Seasons of War 2-Book Bundle (77 page)

Bridlington’s messy mouth dropped open, as if he were insulted to have to explain his actions. “I … I merely said we needed the doctor back on board … that it was outrageous for him to carry out such a foolhardy rescue.”

“According to Mr. Evans, you said we had no need for a
trifling mite
such as Magpie.”

“Mr. Austen! I said no such thing! Furthermore, I’m incensed that you’d take the word of a lowly carpenter over mine,” cried Bridlington, flouncing in his chair.

“Gentlemen, I realize how dangerous it would be to overlook offences against us, and allow men to see a weakness in those of us who lead. Nevertheless, it would be reckless to forget the importance of every man on this ship. We are all valuable. If we concede that some are better than others, that some are worth saving and others are dispensable, God help us all if and when we meet with disaster — whether it be the enemy, another storm, a shipwreck — and those we deem to be inferior do not have our backs, or do not choose to take hold of our hand and pull us to safety. Mr. Evans’s feelings toward young Magpie are strong indeed; it’s a brotherly affection. And were it not for our young sailmaker, I wouldn’t be here at all. You might recall he saved my life, in the face of the worst kind of adversity, and I’ve no doubt, Lord Bridlington, he would one day do the same for you. I am therefore severely prejudiced in this affair.”

Bridlington swung toward Prickett, and pleaded, “Sir?”

The servant boy crept into the great cabin, bearing a tray, startled by the sound of Captain Prickett’s bark. “’Bout time! We might have perished for want of food and drink. Set it down and out with you.” Once the boy had done his bidding, Prickett tapped his fingers on the table. “Well, Austen, I’m leaving this one in your hands. You decide the punishment, but punishment there must be! I’ll not have my men think of me as a bumbling sort, though I care not for their opinion of my first lieutenant.”

Bridlington slipped into a muttering funk and said no more, which suited Fly, who hoped that neither man noticed the shaking of his hand as he reached for his glass of wine. “Thank you. I’ll have an answer for you by day’s end.”

“Now, on to our second bit of unpleasantness,” said Prickett with less gravity, his cares having been somewhat eased. “We cannot continue this futile searching.”

“We have been searching but three days.”

“Mr. Austen, I fear they’ve all drowned by now,” said Prickett, taking up his glass of wine, his voice devoid of compassion. “We’ve criss-crossed the ocean in the vicinity where they were last seen and found nothing.”

“Exactly! Aside from some of the items we heaved overboard for Magpie, we’ve found no debris, no bodies, nothing that would indicate disaster for either the
Lady Jane
or the skiff.”

“With the
Lady Jane
, I agree, there’d be evidence floating about. But the skiff — be reasonable, Mr. Austen.”

“A man can survive —”

“If the
Lady Jane
managed to get through that storm, she’ll be well on her way to England and we
must
catch up to her. I have my orders!”

“Would you permit one more day, sir?”

The crease between Prickett’s eyebrows deepened. “I will admit I’m quite desolate without Biscuit; however, I’ll give my consent in the hopes we come upon the
Lady Jane
. Should we find nothing in four and twenty hours, we shall push on our way.”

Fly’s shoulders relaxed. “Thank you.” Quitting the great cabin with alacrity, he was relieved to be away from its disagreeable occupants. He paused by the ship’s wheel where he closed his eyes to replenish his flagging spirits in the warm sunshine. Hearing his name, he was surprised to find a barefooted Magpie standing diffidently near the larboard rail. His face was tear-stained, but he carried himself well, and his voice was full of resolve.

“Mr. Evans told me what happened, so I had to find ya straightaway.”

Fly was at a loss to know how to console the boy.

“Could I borrow yer spyglass, sir?”

“For what purpose?”

“I’m goin’ to scour the waves, sir. And I’m not leavin’ the deck until I find Dr. Braden.”

“Very well, Magpie! You shall have my spyglass, but only on one condition.”

“Sir?”

Fly smiled in gratitude at the boy. “When I am able, you allow
me
to scour the seas in your company.”

18

Friday, August 20

11:00 a.m.

