Miss Whittier Makes a List

by Carla Kelly

  She hurried toward the lady chapel, squinting into the gloom as she saw the pallets of wounded there, each space filled. She frowned. The Marine corporal was nowhere in sight. Her mind filled with disquiet, she tiptoed to the pallet last occupied by her captain. Someone else lay there now.

  Captain Spark was gone.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Her first fear was that he had died in the night, but she quickly discarded that notion. Anyone who could kiss like Captain Spark was firmly planted on the road to recovery. Her second thought was anger. So you could not wait to leave, she considered as she stared down at the pallet and its sleeping new occupant. This was replaced quickly by despair. They have shipped you out for London and a court martial, but I am not there.

  With eyes that scarcely saw, she went back into the main chapel. Adam followed her. He touched her arm. “Is it Holland now?” he asked quietly.

  She gave him a searching look that made him turn red and stare at his shoes. “Adam, where is thy backbone? We have to get to England! That’s all there is to it.”

  A brief conversation with the hospital steward confirmed her fear. “Oh, my, yes, he was shipped out on last night’s tide, miss,” the clerk assured her, looking down through bloodshot eyes at his endless list of dead, wounded, and misplaced. “Something about a court martial at the Admiralty in two weeks.” He chuckled, remembering. “Damned ... er, excuse me ... bless me if he wasn’t a bit exercised over being so rudely hauled up from his bed of pain. I do believe that was how he put it.”

  “Then you have considerably cleaned up his conversation for my benefit.” she replied, her voice crisp. “Has he sailed?”

  “Yes, miss. You’re too late.”

  She left the building in a rage, too angry to cry over this latest misfortune. She was at the bottom of the stair, fuming, before Adam caught up with her. He grabbed her and sat her down on the bottom step.

  “Hannah, thee is not fit for society!” he said, his demeanor more commanding than usual. “We’ll never get anywhere with thee in a total rage.”

  He was right of course. She leaped to her feet and walked to the broad stone banister leading down from the church. She wanted to pound on something, but the only thing there was a chestnut horse, its reins looped over the carved marble flowerpot. She turned her face into its shoulder instead and cried, standing there until she felt calm enough to look at Adam again. The animal was obliging in the extreme, wickering softly at her as she stood there.

  “He is a good horse, madam,” said a voice behind her.

  She whirled around to stare at an elegantly tall officer with more gold on his shoulders and sleeves than probably was deposited in the whole U.S. Treasury. His tanned face was in no way marred by his beaked nose. He looked like a man who could lead armies, and here she was sobbing into his horse.

  “I am sorry, sir,” she managed, and scrubbed her hand across her eyes and backed away from his horse as though she had been attempting its theft.

  He shook his head and smiled down at her, taking off his lofty hat. “Don’t worry, my dear. I have cried into Copenhagen a few times myself, and not so long ago.”

  His words were spoken quietly, so none of the equally gold-braided men who followed him down the steps could hear. “May I introduce Copenhagen, Miss ... Miss ....”

  “Hannah Whittier of Nantucket,” she said, and held out her hand shyly.

  He took it in both his gloved hands. “You are a long way from home,” he said.

  Her eyes teared again at his words and without saying anything else, he whipped out a handsome monogrammed handkerchief. “Perhaps I should not have mentioned that, Miss Whittier,” he said while she blew her nose. “Obviously I don’t need to remind you of the miles between this dirty city and what I am sure is a more pleasant existence. Here, sit down.”

  He indicated the bottom step again and she sat, her eyes on his face. He dusted off the step and joined her, waving on the officers around him. “Gentlemen, find something to occupy yourselves, if you will. Miss Whittier, my name is Wellesley, Arthur Wellesley.”

  She heard Adam’s soft whistle behind her. “Mr. Wellesley?” she asked.

  “Not precisely. I command this ragtag army, my dear. I am the Viscount of Wellington.”

  “Oh, my,” Hannah said, her eyes wide. “I didn’t mean to cry all over thy horse!”

  He threw back his head and laughed, and it was the most extraordinary laugh Hannah had ever heard, high-pitched and somewhat horselike itself. Copenhagen tossed his mane at the sound as though horse and master shared a conspiracy.

