The Captain's Return

It was a characteristic gesture, and a shaft of affectionate memory gave Annabel a sensation as of melting. Just so had he always stood, caressing the short red hairs, whenever he had been disconcerted.

“Well, no one knows that,” he said, recovering. “And once we are truly married—”

“How?” struck in Annabel. “When we are thought to be already married?”

He worked on his moustache for a moment or two in silence. Then he flung up a hand in a hopeless gesture.

“I had not thought of all this. You will think me a fool, I suppose. But the truth is that when I heard of your predicament, I acted instantly upon the knowledge with no thought for the consequences.”

Yes, it had been ever his way, she remembered. Then the substance of his remarks penetrated. “How did you hear of it? Did you go to my father? No, he would not have told you!”

Hal pounced. “Aha, you see! I knew he had thwarted me.”

But Annabel’s gaze was accusing. “How did you know?”

“I set a man to find you. He was here for some days not long since. He discovered not only your whereabouts, but your circumstances too. He thought you were a widow, but I remembered that Lett was your mother’s name, and I knew it wasn’t so. That is why I came.”

But the realisation that Captain Colton had spied upon her was the crowning insult. Her voice shook.

“You took too much upon yourself, sir. You think you have out-jockeyed me, but you are mistaken. A man may be seen to return from the dead, I grant you. But he may equally be seen to be recalled to his regiment! And that, Captain Lett, is precisely what is going to happen.”

With which, she turned on her heel and left him flat, heading for the rear of the little cottage.

Sleep eluded Annabel, despite a deadness of sensation that consumed her body. It had been a fatiguing day. When she had escaped from Hal, she had found herself so plagued by conflicting emotions that she had run past Janet and her daughter in the kitchen, startling them both, and had fled upstairs to indulge in a hearty bout of weeping.

This had proved so efficacious that she had been able at length to descend again, determined to present Captain Colton with a list of distinct rulings by which he might remain for a short time in his usurped status. In this she had been immediately balked on discovering from Janet that Hal had departed with Mr Hartwell, who had apparently waited for him.

“Gone? He has gone—and without a word said?”

“He’ll be back, he said,” the maid had responded, adding in the curt way habitual to her, “It’s him, isn’t it?”

Annabel had sighed out the abrupt sensation of renewed shock that had attacked her, and had plonked down on the sofa. Rebecca had promptly climbed into her lap, and Annabel had received her automatically, her eyes on Janet’s thin-lipped disapproval.

“He’s calling himself Captain Lett.”

Janet had snorted. “And where are we to put him, ma’am, if I may make so bold?”

Annabel had flushed. “You need not set your imagination to work, Janet! You had best make up the truckle bed in the back room.”

The maid had sniffed. “If I can set aside the bits and bobs of your sewing tackle.”

This had been speedily dealt with. “Put them in my room for the time being.”

Annabel had not doubted of its being only the first of the many inconveniences occasioned by the advent of a man into the little cottage. She had appropriated the smaller room behind the parlour for use as a workroom, ostensibly for the purpose of sewing clothes for herself and the infant, and for Janet too. But having begun by taking in a little mending to help a friend, Annabel had gradually acquired a small circle of clients among the more needy of the local ladies for whom she fashioned gowns, often out of old ones which she refurbished in the current mode. It was not an occupation that she cared to advertise. However, both Charlotte and Jane had used her services, along with others of the Guarding teachers and a gossipy spinster in Abbot Giles by the name of Lucinda Beattie.

It had been imperative to Annabel to conceal this activity from Hal. She did not wish him to think her reduced to such straits. Bad enough that she must tolerate his hateful condescension. He had come to make reparation indeed!

By the time he had returned, driving his own phaeton, and bringing with him a batman—whom Janet immediately stigmatized as the Jack-at-warts she had encountered hanging about the village green not long since—the light was fading and Rebecca had been long abed. Annabel, having resented Hal’s arrival, had been for several hours in a fume at his prolonged absence.

“Since you left word you would come back, it would have been a courtesy in you to have said what time we might expect you,” she had complained angrily.

