Her Heart's Captain (25 page)

She paused and looked down at him with a pathetic attempt at a smile. “Don't trouble yourself about it, Uncle. It was not a matter of great moment.”

“From the look of you, lass, I'd say it was.”

She shook her head. “Spilt milk, you know. It does no good to dwell on it.” But she turned and came down toward him. “However, there is one thing I'd like to ask you …”

“Yes?” He came to the bottom step and clumsily sat down upon it, motioning for her to join him. “What is it?”

“There's something Robbie wrote which I … I can't get out of my mind.” She sat down beside him and hugged her knees. “Be honest with me, Uncle Alistair. If a captain orders a man to be whipped … whipped so badly that his back is sore and bleeding … wouldn't you call that cruel and bestial?”

“You're speakin' of floggin'. It's common practice in the Navy, lass. Standard punishment for infractions. All captains have to do it, you see, or there'd be no discipline.”

“All captains? Good God! Is there no other way?” she asked incredulously.

“Oh. there are other ways, all right. Gaggin', floggin'-round-the-fleet, runnin' the gauntlet—lots o' ways, all worse. A daily, formal floggin' is considered the best disciplinary—”

“Daily? Did you say
daily
?”

“Yes, on most ships it's as regular as mess call.”

“But … but Robbie only wrote about it
once
! After he'd been aboard ship for a couple of
weeks
!”

“Yes, but Allenby runs a tight ship, y' see. He doesn't have pressed men and quota men that give the others all the trouble. He has a good, loyal crew and doesn't have to have floggin's very often.”

Jenny's eyes, wide and brimming with tears, were fixed on her uncle's face. “Oh, Uncle Alistair, what a f-fool I've been!”

He put an arm about her and patted her soothingly. “I don't know what foolish thing you've done, girl, but it's never too late to—”

“I'm afraid it is,” she said, struggling to regain her composure. She leaned against her uncle's comforting arm and gave a deep sigh. “If only I'd spoken to you about this long before. What a very different state I'd be in now!”

Chapter Twenty

In the middle of January, Robbie received his orders to return to his ship. As he packed his sea chest, he thought about the difference between this departure and the last one. There had been many changes since last spring, and not all of them to the good. This time neither his mother nor his sister offered to travel south with him to see him off. This didn't trouble him—he preferred the independence of traveling alone. He'd be happier traveling without his mother's supervision; he was old enough and brave enough now to manage on his own without unease. That much was to the good.

But he would miss his sister's company. The change in their relationship was not to the good. He was still not sure what specific act of his had caused the rift between them, but he was sensible enough to know that it had come about because of his heedlessness. He had never before troubled himself about her feelings, her cares, her woes. It was a new experience to force himself to consider the concerns of anyone but himself. Now that he'd done it, however, he felt more adult. Perhaps this rift had done him some good at that. When he next came home, he would see what he could do to mend it.

His new awareness of his family's needs led to one final resolve. As he closed the sea chest and snapped the locks, he made up his mind to put on a brave front in his future letters home. He had to begin to behave like a man, and it was not manly to worry his family with every discomfort and misery he suffered. They had troubles of their own, and from now on he could at least protect them from suffering over
his
. He would handle his own difficulties.

He bid them goodbye with cheerful optimism and set off by stage to Portsmouth. It was only when he found himself on the dock that he remembered what troubles still awaited him. Was Captain Allenby really his enemy? He'd made light of it to his mother, but what new troubles would he now have to face aboard the
Providential
?

Back at Wyndham, Jenny did what she could to pick up the pieces of her life. It was puzzling that Andrea was avoiding her. She'd made several attempts to see her friend, but she was invariably greeted with some excuse. One day, however, the reason was made clear. Lady Garvin announced to her daughter over tea that she'd just received a tearful apology from Sally Clement. “You'll never credit it, Jenny, but it was
Andrea
who caused your troubles with Captain Allenby.”

