‘Great Neptune’s balls,’ Marsing muttered. ‘Aye, sir.’ He bellowed out the change of plan. ‘Be back here at eight bells tomorrow!’
Here I go, John thought, taking a deep breath.
He staggered off the gangplank, forgetting like a pea-green landlubber that his sea legs were propelling him. He stood still, trying to stop his spell of dizziness as the wooden wharf seemed to move and buck.
‘Never gets easier, does it, Captain?’ Marsing said cheerfully as he staggered into an embrace with his wife, then moved away with her hand steadying him.
‘No, it never does,’ he said quietly to their backs.
The crowd thinned out as his crew and their loved ones hurried away to make the most of their mere one day in port before raising sail to Portsmouth drydock. A lady remained, looking at the empty deck, her expression troubled now.
John took a tentative step and another. ‘Excuse my balance. I haven’t been ashore long. You are Miss Fontaine? I believe we were introduced once.’
‘We were,’ she said calmly. She eyed him and raised her chin. Her gallantry broke his heart. ‘I fear you have bad news. Tell me, sir.’
He gently explained what had happened.
‘A splinter? Surely not,’ she said.
‘It festered and I am afraid we could do nothing.’
Miss Fontaine went pale, clasping her hands tightly together. He knew if she hadn’t been wearing gloves, he would be staring at white knuckles. Thank God she was no screamer or fainter. He had seen those after other fleet actions when he’d often become the bearer of bad news to waiting families.
‘I am so very sorry, Miss Fontaine,’ he said. Hopefully, she could somehow tell he meant every word. ‘This is a terrible loss to you, to the fleet and to me, personally. Please accept my sincerest condolences. I will see you home. I am headed to my son on Terrace Lane, which I believe is near your Covent Street, where Will told me he resided.’
She nodded, looking up when the harbourmaster’s mate plucked at his sleeve again. ‘Please, sir. Another moment of your time.’
‘I will be fine, Captain Beattie,’ she said, still so calm. ‘Your time is not your own. Go to your son, once this man finishes with you.’
He nodded. ‘I will, and thank you, Miss Fontaine.’ He remembered his other duty. ‘With your permission, I’ll call on you this evening. I must discuss your brother’s financial dealings at Carter and Brustein.’
‘I will be home. Number two hundred and eight, Covent Street.’
She dipped a small curtsy and left him. Although it hadn’t shown on her face, he sensed her utter bereavement. There were days he hated his job. This was one of them.
Chapter Two
Anna Fontaine spent the afternoon weeping for her brother. Her housekeeper and friend Mrs Moore cried, too, both of them grieving. The other woman finally left to brew tea, that English remedy for all ills, and it helped.
Finally drained and dry of eye, Anna sat close to Mrs Moore. ‘I wonder what will happen to us,’ she said. ‘Will’s captain said he would visit this evening to discuss finances.’
‘Finances?’ her friend asked as she poured more tea.
‘Will lodges—lodged—his salary and prize money with Carter and Brustein,’ Anna explained. ‘He always left me with sufficient funds to manage.’ She looked away, remembering that conversation. ‘I wish he could have added my name to his account. Are such things possible?’ She managed a smile. ‘We ladies are kept in the dark about money.’
‘That is why Captain Beattie is coming here?’
‘So he said. Will told me that the captain is a widower, his wife having died of consumption several years ago. I imagine he treasures every moment with his child. Time is short for such a man.’
She thought about that later, as the terrible loss of her brother grew in proportion to her awareness of her situation.Unfortunately, war and national emergency had kept her brother from shore, where he could have found a wife. And she was a spinster at twenty-nine and would never see offspring of her own.
What now? She knew the rent was due soon, but after that? ‘Mrs Moore, what is going to become of us?’ she asked.
‘There are your mother’s relatives near Bristol, my dear.’
‘I know, but none of them were pleased when Papa let Will go to sea.’ She remembered the arguments, with Will storming off until Papa gave grudging permission for his only son to serve as a Young Gentleman in Mama’s many times removed cousin’s frigate. That had led to years as a midshipman, followed by second lieutenancy, and then his recent rank of first lieutenant aboard theSwallow. ‘And who will want a spinster hanging around?’
She left the rest unsaid, the bleak prospect of being the Unwanted Cousin left to fetch and carry. She chose not to think of Will dying in battle and leaving her not only extremely sad but poor and a burden.
