The Children
Near Talford Rise, between Portsmouth and London
August, 1812
Angus MacDonald lay flat on the branch, close to the trunk of the tree. It felt much the same as stretching out on the yard of the Confidence, but without the rhythmic rise and fall. And only twenty feet separated him from the ground, not a hundred with the world visible to the edge. Leaves gave shade, and while he could feel the warmth of the August day, he could see no more than the boy and girl below. Since spying on them was his current goal in life, he considered that he was exactly where he most wanted to be.
“Animal disputans.” The boy spoke the Latin phrase, then pulled some stones from his pocket and began to skip them on the lake not five steps away.
“Some kind of fighting animal?” The girl gave her translation as though the very thought disgusted her.
No, you stupid girl, thought Angus. Animal is man and disputans means fighting. It means a man who likes to fight.
“It means argumentative man.”
The girl stuck her tongue out at her brother. “Men might be animals, but women are not.”
“Sara, you are so stupid.”
“I am not.”
You are too. It was all Angus could do not to yell his agreement with the boy who he knew was Harry.
“I’m two years older than you are.” She spoke with as much frustration as anger.
“And you are hopeless at Latin.”
“Because you are the one teaching me. If Papa would let me have Latin lessons, I bet I would be speaking it in whole sentences and not just stupid phrases like you do.”
“A minori ad majus.”
“I am not lesser and you are not greater,” she all but shrieked.
Angus snickered at the insult and did his best to hold still lest the quivering branches betray him.
“You might try arguing in French, Sara.”
The two spun around at the sound of another voice. The woman, their Aunt Lavinia, stood before them, smiling.
“You would be on equal footing. For you do share French lessons, n’est ce pas?”
“He is such a stupid boy, Aunt Lavinia.”
“No, he is not, Sara. He is actually a very bright boy, but perhaps not quite ready to be a teacher.”
Angus loved the woman’s voice. It was always so calm and soft. He was sure his mother must have sounded like this.
Harry had not spoken since his aunt had arrived but came closer to her. She stretched out a hand to him and he took it, grabbed her other one, and proceeded to swing on them, pivoting on his feet, his head thrown back to the sky.
“Oh let me,” exclaimed Sara. Harry actually let go and gave her a chance. Before long the three of them were laughing.
“I know for certain...” Aunt Lavinia said breathlessly.
“Certum scio...” Angus mentally translated with some pride.
“Mrs. Wilcox has made some lemon tarts and they are just from the oven. If you go up to the kitchen and knock on the door and are very, very polite, I suspect that she might have a couple to spare.”
Harry took off as if in a race. Sara followed and she too began to run when Harry called out, “If we hurry, Sara, they will be warm. And after, we can go to the swing.”
The aunt did not go with them. Using his favorite from an amazing collection of rude words, Angus swore as he realized that he was trapped in the tree until she went back to the house. And she showed no sign of leaving.
Indeed, she walked back over to the very tree he called his own and sat down, her back against the rough bark. She pulled her knees up and he noticed that she was barefoot. How odd. He had never seen a woman’s bare feet—not even his own mother’s. He stared at them intently and decided they looked exactly like his, except cleaner. The thought that he had anything in common with a girl made him feel sick.
Before he could decide if a tattoo on his ankle would adequately distinguish his foot from hers, she moved a little. She did not stand up, but settled more comfortably and put her head on her knees.
Even from high above her he could see the curve of her neck, where some strands had escaped the knot of hair on her head, and a patch at the shoulder of the old gown she was wearing. She seemed tired, like the prisoners who were taken aboard the Confidence after a battle.
She sat motionless for so long that Angus began to wonder if she had fallen asleep. Could he climb down without being caught? Just as he reached out his own bare foot for the trunk of the tree, she raised her head.
He froze, his heart thudding so loudly he felt sure she could hear him.
She did not look up, but stood and walked closer to the water. She stepped down from the cement ledge of the artificial wall and raised her skirt so that it would not get wet.
Reaching down, she grabbed the hem of the dress and drew it over her head. Angus blushed at the sight of the woman in only her small clothes. And when she turned and tossed the dress onto the grass, the rise of her barely covered breasts was the last straw. He was so shocked that he yelled as he lost his balance, and only kept from falling and from certain injury by a desperate grab at the branch. He dangled there like the monkeys he had seen in Africa, with no hope of remaining undiscovered.
“Who are you and what are you doing in that tree?”
Aunt Lavinia’s voice was neither calm nor soft. When she came into view the aunt had her dress back on and stood directly below him, her hands on her hips, her eyes blazing.
“Let go of the branch,” she commanded.
He shook his head.
“Let go. Stretched like that it is only a few feet.”
