The Captain's Lady (13 page)

J
amie bent low on Puck’s back and urged him to a full gallop, taking care not to plow into people walking or driving carts on their way home from a long summer day’s work. At least he did not have to stop to ask directions. In his early morning rides with Moberly and Bampton, he had seen Portsmouth in the distance, some five or six miles over numerous hills from Bennington Park. Late at night, from his bedchamber window, he could see the flickering lights of the growing naval town and Southampton to the west, where he must make arrangements at one of the public wharves for the
Fair Winds
to dock. Now that Bennington had informed him the ship was ready to sail, he would have to follow through on those plans, and the sooner, the better. Yet this evening, God had clearly shown him his work in England had not yet been completed.

Mindful of the danger he’d put Puck in a few weeks earlier, Jamie slowed the horse when the road rose over the hills, then gave him his head when they descended. As always, Puck seemed to enjoy their outing. Jamie wished he could say the same for himself this time.

Portsmouth had all the clutter of a town growing so fast it kept popping its seams. Some semblance of planning appeared in the residential area Jamie passed through. Fine brick homes and straight, tree-lined streets graced these outer edges. But that quickly gave way the closer Jamie got to the narrow, winding streets along the waterfront, where he hoped to find Robert.

Jamie prayed good sense would prevail, yet he had a foreboding that he’d find his friend already “three sheets in the wind,” as they said in Nantucket, especially since Jamie had no idea where to find him, giving Moberly more time to drink to excess.

A typical navy town, Portsmouth boasted in what should be its shame—countless taverns large and small, and countless immodestly dressed women calling to sailors or any passing man in decent clothing to come into their lairs. Again, Jamie had cause to pray, for Robert had confessed an occasional visit to such places before he’d placed his trust in Christ. If Jamie found him returning to his old haunts, he’d beg Moberly on Miss Kendall’s behalf not to return to such a vile custom.

In his many years among seafaring men, whether whaler, sailor or merchant, Jamie had learned that self-righteous preaching never accomplished anything. In the first few taverns he visited, he ordered a drink, then asked the serving wench about Moberly. Everyone in Portsmouth knew Bennington’s second son, but he’d not been that way. Jamie paid his coin and left the rum on a table. In each place, he noticed how quickly someone grabbed his abandoned tankard. Finally, a clear-eyed wench who seemed entirely too young for her occupation said Moberly had been there, but had moved on to the Stowaway, unless he’d changed his mind.

Jamie hooked a finger under the girl’s chin and stared into
her pale blue eyes. “God loves you, child. I will pray He will show you a more worthy profession.” He pressed a silver coin into her hand and enjoyed the shock and, perhaps, conviction covering her sweet face.

Outside, he took Puck’s reins from the boy he’d engaged to tend him, paid the lad a coin, and continued down the street. This evening was becoming very expensive for a sober man who generally held on to his money. How much might it cost a drunkard whose pockets were filled with his father’s guineas?

The Stowaway stood two blocks in the distance. As Jamie jostled his way through the masses, he saw a young man struggling to free himself from several sailors with clubs.
Press gang.
Jamie’s heart hitched thinking of the terror he’d felt as a lad when the warning came that the British navy had sent out ruffians to gather crew members for their ships. Torn away from friends and family without warning, given no chance to say their goodbyes, the hapless victims seemingly disappeared, some never to return. Jamie looked closely to see if the young man was from Bennington’s village. If so, he would intervene, warning the sailors of the earl’s displeasure and reprisal. But the lad was not familiar, and although Jamie pitied him, he felt the Lord’s prompting to continue on his mission.

Rain began to splatter the dust at his feet. The shoes would be ruined, all right. He’d never be able to talk Quince into cleaning them up, and it would be dangerous to ask the earl’s valet how to do it. Greyson already eyed Quince as if he were an inferior servant. No need to give him reason to learn Quince employed servants of his own back home.

