Chapter Twenty-Two
C aptain Beattie knew his wedding could only be a modest affair, which he felt would suit Anna, who was not an ostentatious lady. What he was unprepared for was how lovely she looked, and what the simple sight of her did to his sorely tried body.
Aboard the Queen , he saluted, then shook hands with Captain Thomas. Whatever wedding dignity there was blew away when Allan ran ahead with Pru, who was waiting on deck, then tore down the companionway with her.
Allan was back in a moment, eyes wide, so excited. ‘Papa, you should see Missy. She is beautiful.’
Allan was right. Anna met him at the bottom of the steps, eyes bright, smile genuine. He knew he looked upon a healthy woman, which soothed his soul. He took her hand and leaned close enough to be private.
‘Not too many months ago, I insisted upon a hug,’ he said. ‘It got us both into trouble, but I must insist again.’
They embraced, which, for some reason, meant it was Bounce’s cue to bark.
‘She looks pretty as a picture,’ the Admiral said as he watched from the door of the wardroom.
From her light blue dress to the little seed beads woven through the dark mass of hair wound into a knot at the nape of her neck, to what adorned her throat…
John looked closer. Always happy to admire her handsome bosom, its splendour was overshadowed by an amazing necklace of intricate gold chain that resembled lace.
A row of emeralds twinkled even in the low light below-deck.
Admiral Collingwood smiled like a proud papa. ‘Captain, she’s wearing a blue dress. This necklace of mine—spoils of war from the battle of the Nile—is both old and borrowed. I was at a loss for something new until this arrived. Hand it over, Wolfe.’
As if on cue, the Queen ’s lieutenant of the lowest grade stepped forward with a smile and a sealed envelope. He handed it to Anna. Admiral Collingwood rubbed his hands together. ‘Where would the navy be without exquisite timing? Let’s call it new.’
John knew what orders looked like. ‘Old, new, borrowed and blue,’ he reminded Anna when she looked at the envelope rather suspiciously. ‘It’s my next orders. How bad can it be? I already know I am to rove the Mediterranean.’
Anna accepted the news serenely. ‘Too bad there are not orders for a wife and children,’ she commented, but he didn’t hear any anguish in her tone. Why would there be, when this is a marriage of convenience , he chided himself.
‘Orders will keep until tomorrow, even if they are something new,’ Collingwood said.
‘Tuck them away for now.’ He gestured towards the wardroom.
‘Come, come, my dears. Between eight and noon, you say, Captain Beattie, according to my friend the Archbishop of Winchester? Please tell me that you have the licence.’
And so they were married. John handed the common licence to the Queen ’s chaplain, a rare bird in a fleet of often profane men.
It touched his heart as his little son, eyes lively, escorted Miss Anna Fontaine across the wardroom, with the chairs lined along one wall under a massive chart of the Mediterranean.
Officers took their seats. Soon, Pru stood alone, the only other female in the gathering except for his bride.
It touched his heart when Anna gestured to the child. ‘You’re my maid of honour,’ she announced. ‘If I had a bouquet, you could hold it. Come close, my dear.’
‘Who giveth this woman to be married?’ the chaplain asked as the ceremony started.
‘I do!’ Admiral Collingwood boomed out. ‘She’s a bonny lass.’ John heard laughter in the room from the men of the Queen and the Swallow , and even Captain Tyler of the Hartford , who stood back to one side, as if in doubt of his reception.
Indeed she is a bonny lass , John Beattie thought as he took her hand.
When the chaplain asked if there were any objections to this union, he thought of many that a sensible woman could raise, and end this odd business.
All this sensible woman did was listen with interest, a lurking smile on her face.
She said yes in all the right places, and he said aye when called upon.
He must have been a real pup at his first wedding, also in time of war.
This time, the gravity of the words came home to roost on his shoulder like a vulture, when the chaplain asked him, ‘Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honour and keep her, in sickness and in health? And forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her as long as ye both shall live?’
He looked at the woman beside him, amazed she had even followed him to this ship in the Mediterranean. Her beautiful eyes welled with tears, but he saw no sadness. ‘Aye,’ he answered, even as his conscience flared once again.
Aye. He knew he would say it and everyone expected it, but he hesitated for a fleeting moment, thinking of Cathy’s sickness and Anna’s health. And as long as you both shall live? They were in a war zone! How na?ve he had been the first time. Maybe that had been easier then, because he knew less.
‘Aye,’ he said firmly, wondering if he knew any more.
