Sail Away (4 page)

He brightened—with relief, she thought. “Oh! Oh, well, if you happen to find a nice piece of whitefish at the market, that would be pleasant. I was thinking of inviting Mrs. Humboldt, as well, and I believe she is partial to fish."

"Shall I send the invitation around to her, then, so she will not be troubled with preparing a meal?” If she did not, she could be quite certain that her father would wait until the end of the day to invite Evelyn, leaving his mother with a meal prepared and no one to eat it.

"Excellent idea, my dear. You are a fine hostess. Is that all you needed to ask?"

She had to speak. “I am afraid not, Papa. After last night's conversation—please,
please
tell me you do not mean to order Mr. Humboldt to propose marriage to me!"

His look of mingled surprise, embarrassment, and anger told her that her fears were well-founded. “See here, Cynthia, you know I have your best interests at heart."

"I know that you do. But—Papa, being a man, perhaps you have no idea how humiliating it would be to know that someone had been
commanded
to ask for my hand!"

"I'm sure he means to, daughter. I've had him hard at work preparing for the removal—too hard, perhaps, if I've left the lad no time for courting."

Cynthia nearly stamped her foot in frustration. “Papa, what do you mean to do? I can only imagine the list you might make for poor old Evelyn!” She closed the door behind her, to be sure her impertinence did not carry outside the room. “Things to Do,” she said. “'One: Check Bills of Lading. Two: Put Files in Order. Three: Pitch Woo to My Daughter.’ Papa, I do not believe that Mr. Humboldt wishes to marry me, or he would have taken some action of his own accord."

"Now, dear, you can hardly blame the young man for being reluctant to take advantage of his position."

"Once you gave him permission, he would have no reason to hold back—unless he had other plans of his own. Did you ask if his affections were engaged elsewhere?"

Her father cleared his throat, obviously taken aback by her vehemence. “Of course not! His mother assured me that he is quite fond of you, and he himself agreed that you are a fine young woman!"

Exasperated, Cynthia suppressed the reply that sprang to her lips.
What would you expect him to say, Papa? ‘No, sir, your daughter is a podgy baggage and I would not have her as a gift!'
“Papa, naturally Mrs. Humboldt would say that. I expect she would say that she herself is fond of me! But
fond
is not the same as
enamored.
"

"You read too many books,” he said irrelevantly.

"Tell me, sir—how would you have felt if your father-in-law had
ordered
you to marry my mother?"

"Immoderately blest!” He father set his bundle of papers down, and faced her squarely. “I would have said ‘Yes, sir, immediately, sir!’ Now, daughter, I realize that you are—"

"'—not the beauty your mother was, but a fine young woman nonetheless',” Cynthia finished bitterly. How many times had she heard those words? “No, I am not beautiful, Papa. But am I so repulsive that you must force a man to marry me in order to keep his employment?"

But he had regained his composure, that rock-solid conviction of his own correctness. “Let's have no more of this hysteria, Cynthia. You are over-wrought about the move, and must allow yourself to be guided by my experience. You have little knowledge of the world, and no way of knowing what is best for you."

Cynthia took a deep breath in the face of his obduracy. “Perhaps not, sir. But I do know in my heart what is
worst
for me, and if Evelyn Humboldt proposes marriage, I promise you I shall refuse him."

He looked at her as though realizing for the first time that she was no longer the dutiful young girl who had taken up the reins of the household after her mother's death, the anxious child to whom her father's approval meant everything in the world. “You cannot be serious."

"Never more so. Papa, I am sorry."

He stood staring at her, then his eyes went to the portrait of her mother that hung over his desk. Forever young and beautiful, she smiled down at them both, benevolent but distant. “If only your mother had lived, she would have talked some sense into you,” her father said at last.

Cynthia had been thinking the very same thing herself. Surely her mother would have understood! “Please, Papa—let us not fight over this."

"I have no reason to fight with a chit of a girl,” he said. “If you mean to be disobliging, please do not invite the Humboldts to dinner this evening. You and Evelyn will be in each other's company often enough on the voyage to Nova Scotia. I am certain you will come to appreciate his worth.” He gathered up his papers and left the study, leaving Cynthia staring at her mother's exquisite face, beautiful, remote, and completely out of reach.