“I couldn’t because I didn’t know,” Hal had responded briefly, his bulk dwarfing even the large family room of Annabel’s cottage.

Since it offered the most space, she had furnished it both with a sofa and one chair about the fireplace and a dining-table next to the window. A judiciously placed screen shut off the draught from the front door, which opened directly on to the room. So used to its inconvenient restrictions was Annabel that she no longer noticed them. Until tonight, when Captain Colton’s appearance had made her all too aware of the shortcomings of her accommodation.

Balked of her complaint, she had sought another weapon with which to belabour him. “If you are expecting dinner, you will be disappointed, for we ate hours ago.”

“I had a bite at the Hartwells before I left.”

Annabel’s frustration had deepened. “Janet says you have a man with you. Where you expect us to put him, I’m sure I don’t know.”

“Oh, I’ve arranged for that,” Hal had announced, infuriatingly offhand. “He’s to put up at a farm nearby, along with the phaeton and horses. I knew you could not have stabled them. And it was imperative that Weem remain with them, for I value my cattle too highly to leave them in charge of a farmhand.”

There had been a pause. In the light of the few candles Annabel had left burning in one small candelabra, Hal’s blue-grey eyes had glinted down at her from his superior height. Annabel’s had met them defiantly, almost daring him to ask the question that hovered between them.

“Where have you put me?”

She had felt her colour rush up. “I dare say you will find it excessively uncomfortable.”

Hal had smiled grimly. “I’m a soldier, Annabel. I’ll sleep on the floor in the kitchen, if need be.”

Annabel had swept to one side, avoiding his gaze. “We are not reduced to quite that extremity. Janet will show you the room.” Without looking at him, she had offered grudgingly, “If you are hungry, I dare say she can find you bread and cheese, or some such thing.”

He had refused it, and Annabel had murmured a gruff good night and escaped, leaving Janet to see to his needs. After she had heard the maid take herself to bed in the small room adjoining Becky’s, Annabel yet could not sleep.

The unseen presence below stairs seemed to pervade the house, and her wandering thoughts were distressing enough to keep her wakeful. Inevitably, they drifted back to that fateful night at that last fashionable ball…

Without meaning it, her eyes had strayed automatically to every scarlet coat, discarding each broad-shouldered back as she did not find the familiar red-gold hair above it. In the event, Hal had found her instead. A touch on her shoulder, and as she turned, the familiar rush of warmth engulfed her as she encountered his serious gaze.

“I must speak with you alone!”

The low tone was anguished, and Annabel longed to give in. But in honour bound, she protested, her voice equally muted.

“To what avail, Hal?”

“Come with me, Annabel, I beg of you!”

He grasped her arm. Resistless, she allowed herself to be drawn through the motley crowds and out at the French windows. He took her hand, and pulled her across the terrace.

“For heaven’s sake, Hal! If anyone were to see us!”

Hal’s hurrying pace did not waver. “There’s a summerhouse of sorts. We can talk there.”

Her heart was beating like a drum, and Annabel knew she ought to turn back. But so dearly had she longed to see him again that she could not fight the impulse that drove her to match swift steps to his.

Night swallowed them up as the light that spilled on to the terrace fell further behind them. Hal slowed, guiding her silently across the grass. A shadow loomed ahead, and Annabel found herself stepping up into an arboured place, of circular structure, lit only by the stars and a splatter of moonlight thrusting through a patterned fretwork to lie unevenly upon the flagged floor.

Breathless, and not altogether from the chase, Annabel felt herself released. She shifted away from the large silhouette that was her discarded love, her pulses in riot. She broke into shaky speech.

“Why have you brought me here? There is nothing to be said between us, Hal. It is finished.”

She could hear his uneven breath, and knew that his tempestuous nature was aroused.

“Yes, so you said a week ago. I was too upset, too angry to think then, Annabel. But I’ve had time enough since. You acted under your father’s commands, I know it.”

“Under his guidance,” she corrected. “How could I marry you when he is so much opposed to it?”

“Even when his opposition is dictated by unreasoning obstinacy?”

Her eyes were growing accustomed to the dark, and Hal’s big frame was becoming more visible. His nearness was torture to her. Yet she must adhere to that resolve that had driven her to reject him.

