by Sara Cardon
He stepped back, putting some distance between them.
“What is your home in London like?” he asked.
Miss Brook blinked. “Since my grandfather’s death, I live with my sister and her family. The arrangement suits well enough. I adore Charlotte’s children.” She turned her attention to the shells on display.
As they wandered along the storefronts, he remembered the butler’s advice. They bought meat pasties for a late luncheon. An acquaintance Mrs. Hardy spoke with recommended they follow a side street that led to a covered market.
The marketplace was teaming with people and goods—fresh mackerel, clams, peaches, and flowers.
A fisherwoman with graying hair covered her sunburned cheeks with chapped hands as he approached her cart. “Well, by the heavens if it isn’t Captain Sharpe,” she exclaimed.
Miss Brook and Mrs. Hardy turned to watch.
Jack removed his hat and bowed. “Ma’am. To whom do I owe this pleasant surprise?”
The fisherwoman’s smile was shaky and she bobbed a curtsy. “I’m Mrs. Caddy. My son John oversees the maintop. He tells me he’s righ’ smart to handle the coxswain. He served aboard the Fleetwood when yeh was in charge. I’d recognize yeh anywhere.” She wiped her hands on her apron. “I saw yeh when the ship was bein’ outfitted at Portsmouth in the dry docks. Yeh hauled as if the entire task fell on your shoulders alone. Yeh set a fine example.”
The praise lit an ember of gratification and embarrassment. Jack worked to place Mrs. Caddy’s son. Realization dawned, and with trepidation he changed tact.
Chapter 7
“Your son John is one of the men at Portsmouth . . .” Jack couldn’t finish the sentence. His throat constricted over the words awaiting trial. He glanced around at the shoppers and merchants casting curious glances at him. Miss Brook and Mrs. Hardy smiled softly as if witnessing a cheery meeting.
“John is a fine man,” Jack said with soft conviction. “I will do what I can to aid him,” he added more quietly. This crowded corner was not the place to discuss her son currently held in irons.
Mrs. Caddy lifted her apron to her eyes.
Miss Brook frowned and stepped close to the woman, her hand outstretched. At the gesture of kindness, Mrs. Caddy’s chin trembled. Miss Brook wrapped an arm around Mrs. Caddy, and the woman crumpled. Jack stood immobile at her distress.
“There, there. I have you,” Miss Brook soothed. She looked to Jack with a silent plea to rescue this woman.
Jack knew the conversation he needed to have with Mrs. Caddy would hit her like bar shot. He would rather not have Miss Brook or Mrs. Hardy witness it, but he couldn’t very well speak with the woman alone. Besides, Mrs. Caddy was in distress, poor woman, and Miss Brook had a way of offering comfort that Jack couldn’t begin to replicate. There was nothing for it but to invite Miss Brook and Mrs. Hardy to come to his aid.
“Mrs. Caddy, is there somewhere we could discuss your current circumstances in private?” Jack asked.
Mrs. Caddy glanced around and spoke to another worker. “Fanny, I’ll not be gone more’n a bit. I’ll on’y be popping home for a spell.” The other woman nodded.
“May we walk you home, Mrs. Caddy?” Miss Brook asked. “I should like to hear your story.”
Jack sighed with relief at Miss Brook’s assistance, and Mrs. Hardy took the sack the woman hefted. He helped navigate the way through the crowd, the women following in his wake until they reached the open street. Mrs. Caddy revived enough to lead the way to her quarters behind the Old Ship Inn.
Jack wasn’t keen on losing Miss Brook’s good opinion of him once she heard Mrs. Caddy’s story and learned of his grave error. But there was nothing for it now.
The interior of the ramshackle cottage was dim and damp, even with the window open. Mrs. Caddy led them to a small kitchen. When Jack ducked through the doorway, a woman with a child attached to her skirts shooed the children out and took the old dog lounging in the corner as well. Turnips and fish simmered in a pot on the hob.
“This is my daughter, Leah.”
“Don’t trouble yourselves on our account,” Miss Brook said with a gracious smile as the woman exited the room.