Ducking into the tavern just as the heavens opened in a deluge, Jamie saw Moberly seated in a corner, his back to the wall. He looked up and met Jamie’s stare. But instead
of a sullen or angry greeting, he gave a lazy smile and beckoned to him. Apparently, the drink had already done its job. As evidenced by the expression on his face, Moberly was feeling nothing but mindless bliss, from which he would come crashing down in the morning.

Ignoring the smells of sweat, rum and cooking cabbage, Jamie wended his way through the roomful of drinking men, and sat adjacent to Moberly. “You’re a hard man to keep up with.”

“Ha.” Robert tossed down the last drops in his tankard, then lifted it toward a wench serving the next table. “When you can, Betty.”

“Right away, milord.” The plump woman left the other men, common sailors who apparently knew who Moberly was, for they made no complaint. Well past her prime, she gave Jamie a sliding look up and down and puckered her lips suggestively. “My, aren’t you a pretty one. What can I do for you, milord?”

“I have all I need, thank you.” He gave her a little smile, remembering Christ’s kindness to women like this one, even as revulsion churned within him.

After she left the table, Jamie studied his friend, who closed his eyes and rested his head against the wall. “Miss Kendall sends her best wishes.”

Moberly glared in his direction with unfocused eyes. “How dare you mention her name in a place like this?” His words were slurred, but his anger came through.

“How dare you come to a place like this when you have the love of such a good woman?” Jamie had never truly crossed his friend, and questioned just how far he should go. If he’d learned nothing else in the country, he’d learned not to speak rudely to the aristocracy. Yet these were the words God had given him, and he would not back down.

Rage reddened and creased Moberly’s cheeks, and narrowed his eyes. “He laughed at me.” He pounded the table, splashing rum from the fresh tankard the wench had brought. “All I have done, working like a fiend to prove myself to that old goat, and he
laughs
at me. Said I am not fit to be a minister.”

Jamie prayed his next words were from the Lord. “And so you promptly go out and prove him right. You’re
not
fit to be a minister.”

Thunder crashed overhead and a bolt of lightning lit the street, turning the raindrops into a million fireflies. Jamie would haul this sorry sinner out into the deluge if not for the lightning. As it was, he hoped the lad caring for horses here had taken Puck to the tavern’s stable. What had Moberly done with Gallant? Jamie had more than one creature to care for this evening.

“Grace…” Moberly stared vacantly across the room.

“Now who’s saying her name unsuitably?” Jamie’s temper was rising, and he longed to pummel this man who seemed all too willing to abandon his faith.

“No, I do not speak of Miss Kendall.” Moberly’s voice sounded weary. He ran his finger around the rim of the tankard, but did not drink. “Grace from God. The prodigal son and all that. But when
I
returned home, my father never noticed.” He slumped on the table, propping his head on one hand. “I’ve always wondered why the older brother became so angry. Did not everything belong to him? All the younger son wanted was his father’s approval. Yet, in our family, ’tis the third son who’s all the rage now because, like our august father, he fights for king and country.”

Jamie could not quite follow Moberly’s musings, but conviction for his own self-righteousness cut into him. He’d been willing to dispense grace to the young wench at the
other tavern, but not to his fallen friend.
Give me words, Lord.
“Our fathers are human, even one as exalted as yours.”

Robert’s stare bored into him. “Did your father treat you like worthless baggage?”

Jamie shrugged but held his gaze. “No. My father died when I was six.”

Moberly snorted. “Fortunate you.” He put his head in both hands. “No, I do not mean that. Forgive me.”

The rain abated somewhat, and Jamie decided they’d leave when it slowed a bit more.

“You’re right, Templeton.” Moberly gave him a crooked grin. “I am not fit to be a minister. But, as you have said, we’ve all sinned and come short of the glory of God. And—” he held up his index finger to stress his point “—as you also said, God will be a father to me. I will never, as long as I live,
ever
expect anything else from Bennington.” He shoved the tankard away, put his hands to his temples and blew out a long breath that nearly knocked Jamie over for its smell of secondhand rum. “Lord, forgive me. Why did I drink all of that? And so quickly. And without anything to eat.” He belched and placed a hand over his mouth.

