Unlikely Heroes (St. Brendan Book 3) Read online

  Able overruled the offer of lodging, as much as he wanted to stay. The upstairs chambers were comfortable, but time was wasting. Five days, after all, and so much to do. He had asked the postilion earlier to be ready for a return journey. A visit to the kitchen saw the man and his post boy eating to the bursting point and flirting with the scullery maid and cook. “Thirty minutes,” was all Able needed to say.

  With Captain Rose’s permission after a quick meal, Able took Smitty up another flight of stairs to a little-used storeroom. He opened the door and held the lamp high over the gilt-framed portrait. “Here he is, Smitty, my father the enemy. Just as I told you.”

  “Good God,” Smitty said, startled. He glanced at Able, and back at the likeness that watched them both under heavy-lidded, familiar eyes.

  “His name is Francisco Jesus Domingo y Guzman, Conde de Quintanar,” Able said. “You remember Captain Ogilvie, do you not?”

  “Aye, sir. He gives me the willies. ‘E just pops up here and there.”

  Well put, Able thought, amused. “This is the chap he saw in Cádiz by the Santísima Trinidad.”

  “Take the portrait with you.”

  Captain Rose stood in the doorway, quiet and composed, the perfect Elder Brother to lead Trinity House through a war. “If you meet the man in the frame…well, you will know what to do. He is an enemy to England.”

  Would he know? Small portrait in hand, Able went downstairs to see the aforementioned Captain Ogilvie standing beside the branching stairwell.

  As usual, Angus Ogilvie wasted not a moment. “Stay here, boy,” he ordered Smitty, and took Able by the arm into a darker corner. Come to think of it, Ogilvie flourished in dark corners.

  “I need to leave n…”

  “I know, I know. Give me a moment.”

  Able waited. Ogilvie looked around and moved closer. “Lord Gambier gave me orders, too, the kind that don’t come with documents. You are to inform me when you sail with dispatches for the Channel Fleet.”

  “Why, sir?”

  Ogilvie made an impatient gesture. “Sometimes I might need to accompany you and slip ashore. Whether this is the right time or not…” He shrugged. “Circumstance will dictate.”

  Able nodded. He was not surprised. “Where will I send such a notice?”

  Ogilvie grinned at him. “Send a message to Ezekiel Bartleby at the bakery. He has a spare room and I do love doughnuts.”

  Able couldn’t help his laughter. Serve you right if you get too fat to fit into a jolly boat, he thought. “Aye, sir.”

  He turned to go, but Ogilvie stopped him. “And Lady St. Anthony? How is she faring?”

  “As well as can be.”

  Ogilvie surprised him then. His voice turned surprisingly tender, considering that the man probably hadn’t a sympathetic bone in his body. “She was dealt a poor hand, but she knew that going in.” He released Able’s arm. “She played it well.”

  “She did,” Able agreed. “I must go. Are you coming with us to Portsmouth?”

  “Not now. I have work to do here,” Ogilvie said. He backed into the shadows, then came forward again. “How about it, laddie? Will you know what to do if you come face to face with the Spaniard in the frame?”

  Chapter Eleven

  “And that was my trip, Meri. Hector Rose told me I would know what to do, should I meet my father. Our beloved friend Captain Ogilvie didn’t sound so certain.”

  “Oh, him,” Meridee said. She knew her husband was precisely where she wanted him, and she snuggled close, thinking of the months ahead when he would likely not be so available. She could also tell that Able had no idea what he would do. Her decisive genius sometimes floundered, and she loved him all the more for it.

  She listened for more conversation, but he was done for the night, worn out with travel and trying to sleep in a post chaise. She heard deep breathing beside her, his hand relaxed and heavy on her hip now.

  She turned over to face him. They hadn’t bothered to close the draperies, so she admired him, envying his long eyelashes. As she watched, his dear face grew slack, making him look older than his twenty-nine years. She wondered how Nick Bonfort was faring in Plymouth at Carter and Brustein, with his note asking the whereabouts of Harry Ferrier. Her heart told her Nick was too young for such an assignment, but her head overruled her heart. Nick’s service was needed by his country. How was a lad to train for the fleet if he was coddled? And hadn’t Able sent him off with a bit of advice? “Initiative, my boy, initiative.”

