Miss Whittier Makes a List

by Carla Kelly

  “I think when you were below deck darning socks,” the viscount said. “I trust you have better weather in America. I know we do in Spain.” His voice sounded wistful, as though he wished himself back to the hot summers on high plateaus.

  It was well past noon when the post chaise slowed to a stop in front of the three heavy pillars distinguishing the Admiralty House from other, less dramatic government buildings. The viscount helped Hannah from the carriage and stood there a moment, his hands in his pockets. “Perhaps I should come in with you,” he said at last. “My own business can wait, and I worry about what kind of reception you Americans might get from the porter.”

  They hurried up the steps, just ahead of the rain that had been threatening all morning, and into the antechamber with its black-and-white marble floor. Wellington set his hat on straighter and strode to the porter’s desk, looking down at the man who sat scratching away with his pen. “Are there any court martials in session right now?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir,” said the porter, “but they have begun after noon recess, so you cannot enter.”

  “We have come from Portugal with an important dispatch,” the viscount replied, rapping his knuckles on the desk. “We demand entrance to Captain Sir Daniel Spark’s court martial.”

  “Well, you cannot have it,” the porter replied, turning back to his paperwork. “The rules apply to the army as well as the navy.”

  Wellington stepped back, surprised. Hannah tugged at his cloak. “I told you how difficult it was to do a favor for the English people,” she said.

  The viscount nodded and withdrew to the chairs by the large windows. He thoughtfully regarded the porter, who was deep in his forms again. “I am forced to agree with you, Miss Whittier. This calls for a classic army response. Adam, can I trust you to make an appropriate diversion in this antechamber while I whisk Hannah into the trial?”

  Adam grinned and held out his hand. “Does thee have a match, my lord?”

  The viscount smiled back and handed Adam a box from his pocket. “Make it a good one, Adam. I’ll go your bail if the navy hauls you away.”

  “What can they do? Impress me?” Adam asked as he struck a match and held it under the nearest drapery.

  “Resourceful chap,” Wellington said as he watched the smoke rise in a choking cloud from the ancient cloth. “Come, my dear. We have an appointment with the First Lords, whether they know it or not.”

  By now the porter was staring at the window, where smoke billowed. Screaming, “Fire! Fire!” he scrambled from his chair, knocking over the inkwell, which spread ink all over his precious paperwork. Adam went to the next window, set another fire and darttify">ed out the door as the viscount grabbed Hannah by the elbow and steered her down the hall.

  The first chamber yielded nothing more than a clutch of clerks, busily working over another stack of documents. “We should send Adam in here,” Wellington said as he closed the door. “Think what a bonfire that would make. Do you suppose anyone actually reads that stuff? We could be doing the navy a favor.”

  Hannah laughed and let him tug her along the hall to a massive doorway at the end. It was guarded by two sailors, but the viscount didn’t even pause. He slammed the door open and looked around him in satisfaction. “Ah, yes,” he said and patted Hannah’s shoulder. “Well, here you go, my dear.” He bowed over her hand. “I am certain my wife would thank you for darning all those socks. And I will try to trim my toenails more frequently.”

  She let him kiss her hand, her eyes merry. “Good luck with Napoleon, sir. I think thee will win.”

  He winked and left the room, his cloak billowing out behind him. Hannah turned her attention to the chamber before her, sighing with relief to see Captain Spark, handsome in full uniform and with his arm in a sling, standing by his chair, a grin on his face. Others rose, among them Mr. Futtrell and several Marines from the Dissuade. She started down the aisle, but was stopped by the sailors from the doorway.

  “Let me go!” she shouted. “I am so out of patience with the Royal Navy!”

  And then Spark was beside her. “I recommend you release her at once,” he said, scarcely ret me go!“Lively now,” he added and the sailors let go.

  “What is the meaning of this!” shouted a loud quarterdeck voice from the long table at the front of the chamber. The First Lords were standing now, too, craning about for a better view. “Is that a woman?”

  “Yes, my lord, quite a woman,” Spark replied, tucking her arm in his good one and pulling her toward the front. “Hannah Whittier from Nantucket, Massachusetts. She has a little present from the Bergeron for you, my lord.” He turned to Hannah and whispered, “Where is Adam?”

