A Cerridwen Press Publication
www.cerridwenpress.com
Captain’s Lady
ISBN #9781419907999
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
Captain’s Lady Copyright© 2007 Sharon Milburn
Edited by Helen Woodall.
Cover art by Lissa Waitley.
Electronic book Publication: January 2007
With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing Inc., 1056 Home Avenue, Akron, OH 44310-3502.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.
Cerridwen Press is an imprint of Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.®
Captain’s Lady
Sharon Milburn
Chapter One
“I’m sorry, baby,” Alice whispered. “I’m so sorry you’re a girl.”
Overcome by crushing despair and weariness she leaned back against the door panels for a brief moment, fighting a losing battle against scalding tears. The bundle in her arms squirmed, emitting a faint mewling cry. Alice sucked in a deep breath. This was no time for feeble tears. A tide of fierce love drove her self-pity away as she hugged her burden and kissed the tiny cheek.
Just for a few precious seconds she cuddled the newborn. There were so many tasks needing her attention, so much to be thought of. Lavinia wanted nothing to do with her daughter. If this infant was to survive, to have any chance at life, Alice would be the one to fight for her. The burden of that responsibility, together with all the rest, pressed heavily on her shoulders.
The first and biggest of her challenges stood waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs. Not even Napoleon, locked up on Elba, had to deal with such a horrible excuse for a human being, she was quite sure!
“Well?” demanded Mr. Scripps as soon as he caught sight of her. The attorney’s pinched face quivered, reminding her as it always did of a rat sniffing a morsel of food. His eyes were as dark as boot blacking and set close together above a pointed nose.
No, he didn’t look like a rat today. He looked more like a weasel. Loathsome man! Alice summoned up her dignity as she descended the last three steps.
“Lady Masterman has been safely delivered of a daughter.” She held out the infant for his inspection, but he waved her away with a contemptuous gesture.
“Pah! A female. Worse than useless. I’ll send a messenger to inform Sir Edward of his inheritance at once. I have the letter ready. Be so good as to inform Lady Masterman that her allowance will cease immediately. I’ve no instructions to continue with it. My Christian duty permits, nay demands, generosity, so I’ll not insist on her vacating The Priory until she’s recovered from the birth.”
Christian duty! Generosity! Alice felt a dangerous heat rising in her face as she strove to conquer her anger and contempt. For all their sakes she had to remain calm.
“Surely Sir Edward wouldn’t wish his sister-in-law to starve while she’s lying-in? We are hungry, Mr. Scripps. We have nothing to eat in this house but turnips. A new mother requires nourishing food.”
“Then she may pay for it. Be very assured that the inventory is completed, however. Don’t even think of selling any of Sir Edward’s property!”
“You cannot evict Lady Masterman, even when she’s recovered. I’m sure you’re exceeding your authority. This baby is his niece! Sir Edward would never treat his only surviving family so harshly, I’m convinced. No decent man would.”
“What you may or may not be convinced of is no concern of mine. Lady Masterman has no legal claim on any of this property now. If she’d borne a son matters would have been different. But she did not bear a son, did she? She couldn’t even get that right.”
He smirked at her. Oh, to wipe that smug satisfaction off his face! Fighting with the man would achieve nothing. He was enjoying his petty triumph, but surely no one could be this wicked. She would have to appeal to him. She would beg, if necessary.
“How do you suggest we survive, Mr. Scripps? I’ve no money to call my own. My wages have not been paid for the past two quarter days.”
He sneered. “Speak to Lady Masterman, then. It’s she who employed you, not Sir Gregory and certainly not the estate. Find other employment if you can. No one is forcing you to remain here.” He hesitated a moment. Alice could almost discern the workings of his mind. His tongue slid out to lick his lips in a slow and suggestive manner. “Perhaps, if you tried to be more conciliating, I could advance a loan. As a personal favor, mind you. I would expect a personal favor in return.”
