Chapter 29
Anne’s headache was forgotten when Caroline returned with the news of the runaways.
Caroline sat on the edge of the bed and gave Anne a beautiful custard tart from the city—along with the news of Mrs. Scott and Mr. Belvedere’s elopement.
Such an immediate and drastic reversal quite shocked Anne. “They had signed a marriage contract? I never dreamed anything would come of it.”
“You were right apparently, and I hope you will not tell me I had a responsibility to let Richard bring them in, because I shall be very cross and eat your pastel.” She nudged the tart a little closer to Anne.
“I don’t know what I would have done,” Anne said gravely. “I am glad that I wasn’t there. I would have wanted to help them; I think I would have! But if one or other of our husbands had insisted—the poor men really do have duties, you know—”
“I do know, and while I think you are a lovely person and a good wife, I am very glad that I encountered them. I have far fewer scruples. Now do, please, eat this while I tell you how adorable they were.” She hesitated.
“Unless it will distress you to think of two irresponsible young people acting in haste—”
Anne finally bit into the tart, which was creamy with a sprinkling of cinnamon.
“This is delicious. And no—it wouldn’t pain me.
I decided long ago that placing risk and imprudence above love, at least in some cases, is not wisdom at all.
It entirely depends on the young people involved.
Sophia and Mr. Belvedere, despite their difficulties, strike me as level-headed young people.
In fact, watching them reminded me very much of when I was only seventeen and I fell head over heels for a dashing and brilliant officer…
” She swallowed another bit and laughed.
“Perhaps don’t tell Frederick I compared him to Mr. Belvedere! ”
Caroline swiped a crumb off the bed with a smile.
“You should have seen Mrs. Scott’s face.
You know how her eyes are always a little sad?
There was none of that. I think Mr. Belvedere might have kissed her on the street if we had not surprised them.
Which is quite shocking and vulgar, of course, but I wouldn’t have begrudged them.
To be sure, I was indignant at first, but when I saw the contract, I understood. ”
“I can’t help wondering what they will live on, but they must have a little if they could immediately afford a notary.”
“I thought that, also. And I don’t know for certain—but I fancy Mr. Belvedere is one who lands on his feet. The only thing that bothers me is their baggage!” She wrinkled her nose. “She had nothing with her, so I must assume her valise and trunk—and his as well—are lost to them.”
“That is untidy, but I can’t think what we could do to help.”
“No, I suppose not.”
Captain Smythe rejoined them for supper, exhausted and dispirited. Anne felt for him, but she kept mum on the subject. So did Caroline and Richard. The captain did not ask if they had seen his fugitives, and they did not volunteer it.
Captain Smythe ripped a leg of chicken quite viciously.
“It is the outside of enough that that scoundrel managed to walk out of a consulate fair bursting with soldiers, but now the consul is not even particularly interested in pursuing him! They are preoccupied with the parade they will have in honor of Vitoria in a few days’ time. ”
“What of Lady Marston and Mr. Knapp?” Captain Wentworth asked.
“That is a dark matter and no mistake. The third—or was it the fourth time?—I went back to the consulate today, the solicitor Thompson was there. The fortune devolves on a distant cousin if Sir Mark is deceased. But they cannot prove Sir Mark is dead at present, except that Mr. Knapp has confessed that he is not the man. So far, Sir Mark’s demise is hearsay, for Lady Marston is denying everything.
They will have to send for information from the Scottish curate who wrote to begin with, and that inquiry must go through Lady Marston’s solicitor in Yorkshire—it is a terrible tangle.
I wouldn’t be surprised if they spend years in prison.
Eventually, if they can prove murder, I expect Lady Marston will be hanged at Newgate.
Most likely they will prove it, too. If her husband intended to cut her off or divorce her, and if he spoke to anyone about it—his steward or his secretary or even a friend—they shall have evidence.
To think of a murderer on my very own ship!
And she looked quite normal, did she not? I would never have guessed.”
Anne bit her lip. “Must we send Minnie with them? Caroline and I could most certainly use two maids when we reach our destination. What do you say, my dear? I spoke with Minnie this afternoon, and she would far rather stay with us.”
Captain Wentworth agreed. “I don’t mind at all. Susan really belongs with Caroline, after all, and you seem to rub along well with Minnie.”
“That is settled then. She will be very glad, and I will feel the better for not leaving her adrift here.”
They were surprised by a shout from above. The young second mate leaned into the hatch and shouted, “Captain Smythe! Sorry to disturb, sir, but there is a man here with a—with a parakeet!”
