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She was hard put to define his expression then. She could have sworn there was something close to gratitude in his eyes, as though he was pleased she cared enough to ask such a forwards question.
‘Apart from eight-year-old boys, you’re the first person who ever asked.’
‘I’m curious.’
‘I’ll show you later. There’s a leather contraption that crosses my chest and anchors to my neck.’ As she watched, he tilted his head, pulled at his neckcloth and exposed a thin strap. ‘See? If ever my steward is gone or busy, you might have to help me get out of it. Are you any good at tying neckcloths?’
‘I’ve tied a few,’ she said.
‘Good. You might have to tie more. Beyond that, I’m not too helpless.’
‘Helpless is not a word I would ever use in the same breath with your admiralness.’
‘What a relief that is, Mrs P,’ he said. ‘Where were we?’
‘Something about you?’
‘Ah, yes. I was born forty-five years ago in Bristol. My father was a successful barrister who could not understand why I wanted to go to sea. He made arrangements and I shipped aboard as a young gentleman at the age of ten. My older sisters are Frances—I call her Fan, or Fannie—and Dora, who follows where Fannie leads. Both married well and both have outlived their husbands, which means I am ripe for meddling from them.’ He shuddered elaborately.
‘Any interesting avocations, now that you are retired?’
‘Not yet. Mrs Paul, your eyelids are drooping.’ He stood up. ‘I will retire now and leave you to your chamber. Do you think nine of the clock tomorrow morning is too early to bother the vicar at St Andrew’s?’
‘I should think not.’ She looked up at him, a frown on her face. ‘You don’t have to go through with this, you know.’
‘I believe I do.’ He bent down then, and she thought for one moment he was going to kiss her. Instead, he rubbed his cheek against hers, and she smiled to feel whiskers against her face. It had been so long. ‘Mrs Paul, you need help and I need a wife. I promise you I will cause you no anxiety or ever force myself on you without your utmost consent and enthusiasm, should you or I ever advance this marriage into something more … well, what … visceral. Is that plain enough?’
It was. She nodded. Then he did kiss her, but only her cheek.
‘Very well, then, Admiral. I will be an extraordinarily excellent wife.’
‘I rather thought so,’ he said as he went to the door and gave her a little bow. She laughed when he kissed his hook and blew in her direction, then left the room.
‘You are certainly an original,’ she said quietly. She sat at the table a few minutes longer, eating one of the remaining plums, then just looking at the food. It was only the smallest kind of stopgap between actual dinner and breakfast, but she had not seen so much food in front of her in years. ‘What a strange day this has been, Admiral,’ she whispered.
She didn’t sleep a wink, but hadn’t thought she would, considering the strangeness of her situation. She spent much of the night debating whether to tell her future husband that her married name was Daviess, but decided against it, as dawn broke. He knew her as Mrs Paul, and what difference could it make? She had resolved several years ago not to look back.
When the ‘tween-stairs girl made a fire in the grate and brought a can of hot water, Sally asked for a bath, hoping the admiral wouldn’t object to the added expense on his bill. When the tub and water came, she sank into it with pleasure.
She left the tub after the water cooled. With a towel wrapped around her, she pulled out the pasteboard folder from her valise and extracted her copy of the marriage lines to Andrew Daviess, and his death certificate, reading again the severe line: ‘Death by own hand.’ Poor, dear man. ‘Andrew, why didn’t you think it through one more time?’ she asked the document. ‘We could have emigrated to Canada, or even the United States.’
With a sigh, she dried herself off and stood a moment in front of the coal fire. The towel fell to the floor and she stood there naked until she felt capable of movement. She looked in the mirror, fingering her stretch marks and frowning over her ribs in high relief when she raised her arms. ‘Sally, you’ll eat better at Admiral Bright’s estate,’ she told her reflection. ‘You are just an empty sack now.’
She was in no mood to begin a marriage with someone she did not know, but there didn’t seem to be anything else to do. She dressed quickly, wishing she had a better garment for the occasion. She shook out a muslin dress from the valise, one she had worn many times, and took it and the pasteboard folder downstairs. She left the dress with the parlour maid, asking that someone iron it for her, then let herself out of the Drake.
It was still early; no one was about in the street except fishmongers and victuallers hauling kegs of food on wheelbarrows. From her life in Portsmouth as Andrew Daviess’s wife, she knew he had been efficient in his profession, even up to the shocking day he was accused by the Admiralty of felony and manslaughter in knowingly loading bad food aboard ships. In the months of suspended animation that followed, she had seen him shaking his head over and over at the venality of his superior, whom he suspected of doctoring the all-important and lucrative accounts to make the errors Andrew’s alone. He could prove nothing, of course, because his superior had moved too fast.