“Nonsense, Mama. Whatever passed between Captain Allenby and myself was of our own making. Andrea had nothing to do with it,” the girl said flatly, not looking up from her teacup.

“You're quite wrong. Sally told me that the day before the captain took his departure (which, you remember, was the very day he paid the call on you), Andrea had one of her tantrums and told him that you regarded him as a monstrous beast. Sally is horribly ashamed of the whole incident.”

Jenny was startled. It had never occurred to her to wonder how Tris had been able to read her mind that day. She had simply supposed that love had made them transparent to each other. But it had been
Andrea
! So
that
was why Andrea was avoiding her now.

After the initial shock, Jenny was able to understand her friend's betrayal. Andrea had wanted Tris for herself. To her it had been a ploy in the game of love, where all was fair. Well, there was no longer any point in dwelling upon it, or in indulging in resentment. She didn't wish, either, for Andrea to wallow in guilt. Neither of them had won in this affair. The best course for them both would be to forget it.

With that in mind, Jenny wrote an affectionate note to Andrea, suggesting that they leave the past behind. Andrea gratefully accepted the suggestion, paid a call that very day, and the relationship was resumed. But Jenny could see that things between them were no longer the same. She was no longer the lighthearted young girl she'd been, and Andrea, too, had suffered a change. Some of her “air” had disappeared.

The extent of the disintegration of their friendship was not made clear, however, until they each received a letter from Lady Rowcliffe. The letters were almost identical.
Now that I am alone again
, Lady Rowcliffe wrote,
it has occurred to me that it would be very pleasant to have a couple of young people about the house. If you and your friend could endure the chaperonage of an old lady, I would like so much to have you both pay me a visit. There is so much in town that I would love to show you
—
the Elgin Marbles, the Pantheon Bazaar, the Opera House at Covent Garden, and a dozen other delights. Your friend, Toby Boyce, who dines with me from time to time, will be overjoyed to see you both, and we have already made plans for a welcoming dinner in your honor. Though the season has not yet begun, there are a good number of “eligibles” already in town, all eager for the social whirl to begin. Please let me know if and when I can expect you on my doorstep
.

Jenny read the letter over and over with mounting excitement. The prospect of a visit to Lady Rowcliffe seemed to her an unexpected but timely blessing. Her life had been excessively painful during the past few weeks. Not only had her everyday amusements begun to seem empty and meaningless, and her friendship with Andrea more nostalgic than real, but her relationship with her mother was almost unendurable. Since the day that Tris had walked out of her life, she'd been unable to ignore the gap that existed between her mother and herself. Unlike Robbie, Margaret Garvin had no comprehension of her indifference to her daughter's feelings. She believed that she was a perfect mother. With complacent self-centeredness, she went about her daily rounds without troubling herself about Jenny's obvious unhappiness. Whatever troubled the girl would pass, she convinced herself. Not once did she offer solace or affection. It never occurred to her to question the adequacy of her feelings for her daughter.

On the other hand, Jenny remembered with the fondest pleasure the kind attention which Lady Rowcliffe had showered on her. It was Lady Rowcliffe, not her mother, who'd found her beautiful. It was Lady Rowcliffe, not her mother, who'd enjoyed her music. How soothing it would be to live for a while with someone who really
liked
her.

She had been thinking, before the letter from Lady Rowcliffe arrived, of asking her Uncle Alistair if she could go to Yorkshire and stay with him for a time. She needed a change of scene. But she'd not asked him. She knew that her uncle liked her, but he was fond of his solitude—she hadn't felt comfortable about asking him to inconvenience himself on her behalf. But now she had an invitation—a sincere, eager, warm invitation—from Lady Rowcliffe herself. It was a prospect that filled her with excitement. It was an opportunity to expose herself to a different sort of life, to new surroundings, new people and new experiences. And Andrea would be with her. Perhaps in the stimulation of London's atmosphere, their friendship could be mended and enlarged. Eagerly, with Lady Rowcliffe's letter clutched in her hand, she threw on a cloak and ran down the road all the way to the Hall. She and Andrea had plans to make.

