought about her resolve not to be a trial to the man, then turned her face into his coat and sobbed. His hand was gentle on her hair, stroking it. He said nothing, but she didn’t need words. When she finished crying, she sat up and blew her nose. ‘I cannot imagine that sort of terror,’ she said, her face still muffled in his coat. ‘Wondering if he would bother her this or that night, after a long day of overwork. There is no justice, is there?’

‘Precious little, at times,’ he said, his lips close to her ear. ‘Thanks to you, though, those bad times are over for Vivienne.’ He kissed the top of her head. ‘I suppose I
shouldn’t do that, and it’s one more thing to overlook, but I think you need a kiss on the head.’

She managed a watery chuckle. ‘I suppose I did.’ She looked at the book he held. ‘Can that be the only book from Lord Hudley’s library that is fit to read?’

‘Precisely. I wanted to show it to you for that very reason.’ He held it out from her. ‘
A History of the Roman Republic.
I suppose he bought it for the chapter on the rape of the Sabine women, but even that was a somewhat prosaic affair, or so I have read elsewhere. Imagine what a disappointment that was to the old roué.’ He snapped the book shut. ‘This, wife, is the foundation and cornerstone of our library to come. Start making a list of your favourite books. The statues and busts are on their way out, as we speak, so you can make your list in the library.’

‘What about the books?’

‘They are headed for the beach, where we will enjoy a monstrous bonfire tonight.’ He shifted and she got off his lap. ‘I am headed belowdeck to give a proper welcome aboard to our servants, and provide the usual rousing speech I gave to countless ne’er-do-wells in my command, officers included. You make your list and we will call it good.’

Sophie did as he said, sitting on the sofa she had declared so comfortable, a tablet in her lap.

She stopped for luncheon when it was brought to her, a fragrant, steaming consommé liberally dotted with croutons and accompanied by fresh fruit. Etienne was making up for his miserable breakfast—the kind guaranteed to drive away meddling sisters—and raising her spirits. The glazier came from Lord Brimley’s estate next door, and soon the French doors were put to rights again. By the time the painters left the sitting room as the sun began to slant in the west, all had been restored. She took a few minutes
to enjoy the simplicity of a ceiling covered with paint only, hiding a multitude of sinful cherubs. She sighed—only six or seven rooms to go.

Dinner was a ragout, served on the terrace, which had been swept clean by one of Starkey’s new assistants. Eager to please, the ’tween-stairs maid—not much older than Vivienne—waited in the doorway as they ate, whisking away plates as soon as they finished.

Charles finally patted his stomach. ‘Sophie, you must agree this place has some possibility now.’

She wiped her lips on a napkin and nodded to the child hovering close by. ‘Do you think I could send Miss Thayn to the workhouse—?’

‘Poor thing, what has she done? And so soon?’ he interrupted.

‘Wretch! I meant that she could go there to find us two more ’tween-stairs maids.’

Charles folded his arms and gave her his full attention. She was used to his searchlight expression now and merely smiled back, remembering other domestic conversations with Andrew, before their lives were ruined.
I could like this again
, she thought.
I really could.

‘I think Etienne will be happy to instruct one of them in culinary arts and Starkey can turn the other one over to the upstairs maid.’

‘Would that be the domestic who was going through the linen closet with such determination? I kept moving when I passed the closet, because she looked ready to take an inventory of my clothing.’

‘The very one,’ Sophie said calmly. ‘I have the distinct impression she does not suffer shabby genteels gladly. Only think how much our stock will rise when we are adequately clothed!’

He shuddered in mock terror. ‘I am still amazed how complicated life on land is. And you think we need two more maids to help her terrorise us?’

‘No, Charles. It will get two more orphans out of the workhouse.’

‘That’s important to you, isn’t it?’ he asked, after a long pause.

‘More than you’ll ever know.’

He took her hand and kissed it, then quickly set it back in her lap. ‘Overlook that,’ he told her.

‘Certainly,’ she said serenely.

