Unlikely Heroes (St. Brendan Book 3) Read online

  “Aye, Mum.” Ben hopped off his father’s lap and made for the corner. In a few minutes he was busy stacking and humming.

  Able touched Meridee’s hand. “You are the leaven in our odd loaf,” he told her.

  “I know,” she replied, straight-faced, which made him laugh out loud. “Let us see if our son can be both a child and a genius, shall we?”

  “Amen to that,” he said, thinking of his own rough start. Ben was already miles ahead of him in joy and comfort, the kind that comes from a loving mother who nurtured and admonished and smoothed his way. And who keeps me sane with her unbounded love, he thought, grateful.

  Maybe he could test her a bit. He knew he had a minute, because Mrs. Perry had lit into their French POW with more than her usual verve. With the deepest, most unshakeable knowledge, Able knew Meri’s love would last. He also knew she enjoyed occasional glimpses into his odd cranial world. He touched her hand again, closing around the knitting needles. She rested the needles in her lap.

  “Something tells me…”

  “Aye, mum,” he teased. “I had the strongest feeling yesterday that the barrister had no idea who had added that interesting codicil about willing the Jolly Roger to St. Brendan’s.”

  “He did seem surprised,” she said, and gave him her intense look that, depending on its venue, excited him, or sent him into introspection. Here in the sitting room, he knew her lively mind was hard at work. “If it weren’t possible – don’t even try to tell me it is – I would suspect that Euclid has a hand in this. What gives, my love?”

  Her use of schoolboy cant made him smile. No wonder every lad at St. Brendan’s adored her, too. “I believe my meddling mental mentors – now there is a phrase – somehow engineered that codicil Sir Charles claimed never to have seen before.”

  “You know such things are impossible, don’t you?” his practical skeptic asked.

  “I have given up trying to figure it out,” he told her. “Obviously, there is more afoot during this national emergency that will involve our boys in the fleet.”

  There. He had admitted it. Their boys. All of his extraordinary senses might caution him to take a more detached view of the lads of St. Brendan’s who would come and go, some to distinguished service and others to a weighted canvas shroud in mid-ocean, but his deeply human side refused to cooperate. “Our boys,” he repeated. “We are all in this together for the long game, no matter where it leads us.” Take that, Euclid, he thought, but with no rancor. In your clever engineering, you mind-bending specters, please let me always return to this woman beside me.

  He had spoken aloud without realizing it. He watched sadness cross Meri’s face, to be replaced by calm acceptance. He leaned closer. “I won’t say the next few months will be safe, Meri. I would be lying.”

  “I know,” she said softly, after a glance at Ben. “My strength is returning, and my heart is in trim. Go and fight your battles. I will love you always.” She turned her head toward the door. “Mrs. Perry is giving our unfortunate Frenchman a regular bear garden jaw. Able, rescue him.”

  He could never admit that Mrs. Perry fair terrified him, too. Meri knew him well, though. With a laugh, she got up and left the room. He heard her low voice, then silence, followed by the kitchen door closing decisively. Able had known Mrs. Perry since the age of fourteen, and could not deny, even now, a healthy respect bordering on abject fear, when she was on a tear.

  But here came Jean Hubert with Meri, looking bruised by Mrs. Perry’s ill treatment in the foyer, but otherwise unscathed. He returned bow for bow, and kissed Meri’s cheek.

  “Merci for the rescue, Madame Six,” he said.

  “You owe me a king’s ransom for my intervention, Jean,” Meri said as she sat down and resumed her knitting. “Where have you been? Should we worry that the next knock will be Royal Marines ready to clap you in irons?”

  “No, no, madame,” the scoundrel said. He was silent, looking at them both expectantly.

  “Jean, you are a reprobate and an escapee,” Able said. He said it mildly enough because it was far too easy to like the casual Frenchman who had been caught up in Napoleon’s machinations the same as he was, no more no less, even if on opposite sides, and sentenced to a Portsmouth prison hulk. “Do answer Meri’s question, if you know what’s good for you.”

  “I do, Able,” Jean said cheerfully. “It might amaze you, but then again, knowing you…”

  “Belay the stall,” Able said in his sailing master voice this time.

