The Captain's Christmas Family

“We just stopped for a quick word, miss. We’ve been run off our feet since the new master arrived.” They were obviously counting on the governess to sympathize with their disgruntled feelings.

By now Gideon had given up trying to walk away. He braced to hear the governess join in abusing him.

“Perhaps if you’d kept up with your duties during the past few months,” she reminded the young footmen instead, “you might not have to work quite so hard now to get the house back in decent order.”

“Why should we run ourselves ragged for a master who’s done the things he has? They say he did away with a young sailor. If he wasn’t the captain of the ship they’d have called it plain murder.”

As he waited for Miss Murray’s reply, Gideon wondered if he’d been wrong to assume her opinion of him had been tainted by the kind of gossip she was hearing now. Surely, she would not have wanted her young pupils to remain in the same house as a rumored killer. Perhaps this was the first time she’d heard the worst of the accusations being whispered against him.

Though he tried to tell himself one unfavorable judgment more or less did not matter, Gideon shrank from the prospect of Miss Murray thinking even less of him.

“I am sorely disappointed.” The gentle regret in her tone troubled Gideon worse than the harsher censure he’d expected. “I thought better of you both than to condemn your master on the basis of malicious rumors.”

Had he heard her correctly? Gideon shook his head.

The young footmen sputtered in protest, but Miss Murray refused to back down. “Has the captain mistreated either of you in any way since he arrived at Knightley Park?”

“No…but he is very haughty and ill-humored. You must grant that, miss.”

“And did you hear he threatened to give Mr. Dutton the sack?”

“I have heard such a rumor, though that does not guarantee it is true. Besides, Wilbert, I have often heard you complain what a poor job Mr. Dutton has been doing of late. If you were in the captain’s place, would you have kept him on?”

After an awkward pause, Wilbert muttered, “I reckon not, miss.”

“And you, Frederick, would you be jovial and talkative in a place where you were made to feel as unwelcome as I fear we have made Captain Radcliffe?”

Gideon did not catch the young footman’s muffled reply, but that scarcely mattered. What did matter was that someone had defended him against the whispered slurs he could not bring himself to acknowledge, let alone refute. What astonished him even more was to find a champion in Marian Murray, a woman he could have sworn detested him.

And not altogether without reason, he was forced to admit. None of their encounters since his arrival had been particularly cordial. And his reaction to the children’s presence might have given her cause to regard him as a very hard man indeed. Yet there she was, taking his part against the prevailing opinion of the other servants. He did not know what to make of it.

To be championed in such a way when he neither expected nor deserved it stirred a flicker of welcome warmth deep within his fallow heart.

The hangdog looks of the two young footmen reproached Marian. What was she doing?

For as long as she could recall, she had felt compelled need to stand up for anyone who was the victim of mistreatment. The stronger the forces against them, the more fiercely she felt called to intervene.

It had not occurred to her that a man of strength and authority like Captain Radcliffe might need anyone to defend him, let alone her. But when she’d heard Wilbert and Frederick exchanging backstairs gossip about the captain, she had suddenly seen the matter in a whole new light. A sense of shame for the unfair things she’d thought about the man and her manner toward him had made her leap to his defense all the more fiercely.

Now she realized that that was not fair either. “I beg your pardon. I have no right to reproach you when I have behaved just as uncharitably toward Captain Radcliffe.”

Her rueful admission seemed to have better effect on the young men than her rebuke.

“That’s all right, miss.” Wilbert hung his head. “I reckon we may have been too hard on the master.”

Frederick nodded. “It’s true enough what you said, miss. The captain hasn’t done us any harm. We’ll mind our tongues after this.”

“We should get back to work,” Wilbert added, “before Mr. Culpepper comes looking for us.”

After brief bows, the pair hurried off below stairs, leaving Marian to follow as far as the ground floor. Lost in thought about her encounter with the footmen and the sudden reversal of her opinion toward Captain Radcliffe, she rounded the corner and nearly collided with him.