  Meridee woke up before Able stirred, and before Ben started talking to himself in the next chamber. Ben had begun that when he started speaking in full sentences at age seven months. At first he seemed to play with words, rhyming them and giggling to himself, trying out language and finding it to his liking. Now he had graduated to what sounded like answers to questions posed by…someone. She didn’t want to know who that someone was, but she was heartily tired of Greek mathematicians.

  She cinched her robe tight and went downstairs, happy to admire the neatness and comfort all around. She had made a good, calm home for her man, who had awakened her an hour or so ago by nuzzling her neck and refreshing her thoroughly, before returning to deeper slumber. Goodness what a lover.

  She stood at the window, looking down at St. Brendan’s, thinking of the students and teachers. Soon enough, Grace St. Anthony née Croker would arrive by coach to begin her day teaching lower grade mathematics, and whatever odd assortment of subjects her agile brain agreed to. Lately, Meridee’s heart went out to her dear friend as she paused at the top step each morning and gave herself a little shake, before squaring her shoulders and entering.

  Nothing was worse in Meridee’s mind than a good man gone. St. Brendan’s had already lost students to the war, first among them Jan Yarmouth, whose death had devastated her husband. She knew Able could have easily died in the takeover of the prisoner of war hulk last year. She yearned for him to stay safe at school and let others do the adventuring and fighting, but she had no voice in the decisions of men and war.

  She also could not overlook Able’s occasional restlessness that took him to the edge of the seawall to stand there and watch the harbor, as if wishing to join the increasing number of warships sailing to war. She had confided to him her inadequacy to do for him what such a man of blinding intelligence probably craved. He had turned serious and assured her she was precisely what a man like him required. “You make my world bearable by being here and building a home of order for us both,” he told her once, and she believed him. So far, the sea was a reasonable mistress in her demands.

  “This is the life I chose,” Meridee said softly as she heard steps behind her and turned to see her two favorite men eyeing her. She kissed them both. “Ben, are you starving?”

  “Gut foundered,” he assured her.

  She rolled her eyes at his cant, but what could a mother do, when her son listened to Gunwharf Rats? And like his father, never seemed to forget anything? “Put on your clothes, wash your face, and don’t wake up Smitty. He’s tired,” she said. A small pat to his rump sent him back upstairs.

  He paused halfway up. “Nick isn’t back, too?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “Soon, I am certain. Scat now.”

  Able received a more extensive cuddle in the sitting room then plopped down with her in his favorite chair, hairy legs and all, nightshirt thigh-high.

  “You are a disgrace to the service,” she said, after he rubbed her cheek with his whiskers.

  “You didn’t mention that an hour and eighteen minutes ago,” he said.

  “You were upstairs in my bed. Stop now. Anyone could wander in.”

  He smiled and did as she said, then grew serious. “No word from Nick?”

  “None. Not even a message from the harbormaster or the signaling crew,” she said. “We should have had an address for Master Ferrier by now, shouldn’t we?”

  “I would have hoped so.” He leaned back and pulled her closer. “Mrs. Six, you are a
bountiful bundle.”

  “Do be serious.”

  “Never more so.” He tugged at the sash on her robe. “We’ll give Nick another day before we start to worry. There is plenty to do, meantime. Mrs. Six, you’re not wearing anything under this robe!”

  “Able, what will I do with you?”

  “You’re the one who married a sailor, and we do have a reputation to maintain.” He tried to retie the sash, but the intricacy eluded him. She tied it neatly. “Beyond Smitty, plan on four more lads for dinner tonight. You’ll be feeding the Jolly Roger’s crew.” He touched his head to hers and lowered his voice. “We sale in five days toward France. No frowns, please. We’re delivering a message to Admiral Calder, cruising off Rochefort.”

  She couldn’t frown. He looked so delighted. “Is it now where I forget you just told me an Admiralty secret?”

  “Aye, miss. No comment to anyone. That’s to be the Mercury’s assignment: delivering messages, subject to the requirements of the service and the exigencies of war.”

  She rested her head against his chest, and his arms went tight around her.

