Page 46

“Mr. Langworthy explains all,” said Mrs. Barstow patiently.

She patted Mrs. Barbary’s arm so that the woman did not spring up again and then plucked away the cloth they had given her and passed it to Molly.

“Hold this to your head, dear.” When they were settled, she resumed.

“I will read you exactly what he says. ‘Harry astonishingly claims he made his own way to Portsmouth, riding outside on the coach—’” (a muffled whimper from Mrs. Barbary) “‘—and then made himself useful at both the inn and the dockyards, doing whatever odd jobs came to hand. Here he ran across a Mr. Stolles, a man already known to me because we are both due to sail in a matter of days on the Gazelle , he as surgeon and I as second lieutenant. It happens that the Gazelle’s cabin boy has unfortunately succumbed to the measles, and Stolles instantly recruited Harry as a most enthusiastic replacement. I’m afraid I am popular with neither Stolles nor Harry at the moment because, no sooner did Harry tell me all this, than I insisted his mother must be informed of his whereabouts.

“‘Dear Mrs. Barstow, will you take this task upon you? I know you will say yes, but I had better remind you that if Harry’s mother commands him to return to Iffley, I can pay his fare, but he will again be traveling alone, as neither Stolles nor I can leave Portsmouth at this juncture.

If, in the unlikely case she approves of his going to sea, I will of course keep an eye on him, but I cannot promise there will not be times of danger and possible injury or worse.

He would not be the youngest boy who ever served, if you can believe it, and in his favor he has always been as clever as some twice his age.

“‘Please reply as soon as possible. In the meantime, I have housed Harry with friends, and I have made it clear to him that, should he abuse their hospitality, I will put him on the first coach home and not wait for an answer.’”

Calmly Mrs. Barstow folded the letter, and all eyes turned to Mrs. Barbary.

Sarah was not the only one who expected the decision to be instant, after the woman’s (understandable) fears and protests, but it was not.

Perhaps it was the idea of Harry traveling back alone which gave her pause, for she perched on the stool now, silent, mouth working wordlessly.

Sarah knew one thing: if Harry been her own son, she would have fetched him back herself, even if she had to beg, borrow or steal to do so.

Harry was younger than Gordy, for heaven’s sake!

How could he be a cabin boy, even under the protection of Mr. Langworthy?

Sebastian Barstow had been twelve when he first went to sea, and Sarah knew Mrs. Barstow had thought even that age too young.

If Harry had survived his trip to Portsmouth and a day fending for himself, it was a miracle, not proof he should embark on a naval career!

Indeed, had Harry Barbary ever been on so much as a raft on the Thames?

But if Harry had inherited unreliability from his father, perhaps from his mother came the gift for surprise.

For contrary to Sarah’s expectations, Mrs. Barbary’s demeanor underwent a definite change.

After all, she had not been the recipient of village charity for over a decade without learning a thing or two about how to make the most of her benefactors’ generosity.

“I would not want the boy to have to come back all by himself,” she said at last.

“Would you want to go and fetch him, then?” asked Mrs. Barstow, bemused.

“Me fetch him?” wondered Harry’s mother.

“And how would I do that, with all my little ones? No’m.

I only meant I’ll be beside myself the whole time.

To think of that little boy by himself on the outside of a coach, at the mercy of wind and rain and cold and highwaymen and kidnappers! Ah! It will be the death of me.”

“If only we knew someone else in Portsmouth we could ask to accompany him,” Mrs. Barstow said.

“No, no—I wouldn’t want him with a stranger!

” protested Mrs. Barbary, as if Harry had not just spent the last few days among strangers.

“I would want him brought back by friends! Friends who could be trusted.” With that she turned suddenly to address Sarah, her hands clasped to her bosom.

“Friends like you, Mrs. Sebastian! You know both my Harry and Mr. Langworthy. It should be you to go to Portsmouth for my boy.”

“I?”

“It is owing to you, you know, that my Harry ever made the acquaintance of this navy man and got such ideas in his head,” sighed Mrs. Barbary.

“He told me so. It’s always been you Barstows.

Teaching him to read and figure. Puffing him up, like—like—I don’t know.

Like he could be somebody. If Harry has done this, you should feel it was your doing. Only please go, Missus. Please .”

It need not be recorded here, the fussing and discussion and back-and-forthing which followed.

It was not that Sarah was persuaded to accept responsibility for what Harry had done, and she doubted Mrs. Barbary even believed half of what she said.

But neither did Sarah believe the burden laid upon her was altogether false.

She had effected the introduction, after all, instead of telling Harry to go away and leave the gentleman alone.

No. If anything, Sarah resisted the demand to go and fetch Harry Barbary because she did not trust herself.

You secretly desire this excuse to see Mr. Langworthy again.

It was true.

She wanted to see him again. Of course she did. Though she had told herself he had gone forever from her life, hope refused to be extinguished. It was mortifying, but there it was. Given another chance to steal a moment with him, how could she possibly refuse?

Mrs. Barstow had her own wishes to consult. The news that Mr. Langworthy had found a berth and would be sailing so soon into unknown dangers, possibly never to return—!

“You must go, Sarah,” she urged. “As soon as the coach for Newbury goes tomorrow. You can take Frances with you, and I am certain my dear cousin Lord Dere would be willing to pay for the trip.” Her opinion settled matters, silencing Sarah’s feeble objections and filling Frances with glee.

It also succeeded in dislodging Mrs. Barbary and the little Barbarys from the Iffley Cottage kitchen before the birch sap was ruined.

Only when they were gone, and a note had been dispatched to Perryfield, did Mrs. Barstow add, “And you will deliver a message to Mr. Langworthy from me when you see him, Sarah, if you please. I would have said it myself, but he left in such a hurry and under such a cloud.”

“What message would that be, madam?”

She lifted her chin. “That I wish, whenever he is on shore, he will consider Iffley Cottage his home. He never sounded as if his uncle was glad to see him, and as long as he is not married—”

“Wherever would we put him, Mama?” demanded Frances. “I like him as much as the rest of you do, but honestly! ”

Her mother waved this away. “We can work out the details later, if we ever need to. The important thing is that he know it. That he has a home. You must tell him, Sarah.”

“Perhaps you should write it down,” her daughter-in-law suggested, coloring at the idea of making this earnest offer to him. It would be as good as begging him to come back to them!

But Mrs. Barstow rose from the desk and took hold of Sarah’s arms. “No—please. Please tell him, Sarah. I know you—it’s different for mothers, I suppose—but not a cold letter!

It was so lovely to have him here—like having a piece of Sebastian back.

Or another piece, I should say, for of course you are a piece, and darling Bash is another.

But Mr. Langworthy had to leave so abruptly, and I suppose I am being silly, but—in a way it’s like losing Sebastian all over again.

Oh, there—I’ve made you cry too. I’m sorry!

But how I would hate for something to happen to him without my having said what I could.

You will tell him, won’t you? For my sake? ”