“I beg your pardon, sir!” She started back, frantically wondering whether he’d heard what had just passed in the stairwell. “I didn’t expect to find you home at this hour.”

The captain seemed every bit as rattled by their sudden meeting as she. “I…er…just got in. I’m sorry if I startled you.”

Caught off guard, his whole appearance was far less severe than Marian had yet seen it. The austere contours of his face seemed somehow softened. The sweeping arch of his brow looked less forbidding. His steely gray eyes held a tentative glimmer of warmth. Had he changed so much or was it her perception that had altered?

“No, indeed,” she sputtered, painfully aware that she owed him an apology for offenses she dared not confess. “I should have minded the warning I gave Dolly about charging around corners.”

“Ah, yes.” A half smile crinkled one corner of the captain’s resolute mouth. “I hope the child has recovered from our collision.”

“Entirely.” Marian nodded, relieved at this turn in the conversation. Perhaps the captain had not overheard anything between her and the footmen after all. “I believe you took greater injury from it than she did.”

His unexpected query about Dolly’s well-being emboldened her to continue. “I believe she would be less apt to run in the house if she could use up some of that energy running and playing out of doors.”

“I agree.” The captain raised an eyebrow. “What prevents the children from going out? Are they ill? Do they not have warm enough clothes?”

A fresh qualm of remorse gripped Marian. Not only had she misjudged Captain Radcliffe, she had allowed her prejudice against him to make life less agreeable for her pupils. In doing so, she might have provoked Cissy’s aversion to the captain.

“The girls are quite well,” she replied, “and they do not lack for warm garments.”

“Then what is the difficulty?”

She might as well confess and hope the captain would be as forgiving with her as he had of the clumsy serving maid. Marian inhaled a deep breath and forged ahead. “I’m afraid I thought, sir…that is…I presumed… You did tell me I should keep the girls from disturbing you. I was afraid we might disrupt one of your walks, or their noise from outdoors might bother you while you were trying to rest or read.”

“I see.” He flinched slightly, as if she had injured an unhealed wound but he was determined not to let her see the pain it caused. “I suppose my reputation made you fear I would have them flogged for it.”

He must have overheard her talking to the footmen. Marian scrambled to recall exactly what she’d said. If the captain had heard only part of their exchange, might he think she was spreading malicious gossip about him?

“Nothing like that, sir!” she cried, though her stricken conscience forced her to confess, “Though I was worried you might send the girls away from Knightley Park.”

Captain Radcliffe gave a rueful nod that seemed to excuse her suspicions. “I fear you and I have gotten off on the wrong foot, Miss Murray. For that I take full responsibility. In future, feel free to do with the children whatever you were accustomed to before I arrived. Proceed as if I am not here. All I ask is that you not seek me out. I have no experience with children and, as you have seen, no knack for getting on with them.”

Perhaps not, but in spite of that he had managed to catch Dolly’s fancy. In her forthright innocence, the child must have responded to something in him that had eluded Marian.

“Does that include the music room, sir?” she asked. “It can be irksome to hear a great many wrong notes struck on the pianoforte.”

After only a slight hesitation the captain nodded gamely. “It is difficult to learn anything of value without making mistakes.”

His assurance made Marian more conscious than ever what a grave error she had committed in her judgment of him.

“Thank you, Captain.” She dropped him a curtsy that she hoped would convey an apology as well as gratitude. “I’m sure the girls will be very pleased to enjoy greater liberty.”

He replied with a stiff bow. “I am only sorry they were ever deprived of it.”

The captain made it sound as if that were his fault, yet Marian knew which of them was more to blame. Perhaps it was the burden of her misjudgment that made her more self-conscious than ever in Captain Radcliffe’s presence. A blush seemed to hide in the flesh of her cheeks, ready to flame out at any second.

“I was just on my way to the music room to fetch a song book. If you will excuse me, I must finish my errand and get back to the nursery before the girls wonder what has become of me.”

“By all means,” he replied. “Do not let me detain you.”

Marian made another curtsy, then hurried away, torn between eagerness to escape his presence and a strange inclination to linger.

