by Carla Kelly
“You did what?”
At least she didn’t screech like her father. He looked down at her face. No mottled color, just suddenly pale.
“You heard me, Nana. Everything.” He thought it prudent not to mention just how much “everything” really was. A thousand pounds a year would sound grand enough to any inmate of the Mulberry. He could break the news to her later, maybe thirty years from now when they had grandchildren.
“I’m almost afraid to ask what the second thing was you did,” she commented. “Purchase Bedlam as a domicile? You know you’ll never live that far from the ocean.”
“Uh, not quite.” He pulled her away from him so he could look her directly in the face. “Nana, I bought a special license. Will you marry me?”
If he thought she was pale before, she went even whiter. “You can’t be serious,” she said finally. “What will people think?”
This wasn’t going well. “I’ve told the First Lord of the Admiralty I’m getting…well, I want to get married…He reminded me of the many times I’ve said I would never do such a poppycock thing.”
“But you didn’t tell him who I was?”
“Well, no, I hadn’t asked you.”
The good thing was, she hadn’t leaped up from his lap, even though she was sitting upright now. She put her hands on his chest, but at least she wasn’t pushing. He could see all kinds of emotions crossing her expressive face, the face that would never fare well in card games, or hide any honest feeling. The look she ended up with was a measuring one, as if trying to figure out how to tell him what he needed to hear. He almost didn’t want her to speak.
“Captain, men like you don’t marry bastards.”
She said it quietly, gently, as though trying to remind him of the facts of life. You lovely lady, he thought. I had better be as honest.
“Maybe they don’t, Nana, but you’re the only lady who has ever held my total, undivided attention.”
“Most would not call me a lady.”
He could hear uncertainty in her voice now. “They would be wrong, Nana.”
Then it was wrenched out of her, like fingernails ripped from a hand. “I would die if you were ever ashamed of me, Oliver!”
This wasn’t going as he had planned. Gracefully, and with total composure, she got off his lap, smoothed down her dress and folded her hands in front of her.
“Nana, I…”
She stopped him with her hand placed gently on his head. “This isn’t a good idea, Oliver, as much as I love you.”
He could have groaned out loud then, but he could see she was poised to leave the room, so he remained silent and still. He felt her fingers trembling on his scalp. He could see how she struggled for words, not finding any. She took her hand off his head.
“Captain.”
He felt his heart sink into his shoes at the word.
“Captain, everyone has a place in this world. I think now that part of my Bath education was to remind me of that. My father seemed to understand it.”
“He was wrong,” Oliver interrupted. He tried to rise, but she put her hand on his shoulder this time, forcing him down.
She took a deep breath, pulling up strength from somewhere, and looked him in the eye. “I won’t have you a laughingstock of the fleet, unable to command the respect of your superiors, peers and crew, and trapped in thankless assignments, because you followed your heart instead of your brains and married an illegitimate woman with nothing to recommend her.”
He didn’t know what tack to take then, what plea would dissolve the determined look on her face, making her appear both absurdly young, with her short hair, and aged because of the sorrow in her eyes.
“Nana, I’ve been following my brains for nearly twenty years, and they have gotten me nowhere,” he said, biting off each word. “I had all the answers. I was even smug about it.”
He watched her face, thinking—was it wishful thinking?—that there was some wavering in her resolve. He spoke more gently then. “Will you at least consider the matter?”
He knew, as he spoke, that he had lost. He had to sail with the tide, and she knew it. Time was his worst enemy and her greatest ally. Like the oyster’s answer to irritation in its shell, time would smooth over her disappointment and strengthen her resolve. The resulting pearl, so beautiful, would only prove she was right.
“Think about it,” he repeated. “Nana, I love you.”
She closed her eyes against the pain his words seemed to cause her, and she swallowed. “I’ll think about it,” she said, and fled the room.
Gran had kept dinner waiting for him in the kitchen, but after Oliver stared at the food until the gravy hardened, she removed the plate. He knew he should go to his ship, but he stayed where he was, wishing Nana would come out of her room.
He wanted to blame someone. There was Gran, who had every reason to hate the navy. He knew how she felt about him, and officers like him who lived deep when in port and abandoned women all around the world. Her own daughter had been such a victim.
He glanced at her, sitting silent by the stove, staring into space. He could destroy her with a word, and crumble the Mulberry into ruin.
It was easier to blame the times, Napoleon and certainly himself. He knew nothing about courtship and marriage because he had steeled himself against it, refusing to consider something as preposterous as love in time of war.
How proud can a man be? he asked himself in misery. How arrogant to think that he was not like other mortals, who fell in love. Now that it had happened to him, he couldn’t convince the love of his life to take his hand and walk with him, even if the journey would be uncertain, at best. He was the least worthy of all.
It was a galling thought and it propelled him to his feet. “I have to talk to her,” he told Gran, and left the kitchen.
“She isn’t in her room,” Gran called after him.
He stopped in the doorway. “Where…where is she?”
“I don’t know.”
He went back into the kitchen and stood before Gran. “What do you mean?”
He hadn’t meant to snap it out, but that was all he knew. Gran, bless her, seemed to understand.
