by Jo Ann Brown
“Everyone in Porthlowen must be on the beach, save for the few we saw along the street,” Lady Susanna said, drawing his attention to the throng on the strand.
“Curiosity is compelling.”
“Especially when this may be the most exciting thing to happen here.” Again she gave him a half smile. “Perhaps ever.”
He nodded. The villagers were accustomed to ships coming and going in every possible condition, and no one in the village had blinked when The Kestrel barely made it to the quay. Even marching the French prisoners of war through the village to where they could be handed off to the local militia to be taken to Dartmoor Prison had caused little more than a slight stir.
A jolly boat filled with children was something else entirely.
“Is that why you are asking all these questions, my lady? Because you are curious?”
Her frown returned. “I am asking because I want to be prepared for what needs to be done to help the children. I prefer not to be surprised.”
The carriage stopped, saving Drake from having to answer. He got out and held up his hand to Lady Susanna before the coachman could. When she placed her slender hand on his much broader one, it was as light as a spring breeze. She stepped out, the fringe on her shawl brushing his arm. A flowery scent teased him, so faint that he had not noticed it until now when she stood beside him, closer than when they had been seated in the carriage.
She withdrew her hand and edged away, looking everywhere but at him. “Captain Nesbitt, if you will lead the way, please.”
He considered offering his arm but told himself not to be addlepated. She was lovely, but he had been betrayed once by a beautiful woman. Not that it mattered. Lady Susanna Trelawney made it clear with every word and action that she considered him a bothersome disruption to her day. Maybe he should be grateful that she was more honest than Ruby had been.
Never again.
“This way,” he said gruffly, vexed at how he had to remind himself of what that big mistake had cost his heart. Simply because a woman smelled delightful was no reason to do more than appreciate the moment.
Drake did not look back as he walked toward the crowd. At first, he thought he might have to elbow past people who failed to move when he said, “Pardon me.”
Then Lady Susanna spoke the same words, and the villagers stepped aside as if they were the Red Sea being parted by Moses. She thanked them prettily, and Drake noticed the men touching their forelocks and the women giving a quick curtsy. The Trelawney family was well respected and perhaps even well loved in Porthlowen. When she assured the onlookers that the children would be taken to the earl’s house, the people thanked her before heading to the village and returning to what they had been doing before word of the jolly boat raced along the street. They obviously thought the matter resolved now that it was in the earl’s daughter’s hands. Maybe there was more to Lady Susanna than he had guessed.
Drake followed in Lady Susanna’s wake through the dispersing crowd and saw most of his crew surrounding the small boat. The children sat on a piece of canvas beside it. Two women who were old enough to be the babies’ grandmothers loitered nearby, handing pieces of cake to them. Another woman of the same age sniffed at the sight before pushing past Drake and Lady Susanna with a mutter about spoiling children.
“Pay Charity Thorburn no mind,” Lady Susanna said under her breath. “From what I have heard, she and the Winwood sisters have not once seen eye to eye in the past fifty years. If one of the sisters said the sea is wet, Mrs. Thorburn would argue it was dry.”
When Lady Susanna turned to greet the Winwood sisters, Drake could not help smiling. Splatters on the children’s shirts and in their hair must have come from the soup Obadiah always had ready in the galley. The elderly cook was on his knees, holding the baby. An absorbent cloth was wrapped around his finger. He dipped it into a bowl by his side; then he placed it in the baby’s mouth to let the infant suckle.
Lady Susanna bent to touch the baby’s head. She smiled warmly at Obadiah, who gave her a toothless grin in return and flushed like a new cabin boy who had stayed too long in the sun.
“ʼTis milk and water and a wee bit of honey,” Obadiah replied to a question Drake had not heard. “ʼTwill fill the mite’s belly for now. My da used the same mixture for lambs when the ewes wouldna let them nurse.”
Thanking him, she turned to where the children regarded her with wide, red-rimmed eyes. They must have been crying the whole time he spoke with the parson and the earl and while he brought Lady Susanna to the beach. He was grateful the older women had come with fresh cake. He thanked them as Lady Susanna sank to her knees beside the boat and put her hand on it as she greeted the children.
“Who is she?” asked Benton quietly as he appeared at Drake’s elbow. “Are there more like her in the village?”
Drake scowled his first mate to silence, then said, “She is Lady Susanna Trelawney, the earl’s daughter.”
Arching his brows, Benton whistled softly.
He did not have a chance to reply because Lady Susanna motioned for him to join her. Aware of the eyes of his crew and the few remaining villagers on them, he pushed down his resentment that she crooked her finger at him as if he were a dog trained to obey.
He squatted beside her and saw one of the older boys pinch the other one again. The second boy let out a shriek that was more anger than pain. He scooped up the two boys and carried them to Benton.
“Keep them apart,” he ordered as he set them at his first mate’s feet.
In an instant, the two boys were taunting each other and poking each other and ready to come to blows.
“How?” asked Benton, trying to pull them away from one another.
