Page 14 of Snowbound Regency Christmas
‘I know the Drake,’ Rosie said. ‘Everyone does in Plymouth. It’s famous for its Royal Navy clientele, including Lord Nelson.’
‘Rest his soul,’ Andrew said. Rosie watched his expressive face grow serious, even sad. ‘We can leave our possessions there, until our return to Plymouth and the Drake.’ He shook his head. ‘Some never return to claim them.’ He ran his hand over the letter, then held it up. ‘I left this letter in the storeroom by mistake, and the address was rubbed away by a box on it. I am in Endicott to find Mary Hale. Do you know her?’
They didn’t, to Andy’s obvious disappointment. Papa cleared his throat. ‘What was your sailing master’s name?
‘Edward Hale. He taught me everything I know. His knowledge was extraordinary. I was most fortunate to be a pupil.’ He smiled what Rosie called a reminiscing smile, something she had seen often enough on Papa’s face as he remembered his own love, Nancy. ‘He had one flaw. He was fond of losing at cards.’
Papa understood. ‘I suspect you want to know how Mrs Hale has fared through the years.’
‘Precisely. What if she needs my help?’ He spread out his hands. ‘But you have not heard of Edward or Mary Hale?’
‘Alas, no,’ Papa said. ‘All the same there might be someone in Endicott who knows.’
He folded his hands across his ample belly, made more ample by his sister’s turnovers. ‘Sir…’
‘Andrew. Even Andy, remember?’
‘Andy then. We are not formal. Are you up to a short walk?’
‘Aye, and I need one. Any day now, Mrs Fillion will be getting a letter from the Navy Board for me.’
‘And?’ Papa prompted.
‘I will be invited, nay commanded, to appear on thus and such day to be assigned another ship. I must be more physically sound. I need to walk.’
It was Rosie’s turn to look away, not wanting him gone. Strange, that. She hoped no one noticed, but Papa was watching. ‘Rosie, I propose that you walk our Christmas guest to Endicott. He can inquire in the pub and you know the village. Someone might remember her.’
‘Certainly, Papa. I promise not to march our sailing master in a quick step.’
‘The last thing I need,’ Andrew said, his tone light and teasing.
‘Very good,’ Papa said. ‘I have farm matters to handle here with my son-in-law, and Dotty, I know you want to bake your Christmas biscuits and other unimaginable treats, now that you have adequate flour.’
‘Indeed I do,’ Aunt Dorothea stated firmly. ‘Check with the magistrate, Rosie. He claims acquaintance with everyone in Endicott, probably from the time when William the Conqueror waded ashore.’
‘I shall.’ A glance at their houseguest showed a smiling man. ‘Yes, we will walk tomorrow.’
Chapter Nine
Andrew knew someone came into his room in the early hours, that time when his prison dreams became more vivid. The worst was the first time he stared into the piss hole to watch fellow Englishmen pleading for someone to pull them out. Even worse was to be compelled to watch as the water rose and drowned them. And here he was, begging for mercy. Thank God for Rosie’s gentle hand on his arm.
Over breakfast, he could tell from her tired eyes that his late-night disturbances were keeping her from sleep. ‘I am so sorry.’
‘No need for apology,’ she told him, then soothed his heart. ‘There is so little we landlubbers can do to comprehend even a fraction of your burden. You are saving us from a tyrant. That is sufficient for me.’ She surprised him then, and perhaps herself. ‘No, it is not sufficient! I… I…worry for you.’ She hesitated, then continued, ‘I truly do.’
The day was surprisingly balmy for December in Devon. Endicott was less than a half mile away, looking not at all like the wintry village with icy streets which formed his first view. ‘It’s not precisely the Mediterranean, but I am pleasantly surprised,’ he told Rosie as they walked along slowly.
He probably hadn’t fooled her when he announced that he would keep a slow pace because she was short. He had already watched her bustling about the kitchen to recognize a woman of great energy.Heneeded the slow pace.
He hadn’t fooled her at all. Partway there, when he wanted so badly to rest, she stopped and pointed down at a smooth path. ‘Rough ground,’ she lied. ‘Let me take your arm, please.’
He offered it gladly, and she steadied him.
They stopped twice more, once on her pretense that she had a pebble in her shoe. The other time when she stopped, he said, ‘Rosie Harte, you are walking slowly, taking my arm and complaining of pebbles, but I am on to you. You are no deceiver.’
She gave him a wide-eyed, innocent look, then laughed. ‘Andrew Hadfield, there is no harm in taking care of you, and so I shall.’
What could he say to that?