  “My dear, I am sure he will dry,” said Wellington. “Now tell me what is troubling you.”

  Adam tugged at her arm. “Hannah, thee cannot bother this gentleman!”

  She shrugged off his hand. “Sir, I am perplexed at how difficult it is to do a good deed for the British.”

  Wellington took off his gloves. “I did not know it was so hard, my dear.”

  “It’s no wonder thee lost the War for Independence,” she continued steadily, ignoring Adam, who had thrown up his hands and stalked up the steps to sit behind them, his head in his hands. “All I have been trying to do is help Captain Sir Daniel Spark—do you know him, sir?—get a dispatch from a French ship to London, and I am scotched at every turn.”

  Wellington absorbed this bit of information without a blink. “I know the Spark family. Does he not command a commerce raider?”

  “He did, but it sank in the harbor on Terceira. And now he has been sent to London for a court martial, and I still have the dispatch. He needs me, sir.”

  He looked at her. “I don’t doubt that for a moment, Miss ... Whittier, did you say? And are you a Quaker, miss?”

  “I think I am,” she replied, some doubt in her voice, “although I have not been acting precisely as a Quaker should lately. I mean, I’d like to murder the Lords of the Admiralty for being so pigheaded about this court martial. I mean, couldn’t it wait?”

  Wellington laughed again. “I am sure you are not alone in your wish to see the First Lords to Hades, my dear. Show me the dispatch.”

  She took it from the front of her dress, but did not hold it out to him. “See here, sir, can I trust thee?” she asked.

  One of the British officers standing close by laughed. ‘That’s enough, Beresford.” the viscount murmured. “Obviously this little lady has been through a few trials for this dispatch.”

  “Oh, we have, sir,” she agreed. “More than thee knows.” She hesitated another moment, then held it out to him.

  “You can safely assume that I have the good of England in mind, Miss Whittier,” Wellington said as his hand closed over the dispatch. We are waging a lonely battle against the Corsican tyrant, and we have few friends in the world. Unfortunately, your nation is not among them. Perhaps I should be suspicious of you?”

  She turned shocked eyes on him, and then smiled to see that he was grinning at her. “Thee is a dreadful tease, sir,” she said, to the silent enjoyment of the officers around the viscount. “Go ahead and read it.”

  He did, leaning back on the step and propping himself up with his elbow. She could see how tired he was and could only wonder at the terrible responsibility he shouldered. And now he is digging trenches around this city, and I am bothering him with one more little detail.

  He looked up halfway through the dispatch and motioned to one of his officers to sit beside and read, too. “My God, sir,” said the officer, his voice low, as he scanned the closely written page. They continued reading in silence, then Wellington folded the dispatch and handed it back.

  “Yes, you do have to get to London. Miss Whittier,” he said after another moment’s reflection. “And promptly, too. Beresford, what do you know of the Navy? Are not court martials at the Admiralty conducted the last week of each month?”

  “I believe so, my lord,” the officer said. “That would give her two weeks, wouldn’t it?”

  Wellington nodded. “My dear, do you ha
ve any objections to a prompt removal from Lisbon?”

  “The more prompt, the better,” she replied. “We had to climb out of a second-story window at the American consulate this morning to get here, and I do not think the consul will want to see us again in this life.spa

  The viscount winced. “To the contrary, I strongly suspect he will be looking for you.”

  “I should think he would be glad to be rid of her, sir.” Adam spoke up then, coming closer to the steps. “I am Adam Winslow. Hannah and I have known each other forever, and I was impressed from my ship by Captain Spark.”

  “Worse and worse,” murmured Wellington. “And still you wish to help him?”

  “No, I don’t.” Adam said bluntly. “But Hannah won’t let it alone until she does, and believe me, thee doesn’t wish to be nibbled to death by this particular duck.”

  “Adam!” she exclaimed as the viscount laughed again. “He will think I am a pest.”

  “Thee is.”

