‘Clotilde is sewing for her as well,madame,’ Anna said firmly. ‘She is now family.’
Madame was finally silent, to Anna’s relief. What could it matter to her? She hoped Hermione Durand did not think her impolite. The woman was a wondrous cook, and Anna knewshewas not.
Pru stayed close to her that day. After Allan was tucked into bed and sleeping, she sat beside Anna on the balcony in the room Anna shared with the Captain. It had become their favourite place, perhaps because it overlooked the sea. Pru looked at her now with a different expression, less solemn, far less wary. Anna thought she understood and it touched her heart.
‘We will never change our minds, my dear,’ she said quietly. ‘The Captain owes you an enormous debt, and so do I. You andAllan and I all needed each other at Mrs Fillion’s. That was a hard time, wasn’t it?’
Pru nodded. ‘I was afraid.’
‘So was I.’
She looked in surprise at Anna. ‘Youwere afraid, too?’
‘My goodness, yes, my dear. I was terrified.’
‘I didn’t know…’ Pru hesitated.
‘Yes?’
‘…that grown-ups feared anything.’
‘We do,’ Anna said simply. Should she? Yes. ‘Even the Captain has confided in me that he is afraid at times. It’s part of being human.’
Pru sighed. Was it disappointment? Was it relief?I know so little about children, Anna thought, then took another chance, since she had been taking chances ever since she’d opened her door to John.
‘Pru, I have never put myself forward, but the times seem to require it now, wouldn’t you agree?’ To her relief, Pru nodded, giving Anna the courage to continue. ‘I’d say we make a good crew on land, fears and all. Now we’re in another strange place, but we are together—you, me, Allan—and will remain so. The Captain will join us when he can.’
Pru rested her head against Anna’s shoulder. Anna put her arm around the child grown too old too fast, and kissed her hair, which smelled of Menorcan sunshine. Pru sighed and closed her eyes, and somehow, in some way, grew a little younger.Trust me, Anna thought.
The day when Anna, disgusted with herself, realised that waiting for John and theSwallowto reappear was a senseless waste of time was the day she heard the door open and that longed-for, ‘Ahoy, you lubbers! Give me a kiss!’
Me first, me first!she thought as she hurried to the hall, and she was first. John tossed off his fore and aft hat and grabbed her, pulling her close. He smelled of brine and a little bay rum. He could have smelled like a kitchen midden and it wouldn’t have mattered. He kissed her soundly, held her off and joked, ‘Oh, it’s you,’ and kissed her soundly again before she even had time to laugh and swat him.
When he picked her up to hold her even closer—grateful no one else was in the hall—Annadidsee someone over his shoulder, a wide-eyed young woman standing by the door John had flung open.
‘John, put me down,’ she whispered into his ear. ‘Who…who…’
‘My wife, the owl,’ he teased, but set her down. ‘Mrs Beattie, I completely forgot my manners.’
‘Indeed you did,’ she said, happy to have his arms around her, even if her skirt needed adjusting.
By now, Allan had hurled himself down the stairs and into John’s arms, with Pru close behind, to stand there until Anna beckoned her forward.
‘We have a visitor,’ she said. ‘John, mind your manners.’
He gave her a kindly smile. ‘You’re a good woman, Mrs Beattie,’ he said. ‘Let me introduce you to a princess, or something like that.’
She came closer most regally, in Anna’s eyes, but when had she ever seen a real princess before? There was a superior expression on her face, as if the last placesheever wanted to be was on Menorca, or in a house with an obvious commoner who kissed a man so brazenly.
She came a few steps closer and no more, as if it were the commoners’ turn to do the honours.
‘She’s a little particular,’ John whispered. ‘I didn’t bow to her on our first encounter and she still holds that against me.’
‘You plebian,’ Anna whispered back and moved towards her, because she saw something else in the young lady’s eyes. Maybe it was the weariness of someone out of her depth and desperate not to show it, or someone tossed about by the fortunes of war, even as they were.
‘I am Mrs Beattie, wife of Captain Beattie,’ Anna said, hesitant to extend her hand, which she suspected would receive a rebuff. At the same time, she didn’t feel inclined to curtsy. ‘Do you…do you speak any English?’
‘I should hope so,’ the young lady replied most properly. ‘I am Sofia Callona, daughter of the Count of Callona. My mother is Lady Cynthia Pruitt of the Kent Pruitts. Surely you have heard ofthem.’
