Page 14 of A Winter’s Romance

L ieutenant Colonel Nicholas Anstruther gripped the ship’s rail as another wave broke against the side, the cold, salty water soaking his greatcoat. Still it was better than being below decks. He was not a natural sailor and the pitching and tossing was far worse when confined to a crowded cabin. But what had he expected? The voyage from Lisbon was never the smoothest at this time of year. If he’d had the option, he’d have delayed his journey home until spring and calmer weather. But General Hill had insisted.

Nicholas chuckled. No wonder the general was nicknamed ‘Daddy Hill’; he took the welfare of his men very seriously.

‘Get home and sort out your estate, Colonel. You’ve barely recovered from your injuries at Bussaco.’

There wasn’t only his estate to deal with. When his solicitor had written to inform him that he was now guardian to a child he’d never met, his shock had been greater than when he’d been informed of his father’s death. At least, that had been expected, for his sire was well on in years. But guardian to a child ?

Nicholas shook his head.

What had Major Richard Wilson been thinking to put his daughter in the care of his one unmarried friend? There was only one conclusion – he must have been delirious when he’d added that stipulation to his will. To make matters worse, two years had passed since Richard had died at Vimeiro and this new responsibility had only just been brought to his attention. Nicholas grimaced. What had happened to the child? Was someone caring for her?

Nicholas groaned as the ship pitched to one side, but not solely because of the rough sea. What did he know about children? Nothing. His mouth twisted into a wry smile. Well, he was shortly about to find out.

Through the sheets of rain obscuring the view ahead, a welcome coastline gradually emerged. Steep green hillsides dotted with sheep gave way to dense stark woodland, whose bare branches indicated the advance of winter. In between, rugged rocky outcrops were interspersed with small sandy beaches.

This was England.

The opening of a large estuary appeared, filled with craft of all sizes, some at anchor and others preparing to set sail. A fortified castle loomed into view on a promontory guarding the entrance of the estuary. Nicholas heaved a sigh. Pendennis Castle, a sign his journey was near its end.

The ship’s rudder turned and the Lisbon packet’s prow veered towards the Carrick Roads, the name given to the busy estuary. The bustling quays of Falmouth Harbour were crowded with fishermen, traders, and sailors, their noise carrying over the choppy water. Nicholas watched as the ship’s crew skilfully lowered the sails and made ready to drop anchor. Soon he would be on dry land.

‘Colonel, I’ve got your things all ready to be taken off.’ The familiar voice of Penrose, his batman, broke Nicholas’ concentration and he turned to see his servant saluting. A seasoned campaigner, Penrose had readily agreed to escort Nicholas, his commanding officer, on his final journey home.

‘Thank you, Penrose, but there’s no need to salute any more. I’m almost a civilian now, or will be as soon as I resign my commission.’ He pointed to the nearing coastline. ‘You must be pleased to be back in the county of your birth.’

Penrose shrugged and scratched his chin. ‘Sorry, sir. I forgot. Old habits. Yes, might get a chance to visit my cousin. He lives hereabouts.’ The older man’s eyes squinted into the distance. ‘I see we’re docking at the King’s Arms Quay. You’ll need to get over to Green Bank, sir. The Royal Hotel there has a name for good accommodation and the mail coach leaves from there. I ’xpect you’ll be wanting to head for London or your estate pretty soon.’

‘Hmm, I might stay here a few days. I’m in no hurry to get back to Oxfordshire.’

Penrose cocked his head and sent his master a knowing look. ‘Don’t want ‘em to see your face?’

Nicholas’ hand automatically flew to the patch covering what had been his left eye.

‘I rather think that I need to accustom myself to dealing with the world with only one eye before I go hurling myself into estate business. Besides, there’s no family to speak of, so no-one to upset.’

‘You’ll manage, sir, I’m sure.’ The older man’s face lit up. ‘I know, sir. You should call on the governor of Pendennis Castle. ’

Nicholas frowned. ‘Now why should I do that?’