And finally Andrew could take it no longer, hanging himself from a beam in their carriage house, empty of horses since they could no longer afford them and pay a barrister, too. He left no note to her, but only one he had sent to the Lord Admiral proclaiming his innocence, even as his suicide seemed to mock his words.
Now the whole matter was over and done. She knew that by marrying the admiral, who had no idea what a kettle of fish he had inherited and with any luck never would, her life with Andrew Daviess was irrevocably over.
When she arrived at St Andrew’s, the vicar was concluding the earliest service. She approached him when he finished, explaining that in another hour, she and a gentleman would be returning with a special licence.
‘I am a widow, sir,’ she said, handing him the pasteboard folder. ‘Here are my earlier marriage lines and my late husband’s death certificate. Is there anything else you need from me?’
The old man took the folder and looked inside. ‘Sophia Paul Daviess, spinster from Dundrennan, Kirkcudbrightshire, Scotland, age twenty-two years, 1806’. He looked at Andrew’s death certificate, shaking his head, so she knew he had read the part about ‘Death by his own hand’. He handed the document back. ‘A sad affair, Mrs Daviess.’
‘It was.’
‘And now you are marrying again. I wish you all success, madam.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ She hesitated. ‘For reasons which you must appreciate, I have been using my maiden name, rather than my married name.’
He walked with her to the door. ‘I can imagine there has been some stigma to a suicide, Mrs Paul.’
If you only knew, she thought. ‘There has been,’ was all she said.
‘Those days appear to be ending. I’ll look forwards to seeing you again in an hour.’ The vicar held out his hand. ‘If you wish, I can enter this information in the registry right now, so you needn’t be reminded of it during this next wedding.’
It was precisely what she wanted. ‘Thank you, sir.’
As she returned to the Drake, she looked up to the first storey and saw the admiral looking out. He waved to her and she waved back, wondering how long he had been watching and if he had seen her leave the hotel.
When she came up the stairs to the first floor, he opened his door. ‘You gave me a fright, Mrs Paul, when I knocked on your door and you weren’t there. I reckoned you had gone the way of The Mouse, and that would have been more than my fragile esteem could manage.’
‘Oh, no, sir. I would not go back on my word, once given,’ she assured him.
‘I thought as much,’ he said, ‘especially after the ‘tween-stairs maid said you had left a dress belowdeck to be ironed.’ He thumped his chest with his hook, which made Sally smile. ‘What a relief.’
‘I went ahead to the church with my marriage lines and Andrew’s death certificate. I thought he might want to see them and perhaps record them. Such proved to be the case.’
‘So efficient, Mrs Paul,’ he murmured. ‘I shall be spoiled.’
Not so much efficient as ashamed for you to see that certificate, she thought. Oh, seek a lighter subject, Sally. ‘That’s it, sir. I will spoil you like my old ladies—prunes in massive amounts, thoroughly soaked for easy chewing, and at least a chapter a day of some improving literature such as, such as …’
‘I know: “The prevention of self-abuse during long sea voyages”,’ he joked, then held up his hand to ward off her open-mouthed, wide-eyed stare. ‘I do not joke, Mrs P! You would be amazed what do-gooders in the vicinity of the fleet think is important.’
She laughed out loud, then covered her mouth in embarrassment that she even knew what he was talking about.
‘I was a frigate captain then. I preserved a copy of that remarkable document and asked all my wardroom mates to sign it. The purser even added some salacious illustrations, so perhaps I will not let you see it until you are forty or fifty, at least.’
She couldn’t think of a single retort.
‘What? No witty comeback?’ There was no denying the triumph in his eyes.
‘Not to that, sir,’ she admitted. ‘Perhaps I will not read you improving chapters of anything.’
She was spared further embarrassment by the ‘tween-stairs maid, who brought her ironed dress upstairs and shyly handed it to her. Admiral Bright gave the little girl a few coins before she left.
Sally went into her own room and put on the dress, but not before wishing it would magically turn into a gown of magnificent proportions. Just as well it does not, she scolded herself as she attempted to button up the back. I don’t have the bosom to hold it up right now.
She also remembered why she hadn’t worn the dress in ages. By twisting around, she managed to do up the lower and upper buttons, but the ones in the middle were out of reach. She stood in silence, then realised there was nothing to do but enlist the admiral. She knocked on the door. She felt the blush leap to her face, even as she scolded herself for such missish behaviour, considering that in less than an hour, she was going to marry this man.
