by Martha Keyes
It was hard to imagine that two years of intense grieving wouldn’t soon give way to some peace. She had to believe that it would. John had gone far too long with a father whose mind and heart were unreliable and frequently absent. It was hard enough to lose a mother, but sometimes it felt just as difficult to see their father physically present but absent in every other way.
The carriage door opened, bringing her out of her abstraction. Mr. Debenham stepped in with a wooden crate under his arm. The bottles inside it clanked lightly as he moved. He paused for a moment on the threshold, looking down at the mass of dog covering the floor, and then gingerly stepped in a small open spot.
“Ah,” he sighed, taking a seat and resting the crate next to him. “Let’s be on our way, then, shall we?” He knocked on the carriage roof, and they jolted forward.
Anne’s head perked up for a moment before it returned with a thump to its spot on the floor. Mr. Debenham examined the large lump of fur before him. “I admit that I find Anne a strange name for a dog. I have a sister named Anne, you know.”
“Hm,” John said curiously, tipping his head to the side. “Which pirate is your sister named after?”
Mr. Debenham’s eyebrows went up, and he seemed to stifle a laugh.
“Anne isn’t only a name for pirates, John,” Eleanor said in a practical voice. She looked at Mr. Debenham and smiled. “John is very taken with the idea of pirates, hence the name of the dog. She is named after Anne Bonny, the Irish pirate.”
Mr. Debenham nodded slowly, saying, “Ah, I see.” He looked to John. “And which pirate did you understand my sister to be named for?”
John shrugged his shoulders. “Perhaps after Anne Dieu-le-Veut? She was impressive, but she could never compare to Anne Bonny, of course.”
“Decidedly not,” said Mr. Debenham gravely, shaking his head. He paused, clasping his hands in his lap. “And why can she not compare?”
“She was captured,” said John simply.
“How very careless of her,” said Mr. Debenham. “But was not Anne Bonny also captured?”
“Of course not!” John said contemptuously.
“John,” said Eleanor, admonishing him. “That is not true, you know.”
“Well it doesn’t count! She escaped,” he reasoned. Eleanor glanced at Mr. Debenham who was looking at her in mock censure in support of John’s words. His eyes danced, though.
Eleanor shook her head. “We don’t know if she escaped, John. No one knows for sure.”
“I’m sure of it!” John cried, and his mouth turned down as though he might start crying.
Mr. Debenham clenched his teeth, and Eleanor raised her brows in a long-suffering gesture.
“You know, John,” Mr. Debenham said, leaning across the carriage to confer with him, “I believe you’re right. I’ve heard tales of her ghost. They say it haunts any ship with gold aboard.”
John’s eyes grew round. “Really?”
Mr. Debenham nodded. “I will tell you a tale or two, but you must swear to keep them secret.”
John nodded quickly, sitting on the edge of the seat as Mr. Debenham began telling the tales in a hushed voice, the carriage bobbing up and down all the while.
Eleanor smiled and leaned back in her seat, her eyes moving back and forth between her brother and Mr. Debenham. John leaned forward in his chair as if he couldn’t bear to miss a single word. The yawning from earlier was long gone—he was in his element.
Mr. Debenham’s hands were expressive and his face even more so. How fortunate that they had happened upon a gentleman both willing to accommodate them and one learned in pirate lore.
* * *
When the carriage pulled into the courtyard of Mr. Debenham’s estate, Eleanor’s relaxed state—brought on by listening to his entertaining pirate tales—was replaced by a fresh wave of anxiety. Eleanor was still unsure what to expect. She was fairly certain that Mr. Debenham was not married, but if he was, how would his wife react to her uninvited guests? Particularly the enormous dog.
Mr. Debenham exited the carriage first, extending a hand to help Eleanor down. John wanted no assistance, though, and hopped down energetically, calling to Anne to follow. The dog was not quite so deft in her exit, and Mr. Debenham was obliged to assist her.
