‘Certainly,’ she assured him, sensing in her heart that Captain Beattie would do exactly that. She suddenly wanted to give Napoleon a piece of her mind for ruining so many childhood dreams.
Luncheon always meant smiles, as she and Mrs Moore watched their young charges eat with enthusiasm. ‘We could probably feed them a cauliflower and beet purée and they would smack their lips and ask for more,’ she whispered to Mrs Moore.
At first, bedtime was harder, Allan inconsolable at sleeping by himself in Will’s room. Pru had happily followed Mrs Moore downstairs, but here was Allan, alone.
Anna knelt by Allan, and he folded into her arms. ‘Papa slept in here with me yesterday,’ he said through his tears. ‘Papa’s gone now.’
She felt her own eyes welling. ‘My dear, I don’t think I could spend a night in my brother’s room,’ she managed. ‘He meant everything to me, and it’s hard, with him gone.’
God bless Mrs Moore. ‘There is a boy-sized cot in the storeroom. We could put it in your room?’
‘We could. Would you agree to that, Allan?’
‘My feet will still be cold,’ he told her dolefully. ‘Pru has warm feet and so does my father.’
If you were my very own, I wouldkeep your feet warm, Anna thought, surprising herself with a fleeting, impish thought: How would it feel to have Captain Beattie and her sandwiching his son between them?Anna, really, she scolded herself.Think of something else.
‘Allan, have you ever slept with a pig before?’
‘No, miss,’ he said, eyes wide.
‘The pig I have in mind is made of pottery and filled with hot water. I will wrap a towel around this pig and put him at the foot of your cot.’
‘He’ll warm my feet?’
‘Yes. And we’ll put your cot right by my bed. Will that work for you?’
He considered the matter, and frowned. ‘What about the rest of me?’
‘I promise you that once your feet are warm, you’ll fall right to sleep.’
‘Promise?’
‘Promise.’
Allan nodded. ‘I’ll do it.’
And he did, after helping Anna make up the cot they carried upstairs and deposited close to her bed. The pig came next, wrapped in a light cloth, then placed at the foot of his cot, between the sheets and blanket.
He patted his pillow. ‘Miss Fontaine, is Pru downstairs with Mrs Moore?’
‘She is. You’ll see her in the morning.’
He hung his head. ‘When I cried at night, Pru held my hand. Does Papa cry at night?’
Her heart opened wider to this child of a man nearly always at sea, because evil men schemed to control the world. Here she was, answering questions that Captain Beattie would probably give the earth to answer, because he loved his son.
‘He probably does sniff a bit, when no one is watching.’
‘He won’t mind if I cry sometimes?’
‘Ask him, the next time you see him.’
She saw the sudden fear. ‘He will be back, won’t he?’ he asked.
Even so close to her, Allan Beattie wasn’t close enough. She pulled him onto her lap.
What to say? Yesterday’s Anna Fontaine had vanished, replaced by a woman aware of the huge responsibility thrust upon her because she’d opened her door to a desperate father. She pushed Fear away and there stood Resolve, perhaps a little hesitant, but still a calming presence.
