Mrs. McVinnie's London Season (31 page)

“
I had
something like that once in Barbados,” Captain Summers commented.
“I moved for a week.”

Bartley exploded with a
crack of laughter and Edward grinned.

“
Brother, you do try me,” Lady Smeath said, and her voice
shook.

Jeannie rose hastily,
marveling at the way her stomach heaved about. She knocked over the
rest of her tea. “Dear me, Lady Summers, how clumsy. I’ll just dab
this up, and, Captain, shouldn’t we be off then?”

“
A
diversion worthy of Collingwood, Jeannie,” the captain said under
his breath. “One would think you paced the
Royal Sovereign
at Trafalgar.”

“
I’m
going to crack you over the head if you don’t stop tormenting your
sister,” she replied under her breath.

Captain Summers reeled
back in mock horror. “I’m all a-quiver.”

Edward grinned and took
Clare by the hand. “Come, come, missy, lively lively,” he said, in
remarkable imitation of his uncle.

Lady Smeath followed
them into the hall. “If someone should chance to come calling this
morning, Larinda will attend.” She giggled behind her hand. “I have
already received a note this morning from Lady Catherine Ryecart.”
She clasped her hands to her bosom. “Edwin Ryecart is a trifle
short and heaven knows his title isn’t as old as ours, but,
Larinda, only think: ten thousand a year in funds.”

Captain Summers opened
his mouth to comment when Jeannie grabbed him by the arm and tugged
him toward the front door.

“
You’re a forward baggage,” he whispered in her ear as he
allowed himself to be hurried along.

Jeannie pressed her
lips together. “And you’re not safe in mixed company,” she
declared.

“
On
the blockade I am seldom in mixed company. I forget.”

“
On
land
or
sea, rag manners are rag manners,” she stated, and
he laughed, but softly, so as not to discommode her tender
head.

“
Wait,
Jeannie,” said Bartley behind them. He came toward her quickly and
drew her to one side. “I am sorry for making a fool of myself
upstairs,” he said. “I didna mean to do that, but ye know me,
Jeannie gal, better than anyone, I vow.”

“
That
I do, Bartley,” she agreed, wishing that the captain would not
linger, but move ahead like a polite man would.

“
Actually, I have something else to tell you, and it may be
less pleasant than a proposal.”

Jeannie felt the
familiar cold augur drill a hole into her middle. She put her hand
to her stomach. “Can it keep, Bartley?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Not
long, Jeannie. Word has got about the regiment, and I don’t like
what I hear. I want you to set me straight.”

She felt herself go
whiter still. And now it has come to this, she thought. I knew it
would, somehow. They are such a close-knit band of brothers.
Jeannie gazed steadily into Bartley’s eyes. “Come back tomorrow and
we will talk.”

He nodded, grasped her
hand, and kissed it. “I don’t believe it, of course.” He flashed a
grin to Clare, who stood admiring his bare knees, and strode back
down the hall to Larinda, who stood with her arms full of
invitations.

“
Believe it, Bartley, dear,” she said, and did not realize she
spoke out loud. “Believe it.”

The captain came closer
and put his hand under his elbow. “Do you need to find a sofa,
Jeannie?” he asked, his voice half-serious, his eyes full of
questions.

She shook her head and
then raised her chin. “Nothing like that, Will.”

When she would say
nothing more, he shrugged and picked up Clare, bobbing her down the
front steps until she squealed. Jeannie stood where she was another
moment, flogging herself with unquiet thoughts, before she hurried
after them.

The barouche waited for
them in front of the house, the horses sedate, much to Edward’s
dismay. “I like the hackney better, Uncle,” he said over his
shoulder as he clambered in and made himself comfortable. “Mama’s
coachman is an old grandmother.”

The captain lifted in
Clare. “Nephew, let us consider Mrs. McVinnie’s delicate
state.”

Jeannie looked at him
suddenly. How odd you should use that expression just now, she
thought. How odd. She stood where she was. Jeannie McVinnie, your
ravens have come home to roost, and you thought to outfly them?

The captain was holding
out his hand to her. “Jeannie?” he was asking, “are you there?”