  “Setting fire to the curtains in the antechamber,” she replied.

  He stopped and put his hand on her shoulder. “And whose idea was that?”

  “Why, Arthur Wellesley, the Viscount of Wellington. He thought a diversion would get us past the porter.”

  Spark stared at her. “Hells’ bells, you have been keeping excellent company.”

  “He is a fine man, Daniel, and I wish thee would not swear,” she said as she took the dispatch out of the front of her shirt. “Who do I give this to?”

  “Give it to that red-faced walrus with the pop eyes,” he whispered. “That is Lord Tichenor.” He hurried her toward the long table, where the lords all stood, surrounded by lesser ranks of officers. “My Lord Tichenor, we request permission to approach the table.”

  “This is highly unusual, Sir Daniel,” bellowed the admiral, his voice still equal to any battle or hurricane. “God bless me, it is a woman!”

  “Well, more of a young lady, actually, but she will grow,” Spark amended. “Give him the dispatch like a good girl, Hannah.”

  She handed it over. “This is from the Bergeron, which Captain Spark sank. It makes excellent reading, sir, so we saved it for thee.”

  Spark looked around the room until he located Lord Luckingham. He leaned across the table. “My Lord, you may wish to set a stronger guard at the door before you begin reading.”

  “As you were!” the first lord shouted. “Find that ... that young lady a chair. My God, madam, have you no shoes?”

  “Why, no,” she replied, unable to keep the laughter from her voice. “We could not find any that small in ship’s store, and it was warm in Portugal when we left.”

  The officers in the room laughed. The admiral banged on the table with the flat of his hand, and then stopped suddenly, sniffing the air. “Do I smell smoke?” he demanded in the same rasping voice.

  “Yes, sir,” she replied. “My friend Adam had to set fire to the curtains to distract the porter long enough for me to get in here.”

  The admiral stared at her. Captain Spark shrugged his shoulders. “Americans, sir. What can one say?”The admiral clutched the dispatch to him and sat down slowly. His eyes narrowed. “Madam, you come from a distempered race.”

  “Exactly what I have been telling her, my lord,” Spark said cheerfully. “Come, Hannah, you can have my chair.”

  She sat down next to Mr. Futtrell, who flashed her a grin and then turned his attention to Lord Tichenor as he read the dispatch. Captain Spark found another chair and pulled it next to her. “You made it,” he said simply, and took her hand.

  Halfway through the dispatch, Lord Tichenor looked up and cleared his throat. He gestured to the Dissuade’s Marines. “Stand by the door, men,” he ordered, then returned his attention to the paper. The two other lords stood behind his chair, reading over his shoulder.

  “We were almost through,” Spark whispered, leaning close to her. “Naturally, I could not say anything about the dispatch, because I did not have it.” He looked into her eyes. “You are a wonder, Hannah.”

  “I am nothing of the sort,” she protested, but her voice was soft. “How could anyone stand in the chapel at All Saints and see all those wounded men, and not want to do something to end this bloodshed faster?”

  He nodded, then turned his
attention to the front, where Lord Tichenor was on his feet now. He clasped her hand more firmly, twining his fingers through hers as though he did not wish to let her go again. “About those kisses in the chapel,” he whispered, his eyes still on Lord Tichenor. “I meant every one of them, Hannah.”

  Lord Tichenor rapped on the table for silence. He held out the dispatch toward Lord Luckingham, who sat in the front row, supremely unconcerned. “Lord Luckingham, ze=aps you might find this document interesting,” he said, and gestured for him to come to the table.

  Luckingham strolled to the front, a question in his eyes.

  “He doesn’t have a clue,” Hannah whispered.

  Lord Tichenor’s voice was all affability now. “Start reading here, my lord. It’s a letter from the governor of Antigua. Take your time; savor it, you bastard.”

  The chamber was silent now, as a hundred officers, men, clerks, and barristers stared at Lord Luckingham. Luckingham snatched up the document from the table. The paper began to rattle in his fingers and the color drained from his face, leaving behind the wide-eyed stare of an animal in a trap. “You can’t possibly believe a document delivered by an American, my lord,” he said at last, turning the word into an epithet.

