Chapter Twenty-Four
O h, the curse of the practical mind. Anna knew it was time to re-enter the real world. ‘Up we get,’ she announced. ‘I am counting on you to button up my dress and not kiss my freckles. I promise not to stare at your trousers and wonder how everything fits in there.’
He laughed at that. ‘It’s a deal, Mrs Beattie. I’m the Captain and you are my crew.’
‘Just as I want it,’ she said simply.
He was ready quickly. ‘I’ll be in the wardroom,’ he told her, after he combed his hair at the mirror in his narrow closet. He stood there a moment, staring at something. She didn’t think he was being vain.
She brushed her hair after he’d left. Knowing it needed more attention, she opened his closet to see the mirror.
Next to the mirror was a drawing of a pretty lady who resembled Allan Beattie.
So, there you are , she thought, then frowned.
She almost felt jealous then. But what she and John had was purely based on convenience, nothing else. Wasn’t it?
She made a parting and braided her hair low against her neck, all the while eyeing Cathy Beattie.
‘Whether it’s convenient or not, I’ll take good care of him for you,’ she said softly, and closed the door.
John took her hand in the wardroom, where his steward waited, as well as the man in a plain uniform she knew as his sailing master, plus a Marine in red and gilt.
Another man in a plain uniform with the caduceus on each side of his collar was the surgeon.
They bowed and she curtsied, hoping no one had any idea what had been going on in the Captain’s quarters for most of the night.
Anna accepted a cup of coffee from the steward. Give yourself a few days and you will no longer be a novelty , she thought. She created a homely egg sandwich from the egg and toast on her plate, which made the Marine smile. ‘My little son does that, Mrs Beattie,’ he said.
‘Then I am in good company, sir,’ Anna told him.
‘Men, I have our Admiral’s orders,’ John said.
Omitting the part about the house soon to be loaned, he read them word for word.
‘We are on patrol. The Mediterranean is ours to sail freely, to harry the French however we can and, most important, learn what they are up to. We will have a home port.’ He looked at them.
‘Gentlemen, we are to be based in Port Mahon, that jewel of the Balearics. Mr Lynch,’ he ordered his second lieutenant, ‘please inform Mr Marsing on the quarterdeck. Let us proceed to Rosia Bay.’
Mr Lynch nodded. ‘Aye, sir. Will we tarry long?’
‘Long enough to take on supplies that should be waiting for us.’ He turned his attention to the surgeon. ‘Mr Coles, you have the Admiral’s permission for everything you can beg, borrow or steal from hospital stores.’
Anna listened as orders went around, hearing not a sound of uncertainty, and knew she sailed on a well-captained ship. The other side of this man she now called husband was hers, alone. It both humbled and excited her.
He kissed her hand with a loud smack, to everyone’s smiles. ‘Come along, Mrs Beattie,’ he teased. ‘I expect there will be a resounding hip-hip hoorah from the deck when you show your pretty face. Right, men?’
To a man, they all stood and raised their coffee cups. She dipped another curtsy, playful this time, and let her husband steady her against the motion of a ship on the tack, bound for shore.
It was as John had predicted. As soon as a grinning Marine guard opened the companionway hatch and Anna stepped through, her husband gave a high sign of some sort and the bosun piped her on deck.
‘John, do not even try to tell me there is a special call for a captain’s bride,’ she said, trying to be heard above the applause and whistles.
‘No, Mrs Beattie. This one is more along the lines of “Hail the Monarch” and they don’t mean me.
Up you go to the quarterdeck. Take a seat in the marvellous deck chair, and watch my good crew bring us in.
’ He knelt beside the chair after she sat.
‘This will be short, but you’re coming ashore with me now. We have something to see.’
An hour later, they made it to the Rock and sailed smoothly into Rosia Bay, with its hotch-potch of buildings cobbled together and general ragtag air. ‘This is where we docked after Trafalgar,’ he said, standing next to the railing with her. ‘We limped in.’ She covered his hand with hers.
The Swallow docked at the wharf, with waiting supplies ready. ‘You and I have another place to visit.’
It was a short walk, made longer because as soon as they were out of sight of the port, John stopped and kissed her, holding her close. He held her off a little, searching her face. ‘I just realised something, Mrs Beattie.’
‘What might that be?’ she teased. ‘You are a student of my face? I think it’s rather ordinary.’
‘Not at all. You’re a lovely woman.’