“Nonsense. There’s hardly room for the four o’ us. Here, take this seat, Captain.” Mrs. Caddy offered him the one upholstered chair in the kitchen, worn on the armrests. Miss Brook and Mrs. Hardy each took a mismatched chair as if it was nothing out of the ordinary.
“Can I offer yeh tea?” Mrs. Caddy asked, wiping her hands on her apron.
“No, thank you. What news do you have of John? How is he faring?” Jack steeled his muscles to hear what she would share of her son’s condition.
“He’s well enough, I’m told. Though his skin is raw from bein’ clapped in irons an’ he’s feeling low. I’ve bin makin’ him a new red handkerchief for his uniform, but it may help his sore wrists if I can get it ter him.”
Miss Brook looked between them and spoke to Mrs. Caddy. “Have you been to see him?”
Mrs. Caddy shook her head. “I haven’t the funds to. I’m barely scrapin’ by, living with my daughter.” She clasped her apron. “Captain, tell it to me plain. What’s ter become of him?” Her unblinking eyes were resolute and her jaw set.
Jack held back his grimace. As gently as he could, he would lay out the facts so she would be prepared. “He’s accused of a serious offense. For a crew to not allow a captain back on board his ship is mutiny. John will receive a defense, but to be forthright, it will not be in his favor.”
Mrs. Caddy held herself stoically, so he laid the rest before her. Witnessing the punishments shook even men with iron nerves. A mother’s heart would break. She needed to understand what John was up against so she would not shatter.
“Men have been hung for such a crime or flogged round the fleet.”
His stomach soured at his first recollection of a flogging round the line in the cold and gale winds. An unwashed man with old burn wounds long since healed on his chest had been rowed by two of his shipmates with the naval surgeon along. He was rowed alongside a naval ship where the man received twelve lashes by the boatswain. A blanket was thrown over his bloodied back, and then he was rowed to the next, receiving lashes from each naval ship in the squadron docked in the harbor.
Jack shook the image away. “Sometimes a sentence can be converted to deportation.”
Tension hung as heavy as humidity.
Mrs. Caddy choked out a sob. “Captain McCrea was a cruel brute, dolin’ out punishments an’ grievances beyond what my John ever witnessed.”
Miss Brook placed an arm around the woman, and Mrs. Hardy leaned into her. Jack fumbled for his handkerchief and passed it to her.
“How did a man like tha’ get promoted to captain?” she asked him.
Jack closed his eyes, the weight grinding into his chest. He blamed himself for the desperate situation he’d left on the Fleetwood after his promotion to a ship of the line. He owed the men who had served under him better than what they’d received. He ground his teeth together but looked Mrs. Caddy in the eyes, focusing solely on her.
“I am to blame, Mrs. Caddy. I recommended Captain McCrea for the post. And it is the greatest regret of my career. I promise to do all I can for your son and the other accused. Indeed, it is why I am in Brighton. To canvass for support in their favor.” And he’d better not forget it. He didn’t have time to pursue a becoming bluestocking.
Jack had said his peace, and since Mrs. Caddy was becoming a watering pot, he stood to take his leave.
Miss Brook squeezed the woman’s shoulders. “I will get you the necessary funds and make travel arrangements for you to Portsmouth. Do you have someone you could stay with there?”
Jack’s chest expanded with admiration for Miss Brook. She saw a need—one he wondered how he had missed—and offered her assistance without a moment’s hesitation.
Mrs. Caddy dabbed at her eyes with the handkerchief, her face red and blotchy. “I couldn’ accept such a kind of
fer. It’s too much.”
“I insist.”
Mrs. Caddy smiled through her tears. “You’re a godsend.”
Miss Brook waved the thanks away. “Your son needs you. I will be in touch with you on the morrow.”
They left the residence in a somber state. The streets, full of carriages, workers, and wares, were a gloomy sight now. Mrs. Hardy’s eyes were red and she sniffed.
“What will you do, Captain Sharpe? What can be done?” Miss Brook wound the ribbon from her reticule around a gloved hand.
“I will speak with Admiral Cartwright, who will be in attendance at the Garveys’ home, as well as a few other men with political or personal sway. I’ll find someone who will speak with the men Portsmouth’s commander-in-chief has assembled for the court.” Jack had a reasonable idea of which captains and admirals were in port and would be in attendance on Monday next.