  Hannah was on her feet in a second. “We have dragged that document through hell, my Lord Tichenor!” she shouted. “I have seen men die for it! I don’t care if thee are all pettifogging, arrogant Englishmen! No nation deserves to suffer a traitor!”

  Her words rang out in the chamber. Lord Luckingham threw down the document and leaned against the table, as if his legs would no longer support him. He covered his face with his hands as the Dissuade’s Marines led him away. Hannah sighed and sat down again.

  Lord Tichenor watched the traitor until the door slammed. He sat down again, a frown on his face, and looked again at the other papers before him. “Now where were we?” he murmured to himself. “Ah, yes, Captain Spark, I believe we have to deliberate now and conclude your court martial.”

  Hannah leaped to her feet again. “My lord, I hope thee is not going to cut up stiff because the Dissuade sank. Thee was not there to see all that water pouring into the hold and hear those pumps clank.”

  The first lord’s lips twitched, but he managed a stern face. “Miss Whittier, sit down!” he ordered. “One doesn’t get to be first lord without hearing pumps. Captain Spark has already been ably defended and does not need American counsel from some barefoot chit.”

  “Very well,” Hannah muttered and let Spark pull her back into her chair.

  The first lords rose and left the chamber. “They could be gone all afternoon deliberating,” Spark said.

  “Then they are perfect idiots,” she replied.

  “Hannah, be quiet,” he said, but he was smiling. “Thank you for all you have done.”

  The clerk announced the return of the first lords, who filed right back into the chamber almost immediately. Captain Spark rose to his feet on their command. Lord Tichenor took Spark’s sword, which lay on the table before him, and turned the hilt toward the captain. “You are exonerated of all charges, Captain Spark. The lords admiral are of the opinion that your defeat of the Bergeron and subsequent removal to the Azores showed the sort of verve and pluck that England expects of its navy. You are honorably acquitted, sir. You need only wait for further orders.”

  Spark smiled and stepped forward for his sword. He saluted, then put the sword back in his scabbard. He bowed. “Thank you, my lords admiral.”

  Lord Tichenor bowed in return, then gestured to Hannah. “Thank you, Miss Whittier, for your service to our nation,” he said, his voice softer now and his eyes more kindly. “Perhaps somewhere in London, Captain Spark can find you some shoes.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Triumphant in victory, Daniel Spark rescued Adam Winslow from the clutches of the navy. “Sirs, he had to create a diversion to get beyond the porter,” he told the first lords, when he stood with them in the antechamber, looking at the charred draperies. “Miss Whittier told you how hard it was to do a favor for the British, my lords,” he added. “And after all, they are Americans, used to dealing with problems on a more primitive level.”

  Lord Tichenor leveled his most ferocious quarterdeck stare at Adam, who grinned back. “You appear to be most unrepentant, young man,” he began, the words rumbling out of him.

  “I think this little bonfire is just recompense for being impressed and forced to sail to England entirely against my own wishes,” Adam said, returning stare for stare. “And I think Captain Spark should pay to replace the draperies.”

  Lord Tichenor rumbled again, but it sounded more like a laugh desperate to escape from his insides. “You are as cheeky as this young lady.”

  “Almost,” Adam replied, grinning at Hannah. “I think it is in the blood, my lord. And we want passage home from thee as soon as it can be arranged, don’t we, Hannah?”

  She took a dee breath and nodded, not looking at Captain Sir Daniel Spark. “Yes, we do,” she whispered.

  Lord Tichenor threw up his hands. “Very well! I will arrange for vouchers to be sent to ... My dear Miss Whittier, where are you staying? I would certainly prefer that the American ambassador, God bless his fractious soul, not get wind that you are in London.”

  “They will stay with my mother and me on Half Moon Street,” Spark said. He looked at the draperies again and sighed. “And I will replace the draperies in the antechamber.”

  “Excellent!” Lord Tichenor declared. “Then we can call this matter closed.”

  “You two are expensive, indeed,” Spark grumbled as he helped Hannah into the hack after Adam. “And you, Lady Amber, I suppose you will expect me to find some clothes for your back.”