Eleanor bit her lip as she watched. She had hoped to be inconspicuous guests, but the likelihood of that seemed to decrease by the minute. Mr. Debenham removed the two portmanteaux and his crate from the carriage and led them toward the house. John seemed very taken with him and followed on his heels as closely as Anne followed on John’s.
The estate was poorly-lit from the outside. Only two sconces on either side of the front door illuminated the house, their light fading into deep shadows among the surrounding ivy. Mr. Debenham opened the door himself, leading them into an entry hall equally as poorly-lit as had been the exterior. The muffled sound of men’s voices met Eleanor’s ears, and her stomach lurched as she wondered what kind of situation she had led herself and her young brother into.
“Ah,” said Mr. Debenham, setting down his load on the floor. “I should perhaps have informed you that I have two friends staying here. But don’t worry—they are quite harmless.”
Eleanor forced a smile and looked down at John who was yawning.
“I would have the housekeeper show you to a room,” Mr. Debenham said, “but the truth is that I gave her the night off. I only keep a couple of servants on—a housekeeper and the man who acts as a sort of driver, footman, and butler. I have yet to hire a full staff. The two I do have tend to all my needs which are few. But I will be glad to show you upstairs.”
He reached for an unlit candle on a nearby table, lighting it using one of the sconces on the wall.
The three of them trod up the stairs, followed closely by Anne. The upstairs hallway was shrouded in darkness, and Eleanor couldn’t help feeling anxious. It was difficult to tell for certain in the obscurely-lit hallway, but the smell of dust was strong, and the house seemed in need of repairs. If it weren’t July and too warm for a fire, she would worry, too, about the chimney smoking.
John’s lungs had never fully recovered from his bout of whooping cough shortly after their mother’s death. Eleanor had sat with him for three weeks, catering to his every need, listening as the cough dissipated over time, only to be agitated by the smoke from the fire in his room. Eleanor had arranged for the nursery to be moved, and he had been much better with only a few instances of coughing since.
Mr. Debenham led them through a door off the hallway, and the candle cast moody shadows as he moved through the room and set it down on the bedside table.
“I’m afraid this is the only vacant room at the moment,” he said with a frown. “At least, it’s the only one not shrouded in holland covers. Tomorrow night Mrs. O’Keefe—she’s the housekeeper—can make up a bed in one of the other rooms. For tonight, I shall just go fetch your portmanteaux and more blankets. Perhaps John can sleep on the floor?”
Eleanor looked to John, but his eyes seemed to be fixed on the walls of the room. Eleanor followed his gaze to the large shadows cast all over the room. Was he scared? “John?” she said, putting a hand on his shoulder.
He jumped slightly.
“Mr. Debenham was just saying that we can make a bed for you on the floor. Is that all right?”
John’s eyes were wide as he looked at Mr. Debenham and then to Eleanor. “And you will sleep in the bed?”
She smiled at him and nodded, and his shoulders seemed to relax. She glanced at Mr. Debenham whose lips were pursed as he watched John.
John looked to him and said, “Mr. Deneban—Demeban.” He grunted in frustration.
Mr. Debenham suppressed a smile. “Devilish name, isn’t it? You may call me Lawrence if you wish, though.”
“What about Lawrie?”
Mr. Debenham’s mouth opened wordlessly.
“John,” Eleanor said in a censuring tone.
John looked at her and folded his arms acros
s his chest. “What? I hate long names! I go by John; you go by Nell—why should he not go by Lawrie?”
Mr. Debenham had his arms folded, and a hand covered his mouth. He looked at Eleanor with a significant glance and said, “A home question.” He turned to John. “Lawrie it is!” He clapped John on the shoulder and then excused himself to retrieve the blankets.
Eleanor knew she should be more embarrassed at her brother’s behavior, but her fatigue was severe enough to keep those emotions at bay. Whatever regrets Mr. Debenham might come to feel about offering them his home, they would be nothing more than a strange memory in two days when the Renwicks continued on their way.
For now, though, Mr. Debenham’s response to John’s forthright and uninhibited dialogue was a relief. He seemed to take it all in stride, finding it amusing rather than offensive or off-putting. Eleanor couldn't help but feel that, despite her hesitations, they had been unduly fortunate in happening upon a gentleman who seemed so agreeable and forbearing.
