Chapter Four
T hey were at Carter and Brustein’s promptly, when Shlomo Brustein himself unlocked the front door of his counting house close to Plymouth docks.
Allan Beattie had taken great exception to his father leaving him.
Troubled, Anna watched them both, wondering who suffered more, and resolving in her heart of hearts never to put herself in such a position.
Not that anyone was in a hurry to marry her.
Quite the contrary. She decided that this little boy with a father bound to do his duty would never be abandoned again, certainly not on her watch.
Bless Mrs Moore, who presented eggs and toast for two children—as Pru was no more than a child herself—and who had apparently decided that not on her watch would they go hungry again.
It was Mrs Moore who held the little boy close when his father kissed him and forced himself outside the door, Anna beside him.
‘You have a ferocious crew, Miss Fontaine,’ he said as they hurried along. ‘I dare anyone to stand in Mrs Moore’s or your way.’ He stopped. ‘I have roped you into something I hope you never regret.’
‘Call me a patriot,’ she told him, wondering at herself.
They hurried through the Barbican, that warren of shops and houses rooted there for two centuries and more. Captain Beattie kindly slowed down so she did not have to break into a run to keep up with him.
‘Miss Fontaine, according to my little boy this morning, you told him last night that I wish on a star every night that I could be with him.’
‘I did,’ she said frankly. ‘He was a little upset when you left and wanted to talk about you.’
‘I can imagine,’ he murmured. ‘I found Cathy’s jewels in that damned house, exactly where Pru had said. And you comforted Allan with wishes on stars.’
He didn’t say it unkindly, but more like a long-absent father who knew nothing about the routine children craved. Her heart went out to Captain Beattie and men like him, caught in a war and away from loved ones.
‘I will look for that star from now on,’ he told her.
He took her down a narrow street to an establishment she had passed before but never noticed because it must have been designed that way. There was only a small plaque by the door to announce Carter and Brustein.
‘He’s here early for me,’ Captain Beattie said and opened the door. ‘I sent a message last night.’
Anna saw a stooped older man who looked as though he had spent a lifetime bent over ledgers.
‘Come, come, my dears,’ he said. ‘Captain Beattie, who is this charming lady?’
‘My lifeline, sir. You read my note and know I need your help.’
Mr Brustein opened the door to his office. ‘Sit, please.’ He wasted not a moment. ‘I know your urgency. All I need is Lieutenant Fontaine’s will.’
The Captain handed over the sheet of paper.
Mr Brustein nodded. ‘We can make this work.’
And so he did. Within minutes, Mr Brustein handed over his paperwork to an underling. ‘Done and done. Will’s account is in your name now, Miss Fontaine. Captain Beattie, name the amount you wish to withdraw from your holdings for Miss Fontaine.’
He did so. When Anna gasped, he gave her what she recognised by now as a captain’s appraisal. ‘You are helping me by caring for the children, Miss Fontaine. You can save Will’s funds for when you need them later on. Don’t argue.’
She didn’t. The money appeared almost at once. When she opened her mouth to protest one last time, he took her reticule and put the money inside. It barely fitted.
‘You are doing me an essential service, Miss Fontaine,’ he said. ‘I won’t leave you wanting.’
‘Where are you bound for, Captain Beattie?’ Mr Brustein said in the silence that followed.
‘Portsmouth for now,’ he said, ‘with permanent orders soon.’
Mr Brustein held out his hand to Anna. ‘You are doing a kind thing.’
‘Such a small thing,’ she managed.
Captain Beattie closed his eyes and she felt his relief, almost as if he’d embraced her and pressed her close to his body.
Such a small thing , she thought, then realised, perhaps for the first time, the greatness of small things.