  They glowered at each other. Wellington shook his head. “Temper, temper,” he said, and got to his feet. He pulled up Hannah after him. “My dear, I know I can get you on board a fast packet to Portsmouth, if you don’t object to a bit of subterfuge.”

  “Sir, I am well acquainted with subterfuge by now. Haven’t I been in close company with the Royal Navy these six weeks and more?”

  He clapped his hands together, his mind made up. “Very well, then, since the American consulate had probably alerted the waterfront, Miss Whittier, we will have to be a bit smarter. I would like to avoid an international incident, if I can, so would you mind terribly dressing as a cabin boy?”

  Hannah and Adam looked at each other, their eyes merry. “Sir, that was what she did on the Dissuade, and do you know, Captain Spark even sent her into the lookout to spy for French cruisers?”

  Wellington shook his head and lifted the reins from off the flowerpot. He mounted Copenhagen. “I am continually amazed at the resourcefulness of the Royal Navy, Miss Whittier. I recommend that you remain here until Adam can find you some suitable kit. Then I expect to see the two of you—and that infamous dispatch——at the H.M.S. Dauntless in an hour or less. The navy is dashed particular about wind and tides.”

  He wheeled Copenhagen around and held his hand out for Adam to mount behind him. The other officers found their horses and mounted while she stood on the steps of All Saints. “I must make a flying nip to London and a conference with the small brains at Whitehall. You can be my cabin boy, Miss Whittier, since you are so good at it. See you soon. And don’t murder anyone until Adam returns.”

  She watched them leave, then returned to the chapel, where she sat in a shadowy corner until Adam returned an hour later with clothes draped over his arm. He held them out to her.

  “Wellington is a great gun, Hannah, for all that he is Brit,” he whispered. “Hurry now. We have to catch the tide.”

  She took the clothes and ducked into the narrow stairway leading up to the bell tower. It was only a moment’s work to pull off her dress and petticoat and get into sailor’s canvas pants and shirt, wool this time. She balled up the dress and petticoat and wedged them under the lowest step, wondering what the priests of All Saints would think when a housecleaning eventually uncovered them.

  Adam knocked on the door to hurry her along. “I’m coming!” she hissed, and rebraided her hair down her back. Someday I will wear my own clothes again, she thought as she hurried from the chapel with Adam and ran with him, hand in hand, down the steps.

  Wellington stood on the dock waiting. She ran toward him, out of breath, and he thrust his valise into her hands, commanding her to follow closely by his side. “The American consul has been stalking up and down the docks for the past hour and more, Miss Whittier,” he whispered under his breath as they strode along to the jolly boat. “And I have been perjuring my soul and assuring him that the British would never be party to any deception regarding an American female of tender years.”

  He lifted her into the boat, luggage and all, and hurried to sit beside her, obscuring her from any view from the waterfront. Adam scrambled in behind them as the helmsman cast off the rope and raised the sail for the Dauntless.

  “Of course, we could have simply given thee the dispatch to take to the Admiralty,” Adam said as the boat skimmed over the water, outlined by the setting sun.

  Wellington nodded. “You could have tried, my young friend,” he said, “but whydo I have the feeling that would not have been good enough for Miss Whittier here?”

  “Because she is a totty-headed female,” he replied. “I have known her for years as a sensible Nantucket girl, and now see what happens when she gets one ocean voyage!”

  Yes, indeed, Hannah thought as the jolly boat swung around to meet the Dauntless. I do not know that I would recognize myself if I saw me on the street. I used to be biddable, like Mama, never saying boo to a goose, and here I sit beside the Viscount of Wellington, one of the great men of Europe. She rested her chin in her hand. And somewhere Daniel Spark needs me.

  Hannah spent the voyage from Lisbon to London in the great cabin that the captain had vacated for Wellington, listening to rain scour the deck of the cruiser, and working her way through a great pile of darning. “Thee does not have a pair of socks without holes,” she grumbled to the viscount as he sat day after day in the cabin, bringing his journal up to date and writing reports.

  “My dear, that is yet another unglamorous consequence of war,” he murmured as he wrote. “Does ‘attrition’ have one ‘t’ or two?”