As the shadows lengthened on the terrace, he didn’t touch her again, but she was so mindful of his presence. She decided that was part of being an admiral. Consciously or unconsciously—probably the latter by now—he made his presence known by simply being there. What a reassurance he must have been to the fleet.

When it was nearly dark, one of Starkey’s underlings torched the pile of books on the beach. ‘Ah ha,’ Charles said. He took her hand and pulled her up. ‘Let’s go watch the blaze up close. I like a good blaze, as long as it’s not in my ship.’

He helped her down the wooden steps to the beach, and did not release her hand. ‘Overlook that, too,’ he said, as he led her closer to the bonfire. ‘Sand is notoriously unstable.’

It was a stunning bonfire. Sophie looked back at the house to see the servants standing on the terrace, watching. Standing close to Miss Thayn, Vivienne was clapping her hands and jumping up and down, which made Sophie smile. She gestured with the hand that the admiral held. He turned around and smiled, too. ‘It appears Vivienne
has an ally in Miss Thayn. Do you reckon Miss T. knows anything about being a dresser?’

‘I’m not certain that I care,’ Sophie said. ‘I am just glad she’s employed.’ She gestured again with the hand that the admiral wouldn’t turn loose. ‘And those men you hired.’

He put her hand close to his chest. ‘I doubt they know a weed from a daffodil. Like you, I’m not certain I care, either. Oh, I should tell you this: that eager under-steward that Lord Brimley so kindly sent to us on approval—I believe his name is Crowder—has agreed to become my official steward.’

‘And not Starkey?’

‘He’s my indoor man. I’ve given Crowder carte blanche to repair that little house that must have been a dower house and use it for his own. He even said he wouldn’t mind some of the Egyptian furniture. He was careful to qualify.’

Sophie laughed and turned back to the bonfire. ‘And here I thought you were going to add the jackals to the flames!’

He tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow now. ‘Things have a way of working out, Sophie.’

He seated her on a convenient bench-sized piece of driftwood and joined Starkey by the wooden stairs for a discussion that appeared to require some gestures and conversation that his hold on her would have impeded. She owned to a feeling of discomfort, watching Starkey, who seemed to be arguing.
Perhaps I will have time to win Starkey over
, she thought.
It will be about the same time that pigs fly, I fear.

But anything was possible. She turned her attention to the fire again, watching Lord Hudley’s dirty books crackle and snap and float into the night sky like so many fiery dandelion puffs.

‘Quite a sight, eh, missy?’ she heard near her elbow.
‘Where does ol’ Double Hung want me to stow ’is bottles this year?’

She leaped to her feet and stared at a scruffy figure with an eyepatch and no more than one or two teeth in his mouth, which made spitting a wad of tobacco a convenient exercise. The missile whizzed past her shoulder and landed in the fire.

She knew better than to scream this time. ‘H-hold that thought,’ she said and started towards her husband, who was looking in her direction now. ‘Charles, we have a visitor.’

‘Like a moth to a flame, missy,’ the man said, spitting the remainder of his wad into the bonfire. ‘I’m a businessman! Be a good little piece o’ muslin and summon your old squeeze. That’s a good whore.’

S
ophie ran to her husband and grabbed him around the waist. ‘Overlook this!’ she stammered and tried to burrow under his armpit.

‘Sophie, I didn’t know you cared,’ the admiral teased, then looked where she pointed. ‘What felon and miscreant is this? We seem to attract a motley crew.’

Keeping his arm around her, Charles walked closer to the bonfire again. ‘Ahh,’ he said finally, in a drawn-out exclamation that had equal elements of surprise and amusement in it. ‘As I live and breathe, Leaky Tadwell! I thought you had been hanged years ago. You would have been, on my watch.’

Sophie tugged on her husband’s arm. ‘You
know
that man?’

‘I would only admit it to my nearest and dearest,’ he replied. ‘Leaky Tadwell. Sophie, my love, let me present the most worthless seaman in any navy,’ he said in a musing tone of voice. He looked beyond the fire to the
water’s edge. ‘You have a cutter. Stolen from some ship, I don’t doubt. To what do we owe this pleasure?’

