Chapter Fifteen
Papa must have given the post-chaise riders extra money to urge them to race the distance to Plymouth at a spanking pace. Rosie stared out the window at the usual December gloom, with grey skies and rain, snow or sleet threatening.
She remembered the Navy Board letter stating that the Albemarle was sailing on the tide the day after Christmas. She had time.
In Plymouth, she directed the post-chaise rider to take her to the Drake. She already knew she would have to write a letter of resignation to Mr Gooding and thank him for her years of employment. After all, if Mama could propose to Papa all those years ago, she could propose to Andrew, too.
They stopped at the Drake, with its magnificent view of the harbour, where she saw warships waiting, with lighters and dinghies piled with nautical supplies, many from Goodings, sailing toward them to load victuals, extra rope, tar and cannonballs for the ships for war.
She knew the docks themselves could not accommodate all the frigates, and some were too large to dock in shallower water.
Somewhere out there was the Albemarle. The post rider interrupted her contemplation to hand over her satchel and wish her Happy Christmas.
She had never been inside the Drake. She doubted ladies of good reputation ever walked up to any hotel desk by themselves, as she was doing.
A woman with wildly curly red hair stood at the desk, speaking to a man wearing that imposing fore-and-aft hat, his boat cloak turned back to display one gold epaulet.
It was all so splendid. Rosie had never felt so out of place in her life.
When the woman handed the captain a key, she turned her attention to Rose. ‘How may I help you, my dear?’
‘I am Rose Harte, and I am looking for Sailing Master Hadfield. Do you…?’
‘Thank God!’ the woman exclaimed. The woman came around the desk. ‘I am Mrs Fillion.’
‘Pleased to know you. Andrew mentioned you,’ Rose said, wondering at the woman’s excitement. ‘I know he is leaving the day after tomorrow and…’
Mrs Fillion grabbed her cloak. ‘Master Hadfield came here earlier today to register, but his captain met him on the way out. The orders were changed. The Albemarle is leaving with the tide this afternoon. Hurry!’
Rose dropped her satchel, picked up her skirts and ran with Mrs Fillion through that tangle of alleys, nooks and crannies that made up the Barbican. ‘He told me you might come here, but he wasn’t certain,’ Mrs Fillion gasped as they ran.
‘I love him,’ Rose said, wondering at her total lack of decorum. Was that what happened when a woman loved a navy man? She would have to ask Mary Hale about that later.
Out of breath, they came to the dock. ‘Where, where, where…?’ Mrs Fillion muttered, clutching her side as she tried to breathe. ‘Thank God, there it is, and docked. Lord bless us. We all love Master Hadfield. Did you know he is a hero?’
‘Yes, I heard something about it,’ Rosie said. ‘How will he know I am here?’
‘He’s been alone all these years. It got about among his mates that all he ever wanted was for a pretty girl to see him off on a voyage. They say he always watches with the other men.’
That breaks my heart, Rosie thought. Dear, dear man. ‘What should I do? Where should I stand?’
‘Wait right here,’ her escort said. ‘I will wait in the Mermaid’s Tears over there and watch. I won’t have you walking through the Barbican back to the Drake by yourself. Cheers, dear.’
Rose stood in front of the Albemarle, not a large ship, not like the really big ones anchored further offshore.
She was already familiar with the prisoner hulks closer to the jetty, where French prisoners suffered.
She had seen this harbour view many times in summer, when several of Mr Gooding’s employees, her among them, watched ships come and go.
She waited patiently, supremely unsure of herself. Their one kiss had been memorable, but he had never spoken his mind to her. Whatever happened, it was already a Christmas to remember.
There he stood, hands on the rail, his smile filling the entire universe, her universe. He doffed his hat and bowed to her.
To her embarrassment, she heard a great cheer rise up from the deck of the Albemarle as Sailing Master Hadfield, her hero and evidently theirs, as well, hurried down the gangplank, grabbing her just as she hoped he would. As he kissed her, the cheer spread to adjacent ships.
‘We are making a scene,’ she said when she could speak.
‘Aye, we are,’ he agreed. ‘You would choose this morning to oversleep, dear lady.’ What did he do but make it worse, nuzzling her neck and whispering, ‘Good God, that flannel nightgown…’
‘Oh, hush. I was awake all night, waiting to hold your hand,’ she explained. ‘Did you really sleep all night?’
‘Aye, for the first time since I shimmied naked down that rope. I owe it to you.’
Oh my but that next kiss was a barn burner. The observers cheered again. She held him off. ‘You are my hero and don’t you dare deny it. I love you.’
‘Not the wisest thing you ever did.’
‘It is,’ she assured him. ‘Must I propose to you? I will, you know.’
‘No need,’ he said, his voice close to her ear so she could hear him above the commotion. ‘I love you. Please marry me, Rosie Harte.’
‘Aye,’ she said promptly, which made him gather her scandalously close.
‘It’s like this—the Albemarle has been in dry dock over steering issues.
We are making a shakedown cruise only as far as Portsmouth.
Here’s what you need to do.’ Lord have mercy, could he get any closer?
‘Pray that I will find some defect that will mean a few more weeks in dry dock. Steering and trim are my domain aboard ship and I am a master of it.’
She laughed, her hand to her mouth. ‘Do you think you will find something wrong?’
‘I am positive,’ he said. ‘I will get a special license in Portsmouth and marry you the moment we dock back here in, oh, let us say four days.’
She nodded, even as the practical side of her wanted more information. ‘Master Hadfield, will there really be anything wrong with the Albemarle?’
‘You will never tease that out of me.’
It was still daylight, but Andrew’s new boat cloak was all encompassing. ‘Even if I touch you here and here?’ she whispered, amazing herself. ‘Maybe even here?’
‘Miss Harte, you are a menace to mortal man,’ he said, as his breathing became more rapid. ‘No, not even there, there or there.’
‘I am a menace and you are my hero.’
He kissed her once more, then stood at attention at the bosun’s whistle, signifying the captain was moving up the gangplank now. ‘We’re sailing with the tide. Mrs Fillion will find you a quiet berth on the third floor. Keep that berth warm.’
‘Andy… .’
‘When I get back, we’ll house hunt, well, later. Kiss me quick and wish me Happy Christmas.’
She did, and held his hand all the way to the gangplank, where the bosun took out his timepiece and winked at her future husband.
Andrew looked toward the stern of the vessel and frowned.
‘Uh-oh. I see something that will need adjusting when we return in a few days. I’d better tell Captain Matthews. ’
‘Andrew, you’re the menace.’
He whispered in her ear, ‘I remember something even more important. Hush now.’ He gathered her close again. ‘Dearest, I give you my whole heart, as you give me yours.’