by Georgie Lee
“I want those things for him too, but maybe this isn't the best way for him to achieve it. If you sell the pub before Mr. Pratt seizes it, we’ll have the profit and be able to pay the debt. I’ll support us with my pay until we can establish another business.” He remained steady, not provoked by her indignation. His calm didn’t influence her.
She twisted her white apron between her hands, worry and fear making her thoughts spin. “And what if a fever steals you away like it did my father and leaves me without any means? Then where will I or John be?”
“You’ll have my pension.”
“We can’t live of the pittance paid to captain’s widows?”
He swallowed hard, hesitating before he answered. “I’d be a major, and stationed in London where I can earn a proper living and support a family and have a much larger pension.”
Understanding made her drop her hands to her side before anger tightened them into fists. “No wonder you were so eager to gain my trust last night, you needed it to convince me to give up the Marquis so you could purchase a better rank.”
He jerked back, indignant at her accusation. “This isn’t a plot to get what I want.”
“Then what is it?”
He took her by the arms, as tender as he’d been last night before they’d made love. “It’s a way for us to start anew without the pub and all its problems crushing us. There’s no other way. You must see that as well as I do.”
She didn’t respond, but her tight arms eased under his grip. He was right. With only hours left to repay the debt, and no more valuables to sell, there was little either of them could do. If they didn’t sell the pub, they’d lose it and any profit they might gain from its sale.
The profit. She tugged her arms out of his grip and stepped back disgusted by him and his proposal. He made it seem like it was the best decision but it wasn’t. Like Paul’s marriage to her mother, her selling the pub was all to Charles’ benefit. He would have the money for his commission and she and John would be bound to him for everything. He could hawk her things like Paul had done or send John away to school as was a father’s right. No, she wouldn’t allow it.
“If those are the terms for having you in my life then I don’t accept them, or you.” She slipped out the door before he could answer, desperation driving her into the street. The time wasn’t gone yet. She could still save the Marquis. Perhaps one of her father’s old friends could lend her the money in exchange for a share in the pub. It would be trading one debt for another but it would give her more time and another chance to hold on to it and her dreams for John. Her own dreams and the calling of her heart to go back to Charles, to believe in him and his affection, to follow him as she had last night and allow him to share her burdens and her life were drowned out by her fears.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“What happened between you and Captain Beven?” Aunt Emily confronted Mary in the back hallway the moment Mary returned. She’d come back lightheaded and dispirited by her failure to raise the money she needed. Once she ate something, she’d set out again to visit more people and inquire about loans. It was humbling work but it kept her from dwelling on Charles’ betrayal and the quickly passing hours. “He left here this morning without telling anyone where he was going. Unlike you, he hasn’t returned.”
“Captain Beven isn’t leaving, mama, is he?” John tugged at Mary’s skirt while clutching the wooden horse to his chest.
Mary threw her aunt a pleading expression, not ready to tell John the truth or to break his heart the way Charles had broken hers.
“Fetch your coat and I’ll take you to get a warm bun at the bakery,” Aunt Emily enticed him. John hurried up the stairs, leaving them alone to talk. “What happened?”
“Charles didn’t want me, but money from the sale of the pub to purchase his commission. He told me so after Mr. Pratt left this morning.” Her voice wavered as she spoke but she refused to cry. It’d never helped in the past and it wouldn’t now.
“No, you must be mistaken about his motives. He isn’t so deceitful. After all, to everyone he’s your husband with a legal right to the property. If he’d wanted to sell it he would have done so without asking and left you to prove he didn’t have the right, but he didn’t, because he isn’t that kind of man.”
“Why are you defending him?”
“Why are you so quick to condemn him?”
“What else am I to think?” Mary dropped onto the small stool beside the back door, exhausted. “Look what mother did to me with Paul. I should have been able to trust her but I couldn’t. Why should I trust Charles?”
Aunt Emily crossed her hands in front of her, her irritation fading in the face of Mary’s anguish. “You’re the only one who can answer that question.”
No, she couldn’t, not with her thoughts so tangled. The joy and faith she’d experienced with him last night had been destroyed by Mr. Pratt’s threat and Charles’ suggestion. Like him, it wasn’t likely to come back.
“What will we do now?” Aunt Emily asked.
“I’m speaking to some of father’s old friends to see if they can loan us money in exchange for a share in the pub.”
“Times are too hard for you to go begging to them.”
“So, I’ve discovered.” Not one had been able to help her so far. “But I have no choice except to keep asking. If we don’t raise the money by tomorrow, Mr. Pratt will take the pub and we’ll be in the streets.”
Aunt Emily removed the gold locket with the miniature of her husband and held it out to Mary. “Then take this and see what you can get for it.”
Mary pushed it away. “I can’t sell Uncle Walt’s portrait.”
“I insist. You were so good to take me in after he died and if this can help you then he’d want you to have it.” She pressed it into Mary’s hand then held it tight. “And try and find Captain Beven while you’re out. You need him.”