The last thing he wanted was to mix with military men boasting about their exploits now his own army career had been so abruptly cut short.

‘Governor Melvill was badly wounded out in India. Nearly died. Now he’s lieutenant general of Pendennis Castle. According to my cousin, he’s done a lot for soldiers who’ve been invalided out. He might be worth talking to … if you’re struggling like.’

Nicholas bit back the retort on the tip of his tongue. The fellow meant well. It would be unfair to reprimand him, especially as Penrose had stoically put up with his short temper ever since they’d departed Lisbon.

Nicholas’ fists curled and uncurled at his sides. Why, oh why had the French musket ball found only his eye and not killed him outright? How he hated his lack of sight, the scars, the pain, and the unwanted attention they brought. Yes, death would have been preferable to maiming. He was not good company.

Taking a deep breath, Nicholas replied, ‘Governor Melvill, you say? I’ll think on it. He sounds like an interesting man.’

After the mail packets were unloaded – the first items off the ship – the passengers and the rest of the cargo were taken ashore. It wasn’t long before Nicholas was ensconced in a cosy private parlour with a tankard of ale to hand and the promise of a tasty dinner to come. He gazed into the glowing coals of the fire, nursing his drink. It was good to be back on dry land. He should be rejoicing, not feeling morose. But he’d give anything to be on the next packet back to Lisbon.

How was he going to deal with the rest of his days? Already he was missing the camaraderie of army life, the excitement, and the danger. How could running an estate and looking after a child compete with that?

Absent-mindedly stroking his chin, rough with a day’s stubble – the sea had been too choppy for Penrose to attempt a shave that morning – Nicholas remembered that Penrose had recommended his nephew as a potential valet. It would be good to test the young man’s shaving skills when he turned up for an interview in the morning … that’s if he hadn’t been pressed into service on one of His Majesty’s ships in the meantime. According to the landlord, the press-gangs were always on the lookout for likely fellows in these parts.

Nicholas’ fingers wandered from his chin to the eye patch and the puckered skin surrounding it. The surgeon had reassured him that its appearance would improve given time.

Nicholas snorted. He hadn’t believed it then and he didn’t believe it now. His face, or at least half of it, was a mess. Still, he could have lost both eyes and been rendered totally blind. Now that would have been a disaster.

He slammed his tankard down on the table. There must be more to life than the army. If only he knew what it was.

He should have had a family of his own by now, but here he was, at the age of six and thirty still single and not a hope of attracting a wife. He’d left it too late.

Joining the army had been his way of dealing with rejection from the one female he’d plucked up courage to propose to. What had happened to Phoebe Travis? Probably married to a dull man and mother to lots of dull children. And she wouldn’t give him a second glance now, despite his honours and prize money. Looks had meant everything to her .

Nicholas took another appreciative swig from his tankard. The ale was rather good. His mind went back to Phoebe. It had merely been a youthful infatuation. His heart had not been injured, just his pride. He should have rejoiced at escaping parson’s noose. Instead, he’d rushed off in a fit of pique to join the army.

Purchasing a commission at the age of two and twenty was the best thing he’d done. He’d travelled to India, Germany, Denmark, and finally Portugal, his career mirroring that of his commander, Lieutenant General Viscount Wellington. Pity he didn’t have the influential familial connections that his commander had or perhaps he too would have been promoted to the same dizzy heights. Also a pity that he hadn’t followed Wellington’s lead in returning home and securing himself a wife. But he had achieved the rank of lieutenant colonel and had been looking forward to chasing Napoleon’s forces back into Spain.

Now, his army career was over. And no wife was waiting for him.

Nicholas gripped the tankard, his knuckles showing white, and drank until he’d drained the contents.

‘Miss Mortimer, I want a word with you in my office.’

A shiver of apprehension slithered down Jane’s spine. What had she done wrong now? Her stomach lurched. Had it been discovered that she was still teaching little Harriet, Meg, and Lucy?

