Page 24 of Hearts at Home

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F rom his bedchamber window, Jack saw Adam Wagner leave his gig and horse in the care of a sleepy stable boy. The poor man had been called out in the night. Jack had woken the stable boy to harness the horse to the gig and made sure Adam had a good dose of coffee in him to help sober him up, then seen him off and gone back to sleep.

As he clattered down the stairs to breakfast, Jack wondered how the struggling mother and her babe had fared, and shuddered at the memory of the births he’d unavoidably seen in his years in the army. Even the easiest of them looked like hell to his male eyes.

Adam had just entered the kitchen. “From your grim visage I gather it was a difficult night,” Jack commented.

Adam favoured him with a brief summary of the night. Patient and mother lived, thank God. Adam didn’t go into detail, which meant Jack could enjoy the well-laden plate of eggs and bacon Adam’s housekeeper laid before him.

Interesting that most of Adam’s comments about the night concerned Miss Margaret Barlow, who was also attending the birth. The woman had clearly got under Adam’s skin.

“I hope the surgery is quiet today,” Adam said. “If I finish by noon, I’m back to bed.”

No doubt only after he emptied whatever bottles he had secreted in his bedroom. Adam was a good doctor, as Jack had cause to know since he’d saved Jack’s life. He was also a good man, even though he was attempting to drink himself to death.

“Do you have any plans?” Adam asked.

Jack had a tentative plan. Miss Hughes needed help, and he could give it to her. She wouldn’t hire him, of course. Didn’t have the money, probably, and too proud to ask for help, in any case. So, Jack was going to just waltz into the house and start working.

He laid out the problem for Adam. The dotty old man. The woman who was trying to run a business in a man’s world while looking after the house and her father. “I can help. Even with my useless arm, I can keep Hughes out of trouble, clean the house, put the kettle on, that sort of thing.” And see some more of Miss Hughes. Gwen. What a woman!

Adam sighed. It was obvious he disapproved, and Jack could guess some of the reasons. All Adam said, though, was, “Will they pay you?”

Jack wasn’t going to ask. He didn’t need the money. What he needed was something useful to do. He said so. “I’m not much use to you,” he pointed out. “I can’t stop you drinking yourself to death, and I’d make a lousy surgeon’s assistant.”

Adam’s face closed over at Jack’s reference to his drinking. Jack should know better than to keep prodding Adam about it, and in truth, it was none of Jack’s business if Adam wanted to drown himself from the inside out. But what a waste! Jack couldn’t help wanting to fix things.

“I’ll be off then,” he said.

Adam waved his cup in farewell, and Jack left him to his breakfast.

He strolled through the lower town considering ways to approach Miss Hughes without her turning him away. As the farrier’s cottage came into view, there she was. Gwen , his heart said. Stupid heart. What use would a magnificent woman like her have for a broken-down soldier, soon to be an ex-soldier, old before his time, beset by nightmares, with only one working arm, no job, and no idea where he was going or what he would do?

She was harnessing a horse to a little vehicle—something between a cart and a gig, with a gig seat in front and a small cart tray at the back. The frown on her face hastened his steps. She was worried, and he wanted to fix it.

“Good morning, Miss Hughes.”

She turned at his greeting, her eyes widening in surprise. “Captain Wrath!”

As an ex-cavalry man, he recognized the setup in the cart back of the vehicle—the farriers and blacksmiths in the army had carried larger versions of the little portable forge, and the other boxes undoubtedly carried the tools of Miss Hughes’s trade.

“Off to work?” he asked, trying to keep the disappointment out of his tone.

“Yes, if…” Relief spread across her face as a boy of about nine raced around the corner of the cottage and skidded to a stop in front of her.

She continued to look in the direction he came, welcome turning to puzzlement. “Is your mother far behind?” she asked the boy.

“Mam can’t come,” the boy reported. “Said to tell you she’s sorry, Miss Hughes, but Chrissie got too close to the fire, and her apron caught, and Mam’s had to take her to the doctor.”

Miss Hughes paled, her eyes widening. “I hope Chrissie is not too badly hurt,” she told the boy. “Does your mother need anything?”

“It’s not too bad, my Mam says. She dropped Chrissie in the rain barrel straight off,” he was backing away as he spoke. “I have to go back and watch the baby. Sorry, miss.” He took off the way he had come.

