by Carla Kelly
The sea had been Jim’s idea, and Jeremiah had followed. He had told her once before they shipped out as midshipmen how grateful he was to Sir William for finding him a berth with Jim and giving him an opportunity his own father, good man that he was, could never have provided. Miah, you were always the more ambitious one, Ianthe thought, as she looked at her sleeping daughter. If I am not being disloyal to your father, Diana, I would hope you would find a man more like Jeremiah.
She left her daughter’s room and stood for the longest time outside the door to Jem’s room, wanting to enter and look at him, even as she knew how unnecessary it was. Maybe looking at her sleeping children was her talisman, her lucky charm. It was a habit she felt uneasy about breaking. Perhaps Miah was a sound sleeper.
“Ianthe?”
She hadn’t even put her hand on the doorknob yet. Miah Faulk must be the lightest sleeper in the universe. Of course he is, you nod, she scolded herself. He is probably still tuned to instant response. She sighed and opened the door, sorry to disturb him.
He was on his cot, but propped up on his elbow, alert. “Is everything shipshape and aboveboard?” he whispered. “All’s well in here.”
“Every night since they were tiny, I have always looked in on my children. You must think me so forward, but I have never missed a night.”
“No bother. I’ve been known to walk around belowdeck, just to see how my crew is. I do understand you.” He looked at her in perfect comprehension. “Maybe we are more alike than you ever thought.” He chuckled. “Post captain and mother.”
She couldn’t help but smile as she went to Jem’s bed and stood there her usual moment, watching her son’s peaceful slumber. And what is your future, my son? she asked herself. Lately she had wondered that more and more often. Not for the first time, she mentally chided herself for not taking that solicitor seriously. No other offers had come her way. Ah, well. She pulled Jem’s blanket a little higher, kissed his forehead and turned to leave the room.
While she was looking at Jem, Miah had composed himself for sleep again, hands folded peacefully across his stomach. Impulsively, she went to him, pulled his blanket higher and kissed his forehead, too. In the morning, that would perhaps seem like the most brazen thing she had ever done. In the moonlight, it wasn’t.
She turned to leave, but he took her hand, held it and kissed it in turn. “Thank you for watching over me in your prayers,” he whispered, and released her.
“How could I not?” she told him quietly. “Good night, Jeremiah.”
Her own bed was cold. She seemed to take forever to get warm enough to sleep. At least the room was dark and she was alone, so no one could see her blush as she thought of how nice it would be to put her cold feet on someone’s warm legs.
Faulk woke before Jem, but lay there enjoying the deep breathing of another human. The house was so quiet at night that he had only dozed fitfully until he heard Ianthe outside the door. As he had watched her tend to her son, he was again struck by sadness at what Jim was never to know. Her kiss, so surprising, but so right, had been as tender as a benediction, and he slept more peacefully than he had in years.
The mood was on him this morning, though. He lay there wanting Ianthe as much as he had ever wanted her in his entire life. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but he had a strong suspicion that if he were to go to her room right now, she would pull back the blanket and let him inside. God help him, when he was with the widow in Naples and later, the duchess in Livorno, he had pretended they were Ianthe.
Maybe it was his male vanity, but on later reflection—amazing how the mind could run during a midnight watch—he did not think Ianthe would make impossible demands like the duchess, or pretend her own climax, like the widow. Other women in other ports were bought for a price. He could have called them Ianthe, for all they cared. He knew better than to do that, however. That kind of thinking could make a man crazy.
Carnal, sensual and devilish as he knew he was—Mr. Everly’s sermons had penetrated—he couldn’t help but marvel at the strength of love, even after so many years. He was older now, wiser maybe, but it still humbled him. Time, distance and grinding toil had done nothing to extinguish the flame of his love and devotion.
Breakfast was cinnamon buns and porridge, and Ianthe watching as everyone ate. He couldn’t overlook the real pleasure on her face from seeing them all enjoying her cooking. She even put her hand on his shoulder once when going out of the room for more buns. He was in heaven.