“I can’t...” Mary began to protest when her aunt laid a silencing finger on her lips.
“Sometimes, the bravest thing a person can do is to surrender.” She set off upstairs after John, leaving Mary alone.
I did surrender, last night and it earned me nothing. She couldn’t do it again.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Charles tossed aside his cards as Captain Mercer laid down a queen then pulled Charles’s coins towards him. Charles cursed both his luck, and Mary.
“Tell me, Captain Beven, what are you doing back here?” Captain Mercer asked as he stacked his winnings in front of him. This early in the day, it was just the two of them in the gaming room. “I thought you’d found your bliss with your woman.”
“She wasn’t as enamored of me as I was of her.” No matter what Charles did, she’d never view him as more than a charlatan trying to use her for his own means. He’d been a fool to let his fantasies about her guide him and blind him to the reality they were not meant to be together.
“Nonsense, she’s simply not used to you being back. Same with my wife. I go away and she manages everything. Then I come home and want a say in things and we have a row. Of course the making up is quite pleasant,” he sniggered as he gathered up the played cards. “After a while we settle in. Yours will eventually adjust to you too.”
“I wish I had your optimism.” He’d forfeited his along with his wager. Despite the bitterness burning him, he couldn’t completely condemn Mary. He understood her desire to see John set up as his own man. More than once during a long march when his tongue had been swollen with thirst, he’d wished for the means to support himself. It wasn’t to be for either of them. She could pawn every stick of furniture in the place and it still wouldn’t raise enough money. With her refusing him, he couldn’t sell his commission. He’d have to live off of his captain’s pay, and once the pub was gone, use it to keep Mary and their son from starving. He wasn’t about to turn his back on them even if she had accused him of being a cheat.
“It isn’t optimism but experience,” Captain Mercer continued as he ha
nded Charles the deck to shuffle. “Whatever issues you’re having you’ll overcome them but it takes time, like learning to sleep again without constantly keeping an eye open for the enemy or thinking the maid coming in to light the fire is going to bayonet you.”
Charles tapped the deck into a neat rectangle, considering Captain Mercer’s advice. He was right. A soldier’s fears from battle could haunt him for a long time after he’d left the field, making him act in ways he never would have done before he’d enlisted. Mary’s fear of being betrayed by those closest to her ruled her in a similar way. If he and Mary had enjoyed more time together, he might have helped her to overcome her old experiences and regain her faith in those closest to her, including him, but it wasn’t to be.
Charles dealt then set the deck in the middle, trying not to frown at his poor hand as he tossed his money into the center of the table.
Captain Mercer picked up a coin from one of his stacks and held it up in front of his face. “It’s hardly worth the effort throwing in the pence. If the club would let us play for higher stakes a man could really have some fun.”
“Or lose it all,” Charles muttered.
“Some of us can afford to lose more than a shilling.” Captain Mercer tossed the coin down to clink against Charles’.
Charles examined his friend over the top of his cards, intrigued by the comment. “Is there a real demand among some of the members for higher stakes games?”
“For an honest place with an honest officer to act as the bank? You’re damn right there is.” Captain Mercer thumped the table, making his stack of coins slide across the green baize.
Charles stared at his friend and the idea hit him like a cannon blast. He tossed down his cards and rose.
“Not giving up already, are you Captain Beven?”
“Not at all.” He’d just discovered the solution to his and Mary’s troubles.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Mary returned tired and dispirited to the street where the Marquis of Granby pub sat with its white plaster and dark timbered sides wedged between a tobacconist and a stationer. She paused in front of it, hesitant to enter. She’d spent the afternoon visiting pawn shops to try and get the highest price for Aunt Mary’s locket, but like the sword and ring it hadn’t sold for much. She’d wasted the evening calling on the remainder of her parent’s friends. Just as Aunt Emily had predicted, they hadn’t had the resources to do more than pity her while telling her they couldn’t help.
Two soldiers in red coats passed her and entered the Marquis. It was rare to see Army men this far from London, especially more than one, but she thought little about it as a brisk gust of wind caught the painted but faded Marquis of Granby sign and made it swing on its chains.
Charles was right. I should have sold the pub instead of trying to save it. She’d clung to it like a rat did a sinking wherry, and in mere hours Mr. Pratt would snatch it from her along with any profit she might have gained to start a new business and support her, Aunt Emily and John.
Mother was right. I’m not clever or capable enough to run the pub. The realization stung as much as the thought of telling John about Charles leaving. In one day, Charles had garnered the boy’s adoration and awe. Mary sighed. It wasn’t only a father for her son she’d thrown away but someone who’d believed in her and been willing to stand with her against all the difficulties of life. During her travels today, she’d come to realize how wrong she’d been about Charles and his motives. He hadn’t been trying to deceive her but to reach the only solution possible. She’d been too controlled by her fears and the experiences of the past to see the truth in front of her, to consider what he’d proposed until this moment, and it was too late.