Drake shrugged. “You can handle a whole crew of cantankerous sailors. Two small boys should not be too great a task for you.”
When he turned to go back to where Lady Susanna was talking in a hushed voice to the remaining children, he wondered if Benton realized that Drake had given him the easier chore. At least his first mate did not have to work alongside a woman who made no secret that she longed to be rid of him.
He wished he could say the feeling was mutual, but she intrigued him. Her hand gently cupped a tear-streaked face as she leaned toward the children. Behind her cool exterior, she had a gentle heart. So why was she revealing that to everyone but him?
* * *
Captain Nesbitt was definitely correct about one thing, Susanna decided. The two toddler girls, who looked to be around two and a half years old, were identical. They must be twins. With their fine black hair and dark green eyes, they would catch every man’s attention once they were grown. Now they were frightened children surrounded by strangers.
Pointing to herself, she said, “I am Susanna.”
The twins looked at each other and at a younger boy who was struggling to stay awake. Before he could tip over, Susanna picked him up and set him on her lap. She touched his forehead, but no hint of fever suggested he might be ill. She must check each child for signs of sickness, though if one was ill, they all probably would soon be. She wondered how long the youngsters had been in the boat. Their faces were red from the sun but not blistered. Either they were accustomed to the sun off the sea or they had been drifted quickly into Porthlowen Harbor after being set afloat.
“I am Susanna,” she repeated to the twins. “Who are you?”
“Wufry,” one of the little girls said.
“Ruthie?” asked Captain Nesbitt as he came to kneel beside Susanna. He held out his hands for the little boy.
Susanna shook her head because he had fallen asleep, and she did not want to disturb him until she must.
“Wufry.” The little girl scowled at Captain Nesbitt. “Wufry!”
In a hushed voice, he said, “The females around here must learn that facial expression early.”
Then he grinned. “Her irked frown is just like yours.”
Susanna gasped, knowing she should chide him for his rudeness, but she had been sent to help the children, not to teach Captain Nesbitt proper manners. Heat raced up her face when she recalled how many were watching and might have overheard his whisper. The best course of action would be to collect the children and return to Cothaire posthaste.
“Wufry!” insisted the little girl again.
Lord, Susanna prayed, open my understanding as well as my heart to these children You have brought forth out of the sea. She shuddered when she thought of how easily they could have died before reaching Porthlowen. Let me help them now and please guide me in tending them as carefully as You guided them to safety.
Listening closely to the little girl, she repeated the child’s word over and over in her mind. She smiled and asked to give herself more time to decipher the name, “So your name isn’t Georgie?”
“No.” The child smiled, and the little girl beside her looked at Susanna for the first time. “Wufry.”
“And I guess your name isn’t Aloysius, either.”
Both twins giggled.
When Captain Nesbitt started to speak, Susanna waved him to silence with a curt motion. He scowled but nodded. Good. He could be reasonable.
“Wufry!” said the little girl again.
Hoping her first real guess would be right, Susanna took a deep breath and said, “So your name must be Lucy.”
The little girl grinned, showing gaps in her baby teeth. She flung her arms around Susanna’s neck, tugging her toward the boat. The edge cut painfully into her ribs because she protected the sleeping boy from the splintered wooden side.
“Me Wufry.” The toddler pointed to her sister. “She Mowie.”
“So you are Mollie,” Susanna said after repeating the word in her mind. She smiled at the other twin, who seemed shier than her sister. “Lucy and Mollie. Two very pretty names. Captain, will you assist Miss Lucy and Miss Mollie to the carriage?”
He reached for Lucy. His nose wrinkled as he took her hand and then reached for her sister’s. Both were in need of a change of clean clothes and fresh napkins because the ones they wore were soaked.
Susanna stood, balancing the little boy against her. He stank, too, but she had smelled worse.
Her gaze met Captain Nesbitt’s over the children’s heads. A smile quirked at his lips, and she found herself returning it. Something lit in his eyes, something powerful. She should look away. She could not. She was held by his gaze as surely as if he held her in his arms. A shiver ran through her at that thought. Not an icy shiver, but a heated one.
A small hand tugged at her bodice, and, grateful that she could break the connection between her and Captain Nesbitt, Susanna looked down to see the little boy was awake.
“Gil.” The smallest boy jabbed a finger at his chest.
“You are Gil?” she asked.
He nodded and ordered, “Down!”
“As you wish.” She set him on the ground. When she straightened, she saw the playful twinkle in Captain Nesbitt’s eyes. No doubt he recognized Gil’s tone because it sounded much like his arrogant one.
Why was she letting the ship’s captain slip into her thoughts so often? Her focus should be on the children and discovering why they had been floating in a jolly boat in Porthlowen Harbor.
As if she had made that last thought a request, Gil took off running faster than she could imagine such short legs could move. She gave chase, but slowed when the little boy stopped beside the man who was feeding the swaddled baby.
Gil tapped the blanket and said with pride, “My baby.”
