He gave her an evaluating look. All she could do was gather up the dishes to return to the scullery.
‘You’re worrying me,’ he said only moments later, following her with his plate and cutlery.
‘Something unfortunate has happened,’ she began, then shook her head. ‘Oh, not to Allan. It’s another matter.’ She put her hand on his arm, unable to help herself because her disquiet was real. ‘After he’s in bed, sir. I’ll be in the sitting room.’
Did some malevolent force decide to move the clock’s hand back two hours? Time dragged. She waited as the Captain followed Allan upstairs.Don’t be small about this, Miss Fontaine, she told herself, knowing that every moment with his son was precious to a father compelled to be away because duty called and could not be ignored.
She considered the matter, aware how quiet her life was, how little ever happened to her. She had blessed Will for suggesting they set up house together in Plymouth, which at least took her from the sympathy of her late father’s well-meaning parishioners. Her life had remained calm and orderly. Too calm? Too orderly?
She looked at the clock again, exasperated that the hands never moved.I can wait, she thought, followed swiftly by another thought.I am tired of waiting.
Chapter Nine
It would have been a simple matter to drift off to sleep, holding his son. John rubbed his eyes as he sat up carefully beside his slumbering boy. The sad child he had parted from so reluctantly had much to say, telling his Papa that Miss Fontaine liked to sew on buttons and walk. ‘Papa, we have beeneverywhere,’ Allan assured him as he cuddled close.
‘I imagine you have,’ John told him, even as he smiled inside at his memories of the Caribbean, the Kingdom of Sicily, the cold Baltic Sea with its equally reserved inhabitants, and the exuberance of Africa.Everywhere, son? Little do you know.
‘It’s a nice room,’ Allan said, ‘but I liked Missy’s room, too. That’s what I call Miss Fontaine.’
‘What, you slept in there?’ he asked, then considered the matter. Probably the last thing Anna wanted to do was sleep here in Will’s room, with memories of a brother, dead and gone.
‘Mrs Moore found a cot,’ Allan explained simply. ‘And Missy held my hand when I cried.’
John put his hands over his eyes, collecting himself. He knew Anna was waiting downstairs, and from her air of composed distraction, he knew it wasn’t good news.
Still, how much time did he have with this lovely child?
‘Do you like it here?’
‘Aye aye, sir,’ Allan said, then laughed. ‘Missy also told me she likes to cuddle.’ Allan touched his face. ‘Papa, she is softer than you are.’
‘I imagine she is.’ Johnhadnoticed that Miss Fontaine was not all angles and planes. His face warmed to think of the careful way he had patted the pillow in his quarters aboard theSwallow, shaping it just so… Nothing for Allan to know about.
His boy yawned, cuddled, relaxed all over, and slept.
John lay there, amused at himself for pretending that his life was this simple—a father putting his son to bed, then going downstairs to read the paper, or to tease a wife as she tried to darn socks, or even putting his head in her lap, and see where that led. Nice for some—not for him. Napoleon had dictated otherwise.Up you get, he told himself.Face the bad news.
He watched Anna from the door of the sitting room, admiring her as she sat so still. Maybe she was thinking of Will, who never could say enough kind things about her. Will said once that he doubted any human could remain in a state of turmoil, just being around his sister. ‘Annie has mastered the art of being still.’
There it was before him.Miss Fontaine, you would be the perfect wife in our world gone mad, he thought. He quickly assured himself that idea was a bolt out of the blue and impossible. But because war waited for him impatiently, tapping its skeletal toes, he had to find someone to care for his son. Perhaps Anna had a suggestion.
She looked up. John knew he had never seen such beautiful eyes anywhere.The single men in Plymouth must be remarkably stupid, he thought, then mentally swatted those thoughts away.
‘Captain, we have a problem.’
At least she didn’t say,youhave a problem. An optimistic man could take heart at that quiet comment, but he was a realist.
‘Give me the news, Miss Fontaine. You can’t keep Allan with you. Is that it?’
She blinked in surprise. ‘What are you saying? Don’t be absurd.’
He hadn’t expected that. ‘You mean, you want to continue with this responsibility?’ Another stare, or maybe it was a glare. ‘Well… I…he must be a burden… The circumstances…’Shut up, John, he told himself.
In a moment she was on her feet, hands on hips. She spoke most distinctly. ‘Let us come to a proper understanding, Captain Beattie. I gave you my word that I would watch over Allan. I never break my word. Let me tell you what has happened.’
She sat down. He was smart enough to sit beside her and keep his mouth closed.
Her irritation left her quickly, replaced by worry. ‘Captain, it’s a most unfortunate thing, blown entirely out of proportion.’ She raised her hands in frustration. ‘It’s my neighbours.’
