Page 60 of Unlikely Heroes
“Abuelo?” Ben asked. “Con placer.” He gave her a big-eyed look, the property of a toddler willing to bargain. She knew all the signs because he had practiced them on her before. “Maybe for a little more butter.”
Grace put her hand to her mouth and turned away to laugh. Meridee took it in stride; she knew her men. “Your request is not outrageous,” she told him as she buttered another slice. “This will have to last you until breakfast, however.”
Ben knew when to yield. He gave his mama a gracious nod, accepted the bread, and translated when necessary. When Mr. Ferrier arrived later, Ben was given a break, because, as Mr. Ferrier explained, many captured sailors – the enterprising ones, anyway – learned at least some Spanish and French while incarcerated. Eventually Ben retired to his favorite corner of the sitting room to play jackstraws, since Mr. Ferrier had matters in hand. Meridee watched him go, wondering what went on inside his brain. At least she knew he loved his mama.
“No one knows how Mary Carmichael ended up in Dumfries?” Mr. Ferrier asked, when he was abreast of the whole, fantastic chain of events that had landed a Spanish count in Able Six’s sitting room.
“No. Her father was…” The count cleared his throat and spoke to Ben in Spanish
“Harbormaster,” the little fellow replied, as he concentrated on jackstraws.
“Oh, I see,” Mr. Ferrier said. He leaned forward, “I know who you mean, Conde. His name was Thomas Carmichael. He has been dead for ten years at least.”
The count nodded. “An unpleasant man. I pleaded and begged but he would not allow Mary to …casarle conmigo.”
Meridee put her hand on the count’s sleeve, needing no translation. It may have been years, but all the pain was there still. She could see a young man of noble birth, begging to do the right and honorable thing, not just because it was honorable, but because he loved this odd, quirky, brilliant and lovely young woman.I would have wilted into a prune of an old maid, if I had not been allowed to marry the brilliant, quirky man I adore, she told herself.
She regarded her father-in-law with sympathy. “How unkind of him, Count,” Meridee said.
“Thomas Carmichael was not a kind man,” Mr. Ferrier told them. “I remember any number of my captains suffering ill-usage through the years. When he died, no one mourned.” He thought a moment in that deliberate way Nick had once commented upon:Mum, Mr. Ferrier keeps us hanging on his words.He deliberated with himself another moment. “I think his widow is still alive.”
“If we only knew where she lived,” the count said.
“I have no idea,” Mr. Ferrier admitted. “I do remember that she regained her maiden name after her husband died.” He shrugged. “Perhaps she didn’t care for him, either. Funny what a person remembers. Her first name was Amelia.”
It was a dead end, and they all knew it. “Would the current harbormaster have such information?” Meridee asked.
“I doubt it. There have been at least three harbormasters since then. After the reign of King Carmichael, Admiralty has been wisely shuffling those bureaucrats of the harbor here for a three-year term only. I can inquire tomorrow, if you wish. Amelia Amelia. What name do you use now?” he asked, more to himself than to the company at large.
The conversation changed to less highly charged subjects of English weather (too rainy) and food (too bland, compared to Spanish cuisine). Meridee could see that her father-in-law was tiring. So was Ben, who had made himself comfortable in her lap, done with jackstraws for the evening. Meridee wondered what her boy would do when her lap began to disappear.
Mr. Ferrier rose to take his leave. “I live across the street,” he explained to the count. He gave Meridee a casual nod, which warmed her heart. “Thanks to Mrs. Six, I am at liberty to come and go here, much like the Gunwharf Rats.” He laughed and held up his hand. “Count, I will explainthatto you tomorrow!”
“I know Gunwharf,” the Count said.
Grace followed him, carrying her sleeping baby. “Let me escort you to the foot of the stairs,” Mr. Ferrier said gallantly.
“We’re all tired,” Meridee said to her guest.
From the hall, she heard Mr. Ferrier shout, “That’s it!” Silence, a low murmur, then Grace gasped. Laughter followed. Meridee and the count looked at each other.
Mr. Ferrier ran into the sitting room, Grace beside him, wide-eyed. “Surely it can’t be,” she said at once.
“What?” Meridee asked. Ben sat up, rubbing his eyes.
“You go first,” Grace said.
“I remembered the last name of Master Carmichael’s widow. Munro. Amelia Munro.” Mr. Ferrier wore a huge smile. “Your turn, Grace.”
“I can barely believe this…”
“Grace. Mr. Ferrier. I am going to throttle you both in a moment if you do not…” Meridee threatened. Ben stared at her in amazement. “Mama! You?”
Barely able to contain herself, Grace handed Georgie to Mr. Ferrier, who juggled and floundered, then tucked the baby in safely. Grace sat on the arm of Meridee’s chair. “My dear, Amelia Munro lives four doors down from Sir B’s house.”
“You’re making sport of me,” Meridee said.
“No! I have no idea how long she has lived there.” She looked away for a moment collecting herself. “I was only there a little over a year.” Meridee held her hand, and Grace took a deep breath. “She’s a quiet lady. I do know she is from Scotland.”
