He tried to relax—truly he did—even as he wondered if such a quiet, self-effacing woman could find a way to help him navigate the shoals of disaster during this time of near-war and national emergency. Had he asked too much of such a lady?
He knew he alone could live in poverty on half pay until the war resumed, but he wanted more. He could not afford a wife, but he wanted Meridee Bonfort. He had no home for her, but he wanted her watching for him out of an upstairs window as he returned from the sea. He didn’t even have a bed for a wife, but he wanted one, and he wanted Meridee Six in it with him.
How had he gone from having nothing except a prodigious brain to wanting everything? When had the universe ever shifted in his favor? He sat up suddenly, resolved to quit this quiet country vicarage tomorrow. He had been well-fed and warm for several weeks. He had read most of the vicar’s books and contemplated Christmas, however briefly. If the Ripleys chose not to pay him for his highly enjoyable service to their sons, he would understand, because he had not stayed to complete his tenure. He had enough coins to eke out bare subsistence until he collected his next half-pay cheque.
He went to the landing and sat there in his smallclothes, supremely dissatisfied with himself. He never should have accepted Lieutenant Caldwell’s kind offer of employment, because now he hoped, where previously he had merely endured. If there was anything more treacherous than hope, he did not know what it was, and he knew everything.
No matter how distressed he was deep inside, in that intimate place where only Meridee had been allowed a glimpse, Able taught his pupils in the morning with his usual flair. He admired their ability with fractions, when only weeks ago they had quailed at the thought of mere multiplication tables. Even Gerald, the more timid brother, sat sprawled in his chair with a certain confidence he had earlier lacked.
Able would have fared better if people had not come and gone all day from the vicar’s study. Each ring of the doorbell set his nerves spinning. More than once, he casually leaned out of the schoolroom door, hoping against hope to see a lovely lady with striking blue eyes. Christmas was coming, and he began to understand the vicar’s added work as parishioners came and went.
Able nearly sent the boys on their own after-luncheon walk, except that the sun had finally broken through, and James reminded him of his promise to show them how to use a sextant. Well and good. He had promised, and he confessed to himself his own eagerness to take the beautiful instrument outside and shoot the sun. There was no danger he could forget how to use this complicated instrument, but he felt his heart rise to just hold the thing again.
In a landscape flat and featureless, Gerald found a small rise. Able put his eye to the telescope and settled his elbow into his side, the better to prevent—Ah, but wait, the ground did not pitch or yaw like a quarterdeck. He could stand there and hold his lovely sextant.
It didn’t take long to get latitudinal and longitudinal readings, do the math in his head, and determine precisely at what degree and minute they stood. Gerald and James were suitably impressed, then clamored for their own turns, which he happily supplied. They measured distance from a tree, then the height of the tree itself, until everyone was satisfied.
“We can do this at night, too,” he assured them as they ambled home. “We can measure the lunar distance between the moon and, say, Orion’s belt.”
“Do you ever get lost, Master Six?” James asked.
I am lost now, he thought. “No,” he lied. “I can find anything.”
Nearly anything, he decided after supper, as he prepared to accompany the vicar and his sons caroling. Mrs. Ripley had been kind enough to let him watch her play five carols on the pianoforte that afternoon. He memorized the simple tunes immediately, but shook his head when she stood up and indicated that he play them. He knew he could because he had observed her, but the fun was gone.
They left the vicarage after dark in a disorganized gaggle of young parishioners and a few doughty older ones who provided the leaven of excellent voices to complement the enthusiasm of young singers. Mrs. Ripley waved to them from the door. The entire household had been tantalized all afternoon with the fragrance of wassail and Christmas treats. When they returned, Able knew he would enjoy the treats as much as the young ones because it was all new to him, this Christmas business.
First stop was the manor at the edge of Pomfrey belonging to the vicar’s patron, Lord Peter Randolph, Earl of Pomfrey. They sang, and the bolder children who had been given the keeping of the alms basket stepped forward.