“Hal, we have had all this out. I am his only child. It is natural that he should wish a better future for me than—”

“Than is to be had with a younger son who has only just acquired a captaincy,” he finished bitterly. “Don’t tell me it again, for I don’t believe it! Mr Howes knows well that I am a full-pay officer with a promising future.”

“He will not have me follow the drum, Hal.”

“If you don’t care for that, why should he?”

“If Papa had forbidden me, or had treated me badly over this, I would not have hesitated,” she uttered, low-voiced. “He has tried instead to overcome his scruples—”

“Scruples!” burst from Hal. “His unreasoning prejudice rather.”

“Nothing of the sort. I assure you, he tried to hide his disappointment from me, but I could see his unhappiness. It was that which has been my undoing.”

“Emotional blackmail!” scoffed Hal.

“Don’t say that! How dare you say that? Papa would never use me so. He allowed our betrothal. It is I who chose to break it off. How can you abuse him?”

Hal gave a laugh in which bitterness sounded. “With ease, Annabel. My darling, he is using your affection for him, don’t you see? He may have given his consent against his will, but he gave it! And you have allowed him to twist you away from your own heart.”

“Oh, stop!” cried Annabel, thrusting away as far as the small space would allow. “This is all so useless! Why can you not see how you hurt me with this persistence?”

“And what of my hurt, Annabel? I love you!”

Her heart twisted. “Don’t, Hal!”

He moved swiftly, catching at her shoulders and pulling her to face him. “I must! Annabel, there is so little time. I can’t leave England, knowing that you care for me, only to be tortured every moment by the thought of you marrying someone else.”

Annabel tried to drag away. “Let me go! Can’t you see that you are pulling me in half? Hal, this is so unfair! Do you think it cost me nothing to reach that decision? I love you too, but—”

“That’s all I wanted to hear!” he said gutturally.

Next instant, Annabel found herself jerked against his broad chest as his mouth sought hers. Warmth flooded her, and for a moment she clung to him, answering the hunger of his lips with a desire as fervid as his own.

But the image of Papa’s distressing upset thrust rudely into her mind. She wrenched back, the force of her motion breaking his hold.

“You must not! Hal, for heaven’s sake, let me be! I cannot marry you. I cannot!”

He did not pursue her as she backed away, but his ragged breath gave her audible evidence of his unabated passion. It had the opposite effect to the one she ought to experience. She could feel her limbs trembling, and a desperate yearning opened up in those hollows that she knew to be most vulnerable to his need.

“You belong with me, Annabel. This is ruining both our lives, and you know it. And for what? For the ravings of an obstinate devil, who is so eaten up with prejudice that he sacrifices the happiness of his own daughter!”

Annabel flew at him then, her hands curled into fists. She tried to hit at him, raging.

“Be silent! Beast! Brute! How I hate you!”

He had caught her wrists, holding them fast.

“Wildcat! Stop it!”

But Annabel was crying with rage, and her protests became the more vehement. She knew not what she said, only that she wanted to kill him for hurting her so…

How it had happened, Annabel had never afterwards been able to recall. Even now, wakeful in her bed, all this time later. But she had found herself lying upon the flagged stone of the summerhouse, in a tangle of legs and panting breath, with the man who slept tonight in the room below.

And when Hal, coming for an instant to his senses, would have stopped it, Annabel was guiltily aware that she had been the one so lost in love and desire who had plunged them back into that total consummation.

Only afterwards, as she lay in his arms, her mind hazy with fulfilment, had the enormity of the proceeding gradually seeped into her consciousness.

Hal had cursed himself with a will. But Annabel, horrified by the realisation of what had happened, had begged him to go and alert her coachman that she might make a hurried and unseen exit from the ball.

He had done as she wished, and by the time he had returned, Annabel had been too overwrought to listen to anything he may have said. She could remember nothing of his words, although she knew that he had addressed her in tones of earnest agitation as he had escorted her to the coach.

