Marrying the Royal Marine (5 page)

His smile was appreciative as he fingered the gorget against his throat. ‘I must remain in uniform, Brandon, and the gorget stays. I will try what you say.’ He did not disguise the doubt in his voice.

She clasped her hands together, unwilling to let him go, even if it was only to the main deck. ‘Colonel, you could practise right here. Ask me questions. I could do the same to you.’

‘Why not?’ He contemplated her for a moment, and she suddenly wished she was thinner, that her hair was not so wind-blown, and that her glasses would disappear. He was looking her right in the eyes, though, so maybe he didn’t notice.

He flexed his fingers and cleared his throat. ‘Private Brandon, as you were, please! Let me set you at ease. I’m here to ask questions of you that will never be repeated to your superior. I will not even name you in my report.’ He looked at her, his eyes sceptical. ‘What do you think so far?’

‘You could smile,’ she suggested.

‘Too artificial,’ he replied, shaking his head. ‘That would terrify them because officers never smile.’

‘I don’t understand men,’ Polly said suddenly.

‘You weren’t meant to,’ he told her gently, which made her laugh. ‘All right. All right. Private Brandon, tell me something about yourself. Why did you join the Royal Marines? I’m curious.’ He peered at her. ‘Just tell me something about yourself, Brandon, something that I don’t know.’

She thought a moment, and realised with a sudden jolt that she had reached that place where Nana had once told her she would one day arrive. ‘“Polly, dear, you must never deceive a man about your origins,”’ Nana had told her only a week ago.

‘My father was William Stokes, Lord Ratliffe of Admiralty House,’ she said. ‘I am one of his three illegitimate daughters, Colonel.’

To her relief, he did not seem repulsed. ‘That accounts for all the years in boarding school in Bath, I suppose. Tell me more, Brandon. What do you like to do?’

‘After that, you really want to know
more
?’ she asked in surprise.

‘Indeed, I do, Private Brandon,’ he said simply. ‘Remember—I’m supposed to extract answers from you and keep you at your ease. I am interested.’

‘Our father tried to sell my older sisters to the highest bidder, to pay off his debts,’ she went on.

‘What a bad man,’ the Colonel said. ‘Is he the Admiralty official who died in a Spanish prison and is thought by some to be a hero?’

‘He died in Plymouth, and, yes, some think him a hero,’ she said, her voice barely audible.

He amazed her by putting his hand under her chin and raising it a little, so he could look her in the eyes. ‘You managed to avoid all this? How?’

Don’t you have eyes in your head?
she wanted to retort. ‘Come now, Colonel,’ she said. ‘I am no beauty. My father chose to ignore me.’

For some reason, her bald statement seemed to embarrass the Colonel, whose face turned red. ‘Shallow, shallow man,’ he murmured, when he had recovered himself. ‘He never really took a good look at you, did he?’

Startled, she shook her head. ‘He demanded miniatures of my sisters, but not of me.’

‘Thank God, Brandon,’ the Colonel whispered, his eyes still not leaving her face. He gazed at her for a long moment, and then seemed to recall what he was doing. He sat back and regarded her speculatively. ‘I think I can do those interviews now,’ he said. ‘If I show a genuine interest in what these enlisted men are telling me, look them in the eyes and wait, I might have success. Is that it?’

‘I think it is,’ she replied, relieved that he had changed the subject, and a little surprised at how much information she had given him with so little encouragement. ‘You’re actually rather good at interviewing, I think.’ Then she couldn’t help herself. ‘Only don’t chuck them under the chin.’

He laughed and held up his hands in a surrender gesture. ‘Too right, Brandon! Wait. You never told me what
you
like to do, only about your dreadful father. There’s more to you than him.’

She had never thought of it that way before. ‘I like to plant things. Before I left Torquay, I helped my brother-in-law’s mother plant a row of Johnny Jump-Ups in pots. We…we were going to do snapdragons next, but the letter came and I went to Plymouth. It’s not very interesting,’ she said in apology.

‘You’d like Kirkcudbright, the village where I grew up,’ he said. ‘Everyone has flowers in their front yard. It smells like heaven, around July. And it
is
interesting.’

The Colonel put his hand on her cheek then, as he had the other evening. ‘Don’t ever sell yourself short, Brandon,’ he said quietly. ‘Incidentally, I like to carve small boats.’

He bowed and left the quarterdeck for the waist of the frigate, where the guns were tied down fast. She watched as he spoke to the Sergeant of the guard, then sat down on the hatch.

