‘Captain, I will be the envy of nations, or at least the parish of St Andrew, to come to church with a Trafalgar hero,’ she said. She paused then, and he couldn’t help noticing her frown. She looked around. ‘Where is Allan?’
‘He ran ahead. Is there a problem?’
‘A small one.’
John watched the colour rise in her cheeks. He had a momentary pang, thinking of his late wife and her consumptive pallor. Miss Fontaine looked so healthy, and a little embarrassed right now. He wanted to tease her, but knew he had no claim to do anything of the sort.
‘A small problem? Perhaps I can help.’
She took a tentative step closer. ‘Captain, since Allan has been sharing my room—he sleeps better if I hold his hand—he helps me with buttons I cannot reach.’
‘Miss Fontaine, I am as talented as my son. Turn around.’
He buttoned her up the back of her dress, after the observation—in silence, certainly—that those freckles on her nose had companions. Pretty light brown freckles.
Breakfast was quick and efficient. Thank God for coffee. Other segments of British society might demand tea, but the Royal Navy was fuelled by coffee, the better to keep crews alert and awake.
‘Miss Fontaine, you run a tight ship,’ he told her. ‘If you ever get the urge to run away to sea, we could find you a berth on theSwallow.’
He chuckled as she blushed.
Allan’s eyes widened. ‘Papa, do ladies go to sea?’
‘Some do,’ John said. ‘But most wives remain in port, waiting with the patience of Job.’
Miss Fontaine rose and left the room.
‘Was it something I said?’ he asked Mrs Moore as the children left, too. ‘What…just happened?’
‘She misses her brother.’
‘The children, too? But they never knew him. I don’t understand.’
The housekeeper gave him a patient look, as if he were a child himself. ‘Pru noticed it first. When my mistress gets silent and leaves the room, she goes to a quiet place and sits there. Pru and Allan sit with her, too. No one likes to be sad alone.’
Thoughtful, he walked to the sitting room, peering in, his heart touched to watch a sorrowing lady with her arms around two children, there to comfort her.
Anna, he thought,I would comfort you, too.
He thought about that on their way to St Andrew’s.Captains are always sad in solitary, he thought.It’s the nature of the beast. He writhed inside that he’d seldom been around to console Cathy as the consumption had manifested itself in earnest. He hadn’t even been present for Allan’s birth, nor yet again when Cathy had died.We men must do our duty, he reminded himself as he followed them inside the church. Usually that reality carried him through, but at this moment he found it distinctly lacking.
The issue stung further. He hoped the children didn’t notice, but no one greeted them, as other congregants nodded andsmiled to each other. Miss Fontaine was first in the pew, with the children following her.
‘I should sit next to her,’ he whispered to Mrs Moore. ‘Something is wrong.’
‘Stay where you are. I have a bad feeling that your sitting beside her would make matters worse.’
He opened his mouth to argue with her, but shut it when she gave him a look worthy of Nelson or Collingwood. He folded his arms and stared straight ahead.What is worse than this?he thought, miserable and not used to feeling lower than the most malingering sailor in the fleet.
Captain Beattie soon found out.
After the sacraments, he settled in for a boring homily, something dry as toast and usually forgotten. Not this time.
The ordained man of God leaned forward, his eyes searching out his victim like a bird of prey, until they landed on John Beattie. John locked eyes with him and stared back. The curate shifted his gaze to Miss Fontaine and found the perfect target. The curate pointed his finger and proceeded to ruin a life.
‘We live in a sinful town!’ He stared heavenward dramatically. ‘Now it lurks on our better streets, where we allow evil to live among us.’ He clutched his heart, or that place in his chest where a heart might beat. ‘Now shameless women shelter unwanted boys and girls, hoping to turn them to a life of unspeakable degradation.’
Captain Beattie feared to move, not wanting to call attention to himself. His heart broke into a thousand pieces, aware that his simple request for a reassuring hug had been so wilfully misunderstood.