She smiled
automatically and reached for his hand, grasping it much too tight.
He frowned at her in real consternation. When she said nothing, he
handed her up into the barouche and returned the pressure.

“
I
trust you will remember that I am still very much your friend,” was
all he said before turning his attention to Edward, who was poring
over his guidebook.

“
Nay,
you lump of shark chum, close that infernal book,” he roared in his
best quarterdeck fashion. “I don’t need a guide to Whitehall.
Clare, sit you down before you wrinkle Mrs. McVinnie.”

They drove at a sedate
pace to Whitehall and the Admiralty House, squeezing through the
narrow gate and rolling to a stop before the wide columns. As the
coachman jumped down to lower the steps, the porter, a one-legged
man with a pigtail, limped out of the entrance hall, his hand
already raised to a salute.

“
Captain Sir William Summers,” he shouted, and clicked his shoe
against his peg so smartly that Jeannie thought he would topple
over. “Sir!”

The captain
straightened his cocked hat and winked at Edward. “They don’t do
that when you’re a lieutenant, my boy. And when you’re a
midshipman? Lad, even the dogs lift their legs on you. But I’m
number 130 now on a jealous list of 614 at last reckoning. Ain’t it
a grand business?”

Edward smiled and
nodded, and Jeannie was chilled to the bone, grateful deep in her
heart that Edward didn’t recognize such shivering sarcasm. She
raised startled eyes to the captain’s face and saw only the
martinet who had ordered her into his room less than a week ago to
sew on a button, and handsomely now, lively. She turned away,
wondering what he was doing.

She followed
thoughtfully up the steps with Clare, who skipped along beside her.
The captain captured her other hand, and the child settled into a
more seemly pace.

The marble hall was
empty, except for the man in livery who stood up from his desk and
crossed off a name. “Sir, may I show you into the board room? His
lordship will find you there.”

Unsmiling, his eyes the
hardest green Jeannie could imagine, the captain nodded. The
attendant bowed them into the board room and the captain clapped
his hand on Edward’s shoulder and walked him directly to the tall
windows that gave out upon the Thames. Jeannie watched him a
moment. He said nothing to the boy, only looked out over the water.
His hand went to Edward’s head and rested there.

Clare had skipped off
to a row of cylinders on the oak wall. She climbed onto a chair and
pulled at the closed one with its tassel dangling. With a squeal,
she pulled one and gasped when it unrolled and snapped back up the
wall.

Jeannie hurried to her
and Clare turned her face into Jeannie’s skirts. “You are an
inquisitive sprite,” Jeannie said mildly, as she pulled down the
chart and gazed upon the Baltic Sea. Such a clever arrangement of
maps, she thought. She pulled down another and then another, gazing
upon the oceans of the world, places foreign to her, but the very
blood that flowed in Will Summers’ veins. Jeannie traced her finger
along the sensual outline of Brazil as it tucked in toward the
River Plate.

“
The
Portugee are a people without any scruples, madam,” boomed a
familiar voice. “But, by God, the women!” Jeannie smiled at the map
and then arranged her face soberly and turned to face the First
Lord of the Admiralty. He looked much the same as he had last night
at the theater, except that the front of his uniform was dappled
with snuff and his fingers stained with ink.

He followed her gaze.
“Lud, Madam, I used to be a sailor. Now I push a quill around a
page and let others stalk the lee side of the quarterdeck.”

Captain Summers turned
from his contemplation at the window and saluted, coming forward
with his hand extended.

“
What
news, Charles?” he asked when they shook hands. “We know each other
too well for much formality.”

Charles did not reply,
but regarded Edward a moment, and then turned to the curious clock
on the wall beside the charts. “What o’clock is it, my boy? Lively
now, lad. A quick answer keeps the boatswain’s knot off your
back.”

Edward gulped and
almost ran to the clock. He studied it for some moments while
Summers’ lips twitched and Charles rumbled deep in his throat.

“
I
don’t know, my lord,” Edward admitted finally.

“
What?” roared the First Lord so loud that even Jeannie jumped
and Clare’s lip began to quiver.

Edward bore the blast
without wilting. He cast a glance at his uncle and then squared his
shoulders. “No excuse, my lord,” he said, his voice reedy but
firm.

