An adult stories – Orphan Ch. 30-33 by Alex De Kok,Alex De Kok Orphan — Chapters 30 to 33Chapter 30
Dinner that evening was a quiet affair. Le Tessier was wise enough not to try to coax Roxane out of her melancholy, keeping any conversational topic light and trivial, so that Roxane could reply or not, as she chose. She picked at her food, barely tasting it, and at last laid down her cutlery and sat back.
“Uncle Silas, I fear I have no appetite. If you will excuse me, I think I shall retire early.”
“A moment please, my dear?”
“Of course. What is it?”
Her uncle gazed at her for a moment, his face showing only a gentle concern. He drew a breath. “I know that what I say will be of little consolation to you, my dear niece, but you know as well as I do that Alex is a man of honour. If his duties take him into danger he will face it unflinchingly. There is nothing you can do that will change that. You intend to write to him?”
“Of course. I plan to start a letter to him after church each Sunday and add to it as I can during the week, then take it to the packet office each Saturday. I know that it might be months before any mail might reach Alex, but we agreed that I should number each letter.”
Le Tessier nodded. “A sound notion.” He mused for a moment. “A suggestion? Keep your letters cheerful. Alex will serve his country better without worrying about you.”
Roxane gave her uncle a wan smile. “I planned to do that in any event, Uncle Silas. Alex told me that a sailor far from home welcomes even the most trivial of news from those he left behind.” She grimaced. “However, dear uncle, I feel far from cheerful at the moment. Perhaps a night’s sleep will help, so if you will excuse me?”
“Of course. Good night, my dear. Sleep well.”
“Good night.”
She made her way to the kitchen. Mrs Trevelyan was sitting with her husband, sharing a moment of relaxed privacy. She smiled at Roxane.
“Yes, Miss Roxane?”
“I’m retiring early tonight, Mrs Trevelyan. Might I have some hot water?”
“Of course. I’ll bring it up in a moment or two.”
“Thank you.” She glanced around. “Molly is not with you?”
Mrs Trevelyan shook her head. “I sent her to bed. I think she misses Mr Jenkins too much at the moment, for she lacks concentration. After all, it was but this afternoon that they parted. Perhaps she’ll be better in the morning, after a night’s sleep.” The housekeeper fixed Roxane with a steady look. “As, perhaps, you will yourself, Miss Roxane?”
Roxane acknowledged the housekeeper’s concern with a rueful smile. “Perhaps I shall. For now, ’tis me to my bed. Goodnight to you both.”
“Good night.”
In her room, Roxane had barely unpinned her hair when there was a tap at her door.
“Your hot water, Miss Roxane.”
“Come in, Mrs Trevelyan.”
The housekeeper was carrying a jug, her hands protected by a towel. She smiled. “Be careful, Miss Roxane, for the water is hot.”
“I shall, Mrs Trevelyan, I shall. Thank you, and good night again.”
Alone, Roxane quickly undressed and washed, then slipped her nightdress over her head. About to follow her usual habit and tie her hair back, she paused, and let it hang loose. Smiling to herself, she remembered how much Alex liked to see it spread on her pillow, but that thought brought back the memory of their lovemaking and she felt her eyes fill with tears. Resigned to her misery at their parting, she concentrated on remembering Alex’s touch, his kisses, his gentle ways with her. And yes, the reckless abandon of their mutual climax. But for the moment, he was beyond her reach. Tomorrow, she vowed, I shall start my first letter to him, and I shall mention how much I liked his touch. But when shall I feel that touch again, she mused, fighting tears. Damn the French!
Next morning she broke her fast, if not with appetite, at least determination that she must not let herself waste away in misery. She breakfasted with her uncle, as was usual, and as he sat with his tea, after their meal, he fixed her with a steady look.
“You seem a little more yourself this morning, my dear. Did you sleep well?”
She grimaced. “I fear not, Uncle Silas, but I did sleep, even if that rest was not particularly refreshing. I am sure I shall be better tonight, for it was only yesterday that Alex and I parted.”
“Quite so.” Le Tessier paused. “Do you have any plans for today?”
Roxane paused, but an idea had come to her during the restless night, and that idea still seemed of merit in the light of a new day. She looked across at her uncle.
