The Wedding Ring Quest

He jabbed a line. ‘Look you here. If we leave now, we’ll be in Skowcroft for luncheon, and that is where...’ He stopped and looked at the barely legible line. He ran his finger gently across the words now. ‘I had a midshipman, name of Everett from Skowcroft, who swore by the lemon-curd pudding at the Begging Hound.’

‘I trust he has been back to enjoy it,’ Mary said.

‘Alas, no. He died in the Pacific. He was but fifteen.’ The captain leaned back, his eyes troubled now. ‘I...I suppose I want to have a dish of pudding for Dale Everett.’

She took the list from the table and scanned it. ‘Brown bread with quince jelly? I do like quince jelly.’

‘My former purser told me about a public house in Ovenshine.’ He shook his head. ‘A true scoundrel he was.’ He correctly interpreted her expression and took the list from her. ‘Here now, blood pudding in Wamsley, according to a pharmacist’s mate who lives in Wamsley as we speak. They’re not all dead, Mary, or rascals.’

Could it be that you need this little side trip to York even more than I do? she thought. The idea beguiled her far more than the prospect of fruitcake.

‘Isn’t your sister going to wonder where you are?’ she asked, making one more attempt to call the man to reason.

‘I sent her a letter before the sun was up, telling her we had to go to York on business.’ He grinned, and it threw years off his weather-thrashed face. ‘Hopefully, she will never ask what the business is. When do you need to report back to Edinburgh?’

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