In the dim daylight of the tavern, Jamie could see Moberly’s face grow pale. “Come. I’ll take you home.” He gripped his friend’s arm to pull him to his feet.

“Oh, no.” He shrugged away. “Cannot go home drunk.” He leaned away and deposited the contents of his stomach into a cuspidor beside the table.

Jamie wiped Moberly’s face with a handkerchief and grasped him again. “Come on, then, we’ll get you sober.” He began to move the two of them toward the door.

Moberly’s lucidity seemed to have passed. “Shall we sing a song? How ’bout ‘Rule, Britannia’ or ‘God save the
king’?” He staggered along beside Jamie and would have fallen without support. “Rule, Britannia—” For a drunk, his baritone was not bad.

The sailors in the room lifted their tankards high and joined his song.

Jamie swallowed a retort. He and nearly every other American had suffered far too much of Britannia’s rule. “I heard a new song. ‘Amazing Grace.’ Do you know it?” They reached the door none too soon for him with all that riotous singing behind them.

Moberly stopped and shook his head, as if trying to clear it. “No, but it sounds like an excellent song. Will you teach it to me? Perhaps Marianne can play it on the pianoforte. She is very good at playing, you know.”

Jamie chuckled. No, he hadn’t known that. He would have to ask her about it once this debacle was over. So many things he did not know about her, and so little time to learn it.

Outside, the rain slowed to a drizzle. The stable boy informed them that their horses were safely sheltered behind the tavern. Paying out yet another coin, Jamie started in that direction. On the way, he noticed a watering trough newly filled with rainwater. “Come along, my friend.” He tugged Moberly toward it.

Robert must have guessed his plan, for he dug his feet into the mud. “Oh, no, you don’t.”

“Oh, yes, I do.” Jamie gripped him around the waist and forced him forward, plunging his head into the cold trough and holding him there for a few seconds before releasing him.

Moberly came up gasping. And laughing. He tried to force Jamie into the trough, but slipped in the ankle-deep mud, grabbing Jamie’s arm and pulling him down, too.

The two of them sat there in the mud for a few moments, then both burst out laughing. Jamie’s new gray jacket and breeches were stained with splotches of brown and black dirt, and the buckles on his new shoes might never regain their shine. Indeed, neither the clothes nor the shoes would ever be fit for fine company again. But somehow, that no longer mattered to him.

What did matter was getting Moberly home and tucked into bed without the earl seeing him in this condition.

M
arianne’s stomach felt tied in knots. Papa expected the family to join him promptly at nine o’clock for his first supper at home. Like the drawing room gathering each year, he demanded strict adherence to these rituals. She cast about in her mind, trying to think of how to appease his anger when Robert and Jamie did not appear. It was bad enough for her brother to bring trouble on himself, but she was quite put out with him for Jamie’s sake. Did he not realize Jamie was again risking his standing with Papa in order to rescue him from his mischief?

As the supper hour drew near, Marianne and Grace changed their gowns for the occasion, then watched together from the second-story parlor window for signs of the two men. On these long summer days, daylight lasted until late in the evening. While the afternoon storm had darkened the landscape, once the rain stopped, the sun burst through the clouds to cast its golden rays upon the green hills.

“The roads appear dreadfully muddy,” Grace said. “Even if Captain Templeton found Mr. Moberly, they will never make it home in time to freshen up.”

Marianne nodded as she searched for riders on the lane. More than once a distant horse lifted her hopes, only to pass by the Park entrance.

“There.” Grace pointed. “Two riders. I think…yes, they are coming.” She clasped her hands to her chest, as if struggling to contain her joy.

Although they were far down the lane, their identities were unmistakable. “Oh, thank You, Lord.” Marianne embraced Grace. “But undoubtedly they are covered in mud.”

“Whatever shall we do?”