“Uncle Silas, my mother had begun to teach me a little about the ways of housekeeping, about cooking dishes a little more involved than the simple cookery I learned as a child, about the basics of keeping household accounts, and the like, but we had barely begun when that accursed fire killed her.” She paused, and her uncle signalled her to continue. “May I ask if Mrs Trevelyan might take up where my mother left off?” She gestured. “At least then I might be able to look after any home that Alex and I may have in the future.”
Her uncle nodded. “A sound idea, dear niece, and I have to say I am happy to agree, with one — no, two — provisos.”
“And they are?”
“One, you do not come between Mrs Trevelyan and her duties, and, two, that she herself agrees on this.”
Roxane smiled. “Dear Uncle Silas, I am more than happy to agree with your provisos.”
“Very well, we shall see how Mrs Trevelyan feels about this. Just a moment,” said Le Tessier as he rang the handbell to summon Mrs Trevelyan. She arrived in moments.
“Yes, sir?”
“Take a seat for a moment, Mrs Trevelyan, we have something to ask of you.”
Surprised, but mostly at ease with her employer, Mrs Trevelyan sat, and turned to Le Tessier, after a glance at Roxane. “Now, sir, what is it?”
Le Tessier indicated Roxane. “My niece has a request to make of you.”
Trevelyan nodded, turning to Roxane. “Yes, Miss Roxane?”
Roxane paused for a moment, marshalling her thoughts, then addressed the housekeeper. “Mrs Trevelyan, before my mother died in that terrible fire, she had begun to teach me her ways of cooking, more advanced than the basic knowledge I gained as a girl, and had begun an introduction to the ways of household management. It was my thought that, if you are willing, you might continue my education in these matters. I promise to try my best never to interfere with your work. In fact, in some small way, perhaps I can lighten your load.” She gave the housekeeper a smile. “I have my reasons for asking you, for after all, when Captain Gilroy and I are married, it may well be that I must run our home, wherever — whenever — that might be.”
The housekeeper sat for a moment, then turned to Le Tessier. “You have no objection, sir?”
“None, Mrs Trevelyan. The decision, though, must be yours, and yours alone.”
Trevelyan nodded. “Miss Roxane, you must understand that some of my duties may involve the risk of becoming somewhat soiled. If you wish me to teach you, then you must also undertake the less savoury duties as well as the more pleasant ones.” She paused. “You understand?”
“I do, Mrs Trevelyan, I do. It would be fair neither to myself or to you if I wished you to show me, or rather, to teach me, only the more pleasant aspects of running a household. If at times I must get dirty, then dirty I shall get!”
Trevelyan nodded, then smiled, a broad, warm smile. “Miss Roxane, I should be delighted to teach you.” She turned to Le Tessier. “With your permission, sir?”
“You have it, Mrs Trevelyan, but as I said before, the decision is yours.”
“Then my decision is yes. I taught my own two daughters, and they have both fared well with their husbands, so I think I might be able to teach you at least as much, Miss Roxane. When do you wish to start?”
“Whenever it suits you, Mrs Trevelyan. The only task I have in mind for myself at the moment is to begin a letter to Captain Gilroy, and that will keep until I have a spare moment or two.”
“Very well, let us begin now. I suggest, though, that you change to one of your older gowns, lest you spill something. I have pinafores, of course, but even so, an older gown is best.”
“Indeed. Allow me five minutes to change and I shall present myself for your inspection, and your tuition. In the kitchen?”
Trevelyan nodded. “In the kitchen, yes.” She gestured. “You are both finished breakfasting?” she said, as she stood.
“We are, Mrs Trevelyan,” said Le Tessier.
“Then I shall clear these things away. No, Miss Roxane, not you, not yet. Away and change first. There will be enough for you to do later, I promise.”
“Very well, Mrs Trevelyan. I shall see you in the kitchen directly, ready and willing.” she smiled. “And, hopefully, able!”
Chapter 31
Roxane enjoyed working with Louise Trevelyan. The housekeeper was a good teacher, having raised two daughters of her own, seen them married to good husbands, and was now three times a grandmother. Mrs Trevelyan was patient, polite to her employer’s niece, but insisted that Roxane carry out the tasks assigned to her correctly. She started Roxane on simple tasks, and saw them mastered before she would move on.
“Why so many repetitions, Mrs Trevelyan?” Roxane asked the housekeeper one day, having already completed the task she’d been set four times.