Andrea received her in the sitting room. Jenny could see at once that something was wrong. “Didn't you get Lady Rowclifle's note?” Jenny asked as she threw her cloak over a chair, her chest constricting with a cold clutch of foreboding.

“Yes. This morning.” Andrea walked to the fireplace and stood staring into the flames. “It was very kind of Aunt Dulcie to invite us both.”

“Is something the matter, Andrea? Aren't you overjoyed? You've always talked about wishing to go to London … to the shops, the theaters, the parties—”

“Yes, I know. But …”

Jenny carefully lowered herself on the chair, her eyes on her friend. “But—?”

“I'm not going.”

“What? I don't believe it!” It was incredible that Andrea would refuse such a rare, desirable opportunity. “Why not?”

“What does it matter?” the girl muttered. “I'm not going, that's all.”

“But it matters very much.” Jenny rose, went to her friend and put a gentle hand on her arm. “We've always
dreamed
of such an opportunity. To be able to go to
London …
and together! It's almost too good to be true. I can't believe you'd let such a chance pass us by.”

Andrea threw her friend an enigmatic look. “It won't pass
us
by.
You
still can go.”

“Without you? I couldn't!”

“Of course you could.”

“No. I don't think Lady Rowcliffe would wish for that.”

“Yes, she would.” Andrea turned slowly and faced Jenny eye-to-eye. “It's you she wants. She only asked me because she thought it might be said that she'd invited a total stranger and ignored her own niece.”

Jenny gaped at her. “Wherever did you get wind of such
humbug
?” she asked in disbelief.

“You may call it humbug if you wish, but even Mama agrees with me.”

“I don't understand. Why would you and your mother take it into your heads that Lady Rowcliffe wants me and not you?”

“Because my Aunt Dulcie doesn't even
like
me,” Andrea admitted, turning back to contemplate the flames.

“Rubbish! Of course she likes you. Just because she once said some kind things about
me
doesn't mean—”

“Oh, I'm not blaming you in any way, Jenny. Not at all. It's my own fault, I don't deny that. I behaved very badly in front of my aunt, you know, so it's not surprising—”

“Andrea, you're being foolish. I thought we'd agreed to forget all about that. I'm sure Lady Rowcliffe has.”

“No, she hasn't. She couldn't. You weren't here, Jenny, so you don't know how dreadful I was.”

“I think you're being too hard on yourself. She
asked
you to come, didn't she? She wouldn't have done it if she didn't want you.”

“Perhaps.” Andrea sighed and walked away, dropping down on a large wing chair. “I've thought about this all day, Jenny. My mind is made up. I … I wouldn't be happy at my aunt's.”

“How could you
not
be happy there?” Jenny demanded, following her and perching on a nearby ottoman. “We would be in London! Together! Just as we always dreamed.”

Andrea's eyes fell. “Not as
I've
dreamed, my dear. I don't think you really know me, Jenny. I'm … not like you. I'm not kind, or giving … or self-effacing, as you are. You see, you're the one Aunt Dulcie wants, and you would be
first
with her. I couldn't
bear
that, don't you see?”

Jenny winced as if from a blow. For a moment she tried not to face the implications of Andrea's words. She gazed up at her friend's face, hoping to see a sign that she'd misunderstood … that she hadn't heard the words clearly. But after a while, the emptiness in the pit of her stomach told her that the words must be faced. She looked down at her hands and said quietly, “If what you say about your aunt is true—and I don't for a moment believe it—then you're telling me that you can't, even
temporarily
, take second place to me.
But I've taken it with you for all these years
.” She looked up and met her friend's eyes. “Why should second place be acceptable for
me
but not for
you
?”

Andrea couldn't meet Jenny's direct gaze. “I don't know,” she answered slowly. “I suppose it's because I'm … just not used to it.”

“And you can't endure it even for a
while
?”

“No, I don't think I can.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes while Jenny gathered herself together. Then she got up, picked up her cloak and went silently to the door.