Marianne chewed her thumbnail for a moment. “Go to Robert’s room and fetch Ian. Tell him to bring fresh clothes. We have just forty-five minutes to save my brother.”

Grace released a giddy laugh. “Oh, my. Do you truly think we can accomplish this?”

Marianne tried to contain her rioting emotions, but a laugh escaped her nonetheless. “Yes, yes. But hurry. I shall fetch Quince for Jamie. Um, for Captain Templeton.”

Grace gave her a knowing smile. “Yes. Captain Templeton.” She hurried from the parlor with Marianne close on her heels.

Marianne raced up the stairs to the third floor and down the hallway toward Jamie’s room. There outside his door stood Quince and Emma in a chaste embrace. At her hurried approach they broke apart. Quince looked oddly defiant. Or perhaps annoyed. Emma blushed scarlet. Marianne did not have time for this.

“Quince, you must come immediately and bring Captain Templeton a change of clothes. He will need everything.” Marianne stopped to catch her breath. “He must be presentable and in the dining room by nine o’clock sharp. Is that clear?”

The man blinked, but did not move.

“Really, Mr. Quince, I cannot think why Captain Templeton retains you.” Marianne’s temper flared as it had not in many a year. “Do see to your duty and rescue your master, or I shall find someone who can.” Only briefly did she think of how much her own future depended on the good opinion of these two people. For now, Jamie must be saved. “Will you come?”

“Aye, milady.” Quince grinned, then tugged at a lock of his hair, a customary respectful gesture from an underling to a superior that somehow seemed impertinent coming from him. She would deal with that later.

“Very well. Hurry. Meet us at the back entrance nearest the stable.” She rushed back down the stairs, her heart racing faster than her feet. “Please, Lord, help us to accomplish the impossible.”

Jamie enjoyed the leisurely ride through the rain-washed countryside. The fragrance of wildflowers filled the air, and nuthatches sang their loud, simple songs, no doubt pleased to have survived the storm. Even the mud clinging to Jamie’s hair and plastering his shirt to his body didn’t spoil his appreciation for the glorious sunset over the distant hills. He noticed the cool breeze, which cut through his clothes and sent chills up his spine, seemed to have cleared Moberly’s head. That and maybe his dunking in the water trough. What a lark that had been. Jamie enjoyed the friendly rowdiness. And now a good night’s rest should cure the last of his friend’s drunkenness. He felt certain Moberly would think seriously before drinking spirits again.

As the tall, gray stone manor house came into view, lit by a brilliant sunset of orange, purple and red, Jamie’s chest filled with an unexpected and bittersweet pang. In the midst
of all this beauty and in the aftermath of an event that might change the course of Moberly’s life for the better, he knew nothing in this place held any future for him. With the
Fair Winds
repaired and seaworthy, he must send word to Saunders to load the ship with the goods from the earl’s warehouse. His capable first mate would also complete the unwritten order to meet their Spanish allies and store the muskets and ammunition in the lower deck’s secret hold. All of that and a short voyage from Southwark to Southampton would take perhaps a fortnight, perhaps a bit more. Then, after a short side trip to Boston to deliver his report about the troop movements, he would sail to East Florida, conveying a shipload of goods but an empty heart.

“I say, what is that?” Squinting, Moberly pointed his riding crop toward the east side of the manor house, where three people stood in the shadows, waving vigorously at them. “I pray nothing is wrong, but they seem a bit overwrought, do you not think?”

Without waiting for an answer, he urged his mount to a gallop, and Jamie followed suit. The horses’ hooves flung up mud from the wet road, with Jamie being the recipient of Gallant’s generous offerings. He’d not thought he could be any dirtier, but sure enough, now he was. He laughed into the wind. As long as he was here, he would toss away his gloom and enjoy himself.

Marianne permitted herself only a moment of horror as Jamie and Robert drew nearer. As they rode up the lane, she saw their clothing was caked and splattered and their hair grimy. But she had no time for emotions, only action. Nor had the men any time for baths, only cold buckets of water showered over them before they entered the house.