“So that it becomes natural for you, Miss Roxane,” was the smiling reply. “Learn to do the simple tasks automatically, and you will be able to think about other things while you work. Deciding what needs to be ordered, perhaps, or deciding on the meals you wish to serve during the coming days.” Mrs Trevelyan paused, thoughtful. “I’ll say this, Miss Roxane, for someone with your admitted inexperience, I find your appetite for learning quite inspiring.”
Roxane laughed. “It has been but two weeks, Mrs Trevelyan. I fear that perhaps when I move on in my cooking, especially to those dishes with more, um, intricate preparation involved, I shall find my skills wanting and my enthusiasm waning.”
The housekeeper nodded. “You will, but only at first. I think you’ll find that as your skills grow what at first seemed ever beyond you will become possible, even familiar.”
“But not yet?”
Mrs Trevelyan shook her head, smiling. “No, not yet, Miss Roxane. I will say this, though, I do not think it will be long before the preparation of more complicated dishes will be possible for you, not long at all.”
“And I’ll be able to prepare an evening meal for my uncle?”
The housekeeper nodded. “Indeed so, Miss Roxane. But not yet.”
Roxane smiled back at the older woman with genuine affection. “Very well, then. What next?”
The housekeeper beckoned, and Roxane followed her into the cool store. Hanging on a hook were two dead rabbits, freshly caught that morning, Roxane knew. Mrs Trevelyan took the rabbits from the hook and led Roxane to a scrubbed wooden bench in the corner of the cool store, a nearby window admitting sufficient light for anyone working at the bench. She placed the two rabbits on the bench and turned to Roxane.
“Have you ever skinned and gutted a rabbit?”
Roxane swallowed. “No, never.”
Mrs Trevelyan nodded. “Watch me carefully while I do the first one, then. But first, I’ll show you how to ensure your knives are sharp. This way.”
At dinner that evening with her uncle, after they’d finished eating, Le Tessier stopped her as she made ready to leave the table.
“A moment, please, my dear.”
“Of course, Uncle Silas. What is it?”
“How goes your learning with Mrs Trevelyan?”
Roxane laughed. “Well, I think. I do not think I made too many mistakes on my first attempt to skin and gut a rabbit today. At least, Mrs Trevelyan did not scold me.”
“You are perhaps enjoying your learning?”
“I am, rather more than I expected. Mrs Trevelyan is a good teacher.”
“Capital. Now, Roxane, I have a surprise for you.”
“A surprise, Uncle Silas? Pray tell me, what is it?”
“A letter for you, from Alex. It arrived just before dinner. One of the lads from the packet office fetched it on his way home. I did not give it to you earlier as I did not want your excitement to spoil your dinner.”
Roxane smiled. “Cruel Uncle Silas. Pray tell me, where is this letter?”
Le Tessier reached into his jacket and took out an envelope, passing it across to her. “Here, my dear. Take it into the parlour and read it in privacy. I shall ask Mrs Trevelyan to bring you some tea directly. I shall be in my study if you need me.”
“Thank you, dear uncle. Will you excuse me?”
Le Tessier nodded, laughing. “Go!”
In the parlour, Roxane studied the envelope. How it had reached her, she neither knew nor cared. What did matter was that it was from her beloved Alex. She took a deep breath and opened it. Inside the envelope were three sheets of closely written letter, and another envelope. Curious she turned it over, and smiled to see the inscription, ‘Molly Dubois’, written in a different hand. She smiled, and reached for the bell beside her. As she expected, it was Molly who answered.
“Yes, Miss Roxane? Was there something you wanted?”
“Only a moment of your time, Molly. I have something for you.”
“For me? Whatever is it?”
“A letter, Molly, from John Jenkins. It was inside my own letter from Captain Gilroy. Here, take it.”
Molly reached out a suddenly trembling hand and took the letter from Roxane, clutching it with both hands.
“That was all, Molly, thank you,” said Roxane, and paused, noting the look on Molly’s face. “What is it, Molly? Is something wrong?”
The young maid raised her eyes to Roxane’s. “I cannot read,” she whispered.
“Ah. I see. Mrs Trevelyan can read it to you,” said Roxane, but noticed the hesitation. “Or would you prefer that I did it?” she added gently.
“Would you do it?” said Molly. “Please?”
“Of course. Now?”
The young maid frowned. “I fear it will have to be later. I still have duties this evening.”
