‘Yes, indeed, unless you tell me first. Is that understood?’
‘Aye, Missy,’ they both said.
‘Good!’ She decided that was enough. The torches didn’t look recently used, but still… As they walked to the house, she decided to mention the matter to John, when next she saw him.
Chapter Thirty
During the next two weeks, Anna reminded herself that yes, John had given her permission to use the money in the strongbox. The first time she opened it she gasped at the amount, then blinked back tears because he had left her so much, as if anticipating his own death or capture.
The thought stayed with her all that day, prompting her to arrange his pillow next to her body in their bed.For someone used to sleeping alone for years and years, you are a ninny, she scolded herself as she faced that first night in a solitary bed since their marriage.There are going to be many such nights, Anna Beattie, thanks to Napoleon, wretched man.
Madame Durand proved to be helpful in diversion. Anna’s admiration for Admiral Collingwood’s housekeeper grew daily, although Hector was silent and seldom about. Madame had a ready answer to Anna’s question about a seamstress, which meant a visit soon from a woman with a tape measure around her neck and a determined look on her face. Her name was Clotilde Gomez, her name illustrating again to Anna the diversity on Menorca, with its French and Spanish inhabitants.
And British, too, Clotilde reminded her, when Anna asked about the Anglican church. ‘Only recently, the Rector agreed toallow a Mr Hal Brown to teach the children of the small English community here. Mr Brown is from England, I believe.’ Madame Gomez thought a moment. ‘Someone did tell me his mother is from Mallorca.’
‘That is the bigger island next to this one,’ Madame Durand said. ‘Clotilde, I doubt he has a mother there.’
‘Well, I…’
‘Rumour and speculation.’
‘Mallorca, Menorca…’ Anna couldn’t help her laugh, and didn’t mind admitting to both women, ‘You are all so interesting here.’
‘We Menorcans are aragoutof this and that,’ Clotilde assured her. ‘Hold still. Let me measure from your waist to your ankles. My husband likes the stern English sermons from the Rector, so we attend St Matthew’s. That is how we heard of Mr Brown. Your country only returned our islands to Spain two years ago.’ She shook her head. ‘And now Spain and France are allies? This would confuse anyone except a Menorcan.’
‘I am surprised there is an English teacher,’ Anna said.
‘He has been here for a short time, it is true,’ Clotilde told her, then leaned closer, confidential. ‘He must be persuasive. He convinced the old Rector to let him live at St Matthew’s, since the classroom is there. The Rector is so particular, but he is getting old, and agreed.’
Anna considered her feelings about rectors, grateful that Mr Brown wasn’t one.I have had enough of those, she thought.I could become a heathen. The thought made her, the daughter of a vicar, smile inside.
Once Anna had chosen material for cotton dresses from Clotilde’s supply, the seamstress came with them to Port Mahon in Hector’s new pony cart.
‘Here it is, St Matthew’s,’ the seamstress said, pointing to a church overlooking the inlet, seeming small and dowdycompared to the Catholic church in the more elegant plaza. And was that a mosque with a minaret?
‘I am certainly not in England,’ Anna murmured to Madame Durand, who had accompanied them. Indeed, the housekeeper liked to come along on errands. Her husband had little to say, beyond chirruping the pony and humming tunelessly. Anna had no objections to the Durands. Menorcans seemed to speak an odd conglomeration of French and Spanish—or was it Catalan?—with the occasional English word. Hector and Hermione, fluent in French, knew the localpatois.
Her introduction to Hal Brown was more than she’d expected. He was a tall man with handsome auburn hair, and a capable air about him.Such a strange island this is, she thought, as he listed his modest but adequate credentials.Clotilde is right; Menorca is a ragout of all sorts of people lucky enough to find it. She felt herself relax. If discovering exotic places and kind people was to be her own lot with the Royal Navy, she pronounced herself fortunate.
‘Indeed, I will be pleased to educate your children,’ Mr Brown told Anna, when Clotilde left them after her introduction. ‘Your husband is based here on Port Mahon? I did notice a French-looking ship but with Royal Navy flags docked here.’
‘Currently,’ Anna said, mindful of John’s admonition not to say too much. ‘You know the Royal Navy: things can always change.’Like this subject, she reminded herself. ‘You were clever to notice theSwallowas French-built.’
He smiled at her and the children. ‘Life moves slowly here, Mrs Beattie. We take an interest in many things, perhaps out of boredom.’ He opened a ledger, where she noticed English names. ‘I have a small class, but I have not been teaching long. Bring your little scholars here on Monday, Wednesday and Friday. I teach from eight until eleven of the clock. Two shillings a month. Their names?’
‘Allan and Pru Beattie,’ Anna said promptly, then reached for her purse. ‘This will do for three months, sir.’
He nodded, put her money on his desk and wrote in their names. As he wrote, Anna felt Pru leaning close. When the teacher rose to put away the money, Anna touched her shoulder. ‘What is the matter, my dear?’
‘I have a last name now and it is yours,’ the child said. ‘Will the Captain mind?’
‘Youareours,’ she whispered back, nearly overcome with a feeling unlike any other.
‘I thought…’ Madame Durand began, when they were seated in the pony trap again. ‘Pru is also yours?’
‘We are an interesting family,madame,’ Anna hedged, keeping her voice low, unwilling to embarrass Pru. What to tell her? ‘The Captain was a widower with a son. Pru came along, too. She’s Pru. We love her.’I’ve said enough, Anna thought.
‘She seems poorly dressed, and I wondered what she was doing with you,’ Madame Durand persisted.
