Before she could ask the question lurking on her tongue, Peter spoke with a wry grin. “I don’t think it’s serious, Walter. He just needs to sleep off a long night.”
I hadn’t thought—But Zachary Newell’s behavior wasn’t Patience’s concern. She sighed and began their closing prayer.
“But, Miss Patience, you didn’t read our Bible story. We were worried about Gideon and those Midianites,” Norb interrupted her.
It had occurred to Patience on previous occasions to wonder if indulging the boys with the more lurid stories in scripture was quite the best form of spiritual development. It didn’t matter. “Unfortunately, we didn’t bring our Bible,” she said.
“I’ll bet Sergeant Newell has one. He puts great store by books,” Norb said.
“Well, Mr. Newell isn’t here, is he?” she said, her mouth pursed tightly.Enough about Zachary Newell. Isn’t it enough that thoughts of him kept me up most of the night?
She concluded their little service and led a discussion about how they might have some fun this day. They brought no boards or cards, but Stump believed they could create their own jackstraws, and Peter thought he could draw a board for checkers on the floor with charcoal if they could find pebbles enough to play. Various games involving hiding and seeking came up. Enthusiasm for those died with Patience’s adamant insistence that they could not open trunks or enter any of the carriages and coaches surrounding them. Nor were they to climb on them. Or get under where they might tangle in the wheels.
“The inn is big, isn’t it? I’ll bet there are a heap of places to hide in there,” Stump suggested.
Patience felt the color drain from her face. She was almost ready to allow tag in the stableyard in spite of the rain. “You will stay in this space or the stall where you sleep. Play charades. Make up stories. Read. Do not under any circumstances enter the inn, or I’ll have you all writing out your arithmetic tables.”
Faces fell, but she hardened her heart, leaving to see about breakfast for her boys. In the stableyard, she spied Zach Newell just coming out of the grooms’ stairs, but he turned around and started back up.
Her face fell.He saw me and turned around. She began to believe she’d given offense at dinner.
The early morning passed without her rascals causing any trouble, but Patience felt compelled to remain in the carriage house with them. Guests arrived, and Patience’s heart gave a lift at their approach. Majors Heyworth and Mallet both claimed an interest in the boys’ welfare. She didn’t doubt their sincerity, but she suspected boredom and a nudge from Zachary Newell to be behind their unexpected arrival. Of the former sergeant, she still saw nothing at all.
After polite greetings, Major Mallet took Peter aside while Heyworth let the boys pepper him with questions about the army. His anecdotes skirted inappropriate once or twice—to the boys’ delight—but some of the stories merely confused them, and her boys didn’t find his stories as funny as those told by their Sergeant Newell. Reluctant to leave the lads unsupervised with the kind, but unpredictable major, she delayed returning to her work, although she knew Mrs. Brewster needed her. She caught snatches of Mallet discussing Latin studies with Peter while she waited impatiently.
Throughout, Patience couldn’t keep herself from glancing between the carriages, hoping Newell would return. She told herself she watched because she trusted him with the boys, because he would take over, and she needed to leave.Ninnyhammer. Be honest. You’re mooning after that man like a schoolgirl.
“He’s shy, you know.” Her face burned at the thought that Heyworth had read her thoughts. “At least, he’s overly conscious of his ‘place.’ That’s his word, not mine. Army makes a man conscious of rank. We tried to get him to take lunch with us on the way here. He said it wasn’t his ‘place.’”
“I heard he joined you last night,” she objected tartly.
The major grinned. “Well, drinks between old soldiers, you know. Not the same thing. I tempted him with stories and song. A great man for a drinking song is Sergeant Newell.”
Perhaps I need to learn some,she thought sourly.
A distant sound and vague disturbance interrupted her thoughts, one she dreaded so much she hoped she mistook it. She tipped her head.
“What is it?” Major Mallet asked, coming to her side.
She picked up her skirts and ran through the carriage house and out into the stableyard. She knew it then, louder there, carried through the storm by the wind, the tolling of the church bell.
“An alarm?” Mallet demanded, blinking rain from his eyes, as men poured out of the inn, the loft, and the stables, putting on coats and oiled cloth capes. Zach Newell stopped in the door to the inn, hesitating only moment before limping toward her in the chaos.
She looked up at Major Mallet. “Shipwreck. It is the signal for a wreck. They’ll be organizing rescue.”
“Don’t even think about it,” Heyworth said, striding up to them, and glaring at Mallet. “I’ll go. Listen to me, Andrew. I know nothing could keep you from the coming fight, but you need to keep your strength. You won’t do Wellington any good if you relapse.”
Mallet seemed to sink into himself and Patience remembered hearing that the man kept mostly to his room.
Heyworth rushed on. “You and Newell stay here and keep these boys sorted so they aren’t under the feet of the rescuers.” He grinned over at Newell.
“You don’t need a cripple in the way, you mean,” Newell growled.
“I mean no such thing, Sergeant. Every man to his duty. We don’t all have the same orders. Make sure Major Mallet stays put.” He clapped Newell on the back and started toward the street, Peter on his heels. Heyworth glanced back to Patience for approval. She nodded and the boy ran off with him.
Patience, Newell and Mallet stared after them.
“I guess that puts us in our place,” the major said.