  “And shoes, please,” Hannah said, laughing at the expression on his face. “Above all, shoes.”

  Thee has found me shoes and too much more, Hannah decided as she sat crosslegged on her bed in the Spark mansion on Half Moon Street. A week has passed and I have more dresses and hats than all my Nantucket friends put together. She looked around her at the unopened packages on the bed, delivered only moments before and borne triumphantly past the butler and upstairs by the maid that Daniel Spark’s mother had loaned her. Only a day or two ago, she would have pounced on the packages and opened them, to exclaim over the beauty within. Now she could only shake her head at such extravagance as a vague feeling of unease gnawed at her Quaker scruples.

  She sighed as the maid closed the door behind her. Soon Lady Spark would come up the stairs to exclaim over her son’s latest purchases for Hannah Whittier. “He is usually such a clutch-fist,” she had earlier told Hannah with a pout. “He keeps my household expenses on a tight rein, and I find it such a restraint! But look, he has bought you morning dresses and walking dresses, and hats that are much handsomer than my own!”

  On Captain Spark’s command, a French modiste, complete with sneer and superior manners, had arrived the very next morning, when Hannah still lay in bed, wearing one of Lady Spark’s nightgowns and contemplating the handsome plaster swirls in the ceiling. It was a view far removed from the plaster and beams of her own little bedroom under the eaves on Orange Street. But Madame LeTournier could not be ignored, especially when she threw back the covers and demanded that Hannah rise and do her duty. Protest that all she needed was one or two serviceable dresses was useless argument, Hannah soon discovered. Madame LeTournier walked around her, taking measurements and announcing her plans for Mademoiselle’s complete wardrobe.

  “But I do not need so much!” Hannah exclaimed. “One or two dresses, some shoes, and perhaps a cloak ....”

  “I have my orders from le capitaine,” Madame LeTournier insisted. “ ‘Rig her out like a ship of the line,’ he said, and so I shall. Hold still, Miss Whittier. How can I measure your foot?”

  She resumed her protests two days later when the first of the lovely confections began arriving, sure indication the seamstresses at LeTournier’s salon were burning their candles rig
ht down to the holder to fulfill their commission from Captain Sir Daniel Spark, ‘hero /span>of the Caribbean, savior of England from the hands of traitors,’ as Madame had put it.

  “Oh, I cannot accept these,” she demurred as Lady Spark buttoned her into an especially attractive blue morning dress of the lightest wool. It hung in neat folds to her ankles, with slippers of the softest Moroccan leather, dyed to match.

  “Don’t be missish,” Lady Spark insisted. “Now, turn around. Perfection!”

  She went into the hall and called her son, who arrived in shirtsleeves, with a physician trailing after him, who was trying to resplint his arm. Holding his arm, the captain walked around her, spending more time in the back than she liked, and then faced her. “Shipshape from all points of the compass, Hannah,” he pronounced. “By God, you are enough to stop a man’s breath! Just keep eating that stuff Mama’s cook thinks we need, and you’ll soon have sufficient meat on your bones. The cut of your jib is truly a marvel.”

  “I wish thee would be serious,” she said.

  “I am, you silly nod!” he replied, his eyes merry. “Ask Mama how tight I am with her accounts. I expect a good return on my investments, and you have amply fulfilled that promise.”

  “It’s too much!” she insisted. “How can I wear these clothes among my own people in Nantucket?”

  Daniel sighed and rested his broken arm on her shoulder so she would not move. “Mama, take Dr. Sanford to the blue saloon for some port. I must reason with a stubborn Quaker.” When the door clsed behind them, he kissed her so thoroughly that she could be only grateful he was hampered by a broken arm.

  “Humor me, my dear,” he murmured into her hair as she rested her head against his chest. “I go for years with nothing to look at but gray biscuits and green drinking water and seamen in canvas trousers. You can’t imagine what a bright spot you are in my life. Now stop cutting up so stiff over this wardrobe, or I will have to take more drastic steps and kiss you until your knees buckle.” He kissed her again, his good hand gentle against her breast. “Perhaps I will do that anyway.”