No matter how hard she tried, she always seemed to upset Miss Pugh. It had been like that ever since she’d started working as a teacher at the Academy two years previously. Miss Fenwick, the deputy headmistress, had appointed her in Miss Pugh’s absence and, as far as Jane could tell, Miss Pugh had barely forgiven her deputy. Luckily for Jane, parents who wished for their daughters to be taught Latin and French were sufficient in number for her to keep her position … at least for now.

Jane’s skill in these languages was one of the few benefits of being a scholar’s daughter; if only her father had spent as much time on his accounts and remaining solvent.

‘Yes, Miss Pugh?’ Jane stood in front of Miss Pugh’s desk, feeling very much like a pupil herself.

‘Take a seat.’ Miss Pugh gestured to a chair without looking up.

Jane sat down.

Surely if this was her dismissal, she wouldn’t have been told to sit.

After a few minutes, Miss Pugh set her pen down, removed her glasses, and looked over the desk at Jane. Her lips parted, revealing prominent teeth. Jane was reminded of a malevolent rabbit. Shockingly, Miss Pugh was smiling.

‘You have no doubt heard that the child, Meg Wilson, has been notified by her late father’s solicitor that her guardian has been found?’

Jane nodded. Where was this leading?

‘I’m very keen to keep the child here,’ said Miss Pugh.

Jane forced a smile and nodded again. So that was what the wily termagant was worried about.

‘I thought perhaps that, as you seem to be close to the child, you would be able to explain to her guardian how well she is doing, and how she would benefit by remaining here.’

‘Surely, that would be better coming from you, Miss Pugh. After all, you are the headmistress.’

Jane held her breath. It wasn’t often that she stood up to Miss Pugh .

A sound came out of Miss Pugh’s mouth. A strangled form of laughter.

‘But you know her rather better. Yes, I think when the gentleman arrives I will greet him, of course, but I will leave it to you to show him the school and let him know the comfort as well as the learning that his ward enjoys here.’

Jane frowned. Show him the attic dormitory where Meg was housed? That would impress no-one.

Before she could reply, Miss Pugh spoke again.

‘Of course, I’ve arranged for little Meg to be moved to one of the bedchambers on the first floor. The one with the fireplace and the rather pleasant view.’ Her steely eyes narrowed. ‘I’m determined to recoup, at the very least, all the charges she has incurred in the interim since her father’s death. And I needn’t point out that if Meg is removed from our care, I will hold you personally responsible.’ She paused. ‘Do we understand each other, Miss Mortimer?’

Jane swallowed. ‘Yes.’

Once outside the office, Jane’s shoulders slumped. What should she do? It wasn’t in her nature to lie. But if she told the truth about the conditions that Meg had really enjoyed, her guardian, if he was a decent man, would have no option but to remove his ward. And it would mean dismissal for her .

Jane walked blindly towards her classroom, her thoughts tangled by the predicament that Miss Pugh had placed her in. It was unlikely that she’d find another position as a teacher in Bath. She didn’t have funds to travel far in search of employment. And on top of everything, it was getting close to Christmas. If he should arrive before then, Meg’s prayers would be answered. But would hers?

Christmas had always been one of her favourite times of the year, but not anymore. The last two Christmases spent at the Academy had been grim affairs, despite her best efforts. She had done her utmost to make things pleasant for those girls who were forced to remain there over the festive period. There were always one or two pupils whose families did not want them, or who had no family at all, and Miss Pugh was happy to let them stay, on condition that they earned their keep by cleaning or sewing.

Jane shuddered. Without a home or a position, her Christmas would be even worse.

She pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and halted before the classroom door. Wiping her eyes, she took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and pasted a cheery smile on her face before greeting her pupils.

‘Now, girls, I thought we might decline some verbs, then afterwards, if the weather holds, we can go out for a walk.’