Home Is the Sailor

by Lee Rowan

  She nodded. “Yes, and of course Ernest Patterson realized what Ronald had done when he went out to the stable the next morning and recognized Dancer. He immediately rode over to return him. Ronald was out once more, so Mr. Patterson spoke to Father….” She smiled at Will. “I am sorry to draw you into this.”

  “I can see that it’s none of your doing,” he said. “Rest assured I shall forget everything you’ve said the moment we leave this room.”

  With a grateful nod, she turned back to Davy. “Father was furious, of course. At first he said that Ronald must pay Mr. Patterson full value for Dancer. But I could see that if he were forced to do that….”

  Davy’s face was white with anger. “He’d take my horse out again—which he had no business doing at all, in the first place—and there’d be an accident of some sort, and he’d be ‘forced’ to put him down.”

  “Yes, exactly. But you were at sea—in fact, this took place when you were convalescing in Jamaica. We had no idea when you might be able to return—”

  “Or if I would ever return,” Davy said cynically. “Convenient for him, if I had not. But he might at least have waited until my body had cooled!”

  “We’d no idea when you would return,” his sister said in a tone that brooked no argument, “to claim the poor creature. So I spoke to Father and Mr. Patterson, and they agreed on the details. He has the use of Dancer as a riding hack, and if you find yourself home on half-pay for a considerable length of time, Father will pay Squire Patterson the original sum, plus board, and Ronald will find his allowance rather scant at the quarter-day.”

  “Thank you, my dear,” Davy said. “You have the wisdom of Solomon—Patterson’s got a decent seat. I shall have to visit and give him my thanks. Not just yet, though. I think Dancer is safer at the Hall, for the present.”

  “I think so, too,” Amelia said. “And I have been longing for a chance to spend some time out of doors, so if you gentlemen will excuse us, we will be back shortly. Shall we meet by the front door in half an hour?”

  The gentlemen rose until the ladies had left the room, and Will turned to Davy with a look of disbelief.

  “Yes, that’s my beloved older brother,” Davy said. “If you had any doubt of my objectivity regarding his character—”

  Will said, with chagrin, “I had hoped you might’ve exaggerated a little.”

  “If only that were true. His behavior has become so infamous that I suspect Father would disinherit him—except, of course, he cannot now that he’s the legal heir. And if he could, that would mean he’d be stuck with me, so even if the law of the land allowed it, his own judgment would leave things as they are.”

  “You slight yourself,” Will said.

  “No, Will. I do think I’m a better man than my father believes me to be—but up to the job of tending this place, with all these lives to care for? In all honesty, I believe that task is beyond my ability. But unless Mark has left a son, Ronald is the heir. If the baby is a girl, Ronald becomes Viscount Archer, by custom—though there’s some consolation in knowing that is only a courtesy rank so long as my father lives. It galls me that you—or anyone—might one day be obliged to address him as ‘my lord.’”

  “Respect to the rank, not the man,” Will said. “Just as a seaman with twenty years’ experience salutes even the most dim-witted eight-year-old middie.”

  “He’s a major as well, and never allows anyone to forget it. I tell you, Will, I pray that Virginia is carrying a strong, healthy son. Or better still, twin boys, hard-headed and belligerent.”

  Will laughed as Gavin returned with the coffee. For courtesy’s sake, he drank a cup he did not especially want, though its excellence made it a pleasure rather than a chore. That finished, Davy sent word to the stable to saddle two horses and bring around the gig, then led the way back to their room to exchange their shoes for more durable footwear. In Davy’s case, an old pair of riding boots had been brought out of storage and polished for his use. He had a complete riding kit as well, with snug buckskin breeches that clung lovingly and made Will’s fingers itch to touch him.

  “It’s as well I lost a stone,” Davy said with a critical frown in the looking-glass. “I was a bit younger when these were fitted!” He caught Will watching him and said, “Now, Captain—”

  “I find myself wishing we could take a journey,” Will said, keeping his voice low. “A long journey together, just the two of us.”