  She did have news for him, forgotten in the general tumult of his return. “I forgot to tell you. We are to assemble at the Jolly Roger’s slip for a re-christening at four bells in the forenoon watch.” She prodded his chest. “I never can remember…”

  He stood up, taking her with him. “Ten of the clock, my love.” He sniffed the air. “And do I smell profiteroles?”

  “You do. Mrs. Perry loves your weather-worn carcass.”

  “She still terrifies me. We’ll eat and go to St. Brendan for early class. Would you and Ben like to walk with us to the Gunwharf later?”

  “And Mrs. Perry. This is her war, too.”

  “Our war,” he said softly. “We all pay the price.”

  At four bells in the forenoon watch, Lady St. Anthony, dressed in black but with a defiant yellow and red bow at her throat, took hold of a champagne bottle on a rope. She declared in a firm voice, “Dear old Jolly Roger, I re-christen you Mercury, in the service of His Majesty King George. May you swiftly sail in courage and faith and never hesitate to lay yourself alongside the enemy. Bless your able crew.”

  Grace swung the bottle on the rope and it shattered against the Mercury. She stood in silence a moment, her head bowed, as they all did, thinking of Sir B. Meridee raised her head to watch Grace’s shoulders begin to shake as she covered her face.

  Able tensed beside her and whispered, “Go to her, Meri.”

  Meridee took a step closer then stopped, holding her breath to see Captain Ogilvie reach Grace St. Anthony when she started to sag. He picked her up as if she weighed nothing and held her close. Grace turned her face into his shoulder and cried.

  “No,” she whispered back to Able. “Angus has the matter well in hand.”

  “How can…he doesn’t…”

  “Yes, he can,” Meridee said. “What do you know about his first wife?”

  “Nothing. I never pry.”

  “Maybe you should. Let’s let Captain Ogilvie deal with our kind friend.”

  Able gave her that questioning look she was familiar with, when some action of mere mortals baffled him. See there, Euclid, she thought. You don’t know everything. To her stunned amazement, Meridee felt the distinct snap of forefinger and thumb against her temple. She thought it prudent to say nothing, especially since Able had moved away and was speaking to his students. She looked around, saw no one close to administer such a rebuke, and blamed Euclid. Ben smiled up at her.

  Her heart full, she watched Captain Ogilvie speak softly to Grace, then set her down. Grace leaned against him a moment, then nodded at something he said, which made her smile. The two of them joined her brother, St. Brendan’s headmaster, and the sadness seemed to smooth away. Meridee resolved not to question too many things.

  Looking thoughtful and less argumentative than usual, Captain Ogilvie joined them for dinner, along with four boys from St. Brendan’s and Smitty, who lived here. She knew three of them, Tots and Whitticombe, upper level boys who more often than not crewed the newly named Mercury with Smitty and her husband. But oh, that third boy.

  She held out her arms for Davey Ten. He hesitated a moment – maybe he was considering if an apprentice pharmacist mate should maintain some dignity – then let her envelope him in a hug with the added indignity of a kiss on the head.

  She glanced at Tots and Whitticombe, hoping they wouldn’t say something rude to Davey Ten because she kissed him. What she saw made her let go of Davy, march over to them and kiss their heads, too.

  “Gor, Mrs. Six, no one’s ever done that before,” Tots said, but he didn’t seem unhappy.

  “Become accustomed to it, if you show up here for dinner often,” she said, as Able blew her a kiss.

  He ushered the fourth lad closer, someone small with a gleam in his eye and good cheer all over his face. “This fellow is Avon March and he comes highly recommended by Lady St. Anthony. Give a little bow, Avon.”

  Avon bowed and she curtsied, which made Ben chortle and turn in circles. She grabbed her son and kissed him, too. “Avon, were you lucky enough to be named for a river?”

  “Aye, miss,” he replied. “They found me by the Avon in March, eleven years ago.”

  A year ago, such an artless comment would have sent Meridee to another room in tears. “At least they didn’t name you Daffodil. I know daffodils bloom beside the Avon in March. Welcome to our home. Let’s eat.”

  “Well done, Mrs. Six,” Captain Ogilvie said as Able ushered the boys into the dining room.

  She was used to his sarcasm, but he seemed to mean it. “I’m learning, too,” she told him. “St. Brendan’s teaches strange lessons, doesn’t it?” She touched his arm. “Thank you for looking after Grace.”

