She willed herself to be calm, composed, and never someone demanding attention, the person she had been all her life until John had entered her life.
‘Mr Brown,’ she said. ‘Do help me down, please. I have been tending poor Lieutenant Watt since theSwallowbrought some wounded men to Admiral Collingwood’s house. How fortunate we are to have an Anglican church here on Menorca for his burial.’ She held out her hand to the teacher, willing it not to shake.
‘How kind of you to come along, Mrs Beattie,’ he said in that perfectly accented English she had heard for weeks and never questioned.
‘We wanted to be here,’ she replied as he swung down the children. ‘The poor man is a long way from his home in the United States, but what can one do in this time of war?’
‘Indeed.’ He indicated the long inlet below them, then folded his hands. ‘On the morning of the Resurrection, the American will have a welcome view from here.’
‘I doubt there is a lovelier view,’ she replied, and meant it. Then she noticed something that explained everything. Only the greatest force of will kept her from gasping.
Directly below them was that sailing dinghy, the one that had inspired her to suggest to Mr Brown that he might like to learn how to fish. She put the whole awful truth together in her mind. She looked towards Port Mahon proper from the burial ground, and found herself gazing directly at the slip where theSwallowmoored for every call in port. The man who lit the torches must be Hal Brown, son of Hector Durand, the caretaker who knew what was going on in Admiral Collingwood’s house. Father and son,pere et fils.
She looked down at the dinghy. It didn’t take a genius to notice that anyone could see the Royal Navy ship dock, then, when it was dusk, row across the inlet in that dinghy and light two torches to warn some other ship further out, probablyLa Guerre. And with two flames to confirm theSwallowin port, theHartfordwas fair game at sea.
So simple, so diabolical. What remained now was to mourn a good man, then casually return to Admiral Collingwood’s house and talk to the Royal Marine.
Her heart racing, Anna watched the two gravediggers lean on their shovels as the old Rector of St Matthew’s made a few comments about ‘Ashes to ashes and dust to dust’, thenconsigned this American, far from home and probably not an Anglican, to his final resting place. The gravediggers let down the coffin with ropes and packed down the dirt, standing back when the children spread their impromptu bouquet across the mound.
Anna watched them, forcing herself to appear the serene lady the Durands knew, and not a woman who had put together the truth. She left the daisies Allan handed her on the mound, wishing she could do more for Joel Watt.
‘You’re so far from home, you men who go to sea,’ she said.
Hal Brown waved to them as they left the churchyard, after what Anna thought was a pointed look at the hunched-over Hector. Only moments ago, she would have thought she was imagining all this. She now knew she wasn’t.
Madame Durand had luncheon ready on the sitting room’s veranda this time. She took her time serving, as if not wanting to be out of earshot. Had Hector whispered something to her about father and son speaking in French and Mrs Beattie possibly overhearing? Anna prayed for a moment to speak to Private Bartleby, who was lying on his cot, watching her with a frown.
I swear I truly am a better actress than Sarah Siddons herself, she thought throughout the long afternoon. Rather than attempt a word with the Private, she took her basket of mending onto the veranda and darned stockings already darned. Pru and Allen weeded the flowerbed close by. Hector was not in sight. After an hour of this, Madame Durand shrugged and returned to her kitchen, but leaving the door open and peering out now and then.
Why didn’t I notice that nosiness sooner?Anna asked herself as she took a moment to observe the other woman, then looked away, suddenly aware that Hal Brown bore a more-than-passing resemblance to their housekeeper, someone she trusted no more. It was a small thing, their cheekbones and the shape oftheir eyes, something she never would have noticed had father and son not stood together, heads with auburn hair nearly touching.Now I know. How to tell the Royal Marine and not rouse suspicion, now that Madame is watching me?
To Anna’s relief, Private Bartleby found a totally innocuous way to end the impasse. ‘Mrs Beattie, could you bring me more water?’ he called to her. ‘I know I should work up my nerve and have this nasty-looking bandage changed.’
Thank God. ‘Yes, certainly,’ she called back, dropping a thrice-darned stocking in the basket. ‘One moment.’
In the kitchen, she drew water and chattered some inanity to Madame Durand about Marines who couldn’t stand to touch a wound. She took her time leaving the kitchen, coming back with the small satchel John had left behind, which contained clean bandages and ointment. ‘Would you care to help me, Madame?’
Remembering Madame Durand’s revulsion at having anything to do with tending the men, Anna counted on that to be true, and not another Durand lie.
‘Mais non, Madame Beattie,’ she said. ‘That isyourtask, remember.’
‘I suppose it is,’ Anna replied, pretending to make a face at the satchel.
She decided on a leisurely stroll back to the sitting room, pausing once to sniff the brightly coloured flowers in a vase in the front hall.Be careful, Anna, she told herself.Take your time.
She moved to Private Bartleby. As she unwrapped the bandage, she spoke softly of her knowledge that Hal Brown was no teacher, spoke beautiful French, and that it was probably he who lit the torches. ‘I fear Hector has told his suspicions of me to Madame,’ she concluded. ‘I’m certain they are related to Hal.’ She leaned closer. ‘I’m covering your arm with a mere layer of gauze, then I’m putting part of the bloody bandage on next, in case anyone checks to see if you have a wound.’
‘Wise of you. Put several layers of clean bandage on top,’ he said, ‘although I doubt Madame will check.’ He leaned closer, his voice as soft as hers. ‘Does she suspect you know? Can you tell?’
‘I don’t think she does.’ She managed a smile. ‘She believes I am not so bright.’
‘Then more fool her. Be wary.’
She finished the bandaging, leaving off plenty of the old bloody bandage to take into the kitchen and burn. ‘There now, good as new,’ she announced as Madame Durand entered the sitting room suddenly. ‘Madame, would you throw this in the kitchen fireplace?’ she asked, feeling great satisfaction when the housekeeper recoiled and backed away, making some excuse before she darted down the hall.
‘That was successful,’ Anna said to the Marine. ‘Private Bartleby, what should we do?’
‘First, call me David,’ he said, which somehow calmed her mind.