When everyone was full, she finally sat down to her own breakfast. She issued her orders for the day over a cup of tea, including his own duties, which amused him. “Jem, you are to take Captain Faulk into the wild for greenery for a wreath and garlands.”
“Lad, I distinctly remember a holly patch on your father’s family land,” Faulk said. “Shall we go there?”
“Oh, no,” Ianthe said hastily, then blushed and corrected herself. “That is, we don’t need to go all that way for mere greenery. Jem knows a good place not far from St. Mary Church.”
There it was again. Maybe Jem would tell him why his mother seemed not to associate with the Mearses. He had questions maybe the boy could answer, if he could work around to the subject without causing suspicion.
As it turned out, nothing was simpler, which was fortunate, because Faulk never had been the best friend of subterfuge. He never had found a substitute for the direct question, and as post captain, had never needed to. He did wait until they were on the street by St. Mary Church.
“Jem, doesn’t your mother want anything to do with the Mears family?”
Jem didn’t seem surprised by a relative stranger wanting to know family skeletons. Maybe he didn’t see him as a stranger anymore, Faulk dared to think.
“Captain, Diana remembers when she and Mama used to be invited to eat at the estate, and even stay, but they didn’t do that after I was born.” He shrugged. “Maybe the Mearses on the hill don’t like boys.”
The more fool they, Faulk thought, as he watched Jim’s son. He put a tentative hand on the boy’s shoulder and was rewarded with a smile. “It’s their loss, lad,” he said.
They found holly behind the church, and then bay leaves, still fragrant in the cold. Soon the bag was full enough to decorate a house much larger than the modest Mears home on Claremont Street. Jem said there was red ribbon and wire somewhere, enough for a wreath, so the business was concluded.
Still, there should be some reward for greenery gathered, Faulk decided as they walked down the street toward the quay, not turning on Clarement. Jem looked at him, a question in his eyes.
“I think you and I need to visit that little dining place over there, and see what they have in the way of pasties,” he told Jem. “If we leave this bag outside the door, I don’t think we need to worry about holly thieves. You know your town better than I do, though. You tell me.”
Jem grinned at the notion of holly thieves, but he was as careful as his mother.
“This is nice of you, Captain, but Mama would rather I was not a financial burden.”
It was Faulk’s turn to laugh. “Did she tell you that?”
He nodded. “Mama says I should never place anyone under obligation.” He sniffed the air. “It does smell good in there.”
Jem polished off two pasties without a pause, then slowed down over a sausage and turnips, while Faulk drank his coffee and watched his best friend’s child. He didn’t know how to broach his next question, but it turned out he didn’t have to.
Jem leaned back in his chair, thoroughly satisfied. He looked around. “I could live here.”
“Thank your stars you have a home, lad,” he said, thinking of the Drake and all the years he had slung his hammock there between postings. “Besides, it’s probably noisy at night.”
“Mama is planning to rent us rooms here, so it can’t be too noisy,” Jem said, as he picked up his fork again to capture the last bit of sausage.
“What?”
He hadn’t meant
it to startle Jem, who cast a guilty look his way. “Don’t tell Mama, but I overheard her talking to Mr. Everly about it.”
Be patient, Faulk counseled himself. Casual would be good, too, and not brusque, as though you are grilling a midshipman. “I don’t understand.”
“Mama is planning to sell the house after Christmas and move us into rented rooms.”
Faulk took a deep breath and blew it out slowly, the better to contain his patience. What on earth is going on? he wanted to bellow, but knew better. “Why would she do that? I’m confused.”
Jem wrinkled his forehead. “That is what confuses me, too. She told Mr. Everly she wants to put something aside for a dowry for Diana, and we can rent rooms and live on the rest.” He leaned closer to Faulk. “Why does she have to pay someone to marry Diana?”
“Custom, lad,” Faulk said, desperate to know more, but cautious.
“Maybe I understand. There are times when I would gladly pay someone to take Diana off my hands. Why couldn’t someone want Diana for free? Would you want money to marry someone?”
