Page 83 of Unlikely Heroes
“We did our duty, sir.”
Chapter Thirty-seven
Meridee Six had always thought of herself as a patient person. Even one of her sisters, in a less-then-diplomatic moment, had remarked that Meridee was a wise spinster to not let herself be caught in endless regret, but to wait patiently upon the hand of the Lord. Meridee had nothing in particular against the hand of the Lord, but this was Able Six she was dwelling upon, her lover, father of her son and the tiny baby making its presence known as Meridee puked regularly every morning. Maybe it was best not to think ofthat.
Her lot might have been easier, if Ben hadn’t been a genius. He was not a child to be distracted by a toy, or even a rout cake, although he did relish his meals. All she knew to do was cuddle him and try to answer his questions.
“Mama, where is Papa?”
“Son, he and the Rats and your great grandpapa are sailing somewhere near Spain.”
“Is Napoleon Bonaparte, that upstart, responsible for Papa’s absence?”
“I fear he is, Ben. Papa is keeping us safe from him.”
This brought a sigh from the boy on her lap. “I want Papa here.”
“My love, so do 1.”
Able had told her that sailing to Spain was usually a nine-day journey. Dropping off the count would be accomplished in a dark evening, and then there would be nine days back to Portsmouth. TheMercuryhad left Portsmouth with good winds on October 12, which would put the little yacht inshore by October 21, off the coast of Spain.
“Durable Six, you should have been home by All Hallows Eve,” Meridee growled at the calendar in the kitchen. “It is now November 6 and I won’t stand for it.”
All that declaration earned her this morning was raised eyebrows from Mrs. Perry, who had the effrontery to take her by the arm, sit her down at the kitchen table and hand her a mug of tea. When Meridee burst into noisy tears, Mrs. Perry had the further effrontery to hold her close and let her cry it out, all the while smoothing her hair, and humming low in her throat.
“I don’t mean to be a child about this,” Meridee said when the bout of tears ended. With a watery smile, she took the offered handkerchief. “You must be thoroughly tired of me, Mrs. Perry.”
“Hardly! I am worried, too,” her housekeeper said. “Don’t ever forget that I knew Able years before you did. I watched him turn into someone unique and special, someone finally given the…the privilege of believing in himself.” Mrs. Perry looked into that middle distance just beyond the walls of the kitchen. “Sailors come and go, but he was…is…the best of the lot.”
“I want him home,” Meridee said softly.
She kept herself busy all day, which was never hard. If only she didn’t keep stopping to listen for…what? Mrs. Perry was busy in the kitchen now with dinner. If she wanted a moment to herself, now was the time. She looked into the sitting room.
Through empty days without the reassurance that Able was just across the street, Junius Bolt proved to be a singular ally. Grace’s baby had become his grandchild, or as near as. Grace’s old retainer also adopted Ben, moving in smoothly and swiftly when the Count of Quintanar embraced Ben, set him down, and followed his son to sea. Junius knew what a little boy needed and provided books and blocks, but mainly a lap.
After some high-level conferencing in the kitchen, Junius also acquired Pegeen O’Malley to help entertain Ben, even though Mrs. Perry extracted a promise nearly written in blood that Pegeen would be hers for all meal preparation. Junius knew when to pick his fights.
Like most little fellows, genius or normal, Ben calmly accepted their attention as his due. “Pegeen is a useful sort,” he announced to his Mama one night, sounding as imperious as Prinny himself.
“I’m happy you feel that way,” Meridee said, holding in her smiles. “I hope you are useful to Pegeen.”
He nodded. “I let her stack blocks with me, even though her strong suit is not symmetry.” That matter-of-fact comment – one of many from Ben – went into a letter to Able after bedtime. She never mailed the letter with all of their son’s clever comments, only because she had no place to send it. He could read the pages when he returned.
Meridee peered in on the four of them, Pegeen holding Georgie, who watched Ben with the wide-eyed amazement of the very young, while Ben tied knots to Junius Bolt’s exacting specifications.
“I’m going out for air,” Meridee said softly. “Back soon.”
“No hurries or worries, love,” the old fellow said. “Pegeen and I are in command, aren’t we, my dear?”
Pegeen nodded. Meridee watched another moment, tucking into her own tender heart the scullery maid’s smile to hear someone call her “dear.” Life was built on such kindness.
First stop was Ezekiel Bartleby’s bakery. She used to think it was a coincidence that he always seemed to have her favorite sugar-sided rout cakes on hand whenever she dropped in. Mrs. Bartleby had set her straight. “He insists there must be rout cakes every day, and I do not argue.”
That was as close to real affection that the prickly Mrs. Bartleby ever came. Almost. A week ago Meridee told Mrs. Bartleby that there was a baby coming. “Outside of my house, I haven’t told anyone but you,” she whispered, and discovered that an anticipating lady never had a better friend than Mrs. Bartleby, the baker of little cakes.
Two treats later, Meridee continued her stroll toward the Gunwharf, but only part way, because she had promised her husband that she wouldn’t venture too far into the sinful cesspit that was Portsmouth. She pulled her cloak tighter against November’s chill, and stared at the wharf in the distance.
Open water soothed her, especially on a day like this, with just enough breeze to set the waves dancing. She found her favorite stone bench and sat there, happy to be by herself, if one discounted the baby inside, which she never did. “Papa will be home soon,” she told her littlest one with a pat.