"Miss Lancaster?"

She jumped in surprise and Paul apologized for startling her.

"Oh, it is I who should apologize, sir. I was speaking with my father before he left, and the conversation turned to—to old family memories.” She indicated the portrait with a nod of her head.

"Your mother?"

"Yes. She never wanted to come to America, you know. It broke her heart to leave England, and she never recovered. Was she not beautiful?"

"Indeed, quite beautiful.” The lady in the portrait had ethereal blue eyes and very fair hair, arranged atop her head with wisps escaping to form a halo. Her dress, too, was of some gauzy stuff, giving the impression of an angel floating off to heaven. She had a delicate beauty that was utterly perfect and dreadfully fragile. “But I'd hate to have had her on any ship of mine."

Cynthia gave him a look of utter shock—and then burst into laughter. She quickly clapped both hands over her mouth, and gave her mother's portrait a guilty look. “Oh, dear—I feel I should apologize to her for laughing."

"I'm terribly sorry,” he said. “I meant no disrespect, it's only that—if the portrait is true to life, she does not look as though she had much endurance.” Unlike her daughter, who glowed with the bloom of vigorous youth. “If she were on a ship under my command,” he felt compelled to explain, “and I had the responsibility for her safety and well-being, I would be most concerned."

"You are exactly right, Captain. She suffered terribly from sea-sickness on the voyage from England. Fortunately my brothers and I were immune, and I was able to look after her.” She turned away from the portrait, and led him back to the hall that ran out to a foyer between the parlor and dining room. “I meant to ask you, sir, should I address you as ‘Captain’ or ‘Commander'? My grandmother says that every man who commands a ship may be properly called Captain."

"I appreciate your grandmother's compliment,” he said, “but it is only the men who serve under my command who must address me in that way. You may call me anything you like, though I should be most pleased if you would use my given name."

"Paul,” she said, as though testing the sound. “I should like that—and I would be very pleased if you would call me Cynthia—but I fear my father would become apoplectic if we were to be so familiar on such short acquaintance. He and my mother addressed one another as Mr. and Mrs. Lancaster all their married life."

"Miss Lancaster, then,” he said. “If you wish to call me Captain, Commander, or Jolly Jack Tar, I would be equally honored."

"Jolly Jack Tar?” Her eyes sparkled. “I might, you know!"

He made a comic bow. “May this humble sailor accompany you to the market, Milady? Your grandmother said you might be in need of an escort."

"Thank you, kind sir. I shall be ready in a few minutes."

He was admiring how gracefully she ascended the stairs when Mrs. Leggett popped out of the kitchen with a tea-tray in her hands. “Captain, here is a fresh pot of tea. Do you have a moment to spare an old lady?"

He took the burden from her. “The question should be whether you have a moment for me,” he said. “I am at your service, ma'am."

"My compliments to your mother."

"How so?” He followed her to the parlor, set the tray down where she indicated, and took the cup she filled for him.

Mrs. Leggett sat, and indicated that he take the chair nearest hers. “It's not easy to turn a rascally boy into a well-spoken gentleman,” she said. “I know, I've raised half a dozen, one way and another."

Paul did the sums. “All of your own children were sons, then?"

"Yes—the only girl-child in the bunch was Cynthia, and I will admit to you that she's my favorite of them all. Now, sir, our circumstances make things very difficult for both of you, but if we wait for that misguided son of mine to see which way the wind's blowing, you may miss your chance. Someone has to ask the proper questions, and that someone is myself. With regards to my granddaughter—are your intentions honorable?"

He nearly spilled the tea onto his breeches. “By God, ma'am, if you were a man you'd be Fleet Admiral. That was worthy of Sir Francis Drake!"

"Thank you, sir. The child is dear to me, as I said, and my guess is that you could change her life or break her heart. I'll not sit idly by if I've misjudged you, so speak up, if you please. Is it your intention to court Cynthia? Have you any other attachments back in England?"

