Читать книгу The Captain's Return - Elizabeth Bailey - Страница 9

In the small ground-floor room, Captain Colton lay as wakeful as his reluctant fictitious spouse. He had thrust the casement open as far as it would go, but it was still stuffy. The truckle bed could scarcely be said to accommodate his large frame with any degree of ease, but it was not this discomfort that was keeping sleep at bay. He had been in far worse situations, and had slept like the dead—or so Weem claimed. But he had much to ponder.

He had set himself a task that looked likely to prove well-nigh impossible. There was little of the Annabel he had been pursuing in the creature who had accorded him such resentful acceptance this day. Acceptance? It could scarce be called that! Had he not carried out his plan of campaign, she would certainly have thrown him out.

Whether he was glad of having done it was another question entirely. He had thought—naïvely, he was forced now to admit—that the feeling he had for Annabel would be with him unto death. Certainly the intervening years had done nothing to dim its strength.

But in ruthless honesty, Hal conceded that it had been dealt a severe blow by his first sight of the stranger Annabel this afternoon. Had he driven himself through battles and arduous campaigns in Spain and Portugal, holding her image sacred in a determined bid to win her in the end, only to find at the last that he had mistaken his own heart?

Where was the girl who had given herself to him in the torrid heat of mutual passion when last he had seen her? Had he carried a false picture of that night, building in his imagination upon the actuality so that he cherished an exaggerated memory? The sequel he remembered all too well.

Returning distraught to his lodgings, he had discovered orders to rejoin his regiment in Dover the next day, from there to embark at once for Spain. He had chased like a demented fool in the early hours to the Howes town residence, only to find the knocker off the door and the shutters up. A sleepy retainer had been roused at last to his furious banging, from whom he had learned that the master was gone out of town.

There had been nothing he could do but write—letter after letter. And for months nothing had come. He had thought that Annabel was punishing him by her silence. Until the letters came back in a package, unopened except for the first. That had been torn in two.

For a while Hal had given up. But when nearly a year had gone, his heart as desperate as ever, he had again written. And the letter came back with its seal intact. After that, he must now suppose, Annabel had been established here in this village. Had he written, she would probably not have received the letters.

From her hasty words today, he must suppose that she never had received them. Howes had played him false! No doubt leading Annabel to suppose that he had never made any attempt to contact her. Small wonder that she had reacted to his arrival with resentment.

He must show her the letters. At the least let her not think him basely treacherous.

Only that seed of doubt lingered. Hal wished he had not been so hasty. If Annabel no longer loved him—if he, let it be said, could not love the woman she had become—then of what use was his presence here? Perhaps he ought, after all, to pretend that he had been recalled to his regiment. It had been Annabel’s suggestion. Thrown at him in anger it was true, yet it had merit.

His arrival would establish her respectability in the neighbourhood. He would meet his obligations, whatever happened, with any financial aid Annabel thought proper. He might remain a few weeks, put on a pretence of familial harmony, and withdraw again with no harm done.

His hardened honesty gave him a mental kick. No harm done! Was there not harm enough in his throwing Annabel back into an episode in the past which he had no doubt at all she had done her best to forget? No, he must face it. He had compounded his original fault by appearing in this way.

On this painful thought, he began to drop asleep, a half-formed resolve in his mind to talk bluntly to Annabel the following day, and assure her that he intended to withdraw from the vicinity as soon as was decently possible.

In the morning, however, in search of hot water with which to wash and shave, he blundered sleepily into the large room, looking for the kitchen, dressed only in shirt and breeches. Here he encountered a small child playing on the floor.

The infant was dressed in a nightgown, and a pair of large blue eyes regarded him solemnly out of an adorable little face surrounded by a mass of curling locks that matched almost exactly the colour of his own.

Hal’s heart lurched. The babe! A girl? Devil take it, why had no one said it was a little girl? Something seemed to kick him in the chest. His daughter. This was his daughter!

The child continued to gaze up at him, the wooden horse and cart motionless under her still hands. She did not appear to be afraid. Hal dropped to his haunches.

“Hello! What’s your name?”

At that, she looked coyly, and one small hand reached up to her mouth, slipping a finger inside.

Before Hal could repeat his question, the gaunt woman who seemed to be Annabel’s only servant appeared in the doorway behind. Her gaze was anything but friendly, her tone sour.