‘That’s the way,’ Polly murmured quietly, her heart still beating too fast. ‘Surely they won’t remain standing if you are seated.’

Trying not to appear overly interested, she watched as the Marines not on duty approached Colonel Junot. He gestured to them, and in a few minutes, they were seated around him.

‘Talk to him,’ she whispered. ‘Just talk to him. He’s nothing but kind. All it takes is one of you to speak.’

One of the Privates squatting on the edge of the gathering raised his hand. Colonel Junot answered him, and everyone laughed, even the man who asked the question. Then others joined in, talking to the Colonel, to each other, and even calling over some sailors.

You just have to be yourself
, she thought, imagining Colonel Junot’s capable hands carving little boats for children.
Just be the man who was so kind to me.

Chapter Five

M
aybe it was the wistful way Polly Brandon had spoken of snapdragons. As Hugh had tried out his interviewing skills on a squad of obliging Marines, he’d found his mind wandering to the lady in the canvas chair.

He could be thankful he was aboard one of his Majesty’s typical warships, which did not believe in mirrors on the bulkheads. He had enough trouble frowning into his shaving mirror the next morning and seeing nothing but grey hair starting to attack his temples. As he stared in total dissatisfaction, a brave better angel of his nature did attempt to remind him of his own words to Brandon a day ago, when he so sagely advised her not to sell herself short. The angel shrugged and gave up when he chose not to admit he was doing exactly the same thing to himself.

‘I am too old,’ he told his reflection in the shaving mirror as he scraped at his chin, which only made him wince—not because the razor was dull, but because none of those obstacles loomed any higher than the molehills they were to him. All he could think of was his August 9, 1775 birth date in the family Bible back home.

When his face was scraped sufficiently free of whiskers, he sat naked on the cold cannon in his cabin, glumly willing himself to be as practical as he ordinarily was. He reminded himself he was on duty, in the service of his King, headed into the war, and destined to be busy. Another day or two would pass and he would never see Polly Brandon again. For his peace of mind, it couldn’t come too soon. Hugh did know one thing—what ailed him had a cure, and it was probably to continually remind himself that he was too old for the bewitching Polly Brandon.

Two days later, he could have made his resolve less problematic if he hadn’t been pacing on deck in the early hours, dissatisfied with himself. If he had a brain in his head, he would skulk somewhere on the ship when it docked in Oporto. Brandon would go ashore, and he would never see her again. He could go on to Lisbon.

That was his plan, anyway—a poor one, but serviceable enough. Trouble was, the view of Oporto took his breath away, and he was down the companionway in a matter of minutes, knocking on her door to tell her to step lively and come on deck for a look.

Why did you do that?
he scolded himself, as he returned topside. His only hope was that she would look unappetising as she came on deck, maybe rubbing her eyes, or looking cross and out of sorts the way some women did, when yanked from slumber. If that was the case, he might have an easier time dismissing her. He could go about his business and forget this little wrinkle in his life’s plan, if he even had a plan.

No luck. She came on deck quickly, a shawl draped over her arm. He smiled to see that she still couldn’t quite reach that centre button in back.
I won’t touch it
, he thought. Her face was rosy from slumber, her eyes bright and expectant. She merely glanced at him, then cast her whole attention on the beautiful harbour that was Oporto. She had wound her long hair into a ridiculous topknot and skewered it with what looked like a pencil. She looked entirely makeshift, but instead of disgusting him, he wanted to plant a whacking great kiss on her forehead and see where it led.
Lord, I am hopeless
, he thought in disgust.

She was too excited to even say good morning, but tugged on his arm. ‘Where is the hospital?’ she demanded.

He pointed to the southern bank. ‘Over there, in that area called Vila Nova de Gaia. Turn round.’

She did as he demanded, and he buttoned up the centre button. ‘You need longer arms,’ he commented, but she was not paying attention to him.

‘I have never seen anything so magnificent,’ she said in awe. ‘Perhaps it was worth all that seasickness. Have you been here before?’

‘Years ago, Brandon. I think I was your age.’ He chuckled. ‘For what it’s worth, my reaction was much like yours.’
There, Miss Brandon, that should remind you what a geriatric I am
, he thought grimly.

If she heard him, she didn’t seem to mind. Brandon watched as a cutter swooped from the southern shore to the side of the
Perseverance
and backed its sails, then watched as the flag Lieutenant ran up a series of pennants. ‘What’s he doing?’ she asked.

‘Giving the cutter a message. Our surgeon told me the hospital sends out this cutter at every approach of the fleet, to enquire of the wounded. Ask the flag Lieutenant what message he is sending.’