  A smile tugged at the corner of Davy’s mouth. “In a closed coach, I suppose?”

  “How did you know?”

  “I’ve been wishing the same thing almost since we arrived. But duty calls, sir! Shall we go and see whether the ladies are ready?”

  DAVID TOOK a slight detour to his mother’s suite on the way downstairs, where Kirby informed him that her ladyship was still asleep. “And it’s knowing you’re here, sir, that lets her rest so sound,” the maid assured him. “I’ll tell her you stopped when she wakes.”

  “I doubt my presence serves as a sleeping potion,” he remarked to Will as they descended the stair, “but it’s kind of her to think so. I wish there were something more I might do.”

  “I think she was absolutely correct,” Will said. “Your mother just lost a son. Having you here, whole and sound, may mean more to her than you realize.”

  “It’s certainly pushed our other dilemma to one side, at least for now. I may have to consider finding lodgings in Plymouth, rather than Portsmouth, if she continues to do so poorly. If I can help her by my presence—”

  “You would not stay here?”

  “With Ronald at home? Not if I have any alternative.” He preferred to avoid considering his own future, let alone the family’s. He had a comfortable competence, and for one who owned a home and had little interest in games of chance, it would be more than sufficient. But after a life at sea, he could not produce much enthusiasm for finding some snug berth ashore from which he might watch Will be rowed out to a ship that would set sail and carry him off. Sit there like a maiden aunt, with nothing to do but watch the Naval Gazette for the casualty reports? That was no kind of life for a man.

  Amelia and Jane were waiting and ready at the door. “Our transportation is waiting, gentlemen,” Amelia announced. “And as you see, we have confounded the rumor that ladies cannot dress quickly.”

  “So you have,” David said. His sister and cousin were wearing neat, dark riding habits, their alacrity speaking volumes about how eager they were to get out of the house, even for so short an excursion. He held the door for them and gave Jane a boost up into her saddle while the groom held her horse; Will handed Amelia up into the gig. They started off without complication, but had barely gone halfway up the drive to the road when a pair of horsemen came trotting down it toward them.

  David would have recognized them immediately, even if the scarlet uniform had not proclaimed his brother’s rank. But the years had not been kind to Ronald. No longer the slender youth of the portrait, he had not only put on two or three stone, but had also acquired the sort of coarse, reddened complexion that suggested too many late nights and far too much drink. He was not quite thirty, but he looked years older.

  Amelia brought the gig to a halt as the Archer men approached.

  “Out for some air?” their father inquired.

  She nodded. “Yes, Papa. I proposed we show Captain Marshall our Devon countryside, but I was too lazy to walk in the mud.”

  He gave a curt nod. “Sensible girl. With your mother and sister both under the weather, you see to it that you stay in good health!”

  Ronald had sidled his mount closer to the gig, to give Will an insolent looking-over. “Captain?” Ronald asked, with his usual down-the-nose stare. “I was given to understand your rank was Commander.”

  “A courtesy title,” David said before Will could speak—there was scarcely any polite answer to that sort of comment. “Similar to the ‘Viscount’ you stand to attain, except that in the Navy, a Commander must actually do a C
aptain’s work aboard his own vessel. Hence the address.”

  “Oh, dear,” Ronald said mockingly. “My apologies, Captain.”

  “Do give me a chance to introduce our guest before you begin slighting him,” Amelia chided. “Captain Marshall, this is my brother, Major Ronald Archer of the—”

  Ronald interrupted her. “Not for much longer, dear sister. I am in uniform only until I can spare the time to return to my regiment and sell out.” He reached down to shake Will’s hand for the briefest possible moment. “I’ve heard that our lads in blue can form very tight bonds in all those months at sea,” he said with a smirk at David. “I’ve no doubt you two are closer than brothers.”