Paul might have taken offense at the interrogation, but it occurred to him that answering her questions would serve as a sort of gunnery practice—for he would have to go through this with Cynthia's father before many days had passed. Besides, if he could win Mrs. Leggett's approval, he would have a redoubtable ally. “I have not. An honest courtship is my intention, ma'am. It is most irregular on such brief acquaintance, and I regret the peculiar circumstances—but not the opportunity."

He considered what she might wish to know, and summarized. “To answer your second question fully, I have no other attachments, and my life is such that I seldom have the opportunity to meet eligible ladies. My father is a Viscount; I am his second son and have no expectation of coming into the title, as my elder brother now has two sons of his own. My pay as a commander is some 200 per annum. I have an additional income of 300 from an inheritance, so I could provide a comfortable home for your granddaughter. I have no contagious diseases, there is no hereditary insanity in the family, I do not gamble nor drink to excess. I am a churchgoing man when ashore, but I believe that Christian deeds count for more than ostentatious piety. I have only contempt for the sort of man who would ever strike a woman or beat his children or servants, I am not cruel to animals—and my teeth are sound.” He ran out of breath and information simultaneously and refreshed himself with a sip of tea. “Have I omitted any significant detail?"

She chuckled. “If you had, I should not dare to press you further. I wish our minister had your gift for brevity."

"You may verify all my statements with my commanding officer,” he added helpfully.

"I'll leave that to my son,” she said, as they heard Cynthia's step upon the stair. “He'll give you a far harder time than I would—he'll not wish to lose the best housewife in Trenton to a quick-thinking sailor."

Grandmama had lost no time in making good on her promise to give her time to get acquainted with Commander Smith! Cynthia tried to school her features into a semblance of composure. What a goose she was, to become so excited over the prospect of a trip to the fishmonger! She opened the chest at the foot of her bed and shook out her light grey cloak.

"Cindy!"

She could not help uttering a small yelp as her younger brother's head popped out from under her bed. “Geoff! How long have you been down there?"

"Only since breakfast,” he said, pulling his gangling frame the rest of the way out and shaking dust from his brown-blond curls. “Noreen fed me in the kitchen. She hasn't done a very good job of cleaning under the bed, though,” he added. “It isn't like you to miss that."

"Wherever have you been?” she demanded. “And why are you skulking about the house? Have you talked to Papa?"

"No,” he said. “Nor do I mean to. I'm staying with friends; I only came to say goodbye to you, sister. That is, if you mean to abandon our home in its time of need."

The accusation went straight to her heart, though she did not see her half-formed plans as abandoning her home. She merely wanted to
go
home, at last—home to England. “What do you mean?"

"America needs all her sons—and daughters. If we are to throw off the British yoke, we must stand together."

"Geoffrey—” Oh, dear. “Do you remember England at all, Geoff?"

"Not much. Nor do I want to. My home is here—and so is yours. We need to fight for what is ours!"

He had been reading the printed speeches of Mr. Henry again, Cynthia was sure of it. She sighed. “Brother, I wish the truth were that simple. You were only eight when we left England, and for you I imagine it was all a grand adventure. Papa and Winston had the business to occupy their time—"

"Yes, I know,” he said, grinning. “I had a fine childhood, even if New Jersey was too tame for wild Indians. But I'm a man now—"

"You are a wild Indian yourself,” she said, too agitated to be the indulgent older sister this time. “Geoffrey, the family is moving north. How do you think you can survive here, all alone?"

"I'm going to join Washington's army,” he said. “Since Father's not selling the house, I thought I would stay here—"

"How can you stay here if you are in an army?” she asked. “A soldier under orders must go where he is sent."

"I'll think of something.” With the supreme confidence of youth, he brushed aside the matter of food, lodging, and military obligation. “Who's this Redcoat in the house?"

"He's not a Redcoat, he is a naval officer,” she said. “And you might keep your voice down, unless you want to meet him directly."

"So Father's quartering troops, is he?"

"Hardly. Commander Smith is planning to escort us to the
Penelope,
presumably to protect us from your Patriot friends. Do you know that two of them nearly came to blows with Papa yesterday afternoon?"

"No more than a shouting match, I heard."