  He nodded, and she thought she saw a blush rising up from his collar. She said something then, blurted it out, then almost immediately wanted to take it back. “You miss your wife,” she said. What did I just do? she asked herself in horror.

  “I do, Mrs. Six,” he replied, with no anger in his voice, and none of the disdain she remembered from other visits. “Never more than when I am in your house, or …” He stopped. “Let us leave it at that. There is a war on and we are busy men.”

  They sat down to dinner. The boys waited, eyes on her, except for Avon, who didn’t know the routine. She looked at Able, who gave her a nod. “How about you, my dear lady?”

  She bowed her head, peeking up once to see that Avon March was by no means slow. He bowed his head, after a quick glance around at his mates. “Gracious Lord, bless this bounty for us,” she prayed. “Keep us safe on our island and bless the men who protect us on ships at sea. In our Savior’s name, amen.”

  Startled, she looked around at a hearty “Amen” from the dining room door. Two of them, in fact.

  There stood Nick Bonfort. Standing next to him was a tall man with gray hair and a slightly lowered left shoulder.

  She heard a chair scrape back and knew Able was on his feet. Her husband crossed the small space and held out his hand. “Master Ferrier, this is a pleasant surprise!”

  They shook hands. Still holding Able’s hand, Master Ferrier nodded toward Nick, who beamed as if he had unearthed the greatest treasure in all seven seas.

  “Master Six, what do you know?” Nick said. I learned I have initiative and then some!”

  Chapter Twelve

  “You are a welcome sight, Master Ferrier,” Able said. A nod to Tots and Whitticombe sent the boys pulling up two more of the chairs that lined the wall. Another nod with two raised fingers sent Smitty into the kitchen. “And somewhat unexpected, I must add.”

  “You have both mentioned initiative.” Master Ferrier smiled at Nick. “He is a most persuasive fellow, this Bonfort.”

  “Comes with the name,” Able said, with a glance at Meri. “Nick convinced my wife, Meridee Bonfort, that since she wasn’t using Bonfort anymore, he wanted it, because he needed a surname.” br />
  The old sailing master included Meri in his glance, turning a little since he had only one working eye, from the cloudy state of one pupil. “I suppose, madam, that this curly haired rascal will tell me that you persuaded him to marry you.”

  “He can try,” she said. “Do sit down, sir. Wait. Let me take your cloak.”

  Followed by Smitty, Mrs. Perry came from the kitchen with two more plates. She saw Master Ferrier, gasped, handed the plates to Meri and threw her arms around him, nearly knocking him over. Able didn’t try to hide his smile, both at the dignified man’s mauling, and the open mouths of the Gunwharf Rats, who knew Mrs. Perry as a terrifying enforcer not easily given to displays of affection. He watched them relax, knowing that Mrs. Perry had just assured Master Ferrier’s acceptance.

  “The three of us sailed together on the Defence,” Able explained. “Mr. Perry was ship’s carpenter.” Mrs. Perry returned to the kitchen for cutlery and serviettes. “Nick, an explanation is in order. All I requested was that you locate Master Ferrier’s direction.”

  After Mrs. Perry returned with knives and forks, the bowls of food went around again to the latest arrivals.

  “Master, you told me to use initiative and I did,” Nick declared, as he piled on potatoes.

  “Elaborate, please.”

  Nick’s inquiring look at Master Ferrier told Able everything about his former master’s future success with the Gunwharf Rats. Nick already looked to the older man for additional permission.

  “Your story, Mr. Bonfort,” Harry Ferrier said. “All I did was open my door to you and listen.”

  “I went to Carter and Brustein as you requested,” Nick said eyeing his cooling dinner with a sigh. “Mr. David Brustein told me I was in luck, because Mr. Ferrier lived in Torquay. So I walked there.”

  “That’s thirty-three miles,” Able exclaimed.

  “A nice man picked me up after ten miles,” Nick informed them, with all his usual good-natured cheer. Nick was a hard Rat to deflate. “You see, master, you had given me enough money for lodging, meals and a return on the mail coach. What if I had spent it on conveyances to Torquay and hadn’t enough to get home? And suppose Master Ferrier told me no?”