Chapter Thirty-Two
W hat, indeed? Anna knew she could brush it off with a laugh, but this was Pru, who watched over them all. She knelt beside the child. ‘Perhaps someone is interested in us.’
She knew she could not say something like that to Allan, but Pru was older than her years. Her reply gave voice to Anna’s fear. ‘More like the Captain’s business.’
‘More like,’ Anna agreed. ‘Say nothing of this to anyone, my dear.’
‘Can you… Is there any way to tell the Captain?’
‘Only if we lived in a magical world far different from this one,’ she said frankly. ‘We must wait until he returns.’ She managed a smile. ‘You and I are good at waiting. We are also good at saying little to others.’
She could tell Pru was mulling over that comment.
‘Yes, Pru?’ she asked gently.
Pru sank down lower in the grass, her head bowed. John, I wish I knew what to do , Anna thought. I am so ill-prepared. I am also afraid.
She sank down on the grass, too. ‘Tell me,’ she said simply, holding out her arms for Pru, who didn’t hesitate to sit on her lap.
‘Wh…when those women left us in Plymouth, I almost ran away and left Allan there alone,’ Pru said finally, as if pincers pulled the words from her throat.
‘But you didn’t.’
‘I wanted to run.’
‘You didn’t,’ Anna repeated firmly. ‘Pru, it’s hard to do the right thing sometimes, and it is permissible to be afraid. What matters is that you did the right thing.’
‘We were so hungry. I had to decide to stay and not look outside for food, or…or run away. It is a lonely feeling!’
The words sounded torn from her whole body and Anna held her closer.
I know the lonely feeling , she thought, then knew what to do.
She put her hands over Pru’s eyes for a brief moment.
‘It’s done now, dearest, and you did not fail anyone.
Sometimes this feels good, too. There now.
We’ll sit here a moment, then go back to the house. We’ll sit here as long as you want.’
The child relaxed in her arms. They stayed that way long enough for the warmth to seep more than skin-deep, into some place Pru needed.
When Pru sat up, her eyes were bright again, hopeful. ‘We’ll be sure to tell the Captain,’ she said.
‘We will.’
‘I wish we knew when he will return.’
‘So do I, but in the meantime we will take care of our guest and keep ourselves busy. Let’s not mention the torch to anyone,’ Anna said.
‘Our secret?’
‘Only until we can tell Captain Beattie.’
Silence was less of a trial than Anna feared, thanks to Sofia’s demands, which, as demands went, were not onerous, but distracting enough to suit her.
Pru and Allan had already weathered their first week of parish education at St Matthew’s in Port Mahon.
The church had none of the beautiful stonework of the Catholic church in the village centre, and the more distant mosque.
A good Anglican, Anna dubbed St Matthew’s serviceable.
The children seemed content with Mr Brown. ‘He’s not too patient, but I think we are bright enough,’ Allan assured her. Anna wanted to laugh out loud at his solemn assessment, considering that whatever instruction the young teacher gave them was their first brush with education.
Pru had her own observation about their teacher. ‘Mr Brown spends a lot of time staring out of the window,’ she said, then shrugged. ‘It is a lovely view.’ She brightened. ‘P’raps he has a sweetheart in the port.’
Allan pooh-poohed that. ‘Pru, he’s too old for a sweetheart.’
With what she thought was masterful control, Anna managed to remain straight-faced, thinking of her husband, even as she wondered what John really thought of her. Either time would tell or it wouldn’t.
It took no convincing to get Sofia to accompany her and the children to Port Mahon in the pony trap, loins girded for another morning of school.
Even Madame Durand wanted to come along this time, chatting with Sofia about her plans, a far cry from the housekeeper with raised eyebrows over their guest’s list of demands.
‘Madame Beattie, you could take la signorina to Clotilde and have her measured for dresses,’ Hermione suggested. ‘Not that what you are wearing isn’t lovely, but…’
La signorina dismissed that suggestion with a withering glance. ‘Convent clothes, eh? I don’t mind. I will only be here for a few days, then to England. Papá thought it prudent to leave Italia, you know, where one scarcely knows who is friend or foe.’
Madame Durand nodded. ‘It is that way everywhere,’ she said with a sigh. ‘Madame Beattie, you at least will be with us for a while, oui ?’ She smiled behind her hand. ‘The Captain does like to come into port as often as possible, does he not?’
Why does it matter how often he is here? Anna asked herself. Since Pru and Allan sat by Hector in the pony cart, she nearly said it. Instead, she asked herself the question beyond the question: Why should it matter to you, Hermione Durand, how often John comes into port?
‘I have no idea when he will return.’ She changed the subject. ‘Sofia, when I married Captain Beattie, I brought along dresses better suited to the English climate. Shall we take out those hems and start you a wardrobe for Kent?’
Madame Durand, I dare you to change the subject , she told herself as she made small talk about English customs as they wandered along to Port Mahon.
She waved goodbye to Pru and Allan at St Matthew’s, then dutifully followed the Durands into the marketplace for some haggling over melons and other Mediterranean delicacies.
In the market, she saw Hector huddle with men his age, then walk away quickly.
He stood at the pony cart when they returned carrying baskets of food, and helped them in. ‘He will return to collect the children,’ Madame Durand said. ‘You will be busy sewing.’
So it went for the next four days, hemming and creating as English a wardrobe as Anna could muster, all the while praying for John to return, because something was different, now that they knew…what?
Rather than continue sleeping in the gardener’s shed, Anna easily convinced Pru to share her room. By unspoken consent, neither mentioned the one torch burning, as though not speaking of it made it go away.