“Miss Murray.”

The sound of her name on his lips made her turn back swiftly, as if some part of her had anticipated the summons. “Sir?”

He hesitated for an instant, making her wonder if he had not intended to call out. “Thank you for speaking up on my behalf to those young men. I only hope I will have as able an advocate to defend me when the Admiralty convenes its inquiry.”

The blush that had been lying in wait now flared in Marian’s cheeks. “I don’t deserve your gratitude. I wish I could claim I have kept an open mind about you and not let my opinion be influenced by reports I’ve heard…or read. But I’m afraid that would not be true.”

Captain Radcliffe gave a rueful nod, as if her confession grieved him a little but did not surprise him. “If your mind was not fully open, neither was it altogether closed. May I ask what altered your opinion of me?”

His question flustered Marian even more. She could not bring herself to admit eavesdropping on his exchange with Bessie over the broken china. “I…I’m not certain, Captain. Perhaps it was hearing Frederick and Wilbert talking that made me realize I hadn’t given you a fair chance. I reckon it’s easier to see our own faults in others.”

“Perhaps so, but it is not so easy to admit those faults and alter our conduct accordingly.” A note of approval warmed his words and went a long way toward absolving Marian’s shame over her earlier actions.

She was about to thank him for understanding and head away again when Captain Radcliffe continued, “I can assure you the nonsense being written about me in the newspapers is entirely without foundation. I never laid a hand on that poor lad, nor did I drive him to do away with himself on account of my harsh treatment.”

What made her believe him so immediately and completely? Marian could not be certain. Was it only guilt over her prior misjudgment of him or was it something more? Even at first, when she’d thought him a strict, uncaring tyrant, she had not been able to deny his air of integrity.

“I believe you, Captain.” She strove to infuse her words with sincere faith.

She recalled how it felt to be unfairly accused and disbelieved, and how much it had helped to have even one person take her side. The image of her loyal friend, Rebecca Beaton, rose in Marian’s mind, unleashing a flood of gratitude, affection and longing. Rebecca now lived in the Cotswolds, more than a hundred miles to the south. Though the two corresponded as often as they could afford, they had not seen one another since going their separate ways after they’d left school.

Captain Radcliffe’s voice broke in on her wistful thoughts. “I appreciate your loyalty, Miss Murray, considering how little I have done to earn it. I hope the board of inquiry will render a decision to justify your faith in me.”

“When will this board hear your case, sir?” Though duty urged her to cut their conversation short and return to the nursery at once, Marian could not quell her curiosity.

The captain replied with a shrug and a sigh of frustration. “Not soon enough to suit me, of that you can be sure. Probably not until after the New Year at this rate. In the meantime, I am forbidden to speak publicly about the matter. I must remain silent while the newspapers make me out to be some sort of heartless monster. All I want is the opportunity to prove my innocence so I can return to active duty.”

“I’ll pray for you, Captain.” Marian wished there was more she could do. “That the inquiry be called soon and that your name will be cleared once and for all.”

“Why…er…thank you, Miss Murray,” he replied with the air of someone reluctantly accepting an unwelcome gift. “Though I doubt your prayers will avail much.”

His reaction surprised and rather dismayed her. “Do you not believe in God then?”

How could that be? He had treated her more charitably than many people who’d claimed to be pious Christians.

Captain Radcliffe considered her question a moment, then replied with quiet solemnity. “One cannot spend as much time as I have at sea and not come to believe in a powerful force that created the universe.”

Scarcely realizing what she was doing, Marian exhaled a faint breath of relief. Why in the world should it matter to her what the man believed? “But you just said…”

“It is not so much a contradiction as you suppose.” The corner of his straight, firm mouth arched ever so slightly. Yet that one small alteration quite transformed his face, warming and softening its stern, rugged contours. “What I cannot imagine is that such a being knows or cares about my trivial concerns any more than the vast ocean cares for one insignificant ship that floats upon it.”

No wonder the captain seemed so profoundly solitary, Marian reflected, if he did not believe anyone cared about him…not even his Maker.