What she did remember was the tearful confession she had poured into Papa’s ears. He had been distressed, but not angry—not then. But he had hustled her out of town that very night, and into the country. A tale had been put about by the lady who was sponsoring her that she had been taken suddenly ill, but Annabel had no means of knowing whether it had been believed.

She had not been seen in fashionable circles since. Like the fictitious Captain Lett, Annabel Howes had disappeared without trace. And until he had thrust himself back into her life this afternoon in her little garden in Steep Ride, Annabel had neither heard from nor set eyes on Captain Colton from that night.

Chapter Three

In the small ground-floor room, Captain Colton lay as wakeful as his reluctant fictitious spouse. He had thrust the casement open as far as it would go, but it was still stuffy. The truckle bed could scarcely be said to accommodate his large frame with any degree of ease, but it was not this discomfort that was keeping sleep at bay. He had been in far worse situations, and had slept like the dead—or so Weem claimed. But he had much to ponder.

He had set himself a task that looked likely to prove well-nigh impossible. There was little of the Annabel he had been pursuing in the creature who had accorded him such resentful acceptance this day. Acceptance? It could scarce be called that! Had he not carried out his plan of campaign, she would certainly have thrown him out.

Whether he was glad of having done it was another question entirely. He had thought—naïvely, he was forced now to admit—that the feeling he had for Annabel would be with him unto death. Certainly the intervening years had done nothing to dim its strength.

But in ruthless honesty, Hal conceded that it had been dealt a severe blow by his first sight of the stranger Annabel this afternoon. Had he driven himself through battles and arduous campaigns in Spain and Portugal, holding her image sacred in a determined bid to win her in the end, only to find at the last that he had mistaken his own heart?

Where was the girl who had given herself to him in the torrid heat of mutual passion when last he had seen her? Had he carried a false picture of that night, building in his imagination upon the actuality so that he cherished an exaggerated memory? The sequel he remembered all too well.

Returning distraught to his lodgings, he had discovered orders to rejoin his regiment in Dover the next day, from there to embark at once for Spain. He had chased like a demented fool in the early hours to the Howes town residence, only to find the knocker off the door and the shutters up. A sleepy retainer had been roused at last to his furious banging, from whom he had learned that the master was gone out of town.

There had been nothing he could do but write—letter after letter. And for months nothing had come. He had thought that Annabel was punishing him by her silence. Until the letters came back in a package, unopened except for the first. That had been torn in two.

For a while Hal had given up. But when nearly a year had gone, his heart as desperate as ever, he had again written. And the letter came back with its seal intact. After that, he must now suppose, Annabel had been established here in this village. Had he written, she would probably not have received the letters.

From her hasty words today, he must suppose that she never had received them. Howes had played him false! No doubt leading Annabel to suppose that he had never made any attempt to contact her. Small wonder that she had reacted to his arrival with resentment.

He must show her the letters. At the least let her not think him basely treacherous.

Only that seed of doubt lingered. Hal wished he had not been so hasty. If Annabel no longer loved him—if he, let it be said, could not love the woman she had become—then of what use was his presence here? Perhaps he ought, after all, to pretend that he had been recalled to his regiment. It had been Annabel’s suggestion. Thrown at him in anger it was true, yet it had merit.

His arrival would establish her respectability in the neighbourhood. He would meet his obligations, whatever happened, with any financial aid Annabel thought proper. He might remain a few weeks, put on a pretence of familial harmony, and withdraw again with no harm done.

His hardened honesty gave him a mental kick. No harm done! Was there not harm enough in his throwing Annabel back into an episode in the past which he had no doubt at all she had done her best to forget? No, he must face it. He had compounded his original fault by appearing in this way.

On this painful thought, he began to drop asleep, a half-formed resolve in his mind to talk bluntly to Annabel the following day, and assure her that he intended to withdraw from the vicinity as soon as was decently possible.

In the morning, however, in search of hot water with which to wash and shave, he blundered sleepily into the large room, looking for the kitchen, dressed only in shirt and breeches. Here he encountered a small child playing on the floor.

The infant was dressed in a nightgown, and a pair of large blue eyes regarded him solemnly out of an adorable little face surrounded by a mass of curling locks that matched almost exactly the colour of his own.

