Chapter Seven
A worse trial than a broken glass came in the morning, from a source Anna had never imagined: her neighbours.
To her delight, the sun shone, something not always seen in January on a Devonshire coast that leaned heavily towards winter fog. While Pru helped Mrs Moore with the breakfast dishes, Anna decided Allan needed the small task of unlocking the front door.
He did it with a flourish that made Anna wish his father were standing there to see how far his son had come in less than a week. Allan grinned at her over his shoulder then darted outside onto the front step, where he took a deep breath.
‘It’s been so long since I was outside.’
He was right, she realised with a shock, remembering what Pru had told them about those two horrid women threatening them if they ventured beyond their own front door.
Those days were over, and it was a nice morning. Anna pulled on her cloak, after calling to Mrs Moore that they were going across the street to pay a call on Mrs Dalton. She grabbed Allan’s coat and handed it to him as he soaked in the sun.
‘Let’s cross the street,’ she said. ‘I want to introduce you to my neighbour, Mrs Dalton.’
‘Does she like little boys, Missy?’
She smiled at the nickname as he took her hand as they crossed the quiet street. She thought of the many mornings she’d joined Mrs Dalton for tea, her usual contribution her brother’s latest letter from the fleet. He had a knack for making sea life interesting for the ladies on shore.
Anna knocked and waited. A movement of the lace curtain near the door caught her attention. She waved to the shadowy figure. To her surprise, she saw a woman glaring at her and turning her back.
She stood there, indecisive, then remembered that her last view of Mrs Dalton had been around Captain Beattie’s arm as he’d hugged her on the front step. Surely she didn’t think…
‘Should I knock, too?’ Allan asked.
‘I think not,’ Anna said. ‘She must be busy. Let’s go home.’
Allan pointed to the other houses. ‘I like to knock on doors. Should we try another one?’
She looked across the street where he pointed at other houses. To her horror, ladies she assumed were her friends stared back at her disapprovingly.
‘Perhaps they are too busy as well.’ She managed to keep her voice light. ‘Mrs Moore promised to make my favourite sugar biscuits. Let’s see if she has started them yet. You can sneak a bit of dough if I distract her.’
She reckoned that was all any child of sound mind needed, and she wasn’t wrong. He practically towed her across the street and up the steps. He didn’t bother removing his coat, but trotted into the kitchen, where, thank the Lord, Mrs Moore was cooling a tray of biscuits.
Soon Pru and Allan were seated at the table, with biscuits in front of them and glasses of milk.
‘Mrs Moore, I believe I sniffed something off in the pantry earlier,’ she said.
Mrs Moore followed Anna into the pantry and quietly closed the door. ‘What’s up, my dear?’
Anna grabbed her arm and told her what had happened.
Mrs Moore’s eyes widened. ‘The other ladies, too?’
‘Yes! Everyone was staring at me behind lace curtains. All I can think of…when Captain Beattie hugged me on the front step, I saw Mrs Dalton. What have I done ?’
Mrs Moore put her arm around her. ‘Nothing. These old biddies have nothing to do except gossip. Don’t worry.’
‘I hope you’re right.’
‘I know I am. I’ll take the children with me to market. I usually see Mrs Dalton’s cook there, and one or two others. I’ll tell them what’s happened.’ She patted Anna. ‘Don’t you worry.’
Anna saw them off to market. ‘I am making a mountain out of a molehill,’ she murmured.
She perked up when the doorbell jangled, hoping it was Mrs Dalton.
Oh, no, not you , she thought, dismayed, when she opened the door on Reverend Edward Maddy, curate at St Andrew’s, Vicar Montague’s substitute.
‘Reverend, do come in,’ she said, wishing she could close the door on that face. There was something about the man that made her wary. He looked ordinary, except that his face was doughy and he wore an oversized cross, as if needing to announce to everyone that he was a man of God.
‘What I have to say will not take long,’ he assured her.
She watched his face for kindness and saw none. Anna chose to think the best. Perhaps he hadn’t heard about Will, who, like so many Plymouth parishioners, was often gone.
‘Reverend, I thought this house had been spared from any suffering about Trafalgar, but my brother Will…’
He slashed his hand down like a guillotine blade. ‘Miss Fontaine, I never thought you would succumb to the lures of the flesh!’
She stepped back. What was he saying ? ‘Reverend, you must have…’
He shook his finger at her. ‘Did you think your indiscretion would go unnoticed by your neighbours, who witnessed a shocking display on these steps? Heaven knows what went on inside this house!’
She stared at him. Was he calling her to account for nothing beyond gossip? Mrs Dalton, what have you done to me? she thought, perplexed.
‘Sir, please understand what happened. Captain Beattie arrived to tell me that my brother, his first lieutenant, died after Trafalgar.’
He folded his arms. ‘Oh, really? Surprise me, Miss Fontaine.’
Unnerved, she took up the challenge. ‘His son Allan was with him, and a scullery maid. The little ones had been living alone for two months after the Captain’s housekeeper and cook abandoned them. That is what Mrs Dalton didn’t see.’
‘Tell me more,’ he said. ‘I am all ears.’
He did have large ears, but Anna knew he wasn’t hearing anything except the opinion of a gossiping neighbour. She plunged ahead anyway.
‘Captain Beattie had nowhere to take his son, no family, no one. He had to sail in the morning to Portsmouth’s drydocks. He begged me to keep Allan and the maid here until he could make other arrangements. That is all.’
Her heart sank as the Reverend’s face hardened.
‘That is all,’ she repeated. ‘What Mrs Dalton witnessed from across the street was a desperate man needing reassurance as he left his son again.’ Anna could tell he didn’t believe her. She drew herself up. ‘There was nothing salacious or untoward. You have misjudged me.’
‘Others on this street came to warn me.’
‘They saw nothing,’ she snapped, tired of this interrogation. ‘It was early; the street was empty. Mrs Dalton is merely spreading rumours.’
He shook his finger at her. ‘The ladies on this street are exemplary Christian women. I hear you have only been here a few years.’
‘Six, since my mother died, followed by my father, a vicar.’
‘A vicar? Your father ? Shame on you. When that Navy man returns, you must refuse him entrance!’
‘I will do no such thing!’ she insisted, finding strength from somewhere.
He pointed his finger. ‘Then you are as guilty as he!’
Guilty of what? Anna wondered. Reverend Maddy had come to the parish of St Andrew’s already self-righteous, sowing distrust. Who could she complain to?
‘You, Miss Fontaine, have no power to do anything. Let me be your guide.’ He came closer. She backed up. The look in his eyes sent chills marching in ranks down her back. ‘I’ll take care of this unfortunate situation.’
‘I doubt that supremely,’ she said quietly .
‘You are a menace to decency and rectitude,’ he declared.
She had no defender. All she had was a promise made to a sad and desperate man serving King and country, at the expense of his own flesh and blood. She calmly and deliberately decided it was enough.
Three words. She didn’t raise her voice, because she never raised her voice. All she had was the force of her own conviction and the mental reminder of the gratitude in Captain Beattie’s tired eyes. Her words had to carry the day, because she had no other defence.
‘Leave this house.’
He left, slamming the door for good measure.
Anna had one final thought.
I am ruined .