Miss Brook touched his arm, the action pulling him to a stop on the pavement. “You can’t blame yourself, Captain. I don’t believe you would have appointed a man you believed capable of abuse.”
He stared at her hand on his arm and spoke through his closed throat. “How would you know what I am capable of?” The shame and disgrace burned him.
Jack pulled from her grip and walked ahead, crushing a clump of poppies under his boots. He ignored the red smattering of petals in his haste to find their carriage.
Chapter 8
Wind rattled the windowpanes the following morning. Lucy wove through the Elcho sitting room and up a flight of stairs. She found Reuben in the old library, bent over account books by the lone window. Lucy glanced around at the empty room, the books their only company.
He set down his quill next to the open ledger. “Ah, Lucy. How is our patron doing?”
She took the seat opposite his at the table. Under the eaves, two fowls sought protection from the wind. “Preoccupied. Grave. I have found an occasion to offer assistance and should like to solicit your help.”
Reuben leaned on his elbow. “Go on then.”
“I would like to provide some money to a widow. Some years back, her son served under Captain Sharpe. She is in distress because he is in prison awaiting trial and she cannot afford the cost of travel. I should like to provide her with enough funds to travel to Portsmouth.” Lucy folded her hands in her lap.
“That will cost about £10, depending on whether she takes the mail coach or the post-chaise.” Reuben frowned. “The cost is nothing. Is this going to help the bank succeed? You are still focused on the bank’s welfare over this woman’s, correct?”
“I can do both.” Lucy’s insides clenched with the worry of failure. All her assets—her fortune and the roof over her head in London—would be taken as collateral if the bank failed. There was no safety net in place for bank owners. She was as unprotected from the harsh elements as the birds on the other side of the windowpane.
“You are a senior partner now that you have reached your majority. You have full right to make decisions in the best interest of Tilney’s. And this act will help, I am sure.”
Lucy’s gut twisted with guilt at acting in a deceitful manner towards Captain Sharpe. She wanted to help Mrs. Caddy and Captain Sharpe because it was the right thing to do. But she couldn’t help calculating the benefits of winning his trust. The deception was necessary for now.
“Thank you, Reuben, for your advice. I am off for a walk with some brave souls willing to venture into this blustery day. Should you be joining Charlotte and me on the beach today?”
He shook his head. “I have too much work to do. Mr. Nicolson posted a letter that arrived this morning. No further accounts have been withdrawn. And he came up with a clever way to handle anyone demanding payment on a promissory note too large for our coiffures.”
“Oh?”
“He said he would shovel the gold coins into a hot oven then set them on the counter.”
Lucy laughed. “What a lark. Straight from the Mint, no doubt.”
“Burned fingers. It would be quite a joke.” Reuben chuckled, pulling his ledger close again to resume his work.
Lucy smiled to herself, hoping the joke would never be realized. Banking was not for the faint of heart.
The wind whipped Lucy’s dress against her legs as she and Charlotte made their way along the beach. Tufts of sea grass swayed in the gusts, and the wind carried droplets of salt water.
“Do we receive the benefits of sea bathing from this?” Lucy asked over the crash of the choppy waves.
“I should think so,” Charlotte smiled, clutching her pelisse to her throat. “It is a bit chilly.”
A dog barked in the distance. “I am filled with awe at the sight of this vast ocean,” Lucy said. “It looks untouched by mankind. A wilderness I cannot fathom.”
“And a handsome captain is following you with his eyes as if he cannot fathom you,” Charlotte said.
Lucy glanced over her shoulder. Captain Sharpe and his friend walked a few paces behind. She had indeed noticed his attention. The way he followed her with his gaze made her insides warm with all the heat of a full summer’s day, but her ulterior motives dampened her mood.
The barking grew louder, followed by a boy’s shouts for his dog to come back.
Lucy pivoted to see a mangy dog with his tongue hanging out of his mouth. She smiled at the sight and shook her head. A lanky boy clutching his side ran after him, his footsteps dragging.