  “Captain Ogilvie himself escorted me undercover to Trinity House – what was it – six months ago,” he said promptly.

  “He told me only three days ago that he would try to find you,” Able grumbled. “He knew all along!”

  “I am not responsible for someone else’s lies,” Jean said, managing to sound almost virtuous. “There truly is considerable interest in cryptography.”

  “Of which you know little?” Able prompted.

  Jean laughed. “Of which I know nothing!”

  “You convinced our Captain Ogilvie that you knew cryptographs?” Meri asked.

  “It wasn’t that hard,” he said modesty.

  “Captain Ogilvie is as astute a man as I know,” she said, then sighed. “Jean, charm only works so long.”

  “As long as it works at all, I will try,” he said candidly, and laughed when Meri did. “Very well! If you must know, I ran away, returned to France, did not like what I saw, and came back to Trinity House,” he said. He waggled his hand. “Well, perhaps I didn’t exactly run away. Captain Ogilvie encouraged me — shall we say — to visit Boulogne and see what I could see.”

  “So it wasn’t all charm,” Meri said.

  “Alas, no,” Jean admitted. “I suppose I could not fool Monsieur Ogilvie.”

  “Angus Ogilvie knew precisely what you were thinking,” Able said. “Belay the circumlocution, Jean.”

  Jean laughed. “Able, it is my duty as a French officer and a prisoner of war to confuse and confound the enemy.”

  “For heaven’s sake,” Meri said. “You’re no enemy, friend. Tell us what you know.”

  Trust Meri to cut directly to the chase. “I echo Meri’s sentiments,” he said. “Enlighten us, Jean.”

  “I saw many small invasion craft. I counted some three hundred vessels.” He walked to the window and looked out, hands in his pockets and rocking back and forth on his heels as he used to do.

  “Did you happen to get to Cádiz?” Able asked, almost certain where this was going now. “Did you locate Claude Pascal?”

  His question startled Jean, whose face grew grim. “Captain Ogilvie told me where to find him.” He glanced at Meridee. “This isn’t a subject for a lady.”

  “You underestimate my capacity for vengeance,” Able’s lady said. He watched her face grow grim, too, and knew she was thinking of her own ill usage by Claude Pascal’s goons sent to disrupt Portsmouth’s factories and war effort. “I had dealings with Pascal’s men. They tried to work mischief on me and drown me.”

  Jean sat beside her and took her hand. “I was thinking of that and other miscellaneous bits of mayhem when I called him out, made certain he knew he was facing Jean Hubert in that dark alley, and ended his spying career.”

  Meridee patted her heart. “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure.” He sat back and regarded Able for a moment, as if wondering how much to say.

  “Get on with it,” Able said. “You have news.”

  “I do. I returned first to Admiralty to deliver it. You will know more soon,” he said.

  “I will know more now,” Able said firmly. “What is it?”

  “Here is what I learned in Cádiz. The combined fleets of Spain and France sailed for the Caribbean two weeks ago,” Jean told them. He looked around to make sure no one else listened. He saw Ben and lowered his voice. “It was the last bit of news I wrested from Claude Pascal. Napoleon’s plan is for Admiral Nelson and his fleet to follow the combined fleets, which will evade him, th
en sail into the English Channel while the Royal Navy is chasing will-of-the-wisps in the Caribbean.”

  Able let out a long, slow whistle that caught Ben’s interest. His little son left the blocks and climbed into Meri’s lap. She cuddled him close, her eyes full of worry.

  “I imagine Admiralty was astounded at your information,” Able managed to say.

  “I doubt they would have believed a word if Captain Rose of Trinity House hadn’t been beside me,” Jean said candidly. “They sent a fast corvette after Admiral Nelson. Lord Barham is making plans for the blockade on the French coastline to draw back closer to the Dover Straits, you Englishmen’s most vulnerable spot.”

  “Lord Barham? I thought there was no First Lord right now,” Able said. “You know more than I do.”

  “A rare occurrence, I have no doubt,” Jean said dryly. “Lord Barham – I believe he was Sir Charles Middleton – has the unenviable task of rounding up all ships at sea, and forestalling an invasion.”

