Page 73 of Unlikely Heroes
Where was the curt and sometimes dismissive Captain Ogilvie? Able wondered about making some comment. He listened to the interlopers hanging about in his brain, heard nothing, and decided to say nothing. He opened the borrowed copy ofGargantua et Pantagruel, accustomed his brain to earlier French than he spoke, and spent a delightful hour digging around in Rabelais’s inventive brain.
He closed the volume with some satisfaction. Since Angus was snoring and therefore unavailable for conversation, Able tried something he hadn’t done before, just for fun:he decided to see if he could summon Rabelais.
Are you in there, Monsieur Rabelais?he inquired in his best classical French, and listened. Nothing, nothing, and then a faint, “Mas oui,except these oafs and mountebanks will not allow me any closer.”
Jealous, are we?he asked the usual possessors of his brain.Dog in the mangery? There is enough of me to go around. I like literature, too.
Really, Monsieur Six,at times you are a trial to scientists, came the reply from Lavoisier, who Able had thought would champion a fellow Frenchman, rather than bar him admission.
I suppose I am, Able thought.You see, gentlemen, everything interests me.
The silence inside his head was overwhelming. Able grinned, thinking he had offended all the brainy folk who inhabited his mind. Maybe they would go away and leave him in peace. The path seemed clearer, so he quietly thanked Rabelais for writing such a charming work, assured him he would read the other volumes eventually, and saidadieu.
He napped then, the pleasure of an imaginative book lulling him into slumber. The added bonus was dreaming about Meri, right down to how pretty her hair looked spread out on his pillow.Good God, Able, someone would think you have been on a twelve-month voyage,and not a mere overnight away from your wife, someone told him. It might have been Copernicus, a well-known prude.
When Able woke up, Angus Ogilvie regarded him with a frown. Hopefully, he hadn’t called out for Meri in his sleep or committed some other indiscretion. “Your eyes have an odd way of twitching behind your eyelids when you sleep,” Ogilvie said.
“Aye, they do,” he said, refusing to assume any defensive mode. “Meri said it used to bother her.”
“And it doesn’t now?”
“If it does, she hasn’t said,” Able said firmly, hoping this sounded like a conclusion.
It must have, because Ogilvie turned his attention the view outside. He wasn’t through, though. He faced Able again, his expression guarded, his words muted.
“D’ye think – tell me truly – if perhaps next year, I might ask Lady St. Anthony if I could visit her upon occasion? Discreetly, mind you.”
“Able, my love, any woman with eyes can see that Captain Ogilvie would like to pursue something permanent with Grace St. Anthony.”
Meri had him, as usual, and he admitted it. “I didn’t see it.” He stopped brushing her hair – excellent prelude for having his way with her after he returned from London – and kissed her shoulder. “Captain Ogilvie?”
At least he had the satisfaction of watching his rational, competent Meridee start to breathe more rapidly. He kissed her neck this time, and gleefully enjoyed seeing her respirations increase. “I have no skills in observation.”
She took the hairbrush from his hand. “You have others,” she informed him quite firmly. “We’re going to bed.” By the time she pulled back the coverlet, her robe was gone and her shift off one shoulder.
In the morning, Able regarded Grace St. Anthony seated across from him in the breakfast room, her eyes on her small son in her lap as she buttered a piece of toast. Oh, the competence of women! It pleased him to see how one thoroughly confirmed spinster could turn into a mother with four hands. She never spilled a drop of tea, never misplaced a toast crumb, and still kept up conversation with Meri as she patted a loose lock of hair back into place.
Pay attention, Able. They were both looking at him. “Yoo hoo, my love,” Meri said. “When do you sail?”
“Tomorrow.” Better lower the boom. Last night resting so comfortably in Meri’s arms hadn’t been the time to discuss war. “Between the three of us – and you, Georgie, of course – Mr. Pitt told me to return my father to Spain immediately.”
“I wish he could stay longer,” Meri said. “Have you told him yet?”
“I am going to do that after our breakfast.” He looked away from the ladies. “I’ve become fond of taking breakfast to him and … and just sitting with him while he eats.”
“Why must he leave so soon?” Grace asked.
“We here have overlooked something that a prime minister dare not do: The Count of Quintanar is the enemy. The fact that I am harboring him could land me in trouble. Some might question my loyalty.”
He heard no argument. “We’ve kept the matter so quiet,” was as close as she came to a protest.
“Mr. Pitt is concerned,” Able replied. They didn’t need to know about Angus Ogilvie’s major role in silencing two traitors to England’s cause only yesterday.
“I can understand, my love, but I don’t have to like it,” Meri said.
“Neither do I.” Able gave Meri his attention. “Forgive the short notice, but could you and Mrs. Perry concoct something special for dinner tonight? We’ll have Angus and Mr. Ferrier, Captain Ogilvie, and Headmaster Croker, if he feels well enough. And theMercurycrew, of course.” He smiled, thinking of Smitty. “I have already commissioned Smitty to escort Mrs. Munro here in Grace’s carriage, if Grace is agreeable to such a loan.”
“Completely agreeable,” Grace said. “I’m glad you invited Captain Ogilvie.”