At least Sofia had mellowed from the imperious signorina with a list of demands. She showed a thoughtful side, which relieved Anna as nothing else could have. ‘There is something about the mirrors in this house,’ Sofia said one morning after she’d tried on Anna’s favourite blue wool dress.
‘I know the mirrors are clean, because Madame Durand is a far better housekeeper than I,’ Anna said. ‘Is the glass too wavy? Does someone unfamiliar stare back at you?’ she teased.
‘I believe that is the case,’ Sofia said seriously. ‘ This Sofia’s shoulders aren’t held so high. She seems more relaxed. Mrs Beattie, is this house magic, or are you?’
‘I am no sorcerer,’ Anna told her, both amused and touched. ‘We’re ordinary here, and war and its attendant discomforts seem far away. Perhaps that is it.’
‘It is more, and you are part of it,’ Sofia insisted softly. ‘I am at home here.’ She leaned forward, her eyes kind. ‘Mrs Beattie, that is your special gift. Do you think Captain Beattie knows that, too?’
‘I hope he does, dear child.’
‘I am at peace here,’ Sofia said simply.
A week passed, an uneventful week, the sort of week that might have bored Anna in England, but which let the sweetness of Port Mahon, this house, these children, their guest, fill her heart. I am needed , she told the mirror that night.
So it happened that when Sofia’s rescuer finally arrived on Saturday—an older gentleman with an air of nobility—Anna knew she would miss the guest who had gone from burden to friend.
He arrived after breakfast. Madame Durand knocked on the library door where Anna sat listening to Pru read aloud, with appreciative applause from Sofia and Allan.
‘Come in, Madame Durand,’ Anna said. ‘We’re just enjoy…’
‘ Zio! ’
Sofia ran to the door, throwing herself into her uncle’s arms. She spoke in rapid Italian, her eyes happy.
She took his hand as Anna rose from the sofa.
‘Mrs Beattie, this is Conte Emilio Callona, my uncle from near Modena. You are to be my escort to England instead of Luigi? Papá will be delighted!’
Anna gave the best curtsy she knew and was rewarded with a bow from a gentleman who obviously inhabited a more exalted world than hers.
He held out a note, and his English was beautiful.
‘I was told to present this to the mistress of the house—’ he made a modest gesture ‘—in case you did not feel inclined to relinquish this priceless pearl to me, my own niece.’
She knew without opening the letter that even in trying times matters often resolved themselves precisely as planned. She noted the expensive paper, and the stamp and seal at the bottom next to an elaborate signature.
‘We will miss her,’ she said simply.
Even Madame Durand looked sad. ‘ Conte , when must you take this jewel?’
‘Now,’ he said, perhaps unaware that, except for Sofia, his audience was obviously not as pleased. ‘Her parents will be delighted to see her.’
Sofia left them at midday, after hugs and more tears. ‘I promise I will write to you from Kent,’ she said. ‘Mrs Beattie, perhaps you will visit me when you are next in England.’
Anna assured her she would. She walked her to the pony cart, Hector his usual morose and silent self as he held the reins. Another hug from Sofia, another courtly bow from her uncle, and they left, Sofia turning around to wave, handkerchief at the ready.
‘I don’t like saying goodbye to people,’ Pru told her as Anna walked hand in hand with her to the house. Trust Pru; by the time they were in the foyer, she’d reminded Anna that now she had her bedchamber back.
Madame Durand was changing the bedlinen as Anna dragged herself upstairs for a private sulk. ‘There now,’ the housekeeper said, patting the pillow. She looked closely at Anna. ‘My dear, such puffy eyes! Come down to the kitchen and I will put some sliced cucumbers on them.’
Just leave me alone , she wanted to say, but that would be rude. She saw the folded note by her side of the bed and opened it to read Sofia’s original list of rules and requirements. Her now-friend had written across the bottom in her neat script:
My English mother would have said, ‘A friend in need is a friend indeed’. I never understood that before, but I do now. Love, your friend in need and deed, Sofia.
Now, where was that other friend? Anna asked herself the next morning, and the morning after. If you don’t think about him, he will show up , she told herself, which didn’t prove helpful. Neither did, You’re a grown woman, Anna Beattie, and too old to mope about like this .
The Durands had taken the children to the parish school.
In fact, they insisted, even usually silent Hector telling her gently that she needed time alone.
As penance for her grouchy mood, she put herself to the task she liked the least, organising the linen closet.
She was deep in refolding pillowslips when she heard a familiar voice in the hall below, calling her name.
She smiled, then her smile vanished, because the tone of John’s voice yanked her back to January and desperation.
‘God, please don’t let him be wounded,’ she whispered as she dropped the pillowslip, which suddenly felt as heavy as a lead bar.
‘I’m upstairs, John. Wh…what is the matter?’
She met him on the landing. He grabbed her by the shoulders.
‘We’re fine,’ she assured him, frightened now.
‘Where is Signorina Callona?’ he demanded, his eyes boring into hers, captain’s eyes, and not the eager husband she wanted to see.
‘Good news, my love,’ she said, relieved. He must not know; he would be pleased. ‘Imagine this: her uncle arrived a few days ago and…’
He pulled her close. ‘Anna, that is her uncle, but the uncle who loves Napoleon, damn him. Her other uncle, her real rescuer, is dead aboard a yacht we found drifting north of these islands. Anna, she is in enemy hands.’
Her dear brother, lying in his Gibraltar grave, had once called her the stalwart member of the family. ‘ Nothing seems to faze you, sis ,’ he’d teased once. ‘ A million ladies would collapse in a heap before you would even blink. ’
A million ladies must have collapsed. Anna stared at her husband, watching him turn into three men before her eyes. The room whirled them all around and she fainted.