“I don’t need the money.”
“I don’t understand adults,” Jem said, shaking his head.
“If it’s any comfort, I don’t understand people on land,” Faulk replied, touched with how willing Jem was to do whatever his mother requested. What other choice would he have? he asked himself sourly. My God, Ianthe and her children in rented rooms, just so she could make a future for them, and there sat the Mearses higher up the hill.
He hoped his face wasn’t betraying his uneasiness, but Jem was frowning now and looking uneasy. Faulk leaned closer to him. “What does your mother have in mind for you?”
Jem shrugged. “I think she wants to educate me to balance ledgers, or maybe persecute people as a barrister. She doesn’t want me to go to sea.”
“Wise of her. I think you mean ‘prosecute.’”
“I wouldn’t like doing that to people.”
“Even the ones who deserve it?” Faulk asked, touched. Jim, you sound more and more like your father, he thought. I wish I could tell you how many times I wished he had never gone to sea. It was not his life. “What do you want to be, lad?”
Jem looked at him shyly, reluctant to speak.
“Tell me, lad,” Faulk said, in a voice so gentle his crew would never have believed it.
“I want to help people. I want to be a surgeon. Maybe a physician, but Mama can’t afford such a thing, not if we have to sell our house.” The words tumbled out of him as Jem put down his burden.
Faulk let out his breath slowly, wondering how long Jem had been stewing about the potential disruption to what had been an ordered, quiet life. The boy was trying to make the best of the situation of rented rooms, and kicking his own dreams into a corner, all not to worry his mother. You’re a son to be proud of, he thought. You’re also too young to worry about adult problems.
He regarded the boy with what he prayed was a benevolent look. He must have succeeded, because Jem leaned toward him. Faulk moved a little closer, until his arm touched Jem’s shoulder. He felt his own cup run over as the boy let out the smallest sigh. Maybe it was relief. Maybe he was going to watch over this boy, his father’s dying wish.
“Two things, lad. First, you have an excellent goal. Your father and I both saw many surgeons hard at work in the fleet. I know he respected them as much as I do. Second, I don’t want you to worry one more minute about this. I’m going to see that things are made right. That’s a promise.”
Jem looked at him, and Faulk knew he was committed, even more than he had been committed on the bloody deck of the Conqueror, because now he fully understood how much he had promised his dying friend. “You have to trust me completely. Can you do that?”
“Aye,” Jem whispered.
“I mean it,” Faulk said.
“I know,” Jem whispered, his eyes filling with tears.
He was just a little boy with too much on his plate. Faulk put his arm around his shoulder and held him tight, making no comment and doing nothing more than holding him and then offering his handkerchief.
Jem blew his nose heartily, then folded the handkerchief, frowned at it and put it in his own pocket. “You’ll get it back later, sir,” he said.
The captain smiled. “I’ll be around.” He released the boy, but kept his arm across the back of Jem’s chair. “Here’s what I need from you, lad—the name of your mother’s solicitor. Do you know it? Is he here in Torquay?”
“His name is ‘Tre-something.’”
“Good enough. You’ve done the right thing, Jim. Here’s what will happen. I have to return to Plymouth and—Oh, lad, I’ll be back!”
The handkerchief was out again. This time Jem just pressed it against his forehead until he was calm. Faulk’s hand was on his head now. “I have some arrangements to make in Plymouth that I can’t make here. I’ll be back by Christmas Eve.”
“I wish you wouldn’t go at all,” Jem said.
Faulk winced inside, wondering what would happen when he informed the Mearses he had received another ship, bound for Australia. Pray God Jim won’t think I didn’t mean it, he thought, as he gave the boy’s head a little shake, then patted his shoulder. “Let’s go home. Someone may be eyeing our holly outside the door, and we can’t be guilty of tempting good churchgoers so close to Christmas.”