  “Closer than some brothers, I suppose,” Will responded. “At sea we’ve no time to indulge in childish jealousies.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you are always hard at work,” Ronald said, with a lift of an eyebrow that said just the opposite.

  The Earl cleared his throat.

  Oblivious to this family signal to change the subject, Will went on, “You know, Major, I find that every branch of His Majesty’s service has foolish stories they tell about the others. Just last week I overheard one of my men relating a droll tale about Army officers’ affection for their horses.”

  Amelia gave a strangled cough and put her hand to her lips; an unhealthy flush spread up Ronald’s tanned face.

  “Absurd, of course!” Will continued, as though the obscene implication was too coarse to have ever crossed the mind of an officer and gentleman. “And so utterly wanting in good sense. One would think that having a common enemy in France would encourage mutual respect among His Majesty’s officers, no matter their uniform.”

  “Well said, sir,” the Earl said, in a tone that closed the subject. “I’m pleased to see that one of my sons is now choosing his friends wisely. Come, Ronald. I want you to review the records of the work your brother began on the Four-acre Field. I mean to see his plans continue without interruption. Ladies.” He touched heels to his horse and was off, with Ronald throwing a venomous glare over his shoulder as he followed his father.

  Always the left-handed compliment, David thought bitterly. Now choosing my friends wisely. Ah, well, it was a point in Will’s favor and, if his father’s sharp look at Ronald had been any indication, that line of discussion was well and truly closed while the old man was in earshot. Had his brother any real clue regarding his relationship with Will? Probably not; as Will surmised, it was the old rivalry between the services, as well as the old scorn for the weakling younger brother.

  “Are they gone?” Amelia asked in a strained voice.

  “Out of earshot, yes,” Jane said.

  “Thank heaven!” She let out a peal of laughter and turned to Will. “Captain Marshall—oh, pardon me, Commander!—I had no notion you had such a deadly wit! My brother always speaks of how serious you are!”

  “But I am serious!” he protested. “That is, I was. In all the years I have been at sea, I have never heard an Army jibe that had any vestige of originality to it. I had expected something more creative from Mr. Archer’s brother.”

  “Ah, but David is the bookish son,” she said. “He inherited my mother’s love for words, the other boys my father’s love for chasing small animals on horseback.”

  David winced at her grammar. “You must admit, getting small animals to ride horseback is something of an accomplishment,” he put in, and received a mock-grimace for his pains. “Well played, Will—but don’t expect that to be the end of it!”

  WILL WAS relieved to be outdoors instead of cooped up in the elegant but oppressive manor house. The day was damp and gray, and a sharp wind blew in from across the moor, but some sensible groom had put a couple of carriage robes in the gig, and his companions’ conversation kept him from paying too much attention to his cold feet. Odd, how one noticed such things, sitting in a carriage. It had been far colder aboard the Mermaid, but since he was constantly walking about the deck, he had seldom noticed the chill.

  They followed the road in the opposite direction from the way the coach had brought them in. Grenbrook land, as far as they could see—the home farm that raised necessities for the manor house. Will had thought Davy was joking when he had given him a scarf one Christmas and said it was knitted from the wool of his family’s own sheep, but here were those very sheep, nibbling away at the tough winter grass in a pasture that sloped gently up toward a wood, tall old bare trees with a few evergreens dark among the cold gray branches. It looked like a painting. It probably was a painting, come to think of it. He’d seen a few of this kind of scene back in the gallery.

  “It’s a pity we didn’t come here in the spring,” Davy said, riding beside him. “The orchard is lovely. Better in summer, of course, when the fruit starts to come ripe.”

  “If you should ever happen to visit when the peaches are ripe, Captain,” Lady Amelia said, “be sure you do not let him persuade you to climb up after them. I nearly broke my neck that way, once—and tore my dress!”

  “Why did you do it?”

  “I knew that if I did not, he would climb up there himself—and he was only four. His legs were too short.”

  “You see, Will—I told you my sister was a heartless wretch. To throw such a thing up at a man, after twenty years!”

