Home Is the Sailor

by Lee Rowan

  “I take no offense. He’s a friendly creature, but I’ve never hunted with a gun dog, so I can’t give him any amusement. Is he allowed in the house? I’ve not seen any pets about.”

  “Oh, you’ll see them, from time to time. Genie has a canary, and Mama has an old pug who spends most of its time sleeping by the fire. You walked right by him when we went to visit her—he’s three-quarters deaf and almost never stirs. There were more animals about when I was younger. Mark would have a dog or two at his heels all day, indoors or out. I’m sure the poor beast is grieving now—you saw him down at the pool.”

  “So he’s drowning his sorrows with a juicy bone instead of a pint of ale?”

  David shrugged. “Why not? Come, let’s go upstairs. We need to change into more presentable clothing.” Will was a little way behind him as he started up the stairway, but he had only gone a few steps when he heard an argument underway in what he thought of as the “gentleman’s wing.”

  Amelia’s voice was low but clear. “No, I will not! And if you think Father will allow you to simply walk in and begin rearranging our lives to suit your fancy, you had better think again!”

  David stopped short, moving closer to the railing, and motioned to Will to get out of sight.

  “You may as well accept this, Amelia.” Ronald’s voice. Of course, who else? “Once Father is gone—”

  “Which, God willing, will not be for many years yet!”

  “You will do as I bid you,” he continued, ignoring her words. “Dixon would be a better husband than you deserve, and I would find the alliance very useful. It’s not as though you’ve snared any prizes on your own—you may as well do your duty to the family.”

  She produced an unladylike snort. “Duty? What do you know of duty, Ronald? You never saw this family as anything but a purse to support your amusements!”

  “It’s a great deal more to me now, is it not? I’ll be head of the family, and you and your dear Jane had better—”

  “And you can leave Jane out of this, too. She didn’t escape one beast just to tie herself to another—”

  The sound of a slap and a cry from his sister broke David from his stillness. He gained the top of the stairs in two leaps and erupted into the hall in time to see Amelia return the slap with considerable interest—that cry had been more of anger than pain.

  He caught Ronald’s arm and swung him around, dodging the blow his brother flung at him. “What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.

  “Putting on airs,” Amelia said breathlessly, her fists clenched. “He seems to think Father is already in his grave, and he’s been promoted not only to Earl, but Archbishop of Canterbury!”

  David moved between them. “You’ve spent too long in foreign parts,” he said. “Perhaps you’ve forgotten that an Englishwoman’s consent is required for a legal marriage.”

  “She’ll do as she’s told!”

  “By you?” she flared. “I very much doubt it!”

  “By God, you need a keeper, not a husband!”

  David turned slightly, extending a hand toward each of them, and was pleased to see Ronald take a step back.

  But that did not put an end to the argument. “I’ve Father’s promise that I need not marry unless I choose to, and that if I do, I shall marry whom I choose,” Amelia said, her voice low and razor-sharp. “And I can tell you, Ronald, I’d marry that butcher Bonaparte before I’d lower myself to any creature vile enough to win your approval.”

  “Perhaps you’d best talk to our father about that,” Ronald said. “He was closeted with Beauchamp half the afternoon—no doubt he has your future assigned to my loving care.”

  “Really?” David caught his sister’s eye; she gave him a grim smile and a slight shake of the head. He had done it, then. “How much would you care to risk on that, brother?”

  Ronald’s eyes narrowed. “The old man’s nearly seventy. It’s only a matter of time. I cannot be cut out of the succession.”

  “Grandfather was eighty-five when he died,” Amelia reminded him. “And if he hadn’t tried to take that last fence, he might be with us still.”

  David decided to send his brother off on a false trail. “I don’t think Father has been pleased with your career, Ronald. My money’s on Mr. Beauchamp as trustee. At any rate, why this sudden solicitude toward Amelia? She seems to have no fear of the spinster state. Do you crave more nieces and nephews?” He felt a movement behind him, and Ronald’s scowl told him that Will was at his back.