“Her name’s Rebecca.”

The infant removed the finger from her mouth, and piped up. “Becca.”

“She can’t say it right, so we call her Becky mostly.”

Hal smiled at the child, and held out his hand. “How do you do, Becky?”

His daughter looked at the hand, and back up to his face. Then she scrambled up, and ran to embrace the dour maid’s legs.

“She’ll be shy of you to start with, sir,” volunteered the maid, leaning down to pick up the child.

Hal rose. “No doubt.”

The woman clearly knew his identity. And strongly disapproved of him, if he was any judge. He changed his tone to one of command.

“I’ll be glad of some hot water, if it isn’t too much trouble.”

Annabel’s clear voice spoke from the stairway to one side. “It is a great deal too much trouble. Janet has enough to do without fetching water. You’ll find a tin jug on the stove in the kitchen.”

She came down the stairs. Without glancing at Hal, she went to Janet and took Rebecca. “I’ll see to her. Has she had breakfast?”

“No, ma’am. There’s eggs on the boil. I’ll show the Captain his water, and then bring them in.”

Hal thanked her, and followed her through the doorway, glancing once at the little girl as he went. A warm glow filled his breast. Hardly did he notice the reflection that passed through the back of his mind. That the resolve he had made in the night had been abruptly shattered.

By the time Hal had performed his ablutions, there was no sign in the house of either Annabel or Rebecca. He was requested to sit at the table in the window where a cover had been set for him, and was regaled with eggs and ham by the grudging maid. She informed him, upon enquiry, that the mistress was gone out.

“To church perhaps?”

He received a look that would have been insolence in any subordinate of his. “It’ll be a while yet before she does that now, sir.”

It was said with meaning, and Hal gritted his teeth. The implication was plain. Now that her alleged husband was home, it would be thought odd indeed if the “Letts’ did not attend church as a family. Hal guessed that the Reverend Mr Hartwell would assume Annabel to be yet too much overcome by his arrival to be at service today. It struck him—not without a degree of self-blame—that it would have been hard indeed for Annabel to confront the inevitable gossip.

“Where is she then?” he asked of the maid.

Was that thin smile one of satisfaction? Had the wretched woman fathomed his discomfiture?

“She’ll be tilling the soil in the vegetable patch, sir.”

“What?’

“Or gathering up some produce. I’m not much for planting myself, but I think it’s too early for seeding.”

Hal did not bother to hide his feelings. He guessed it had been said to taunt him, but he was too upset to care. To what was Annabel reduced? To what depths of drudgery had he condemned her? Had she so little money at her disposal that she must forage for food like a pauper?

The meal abruptly turned his stomach, and he laid down his knife and fork with a clunk.

The maid tutted. “Waste not, want not.”

Hal gave her a look that had made strong men quail. “Don’t try me too far!”

The woman was not flustered. She gave him back look for look, placing her arms akimbo. “I know what I know, but I’ve stood by her, Captain.” She nodded at his plate. “And it might be otherwise in the army, but we don’t waste food. Not in this house!”

It was touch and go for an instant, but then Hal’s sense of humour came to the fore. He relaxed, smiling a little.

“I see that Mrs Lett is lucky to have you. What is your name?”

“Janet, sir. And you needn’t think you can worm your way around me!”

“I don’t,” said Hal cheerfully. “But if we’re to be at outs, Janet, let it be in the open.” He took up his knife and fork again. “However, you need not imagine I intend to add to your burden of work. I can fend for myself, and I’ll do my share as long as I’m here.”

It was plain that he had disconcerted the maid, but she eyed him suspiciously. “As long as when?”

“That I don’t yet know.”

For a moment or two, the woman was silent while Hal ate. Then she sniffed, losing some of her acerbity.

“We’ve a boy comes in to do the heavy work. Lazy he is, if you don’t watch him. But there’s no need I can see for you to bestir yourself.”

Hal gave her a grim look. “Think of me as you choose, Janet, but wait and learn.” He reached for the coffee-pot and filled his cup. “If you want to serve Mrs Lett, you can tell me just what the situation is as regards income.”

Janet drew herself up. “The mistress can tell you all you need to know.”

“But she won’t.”

“Then I won’t neither,” asserted Janet, folding her arms. “But if you want my say-so, that there curmudgeon has behaved shabby to her, and no mistake!”