“She grabbed your boat cloak and ran out of here,” the woman said.
He could have sunk to the ground with relief. There was only one place she could be. “I know where she is,” he said. “Gran, come with me and talk to her. Please.”
Gran shook her head. “She won’t listen to me.” She stood up then and took him by the arm, clinging to him in tears until he felt obliged to put his arm around her. This was not the flinty innkeeper but a woman still groping her way around her own enormous loss, twenty-one years earlier.
“She won’t listen because you’ve spent her whole life warning her against mariners?”
She nodded and sobbed harder against his chest. He felt only pity then, and held her close.
“Never mind, then. Never mind,” he crooned.
They just stood there, companions in misery, until the woman in the doorway cleared her throat.
“Mrs. Massie, will you let go of that post captain and secure me a room? And by the way, what is going on?”
Startled, Oliver looked around to see Mrs. Brittle, the wife of his sailing master, standing in the doorway leading to the outside hall. He let go of Gran, who continued to sob.
“Mrs. Brittle, she won’t have me,” he said, sounding like a schoolboy, and for once, not caring.
“You’re a little young for her, sir!” she retorted. When he did not laugh, she sobered up immediately. “Please don’t tell me something’s happened to that pretty little Nana.”
The words tumbled out of him. “I proposed to her, and all she could think about was how bad that would be for me, to marry someone illegitimate and poor. And now she’s bolted. Capered off.”
Mrs. Brittle came into the room. “My goodness, Captain, we have to remedy that right away.”
“We?” he asked, feeling suddenly hopeful.
<
br /> “Me. I went through this some thirty years ago.”
He could have cried. “You’d help me?”
“Of course!” she declared. “You’re a wonderful catch for any female, even if you are a bit gruff and get mighty thin about the mouth when things don’t go your way.”
“That would be anytime this last ten years,” he admitted. He looked at her, a question in his eyes. “Why are you here, if I may ask?”
“Simple. I was hoping you would release your officers and petty officers for a day or two. Since the Tireless is in port, I’d like to see Daniel.”
“I can, although we’re sailing with the tide tomorrow.”
Mrs. Brittle put her gloves back on. “Tell me where she is, then, and you go out to the Tireless.”
He hesitated, and she fixed him with a look not unlike one of his own. “I’ve a hankering for Daniel, Captain Worthy! And you want Nana.”
“Oh, I do.”
“Then where is she?”
He smiled. “On the guildhall back steps.”
Mrs. Brittle nodded, then spoke to Gran. “Dry your eyes, dearie.” She held out her arm to him. “You can escort me to the guildhall, then find a waterman to get you to the Tireless.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” he told her.
The steps weren’t the same without Oliver beside her to keep her warm. And by now, the boat cloak was starting to smell of roses, and no longer his briny self. From the guildhall steps, Nana couldn’t see the Tireless, and that was just as well. Tomorrow afternoon, when Oliver sailed with the tide, she’d stay away from the Hoe, too.
In time, she knew he would come to realize the narrowness of his escape from marriage to her. She didn’t know what she was going to do about his willing all his income to her, but he was a good captain. He would probably stay alive and outlive her anyway, so a will concocted on impulse wouldn’t be an issue. She planned to die of heartbreak by Sunday noon.
Nana rested her chin in her hands. You silly nod, people only die of heartbreak in very bad novels, she reminded herself.
It was dark now, and getting colder. The street was silent. She almost thought she could hear water lapping on the distant docks. With a pang that made her sob out loud, she knew it was a sound she never wanted to hear again, as long as she lived. Maybe she would take a little of the captain’s money and run away to the interior of Canada, where there was only ice and snow, and no seagulls.
She heard people on the street then, a woman laughing and then a man joining in. She sat up. She knew that laugh; in fact, she adored it. I suppose I must face him, she thought. Only a coward would do what I am doing.
She heard someone coming around the guildhall walk, and braced herself. She looked closer. It wasn’t Oliver. She heard his footsteps continuing down to the harbor, to her utter dismay.
It wasn’t Gran, either, come to take her home, and congratulate her on her resolve in not marrying a sailor.
“Dearie, do you mean I have to drag my bones up all those steps just to sit with you?”
“Mrs. Brittle?” Nana asked, astounded.
“The very same. Hang it all, you’re worth the climb.”
Puffing and fanning herself, in spite of the cool air, Mrs. Brittle plumped herself down beside Nana.
“What…what…”
“What am I here for?” the woman asked when she could speak. “Your wedding tomorrow, before the tide turns.”
Nana burst into tears, burrowing herself into Mrs. Brittle’s cushiony bosom. She cried until her face was slick, then accepted the handkerchief the sailing master’s wife held out to her, no questions asked.
“You know I can’t marry Captain Worthy,” Nana said finally.
Mrs. Brittle chuckled and pulled her closer. “Why not? Are you already married to someone else?”
“Of course not,” Nana said, feeling out to sea. “You know why, and my reasons are indisputable.”
“They certainly are, dearie. I’m glad you were able to sort out the captain. He needed to be told he was foolish to expect any happiness.”
Nana had expected a scold from Nora Brittle, but there was none. She just held her close. When she spoke, the woman’s voice was tender.
