Page 122 of Marry in Secret
“You promised you’d bring us home and you did,” Jemmy said, fighting his tears. “Dunno how, but you did.”
“I didn’t bring you all home, though, did I?” he said. “What happened to Jones?” He braced himself for the bad news.
Instead they laughed. “After all the girls Jones played fast and loose with, he got himself caught by a pretty little Arab girl,” Dodds said.
Pendell nodded. “He converted, sir—genuine, it was, not just to get hisself released. You know how Jones always was on about religions?”
Thomas nodded. Jones was always getting into arguments with the other men. He’d always assumed it was just to stir up a bit of excitement on a boring voyage.
“He took to Mohammedism all the way. Got himself freed, started working in a bakery, and next thing you know—typical Jones—his eye’s on the boss’s daughter. Next thing he’s married.”
“He’s got a couple of little doe-eyed daughters of his own now. Besotted with them, he is.” Dodds grinned. “Serve him right. He’ll be worrying himself sick over them twelve years from now, the randy beggar. Nothing like a former rake for knowing how wicked men can be.”
“Mr. Wilmott made him write a letter to you, telling you all about it. Mr. Wilmott said you’d be worried otherwise.” Dyson produced two crumpled bits of paper from an inside pocket and handed them to Thomas. “There’s a note from Mr. Wilmott, too.”
Thomas swallowed. Mr. Wilmott was right. He pocketed the letters to read later. So all his men were all safe and where they wanted to be. It was a weight off his shoulders.
“Come on now, let’s get you out of the rain, or you’ll catch your death of cold,” he said. “I’ve booked rooms for us all at the Star.”
Dodds whistled. “Bit fancy for the likes of us, ain’t it, sir?”
“Not in the least. After what you’ve all been through—”
“What weallwent through, sir,” Dyson interrupted. “You included, if you don’t mind me sayin’ so.”
They piled into the chaise and headed to the Star Hotel.
First it was hot baths all round—as much to prevent a chill as for cleanliness—followed by a night of celebration and storytelling. They fell on roast beef, mashed potatoes and Yorkshire pudding with delight and washed it down with good English ale—none of them had the digestive problems he’d picked up from the bad food on the galleys. The drink and the stories flowed late into the night.
Next morning they told him their plans. O’Brien and Dodds were planning to set up as woodworkers together. Dodds was a ship’s carpenter and O’Brien had been sold to a master woodworker and had learned from him. “We thought we might set up shop here,” Dodds said. “Looks tobe a prosperous town. I’ll fetch the wife and kids—better for them than London, I’ll be bound.”
Dyson was going back to Yorkshire. He might emigrate, he thought. Would see what his wife thought about it.
The men were eager to be reunited with their families, so Thomas put O’Brien, Dodds and Dyson on the stage to London that morning. To his surprise, they all had their own money; Wilmott had divided up what was left over from the ransom between them. Compensation for all they’d lost, and something to help them get started.
He set off home, taking Jemmy Pendell in the chaise with him.
***
“And when we reached Newport, he didn’t even give the chaise time to stop, he was out of it and running madly toward his cottage, yelling out ‘Jenny, Jenny’—his wife’s name is Jenny—Jenny and Jemmy Pendell, can you imagine it?”
Rose poked him in the ribs. “Get on with it. Jemmy is running madly toward his cottage, yelling out ‘Jenny, Jenny,’ and...?”
“So, he’s yelling out her name like a banshee, and then she comes out of the cottage and she sees him, and for a moment she doesn’t move. Just stands there stock-still. And then, and then...” He paused, deliberately.
Rose elbowed him again.
“Then she starts running toward him, and she’s crying and calling his name and—”
“What was she wearing?”
Thomas stared down at her. “What does that matter?”
“It matters to me. What color was her dress?”
He rolled his eyes. “Blue, I think. With white thingummies.” He made little curling motions with his fingers.
“Dark blue or light blue?”