Chapter 3
John stood next to the candle, placing his fingers near it and watching the way the shadows fell onto the wall behind.
Eleanor smiled slightly. “Be careful not to burn yourself or tip over the candle. We must be on our very best behavior, John. We are intruding upon Mr. Debenham, and we must try to make the imposition as painless as possible for him. Particularly since he seems to be entertaining friends.”
John nodded absently, twisting his fingers into a new shape and smiling at the effect. Eleanor sighed. It was useless to reason with him.
When Mr. Debenham returned, his arms were stacked high with the portmanteaux and a heap of blankets, on top of which a pillow was teetering precariously. Eleanor rushed over as he came through the doorway, catching the pillow as it slid off.
“Ah,” Mr. Debenham said, lowering the heap onto the floor. “Thank you. This should keep you comfortable, my good man.”
John looked at the mass of blankets with wide eyes and then took a few steps back. Eleanor observed him with a creased brow. What he saw to trigger fear in a pile of blankets was a mystery.
Her eyebrows shot up as she watched him run the few steps between him and the blankets and then jump onto the pile. Muffled giggles sounded from the center of the mass where John’s face was buried. Eleanor was half-embarrassed at her brother’s wild behavior, half-relieved to know that what she had mistaken for fear was simply awe. She looked over to Mr. Debenham who was wearing a wide grin.
He bent his knees, brought one leg back and then jumped onto the pile, crying, “Yo ho ho!”
John was ecstatic at finding that Mr. Debenham had followed his example, and for some time, the two of them scuffled inside the blankets, throwing the pillow at one another while Eleanor looked on, amused and mystified. The transformation of Mr. Debenham from proper gentleman to childish pirate was entirely unexpected and equally entertaining.
She finally snatched the pillow from John’s hands.
“We really must get you to bed, John,” she said, plumping the pillow. “It is far past your usual bedtime.”
When he and Mr. Debenham stood, their hair was disheveled, a fact which John seemed not to mind. Mr. Debenham ran a hand through his, but a few pockets were left standing up. Eleanor’s mouth quivered as he stood in front of her—any intimidation she had felt since meeting him was successfully quelled by the figure he presented.
John’s face pouted. “But I don't want to go to bed.”
“Why ever not?” said Eleanor. “You will be so terribly comfortable, surrounded by all these blankets.”
John sent a side-eyed glance at Mr. Debenham and then walked over to Eleanor and leaned toward her. He shot another glance at Mr. Debenham who seemed to gather that he was not the desired recipient of John’s confidences and busied himself with placing the pillow at the top of the blanket Eleanor had spread out.
“I am,” John said in a half-whisper to his sister, “frightened of this place. It’s so dark. And there are cobwebs.”
Eleanor shot a quick look at Mr. Debenham who, though his hands were busy, appeared to have heard John’s words. Eleanor knew that John was rather particular about how he fell asleep and that he had never slept anywhere but the London house and the house in Kent. This experience was entirely new to him.
She put a hand on his shoulder and kneeled down in front of him. “It is very different here than you are used to, isn't it?” She thought of the light-colored wallpaper and various candles which normally lit John’s room at night. After John was fast asleep, one of the servants would extinguish the two he insisted on keeping lit while he dozed off.
The single candle in this room only accentuated the moody hues of maroon and brown on its peeling, papered walls. Eleanor wondered how recently Mr. Debenham had taken up residence. Given the presence of only two servants and the disrepair she had seen in the short time they had been there, it seemed he must have only just arrived.
John nodded. “Yes, very different.”
“But different doesn't mean bad, you know. Sometimes it is a good thing, in fact.”
John looked doubtful. “But what about the Colonel?”
Eleanor stood and smiled, walking over to one of the portmanteaux which she opened and then sorted through, pulling from it a toy soldier. John looked over at Mr. Debenham surreptitiously as he approached Eleanor to take the toy, as though he was afraid the gentleman might think ill of him.