Lord Smeath slapped his
knee and fished two candies from his desk drawer, tossing one to
Edward and the other to Clare. “What o’clock, Summers?” he barked
out.

Summers took his turn
before the dial. His grin faded as he stared at the face. “Damn,”
he exclaimed. “And damn again.”

“
Exactly so, Captain. I think I will be needing you again, and
soon.”

The First Lord inclined
his head toward Jeannie. “It is a weather vane, Mrs. McVinnie. Dash
it, you are a beauty! A weather vane that turns and turns on the
roof and does not lie.”

“
And
it is an east wind, Charles,” said Summers. “That means the French
will try to stir themselves from Brest and work a little mischief.
God, and here I am.”

“
Not
for long, I think.” The First Lord heaved himself into his
high-backed chair at the end of the long, polished table. “And if
you go, I must escort Agatha here and there, and jolly
Larinda.”

He was silent then, his
face registering vast disapproval of the prospect. Edward edged
himself to the charts again and took Clare by the hand.

“
No
orders yet, Charles?” Summers asked finally.

“
No,
my boy. Nothing that good. But the wind has been blowing in that
quarter for a little time. You will have orders soon. Be ready when
they come.”

“
Aye,
aye, sir.”

Lord Smeath nodded and
popped a candy in his mouth. He sucked on it vigorously. “And he
will leave you to carry on, Mrs. McVinnie?”

“
I
suppose, my lord.”

She was standing close
to the table. To her surprise, the First Lord reached up and
pinched her cheek so hard that her eyes watered. He winked at
Summers.

“
If
you were twenty years older, you could do this, my boy.”

Summers shook his head.
“I wouldn’t dare.”

“
Then
rip off both epaulets, William Summers, and bare your back for the
cats. You’re no sailor.”

The captain only
smiled.

Lord Smeath turned to
Edward. “And what about you, lad? A life at sea for you?”

Edward nodded, his
mouth open.

The First Lord glared
at him. “Well, then, well, then?” he asked in that same impatient
growl that had collapsed sterner men than the boy who stood before
him.

“
Aye,
aye, sir,” Edward managed, his face on fire.

Captain Summers shook
his head. “No, Charles, not this one. He is the only son of my dead
brother and the head of this family. He will not go to sea.”

The First Lord placed
his hands behind his back, paced about, and twiddled his fingers
together. “I remember hearing that once. Lord bless me, ’twas my
own father.”

He paused in his
ponderous wanderings. “Of course, I was not the head of my family.”
He looked down kindly enough at Edward. “It’s for the best,
lad.”

When no one said
anything, the First Lord took another glance at the weather dial
and winked at Jeannie, who was hard put to maintain her sober
countenance.

“
That
was all I had to tell you, William. I am sorry there is not more
news for you, but when it comes, when Pellew of the White Fleet
looks about and finds you far from sea, it will come suddenly, as
you well know.”

“
As I
well know.”

“
Do we
see you at Lady Jersey’s tonight?”

“
It is
likely. Thanks to Beau Brummell and whatever magic Jeannie worked
on him, all the doors in London have been flung wide open. Our
skids are well-greased.”

The First Lord sighed
with relief. “And the sooner Larinda is leg-shackled, the sooner my
sister-in-law, God bless her, will retreat to Suffolk and spend her
days describing her urban triumph at length to the local squire’s
wife and anyone else who will listen. It cannot be too soon.”

They took their leave
of Lord Smeath, who was deep over his papers long before they
closed the door behind them.

The anteroom had filled
up with officers, many of whom hailed Captain Summers and waylaid
him with conversation while Jeannie gathered the children about
her.

At last the captain
rejoined them. He put his arm about Edward again. “You should have
seen this hall on the day of Lord Nelson’s funeral. More gold and
lace I have never seen.” He looked out toward the Thames again.
“And you should see it when it is crammed with half-pay officers
practically lighting candles to hurry the misfortunes of those
above them in rank.” His voice took on a harder edge. “Lop goes the
arm or leg, my boy, up goes the officer beneath him. Hurrah for
death.”