  Able glanced at Meri, and saw her hand at her throat. “No fears, my love. You’re safe.”

  She didn’t answer.

  “We always knew it could happen,” he reminded her. She nodded.

  “Napoleon thinks to land troops, with Nelson far away in the Caribbean,” Able said to Jean. “I have no doubt I will receive official papers soon,” Able said, after a glance at his wife.

  “Sooner than you know,” Jean said softly. He clapped his hands on his thighs and stood up again, as if sitting was too tame after such revelations. “And here I am, but not to stay.”

  “Oh, but…” Meri began.

  “I believe I will escape again to France.”

  “Of your own free will and choice?” Able asked, knowing the answer and already missing Jean Hubert’s casual association.

  “Who of us does not dance to Napoleon’s tune?” the Frenchman asked. “It appears that Trinity House has turned me into a spy.”

  “Any regrets? I know you love La Belle France,” Able said.

  “My, er, recent spontaneous holiday in France showed me a nation I do not know,” he said simply. “I will cast my lot with England, at least until sanity returns to my native land.” He shook his head. “If it ever does.”

  “I thank you,” Able said.

  Jean kissed Meri’s cheek. “Perhaps when this war is over, I will show up and ask to teach here again.” He took an envelope from inside his coat. “Here it is. Headmaster gave me this for you. It was delivered to him this evening during dinner.”

  Able knew what it was. He didn’t want to touch the thing, but Jean held it out and he had no choice. Able noted the letterhead, the simple but all-powerful word: Admiralty.

  “It begins,” he said to no one in particular. He looked at his wife who took it from his hand, slit it open using a knitting needle, and handed it back, her face so calm. What could he do but pull out the letter and read it?

  “’You are hereby requested and required to return to the Fleet,’” he read, wondering if his half-hearted attempt at a neutral voice betrayed his utter dislike of leaving his wife and students. “That is succinct enough,” he said, trying to joke.

  “Read it all,” Meri said.

  He did in a blink and smiled, thinking that Sir B still attended to his career. “It seems that Captain Sir Belvedere St. Anthony continues to grease my skids, Meri,” he said when he could speak. “This could be worse.” She was standing beside him now, leaning against his shoulder, right where he wanted her. “Look here. They could have told me to report with all possible speed to a designated frigate or ship of the line.” He pointed further down the page. “It looks like Smitty and I are to be given that assignment to the Jolly Roger, just as Sir B wanted in his will. We’re off for Admiralty House ourselves, my love.”

  He read down the page slowly like normal folk, savoring his new duty, because somewhere in his heart, despite the pleasure of home and school, the sea still beckoned. “We are to report to Admiralty as soon as possible, accompanied by Captain Rose, warden of Trinity House, for our assignment.”

  Meridee leaned harder and he touched her hand on his shoulder. “This is far better than being sent to blockade duty, or on a prisoner convoy to New South Wales.”

  “It’s even less safe,” she said. Able knew her tears would come later.

  “Time will tell.”

  “Adieu to you both,” Jean said. “God knows when or how we will meet again, but I have faith in that, if in little else.”

  Chapter Nine

  All possible speed was the next day after luncheon, spurred on by Headmaster Croker. Over their breakfast toast and poached eggs, Mrs. Perry handed Able a note from across the street. Even she seemed subdued, after a look around the breakfast table showed no Jean Hubert in evidence.

  “I may have been a little rough on the man,” Mrs. Perry admitted.

  “He had to leave right away,” Able said.

  “He couldn’t even stay for breakfast?”

  “Mrs. Perry, he has duties we cannot discuss,” Meri said, as kindly as she could.

  Mrs. Perry’s eyes filled with tears. Apparently everyone loves a rascal. The housekeeper and cook shook her head and left the room, muttering to herself.

  “Meri, it appears that I have been summoned to Headmaster Croker’s chambers immediately,” he said, happy to change the subject.

  “Gor, master, what did you do?” Nick teased.