Mr. Debenham seemed to sense that his reaction was of importance to the child, and he said, “Ah, so this is the good colonel?” He walked over to John and then saluted the toy soldier with all the gravity of one of the King’s officers.
John giggled, and Eleanor breathed a sigh of relief. She took another blanket from the pile, throwing it gently over the other.
“And now that you have the Colonel,” she said, “you may ready yourself for bed.”
The smile faded from John’s face, but on meeting Eleanor’s stern look, he removed his jacket and shoes.
“I'm afraid,” Eleanor continued, “your night clothes went on ahead with the rest of our belongings a few days ago, so you will simply have to sleep in what you have on.”
John sighed melodramatically, and Eleanor looked at him from the corner of her eye with a slightly amused smile. She took the pillow and fluffed it. “What a luxurious pillow! Fit for a king. I hope you did not take it from your own bed, Mr. Debenham?” She lifted the top blanket, helping John slide into the makeshift bed.
“No, no,” said Mr. Debenham with a quick head shake. “We have plenty on hand.” He glanced over at Anne who was sprawled out on a rug in the corner of the room. He cleared his throat. “Does, uh, Anne require anything?”
John laughed. “No, silly! She is already asleep.” He tilted his head, looking at Anne who was barely discernible by the flame of the small candle. “It seems dreadfully uncomfortable.” He looked at Mr. Debenham. “Perhaps a pillow would be good.” He said it as if he were instructing a servant, and Eleanor’s eyes widened.
“John, good heavens!” she said. “Anne is perfectly fine where she is. She has no need of a pillow.” She shot an apologetic glance at Mr. Debenham who looked politely interested to discover whether he should be required to fetch a pillow for the dog after all.
John sniffed, looking sideways at Eleanor with an unhappy expression. “But she does need a pillow! Else she will snore so loudly that I can't sleep a wink. She always has a pillow at home.”
He looked to be on the verge of tears, and Eleanor felt her temper fraying. John was being much more difficult than he usually was—and he had always been an obstinate child.
“Well,” Mr. Debenham chimed in, “we can’t have snoring! If there's one thing I can't abide, it is a snoring dog. I shall fetch another pillow post-haste.”
Eleanor clenched her teeth, wishing she could spare him the trouble, but Mr. Debenham only winked at her as he strode out the door once again.
Eleanor suppressed an urge to berate John, t
elling herself that he was only being difficult because he was anxious in his new environment. At home he had demanded Eleanor for much of his care, but she had always been able to fall back on the nurse at need. Being solely responsible for him as they traveled had given her a new appreciation for the energy John’s care required.
He called Anne to come over, and the dog heaved herself up obediently, trudging toward him with droopy eyes and plopping down next to him on the floor. He rubbed her ears for a moment before laying back down into his pillow and rearranging the Colonel to be at its side.
Mr. Debenham tripped into the room with another pillow in hand. He noted the dog’s new position next to John and raised a brow at Eleanor who only shrugged resignedly.
Mr. Debenham bent down and offered the pillow to John. “A pillow for Anne—one fit for a pirate, I think.”
Eleanor bit her lip. The pillow was not nearly as full as John’s was, and it looked the worse for wear, with various stains and a distinct lumpiness to it. It was precisely the type of pillow fit for a dirty dog like Anne.
John looked at it askance. “Hmm…it is not very nice, is it?”
“I believe,” Eleanor said, talking over John, “that what my brother means to say is ‘thank you.’ Isn't it, John?” She looked at him with a threatening smile.
John looked at her for a moment and then to the pillow before saying in a glum voice. “Thank you, Lawrie.” He lifted Anne’s head and slid the pillow under it, then dropped down onto his own, looking up at the ceiling where the flickering candlelight danced.
Eleanor shot a look of long-suffering at Mr. Debenham who, much to his credit, only looked amused. She sent a silent prayer of thanks to the fates who had placed her and John in this good-natured man’s hands. “Thank you very much. We owe you a great debt of gratitude.”