Another chill wind whipped through the street, and with heavy steps she went inside. The smell of beer, smoke and men embraced her and made her eyes sting with tears. This was the scent of her childhood, her life, and even Charles. Soon it would be gone, just like him and all hope she’d carried of passing it or anything of value on to John. She glanced at the faces of the men surrounding the tables, but Charles wasn’t here. He hadn’t come back, denying her the chance to tell him she was wrong, to ask for his forgiveness, to see if there could ever be anything between them again.
She took off her cloak and draped it over her arm as she made for the bar. Loud and raucous laughter carried into the common room from the private one, making a few farmers look up from their beer to wonder what was taking place inside. Mary wondered too.
“Mr. Ogden, what’s going on in the private room?” She came around the bar and exchanged her cloak for the apron hanging on a nearby peg.
“A party for some soldiers.” Mr. Ogden wiped out a tankard.
“I don’t remember arranging for the room.” She wondered why she bothered to serve when in a few hours this would no longer be hers.
“It was reserved after you left. You should go in and see it.” He pointed the pewter in the direction of the noise. “It’s quite a gathering.”
“I will.” She remembered a farewell party for a soldier from long ago and how her parents had gleefully counted the night’s windfall with her afterwards. With any luck, the soldiers would spend enough tonight to stave off her ruin. It was silly to think that at the last moment something might arise to save her, but she needed to believe in something. All her other dreams, including any she’d ever held about Charles, were at an end.
The closer she drew to the room, and the louder the noise from inside it grew, the more her hope rose until she pushed open the door and stopped in surprise at the sight before her. Every table was crowded with officers, their black and gold epaulets standing in contrast to their white collars and red coats. It wasn’t just food and drinks piled on the tables in front of them but cards and money. This was no military gathering, but a gambling den and in the middle of it stood Charles beaming at the activity around him before his eyes met hers.
The first time she’d seen him from across the common room rushed back to her in the hesitant curl of his lips in a sideways smile.
I haven’t lost him, her heart cried but her mind hesitated. He didn’t rush across the room to her but wound slowly through the tables towards her. She twisted her apron as she watched him unsure of what to expect. After the way she’d treated him since his arrival, she didn’t deserve his kindness or his hand in a true marriage. More than likely he’d come here to do whatever he was doing out of convenience not because he wanted her, and when the officers disbursed he would leave with them.
At last he reached her and they stood together, the raucous conversation of the soldiers filling the quiet between them.
“I’m glad you came back, Charles,” she hazarded, unsure how to begin or put into words everything in her heart.
“Are you?”
“Yes.” She shifted on her feet before wild cheers from the farthest table overwhelmed the room. “What is all this?”
He shifted to stand beside her and face the party, his arm brushing hers but she didn’t pull away. “It’s our new venture.”
She threw him a startled sideways looks, thrilled and at the same time confused by his words. “What is our venture?”
“This.” He spread out his arms to the men in pride. “A gambling room for officers of means. We’re the bank and we’re winning. I’ve already sent a friend over to pay Mr. Pratt with our share of the take. He won’t trouble us again.”
She gaped at him and then the crowd, stunned. “But where did you get the money for this?”
He sobered as he faced her. “I sold my commission.”
~*~
Charles expected her to throw her arms around him and thank him for what he’d done. Instead, she burst into tears.
“No, you shouldn’t have done it. You were right, I should have sold the pub and let you purchase the commission. I was wrong to hold on to it and to let you go,” she sniffed through a stream of tears, as earnest as when she’d laid in his arms last night. “I don’t deserve your generosity
.”
He clasped her trembling hands in his, heartened by how her fingers curled around his.
“You do deserve it, and you’re the only person I’d do it for.” He placed his hands on either side of her face, his palms warming her cold cheeks. This wasn’t feigned gratitude making her eyes sparkle along with her tears, but genuine appreciation for his sacrifice. It erased the doubt he’d experienced when he’d signed over his commission, and silenced every worry he’d carried back here about whether or not he could still win her heart. “When I was in Spain, I learned what it was like to be so scared you can barely think straight, and everything seems like a threat. Then, when you’re safe, the fear still chases you for a while and makes you do strange things. I shouldn’t have expected you, after one night, to be at ease with everything or even me, but given you time.”
She laid her hands over his. “There was none to be had.”
“You’re right, just like you were right about keeping the pub for John. I’ve served others my whole life. Our son will be his own man, and so will I, with you beside me, if you still want me.”
“I do. I was foolish not to admit it before, and to keep trying to push you away. I should have fought for you the way you’ve fought for me.”
“We all act a little foolish sometimes.” He winked at her and the smile she offered in return was so bright he couldn’t help but embrace her. “I love you Mary, I always have and I always will.”
“I love you too, Charles.”
He claimed her lips, ignoring the whistles and cheers of the soldiers. He held his dream in his arms and nothing would ever take her away from him again.
THE END