“Your concerns are not trivial,” she insisted. “You want to see justice done and your reputation restored so you can continue to defend this land. Even I can sympathize with them, and I could not begin to know your heart as deeply as the Lord does.”

“You sound very sincere and certain, Miss Murray.” He did not seem to think less of her for it, as Marian had feared he might. “Why is that, if you don’t mind my asking?”

She was not in the habit of discussing her beliefs, especially with a man she scarcely knew and hadn’t much liked at first. Yet there was a kind of openness in the way he regarded her that assured Marian of his honest desire to understand.

“Cannot a God who is infinitely large also be infinitely small and infinitely close?” she ventured, trying to put complex, profound ideas into words that seemed inadequate to the task. “Just as the salt water that makes up the great ocean is not so different from our sweat and tears?”

This whole conversation was becoming altogether too intimate for her comfort. And yet she felt compelled to disclose one final confidence. “Perhaps that sounds foolish to you, but I have felt the loving closeness of God in my life. Never so powerfully as when I needed His presence the most.”

What had made her tell him such a thing? Marian regretted it the moment the words were out of her mouth. She had never liked talking about her past, particularly that part of it. In all the time she’d known Cissy and Dolly’s father, she had hardly told him anything about herself. Yet here she was blurting out all this to Captain Radcliffe, whom she’d met only a fortnight ago.

A spark of curiosity glinted in the depths of his granite-gray eyes. If she did not cut this conversation short and make her escape, she feared the captain might ask her how she’d come to be so alone and in need of Divine comfort. If he did, she was very much afraid the whole painful story might come pouring out. That was the last thing she wanted.

“I really must go now.” Lowering her gaze, she bobbed the captain a hasty curtsy. “Cissy will be worried what’s become of me and Dolly will be driving poor Martha to distraction with her mischief.”

Before Captain Radcliffe could say anything that might detain her a moment longer, she rushed off to seek sanctuary in the music room. Only when she was quite certain the captain had gone elsewhere did she venture out and fly back up the servants’ stairs to the nursery. Yet even as she took care to avoid him, an idea concerning Captain Radcliffe began to take shape in her mind.

Though the captain denied the power of prayer, Marian wondered if he might not be the answer to hers. A man like him would make an ideal guardian for Cissy and Dolly—far better than their profligate aunt. Once that inquiry was over and he returned to his ship, she would be left to care for the girls in familiar surroundings.

All day she mulled the notion over as she and the children relished their renewed liberty in the house and gardens. The more she considered her idea, the more certain she became that it would be an ideal solution.

That night when she knelt by her bed, Marian prayed fervently. “Lord, forgive me for misjudging Captain Radcliffe. I see now that he is a good man. Please let him be absolved of all the charges against him and permitted to return to active duty on his ship…but not before I can persuade him to challenge Lady Villiers for guardianship of Cissy and Dolly.”

How exactly was she going to persuade him of that, Marian asked herself as she climbed into bed, when the captain did not want to have anything to do with the girls? Perhaps she could pray for him to come up with the idea on his own, but this was too important a task to leave up to the power of prayer alone.

Chapter Four

What had Miss Murray meant about having been alone with no one to whom she could turn to but God?

While Gideon ate his solitary dinner that Saturday evening, he reflected on his last conversation with her and the unexpected turn it had taken. How had his thanks for her defense of him led to an examination of his spiritual beliefs? Never before had he confided in another person his doubts about the value of prayer.

As captain of his ship, he had often been required to lead his crew in Sunday worship. Though he’d read many prayers aloud, and knew the Our Father by heart as well as any man, he had not uttered those sacred words with any particular expectation that his Creator was listening. The last time he’d truly prayed from his heart, he’d been a child imploring the Almighty to spare the life of his beloved, ailing mother. Of course his pleas had fallen on deaf ears.