The earl did not disappoint, tossing in a number of coins and stepping back so his footman could hand out warm pasties. When Lord Randolph nodded good night to them all and the butler closed the door, the children gathered around the alms basket with oohs and ahhs, as their parents looked on indulgently.
They traveled through Pomfrey, singing and collecting more alms for the poor, worthy or otherwise, and eating whatever their listeners chose to provide. Pomfrey was only a middling prosperous village, but the people knew how to keep up appearances. Master Able Six fell farther and farther back because he wanted to watch the children with their parents.
None of you have any idea how lucky you are, he thought. He would leave tomorrow before Meridee Bonfort returned. She deserved more than he could ever provide her.
Finally, he stood still on the path, unwilling to take another step. To his surprise, it began to snow. To his greater surprise, someone who must have crept up quietly put her arm through his. He started, then felt his entire body relax, because Meridee Bonfort had returned.
He stared at her, wondering how she had got to Pomfrey. Hadn’t Mrs. Ripley told her to take a room in Plymouth and send a note the next day so they could fetch her? Why was she here?
He wanted to ask all those questions, but she was standing on tiptoe now, her hands already cupping each side of his face, reminding him that he hadn’t bothered to shave this morning.
“You know your beard is too heavy to skip a morning shave,” she scolded in her gentle way. “You need a keeper, and I am she.”
He grabbed her up and kissed her, even though he had promised himself fifteen seconds ago that he would be gone by morning. She kissed him back, making small noises in her throat. Or maybe he was doing that; he couldn’t tell. He couldn’t even decide whose heart was beating louder.
He set her down for a moment, and it was his turn to take her face in his hands. “Was it a fool’s errand?” he asked.
“No, Master Six, it was not,” she said, turning her face toward one of his palms to kiss it, and then the other. “I did not go to fail.”
“What . . . what . . . ?” He didn’t even know what to ask her.
“You will be teaching boys from the age of six to sixteen all manner of arithmetic, geometry, and something called calculus at St. Brendan’s School right in Portsmouth,” she said, then rested her head against his chest. “I gave Captain Hallowell a black eye and . . .”
He grabbed her shoulders. “You did what?”
“He trod on my last and final nerve,” she said with considerable dignity. Able saw how tired she was, and it touched his heart. “I’ll tell you later. I went to St. Brendan’s with him.”
The woman of his heart gave him a kind and patient look. “You were wrong, though. St. Brendan’s has nothing to do with Trinity House.”
“I was wrong?” he asked, wondering if he heard her right.
“Completely,” she replied. “St. Brendan’s is . . .”
He swung her around, his heart overflowing with relief so unexpected he could barely contain himself. “I was wrong!” He set her down and stared into her astounded face. “Don’t you see? I was wrong! Meri, maybe I’m a little bit normal, too!”
Her expression changed to one of surpassing compassion as tears welled in her eyes. She put her arms around his neck and pulled him close. “Maybe you are, my love,” she whispered. “Even you can make a mistake or two.”
He held her close in vast relief. Lo
ving Meridee Bonfort was still the most wonderful thing that had ever happened to him. Coupled with the reality that even he could get something wrong now and then set his crowded brain at ease, not to mention his heart.
His practical almost-wife took him in hand. “All this mooning is well and good, Master Six, but you must hurry back to the vicarage with me. I promised I wouldn’t keep Captain Hallowell waiting.”
“Great merciful saints above, he is here?”
“Captain and Mistress Hallowell are sitting in the parlor with my sister as we speak.”
She tried to put him into motion by tugging on his hand, but he held firm. “Tell me what you know first. St. Brendan’s?”
She looked around as if the woods held French spies and moved closer until she was inside his boat cloak with him, which didn’t upset him in the least. “St. Brendan’s is a new school, rather a secret, established only three years ago by the Royal Navy. The idea is to train young men and boys for sea service.”
“They already do that at sea as Young Gentleman and then midshipmen,” he said, still mystified.