It was feeble, but Jem laughed and stood up, putting on his watch cap again and skipping ahead to look out the door, just in case. Faulk had a few words for the publican, who identified Tre-something as William Trelawney. “He can make a will so leak-free even Jonah would float,” the man declared.
He sent Jem ahead with the greenery, giving himself time to find Trelawney on the High Street and make arrangements for the coasting vessel to wait for him. Even after years of relative affluence, Faulk was still amazed how the application of money could smooth over every bump in the road. Of course, he had been at sea most of those years, with little opportunity to touch all the prize funds resting at ease with Brustein and Carter in Plymouth. Time to put those soldiers to work, he thought.
He knew he was transparency itself, where Ianthe was involved, but he thought he could invent a lie plausible enough to get him to Plymouth without suspicion.
As he knocked on the door to Trelawney and Majors, he suddenly felt less sanguine about the ship, the one he had hoped and prayed for. He glanced back up the hill toward Claremont Street, wondering what it felt like to stay in a house.
Ianthe had put Diana and Jem to work at the kitchen table with wire and red ribbon. Jem was more cheerful than she had seen him in several weeks.
“Mama, the captain just said he had some business on High Street and that he’d be along directly,” Jem said calmly, keeping his eyes on the growing wreath. “Diana, please pass the wire cutters. He’s not the sort of man I want to question.”
Ianthe rubbed his head absentmindedly. “Nor I, really. He is coming back?”
“Mama, he didn’t take his duffel bag along to hunt the greenery,” Jem said patiently.
Well, if you can be calm, I daren’t be otherwise, Ianthe thought, cross with herself and out of sorts for worrying about Jeremiah Faulk. Obviously the captain had been taking care of himself through two decades of war. Any man so skilled or lucky could surely navigate the perils of the High Street and return to Claremont unscathed.
He returned half an hour later, looking cheerful, too. She had an irrational urge to pummel him about the head, but she kept her hands to herself. That was certainly no way to treat a Christmas guest. There he was, smiling at her from the doorway in a perfectly maddening way. One would think life couldn’t be better.
To make matters worse, he came to her side, put his arm around her and coaxed her out of the room. She looked back to see Jem grinning at them both. He led her into the sitting room, sat her down and seated himself in chair opposite her.
“I trust our greenery hunt met all your expectations,” he said, crossing his legs and making h
imself comfortable.
“Yes, of course,” she said impatiently. “Miah, what is going on?”
“Not a thing,” he said. “I must tell you, though, that I have to return to Plymouth immediately.”
There was no way she could disguise her disappointment. She put her hands to her mouth and pressed hard against her upper lip. Sometimes it worked to prevent tears.
“Hey, none of that,” he admonished gently. “I’ll be back.”
“In a year? Two years?” She couldn’t help it that her voice was rising. In another minute she would sound like one of the fishwives on the quay.
“On Christmas Eve,” he said. He uncrossed his legs and looked directly at her. “You need to know this—Admiralty has offered me a frigate, part of the convict convoy to Australia. It leaves in March, I believe. I have to go to Plymouth and inform the port admiral of my acceptance, which he will forward to London.”
She didn’t want to hear any more. She returned her hand to her lip and pressed harder. She took a deep breath because she felt herself getting light-headed. Don’t go, don’t leave me, she thought. There was no sense in telling him that, not with him looking so pleased. He probably couldn’t wait to get back to sea. What did you expect, Ianthe? she scolded herself. He came here for Christmas.
She waited a long moment until she had control of herself, and found herself further unsettled by the look in his eyes. She didn’t know if she had ever seen another human being so sad.
“That’s good news,” she managed. “I know you wanted another ship.”
“Excellent news,” he assured her. “When peace breaks out, it’s hard to know the future.”
Don’t tell me about the future, she thought. I am terrified of mine and now you are leaving. “At least you will be here for Christmas.”
He stood up. “That I will, but I must be going now. I’ll pack my duffel.”
Her face must have looked as bleak as she felt, because he looked down at her, then crouched beside her chair, which was a relief, because she had no strength to rise.