His tongue slid around his bloodless lips again as he looked her up and down. He reached out to run the back of his fingers along her arm. “Such a fine lady, with all your airs and graces. I prefer dark hair myself, but I’m not one to make a fuss over trifles. I’ll wager you’d make a cozy armful.”
Alice stepped back. The monster! How utterly, utterly vile he was. Even through her clothing her skin felt cold where he had touched her. Cold, yes and unclean also. A shudder possessed her. This…this worm to be criticizing her blond hair as if he were buying a horse! Bitter revulsion blotted out her attempts to be calm. So much for begging! She would rather starve in a gutter and the infant with her, if needs be. Just to be a man, for five minutes. He’d be sorry.
“Mr. Scripps, you are no gentleman to offer me such an insult.”
The contempt in her voice stung him to anger. “What? The penniless daughter of a bankrupt and worse to be looking down her nose at me! Where’s your traitor of a father now? You’ll regret that remark, Miss Carstairs. Governesses can be had two-a-penny, my fine lady. You’re no better than the rest of us.”
What was one more insult? They could not harm her now. “Oh, yes I am, Mr. Scripps. Be very sure of that. Better than you, anyway. I still have my decency and my honor.”
Picking up his hat and gloves, Scripps rudely pushed past Alice as he made for the way out. “You mark my words. I’ll see you begging me for mercy yet!”
The door slammed behind him. The noise echoed through the chilly entrance hall, startling the baby. The door needed mending where the glass had broken in the sidelight, but that was the least of her worries. Alice cuddled the infant close, fighting back tears yet again. She should have been used to such affront, to the mocking reminder of what she’d once been. For the hundredth time her father’s betrayal of all he loved and held dear tore at her. How could he have done such a dreadful thing? Murmuring comfort for the two of them, she made her way to the back of the house.
The kitchen was the only room in the house to have a fire, despite the bitter onslaught of an unrelenting February gale. There was no money for coal. There was no money for anything, since Sir Gregory had gambled away his fortune. At least it was warm here and reminiscent of happier times. The scents of coffee and chocolate, of good roast beef and ale, still lingered in her memory. All were long gone. The pervading odor now was one of turnips. To think she was grateful for turnips, grown for sheep feed before their own need became greater.
Alice found the two remaining members of the domestic staff huddled by the range. The butler, Barlow, had been with the Masterman family since he had first entered service as a lad not two years after King George’s ascension to the throne. He hauled himself to his feet as Alice entered, his withered face wrinkling into a smile as he beheld the infant. The mad old king had lost his wits long since, but Barlow was still sound in mind if not in body.
“A boy?”
Alice shook her head. Barlow sighed a little and his hopeful look faded, but he ca
me forward to inspect the baby just the same. He folded a silver threepence into her tiny fist. “I’ve been saving this. It’s time our luck changed. Dear little soul.”
“She’s perfect.” Barlow should be saving every penny of his money, but Alice wouldn’t have dreamed of refusing the old custom. She busied herself at the crib, hiding her face as she tucked the infant in.
Barlow turned back to the warmth as well. “So it’s to be Master Edward as inherits. He’s never been near this place since his father shipped him off to sea. Twelve, he was, no more than a lad. That was twenty years ago.”
What a family this was! “How terrible for him.” Alice changed her mind and picked up the baby once again, hugging her close. Keeping the devils away, as the silver coin was meant to do? Wishing it could have been another forlorn baby, so long ago, with no one to love him? “What a despicable thing to do to a little boy.”
The butler shrugged. “Well, as to that, I’m not so sure. Master Edward had a miserable life here. Sir Andrew couldn’t bear the sight of him. The birth killed his mother, you see and he bore the blame for it. In all those twelve years he never heard a kind word from his father. Nor his brother, neither. Master Gregory always took his father’s part. Many a time young Edward got a good hiding, for nothing that was his fault.”
