The Captain's Return

It was plain that he had disconcerted the maid, but she eyed him suspiciously. “As long as when?”

“That I don’t yet know.”

For a moment or two, the woman was silent while Hal ate. Then she sniffed, losing some of her acerbity.

“We’ve a boy comes in to do the heavy work. Lazy he is, if you don’t watch him. But there’s no need I can see for you to bestir yourself.”

Hal gave her a grim look. “Think of me as you choose, Janet, but wait and learn.” He reached for the coffee-pot and filled his cup. “If you want to serve Mrs Lett, you can tell me just what the situation is as regards income.”

Janet drew herself up. “The mistress can tell you all you need to know.”

“But she won’t.”

“Then I won’t neither,” asserted Janet, folding her arms. “But if you want my say-so, that there curmudgeon has behaved shabby to her, and no mistake!”

Taking this to refer to old Mr Howes, Hal nodded as he dug a fork into a chunk of ham. “More shabbily than you are aware of, I suspect, Janet.”

He received a disparaging snort in reply. “And you’re the one to say so, Captain!”

Hal glanced up, his mouth full. “If you mean by that to imply that I have behaved shabbily, you’re telling me nothing I don’t already know.”

This was subjected to an even more comprehensive snort. “And I don’t doubt you’ll use the same means of turning her up sweet an’ all!”

With which, the woman turned towards the kitchen. Retreating upon the point of fraternising with the enemy? Hal stopped her nevertheless.

“One moment. Just where is this vegetable patch, if you please?”

He had not far to look. From the back entrance to End Cottage, one could go two ways. To the garden situated to one side where he had first encountered Annabel yesterday. Or, in the opposite direction, to a much larger area, fenced off high with hedging all around and entirely given over to planting.

Hal could see several fruit trees, a collection of climbing peas or beans supported by a cane fretwork, and rows of beds, plentifully stocked with a variety of greenery. From lean times on the Peninsula, Hal was familiar with the look of certain growing vegetables. Many a Spanish farmer had he been obliged to compensate for the ravaging of his stocks by hungry troops. Often enough he had entered into negotiations with locals, haggling over a few straggly turnips to enhance a meagre broth.

It might have been these experiences that caused a surge of passionate indignation to rise up in him when he spied not only Annabel on her knees, but his little daughter too, jabbing into the earth with spade and fork.

“This is intolerable!”

Annabel jumped, quickly turning her head. The sight of Captain Colton’s large person posed threateningly in the middle of her kitchen garden threw a shaft of dismay into her breast. It was swiftly succeeded by a rise of that resentment which she had not yet had an opportunity to discharge.

She sat back on her haunches, lifting her chin, the fork poised in mid-air. “What is the matter? Are you shocked to see a gently bred female thus engaged? If you mean to remain here, you will have to accustom yourself to such sights.”

“I am shocked to realise the extent of your father’s malice. That he should have condemned you to this!” Hal swept an arc with his hand that was meant to encompass the whole of her life.

“Instead of exposing me to the rigours of following the drum with a campaigning army?” countered Annabel. “Between you, I had little to choose.”

Hal compressed his lips upon a sharp retort. It had not been his intention to provoke her. Instead, he glanced to where Rebecca, with concentrated attention, had returned to her task of shovelling earth from a growing hole. A pink tongue protruded between her lips as she hefted the spade, which was over-large for her small hands, and dribbled the small load it contained on to a pile to one side of the bed being worked.

Her errant father’s disapproval was not lost on Annabel. Her voice took on sarcasm. “Child labour. It is never too early to start when one’s future is going to depend upon one’s own efforts.”

She received a look that chilled her, and his tone was gruff. “That was uncalled for.”

Annabel felt herself falling into remorse, and quickly rallied. “As was your untimely appearance upon the scene in the guise of my dead husband.”

Hal toyed with the tempting notion of dragging her up from the grass where she sat and shaking her until the teeth rattled in her head. That, or turning abruptly from her and kicking the dust of this place from his heels! Regretfully, either course was ineligible. He knew he had bought into this, and must take the consequences. It would not help to give rein to his unruly temper. He drew in his horns.

“When you are free, I would appreciate an opportunity to discuss our situation.”

“Your situation. It has been none of my creating.”

“Devil take it, Annabel, come down off your high ropes! May we not call a truce?”

The exasperation in his voice had startled Rebecca into dropping her shovel. She began instantly to cry.

“Now see what you’ve done!”

But Annabel’s attention shifted quickly to her daughter. It had not been, she at once guessed, the loud voice that had upset the child, but the consequent ruin of her careful efforts. Rebecca was notoriously sensitive concerning any little task she undertook. She would tolerate neither interference nor destruction in any part of what she had achieved.

The earth had scattered, spoiling the neatness of her arrangements. It did not matter that her own unsteady hand had left a trail between the hole and the dirt pile, for that was part of the pattern. But her complaints, which were largely unintelligible through her sobs, evidently encompassed that area which had been dirtied by the little accident, for her small fists were beating at the ground.

“Come now, Becky, that is enough!” said Annabel with authority. “See, I will clean it for you, and it will be as good as ever.”

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