He tried to judge the truth of it.
“Of course if you break your leg, it will be only what you deserve.”
Angus let loose his hold, but only because he felt as though his arms were coming out of their sockets and he could not hold on a moment longer. Maybe he could land on his feet, not break a leg, and run faster than she could.
She stopped his fall with her arms, eliminating the possibility of escape. As soon as his feet were on the ground, she grabbed his ear and pulled him fully upright.
His eyes teared at the painful twist but he did not cry out. “You are from the Rise, are you not?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Clearly caught, there was no point in a lie.
“Let us see what your mother has to say about this.”
“My mother’s dead.”
That gave her pause, but she would not allow herself sympathy.
“We will talk to your tutor then.”
He mumbled something but she did not hear.
She let go of his ear, grabbed his arm and pulled him along, up and around the lake that the two properties shared. It was less than a quarter mile to Talford Rise and she marched him along, muttering all manner of threats under her breath, as though he were a prisoner of war and she was a sadistic jailer.
He would not end up in prison, but would get the switch for sure.
They had reached the grass verge that edged the circular drive when she spoke aloud. “What is your name?”
“Angus MacDonald.”
~ ~ ~
This is beyond anything, Lavinia Stewart thought. What kind of child hides in a tree to watch her swim? What kind of parent allows such behavior? At the least an uncaring one. Or worse, one depraved and debauched. She thought of that after she knocked on the door, too late to reconsider confrontation.
What did she know of this household? Very little. The villagers were polite, but not inclined to include her in their gossip. She was not sure if that was because of Desmond’s reputation or the family’s place in society.
The owner of Talford Rise was in the Navy, but was he at home or at sea? Most likely he was at sea with a thousand men at his command. Did he even think of the child he had left behind? Anger overtook any anxiety. No wonder the boy sought out mischief.
The man who opened the door could hardly be a butler. No porter either, not that a house this size would need one. Dressed in rough cotton pants and a shirt with no cravat, the man had a red scarf around his neck and a queue down his back. And an empty sleeve where his left arm should be.
“I want to speak to this boy’s tutor,” she spoke, with all the authority she could command, gratified when the man reacted with surprise.
“He has no real tutor.” There was a long pause before he thought to add, “ma’am.”
“Then I will speak to his father.”
“His father is dead.”
Her heart softened but she steeled herself against sentiment. “Surely he does not live here without an adult in charge.”
“That would be the captain, ma’am.”
“The captain is here?” She made to look behind him as though she could see him there. “He is not at sea?”
“No, ma’am. He’s here.”
“All right. Tell the captain that I will speak with him.”
The man agreed with an uncertain nod and left them standing on the front steps with the door open.
They stood in silence, Lavinia doing her best to retain her sense of authority, but as she waited she grew increasingly aware of her appearance. Her hair. She raised her free hand and felt it halfway down her back. She had on a dress that belonged in the rag bag. And bare feet! He would think her indecent, no better than her intemperate brother.
The man who came to the door was not at all like the naval officers of her Jamaica days. She remembered carefree smiles; he was not smiling. She recalled the enthusiasm of youth; he had left youth behind long ago. And he was bigger than any midshipman she had known. Not the kind of big that meant fat, but rather the kind of size that came from a great height and Saxon blood.
He wore no queue. His hair was cut short, the blond as bleached by the sun as his skin was browned by it. A fine web of wrinkles at the corner of his eyes attested to years aboard ship in all climates. There was a v-shaped scar on the edge of his cheek and another that went through his eyebrow. Neither mark was disfiguring, but they gave a hard edge to an appearance that was already less than friendly.
He was dressed in buckskins and a shirt that was rolled up at the arms. Had he just come from the stables? He wore a cravat that he had loosened and she could see the hollow of his throat and yet another scar that ran from the edge of his collarbone under the linen of his shirt. His undress, so close to matching hers, should have made her feel better. Instead it made her feel unprotected.
He glanced at Angus and slowly gave her his attention, his gray eyes cool and impersonal. “Yes?”
To keep her standing there and to speak curtly was so rude that her anger rekindled. He might be an officer, but you could not call him a gentleman. He had not even introduced himself.
His butler was hovering in the background, clearly intent on reporting every word belowstairs. It only increased her discomfiture and further fueled her anger.
“This boy, Angus, has been trespassing on our property at Talford Vale.”
He eyed Angus and the boy straightened and spoke as if the captain had asked a question. “I guess I was, sir.”
The man waited, his silence as good as a demand for an explanation.
“It’s the best of the climbing trees for miles, Captain.”
Lavinia looked around at the innumerable towering trees that surrounded the property and back at the boy. “There are a hundred trees between here and the lake and you think the best one happens to be at the lake where I swim?”