Poor, motherless child. “Was there no one to care what became of him?”
“Only Cook. He spent more time in the kitchen here than anywhere else. We often hid him from his so-called nurse. A right harridan that one was.” Barlow shook his head at the memory. “Glad to see the back of her, we were. Master Edward wrote to me once or twice, you know, to let us know how he went along. He didn’t bother writing to his father. There was a letter when he’d been made lieutenant on the old Neptune and another when he was transferred. I haven’t heard from him in a few years now. I don’t know where he is.”
Admiral Nelson had always been a hero, but Alice hadn’t really thought about the men and boys he’d sailed with. “Was Edward in the Trafalgar action?”
“Oh, aye, he was that. Sir Andrew made it an excuse to cut off his allowance. He said he would have enough prize money to live on.”
Despite all she’d learned since she moved to The Priory, the wickedness of the Masterman family still appalled her. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he hated us all.”
The butler shrugged his shoulders. “I wouldn’t blame him either. He always had a nice nature though, not like his brother. The navy will have made its mark on him, mind my words. A hard life and a short one that is, unless a man be lucky. One thing is for sure, we’ll find out how he feels about us soon enough.”
Alice laid the baby back down. There was so much to be done. She couldn’t sit here gossiping with Barlow, much as she wanted to. She turned to the other occupant of the room, a young housemaid with a rather vacant stare. Her woolen shawl was raveled and holed in places and her dress was dirty. Again. “Cora, mind the baby for me. I must see to Miss Penelope. She’ll be wanting her supper. Is there anything to eat?”
“Only some turnip broth, Miss Alice, left over from yesterday. I set it to warm for you.”
She managed a brief smile, even as she shuddered at the thought of the fuss Penelope would make over turnip broth for supper. The little madam had no conception of how lucky she was to have any food to eat.
“Where is she this time?” She should have been in the kitchen with the others, but the kitchen was far too demeaning for young Miss Masterman. Obedience was foreign to her. Instead, she blamed Alice for all her ills.
Barlow found a bowl. “Probably whining to her mother, as usual. Short shrift she’ll get this night!” His hand trembled as he served the unappetizing liquid, but he took care not to spill a precious drop. “Don’t you worry, I’ve got a little money put by, Miss Alice. We can manage for a while.”
The rage that had possessed her earlier welled up again. “I forbid you to touch a penny of your money! Lady Masterman will have to sell some of her jewelry. I’ll speak to her about it as soon as I’ve put Penelope to bed. She’s still got a pearl necklace and her earrings.”
Would this day never end? By the time Alice reached her own bed that night she was half dead from weariness. The midwife had gone, refusing to stay longer with only the promise of payment forthcoming. Lavinia had had to be coaxed into suckling the new baby and Penelope had seen fit to add a bout of hysterics to the evening’s entertainment. There was enough food for breakfast and enough wood to cook it with if they were lucky. After that she would have to go out searching for fallen branches, or another dead tree they could cut. She would send Barlow into Winchester first thing in the morning to pawn Lavinia’s gold earbobs, no matter what she said.
Still pondering her future, trying to come up with some sort of scheme, trying to keep warm, she drifted into an uneasy sleep. Troubled thoughts and visions, garbled by the unreality of dreams, slipped in and out of her head all night. And then a scene so vivid as to leave a lingering smell of gunpowder in her nostrils invaded her mind. There were dim echoes of men’s screams and the sound of a hundred blows striking iron and flesh alike. A figure loomed over her, his white breeches filthy with smoke and powder stains and his uniform coat rent at the shoulder. His blue eyes stood out in the gloom, rimmed with red but alive and piercing. He carried a sword and a pistol as he rushed into the smoke, calling for his men to follow him. The clamor dimmed and faded as she struggled into wakefulness, until only the wails of a newborn infant pierced the air. Had she been dreaming of Trafalgar and the hundred stories she’d heard told in the schoolroom, or was it the new master of The Priory who disturbed her sleep?