The instant they dismounted, she pointed them to the two
footmen waiting beside her. “They will wash you by the back door. Your valets have your clothing ready in a room just inside, to save your going all the way upstairs. Make haste. You have a mere twenty minutes before Papa will expect you in the dining room.”

“What—” Jamie stared at her in confusion.

“Oh, bother,” Robert said. “Sorry, Templeton. The old man demands a strict routine here in the country. Family custom and all that. I quit paying attention years ago, but if I am to improve my lot, I’d best make an appearance on time.”

Jamie grimaced. “You go ahead.” He dismounted and handed Puck’s reins to a waiting groom. “I’ll take a light repast in my room.”

“No, no,” Marianne said. “He will expect you, as well. You saw today how Papa holds court. He will expect us all at the table at the chime of nine o’clock.” Her pulse raced with anxiety. Jamie simply did not comprehend.

He had the audacity to laugh. “But shouldn’t country living be a bit more relaxed?”

Marianne lifted her skirts and marched across the damp grass, glad that she had put on her leather walking shoes before coming outside. “Captain Templeton, you must defer to my father in this if you expect the rest of the summer to hold any relaxation for any of us.”

“Indeed.” He stiffened slightly and raised his eyebrows.

She had never spoken sharply to him, and she regretted it. It was she who was at fault for not informing him about the family tradition. “Please.”

A glint of comprehension crossed his eyes. “Very well.” He followed Robert around the side of the house, with Marianne not far behind.

The footmen had already begun to strip off Robert’s
jacket and shirt and loosen his muddy hair from its queue. Marianne hurried past them through the back door, praying the task would be completed in time.

Wafting up from the kitchen belowstairs came the aroma of roasted lamb and apple pie. She could picture the cook adorning the platter with sprigs of mint leaves, and the liveried footmen donning their white gloves in preparation for serving the sumptuous dinner. This was Papa’s formal welcome-home celebration, a custom passed down in the Bennington household since feudal times, and she prayed Robert had not ruined the whole thing for all of them.

She found Grace in the upper parlor and reported the homecoming. “The footmen are doing all they can to help. Do I look all right?”

Grace studied her up and down, reaching out to tuck a stray curl into Marianne’s coiffure. “Except for your shoes.”

“Oh, dear.” Looking down, Marianne felt a merry tickle inside and could not resist a laugh. “I have tracked mud all the way in here and shall have to apologize to the upstairs maid.”

The mantel clock read ten minutes before nine, so the two ladies descended to the drawing room, where the rest of the family had gathered, except for the children, and Robert and Jamie. Surprised at her own thoughts, Marianne tried to remember when she had begun to think of Jamie as part of the family. Would that Papa could regard him in the same light.

At the chime of nine o’clock, Blevins appeared in the drawing room doorway. “Lord Bennington, Lady Bennington, dinner is served.”

Marianne and Grace shared a regretful look as they followed Papa and Mama, William and his lady from the room. But as the procession crossed the wide entrance hall,
Robert and Jamie slipped around the staircase and, forefingers to lips to forestall any reaction, offered arms to her and to Grace, each choosing his friend’s lady to escort. Although damp around the edges, with their shiny hair pulled back in wet queues, both men looked every bit the gentlemen they were. She did notice that Robert’s eyes seemed somewhat blurry, but at least he could walk straight. Well, he did wobble a bit on her arm, but she managed to hold him up.

Papa seated Mama and then started toward his end of the table. At the sight of the two latecomers, Mama smiled serenely, William snorted out a laugh and Lady Bampton harrumphed. But all attention turned toward Papa. His eyebrows wiggled slightly, as they did when he was surprised. Then a slow smile crept across his lips, and a glint filled his eyes—a gleam that appeared only when he planned to skewer one of his sons with cutting remarks. Marianne knew that Grace was praying as hard as she that Papa would not be too cruel to Robert. For indeed, how much crueler could he be than to laugh at his son’s desire to serve God?