Captain Smythe sat very still, as if this final absurdity might be the straw that broke him.
The second mate hurried down, and saluted, looking sheepish. “I apologize for shouting, sir, I know it’s not seemly. There is a man on the wharf that says he needs to deliver a parakeet. It’s a yellow one in a wicker basket. I wasn’t sure if I ought to allow it.”
The rigging looked black against the golden light of the sunset as they went on deck. A short, round Portuguese man in a patched coat waited on the wharf. He carried a wicker cage half-draped in blue cloth.
The man lifted the cage, and in accented English announced, “For the boy! The boy Donny!”
The captain crossed the gangway fast as could be. “Tell me—who paid for this? A big gentleman with long, fair hair, always laughing?”
“Ah, big man, yes. But hair…short.” He waggled his hand with a shrug. “And a lady. Very pretty! Paid for bird, cage, delivery.”
Donny scrambled forth, the older fellows nudging him along, but he stopped short when the man held up the wicker cage. Inside, blinking and bright as lemon peel, perched a very large yellow parakeet. “What? For me?”
The bird cocked its head, opened its beak, and gave a high trill followed by, “Allo! Allo!”
Captain Smythe ignored it. “But where was this? When?”
The merchant beamed. “I keep a stall at the bird market, on Rua Augusta. We have fresh birds from Rio de Janeiro this week. And this one—especial—for he speak English! I will give the pequenino to you.”
“No—I don’t want it,” Smythe said. “I need you to show me exactly where you met this man. Is there an inn or hotel near there?”
He laughed. “Every inn and hotel is near Rua Augusta and Rossio Square.”
Donny stood transfixed, his fists clenched at his sides. “Captain Smythe—may I?”
Caroline pressed up against the gunwale. “Do let Donny keep the parakeet. The poor boy didn’t deserve to have that wicked woman poison his pet.”
“I don’t care—yes, Donny, take it!” Captain Smythe waved his hand and Donny darted across the gangplank.
The Portuguese man lifted the cage into Donny’s hands and bowed as though the boy were an admiral. “I have had him only one week, but I call him Peregrine for he say it very much.” He poked a finger at the bird who nibbled it gently. “Peregrine?”
“Hallo! Peregrine, peregrine!”
“I’ll take good care of him,” Donny said. “I’ll see to him proper. Eh, Peregrine? I bet you like orange peel.”
The bird whistled a long descending note and cocked its head. Donny’s hands trembled as he came back on the ship.
Without waiting for questions, the bird seller turned and trundled back down the wharf, ignoring the chorus of whoops and cheers.
“Wait,” Smythe demanded. “I will go with you—I must find that man.”
The man shrugged with Latin indifference. “I go home—it is dark. You will find our bird market on Rua Augusta—”
“I don’t know it—”
“Simple—you will hear it; you will smell it, Senhor! But the man and lady, they pay and they go. I do not know which way, for there are many English in the streets. Vitoria! It is all Vitoria, and everybody celebrate. Goodnight, senhor!”
Smythe stood on the wharf, indecisive, but Captain Wentworth called him. “Captain, you’ve done your best. To go searching at night on such scant information is a wild goose chase. They acted on a kind impulse to make up for Lady Marston’s crime. Let it lie.”
Smythe didn’t need much convincing to rejoin them, but he scoffed. “A kind impulse? More like insolent—that scoundrel is rubbing our noses in his success!”
“If it was a message, it was the best sort of message,” Anne said. “Being bold does not necessarily make it disrespectful.”
Donny clutched the cage and whispered promises to his new friend, and the sailors clapped him on the back as he passed by.
Richard put his arm around Caroline in the warm twilight. “Are we all ready to sail for Istanbul, then?”
Caroline leaned her head against his shoulder. “If you calculate the days every five minutes, I shall make you sleep in one of the empty cabins.”
“If Smythe has no more passengers for the next leg, I could sleep in an empty cabin—if we paid for it. Would you prefer it?”
“Oh… I suppose not! I have got used to your breathing and your warmth and—perhaps it is not so low-class as I have said.”
“Just very bourgeois.”
“My dear, if you continue to tease, I’ll put a beetle in your shaving water.”
“What waste! Save it for the parakeet, I believe they love beetles.”
Caroline stiffened. “How much do parakeets cost? Could we buy more? Many more?”
“I don’t think the captain is keen to make the Lady Mary an aviary.”
“Ugh, probably not. But it was very thoughtful of Sophia and Mr. Belvedere. I’m glad we were not mistaken in them.”