More likely the hideous sight of Sir Gregory had come back to haunt her once again. Would she ever forget it? She’d never forget that sickening smell of gunpowder, either. No, best not to think about it. She wasn’t going to remember that awful day. She just wasn’t and that was that.
Her feet touched the unaccustomed luxury of a carpet as she slid from the bed, but still she felt the bitter chill of the air striking through her nightgown. She snatched up a shawl as she tried to light her candle, but her fingers were shaking with cold before she managed the task. Of course, she remembered now. She’d taken the couch in Lavinia’s dressing room, to be near her if she required anything during the night.
The baby lay next to her mother, but Lavinia made no effort to tend to the child. Not until Alice placed her into her arms did she bother to stir.
“I can’t bear to have her near me, Alice. You must fetch a wet nurse at once.”
“And you must feed this child if she’s not to die from the cold. I’ve explained to you that we cannot engage a wet nurse. No one will come to this house.”
Lavinia set up a wail, but Alice had more to cope with than she could bear at the moment. First Penelope and now Lavinia. If only they knew how close she was to succumbing to hysterics herself. They could all of them sit together in the corner and howl at their fate, but what good would that do?
* * * * *
Captain Edward Masterman sat in the Port Admiral’s office. His clenched fists rested on his knees, but only the greatest effort of his will kept them there. He concentrated on the pale ridges his knuckles made as they pressed ever tighter against the bronzed skin covering them. The upright wooden chair was designed to prevent importunate captains from lingering he was sure. Nothing would stop him, though. He was determined to fight and fight to the last. He knew no other way.
The gray-haired old man behind the desk sighed. His blue uniform coat strained over his ample stomach. Scattered snuff dusted his front and the tarnished decoration he wore only added to the air of decrepitude. The hazy blue eyes were friendly enough, though, when at last he looked up from the report he had been studying.
“There’s nothing we can do, Captain Masterman. This survey is damning, utterly damning. She’s been condemned. The hull is riddled with worm. What’s not worm-eaten is rotting faster than your carpenter can replace it. It’s so b
ad only the copper is holding her together underwater.”
His ship. His livelihood. More than that, his home and his family. Condemned. It was such a harsh word. He felt sick.
“Is there nothing we can do, no appeal that can be made? I’ll find the money for the repairs myself, if needs be.”
The Port Admiral shook his head. “Ships are paying off all over the country, fine, sound vessels with much greater claims to be reprieved than yours. She’d cost you thousands and still not be wanted. She’s fought her fight and come to the end of a very proud history. There’s sure to be a new commission for you, though, with your fine record. It’ll only be a matter of time.”
Edward wanted to shout. He wanted to take this kindly, smiling man by the white lapels of his uniform jacket and shake the right answer out. Much good his record did him.
“What if I appealed to the Regent himself?”
“You’d never set foot on another vessel again. The First Sea Lord would attend to it personally. Give it up, man. This is the end for your frigate. Your Seabird has had her wings clipped.”
The bitter taste of defeat seeped into his mouth until he wanted to gag. “And what of my men?”
“Portsmouth is the best place they can be. Indiamen are crewing up all the time. There’ll be chances for them.”
“But not for the old and the injured.” He thought of Watson, the master’s mate who had lost his arm six months ago and Grey, the ship’s doctor now stooped and worn out from his life at sea.
The admiral’s expression hardened. “No, not for them. There’s nothing more I can do for them. Think of yourself, now.”
Edward sighed and rose to his feet. He drew his erect frame even straighter as he stood to attention. “If I may have your permission to leave, sir, there’s still work to be done.” And sad work it would be too.
“Yes, of course.” The admiral rose to shake his hand. There was sympathy on his face, but there were four more reports on his desk to be attended to. “The best of good luck to you. Come and dine with me tonight. I insist. Would you like to purchase Seabird’s bell? It’s the least I can do.”
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