“And when did an orphan lad or a boy from the docks ever become a midshipman?” she asked, still whispering to throw off any spies. “No, Master Six, these are dockside lads willing to learn navigation and other skills before they go to sea, to serve as you do now, as warranted officers someday, if they are good enough.”
“My word,” he said in amazement and started walking at a fast clip, dragging Meridee with him.
“Slow down! That’s better,” she replied, hurrying to keep up. “It stands to reason, Able. Someone high up in the government—no idea who—decided to fund such a venture. At least, that’s what St. Brendan’s master told me.”
He stopped again. “You spoke to the master?” he asked.
Meridee nodded. He saw the pride on her face. “I was frightened to death, but I told them how well-suited you were for such a task. I even looked Sir Horatio Nelson in the eye and said yes, you were a remarkable sailing master, but only one man, and wouldn’t the navy benefit by that one man teaching mathematics to a whole generation of sailing masters?” She lowered her gaze modestly. “He agreed.”
“Meri, you astound me,” he said. “Nelson himself. You pleaded my cause before the master of St. Brendan’s and Nelson himself.”
“I did,” she said, and he heard her quiet pride, which soon yielded to the bubbling enthusiasm he already knew was essential to his future well-being. “Do you know, Admiral Horatio Nelson isn’t a great deal taller than I am? He told me such a diverting story about putting a telescope to his blind eye at the Battle of Copenhagen so he wouldn’t have to obey an order!”
“Meridee Bonfort, where did Sir Horatio enter this story? Start from the beginning,” he insisted.
Her eyes filled with tears. “A very handsome man on half pay walked from Plymouth to the home of Lieutenant Caldwell just as I happened to be dropping off some tatting for the lieutenant’s mother.”
He held her close.
Chapter Fourteen
They were married three weeks later, after Able’s own quick trip to Portsmouth and St. Brendan’s with his captain to be tested and tried and pronounced supremely fit to instruct. The wedding took place the morning after the third and final bann was called and two days before a Christmas that almost was lost in the shuffle, even in a vicarage. Meridee wore a green wool dress with a fine bit of lace at the collar, a serviceable garment that her sister said would be warm enough for a place as chilly as Portsmouth. Amanda Ripley had cried and kissed them both, and cried some more.
Meridee’s nephews, solemn now and sad they were parting, gave them a paper sheaf full of Christmas angles. “Use them in your classroom, Master Six,” Gerald announced.
“I will, lads,” Able replied, his emotions barely held in check. “Thank you both. Mariners are a superstitious lot. Angelic angles will bring us good luck.”
No one in the world had ever looked as handsome as Master Able Six in his plain uniform with his black curly hair, his brown eyes, and his ivory complexion—gifts from an unknown father. His improbable Scottish accent when he spoke his responses so firmly made some of the less informed members of the congregation chuckle quietly, but Meridee didn’t care.
There wouldn’t have been a ring if Captain Hallowell hadn’t taken Able aside the very morning before the wedding and handed him a filigreed bit of gold acquired somewhere considerably east of Greenwich Mean Time. It fit her thumb, which made everyone smile. Able whispered a promise to have it resized as soon as he could afford such an extravagance.
And that was the end of Meridee Bonfort Six’s years in the country—and Able’s month there. They spent a tumultuous, nearly sleepless Christmas Eve at The Drake in Plymouth, day one of a two-night stay, courtesy of that same Captain Hallowell, whose black eye had faded until it was scarcely noticeable. Officially husband and wife now, they woke bleary-eyed on Christmas morning to the sound of church bells.
“That’s more noisy than birds in the country,” her husband muttered and attempted to bury his face in her hair.
“You don’t care for country birds and you don’t like church bells, you heathen,” his official keeper scolded, but gently. “What will satisfy you?”
His answer ended in a shriek from Meridee and then a pleasant sort of silence.
Someone—perhaps the captain again—had seen to it that meals were delivered to their room. Meridee discovered that onions did not agree with Able, but generously overlooked the matter.
