Page 62 of Unlikely Heroes
“I did. Sir B was my husband’s mentor and great friend. My husband’s name is Able Six and he is a sailing master who also teaches at St. Brendan’s.”
“Such a singular name,” Mrs. Munro said, as Meridee had hoped she would.
“It is. He was born in a back alley in Dumfries, Scotland, the sixth foundling of the year, hence the name. The workhouse beadle named him Durable because he had survived a wintry night on the parish church steps, wrapped in a woman’s cloak.”
“Durable. That’s the name a man of Calvinist persuasion would wish on a baby,” Mrs. Munro said, with a touch of humor.
“Yes, isn’t it? There was one other item left with the infant,” Meridee continued, as her heart tried to crawl up her throat. “A prayer book with the name Mary in it.”
“A common name,” Mrs. Munro said, but she said it cautiously.
“Yes, it is. Mrs. Munro, did you happen to get a look at my husband? A good look?”
Mrs. Munro leaned back, her face thoughtful. Her smile threw ten or twenty years off her. “I did notice curly hair and a handsome face, but he turned to you immediately. He obviously cares for you.” Again Meridee heard that wistful tone.
“Did he look something like this man?”
From a pasteboard sleeve, Meridee took the little painting of the Count of Quintanar that Captain Rose had given to Able. She held it out to Mrs. Munro.
The widow of Portsmouth’s harbormaster slowly put her hand to her mouth. Her eyes widened and she took a deep breath, and another. “Where did you get this?” she demanded, then softened her tone. “I must know.” Softer still. “Ibegto know.”
“My husband was given this by a man named Captain Hector Rose of Trinity House.” Meridee put down all her cards. “The man in the painting is the Count of Quintanar, Francisco Domingo y Guzman. But you already know that, don’t you?”
Stunning silence fell over the sitting room. Mrs. Munro bowed her head just as the maid opened the door, pushing in a tea cart with sweets. The lady of the house waved her away and the door closed, to Ben’s disappointment. His shoulders drooped.
“The count is now the royal quartermaster of the Spanish navy,” Meridee continued. She watched Mrs. Munro’s color fade. She worried, but she pressed on. “He was sent to Portsmouth in 1775 to learn something about the Royal Navy’s method of bookkeeping.” Another deep breath of her own. “I believe that is where he met your daughter, Mary Carmichael.”
Mrs. Munro put her hands to her face and sobbed. Meridee and Grace exchanged glances. Grace put her baby down on the settee, whispered to Ben to watch him, and sat beside the widow, with Meridee on her other side. Meridee had something better than a sock from the mending basket this time. She pressed a cotton handkerchief in Mrs. Munro’s hand, and put her arm around her shoulder.
They gave her time to weep.What is she thinking?Meridee wondered.What does she know? Will she throw us out?She glanced at Ben, who was frowning. She gestured to him and he hurried to her side, resting his face in her lap. “It’s all right, my dear,” she whispered.
Now or never. When the widow’s tears subsided, Meridee kissed Ben. “Mrs. Munro, I believe this charming fellow beside you is your great-grandson.”
When not in tears, Amelia Munro was obviously a woman who knew how to keep her own council. Mr. Ferrier had said last night that Thomas Carmichael was a vain and boasting fellow, probably with a temper to match, the kind of flash temper, perhaps accompanied by harsh words, that could make someone, perhaps a wife, cautious.
Even then, Mrs. Munro surprised her. She dried her tears, straightened up, and held out her arms to Ben. “Young man, would you please sit on my lap?”
Ben looked at Meridee. She nodded, touched by Mrs. Munro’s generosity. “Go, son. There you are. We named him Benjamin Belvedere Six, after two of Able’s mentors and former captains.”
“Good names,” Mrs. Munro said. She peered around Ben to see his face. “Ben, until only a few minutes ago, I didn’t have a great grandson.” Her face clouded. “I didn’t even have a grandson. That would be your father.”
Ben considered the matter. Meridee knew he tugged at his right earlobe when he was in deeper thought than usual. He tugged a moment then leaned back against Mrs. Munro, whose arms circled him so naturally, as if she hugged great-grandchildren every day. “My father is a little large to sit on your lap,” Ben said, which made the widow laugh and say, “I expect he is.”
“Mrs. Six, please summon the tea cart for me again,” Mrs. Munro said. “I believe Ben would like some cakes, and possibly milk.”
“He would enjoy that, wouldn’t you, son?”
Meridee opened the door to see the maid right outside, frightened and unsure. “Did I do something wrong?” she whispered to Meridee.
“Not in the least,” Meridee replied. “We gave your mistress some surprising news, is all.”
In a few minutes, Ben was sitting at the card table with a napkin around his neck, eating tea cakes with considerable gusto. Mrs. Munro gathered Meridee and Grace close, her eyes on the little boy.
“My great-grandson doesn’t need to hear all this,” she said, her voice just above a whisper. “I never forgave my husband for driving that good man away. I begged him to yield and let them marry, but he wouldn’t hear of it.” She began to pick at the cotton square she clutched. “If you could only have seen the two of them together! They were in love. Everyone knew it. Mr. Carmichael chose not to believe it.”
Meridee leaned closer. “The count told us that Mary was unbelievably intelligent.”
“Aye, she was,” the widow said promptly, and sighed. “She never forgot any conversation, or anything she read.”