Miss Hughes nibbled at her lower lip, her eyes full of worry.

“Anything I can do to help?” Jack asked.

Hope lit her face, followed by rejection. “I do not know you, Captain Wrath,” she pointed out. True, but Jack was more and more certain that his heart knew hers. Which surely meant that her heart knew his?

He spread his unbound arm, palm facing her. “I am as you see,” he assured her. “A worn-out soldier, no longer fit for duty, and at a loose end. I came here with Dr. Wagner because I owed him my life and he needed someone to see him home. He will speak for me, if you ask him. But here I am, with nowhere I need to be and nothing to do, after a lifetime of being busy. Will you not let me help you?”

Her teeth worried at her lower lip again, which made it plump and full, and set his body to riot. Which was not what he was here for. He waited. He had said his piece.

He saw her jaw firm with decision a moment before she gave a single nod. She had made up her mind. “Very well, Captain Wrath. I need someone to stay with my father for the day. I have a full day of work today. Customers in town who have enough horses that they want me to come to them instead of them to me, and then the stables of the Duke of San Sebastian.

“I can’t afford to risk the work going to someone else, and I don’t have time to make other arrangements now that Mrs. Carr can’t come, so I am going to have to trust you. You were good with him yesterday.”

“I’ll keep him as calm as I can, stop him from wandering off, and clean him up if he messes himself,” Jack offered, as he obeyed her gesture, which beckoned him to follow her into the house.

“You have cared for someone like him before,” she guessed.

“Faithful Bridgeman. He was the superintendent of the orphanage where I grew up. His son Truth—I mentioned him yesterday—took over when old Faithful’s memory got too bad for him to continue. By the time I left, we older boys had been taking it in turns to care for the old man for several years.” By that time, Faithful had been barely able to speak except in grunts, and had forgotten everyone around him. Mr. Hughes was nowhere near as bad.

Miss Hughes seemed satisfied. She showed him the pantry, told him what her father liked to eat, and explained where to find clean clothes should the old man need them. “He is asleep, Captain Wrath. He sleeps a lot, but he might wake at any time. Please watch for him, lest he wanders off.”

Jack nodded. “I once tracked Faithful through Stamford in his nightshirt. I almost lost him altogether, because I stopped to put my trousers on. That was the last time I fell asleep on the job, and in my defence, I was only ten. I got him back safely, though.”

She awarded him a brief smile for the story, but the worry did not leave her eyes. “I will watch,” he promised. “And I will not let him wander off.”

* * *

Gwen could not believe she had left a stranger to care for her father. Something about Jack Wrath inspired trust, with his anecdotes and his eagerness to be of use. He had a calm way about him, too. Surely such a kind man could not be a villain?

Nevertheless, as she did her rounds, she worried. Was he still there? Had he got busy with something and left her father to his own devices? Had he stripped the house of anything valuable and taken off? How could she have been so rash. By noon, she could resist no longer. She would go home for a bite to eat before visiting the last customer in town and travelling on to the San Sebastian estate.

First, though, she took a little extra time and drove past the doctor’s surgery, so she could check what Dr. Wagner thought about his friend. She came away comforted. “He is a good man,” the doctor assured her, adding the odd codicil, “Except for his determination to fix anything—and anyone—he thinks is going wrong.” Gwen didn’t see how that could be a flaw in the man. She was glad of his help.

Back at her home, she soon found her father and Captain Wrath. All she had to do was follow the two voices singing in the kitchen—a somewhat bawdy song about a miller and his customer. Her father’s deep bass and Captain Wrath’s light tenor wound around one another to turn the silly lyrics into a thing of beauty. On impulse, she joined in the chorus.

“To me right ful la, my diddle diddle lay do,

Right ful, right ful ay.”

Captain Wrath turned to smile at her. “That was just what the song needed,” he observed. “An alto.”

“My Ellen,” Da said, smiling. Once again, he thought she was her mother. Gwen had given up arguing with him when he was like this. Captain Wrath put a bowl down in front of him—stew, which he was eating with a spoon. What a good idea! Gwen had been serving her father on a flat plate, and with a fork and knife. And where did the stew come from? Had Mrs. Carr sent it in apology? Which reminded Gwen that she would have to call by and see how Chrissie was. Poor Mrs. Carr was raising the three children on her own, for Carr had taken the King’s shilling rather than be arrested and tried when a political meeting he attended turned violent.