She blushed at the sincerity in his voice.
‘I believe, after our wedding night, that I am finally…starting to exhale.’ The humour left again, and she saw a man exposing his vulnerabilities. ‘Believe me, it is relief unimaginable. Oh, this is hardly loverlike, but…’
Anna smiled, resolutely pushing away the image of the woman next to his shaving mirror. The wife he’d loved. ‘I believe you,’ she said simply. ‘We’ll take our time.’
Another kiss, and then a laugh. He whispered in her ear, ‘If you turn around slowly, you’ll see that we are being watched.’
‘I earnestly hope not,’ she whispered back, then turned, started, stared and laughed. ‘That is a monkey! One, two, three of them.’
‘Rock apes,’ he said. ‘I hope they were entertained.’
He led her to a raw-looking cemetery, and stopped at the entrance. ‘Our Admiral says it will be called Trafalgar Cemetery.’ He looked down. ‘Too many good men gone. Some day I predict it will be green, with flowers. What a battle that was!’
She kissed his hand, realising something more about her husband: No matter how long I know him, I will never know how terrible that day was . She glanced at his face. He will never tell me all of it. I will not pry.
She saw bare graves of heaped-up dirt, and here and there a headstone. ‘These are some of our Trafalgar dead, and those who survived the battle, only to die later, like your William.’ He looked across the rows, seeing something beyond her vision.
Down one row, and then another. He held her hand in a firm grip, keeping her close. She knew who he was looking for, and thanked the Almighty again that John Beattie had pounded on her door in Plymouth that cold night.
‘Here he is,’ he said reverently. ‘I could not bring myself to consign Will to the deep. We were so close to Gibraltar, so close.’ He removed his hat. ‘I gave Mr Marsing funds for a marker, and told him what I wanted cut into the stone. I had no idea at the time how…how true the words would be.’
Anna put her arm around her husband, this stalwart captain made of iron, like all the other men in the fleet. She knew him now as he really was, a man with doubts and fears of his own.
‘ Lieutenant William Fontaine, RN. 1772-1805 ,’ she read out loud. Only thirty-three years? Too short, too short. ‘ Exemplary Officer. Devoted Brother. Friend .’ She faltered, then continued. ‘ Greater love hath no man than this …’
This had been such a day of surprise and revelation. Now, looking at this memorial to her brother, who lay close by, she knew that other special love of family.
‘I will miss you, Will,’ she said softly. ‘We could easily have grown old together, dear brother.’
War had changed all that. She patted the headstone, deeply aware that she had so much more than a watery grave known only by its latitude and longitude; Will was here .
This rough cemetery would grow in size as war dragged on, but also in beauty, as mourners honoured their dead.
She owed the man beside her, who had brought her brother to shore.
‘Captain, I know you did not have to bring him here,’ she said. ‘I will be forever in your debt that you did.’
‘He was an excellent first officer and a good friend,’ John replied. She heard all the strain and took his hand. ‘I had no idea at the time how you would figure in my life, Mrs Beattie.’
Call me Anna again , she wanted to tell him, but refrained, thinking of that lovely picture of Cathy in his quarters.
She had her own surprise for him, earlier doubting the wisdom of it, but confirmed now in this sacred place.
She thought again of Cathy, but knew this was her choice and her moment.
From her reticule, Anna pulled out the ring box found among Will’s effects.
She opened it and they both looked at the intricate filigreed golden mesh, intended for an unknown person. She held it out to her husband.
‘I think this is the perfect place and the perfect ring. Do you?’
He took it from her, his tears unmistakable, then acknowledged her emotion. ‘Two watering pots. Will would have laughed at us.’ He held up the ring. ‘This is right, I agree. Thank you, my dear. And thank you, Will Fontaine.’
He slid it onto her finger, saying again those timeless words from their wedding. ‘With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow.’
She let him pull her to his body, his hand on her hair. She closed her eyes with the pleasure of something that simple. Her arms went around him, aware as never before of herself bound to another in every way possible, no matter what lay ahead.
Dear man , she thought, I could quite possibly love you some day. Stranger things have happened. Could you ever love me, too?
She shivered suddenly, as a cool breeze swirled around them. His arm tightened around her, but this time, for some unaccountable reason, she wasn’t comforted. Love takes time , she thought, and heard the gods of war laughing at her. Did they laugh at you, too, Cathy?