“’Twas long ago. Before you came aboard. It seemed of little consequence.”
“May I ask what happened to end your misalliance?”
“I scarce ken how to frame it.” Henri shrugged. “She wanted me to stay on land. I craved the sea.”
Ned looked aggrieved. “You spurned her.”
“Nay.” The mere thought raked Henri’s composure. “’Twas mutual. And I do not care to remember.”
“If ’tis still sore, then some feeling must remain.”
Henri turned away, done with the conversation. “Tell the men I want a meeting at six bells in the forenoon.”
They parted, Henri going to look at the light tower but mostly at the finished keeper’s cottage a stone’s throw from it. A short, covered passage connected the two for protection in times of inclement weather. Pushing open the cottage door, he paused before entering, trying to see it with new eyes. He’d taken care to furnish it comfortably, culling items from his travels and carefully storing them in the ship’s hold with the future lightkeeper in mind.
Twin Venetian wingback chairs upholstered in blue tapestry with a nautical theme rested by the fireplace. On a game table was a Russian scrimshaw cribbage set. Tole lanterns hung from the beamed ceiling, each unique. A teak shipwright’s trunk adorned one plaster wall beneath a shelf that held a spyglass and tide tables. He was partial to the humble ship’s barrel for storage in a kitchen corner and the handsome chest of drawers in the bedchamber, its painted surface of a ship at full sail. The generous bed was hung with soft if plain linens. Sparse, well intentioned, and well crafted, the cottage simply lacked a keeper.
His next order of business was to supply just that, one he could oversee till he sailed under a letter of marque for Virginia. Decision made, he still craved a different sort of future.
CHAPTER
twenty-eight
Surely babies were made to inspire hope, especially in the dreary days of November. As soon as Esmée sat down by the hearth’s fire in Miss Grove’s cramped almshouse quarters, Alice’s baby boy in her arms, a sweet peace settled over her. Asleep, bundled in one of the blankets she’d made, a wee fist tucked under his dimpled chin, Alden was the picture of contentment.
“Such foul weather of late, though you seem to have brought the sunshine with you today, at least,” Miss Grove told her as she cleared away the tea tray they’d partaken of. “’Tis good to have you back. We seldom have company, especially when the roads turn to mud and ice.”
“I had to see how you all were faring, including this wee cherub.” Esmée smoothed a wisp of the baby’s russet hair showing beneath his bonnet. “And replenish your cocoa stores before winter sets in.”
Miss Grove settled opposite her in the wing chair, a worn affair of scuffed walnut. “Of all the things you bring us, Shaw’s hot chocolate is the unrivaled favorite of all the residents.”
“I confess to an overfondness for it.” Esmée looked out a near window, where the sun had the shine of May, not November. “When the snow flies and York comes to a standstill, there’s little better.”
“We’ve no one to bring us such fancies but you.” Leaning forward, Miss Grove darted a glance at the door before saying conspiratorially, “Though I must tell you in secret, we are of late well supplied. Even with the French refugees on our doorstep.”
“Well supplied? You don’t mean all those bones I begged?”
Miss Grove chuckled, revealing a missing tooth. “Those bones are much appreciated. But nay, I’m referring to another benefactor. A furtive one. Not long ago a gentleman stopped by here under cover of darkness and met with Mr. Boles and his wife.”
“Is this gentleman known to you?”
“Nay, and he insisted on remaining anonymous. The night watch did say he wasn’t a great age but younger. Hatted and somewhat disguised.” Her eyes shone. “He left an enormous sum with the express wish of seeing it well used. He spoke of having contacts who would apprise him of anything misspent.”
Esmée warmed to the mystery. “Meaning the bulk of the money is to go to the poor for their well-being and comfort, not the trustees’ pockets.”
“Precisely. It seems to have struck some fear into the heart of the Boleses and even the lesser staff. Depending on how the behest is managed, more might be forthcoming. Or not.”
Esmée felt stark relief. “’Tis hard to persuade people to be openhanded, yet this man did it unbidden.”
“Perhaps the gentleman is known to you?”
“I know of no such gentleman. But I like that he did his giving in secret, as Scripture praises. No naming the almshouse after him.”
“Indeed.” Miss Grove’s wide smile made her appear less careworn. “‘That thine alms may be in secret: and thy Father which seeth in secret himself shall reward thee openly.’”
“Still, I am curious ... and intrigued.” Esmée looked down at the sleeping baby, her thoughts far afield. “’Tis good only God knows.”
Miss Grove reached up a hand to touch the new mobcap Esmée had brought her. “Mr. Boles has even promised a chapel and a walled garden in spring now that we’re not so dependent on parish levies.”
