Bride of a Distant Isle (11 page)

“Emmeline, well, tending the flocks with the dogs was something she can do,” he finished.

“She does it very well,” I said, pleased by the proud look that came upon him at my praise. “Has she always been mute?”

A troubled look came over him, and he seemed pulled into a memory. “Mr. Everedge—the big man, not Mr. Edward—used to be here. Before he died. There was a lot of men coming and going near our house,” he said, as much to himself as anyone. “On the trails.”

“The sheep trails outside Highcliffe?” I asked. “That lead to the sea?”

He nodded and continued. “We were just young ones, then, out amusing ourselves. How were we to know what was happening? We all hid and followed them, and one of the men started begging and such and Mr. Everedge put him in that smuggling cave with the bees, he did. We heard him scream, and then when he came out he was crying and swollen and his mates took him to the apothecary. A grown man crying! We ran away good.”

I'd stopped breathing, I realized. Such cruelty numbed a person like ice on the tongue. I took a deep breath and encouraged Oliver to continue.

“My brother told my father, he did, and Father switched him and told him to say nothing if he didn't want to be put in with the bees next. My brother didn't snitch on us that we were with him. But after that, Emmeline didn't talk again. Doesn't need to. Safer to say nothing about what we see. And . . . I sometimes have frightening dreams.”

“I'm so very sorry, Oliver,” I said, my heart breaking. “That is a terrible thing for a young lad and lass to witness.”

“You shan't say anything, shall you?” His lips grew white. “I shouldn't have told what we saw!”

“I shan't,” I said. “But you may call upon me if you ever have a need of help and I will help you. I promise.”

He nodded, and ten seconds passed. “Is there some way I can assist you, miss?” he asked. His whole face had gone bluish white now; I knew he was anxious he'd said too much. Family did not usually linger in vestibules gossiping with servants.

I could not now, in good conscience, ask what I'd intended: if he had seen anyone entering or leaving my rooms. Oliver's words of warning ran in my head.
Safer to say nothing, one way or another, about what we see.

“Do you like sweets, Oliver? Does Emmeline?”

His voice grew bright and cracked; in spite of his bravado his voice had not yet broken into manhood. “I think we do, miss, not having had them often.”

“Wait here.”

I made my way down to the stillroom and filled two small boxes with soft sweets and hard caramels. I returned and held them out to Oliver. “One for you, and one for your sister.”

“Are you sure, miss? I wouldn't want anyone angry.”

“They shan't be,” I promised. “And there will be more in future. I'd rather you think of my family sweetly than with bad dreams.”

T
he next week, Clementine and I took tea in the drawing room on a day when callers were not expected. It was warm, being mid-July, and I had asked to be served cool rosewater in addition to my tea. Chef willingly obliged; I think he rather enjoyed serving something unusual as well as the opportunity to utilize the stillroom. While she browsed her lady's periodicals, I paged through Edward's
Hampshire Chronicle
, which drew an arched brow from Clementine. Advertisements for dental surgery, wet nurses, cottages for let, estate sales, and yes! Governess.

No, this was not mine. It began with,
A Young Lady of the Established Church, desirous of forming an immediate engagement in a clergyman's or gentleman's family.

I could not say I was of the established church, and clearly that was important enough to be placed at the top of the solicitation. Where was my enquiry? What was I to do? I must find a situation—and quickly! Midway through the hour, Watts announced the arrival of the Maltese men. I did not have time to continue looking.

Clementine rose to greet them and advised Watts to bring their things to the guest quarters.

“Thank you, kind Mrs. Everedge, but we shall quarter on my ship, the
Poseidon
. It will be easier for me to discuss my ventures that way, too,” Dell'Acqua said.

Ah.
Perhaps he had matters to conduct that he did not want Edward to know of.

“I'm sorry my husband isn't here to greet you just now,” Clementine said. “May I offer you refreshment in his absence?”

Dell'Acqua shook his head no and then caught my eye. Had he not seen me earlier?
Oh, Annabel
, I reproached myself.
You are perhaps nothing more to him than a means to an end, as he is intended, by Edward, to be for you.

“I should very much like to take tea with you and Miss Ashton,” Dell'Acqua said. Two other men accompanied him, and the three of them, plus Clementine, joined me in the drawing room. Whether it was intentional or not, Dell'Acqua took the seat Clementine had been sitting in, the one directly across the small table from where I sat. That left the others to be seated near the window, a little ways away from the two of us.

Unaccountably, my spirits rose.

“May I pour tea for you, Captain?” I asked. “My grandfather's tea set, from Malta, I believe. He was a great collector of fine silver. I like to think I get my artistic interests from him, and from my mother.”

The captain smiled. “And we are renowned for our silversmiths. Our artists, really.” He smiled at me. “Perhaps your father was an artist.”

“I have no father,” I gently rebuked. “I am, in English law,
filia nullius.
However, sometime I shall have to show you the art of Highcliffe,” I said. “Before it's sold off or carried away to London.”

“I am most interested in the art of Miss Ashton,” he said, not mentioning my father again. He looked at the teapot. “Yes, I do believe that is Maltese. Is this the only Maltese teapot you have?”