  “It has three,” she replied, and he threw down his pen. “Well, it does.”

  He shook his head, smiled at her, and picked up the pen again. “Captain Spark must be a man of considerable patience to tolerate you,” he said, his eyes on the report spread before him.

  “Oh, he has no patience at all,” she said, cutting the thread with her teeth and picking up another sock, quite unruffled by his jest. “He calls me dreadful things like ‘shark chum,’ and blasphemes and uses expressions that would make my mother go into spasms.”

  “And he has no qualms about impressing Americans,” Adam added from his corner by the stem galley.

  “Has the man any good qualities?” Wellington asked, putting down his pen at last and rubbing his eyes.

  Hannah was silent as she bent over her darning. He loves me, she thought, and that shows right good sense. He kisses most excellently, and that is nothing to tell the Viscount of Wellington. “He is fearless in a fight,” she said at last. “And ... and when I am afraid of something, like climbing the rigging, he makes me face down my fear until it does not scare me any longer.”

  “Excellent man,” Wellington said. He rested his head in his hand. “I could use him when I visit Whitehall next week and try to explain to the armchair generals why I lost so many men at Vimeiro and why we struggle now to hang on to Lisbon.” He was silent then, his sharp features shadowed and then revealed by the swaying lamp.

  Hannah put down her darning. “Captain Spark would say that once thee has faced the guns, nothing can frighten thee,” she said, her voice soft.

  Wellington looked at her and nodded. “You are right, of course.” He reached across the table and touched her cheek. “And I think I understand why Captain Spark tolerates you.”

  She blushed and picked up the sock again. “Sir, I think if thee would cut thy toenails more regularly, thee would have better socks.”

  “Hannah!” Adam groaned. “Won’t thee ever be still?”

  She grew quieter as they reached the coast of England and sailed into Portsmouth Harbor, wondering why she had not just given the dispatch to Wellington, as Adam had suggested. We could be on our way home, and I would eventually forget Daniel Spark, she thought as she stared out the stem gallery windows to the gray ocean, rising and falling on oily swells. As the anchor chain ran out of the hawser hole and the sailors furled the sails in Portsmouth Harbor, she told herself that once she knew for certain that he was well, s
he would have no trouble leaving. Not a bit.

  The further benefit of being pressed into the service of Arthur Wellesley, Viscount of Wellington, showed itself as soon as they drew up to the wharf, where a post chaise waited. Wellington flipped a coin to the helmsman while Adam lifted Hannah onto the dock. He bundled them inside the post chaise and nodded to the coachman. “These are good horses?” he asked the coachman.

  The man grinned and bowed. “Oh, yes, my lord.”

  “Then spring ’em, my good man,” Wellington commanded. “We have a date at the Admiralty.”

  They drove all night, Hannah asleep against the viscount’s shoulder as they raced through the silent countryside. When she woke in the morning, her neck stiff and her back aching, she wondered if he had slept at all. He was staring out the window, his eyes half closed, his expression unreadable, as though his body was here in the coach but his heart remained in Lisbon with his troops.

  She sat up, and he glanced at her, then resumed his stare out the window. “Have you ever considered, my lord, how often in life we find ourselves wishing we were where we are not?” she murmured. “It seems that is all I have done lately, and I think thee has the same difficulty.”

  He nodded. “I should be in Lisbon. Oh, Beresford knows his business, and mine, too, but I am commanding.” He clapped his hands together in a frustrated gesture. “It is so hard to convince people that I truly know what I am doing. I know how to fight Napoleon, and it is not by explaining my every move to the First Minister!”

  He paused then, as if surprised at his vehemence. “Well, we all have our troubles. Hannah, what will you do once you have given Captain Spark the dispatch?”

  “I expect I will return to America,” she replied, wishing the idea had more appeal.

  “I wonder,” he said, then stared out the window again.

  Her first view of London was hazy smoke rising from countless chimneys, to drift, dirt-colored, around low clouds that promised rain again. She looked for St. Paul’s Cathedral, which she had seen in books, but it was obscured by the fog that settled everywhere. She shivered. “When did summer end?” she asked of no one in particular.