‘Admiral, can you possibly tackle the buttons in the middle of this dratted dress? Either that, or call back the ‘tween-stairs maid.’ She looked at his hook and frowned. ‘Oh, dear. I forgot.’
Admiral Bright was obviously made of sterner stuff. He came into her room and closed the door behind him. ‘What? You think I cannot accomplish this simple task? Who on earth do you think buttons my trousers every morning? Turn around and prepare to be amazed.’
She did as he said, her cheeks on fire. He pressed the flat curve on his hook against her back to anchor the fabric, then pushed each button through, his knuckles light against her bare skin.
‘No applause needed,’ he said. ‘Turn around and stop being so embarrassed.’
She did as he said. ‘You’re going to wish The Mouse had showed up.’
‘No, indeed, madam. I have something for you, and you will have to manage this yourself.’
He took a small sack out of his coat front and handed it to her. ‘I got this in India. It should look especially nice against that light blue fabric.’
Holding her breath, Sally took out a gold chain with a single ruby on it.
‘You can breathe, Mrs Paul,’ he advised. She could tell by his voice how pleased he was with her reaction.
‘I wish I had something for you,’ she whispered as she turned the necklace over in her hand.
‘Considering that this time yesterday, you thought you were going to be tending an old lady with skinflint relatives, I am hardly surprised. Come, come. Put it on. I can’t help you with the clasp.’
She did as he said, clasping the fiery little gem about her neck where it hung against her breast bone. Suddenly, the old dress didn’t seem so ordinary. She couldn’t even feel the place in her shoes where the leather had worn through.
‘It’s not very big, but I always admired the fire in that little package,’ he told her, half in apology, partly in pride.
She could feel the admiral surveying her, and she raised her chin a little higher, convinced she could pass any muster, short of a presentation at court. All because of a little ruby necklace. She touched it, then looked at Admiral Bright. ‘You deserve someone far more exciting than me,’ she said.
He surprised her by not uttering a single witticism, he whom she already knew possessed many. ‘You’ll do, Sally Paul,’ he said gruffly and offered her his arm. ‘Let’s get spliced. A ruby is small potatoes, compared to the favour you’re doing me of shielding me for evermore from my sisters!’
Chapter Four
They were married at half past nine in St Andrew’s Church, where some three centuries earlier, and under different ecclesiastical management, Catherine of Aragon had knelt after a long sea voyage and offered thanks for safe passage. Sally could appreciate the mood and the moment. When the vicar pronounced them husband and wife, she felt a gentle mantle of protection cover her to replace the shawl of lead she had been carrying around for years. She couldn’t have explained the feeling to anyone, and she doubted the admiral would understand. She was too shy to expand on it, so she kept the moment to herself.
Truth to tell, she hoped for better success than Catherine of Aragon. After the brief ceremony, when the young vicar chatted a bit mindlessly— obviously he hadn’t married a couple with so little fanfare before—Sally couldn’t help but think of her Catholic Majesty, gone to England to marry one man, and ending up a scant few years later with his brother, Henry.
She mentioned it to the admiral over breakfast at the Drake. ‘Do you not see a parallel? You came here to marry The Mouse, and you ended up with the lady’s companion. Perhaps Catherine of Aragon started a trend.’
The admiral laughed. ‘If it’s a trend, it’s a slow-moving one.’ He leaned forwards over the buttered toast. ‘What should I call you? I’ve become fond of Mrs P, but now it’s Mrs B. And I had no idea your name was actually Sophia, which I rather like. How about it, Sophia Bright?’
She felt suddenly shy, as though everyone in the dining room was staring at the ring on her finger, which seemed to grow heavier and heavier until it nearly required a sling. ‘No one has ever called me Sophia, but I like it.’
‘Sophia, then. What about me? You really shouldn’t persist in calling me admiral. Seems a bit stodgy and you don’t look like a midshipman. Charles? Charlie?’
She thought about it. ‘I don’t think I know you well enough for “Charles”. Maybe I’ll call you “Mr Bright”, while I think about it.’
‘Fair enough.’ He peered more closely at the ring he had put on her finger in the church. ‘It’s a dashed plain ring.’ He slid it up her finger. ‘Rather too large. H’mm. What was good enough for The Mouse doesn’t quite work for you.’ He patted her hand. ‘You can think about my name, and I can think about that ring, Sophia.’
Now I am Sophia Bright, where only yesterday I was Sally Paul, she thought as she finished eating. No one will know me. While he spoke to the waiter, she looked over at her new husband with different eyes. There was no denying his air of command. Everything about him exuded confidence and she felt some envy.