The scruffy man bowed elaborately. ‘Admiral Bright?’

‘The very one. Probably the only one,’ Charles said. He kissed the top of Sophie’s head. ‘Don’t worry, wife. We’re as safe as if we had good sense.’

Tadwell straightened up and knuckled his hand to his forehead, where he vigorously tugged the greasy bit of hair under a watch cap that looked old enough to have grown to his scalp.

‘Who? Who? Who?’ Sophie stammered.

‘I married an owl,’ the admiral replied, more to himself than Tadwell.

Safely corralled in Charles’s arms—she didn’t know how it happened, but he had both arms around her now, pressing her close—Sophie stared at the man by the fire. She watched his expression, which by now was registering more suspicion than surprise.

‘’Old on now, Admiral. Where is Lord Hudley?’

‘He’s extremely late, Leaky, for your information.’

The old vagabond yanked off his watch cap and wiped it across his face, unleashing the powerful fragrance of unwashed hair that made Sophie flinch. ‘I’ll say ’e is! I’ve been waiting ’ere since June 10th for the bonfire!’ He squinted closer at Sophie. ‘And what’re you doing clutching a whore, Admiral? I thought you was the fleet’s good example.’

Sophie gasped. He sounded so self-righteous that she forgot to be afraid. ‘I am his wife, you grotty bag of sorry bones!’

‘I think I love the way you roll your
r
’s,’ her husband told her. ‘Oh, say that again.’

‘You are certifiable,’ she declared.

‘No, no, “grotty bag of sorry bones”. Please, Sophie.’

She burst out laughing, which had the effect of making Tadwell back up this time, and look at them both suspiciously.

‘Something ain’t quite right,’ he said. ‘Where’s ol’ Double Hung?’

‘I don’t ever want to know how Hudley got that name,’ Sophie murmured.

‘Maybe that’s the secret of his way with Fair Cyprians, two or three to a bed, and all that,’ her husband said. ‘Leaky, when I say “late”, I mean dead. Spoon in the wall. Toes cocked up. I bought this misbegotten estate a few months ago.’

‘I didn’t know,’ Tadwell said. ‘Hmm.’

And there they stood, looking at each other. Sophie was the first to speak. ‘Why are you here, and why is June 10th important to
you
?’

He made a grand gesture then with both arms stretched out that made Sophie want to gag again. He cast a hurt look at the admiral. ‘After the navy turned me off without a character, I been smuggling the good stuff from France.’

‘“Without a character”… You old rummy!’ Charles exclaimed. ‘Last I heard, you were flogged and stripped and left in Montevideo, hopefully to die.’

‘Where a kindly old priest took me in. Got religion, I did.’ Tadwell looked at Sophie, and his tone was a wheedling one. ‘A man’s got to earn a living, I says.’

She felt her husband’s soundless chuckle, as he held her tight. ‘Let me understand this, Mr Tadwell—’ she said.

‘Don’t be formal. Leaky,’ he interrupted.

‘Leaky, then. You sneak French wine to the Devonshire coast and leave an order for Lord Hudley’s annual bacchanal, when he lights a bonfire on the beach?’

He nodded to her and gave the admiral a squinty look. ‘You’re a bit sharper than yer old man, missy. That’s it.
I must say, you outdid yourself this year. That’s some blaze.’

‘The party is over, and so is the war, Leaky,’ Charles reminded him. ‘You don’t need to sneak it in, you old felon.’

Tadwell gathered what dignity he could. ‘Maybe I like the spirit of the thing, Admiral!’

Charles shifted Sophie so he could look at her face. ‘Wife, have you looked at the wine cellar here? Are we low?’

She felt her lips twitch.
If I look him in the eye I will fall down on the sand and laugh like a hyena
, she thought.

‘Oh, dear, I think we must be quite low, if my love is unable to speak,’ he said, with no more than a quiver in his voice. ‘It’s all right, dear. Don’t trouble yourself over this. I’ll ask this old boozer to leave us what he would have left Hudley. I’ll even pay him, although I should alert the Sea Fencibles.’