“I really came all the way over bad roads from Torquay because I wanted to be with my Daniel before he sailed.” She chuckled. “He’s not much to look at. He weighs too much, and he has indigestion when he eats anything with onions. His grammar’s better than mine by a long chalk, but his Geordie accent is still so thick you could slice it. The dratted man can’t remember our children’s birthdays to save his wretched hide. No wonder, really, because he was never there when any of them were born.”
Nana felt a huge weight leaving her shoulders. “You love him anyway, don’t you?”
“Heavens, yes.”
Nana took a deep breath. “Aren’t you afraid he’ll sail away and you’ll never see him again?”
“All the time. It’s my worst nightmare.”
“But you’d marry him all over again?”
“Yes.”
Mrs. Brittle pulled her close again, and Nana felt brave enough to admit her worst fear. “It’s more than just being an innkeeper’s granddaughter,” she whispered. “I’m illegitimate.”
The woman chuckled. “So am I. Haven’t the slightest idea who my parents are. I grew up in a workhouse and was a scullery maid in Torquay, like your Sal.” She hugged Nana. “You had Gran and a Bath education, though.”
It was all said so calmly, but the implication was as obvious as if Mrs. Brittle had thundered it from the pulpit in St. Paul’s Cathedral.
“So why am I being so foolish?” Nana asked out loud.
“I’m not saying there won’t be a barrier or two for both of you,” Mrs. Brittle told her. “You’ll always run into people who don’t know what love is.”
Nana nodded, drawing comfort from Mrs. Brittle’s generous embrace. “I hope he’s coming back. I think I broke his heart.”
She could feel Mrs. Brittle’s chuckle more than hear it. “He’d better be back, and with Daniel! I didn’t come all this way over bad roads to sleep by myself tonight. Just wait here a minute more, dearie. The captain’s tough. They’ll be along.”
They were. In a few minutes, Nana heard the men talking as they walked together to the guildhall. In another moment, Mrs. Brittle stood up and waved to her husband, who came halfway up the steps to retrieve her.
“Is there room at the inn, Nana?” he called to her.
“For you, always,” she said, her heart full.
Mrs. Brittle waved to her from the bottom of the steps. “See you tomorrow, dearie. Good evening, Captain. I left you a warm spot.”
And then it was the two of them. Without a word, Oliver seated himself on the step Mrs. Brittle had vacated. He didn’t say anything, but his arm went around her gently as she leaned against his shoulder. In another minute she had found that comfortable place under his arm where she fit so well.
She didn’t know how to begin, but she knew she had to speak first. “My hair is awfully short, and I only have three dresses. Well, two. The third one has a scorch mark up the front.”
“Does it?”
“Oliver, I…”
He let out a long breath. “Thank God that captain went away!”
She kissed his cheek. “Does he bother you?”
“All the time.”
“Well, I love him, too. And if you don’t mind all my shortcomings…”
He didn’t speak for the longest time, and when he did, she could hear the catch in his voice.
“Your hair will grow,” he said patiently. “As for three—or two—dresses, I probably wouldn’t know one from the other.” He paused then, and she waited. “My life has no guarantees, Nana. I could die tomorrow.”
“I could, too, my love,” she reminded him. “It’s the great leveler. Why do you think you’re so special?”
He chuckled and didn’t say anything else, content to hold her. After a few more minu
tes, she straightened up.
“My rump is cold and these stones are hard. I think you’d better propose again.”
“I’d rather not get down on one knee on these steps.” He turned a little to look at her and put his hands on each side of her face, drawing her close. “Eleanor Massie, I love you more than I can adequately express. Will you marry me tomorrow morning early, so I can take the Tireless out of Plymouth Sound with the tide?”
“That was so loverlike,” she told him, and kissed his lips. “Yes, a million times over.”
“I don’t have a ring.”
“You have a license.”
They laughed.
Chapter Fourteen
Oliver returned Nana to the Mulberry Inn, holding her hand all the way, kissed her good-night and spent a few minutes next with the vicar of St. Andrews, who looked over the special license, then finally nodded. “The navy. The navy” was all the man said, after a shake of his head.
He had another waterman row him back to the Tireless that night, where he told Mr. Proudy and Mr. Ramseur the good news, and packed up his best uniform and sword.
“You’re all welcome to the wedding tomorrow morning at St. Andrews at nine o’clock,” he told his highly appreciative audience of lieutenants. “Any of the men who wish to come may do so. We’ll sail at one o’clock, with the tide.”
“I’ll pray for a sudden squall, falling barometer and a foul east wind,” Proudy said. “A man ought to have one night with his bride. Even you, sir.”
The lieutenants were both laughing when the bosun piped him over the side again.
Oliver stopped at the Drake long enough to invite Mrs. Fillion to St. Andrews, and asked her to spread the news to any of her cohorts in the Barbican.
“I shouldn’t wonder but the church will be filled,” the innkeep said. “Stop by here afterward for a wedding breakfast, Captain.”
“You can manage something on such short notice?” Oliver asked, touched.
“We’ll do nearly anything for Nana,” she told him. “Remember that.”
