‘That is all,’ she repeated. ‘What Mrs Dalton witnessed from across the street was a desperate man needing reassurance as he left his son again.’ Anna could tell he didn’t believe her. She drewherself up. ‘There was nothing salacious or untoward. You have misjudged me.’
‘Others on this street came to warn me.’
‘They saw nothing,’ she snapped, tired of this interrogation. ‘It was early; the street was empty. Mrs Dalton is merely spreading rumours.’
He shook his finger at her. ‘The ladies on this street are exemplary Christian women. I hear you have only been here a few years.’
‘Six, since my mother died, followed by my father, a vicar.’
‘A vicar? Yourfather? Shame on you. When that Navy man returns, you must refuse him entrance!’
‘I will do no such thing!’ she insisted, finding strength from somewhere.
He pointed his finger. ‘Then you are as guilty as he!’
Guilty of what? Anna wondered. Reverend Maddy had come to the parish of St Andrew’s already self-righteous, sowing distrust. Who could she complain to?
‘You, Miss Fontaine, have no power to do anything. Let me be your guide.’ He came closer. She backed up. The look in his eyes sent chills marching in ranks down her back. ‘I’ll take care of this unfortunate situation.’
‘I doubt that supremely,’ she said quietly.
‘You are a menace to decency and rectitude,’ he declared.
She had no defender. All she had was a promise made to a sad and desperate man serving King and country, at the expense of his own flesh and blood. She calmly and deliberately decided it was enough.
Three words. She didn’t raise her voice, because she never raised her voice. All she had was the force of her own conviction and the mental reminder of the gratitude in Captain Beattie’s tired eyes. Her words had to carry the day, because she had no other defence.
‘Leave this house.’
He left, slamming the door for good measure.
Anna had one final thought.
I am ruined.
Chapter Eight
Iam the world’s most accomplishment actress, Anna told herself after an evening of jackstraws and bedtime rituals until Allan slept in the cot beside her bed.
She knew her housekeeper had returned from the market with her own solemn face. Anna looked around for Pru, Mrs Moore’s little shadow, as Allan was hers.
‘She is abed, too,’ Mrs Moore said as she poured the tea.
‘I knew something was wrong.’
‘You go first. It might explain what happened to me.’
Anna told her housekeeper precisely what had happened, leaving nothing out. ‘I fear Mrs Dalton has taken it upon herself to spread a wild untruth. Our nasty curate dropped by to condemn me.’
‘This is so unfair,’ Mrs Moore declared. ‘I received the cold shoulder from several of the maids on the street. Miss Calder’s maid seemed inclined to listen and at least appear sympathetic.’ She managed a mirthless chuckle. ‘We both wondered how a Navy town like Plymouth could ever consider that this hasn’t happened before.’
‘Nothing has happened,’ Anna said quickly.
‘Not to those who like to spread rumours.’
‘What can I do? Captain Beattiedidhug me on the front step.’
Trust Mrs Moore to dredge up a little humour from this reeking midden. ‘It’s all your fault for being a pretty lady,’ she declared with a smile. ‘We should spread our own rumours about captains long at sea. You know they must yearn for the comfort of wives in ports.’