  Lady Amelia laughed. “Well, they were short, but you did finally grow—and very well, too.”

  “It was the nourishment in those peaches,” Davy said. “And you know you’d have gone up that tree whether I’d been there or not. She was always a tomboy,” he added to Will, “and if memory serves me, so was this lady. Cousin Jane, would you care for a race to the bridge?”

  Miss Winston, who had said little thus far, brightened, gathered up her reins, and said, “Certainly!” She was off in an instant. Davy laughed and sent his own mount galloping after her down a long open stretch of road.

  Will was enchanted by the sight of Davy on horseback, balanced in the saddle as though he’d been born to it. “I knew he rode,” he said. “He’s tried to teach me once or twice. I had no idea he rode so well.”

  “My brother never boasts,” Lady Amelia said, “but he is every bit as good a rider as my father. How is it that you do not? Do you dislike horses?”

  “The skill never seemed important,” Will confessed. “My father was a parson and we had a horse and a gig much like this one, but my interest was all directed toward the water. I suppose I would have found time to learn to ride if I had stayed ashore, but I was off to sea by the time I was twelve.”

  “So young!” she said. “I think of my brother at that age, and he was… well, I’m sure he thought himself quite grown-up, but I thought of him as a little boy still. Was that not a lonely life for a child, and frightening?”

  “Oh, no,” he said absently, still watching the riders, now a mile or more away. “It was a marvelous adventure. I had a very dutiful captain who saw to it that his ‘young gentlemen’—what we call midshipmen—were properly looked after and educated. It was important to him that naval officers be the equal of Army men, even though we might’ve started out as commoners. I was older when the war began with France, and even then I was too young and stupid to be frightened.”

  “But the battles—the cannon? It must be deafening to have them firing off so close!”

  He grinned. “Oh, it is, but to a boy, the louder the roar, the better. That may be different for girls, or perhaps it’s only youth. I think understanding of the danger only comes with experience—it becomes real when one sees shipmates killed or wounded.” He wondered if he had ever really known fear until he saw Davy shot. Yes, of course he had—but nothing that struck so hard or pierced so deep. “But the business of the Navy is war, after all. In a few years, one becomes accustomed to facing danger, and the fear of being thought afraid is stronger even than the fear of death.”

  She gave him a curious look but only said, “I have never been on a real ship, even on the Channel, and I would so love to have the chanc
e. We Archer daughters are not allowed adventure; my father does not hold with women traveling except when absolutely necessary. That suits Mama. She is content to go to London and Bath and sometimes the seaside—but if Davy has inherited our mother’s love of reading, I think I have a little of my father’s thirst for activity. I do wish to sail, one day, for at least a short journey. For something so large to move so swiftly must be thrilling.”

  “It is,” he said. “To run before the wind, with nothing but the sound of the sea rushing by….” He broke off as Davy came thundering back, his cousin close behind, both flushed and laughing with the sheer excitement of being alive. “It feels the way they look. To have such power at your command, not just for the function of movement, but the joy of it.”

  “My brother said you loved the sea. He never said you waxed poetic.”

  Will felt himself blush. “I do not, as a rule. Unless a man is inclined to write poetry—and I am not—we may feel such things, but we hardly speak of them. Perhaps it’s your brother’s influence. He introduced me to Shakespeare, and I think such exposure must improve a man’s vocabulary.”

  “Captain, the best vocabulary in the world cannot express what is not felt.”

  He had no reply to that, but didn’t need one. Davy slowed his horse as he drew closer. “That was more like it! Will, you must ride at least a little while we are here. I know you would enjoy it once you’ve had a bit of practice.”

  “Yes, do,” Lady Amelia said. “The most beautiful places on the estate can only be reached on foot or horseback, and with my brother as chaperone, Jane and I would not need a groom as escort.”

  The riders fell into step on either side of the gig, and Davy smiled sympathetically at his sister. “Old Mother Hubbard?”