  “I know she’s got no chance of finding a husband without help,” Ronald said. “Dixon’s a good man, and he’s willing to saddle himself—”

  “He’s a lecherous swine, and you know it,” Amelia said, and added to the others, “Ronald once brought him to visit at the town house. Captain Dixon not only proved to be a dolt, his manners were foul. He mistook Cousin Jane for a governess and tried to take liberties—particularly stupid with Father in the next room, which meant that before Dixon knew what struck him, he was standing out on the street, where he waited for half an hour while his valet packed his belongings.”

  David could easily imagine his father’s comments, too. “Not an auspicious introduction, then?”

  “Precisely what he deserved. That creature is not welcome in this house.”

  Drawing himself up, Ronald declared, “Another thing that is going to change when I’m master here.”

  “He does not sound like the sort of man I’d choose to call brother,” David said. “What is it, Ronald? Do you owe this Dixon money and mean to pay him off with your sister’s dowry?”

  Ronald’s head snapped around. “Damn you!”

  Got it in one, David congratulated himself. “Too near the mark?”

  Amelia laughed, not happily. “I had not thought of myself as a bargaining chip, Davy, but I think you hit the gold.”

  “Suit yourself, sister,” Ronald snarled. “You should be happy leading apes in Hell.” He pushed past them and flung off down the staircase. A moment later, they heard a door slam.

  “Off to the stables, to take out his ill-temper on his horse.” David realized his sister was shaking and put an arm around her, but a glance at her face made him aware that she was not frightened, but furious.

  “It seems His Lordship Presumptive has all our lives planned out for us,” Amelia said. “So kind of him! I am to marry his bosom-bow, and he himself means to marry Jane.”

  “Whatever for?” Will asked, clearly at sea. “She cannot be in favor—”

  “She most certainly is not. I suspect he’s got his eye on the money she would bring to the marriage. And no doubt he wishes to prove that he can do as he likes—but he cannot, not in this case. Jane despises him.”

  “Where are all the other ladies now?” David asked.

  “Anne is with Mother, and I believe Jane is helping Genie with her piano practice. Why do you ask?”

  “Only in the hope that none of them overheard all this.” He moved farther into the east corridor, away from the wing that held their parent’s chambers. “Are you certain Father has named me guardian for you girls?”

  “Yes. He spoke to me just before Mr. Beauchamp arrived and asked me once more if I was very sure I could rely on your judgment. I said just what I had before, and he replied that I had better be completely certain, because by the end of the day, I would have my wish. And he said—Davy, he means to leave all unentailed property to the rest of us, divided, he said, according to need.”

  David blinked. “He told you that? All of us?”

  “Yes. I asked if he meant me to keep that secret, and he said, ‘I shall inform your mother when she is able to discuss the matter. I should prefer you not tell your sisters.’”

  Astonished, David said nothing. Was that what the Earl had meant when he said that he would see to it that the girls were provided for? He was inclined to believe that their father had made the bequest to his daughters, equally, and Amelia had interpreted that more broadly, but what of it? It was her
welfare, and Genie’s, that really mattered.

  Will didn’t seem to notice his silence. “So, my lady, you do not believe he told your brother?”

  “Not if he has made the changes as he promised—and I have never known Father to break his word. It seems to me that he is keeping his conversations with Ronald to the very minimum.”

  “I hope he does tell Ronald,” David said. “And soon. That is the one thing I can imagine that might turn our brother sweet—and safeguard Father’s life. He’ll want to be sure the will is changed again, in his favor.”

  Will frowned, but Amelia nodded. “To hear him talk, one would think Father was already in his grave. Ronald was always selfish, but this surpasses all—to write his own father off so blithely!”

  “‘Only a matter of time,’” David said. “He is quite looking forward to our loss.”

  “Indeed!” She hesitated, then said, “Would it be harsh to say this makes me wonder about Mark’s accident? It was the last thing in the world one would anticipate—he was always so careful with guns!”