Hal’s heart lurched. The babe! A girl? Devil take it, why had no one said it was a little girl? Something seemed to kick him in the chest. His daughter. This was his daughter!

The child continued to gaze up at him, the wooden horse and cart motionless under her still hands. She did not appear to be afraid. Hal dropped to his haunches.

“Hello! What’s your name?”

At that, she looked coyly, and one small hand reached up to her mouth, slipping a finger inside.

Before Hal could repeat his question, the gaunt woman who seemed to be Annabel’s only servant appeared in the doorway behind. Her gaze was anything but friendly, her tone sour.

“Her name’s Rebecca.”

The infant removed the finger from her mouth, and piped up. “Becca.”

“She can’t say it right, so we call her Becky mostly.”

Hal smiled at the child, and held out his hand. “How do you do, Becky?”

His daughter looked at the hand, and back up to his face. Then she scrambled up, and ran to embrace the dour maid’s legs.

“She’ll be shy of you to start with, sir,” volunteered the maid, leaning down to pick up the child.

Hal rose. “No doubt.”

The woman clearly knew his identity. And strongly disapproved of him, if he was any judge. He changed his tone to one of command.

“I’ll be glad of some hot water, if it isn’t too much trouble.”

Annabel’s clear voice spoke from the stairway to one side. “It is a great deal too much trouble. Janet has enough to do without fetching water. You’ll find a tin jug on the stove in the kitchen.”

She came down the stairs. Without glancing at Hal, she went to Janet and took Rebecca. “I’ll see to her. Has she had breakfast?”

“No, ma’am. There’s eggs on the boil. I’ll show the Captain his water, and then bring them in.”

Hal thanked her, and followed her through the doorway, glancing once at the little girl as he went. A warm glow filled his breast. Hardly did he notice the reflection that passed through the back of his mind. That the resolve he had made in the night had been abruptly shattered.

By the time Hal had performed his ablutions, there was no sign in the house of either Annabel or Rebecca. He was requested to sit at the table in the window where a cover had been set for him, and was regaled with eggs and ham by the grudging maid. She informed him, upon enquiry, that the mistress was gone out.

“To church perhaps?”

He received a look that would have been insolence in any subordinate of his. “It’ll be a while yet before she does that now, sir.”

It was said with meaning, and Hal gritted his teeth. The implication was plain. Now that her alleged husband was home, it would be thought odd indeed if the “Letts’ did not attend church as a family. Hal guessed that the Reverend Mr Hartwell would assume Annabel to be yet too much overcome by his arrival to be at service today. It struck him—not without a degree of self-blame—that it would have been hard indeed for Annabel to confront the inevitable gossip.

“Where is she then?” he asked of the maid.

Was that thin smile one of satisfaction? Had the wretched woman fathomed his discomfiture?

“She’ll be tilling the soil in the vegetable patch, sir.”

“What?’

“Or gathering up some produce. I’m not much for planting myself, but I think it’s too early for seeding.”

Hal did not bother to hide his feelings. He guessed it had been said to taunt him, but he was too upset to care. To what was Annabel reduced? To what depths of drudgery had he condemned her? Had she so little money at her disposal that she must forage for food like a pauper?

The meal abruptly turned his stomach, and he laid down his knife and fork with a clunk.

The maid tutted. “Waste not, want not.”

Hal gave her a look that had made strong men quail. “Don’t try me too far!”

The woman was not flustered. She gave him back look for look, placing her arms akimbo. “I know what I know, but I’ve stood by her, Captain.” She nodded at his plate. “And it might be otherwise in the army, but we don’t waste food. Not in this house!”

It was touch and go for an instant, but then Hal’s sense of humour came to the fore. He relaxed, smiling a little.

“I see that Mrs Lett is lucky to have you. What is your name?”

“Janet, sir. And you needn’t think you can worm your way around me!”

“I don’t,” said Hal cheerfully. “But if we’re to be at outs, Janet, let it be in the open.” He took up his knife and fork again. “However, you need not imagine I intend to add to your burden of work. I can fend for myself, and I’ll do my share as long as I’m here.”