Able told her something else that second afternoon, something he assured her he had never divulged to anyone. “Who would believe me?” he asked her neck.
She listened with her whole heart as he hesitated and stumbled, but finally came out with it.
“I have an early memory, Mistress Six,” he said. “Quite an early one.”
“Say on, Master Six,” she replied, settling herself in the crook of his arm.
“I remember being cold and even getting stiff,” he said, his eyes closed and moving about until she put her hand over them. “I was crying.” He was silent a long moment. “Will you even believe this?” he asked.
“You know I will,” she whispered and took her hand away.
“I felt someone’s hand on my stomach and then my head, which was wet. A woman said, ‘Grá mo chroí.’ The next thing I remember is an old man wrapping me in a brown coat and taking me inside a church.”
“My word,” Meridee said in simple, quiet astonishment. “My word.”
“I didn’t know what it meant, but I knew what I had heard,” he told her hair this time. “When I was seven, a little lad from somewhere in the country came to the workhouse. He spoke only Gaelic, so I taught him English. When he knew enough, I asked him what Grá mo chroí meant.”
She felt her husband’s tears in her hair and held her breath.
“‘Love of my heart,’ he told me.” Her husband took a deep breath and another. “Meridee, she loved me.”
Thanks to a generous wedding gift from Uncle Bonfort, Able and Meridee Six traveled in comfort in a post chaise to Portsmouth and still had quite a lot of money left over to start housekeeping, because Meridee understood domestic arithmetic.
To her delight, the master of St. Brendan’s School included a furnished house in the bargain, and something more, which came in the form of a letter to her specifically, offering her, Meridee Bonfort Six, the position of house mistress to the youngest students of St. Brendan’s.
The official letter made her blush, containing as it did a not-so-formal paragraph stating she and Master Instructor Six could enjoy their new house and their new marriage for two weeks with no little boys about. “After such time,” the letter concluded, “you will manage four young scholars to begin with.”
Following their brief-enough journey from Plymouth, they stood before the door of the two-story stone house on St. Brendan’s Way, Portsmouth. After a huge sigh, Able took out the key the headmaster had given
to him. He unlocked the door, pocketed the key, picked up Meridee Six, and carried her across the threshold. He set her down, kissed her soundly, then went in search of a lamp, or at least a candle or two, because evening was coming fast.
Meridee stood by the door, feeling surprisingly shy, considering her previous excellent days of indoctrination as wife of a man she adored and always would. “I will be the best keeper a genius ever had,” she said softly.
She looked around at a quiet knock on the door, a knock low down on the wood. Curious, she opened it and felt her heart turn over.
There stood a small boy dressed in what she already knew was the uniform of a student of St. Brendan’s. Next to him stood an older child.
“Welcome to our home,” she said and indicated they come inside.
They did. She thought of another little boy, bewildered and frightened at his strangeness in a place where a child had no hope, unless he found it within himself. “Your names, please?” she asked.
“Jamie McBride,” the older boy announced. “I am in my third year.” She heard the pride in his voice. “I will be at sea soon.”
“And your name?” she asked the little one, kneeling down to be on his level.
“David Ten,” he told her.
She couldn’t help her sudden intake of breath, then felt a firm hand on her shoulder. Her husband helped her to her feet.
“Are you two our welcoming committee?” Able Six asked. “Classes start tomorrow, promptly at two bells in the forenoon watch.”
David Ten nodded. “Will we learn great things, sir?”
“The greatest,” her husband said.
David looked up at the boy beside him. Through a film of tears, Meridee saw the fear in the child’s eyes.
“Jamie says no one is beaten at St. Brendan’s if they don’t have a right answer, and we all go to sea when we have learned a lot.”
Meridee leaned back against her husband and felt his shudder. She took his hand and kissed it, because she was his keeper.
“No one is beaten at St. Brendan’s,” Master Six said. “Anything else, lads?”
A Country Christmas (Timeless Regency Collection Book 5) Page 16