In turn, she said, ‘Yes,’ her voice softer, but no less determined. He closed his eyes and thanked God—sometimes a distant fellow to him—she had opened the door that awful night.
Cherish. For better. For worse. Richer. Poorer. Love. Cherish. Cherish—what a lovely word. Breathe, John.
There was no ring. ‘Later,’ he whispered.
What mattered now were his words, ‘With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship,’ then something about worldly goods.
The power and majesty stunned him, almost as though he had never heard them before.
Perhaps he hadn’t. Perhaps he was paying better attention this time.
There was so much more. He listened carefully, gripping Anna’s hand, her squeezing back, then kneeling together for the Lord’s Prayer, and rising united.
The final responses tore at his heart in this time of war and uncertainty: ‘And evermore defend them from the face of their enemy. O Lord, hear our prayer.’
He gathered her close. The wardroom rang with cheers.
Bounce wagged his tail with supreme velocity.
An uncommonly fine Madeira went around, and from somewhere, the Queen ’s cook had engineered a cake.
‘…t’would have been taller, sir, but the sea was rough yesterday morning.
The last layer sailed right off, it did. ’
Now, their departure. Allan seemed happy to remain aboard the Queen with Pru while his father and Missy left for a few nights and days. ‘Your father says he has some business in Gibraltar,’ the Admiral told him, ‘and I say that Bounce needs your company here, you two.’
To cheers and the inevitable ribald comments the Navy was fond of, the crew of the Queen saw them over the side and onto the Swallow , where another reception waited, this one not fuelled by Madeira but something else, that undefinable union of shared battle and victory.
He told his new second lieutenant to authorise a tot of rum for everyone, and not grog.
‘I won’t water down a wedding toast,’ he declared.
That meant three cheers, and another three, and then his own, ‘As you were, men, and thank you.’
Here it was. He turned formally to his first luff. ‘Mr Marsing, you have the deck.’ Then, softer, ‘Only call for me in extreme emergency, as in the Second Coming of our Lord, or Napoleon himself. Do I make myself clear?’
‘Aye, sir, you do,’ said his lieutenant with a smile. ‘We’ll steer a course towards Gibraltar.’
Holding tight to Anna’s hand, John led her to the companionway. ‘Well, madam wife, shall we?’
Down the companionway, they passed through the wardroom and stopped only because he heard someone clear his throat. He turned to see his carpenter, a long-married man with a wife and children in Portsmouth. ‘Yes, Brownlow?’
‘Over here, sir, if ye don’t mind,’ he said softly. ‘My Betsy would skin me alive if I embarrassed your lady wife.’
‘Yes?’ he asked when they stood on the steps of the companionway.
‘I made an adjustment in your cabin, sir. I mean, in case you were wondering what to do.’
John smiled inside, thinking of the times when his fellow commanders had twitted him about being too easy on his crew. He’d mostly ignored them. His years at sea had schooled him in the art of finesse. ‘Brownlow, I think I get your drift.’
‘I thought you might, Captain. Sweet dreams, if I may be so bold.’
He couldn’t help a blush, but below-deck was usually in a half light and he doubted Anna would notice. From the thoughtful expression on her face, he suspected she had ideas of her own.
‘Well, madam wife, I should probably carry you over the threshold, but…oh, why not?’
He opened the door to his quarters, that compact space across the aft of the ship with his desk, a few chairs and a regrettable pile of charts in one corner.
Time to tidy this, but maybe not right now.
He picked up his wife and stepped into his little domain, that place where he read, charted courses, thought, paced about, questioned his decisions, and hoped for the best.
So far so good. He set her down, kissed her soundly, then opened the door to his sleeping quarters and grinned. ‘I’ll be damned, Mrs Beattie, if I don’t have the best crew on any ocean,’ he told her.
Anna’s eyes were wide. She put her hand over her mouth and she smiled, too, thank God.
Brownlow had disconnected the ropes that kept his sleeping platform in motion. The bed frame was now anchored on the deck, held in place by marlinspikes. It wasn’t going anywhere. No one was going to be dumped from this bed, not tonight.
‘My dear, turn around,’ he said. ‘I recall buttoning two of your buttons several months ago. I intend to unbutton them all now. You know, in the interest of finding out if you have more freckles than those on your nose, which, by the way, I’ve been wanting to kiss.’
‘I understand, Captain,’ she said. ‘You’ll probably discover—since you are the observant type—that they match the ones on my front.’
A wife in a million. If that was so, then why this odd sense of restraint between them, suddenly? He hadn’t planned on that.
He hesitated.