Page 11 of Snowbound Regency Christmas
It sounded silly to his ears, but as he looked at his three hosts, he knew they understood. It gave him heart to continue. ‘It was late autumn, when our blockade tends to pull back to avoid the danger of winter storms blowing vessels onto a lee shore.’
Silence. Rosie’s eyes were troubled. ‘No fears, Rosie. We sawed and starved until we were ready.’ He sniffed. ‘Do I smell bread on that tray?’
Aunt Dorothea respond quickly. In a moment he had a buttered roll in his hand. She apologized that it wasn’t hot from the oven, but he waved that away. ‘It is divine. You can’t imagine.’ He ate quickly, savouring the butter, and had the strength to continue.
‘That final day, we watched clouds roll in. After supper—the usual meal, warm water that a chicken ran through on stilts—Captain Tate said this was the night. We were too weak to stay much longer. It was now or never. When the lightning and thunder began, we stripped and tied our clothes together—rags, really—and did our balancing act to cut through those remaining bits of iron bar.’
Farmer Harte nudged his sister. ‘Dotty, what’s the most desperate thing you ever did?’
She gave him such a glare that Andy was happy not to have it directed at him. ‘I believe it was whenyouwere born. I told Mama that if it was a brother, I was going to run away!’
Everyone laughed and the tension broke. ‘Did you?’ Andy teased.
Aunt Dorothea smiled. ‘I got as far as the meadow just outside this window and turned back because—’ she stopped, and buttered him another roll ‘—I didn’t want to be hungry.’
‘Wise child,’ Andy said. ‘We doused our light. The bosun was the strongest. When there was a long roll of thunder, he broke through the bars, knotted one end of our pathetic rope around one of the other bars, and…and told us to shinny down the rope, one at a time.’
‘Was it long enough?’ Rosie asked, her voice small, her eyes huge.
‘No. We ended up jumping into the water before we wanted to. Oh, so cold. Captain Tate was struggling just above me, so I hung on to the rope. I put him on my back when he came closer. I leaped and started swimming.’
He remembered waves so high that he must have swallowed half of them, weighed down and weak as he was. All he could do at that moment was mentally swim again in frigid water with the old man on his back, which landed him precisely where he had been in the mail coach. Would it never end? He started to shiver, even though the room was warm.
Rosie did an extraordinary thing. She edged closer on the bed, took his face in her hands and kissed his forehead.
‘Silly man,’ she said, for his ears alone. ‘Youarea hero.’
Chapter Seven
Such manners! All Rosie could think of was something her brother-in-law, Peter, said in times of stress. ‘Great gobs of monkey meat, what you must think of me?’
Perfect. Everyone laughed, no one louder than Master Hadfield. ‘Now you must tell me Happy Christmas,’ he said, which made no sense, but set them off again.
‘This is hardly funny,’ she said feebly, then dragged them back to the story. ‘How did the navy find you in the water?’
‘Luck. The bosun was strongest and he swam toward the blockade while the rest of us floundered. We were drifting south. There was a strong current near shore. A Fast Dispatch Vessel heading from the blockade to Portsmouth nearly ran him down. They dragged our sorry carcasses aboard and took us back to the nearest blockader. Luck,’ he repeated.
Rosie heard amazement mingled with terror in his voice, as if still not believing he had escaped.No wonder he weeps at night, she told herself. Then another thought struck home.Who will hold his hand in the inn?
Aunt Dorothea stirred herself. ‘I should warm your dinner.’
‘No need, ma’am. Really.’
She didn’t argue, although Rosie knew she wanted to. Aunt Dorothea always maintained her own taut ship. She set the tray on his lap and the sailing master wasted not a second in downing the meal.
‘It’s better warm,’ Aunt Dorothea tried once more.
‘You can’t imagine how good this is.’
‘No, I cannot,’ she said. ‘I will leave you to it. Rosie, bring the tray downstairs when our hero is done.’ She patted her breast. ‘My heart cannot take more excitement! Come, brother, let us find that bottle of rum I hide in the flour bin.’
Rosie laughed as Master Hadfield rolled his eyes. After the door closed, she picked up her knitting and sat in her chair again. She hoped she wasn’t babbling, but she felt the need to comment. Even better: a massive change of subject. ‘Barring terrible years in prison, I can’t imagine this is how you usually spend Christmas,’ she began.
He surprised her. ‘I have never “spent Christmas,” as you say,’ he told her. ‘My father was a poor farmer in Hampshire, eking out a living on a few acres. Nothing like this farm. A good Christmas meant a portion of beef.’ She could tell he wasn’t ready to sleep. ‘Things grew worse after my mother died.’
She almost—but didn’t—ask how things could be worse. She waited for Andrew to continue, almost dreading what he would say, yet wanting to know more.
‘After my father died, I was sent to the workhouse. I ran away to the Royal Navy and have been at sea ever since. No Christmas for me, except rum on the twenty-fifth.’