  “I’ve had the same thought,” Davy said. “It seems Ronald was in London, though, and we’ve no way to prove otherwise, or even inquire.”

  “Of course you can inquire,” Will said. “Why could you not? The Army must keep records of officers’ leave, and where they may be reached when they’re away.”

  “Father,” Amelia said simply.

  “But surely, in so serious a matter….” Will’s protest dwindled away as both Archers shook their heads.

  “We might hire a solicitor to make very discreet inquiries,” David said. “Though it would have to be done without my father’s approval. He may not be pleased to have Ronald in Mark’s place, but he would never approve of an inquiry.”

  “Still….”

  “No, Will. Mark’s death was ruled accidental. No one needs an alibi for an accident. I can only imagine the uproar if we were to be found investigating Ronald’s whereabouts at the time of Mark’s death.”

  “I wish that we might do it, though,” Amelia said. “And I wish I could be shocked at the thought of it being necessary, but Ronald has changed for the worse since he joined the Army. I never thought he cared much for the rest of us, except Grandmama, but he was not so utterly hateful. It seems that none of us matter now, save to serve his purpose. But Davy, really—to kill his own brother!” She faltered, looking from David to Will as if hoping for a contradiction. “Even he would not do such a thing… would he?”

  Was there any point in lying? David shrugged. “We both know that answer, Lia. Of course he would, if he thought he could do so without being caught. The question is not would he, but did he? And if so, how?”

  “That’s not the only question,” Will said. “The critical one is—if he did, how can we prove it? It would take a local magistrate to hand the case over to the Assizes. Who is that, in this district?”

  David sighed. “The Earl of Grenbrook, of course. My father.”

  A CONSPIRACY, that’s what it was. And Dearest Mama, of all people, to thank for it! Of course she had always coddled that superfluous whelp. The runt of the litter… if he had come home alone, dealing with him would’ve been a trifling matter, but he’d found himself a protector while he was away, and apparently found a backbone as well. It would be a challenge to hunt the pair of them…. But, no. Best to get over heavy ground as lightly as possible. The war would resume, they would depart, and the women could be brought to heel easily enough. Compromise the cousin, by force if necessary, and once her belly started to show, she’d marry readily enough; her marriage portion would pay off all outstanding debts.

  If one had any belief in a power higher than oneself, one would pray for war.

  Chapter 8

  RONALD’S ABSENCE at tea provided a much-needed break in the domestic drama. The Earl, Lady Anne reported, was having tea with his wife in her chambers, so the only gentlemen present were Davy and Will himself. Lady Eugenie seemed to be feeling more herself, and more determined than ever to practice her feminine wiles on a hapless naval officer. She fluttered, she gazed upon Will with wide admiring eyes, she spoke in reverent tones of the pride a woman must feel to know that the lord of her household was off fighting His Majesty’s enemies… until Davy kindly turned to his baby sister and said, “You’d hate it, you know.”

  She faced him with all the injured dignity of naïveté. “How can you possibly say that?”

  “Genie, you are not the sort of young lady who enjoys being left alone. Think of how long it’s been since I was last here at home. I’ll give you a five-pound note if you can even remember the date you last saw me.”

  The dignity vanished as she strove to summon a date from her memory, without success. “Well—but—but you are my brother!”

  “I am well aware of that, and glad of it. The year, please?” He gave her plenty of time to respond, to no avail. “I know men who have not seen their ladies in two years’ time—and I mean officers, not those poor foremast devils who only have their wives in to visit on board when the ship’s in port. And even when his ship is in port, the Captain is obliged to sleep aboard, as an example to his crew.”

  Her eyes widened. “You cannot mean that!”

  “I can and I do, little sister. Exceptions are made if a Captain is required to travel far from port, but that is the general rule… a Captain is married to his ship. If you give your heart to a sailor, you will spend most of your life alone.”

  Did the tone of his voice have a tiny edge of pain to it? Will wasn’t sure himself, and no one else seemed to notice as Davy continued, “A Navy wife can go from bride to widow without spending one week of the year under the same roof as her husband. That may be an honor, but I think it must be a lonely one. I cannot help but believe that when you give your affections to a gentleman, you will expect him to be on hand to appreciate you.”