Captain Wrath had filled another bowl. “Are you ready for stew, Miss Hughes?” he asked. “I can make a pot of tea, too. The kettle has just boiled.”

“Thank you,” she said, taking a seat on the bench next to her father. Jack put the bowl in front of her. “What have you two men been up to today.”

Da was shovelling stew into his mouth. He spoke without waiting to finish the mouthful. “Jack tells stories,” he swallowed. “He went to the war.” He took another spoonful.

“Did he?” Gwen asked, at a loss for what else to say.

“Damn fool thing to do,” Da grumbled. “No good comes of going for a soldier. Thugs and villains.”

Gwen took a worried look at Captain Wrath to see if he was offended, but he grinned as he brought his own bowl to the table. All three of them with bowls and spoons, and bread they could tear with their fingers. Well, why not? It was not a formal dinner party.

“Ellen likes us to eat proper,” Da said to Captain Wrath in what might be intended as a whisper. He dipped his bread into the soup, scooped soup on to it and lifted it up, dripping, to shove into his mouth.

“It’s not the officers’ mess,” Captain Wrath whispered back. “Proper doesn’t count if it’s not the officers’ mess.” He nudged the bowl toward Da, so more of the soup would fall into the bowl while the bread was being transferred to Da’s mouth. Da had a towel tied round his neck, so the rest would at least be easy to clean up. Another good idea.

Father accepted Captain Wrath’s explanation, and continued spooning up his stew, while Captain Wrath gifted Gwen with a twinkling smile.

“How has your morning been?” he asked. The kettle whistled again, and he got up to pour the water into the teapot, then brought it, a cup, and a jug of milk to her place at the table. Gwen had not been waited on since she could toddle. It felt both wonderful and slightly uncomfortable. Shouldn’t it be her job to serve the food and the tea? But if it did not bother Captain Wrath, why shouldn’t she enjoy it?

“Is all well?” Captain Wrath asked.

Gwen collected herself and answered his question. “I have had a busy morning, thank you. Everything is well.” What was it about Captain Wrath that scattered her thoughts? “How have you and Da enjoyed yourself?”

“I think it has been a good morning for him,” Captain Wrath confided. “He has been talking well, and has accepted me, though he keeps forgetting who I am.”

At that moment, Da pushed back from the table and glared at them both. “What are you doing in my house?” he demanded. “Who are you?”

Gwen tensed. Last time he had suddenly had no memory of her at all, he taken offense at having a strange woman in his kitchen and had chased her from the house brandishing a broom.

“I am Jack,” Captain Wrath said, “And this is Gwen. You may remember you invited us to a meal with you.”

Da frowned, but didn’t challenge Captain Wrath’s statement. He pointed. “Something wrong with your arm?”

“Bullet in the shoulder,” Captain Wrath said. “Dr. Wagner says it damaged the nerves and muscles. Now the arm is pretty much just a useless lump of meat.”

Da nodded thoughtfully. “Poacher, was it? Or highwaymen. Not a duel, I hope.”

“No,” Captain Wrath said. “Not a duel.”

“Good,” Da said. He bent over to take a closer look. “No movement at all?”

Jack wiggled the fingers that poked out of the sling. “A little.”

“Hmmm.” Da frowned in thought. “A good sign. Keep it bound so you don’t bang it into things. But make sure you get your wife to exercise it twice a day. Massage, too. Ellen can give you some of my liniment to use. Do the dishes, Ellen, and see this stranger out. I’m going to have a little lie down.”

Gwen was back to Ellen again. She began to get up to see that her father made it up to bed, but Captain Wrath gestured for her to sit. “I’ll do it,” he said. “You finish your meal. I know you have a busy afternoon ahead of you.”

Gwen should have insisted. After all, it was her job to look after her own father. But it was such a blissful luxury to sit and eat a meal on her own; to finish a cup of tea while it was still hot. She had to admit that Captain Wrath was handling her Da well. Better, in fact, than she did.

The least she could do was offer him the liniment Da mentioned, and help him exercise his arm. Unless he had a wife. He had not mentioned a wife.