‘Miss Fontaine, don’t I intimidate you?’ Captain Beattie joked.
Did he?
‘No, sir. You have a good heart,’ Anna said impulsively.
‘Don’t tell anyone, will you?’
‘Your secret is safe with me. God go with you,’ she said quietly.
‘And you, kind lady.’ After a long moment, Captain Beattie set his son down. ‘Walk me to the door, Allan. You, too, Miss Fontaine.’
‘All of us will,’ Mrs Moore said.
‘Aye aye, Captain Moore,’ the captain replied, and gave her a smart salute, so at least they were smiling as he opened the door.
As Anna watched, he gathered his son close. Allan cried, and he soothed him with soft words—Gaelic words, something heard in distant Scotland.
‘Go to Pru,’ he said, and Allan did, the two children clinging close, as they must have clung to each other when they had no idea what would happen to them. Anna put away that image because there was something equally difficult happening right now. How did Navy families manage farewells?
‘Do not fear, Captain Beattie,’ she said. ‘You brought him to the right house.’
‘I know I did,’ he said. ‘It may be the best thing I have done in years.’
‘Do not fear,’ she said again, but for his ears only.
Mrs Moore handed the captain his boat cloak. Pru found his hat and gave it to him.
He kissed Allan again. ‘I’ll see you when I can, you know I will.’
Mrs Moore headed the children towards what Anna hoped were biscuits in the kitchen. It only remained for Captain Beattie to close the door. He stepped out, looked down as if he wasn’t quite sure of his footing, then back at her.
‘Miss Fontaine, I sound like a perfect rogue, but I need a hug and here you are.’
With no hesitation, she stepped onto the wide front step. He enveloped her in an embrace that she suddenly realised she badly needed, too. Yesterday, she’d waited to hug her brother. That would never happen again on this earth. Here was a near-stranger holding her close as if his life depended on it. Maybe it did; she had his son.
‘He’s all I have,’ he whispered as he held her close.
‘I know. I will never let you down.’
Then he was gone. She couldn’t watch, even as her neighbour across the street did so avidly. She closed the door, leaned against it and briefly wondered if this was how husbands and wives felt upon parting.
‘Captain Beattie, I will not fail you,’ she announced. ‘Never.’
Chapter Six
In the following weeks, the residents of 208 Covent Street, augmented by two children, worked their way through grief and sleepless nights and came out on the other side. It didn’t happen overnight, but it happened. In her quiet way, Anna was inclined to give all the credit to Mrs Moore and Pru, who was Allan’s relentless protector. Upon reflection, she realised that it had begun when she agreed to help Captain Beattie. She was responsible.
Anna had debated whether to leave the boy alone with his faithful Pru, but had decided on a different tack, spending time every day with him, playing jackstraws or reading. She remembered Will’s attentions when they were children and how often he’d jollied her out of pouts, considering it his duty to cheer her up.
Mere days ago, such a memory might have reduced her to tears. Instead, she chose to honour Will by remembrance.
‘Will generally always beat me at jackstraws,’ she grumbled, looking at her pitiful pile of slender wooden rods. ‘I’m just not patient, and he was.’
‘Did he make you cry when you lost?’ Allan asked as he carefully tugged a stick from the jumble and nothing quivered.
‘No. He was much nicer than that, you scamp!’ She laughed, pleased at the memory, which could have broken her heart but didn’t, mainly because she’d discovered she liked jackstraws and little boys. ‘Will also let me walk with him, even though I knew he would rather have been with his friends.’
‘If my father had time, would he play jackstraws with me?’