Surefooted now, Polly hurried to the Lieutenant. ‘He is signalling “Wounded man on board. Prompt attention.” He said the cutter will take the message to the hospital wharf and there will be a surgeon’s mate with a stretcher there when we dock,’ she told him in one breath as she hurried back to his side.

‘It appears that your brother-in-law doesn’t miss a trick,’ Hugh said. ‘I’m impressed.’

Polly nodded, her eyes on the shore again. ‘I asked the Lieutenant if he could also signal “Brandon on board”, and he said he would.’ She leaned against him for one brief moment, or maybe she just lost her footing. ‘I have not seen Laura in nearly two years.’

The winds were fair into Oporto. As the harbour came nearer, she hurried below to finish dressing. When she came back, she was as neat as a pin. He stood close to her when they approached the mouth of the mighty river, knowing there would be a series of pitches and yaws that might discomfort her, as the Douro met the Atlantic. Besides, it gave him plenty of excuse to grip her around the waist to prevent her losing her footing. He couldn’t deny he was touched by how completely she trusted him to hold her.

‘I may never get used to the sea,’ she confessed, as he braced her.

‘It isn’t given to everyone to relish going down to the sea in small boats, despite what the psalm says.’

‘No argument there,’ she agreed cheerfully. ‘The less business I have in great waters, the better.’

It wouldn’t hurt to ask. ‘Of you three sisters, are you to be the only one who avoids the navy?’
What about Marines?
he wanted to ask.

She wasn’t listening to him, but was back at the railing, intent on the shoreline, her mind and heart on her sister, he was certain. He tipped his hat to her and went belowdeck to find the letter Surgeon Brackett wanted him to deliver to Philemon Brittle. Better to just hand it to Brandon and let her do the honors. The voyage was over, after all.

He couldn’t bring himself to hand it to her, not there at the railing, or after the gangplank came down on the wharf, and certainly not when Polly had thrown herself into the arms of a tall, beautiful woman with auburn hair.

It was a brief embrace. The woman—she must be Laura Brittle—quickly turned her attention to the foretopman on the stretcher, as her husband planted a quick kiss on Polly’s cheek, shook hands with the
Perseverance
’s surgeon, and engaged him in conversation.

‘Are you planning to stay in Oporto, Colonel Junot?’ Captain Adney asked.

‘Perhaps,’ he temporised.

‘We’ll be at the navy wharf today and then sailing the day after, if winds and tide are willing.’

‘Very well, sir. I’ll sail with you.’ He couldn’t very well say anything else. He stood at the railing, uncertain, wanting to go down the gangplank and introduce himself, and suddenly shy. He looked at Polly for a clue, and she beckoned him.

That was easy. In another moment he was smiling inwardly at Polly’s shy introduction, and bowing to Mrs Philemon Brittle, who truly was as beautiful as her younger sister had declared. Philemon Brittle held out his hand and he gave it a shake, impressed with the strength of the surgeon’s grasp.

‘Do join us for luncheon, Colonel, unless you have urgent business that takes you elsewhere,’ Mrs Brittle said.

‘Since the King of Portugal is probably taking his ease on a beach in Brazil, and Boney is on his way to Russia, if reports are accurate, I am at a momentary loss for luncheon engagements,’ he joked, which made her smile and show off the dimple he recognised in Polly’s cheek, too.

‘Very well, sir. If Marshal Soult should show his brazen face here again, we’ll release you before the sorbet. Come, Polly. Colonel?’

He walked up the hill from the wharf with a sister on either side of him. He looked from one to the other, which made Polly stop.

‘Laura, this is droll! Colonel Junot is comparing us!’

So much for my peace of mind
, Hugh thought, surprisingly unembarrassed, since he had made an obvious discovery that was probably clear to everyone except Polly herself. ‘You have me, Brandon. Anyone with two eyes can see that you and Mrs Brittle are sisters.’

‘I have told her that many times,’ Mrs Brittle said. ‘Perhaps she will choose to believe me some day. Thank you, Colonel Junot!’ She paused then, and her eyes narrowed slightly. ‘Brandon? Apparently you have either chosen a nickname for Polly, or you are on to our own effort to get my sister to Portugal.’

‘You
were
right, Colonel!’ Polly exclaimed. ‘Laura, I don’t know why he calls me that, but we did wonder if perhaps some correspondence came from Portugal requesting a Brandon Polly for service.’