  Able smiled, even as he noticed how wide Smitty’s eyes grew. He and Nick had arrived at a pleasant camaraderie outside of the walls of St. Brendan’s, where students toed the line. Maybe someday you will see us as the humans we are, Smitty, he thought, as he folded the note and stood up. He kissed Meri, always a pleasure, even with her mouth full of jam. Or maybe especially with her mouth full of jam. He did like strawberries. He didn’t think the boys noticed that he ran his tongue inside her mouth, although Meri pinked up considerably.

  “Never fear, Smitty,” he said as he licked jam off his lips. “The most frightening thing I ever did was run away from the Dumfries workhouse. I believe we three have all been that desperate.” He tapped the note. “I’d better hurry off how?”

  “Roundly now!” both boys chimed in. Even Smitty smiled. “Come over at your usual time, my dears,” he said. And why not call them his dears? They were infinitely valuable to him, these workhouse boys.

  Bertram, the headmaster’s evil butler, ushered him into Thaddeus Croker’s inner sanctum with the admonition “not t’wear out t’master.”

  “Master Croker sent me a note requesting my presence,” Able said, wishing that he didn’t feel like a workhouse lad every time the butler addressed him. The man guarded Thaddeus Croker like the three-headed hound of the underworld. Still, Able felt a pang of his own. Thaddeus had never recovered fully from last year’s bout with the mumps, or maybe it was something else. Perhaps the headmaster required an over-attentive butler.

  Thaddeus looked well enough, standing there and warming his hands at the fireplace. He pointed to a comfortable chair.

  Able sat. “Your butler never suffers fools gladly,” he commented.

  “Bertram is tenacious,” Thaddeus said, sounding cheerful about the matter.

  “I am to report to Admiralty House as soon as possible, accompanied by Smitty and Captain Rose of Trinity House,” Able said, not waiting for Thaddeus to explain his reason for the early-morning summons. “There it is, plus the agreement to use a St. Brendan crew in a ship-to- shore messaging capacity, just as Sir B wanted.”

  “I can’t think of a better use of your skills and your pupils’ needs,” Thaddeus said. “It’s finally come to national emergency. We will continue to prove our worth here at St. Brendan’s.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Thaddeus looked at the flames. “I only wish Sir B could have lived a little longer, to know that his plans have been accepted.”

  “I think he knows somehow.” Able had no trouble with that confidence, considering the cacophony in his
head as his irritating cranial cohorts practically hooted with delight and commented in various languages that of course Sir B knew what was going on. Able was surprised Thaddeus couldn’t hear them.

  “For a skeptical man of science, you have an unusual fondness for the divine, Master Six,” Thaddeus said, sounding at least half in jest.

  If you only knew, Able thought, and forced himself not to smile. My brilliant pests are hardly divine. A little nod would do. “Now, sir, what would you ask of me?” He tapped the note again.

  “A replacement, if you please,” Thaddeus said. “I gather that you will be in and out of Portsmouth, as demands of the service require. We need a substitute willing to take up the slack, as you would say. D’ye have anyone in mind?”

  “I do, actually.” He did, oh, he did. “I know just the man.”

  “Do tell.”

  Able had thought the matter through earlier while he was shaving, a boring activity enlivened now because Ben liked to watch and smear shaving soap on his face, too. That led to tears the first time, but Ben quickly learned to keep soap from his eyes. Able prudently kept his razor in Meri’s drawer, hidden beneath her underthings.

  The difficulty lay in locating Sailing Master Harry Ferrier, a Yorkshireman who had taken to the sea after the death of his father many years ago. At the tender age of sixteen he had fought in the second Battle of Cape Finisterre aboard the HMS Weazel. When a French cruiser escaped into the Atlantic, the Weazel was directed to alert Jamaica Station of other French warships on their way.

  There was no time for rational thought in that pounding voyage across the Atlantic to Jamaica. The sailing master assumed command when the captain of the sloop died, and Harry Ferrier became sailing master even younger than Able Six. Such was war. In Ferrier’s case, a subsequent battle near Jamaica had meant the destruction of a French fleet and salvage money in everyone’s pockets, even a poor lad’s. Ferrier’s career was distinguished, but he was not a man to noise it about. He had retired a few years ago, living comfortably, Able assumed, on his prize money. Able thought he could find him. Whether Ferrier would hear him out remained the question.