Hartwood Hall

As Emily meandered
over the south lawns near the house, she could see Helena standing in the west garden in a snowy-white dress, one hand shading her eyes from the sun, the other waving to her in a summons. At first Emily wondered if perhaps the prosecuting lawyer had arrived from London to question her, but then Helena’s crackly voice rang out, meanly interrupting the birds’ melodies in the chestnut trees, and the lazy hum of the summer heat.

“Come drink your tea, Emeline. Fleda and I are waiting.”

The woman is always drinking tea
, thought Emily crossly. She ambled up the undulating lawns, Benjamin Bell’s
A System of Surgery
tucked under her arm, toward the garden where a little table had been set up under the shade of an ivy arbour, in amidst rows of trimmed shrubs and flower beds. Had the woman nothing better to do? Emily had no desire to sit awhile with the duchess and her red-haired daughter, who had not uttered a single word to her since Monday, when their walk together to the main gates of Hartwood had ended on a bitter note. At least she did not have to face Somerton. Following their stroll through the grounds two days ago, he had delayed his intended ride around the estate and immediately left for town — perhaps, this time, to prey upon the hospitality of a more prosperous family. Was there no friend, no ally to be found at Hartwood? Even Glenna, her old nurse, was irascible and overbearing, and too eager to point out the limitations to her freedom. Adolphus was more benevolent in his attentiveness toward her, but he slept away much of the day — most likely to allay the distress of digestion — and when he was not abed, he was off visiting his neighbours and tenants, sampling their luncheon and supper victuals.

“Good gracious, you’re not reading
that
book again, are you?” mewled Helena, as Emily joined mother and daughter at the table.

“I am!” she said with a smile, setting down the precious volume by her feet. A glance at Fleda revealed the girl to be in a dudgeon, flinging bits of almond cake behind her chair to rid herself of her salivating dog, who only wanted to rest his head upon her lap.

“Why?” was Helena’s terse rejoinder, as she signalled to the waiting servant to pour the tea.

“It’s most informative, and as I fear I have grown dull of late it’s a way to keep my mind sharp.”

“I regularly receive the
Lady’s Magazine
and
La Belle Assemblée
, and you may have them when I’m done
my
reading. I believe you might find their content more
useful
than those shocking medical volumes you tend to favour.”

Fleda, deciding she had shunned her houseguest long enough, or perhaps incapable of withholding from her acquaintance what she perceived to be a deep, dark secret, finally glowered at Emily. “Somerton says you hope to study medicine.”

“I do.”

“How very interesting.” Helena’s voice was as dry as firewood. “Although, I think it is wise to leave the study of medicine to men; to those who can best withstand the sight of blood and entrails.”

Emily reached for her tea, that she might shut her lips upon the gold rim of her cup and prevent her hands from forming fists. Unfortunately the hot drink did nothing more than give her a hot flush, causing her further irritation.

“And all this exercise that you do, Emeline, and in this heat! I swear you cover five miles a day.”

“It has helped me regain my strength, and my land legs.”

Helena inhaled sharply. “Firstly, a young woman of your breeding should take care not to broil her skin in the sun. I would therefore suggest, when taking exercise outdoors, you wear a bonnet. Secondly, you should limit the amount of time you spend walking; otherwise, you will surely gain unsightly muscle.”

“I shall heed your wise counsel. Were anyone to notice I had muscles in my legs, I’d be quite appalled,” said Emily with a cheerfulness of disposition.

“I am happy to hear it, for where you are concerned we don’t need any further grist for the gossip mill.”

Their first cup of tea was drained in silence, Emily aware of nothing aside from the sounds of clinking china and Fleda’s snuffling dog as he lapped up his morsels of cake. Once their cups had been refilled, Helena stirred to life with a self-satisfied toss of her lacquered curls.

“Now for the reason I wanted to speak to you! His Grace and I are planning another ball, as our last one was such a triumphant affair; the talk of the neighbourhood, you know! I have every confidence the prospect will pull you from your lamentable state of dullness.”

Emily’s stomach fell away. “How wonderful! Have you set a date?”

“Not yet, for I want my son Wetherell to attend, and he will not respond to my letters to make known his availability.”