Susanna glanced back at Captain Nesbitt. She was not surprised that he was watching intently. He had been honest when he said, because he had saved them, he considered these children his duty.
When he motioned for her to take the lead, probably because he had trouble understanding the childish talk, she asked, “Does your baby have a name, Gil?”
“My baby. My—”
A shriek silenced everyone, and she saw the two older boys swinging at each other. The man trying to keep them apart was not succeeding, because one boy ran in and slapped the other before the man could halt him.
“Captain...” she began.
He pushed past her, shoving the twins’ hands into hers. Scooping up the blond boy, he draped him over one shoulder. Then he grabbed the dark-haired boy and balanced him on his opposite hip. They wriggled but halted when he barked a sharp order.
Susanna laughed. She could not stop herself. The two boys were frozen in shock, and Captain Nesbitt looked a bit green about the gills with one of the boys’ rear ends close to his nose.
“My baby!” Gil cried, patting the baby’s swaddling.
The baby screamed again.
He pulled back in horror. “My baby!”
Susanna gave him a swift smile. Babies cried, but not usually with such intensity. At least not when she held one during church services.
Looking past Gil to the old man holding the baby, she asked, “Is the milk fresh?”
“Aye.” He motioned to a lanky boy standing beside him. “Tell m’lady where ye got the milk, lad.”
He stared at his feet. “At the shop. The lady there said it was delivered this morning. Her assistant poured it out while I was watching, and it smelled as fresh as if it had just come out of the cow.”
“What do you know of milking, boy?” demanded the old man.
“Grew up with cows, I did,” asserted the boy.
To halt the argument before it went further, Susanna said, “If Miss Rowse told you that, it is the truth.” She released the twins’ hands and held out her arms. “May I?”
“Aye,” the old man said gratefully. He settled the baby in her arms, then stood with the help of the lad who had gotten the milk.
As she went toward a row of low boulders, a young woman followed her and asked, “Do you need more milk for the little one, my lady?”
Susanna smiled at the young woman. The hem of her dress and apron were covered with wet sand like Susanna’s. Wisely she had bare feet, so she did not have to deal with shoes caked with heavy sand.
“Are you Peggy who is helping Miss Rowse at the shop?”
She nodded. “Peggy Smith, my lady.” She dipped in a quick curtsy but kept staring at her toes. No doubt, the dark-haired girl wondered what Susanna had heard about her, knowing that news spread quickly in the small town. A newcomer like Peggy would be the talk of Porthlowen until something else caught the gossips’ fancies.
“Thank you for bringing milk for the baby. He or she seems full for now.”
The girl started to say something, then hurried away. Sand sprayed behind her as she sped toward the village.
Behind Susanna, Captain Nesbitt barked an order, but the little boys kept swinging their fists at each other. They managed only to hit him. He put them on the ground, trying to keep them apart.
Gil refused to be parted from the baby. He had trailed Susanna to where she sat on a stone. He watched intently as she placed the baby on her lap. She cooed nonsense words to the baby, but it kept crying with all its power. His lower lip began to tremble, warning he was ready to sob, too.
What is wrong? Lord, help me help this suffering child. Both of them.
With care, she began to undo the blanket that had been wrapped tightly around the baby, keeping it secure and warm. It stank like the other children. Each motion of the blanket seemed to pain the baby—a girl, she discovered—more. She sl
ipped her hand under the long shirt so she could rub the baby’s stomach. It was not hard with colic, but the baby screamed again.
“My baby!” cried Gil, tears oozing out of his eyes.
Her own widened when she raised the shirt and saw a tattered piece of paper attached to the garment with a straight pin. Pink spots on the baby’s chest and stomach showed where the point jabbed her at the slightest motion.
“Oh, you poor dear,” she murmured.
“What is that?” asked Captain Nesbitt.
She looked up, shocked, because she had not heard him approach. His dark coat was stained, and the seam on one shoulder had torn. “The other children?”
“Being watched closely by some of my crew while others shake sand out of the canvas and fit it into the carriage so the seats are not ruined.”
“Thank you,” she said, telling herself she should not be astonished. He had shown his compassion toward the children from the moment she was introduced to him.
“What do you have there?”
“I don’t know.” Careful not to prick the baby again, she drew out the pin and wove it through a corner of her shawl.
He caught the slip of paper before it could fall into the sand. As he scanned it, he clenched his jaw. He handed it back to her.
She struggled with the bad spelling and splotched ink. She guessed it said:
Find loving homes for our children.
Don’t let them work and die in the mines.
Whoever had pinned the note to the baby’s shirt must have been desperate to have that message found.
Beside her, Captain Nesbitt growled something wordless, then said, “Their own families put them in the boat and set them adrift.”
She wanted to deny his words. She could not. Looking from the sleepy baby on her lap and the little boy leaning against her knee back to Captain Nesbitt, she whispered, “How could anyone do that to these sweet children?”
His eyes burned with fervor as he said, “That, my lady, is what I intend to find out.”