“Swim?” The captain’s ennui disappeared. “You were going to swim?” Even the butler was surprised.
“Yes.” She had no need to explain. To tell them that she had grown up swimming. That it was one of the most treasured of her childhood memories.
“That would tempt any boy.” He smiled a little. “And most men.”
She blushed, feeling the color rise from her throat and redden her cheeks. “Who do you think I am? Some dairymaid eager for attention?” She included the butler and the boy in her question, but there was only one person whose answer she cared about.
He raised his eyebrows, inviting some other explanation.
“This is Aunt Lavinia, Captain.”
That a further clarification should come from the child surprised them both.
“You see, sir, she is Harry and Sara’s aunt and cares for them when their father is away.”
“And Harry and Sara are?”
“Mr. Stewart’s children. Mr. Stewart who owns Talford Vale.”
“So this lady is Miss Lavinia Stewart?”
The captain’s icy gray eyes held hers and she nodded.
“Miss Lavinia barefoot Stewart.”
Lavinia blushed again as both the boy and the butler looked at her feet. Deeply embarrassed, she curled her toes in an effort to hide them. She had been going barefoot in the warm weather for a year. It seemed as natural as the summer to her. His comment made her aware of how unseemly it would appear to most everyone else.
“Forgive my confusion, Miss Stewart.”
It was a command, not a request. The autocratic tone annoyed her. Again she nodded, gritting her teeth with the effort to at least appear polite. Blast her temper. It was quite her fault that she had come looking so far less than her best.
“My name is Chartwell, Captain Chartwell, currently on leave from His Majesty’s navy.”
She gave a slow nod to his perfunctory bow, but could not bring herself to be any more gracious.
“You must also forgive me for not inviting you inside. Mine is an all-male establishment. We do not receive calls from unaccompanied ladies.”
An all-male household? What could that mean but that it was as depraved a place as she suspected? The boy, the poor boy. What was his life like? No wonder he ran away.
“Exactly how many days have you spent up in that tree, Angus?” the captain asked.
“Not that many.” He stared at the ground and Lavinia knew it for a lie.
“Often enough to know more of the family than is polite.” He shrugged and muttered, “Errare humanum est.”
“To err is indeed human, and since you were caught, you pay the price.”
Angus shifted with some discomfort and Lavinia almost asked what the price would be.
“And have you observed swimming before?”
“Oh no, sir. I swear, sir. Never before, sir, and I would have left if I could have gotten away without being seen.”
The captain appeared to accept the truth of that. To her he said, “I will see that it never happens again.” He gave his attention to the boy. “You know what this means, do you not?”
“The lash, sir.” He spoke with confidence, a step beyond certainty.
“The lash,” Captain Chartwell agreed.
Lavinia could not control her gasp. “Surely you are not going to whip him?” Despite her protest, the captain nodded, as did his butler.
“Surely I am. He knows the penalty for such a breach of manners.”
“Three lashes,” the boy answered glumly.
Even the butler did not object, as if his agreement would make her see it as reasonable.
“But that’s a horrible punishment for one so young! Would not bed without dinner be adequate?”
The captain laughed, actually laughed, and she thought he was a devil—his greatest pleasure her discomfiture. “If you could know the number of times we have seen bed without dinner and counted it good fortune, you would hardly call it a punishment.”
The boy was smiling too. He pulled his hand from hers and stepped to the captain’s side. The man rested his hand on the head of the boy he was about to beat and the child leaned into the embrace. The tableau lasted only for a moment, until the man removed his hand, crossed his arms, and shook his head, as though affection was a trap he would not fall victim to.
“Off with you. The switch is in the library. Wait for me there. You go with him, Dolley.” He spoke the last without turning around, obviously certain his order would be obeyed.
“Aye, sir,” Dolley and Angus chorused. The boy was not smiling now and Lavinia bit her lip.
She knew she should say goodbye. Turn and leave. “Captain, I’m afraid your experience at sea has hardened you.”
“Yes, I’m sure it has.” He waited, all patience, for her to continue.
“How can you have convinced that child that he deserves such punishment?”
“Because he knows that he is wrong.” He moved from the doorway, closer to her. “And Miss Stewart, this is, quite simply, none of your business. I suggest that you go home.” He moved even closer so that she had to look up. His nearness took her breath, the male power of him enveloping her. He smiled, but it was more suggestive than friendly. “Of course, you are more than welcome to come inside.”
She waited, afraid of his meaning.
“If your concern for Angus is merely a pretense,” he chose his words carefully, “shall we say, a front for a personal interest, then there is no need to be so circumspect.”