‘It was the feeblest attempt,’ Mrs Brittle said as they resumed walking again. ‘Philemon hoped some overworked clerk at the Navy Board would apparently do what he did. Perhaps I shall call you Brandon, too, my love. Welcome to hard service in the navy.’

If Polly had a rejoinder ready, it went unnoticed when an orderly at the top of the hill called for Mrs Brittle. Alert, Laura put her finger to her lips and listened.

‘Ward C, mum! Lively now!’

Without a word of explanation, Mrs Brittle hiked up her skirts to reveal shapely legs and ran up the hill, forgetting her company completely, it seemed. She stopped halfway up and looked back, but Hugh just waved her on. He took Polly’s arm, content to walk the rest of the way with her.

‘I gather all the rumours are true, Brandon. Wouldn’t it be nice some day if your gifted sister could be recognised for what she is doing here?’

‘I doubt it would concern her,’ Polly replied, and he could hear the pride in her voice. ‘She would probably just laugh, and say the war is harder on wives like Nana, who wait. It must be so hard to be apart from one’s love.’

Maybe I am about to find out
, Hugh thought to himself.
Or maybe I am just an idiot.

They arrived at the convent and were greeted immediately by a nun, who directed them to the dining room. The table was already set; from the looks of things, the Brittles had left their meal when the
Perseverance
docked. Hugh pulled out a chair for Polly, taking a deep breath of her sun-warmed hair as he did so, remembering how he had helped her wash it.

They were just beginning what looked like empanadas when Mrs Brittle came into the room, hand in hand with a youngster whose hair was the same shade as his mother and aunt’s. She knelt gracefully and kissed his cheek. ‘Danny, that’s your aunt Polly Brandon.’ She repeated it in Portuguese. ‘His Portuguese is better than mine,’ Mrs Brittle explained.

‘Laura, he looks like you,’ Polly said.

‘The hair, anyway,’ Laura said as she sat him down on a chair with a medical book as a booster. ‘He has his father’s eyes and general capable demeanour.’

‘Does he run with the herd?’ Hugh asked, gesturing towards the courtyard, which he saw through the open door. Other children about Danny’s age played there.

‘Indeed, he does, which frees me for hospital work,’ Laura said.

Polly looked where he looked. ‘Goodness, are you running an orphanage, too?’

‘No, my love,’ Mrs Brittle said. She hesitated, glancing at Hugh, and he understood immediately whose children they were, considering Oporto’s sad history with the French invaders.

She reached across her corner of the table and touched Polly’s hand. ‘When the French came here in ’08, they brutalised the young women they did not murder. These children are one result of that misery.’

‘Oh,’ Polly said, her voice small. ‘Where are their mothers?’

Hugh watched Polly’s expressive face.
You are so young, so naïve
, he thought.
Let us hope this is the worst face of war you see.

‘Oporto is a sad town, my love,’ Mrs Brittle said. She cupped her hand gently against her son’s cheek as he ate his empanada. ‘We have tried to make life as good as we can for these unfortunates.’ She looked at Polly. ‘Dearest, this is why we want you here.’

‘I don’t understand,’ Polly said. ‘I thought I was to help in the wards.’

‘We want you to teach English to the young mothers—some are here—and to the nuns. I haven’t time, and they would be so much more useful here. Perhaps, in time, they will find work with the English port merchants, when they return from Lisbon and London.’

‘I can teach them,’ Polly said. Her eyes on the children, she rose and went to the door, where she could see the children playing. ‘Seems a strange way to fight Boney.’

‘Not at all,’ Mrs Brittle said. She held a cup to Danny’s lips and he drank in large gulps. ‘Slow down, little one. You’ll be back there soon enough.’ She looked apologetically at Hugh. ‘Colonel, you will find us a strange household. My husband sends his regrets, but ward walking always trumps food. Perhaps he’ll wander through tonight for our evening meal, which I trust you will share with us.’

He didn’t hesitate. ‘With pleasure.’

‘In fact, Colonel Junot, you may stay the night here, unless you prefer a smelly frigate.’

‘I can do that, too,’ he replied, glad for the invitation.

He looked at Polly, but her eyes were on the courtyard. As he watched her, she rose quietly and held out her hand to her nephew, who took it without hesitation and led her from the room in such a forthright manner that he smiled.

‘Now there’s a lad who has things under control.’

‘I told you he was like his father,’ Mrs Brittle said, her voice soft with love as she watched her sister and son.

He thought he should make his excuses and leave then. This was a busy woman. He made to rise, but she raised her hand to stop him, then poured him another glass of port. ‘As onerous as work is here, we cannot fault the wine, Colonel.’