Recollecting that both Somerton and Fleda had doubted she would ever have an opportunity to meet their eldest brother while at Hartwood, Emily said, “Perhaps some of your other sons will come in his stead.”

“No, I must have Wetherell. It’s high time he met the Princess Emeline Louisa.”

For a moment Emily mused on the complexities of the duchess’s remark. She did not care to meet the eldest son, whose portrait inferred he was a younger version of his wigged father, any more than she cared to suffer through another evening of frivolity at Hartwood, but an opportunity to irreproachably cause Helena discomfort presented itself, diverting her attention for a time. “I’d be more than happy to accompany you to
town
, and meet him there.”

“That is out of the question.”

“May I ask why?”

“He’ll have to meet you here,” replied Helena, sipping her tea.

“I was thinking it might be nice if you and I could shop in New Bond Street for accessories for the ball.”

“You have all you will need right here at Hartwood.”

Emily tried to sound convincing. “Oh, but I cannot be seen wearing the same pink silk gown!”

“Your new evening dress should suffice.”

“Well then, perhaps your eldest son would be agreeable to join us in seeing a play at the New Drury Lane Theatre.”

Helena was aghast. “A play?”

“Yes! I should so like to see my Aunt Dora perform again.”

“I’ve never attended a play in my life.”

“Oh! How sad.”

“There are always vagabonds and rogues hanging about theatres, and I simply could not countenance the thought of them jostling
me
to get a good look at
you
.”

While Emily wondered if she should laugh or cry, Fleda jumped into the discussion. “Wetherell doesn’t like leaving his residence at Boodle’s in St. James’s Street.”

A glow of mortification crawled up Helena’s thin neck, and an explicit admonition for the girl to keep silent was meted out in the form of a piercing glare. Perhaps deciding that her glare was not ample enough punishment, she pounced upon her young daughter, striking an unfair blow. “Fleda, why did your maid not curl your hair this morning? I detest it when your hair is straight. You look like a drowned rabbit.”

Fleda turned immediately toward Emily to blurt out, “Mademoiselle left this morning, and she’s not coming back.”

“I’m sorry to hear of it.”

Helena dabbed at her forehead with a lacy handkerchief. “It could
not
have come at a worse time.”

“Will you be advertising for a new governess?”

“With all I must bear, I cannot think of it now. I resent being burdened with such a task … such a dreadful process, having to interview all those pathetic girls to make certain they are suitable and possess some refinement, and now with all the arrangements I must make for the ball —”

“I’d be pleased to take over Fleda’s instruction.”

Helena blinked at Emily as if she had proposed an insurrection against the government.

“At least until you are able to replace Mademoiselle.”

Her cold, blue stare intensified.

Emily persevered with eagerness, aware that Fleda was squirming with excitement on her chair. “It would provide me with an occupation while I await the trial, one I would relish, and devote myself to with the utmost attention and zeal.”

“What an absurd idea! I cannot retain you as governess to Fleda.”

“Why ever not?”

“King George’s granddaughter … a governess?”

“Then give me the title of companion.”

“Unthinkable!”

Emily filled her lungs, refusing to be put off her idea. “Very well, then! As I don’t require a title of any sort, think of me as Fleda’s sister, doing what any older sister would do: taking her instruction in hand.”

Fleda was standing now. “Oh, Mother, please!” she cried.

Helena shut her eyes, the worries of the world etched upon her face. “Take your slobbering pet and leave the table at once!” she snapped.

Woefully hanging her head, Fleda pushed her chair back and marched across the garden, her innocent dog prancing at her side. There was a long, uncomfortable silence as Helena waited until her daughter was safely inside the house.

“Your uncles would never agree to such an arrangement.”

“Why seek the approbation of my uncles at all if you and I were to agree to it?”

“I’m quite at a loss.”

“In what way?”

“What could
you
possibly teach my daughter?”

The denigrating note in Helena’s voice enraged Emily. “What would you like me to teach her?”

“You do not play the pianoforte, or any other instrument; you don’t embroider, or do fancy needlework, or sing, or paint watercolours to my knowledge.”

“Fleda’s a clever girl. I’d concentrate on reading, geography, history, and arithmetic.”