“Here boy!” she called to the dog. She bent and held out a palm, coaxing the mutt to come closer. The dog bounded over, keeping just out of her reach, his tail wagging. A rope was tied around his neck and dragged in the gravel. “That’s right, come say hello,” she said in her most soothing voice. She cupped her hand as if she held a piece of food.
The dog came closer, sniffing.
“Good boy,” she cooed. He was almost close enough to grab hold of the rope around his neck. “A little closer.”
The dog must have realized she held no treat, because he pulled away. Lucy made a grab for the rope around his neck, catching hold. “Got you.” She smiled in triumph.
The dog backed away, pulling against his lead. Her boots slid in the gravel, but she held fast. The mutt wriggled and gave a great tug—and the rope slipped over his head.
Lucy gaped as the dog bounded away with renewed zeal. Her stomach dropped like the weight of the rope in her hands. Now the boy would have no means of keeping hold of him.
She turned with the empty rope in her hands, at a loss for how to fix the muddle she had made.
Captain Sharpe laughed, a grin splitting his face. She scowled. That man looked entirely too handsome with the wind whipping at his dratted coat. She had the unladylike urge to tug on those lapels and smack his solid chest.
“Let me see if I can catch the scalawag,” he called. Then he dashed off at a sprint.
Lucy watched his lithe movements, fixed to the spot. The dog ran fast, but Captain Sharpe soon caught up and scooped the animal into his arms. The dog’s ears flattened, and he licked the captain’s face.
“Oh my,” Charlotte said and then giggled.
Lucy’s breath tangled in her throat. Awareness tingled through her middle as he strode back, waves crashing against the rocks in the distance. Triumph animated his face as he approached.
The lanky boy huffed over to meet them. “Merryboy, you rascal. Thank you, sir.” He looked up at Captain Sharpe and straightened. The captain’s commanding presence was not lost on the boy.
“I’m happy to be of service,” Captain Sharpe said, still breathing rapidly.
The captain’s friend strode to meet them, a silly grin on his face. “Always the hero, Jack.” He shook his head.
“Captain Cochrane rescued a dog from a shipwreck,” Captain Sharpe said with a laugh. “Mrs. Hardy and Miss Brook, this is my friend, Captain Ludlow.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Lucy said.
Captain Sharpe passed the dog into the boy’s arms.
“Don’t g
o chasing the waterfowl,” he told Merryboy.
“Here is your rope that I so carelessly unhitched,” Lucy said, holding out the line.
“Let me see that,” Captain Sharpe said.
Lucy passed it to the captain, their hands connecting.
He twisted the rope. “There we are.” He slipped the rope around the dog’s head, then wound the end into a closed loop. “An eye splice to keep ahold of the line. You should keep him fast now.”
“Thank you, sir.” The boy set his dog down, the slack in the rope getting pulled taut with the dog’s movement.
“You’re welcome.”
The boy’s bright eyes turned towards Lucy. “Thank you, ma’am. Do you like dogs, miss? We have six pups ready to leave their ma. Merryboy is the father, so I know they’ll make fine dogs.”
Lucy wasn’t so sure, seeing how Merryboy had escaped his owner. “Oh. Why, thank you . . .”
“I’m Eli Duffy, ma’am. If you’d want one, I’d be happy to let you have the choice of the litter.”
Lucy bit back a smile. “That is very generous of you, Eli. I happen to adore puppies. I had one growing up in Beaulieu, Hampshire.” She bent and rubbed the dog’s head.
“Aye, miss. I can bring ‘em over. Just say the word.”
She swiped at a strand of hair and opened her mouth, unsure how to reply. She nodded her thanks. “That is very generous of you to offer.”
Captain Sharpe’s eyes danced with merriment. “Where do you belong, Eli?”
“The cottage behind the King’s Crown, sir.”
Captain Sharpe gave the boy a salute. Eli returned it with a smile, and then he and Merryboy walked along the beach back the way they’d come.
Charlotte and Captain Ludlow struck up a conversation and moved ahead.
“Eli lives in the same area as Mrs. Caddy. What a mongrel.” Captain Sharpe chuckled, deep and low.