“No, there are others, of course.” I set down the pot and handed the cup to him. “Grandfather once had a teapot in the shape of a mermaid, which then came down through the family, and Edward and I would giggle endlessly over it. Someone, some years ago, got rid of it. I think perhaps Edward's governess, not wanting to taint the child.”

He laughed. “I keep an eye out for mermaids as well.”

“Do you believe in them?” I repressed a grin as I observed Clementine trying to calmly entertain the noisy “foreigners” across the room.

“No. But there are many sailors who do, and some captains who have them carved into the mastheads of their ships.”

“You do not?” I sipped my rosewater and fanned myself.

He shook his head. “Quite simply, the lads cannot be distracted by images of beautiful women while sailing or they're useless to me. I shall not be wrecked on the reefs by the distractions of any siren, no matter how charming or beautiful she may be.” He gave me a firm look.
What did that mean?

“I keep my mind on the business at hand. The ship is my bride, as it were, and as has been said, the sea is a cruel mistress. They are enough to manage.”

“I see.” His voice seemed more withdrawn somehow than it had at our last conversation. Why? He had, after all, wanted to share tea and had chosen to sit next to me. Perhaps it was for the best. There was no good cause for the crestfallen feeling spreading within me.

“Your cousin . . . has he had any further interest in Mediterranean partnerships?” he asked.

Now he probes.

“I believe so.” I remained loyal to Edward, but was starting to waver. “He has much to offer. He's been away quite often these past weeks, in Winchester as well as London. Like you, I am certain he hopes for a successful conclusion of whatever arrangements may help the family as soon as possible.”

But not, please God, before I have arranged for a governess position.
As long as the matters with Dell'Acqua remained unresolved, Edward needed me.

“I thought you may like to know that the Somerfords of Pennington Park hold Mass in a Catholic chapel for all who would come each Sunday,” I said. “I don't know if you have found somewhere to worship whilst here, or have a chaplain aboard . . .”

He shook his head. “No. Priests aplenty at home. One of my brothers is a priest, and one sister is preparing to become a nun. They pray for me.”

“Well, you must feel well protected, then,” I said, only partially teasing. “I have always wished for a brother or sister.”

“Half-brothers, half-sisters,” he reminded me. “But good people. I love them.”

“I do not have a sister who is a nun,” I said, thinking about those vows again, “but I do know some wonderful Benedictine sisters at the school in Winchester. I've grown close to them over the years. They've sheltered me in so many ways. Did you know,” I added, “they educated the natural daughter of the Duke of Wellington?”

“I did not know,” he said.

Oh, Annabel! How could he have known? He's not ever been to England.
So many mistakes. Something in our conversation had thrown me, had taken away my confidence. His coolness, perhaps.

“I am rather fond of those who are naturally born,” he said, rescuing me. Of course, he meant himself, but it was a circumstance we two shared, and when I spoke of it to him it seemed to bind rather than to shame.

“I am, too,” I said with delight.

“I should very much like to celebrate Mass.” His voice grew softer, and so did his face. “It was very considerate of you to think of us.”

Us. Not “me.”

“No trouble at all,” I said. Clementine stood, signaling the closure of refreshments, and we said good-bye to our guests near the door. Watts showed them out.

“I need something to steady me,” she said, and I didn't have to wonder what she meant.

“It did not go well?” I asked.

“Oh, as well as could be expected,” she said. “I understood them with difficulty.”

“English is one of Malta's official languages!” I protested. “They speak it perfectly. And with a charming accent.”

She gave me a sharp look then. “Still. For Edward, yes, we'll carry on for Edward. And for Highcliffe. They're to join us at the Somerfords' a few days hence for dinner and the soirée.”

I kept my face placid though my heart swelled. “You needn't have invited them, as they aren't staying with us . . .” I offered, only suggesting it to win her confidence because I knew she could not retract the invitation.

“It'll do Edward good for them to see we mingle with the best sort,” she said, and then made her way to her rooms.

I made my way to mine, too, to carefully consider what I would wear to the soirée.
I may soon be a nun or a governess. In either station, it would be fitting to dress plainly.
For now, though, I was my own woman, and I wished to find a gown that would set my mother's combs, and yes, me, to best advantage.

HIGHCLIFFE HALL, PENNINGTON PARK

JULY, 1851

“Y
ou look lovely, Miss Annabel.”

I turned around to make sure that it was Maud speaking to me, and not an apparition that had taken her form. Maud had never offered me the slightest compliment.

“Thank you, Maud,” I said. “It means much to me, as a lady's maid sees women in finery all the time.”

She smiled, and when she did, her face smoothed and she looked decades younger. “I've been a lady's maid for quite some time. Days gone by I served Miss Judith.”

“I did not know that!”

“It's true,” she said. “There was a French lady's maid close at hand, in need of a new position, that most women would have preferred. But not Miss Judith . . .” She shrugged. “That lady's maid married soon after, anyway. After Miss Judith died I left the household, but recently Mrs. Everedge—the new one—took me on.”