Uncomforted by the words of the funeral liturgy, he’d watched them bury her poor, wasted body. Then he’d been wrenched away from everyone and everything familiar and sent to sea. The harsh conditions and the gnawing ache of loneliness had been almost more than he could bear. But somehow he had borne them, and the experience had made a man of him. Gradually he’d come to know and love the sea. In the end he’d dedicated his life to it and to the defense of his country. Those things had helped to fill the emptiness in his heart and give him a sense of purpose.

Was it possible that had been an answer to his unspoken prayer? Gideon dismissed the thought.

“What’s for pudding, then?” he asked the young footman who collected his empty dinner plate.

“Plum duff, Captain. It’s one of Mrs. Wheaton’s specialties.”

“And one of my favorites,” Gideon replied.

Since the lecture they’d received from Miss Murray, the two footmen seemed a good deal less sullen. What she’d said must have made an impression. Could it have been gratitude for her unexpected defense of him that had made him let down his guard with her? Or had he somehow sensed a connection between them based on a common experience of loss?

As the footman set a generous serving of pudding in front of Gideon, a series of soft but determined taps sounded on the dining room door.

“Come through,” he called as if he were back in the great cabin aboard HMS Integrity.

In response to his summons, the door swung open, and Miss Murray entered. “Pardon me for disturbing your dinner, Captain, but I wanted a word with you concerning the girls, if I might.”

He did not care for the sound of that. She was supposed to be tending to the children’s needs, not pestering him with them.

Yet Gideon found himself strangely pleased to see her all the same. “Very well, Miss Murray. I was just about to sample Mrs. Wheaton’s plum duff. Would you care to join me?”

His request seemed to throw her into confusion. “I couldn’t…that is, I already had some when I gave the girls their supper. It was very good. I have no doubt you’ll enjoy it.”

“Surely you could manage a little more.” Gideon was not certain what made him so eager to have her join him. Perhaps because it would be awkward to converse with her standing there while he tried to eat.

Sensing she was about to protest more strenuously, he decided to try another tack. “I’d be grateful if you would oblige me, Miss Murray. It can be tiresome to dine night after night with only my own company.”

His appeal seemed to catch her as much by surprise as his original invitation. She glanced from him to the footman and back again. “Very well then, Captain, if that is what you wish.”

At a nod from Gideon, the footman pulled out a chair for Miss Murray, to the right of his place at the head of the table.

“Only a very small helping for me, please,” she murmured as she slipped into the chair.

Acknowledging her request with a mute nod, the footman headed off to the kitchen.

“Now then,” said Gideon. “What was this matter you wished to discuss with me?”

Miss Murray inhaled a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “Well, sir, tomorrow is Sunday, and I hoped you might accompany the girls and me to church in the village.”

Gideon’s eyebrows rose. “In light of what you know about my attitudes toward children and religion, that strikes me as a rather improbable hope, Miss Murray. I doubt the Creator of the Universe cares whether or not I attend services.”

“That is not why I go to church!” The words burst out of her. “I go for my own sake, to…nourish…my soul.”

She pushed back her chair and started to rise. “I suppose you think that is all rubbish, too.”

Before Gideon had time to consider what he was doing, his hand seemed to move of its own accord and come to rest upon one of hers. “On the contrary, Miss Murray. Just because our beliefs differ does not mean I scoff at yours. I hope you will accord mine the same respect.”

Her hand felt cool and delicate beneath his, calling forth feelings of warmth and protectiveness Gideon hadn’t realized he possessed. But once discretion caught up with him, he knew he must not prolong such contact between them. The sound of the young footman’s returning steps spurred him to withdraw his hand, leaving Miss Murray free to go or stay as she wished.

To his surprise, she stayed, dropping back into her chair and pulling her hands off the table to rest upon her lap. Gideon wondered if it was only the footman’s return that had kept her from rushing away.

An awkward silence fell between them as the servant entered and placed a saucer of pudding in front of Miss Murray.

“Will there be anything else, sir?” he asked.

Gideon shook his head. “That will be all, thank you. You may go.”

He didn’t care to have his views on spiritual matters aired before the servants to fuel more gossip about him.