‘Not necessary, Admiral!’ Tadwell exclaimed in such ringing tones that Sophie had to look around at him. ‘Lord Hudley always paid me
before
delivery!’

‘He obviously had more faith in you than anyone in the Royal Navy. I’m astounded.’

Tadwell grinned. Sophie shuddered at the bits of tobacco hanging to his few teeth. ‘Tell me where you want it and I’ll be gone as fast as green corn through a goose!’

Charles gestured over his shoulder. ‘See that man there? The one with a peg leg? The one who is fifty times the sailor you could ever hope to be? That’s Starkey and he will tell you where to put it.’

Tadwell nodded. ‘Pleasure doing business wi’ you, Admiral.’ He sketched what could only charitably be called a bow. ‘And Mrs Admiral, I didn’t mean to call you a whore.’

Still in the safety of Charles’s arms, Sophie watched the bottles nestled in straw end up stacked on the sand. Starkey marshalled his forces and they carried the wine indoors. Tadwell watched until the last bottle was gone, then tipped his watch cap to Sophie. In another minute, the smuggler worked the sails and the cutter vanished into the darkness.

The admiral watched, then turned back to the fading bonfire. ‘It’s a damned good thing we don’t have to light another fire tomorrow night, Sophie. No telling who would show up on the beach.’ He still held her hand, so he slapped the flat of his hook against his chest. ‘I don’t think I’m up to another visit from the Leaky Tadwells of the world.’

They walked slowly to the stairs and back on to the terrace, where the servants remained, Miss Thayn taking care of Vivienne.

‘Lady Bright, do you need any help getting ready for bed?’ Miss Thayn asked.

Sophie shook her head. ‘Thayn, you and I will have to sit down tomorrow and discuss your duties. So far, my wardrobe doesn’t amount to anything that can’t be ignored with impunity! May I depend upon you to make sure that all the female domestics have places to sleep? When the attic rooms are repaired some will go there.’

‘You may depend upon me, ma’am. Goodnight.’

There was a welcome brass can of hot water in her room, which made her sigh with pleasure. Everything had been replaced after Fannie vacated that morning, which only caused a small sigh, and then a personal scold as she reminded herself that her convenient marriage was getting all too comfortable. Still, after she put on her nightgown and carefully hung up her shabby dress, Sophie felt herself at surprisingly loose ends. She sat in the armchair by the fireplace, listening to the younger maids laughing
and talking, going upstairs to their shabby rooms under the eaves. Charles said the workmen would be working in the attic tomorrow, repairing the roof and refurbishing the servants’ quarters.

She couldn’t help envying the girls their companionship, forged so quickly after only a day in the same household. She had seen them only briefly, but their small glances in her direction spoke volumes about their relief at employment. She knew the feeling precisely and it warmed her to provide security to at least a few, when so many were hurting. Sophie knew her husband felt the same way about hiring his few helpers from the docks.

She listened for Charles’s footsteps on the stairs—funny how quickly she could recognise them. When she heard them, she knew he was accompanied by Starkey. The men spoke in low tones, but there was laughter, and she suddenly envied Starkey the comradeship, much as she knew he had envied her, earlier in the day.

‘Charlie, you don’t need me tonight to unharness you,’ she said softly as she got up from the chair. She liked to kneel by her bed and pray—it was a habit from practically her babyhood, one encouraged by a Presbyterian mother. She knelt, but could think of nothing to say. She ended up just resting her head on the mattress, closing her eyes and then saying ‘amen’ after her knees started to ache.

Maybe there was something in the calmness of moonlight. Maybe there was a certain honesty that comes when even a plaguey house was still, and the mind had time to roam. After a few hours of fitful sleep, Sophie woke up. She sat up, realising she had forgotten to close the curtains. Moonlight streamed in and fell across her bed. She went to the window, leaned out and took a deep breath, then watched the light play across the ocean.

