Page 42 of Miss Whittier Makes a List
His jaw dropped as he fell asleep in midsentence, leaning forward until his head touched his knees. With a sigh, Hannah pushed him back against the side of the liner.“Thee is the dunce,Adam.”she said,even though he was past hearing.“I have the dispatch now!”She wished for the hundredth time thatshe could have convinced Adam tolet them stay with Mr. Futtrell. But that would have been futile, too, she realized as the liner swayed up to a mansion overlooking Lisbon’s magnificent harbor. Blasted with exhaustion himself, Mr.Futtrellhad merely waved Adam on and stepped aside for the consul when he came on board theMaria laRainhato retrieve these errant children from Yankeeland.
“But howisthee, Captain Spark?”she asked the ceiling in the consulate. The question energized her and she sat up and pawed through the simple muslin dresses on the bed. The sooner she finished wth the questions, the sooner she could petition a visit to the hospital where Spark had been taken. She had to returnthe dispatch from theBergeron.
Don’t let thee get a swelled head, Captain Spark, she thought as she pulled on a primrose-colored muslin cut a bit lower than she liked, butotherwiseacceptable. I merelymeanto seethat thee is taken care of, and that the dispatch is safe. Then it would suit me fineto be on a ship bound for home.
Sheburst into tears,wonderingwhy it did not suit her fine, and decided that her nerveswere as tangled as her hair andneededa good comb out. She only cried harder, remembering the time Captain Spark had so gently combed her hairwhen she was stricken withsunburn and couldnot move. And nowhe is lying somewhere in this dirty cityfullof shifty charactersofMediterraneanextraction, and I am not with him!
She slapped cool water onher face and lay down until the moment passed, then brushed her unruly hair until her shoulders ached. She was tying back the gleaming mass of hair when the consul’s wife returned.
“Miss Whittier, the consul would really like to speak to you.”
“Very well,”Hannah sighed.
Adam was stilldeep in exhausted slumber and could not be wakened, but that was no reason for the consul not to question her again about the entire escapade, beginning with the hailing of theMolly Claridgeand the impressment. She gave the same answers to the same questions, only this time a clerk tookdownevery word. His pen scratched and grated on her nerves until she wanted to swing from the chandeliers, babbling gibberish.
When she finished again, two more men came into the room and were introced as the incoming and outgoing ambassadors toHolland. They requested her story, and she told it again, fighting back tears this time. Each word she spoke seemed such a condemnation of Captain Sir Daniel Spark and theDissuade,however unintentional. How could she tell them of his many kindnesses, the days of glorious sail aloft in the lookout? They would never understand how safe she felt when she sat on the quarterdeck after the battle, covered by his boat cloak, or how the gallant Mr. Futtrell had steered them safely toLisbon. She knew she would never mention the dispatch. It was not the business of theUnited States.
“There, sirs,”she said finally.“I have told this story over and over and it does not change.”
“No, it does not, Miss Whittier,”replied the consul at last,after observing her over hislaced fingertips as he sat at his desk.“Why do I think that this is not all the story?”
“I cannot imagine,”she said, sitting up more straight in her chair, hoping that she had tucked the dispatch into a safe place in her room.
“Perhaps Mr. Adam Winslow, when he finally wakes up, will have an augmented edition?”the consul asked.
She nodded, hoping they would not notice the sweat that suddenlybeadedon her upper lip.“It’s entirely possible. Hesaw the whole adventure from the gun deck, and I did not.”
“Adventure? Was it an adventure, Miss Whittier, to be terrified out of your mind?”said the incoming ambassador toHolland, his voice heavy with disbelief.“I think you are too kind. We will lay this‘adventure’on the desk of David ErskinBritain’s ambassador to theUnited States, and see what comes of it.”
“I wish thee would not.”she murmured.“It was—”she paused and smiled, thinking of Captain Spark—“it was truly an adventure.”It was something to remember when I am married safely to some dullard and living the life I was born for, she thought, but you stodgy ambassadors would not understand.
The men looked at each other.“Well, it is over now, my dear,”the consul said.“I am sending you and Mr. Winslow toHollandwith the ambassador, where you will be transferred to a ship forBoston. You’ll sail in two days.”
She flinched as though someone had slapped her.“So soon?”she managed.
The consul stared at her.“My dear Miss Whittier, did you notice the fortifications that the Viscount of Wellington is ringing around this city?’
She shook her bead.
“He expects this city to be attacked by Napoleon’s marshals this fall. Even now British troops are falling back intoLisbonand bringing hordes of wounded. Godknowswhere they are putting them all. I am sending my own wife and family to safety with the ambassador. Of course you will go. This is not a matter for argument.”
Hannah rose and the men stood up.“Then I would like to say goodbye to Captain Spark before we sail,”she said. She stared down theiramazedexpressions.“Iowe him that forhis kindness to me.”
“Out of the question!”the consul exclaimed slamming his fist on the desk for emphasis.“We should be at war with thoserascals and you want to pay a hospital visit? MissWhittier, you are out of order. Go back to yourroom, please.”
She turned on her heel and hurried from the bookroom,her face blank of all expression. She stood in theemptyhallway, shaking with rage and helplessness until she felt more calm, then moved slowly toward the stairs. She put her hand on the railing and stopped.“No,”she said distinctly and looked back at the closed door to the bookroom.“I will not, and thee cannot make me.”
The hall was still empty. She walked swiftly toward the front door, holding her breath as she passed the parlor where the consul’s wife sat at the piano with her daughter. She opened the front door carefully and slipped out into theLisbonafternoon.
It was downhill all the way to the harbor, past large residences shielded behind walls with iron gates, and then smaller houses, and finally shops. She moved purposefully, trying to walk along with the crowds of shoppers, her mind in turmoil over how to find one wounded man in a foreign city swollen with the injured. She had no money to tempt anyone to help her,and nothing beyond a fierce desire toseethat he was alive and well.
The docks frightened her, filled as they were with milling soldiers and sailors wearing uniforms of many countries. The men eyed her as she hurried past,callingout remarks that made her ears burn. Shehurriedon, wondering where to look, who to speak to, praying that no one would touch her or drag her into one of the numerous dark alleys that bisected the waterfront like veins.
“Miss Whittier! I say, Miss Whittier!font>”
She whirled around toseeMr. Futtrell, clad in a new uniform, shouldering his way through the crowds toward her. She gave a sob of relief and threw herself into hisarms, hugging him and crying at the same time.“Mr. Futtrell, you have to help me find the captain!”
He held her off from him and peered down into her tear-stained face.“I thought I left you safe in the hands of theAmerican consul,”he said, pulling out his handkerchief.“MyGod,madam, we can’t have you wandering about theLisbondocks.”
