She could tell Pru was mulling over that comment.
‘Yes, Pru?’ she asked gently.
Pru sank down lower in the grass, her head bowed.John, I wish I knew what to do, Anna thought.I am so ill-prepared. I am also afraid.
She sank down on the grass, too. ‘Tell me,’ she said simply, holding out her arms for Pru, who didn’t hesitate to sit on her lap.
‘Wh…when those women left us in Plymouth, I almost ran away and left Allan there alone,’ Pru said finally, as if pincers pulled the words from her throat.
‘But you didn’t.’
‘I wanted to run.’
‘You didn’t,’ Anna repeated firmly. ‘Pru, it’s hard to do the right thing sometimes, and it is permissible to be afraid. What matters is that you did the right thing.’
‘We were so hungry. I had to decide to stay and not look outside for food, or…or run away. It is a lonely feeling!’
The words sounded torn from her whole body and Anna held her closer.I know the lonely feeling, she thought, then knew what to do. She put her hands over Pru’s eyes for a brief moment. ‘It’s done now, dearest, and you did not fail anyone. Sometimes this feels good, too. There now. We’ll sit here a moment, then go back to the house. We’ll sit here as long as you want.’
The child relaxed in her arms. They stayed that way long enough for the warmth to seep more than skin-deep, into some place Pru needed.
When Pru sat up, her eyes were bright again, hopeful. ‘We’ll be sure to tell the Captain,’ she said.
‘We will.’
‘I wish we knew when he will return.’
‘So do I, but in the meantime we will take care of our guest and keep ourselves busy. Let’s not mention the torch to anyone,’ Anna said.
‘Our secret?’
‘Only until we can tell Captain Beattie.’
Silence was less of a trial than Anna feared, thanks to Sofia’s demands, which, as demands went, were not onerous, butdistracting enough to suit her. Pru and Allan had already weathered their first week of parish education at St Matthew’s in Port Mahon. The church had none of the beautiful stonework of the Catholic church in the village centre, and the more distant mosque. A good Anglican, Anna dubbed St Matthew’s serviceable.
The children seemed content with Mr Brown. ‘He’s not too patient, but I think we are bright enough,’ Allan assured her. Anna wanted to laugh out loud at his solemn assessment, considering that whatever instruction the young teacher gave them was their first brush with education.
Pru had her own observation about their teacher. ‘Mr Brown spends a lot of time staring out of the window,’ she said, then shrugged. ‘It is a lovely view.’ She brightened. ‘P’raps he has a sweetheart in the port.’
Allan pooh-poohed that. ‘Pru, he’s too old for a sweetheart.’
With what she thought was masterful control, Anna managed to remain straight-faced, thinking of her husband, even as she wondered what John really thought of her. Either time would tell or it wouldn’t.
It took no convincing to get Sofia to accompany her and the children to Port Mahon in the pony trap, loins girded for another morning of school. Even Madame Durand wanted to come along this time, chatting with Sofia about her plans, a far cry from the housekeeper with raised eyebrows over their guest’s list of demands.
‘Madame Beattie, you could takela signorinato Clotilde and have her measured for dresses,’ Hermione suggested. ‘Not that what you are wearing isn’t lovely, but…’
La signorinadismissed that suggestion with a withering glance. ‘Convent clothes, eh? I don’t mind. I will only be here for a few days, then to England. Papá thought it prudent to leave Italia, you know, where one scarcely knows who is friend or foe.’
Madame Durand nodded. ‘It is that way everywhere,’ she said with a sigh. ‘Madame Beattie, you at least will be with us for a while,oui?’ She smiled behind her hand. ‘The Captain does like to come into port as often as possible, does he not?’
Why does it matter how often he is here?Anna asked herself. Since Pru and Allan sat by Hector in the pony cart, she nearly said it. Instead, she asked herself the question beyond the question:Why should it matter to you, Hermione Durand, how often John comes into port?
‘I have no idea when he will return.’ She changed the subject. ‘Sofia, when I married Captain Beattie, I brought along dresses better suited to the English climate. Shall we take out those hems and start you a wardrobe for Kent?’
Madame Durand, I dare you to change the subject, she told herself as she made small talk about English customs as they wandered along to Port Mahon. She waved goodbye to Pru and Allan at St Matthew’s, then dutifully followed the Durands into the marketplace for some haggling over melons and other Mediterranean delicacies. In the market, she saw Hector huddle with men his age, then walk away quickly.
He stood at the pony cart when they returned carrying baskets of food, and helped them in. ‘He will return to collect the children,’ Madame Durand said. ‘You will be busy sewing.’