He was certainly no Adonis; too many years had come and gone for that. His nose was straight and sharp, but his lips were the softest feature on his face. Such a ready smile, too. He reminded her of an uncle, long dead now, who could command a room by merely entering it. She began to feel a certain pride in her unexpected association with this man beside her. After the past five years of shame and humiliation, she almost didn’t recognise the emotion.
He had no qualms about gesturing with his hook. If he had lived with the thing since his lieutenant days, then it was second nature, and not something to hide. She looked around the dining room. No one was staring at him, but this was Plymouth, where seamen with parts missing were more common than in Bath, or Oxford. This is my husband, she wanted to say, she who barely knew him. He is mine. The idea was altogether intoxicating and it made her blush.
He had hired a post chaise for the ride home. ‘I … we … are only three miles from Plymouth proper. I suppose I shall get a carriage, and that will mean horses, with which I have scant acquaintance,’ he told her. ‘It’s going to be hard for me to cut a dashing figure atop a horse.’ He shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t know a good horse if it bit me … which it will, probably.’
Sally put her hand to her mouth to keep in the laugh. With a twinkle in his eyes, the admiral took her hand away. ‘It is a funny image, Sophia,’ he said. ‘Go ahead and laugh. I imagine years and years of midshipmen would love to see such a sight. And probably most of my captains, too.’
He fell silent then, as they drove inland for a mile, over the route she had taken on foot only yesterday. How odd, she thought. It seems like years ago already, when I was Sally Paul.
He was gazing intently out the window and she wondered why, until the ocean came in sight again and he sat back with a sigh. He misses it, she thought, even if it is only a matter of a few miles.
‘You miss the ocean, don’t you?’
He nodded. ‘I thought I would not. After I retired, I spent some weeks in Yorkshire, visiting an old shipmate far inland—well, I was hiding from Fannie and Dora. What a miserable time! Yes, I miss the ocean when I do not see it.’ He looked her in the eye. ‘Did you ever meet a bigger fool?’
‘Probably not,’ she replied, her voice soft, which made the admiral blush—something she doubted he did very often. ‘It it amazing what revelation comes out, after the ring goes on.’
‘I suppose you have deep, dark secrets, too,’ he told her, good humour in his voice, as if he could not imagine such a thing.
He had come closer to the mark than was comfortable, and she wished again she had told him her real married name. It was too late now. She would have to hope the matter would never come up. Sally returned some sort of nonsensical reply that she forgot as soon as it left her lips, but which must have satisfied the man. His gaze returned to the view out the chaise window.
‘I do have a confession,’ he said, as the post chaise slowed and turned into a lane which must have been lovely at one time, but which now was overgrown and rutted.
It can’t be worse than my omission, she thought. ‘I’m all a-tremble,’ she said, feeling like the biggest hypocrite who ever wore shoe leather.
He chuckled, and touched her knee with his hook. ‘Sophia, I promise you I do not have a harem in Baghdad—too far from the coast—or an evil twin locked in the attic.’ He didn’t quite meet her gaze. ‘You’ll see soon enough. How to put this? I didn’t precisely buy this property for the manor.’
He had timed his confession perfectly. The coachman slowed his horses even more on the last turn, and then the estate came into view. What probably should have been a graceful lawn sloping towards a bluff overlooking a sterling view of Plymouth Sound was a tangle of weeds and overgrown bushes.
The admiral was watching her expression, so Sally did her best to keep it entirely neutral. ‘It appears you could use an entire herd of sheep,’ she murmured. ‘And possibly an army equipped with scythes.’
She looked closer, towards the front door, and her eyes widened. She put her hand to her mouth in astonishment. Rising out of a clump of undergrowth worthy almost of the Amazon was a naked figure. ‘Good heavens,’ she managed. ‘Is that supposed to be Venus?’
‘Hard to say. You can’t see it from here, but she seems to be standing on what is a sea shell. Or maybe it is a cow patty,’ the admiral said. He coughed.
There she stood, one ill-proportioned hand modestly over her genitals. Sally looked closer, then blushed. The hand wasn’t over her privates as much as inside them. The statue’s mouth was open, and she appeared to be thinking naughty thoughts.
‘I think this might be Penelope, and her husband has been gone a long time,’ Sally said finally.
She didn’t dare look at the admiral, but she had no urge to continue staring at a statue so obviously occupied with business of a personal nature. She gulped. ‘A very long time.’
‘No doubt about it,’ the admiral said, and he sounded like he was strangling.
I don’t dare look at him, else I will fall on the floor in a fit of laughter, and then what will he think? Sally told herself. And then she couldn’t help herself. The laughter rolled out of its own accord and she clutched her sides. When she could finally bring herself to look at the admiral, he was wiping his eyes.