She took a coverlet from the end of the bed and made herself comfortable in the window seat, the better to watch the water. She thought through what she would say to Miss Thayn in the morning, and how she would let Starkey take the lead—it was his right—in managing household affairs. She never had more than two servants, anyway. She would do what Charles Bright asked of her—find him ways to keep busy, at least until he could decide whether or not life on land was to his choosing.

There was only one problem she foresaw. Sitting there in the moonlight, comfortable and well fed with no one around to question her, she knew she was falling in love with her convenient husband. She had felt the same way after she met Andrew Daviess, who had come down from the University of Edinburgh with her brother, Malcolm, who now lived in remote Bombay, courtesy of the East India Company.

Probably like most young women, if her mother was to be believed, Sophie had wondered if she would know when she was in love. She did, when she met Andrew. It was as though all her nerves hummed some new tune. Ordinary things looked better than usual. Ever practical, all she wanted to do was see his dear face again. He couldn’t write to her; that would have been improper. All she could do was wait and see if he had felt anything in her presence. If she never saw him again, it would be silent suffering on her part. By some miracle, if he felt the same way, he would come back. He did.

Under the kindness of the moon, Sophie admitted to the same emotions now, even though she’d thought she would never feel that way again. Her life had felt over, after Andrew’s funeral. And when Peter died, even as he had looked at her so trustingly to make him better, it was as though she had been handed a teaspoon to dig her own
grave, minute by hour by day by week by month by year. She had been a woman with nothing to look forwards to.

Here she was, making plans again, all because a man sorely tried by his sisters had done a breathtakingly impulsive thing. She was determined to give Charles Bright no cause for regret, even if he never felt anything more for her than kindness. She wanted to analyse her feelings, wondering if they were more gratitude than love. To be sure, she was grateful, but was that all?

Tired finally, she got back into bed and slept soundly.

She didn’t hear the maids making their way downstairs in the early hours, and she barely registered the arrival in her room of more hot water. The sun woke her finally, bright and hot. She lay on her back, contemplating the ceiling and filled with gratitude that Lord Hudley had felt no need to deck the ceilings upstairs with anything more complicated than plaster whorls.

Men with heavy shoes were tramping upstairs again. Soon they would be banging away at the roof, measuring and sawing. Charles was probably on the terrace, watching his outside army haul away the ashes from the book burning. She had noticed already how he liked to stand with his hands clasped behind him, as though he still trod a quarterdeck. And there would be Starkey, waiting for his orders. It was too much to hope that he would bring her tea again.

Then she heard him on the stairs and her heart started to beat faster. Maybe it was another worker, she told herself. Maybe it was even Miss Thayn, eager to find out her duties for the day. She held her breath, waiting for a knock, and let it out slowly when it came.

She was out of bed in a flash, opening the door. There he stood, smiling good morning. All she wanted to do
was throw her arms around him and never let go. Instead, she held the door open, then closed it softly behind him, hurrying back to bed and making the coverlet straight.

He was already dressed. He set the cup and saucer on the nightstand and sat down on the bed, as he had for the last two mornings, watching her and saying nothing until she had sipped from the cup and pronounced it good.

‘You’re a sleepyhead this morning,’ he said. ‘The ’tween-stairs girl said you were still asleep when she brought in the hot water.’ He ruffled her hair. ‘Are you turning into a layabout?’

‘I didn’t sleep well,’ she admitted.

‘I didn’t either,’ he said, looking out the window.

‘Worried about this work in progress you purchased?’

‘Maybe that’s it.’ He sighed. ‘Now the head builder says it would be wise to replace two of the chimneys.’ He patted her leg, and she wondered if he was even aware of what he was doing. ‘Watch your head when you come down the stairs. They’re painting the ceiling in the main hallway now. Etienne wants to show you his menus for the week, and Miss Thayn is pacing up and down in the sitting room, ready to tackle whatever you have for her.’

Sophie held very still. His hand still rested on her ankle and she didn’t want to move and remind him. She was so close to reaching out and caressing his face that she had to remind herself to breathe. ‘Wh-what are we going to do with all these servants?’