Taking this to refer to old Mr Howes, Hal nodded as he dug a fork into a chunk of ham. “More shabbily than you are aware of, I suspect, Janet.”

He received a disparaging snort in reply. “And you’re the one to say so, Captain!”

Hal glanced up, his mouth full. “If you mean by that to imply that I have behaved shabbily, you’re telling me nothing I don’t already know.”

This was subjected to an even more comprehensive snort. “And I don’t doubt you’ll use the same means of turning her up sweet an’ all!”

With which, the woman turned towards the kitchen. Retreating upon the point of fraternising with the enemy? Hal stopped her nevertheless.

“One moment. Just where is this vegetable patch, if you please?”

He had not far to look. From the back entrance to End Cottage, one could go two ways. To the garden situated to one side where he had first encountered Annabel yesterday. Or, in the opposite direction, to a much larger area, fenced off high with hedging all around and entirely given over to planting.

Hal could see several fruit trees, a collection of climbing peas or beans supported by a cane fretwork, and rows of beds, plentifully stocked with a variety of greenery. From lean times on the Peninsula, Hal was familiar with the look of certain growing vegetables. Many a Spanish farmer had he been obliged to compensate for the ravaging of his stocks by hungry troops. Often enough he had entered into negotiations with locals, haggling over a few straggly turnips to enhance a meagre broth.

It might have been these experiences that caused a surge of passionate indignation to rise up in him when he spied not only Annabel on her knees, but his little daughter too, jabbing into the earth with spade and fork.

“This is intolerable!”

Annabel jumped, quickly turning her head. The sight of Captain Colton’s large person posed threateningly in the middle of her kitchen garden threw a shaft of dismay into her breast. It was swiftly succeeded by a rise of that resentment which she had not yet had an opportunity to discharge.

She sat back on her haunches, lifting her chin, the fork poised in mid-air. “What is the matter? Are you shocked to see a gently bred female thus engaged? If you mean to remain here, you will have to accustom yourself to such sights.”

“I am shocked to realise the extent of your father’s malice. That he should have condemned you to this!” Hal swept an arc with his hand that was meant to encompass the whole of her life.

“Instead of exposing me to the rigours of following the drum with a campaigning army?” countered Annabel. “Between you, I had little to choose.”

Hal compressed his lips upon a sharp retort. It had not been his intention to provoke her. Instead, he glanced to where Rebecca, with concentrated attention, had returned to her task of shovelling earth from a growing hole. A pink tongue protruded between her lips as she hefted the spade, which was over-large for her small hands, and dribbled the small load it contained on to a pile to one side of the bed being worked.

Her errant father’s disapproval was not lost on Annabel. Her voice took on sarcasm. “Child labour. It is never too early to start when one’s future is going to depend upon one’s own efforts.”

She received a look that chilled her, and his tone was gruff. “That was uncalled for.”

Annabel felt herself falling into remorse, and quickly rallied. “As was your untimely appearance upon the scene in the guise of my dead husband.”

Hal toyed with the tempting notion of dragging her up from the grass where she sat and shaking her until the teeth rattled in her head. That, or turning abruptly from her and kicking the dust of this place from his heels! Regretfully, either course was ineligible. He knew he had bought into this, and must take the consequences. It would not help to give rein to his unruly temper. He drew in his horns.

“When you are free, I would appreciate an opportunity to discuss our situation.”

“Your situation. It has been none of my creating.”

“Devil take it, Annabel, come down off your high ropes! May we not call a truce?”

The exasperation in his voice had startled Rebecca into dropping her shovel. She began instantly to cry.

“Now see what you’ve done!”

But Annabel’s attention shifted quickly to her daughter. It had not been, she at once guessed, the loud voice that had upset the child, but the consequent ruin of her careful efforts. Rebecca was notoriously sensitive concerning any little task she undertook. She would tolerate neither interference nor destruction in any part of what she had achieved.

The earth had scattered, spoiling the neatness of her arrangements. It did not matter that her own unsteady hand had left a trail between the hole and the dirt pile, for that was part of the pattern. But her complaints, which were largely unintelligible through her sobs, evidently encompassed that area which had been dirtied by the little accident, for her small fists were beating at the ground.

“Come now, Becky, that is enough!” said Annabel with authority. “See, I will clean it for you, and it will be as good as ever.”