  Jane asked demurely, “So, Cousin, is it your opinion that sailors ought not to marry at all?”

  “No, of course not,” he said. “It would be disaster for the breed to die out. But I do believe that ladies should be aware of the disadvantages. We may have splendid uniforms in His Majesty’s Navy”—he brushed a nonexistent speck of lint from one shoulder—“but you must not be swept away by them.”

  “Perhaps Genie finds the notion of being her own mistress an attractive proposition,” Lady Amelia said. “If one must have a husband, it might be convenient to have a spouse who spent all his time aboard his—” She glanced at Lady Anne and said, “Oh, I am sorry, dearest. Forgive my poor attempt at humor.”

  “You needn’t apologize. I will concede your point,” Lady Anne said. “Of course, I would prefer to have my husband at home, but when I was increasing, and now, with the girls so young, there is much to be said for Gilliam being in the Service. My life is more serene than if he were present to take me out on the social rounds, and domesticity has made me so content that I must seem rather dull. I truly prefer a quiet life, spending the day with my sewing, or perhaps visiting a friend or two.”

  Will caught the twinkle in her eye and did not miss the consternation on Lady Eugenie’s pretty face. “That sounds much more pleasant than what befell Lady Pellew when Sir Edward made his famous rescue of the Dutton,” he said. “Do you know the story?”

  “I know he saved almost the whole ship’s company,” Lady Anne said. “Several hundred souls, was it not?”

  “Over five hundred,” Will said, “the youngest a baby who had been born during the voyage. The ship ran aground in a storm, and all her officers were able to do was get a hawser to shore. Merchantmen, of course,” he added. “Not Navy. The ship was in confusion because the officers had left, and it was being knocked to pieces all the while.”

  “I had heard nothing of Lady Pellew. What was her part in the rescue?”

  “Prayer and patience.” He saw that he had Lady Eugenie’s rapt attention as well, and explained, “Sir Edward was taking her to dine with the vicar when their carriage was
halted by the hubbub of people watching the wreck of the Dutton. He went off to see what the trouble was and immediately took command of the situation—leaving her ladyship in the carriage whilst he swam out to the ship along the hawser and organized a rescue. His own ship—the Indefatigable, I believe—” He looked to Davy, who nodded. “—was also attempting to assist the Dutton, and eventually they brought everyone safely to shore.”

  “But Lady Pellew,” Eugenie said. “What became of her, that night?”

  “We must assume she either continued on to dinner or went home to await news and notify a physician to stand by. Sir Edward injured his back on the way out to the ship and spent a week in bed afterward.”

  “Ah, that refutes my argument,” Davy said. “He did spend an entire week at home. And I’m sure her ladyship was gratified when Sir Edward was made a baronet for his heroism.”

  “I think I should rather have my husband whole and sound,” said Lady Anne. “I am proud enough of him without such extraordinary exploits. What a long night that must have been for Lady Pellew!”

  “Sir Edward has always had a reputation as a fire-breather,” Will said. “I believe she is well accustomed to sitting at the hearth, waiting for news of his latest exploit.”

  Lady Eugenie shook her curls. “How could anyone be accustomed to being left on the side of the road?”

  “Well, I’m certain you would not appreciate it,” Davy said. “Nor would you like to see your spouse lying prostrate, unable to squire you to a ball.”

  She bridled. “If he had come by his injury so honorably, I would sit beside him and tend his injuries! I am not a silly little girl, you know.”

  “Of course not,” he agreed. “You are a silly young lady.”

  She turned to Will. “I am convinced, sir, that if you had sisters, you would not tease them so!”

  “No, never,” he said quickly. She smiled, and he added, in self-defense, “I should probably be much worse.”

  Lady Amelia took pity on him. “Anne, you said you had a letter from Gilliam this afternoon. Is there any chance he will be given leave to come home?”