“When you bring the hot water for my toilet later? Perhaps then? Or if you wish, I shall ask for you to be excused for a little while now, so that I may read it to you.”
“Oh, yes! Please?”
Roxane smiled. “Of course. Come, we shall ask Mrs Trevelyan now.”
In the kitchen Mrs Trevelyan was sorting dirty dishes. She glanced up at their entry, and smiled. “Was there something, Miss Roxane?”
“Indeed so, Mrs Trevelyan. Molly has received a letter from Mr Jenkins, enclosed within my own from Captain Gilroy. Might she be excused from her duties for long enough for me to read it to her?”
“I was about to start washing the dishes, Miss Roxane. If Molly could assist me with that now, then she may have the remainder of the evening free. Would that suit?”
“Molly?” said Roxane.
“Oh, yes. Thank you Mrs Trevelyan, thank you.”
The housekeeper smiled. “Very well, Molly, but dishes first!”
Molly turned to Roxane and thrust her precious letter into Roxane’s grasp. “Will you be in the parlour, Miss Roxane?”
“I shall, Molly.” She laughed. “For now, I shall be reading my own letter!”
“I shall be there directly.”
In the parlour, Roxane sat and opened her own letter again, then noticed a slip of paper still in the envelope. She took it out, seeing ‘Read this first’ in large letters across the top. Relaxing in her chair, the paper held so that the light fell upon it, she began to read.
Read this first!
My dearest, darling Roxane,
I think this letter may reach you somewhat sooner than I had anticipated. Forgive me, my love, for it is somewhat unfinished, but it is my thought that you would prefer to read an unfinished letter at an earlier date than a somewhat longer one at some uncertain date in the future. We have been fortunate enough to encounter a brig en route to England and the captain has agreed to carry mail for us. I am therefore sending this letter in the hope that it reaches you soon. I am also enclosing a letter from Jenkins for his Molly. I feel sure that you will advise her with all dispatch.
With all my love,
Alex
Roxane sat back, smiling. Yes, she had indeed advised Molly ‘with all dispatch’, and yes, she would much prefer to receive a shorter letter at an earlier date. She put the note aside and opened the letter, settling back with anticipation.
My darling Roxane,
I begin this first letter to you on the eve of the day we parted, and would that it were not so! Much as I would love to have you with me, their Lordships of the Admiralty do not allow wives on board, save occasionally in port. More to the point, my love, I would not willingly take you into danger again. You are too precious to me to risk your life. I think it well that my first officer, Sam James, is a competent and trustworthy soul, as I fear I have spent most of the time since we parted in something of a daze. Thinking of you, of course, and of those two magical nights we managed to spend together. Until my dying day I shall remember the loveliness of your naked body, the beauty of your hair spread upon the pillow, and the love in your eyes when you welcomed my invasion.
She smiled. Oh, yes! She had indeed welcomed his invasion of her body. She closed her eyes, remembering, feeling a heat in her core and, yes, a dampness between her legs, imagining the touch of his calloused but gentle hands upon her, the thrust of the broad, blunt head of his penis — his cock! – as it moved into her, the brief pain of his entry, the pleasure that followed, the taste of his lips on hers. She sighed, a little sad, for it might be months before she felt such pleasure again.
She read on, but he made no more reference to their love-making, instead amusing her with little anecdotes about his ship and crew, including a reference to Midshipman Jenks having declared that he would not wash the cheek she had kissed, ‘until Bonaparte is defeated’.
He is quite the envy of his fellow Midshipmen, Alex wrote, and is making the most of it. I must say, my love, your address to my crew seems to have inspired them! They were always an excellent crew, with the obvious exception of that evil villain, Scroggs, although even he was a good sailor, but there seems extra purpose to them now, for which I feel you must take the credit.
And on that cheerful note, I must close this letter here, my love, as we have encountered a brig, the Helen, sister ship to my old command, the Mary. She is bound for England and her captain has agreed to carry mail for us. Believe me when I say I count the days until we can be together again. But until then I remain,
Your loving,
Alex
Roxane sighed and laid the letter aside. How long would it be, she wondered. Too long, that was for sure! She sighed again, and folded the letter back into its envelope. There was a tap at the door and she smiled.
“Come in, Molly.”
The door opened and Molly came in, looking both expectant and nervous. Roxane smiled at her and gestured to a seat.
“Sit down, Molly.” She paused. “Does John Jenkins know you cannot read?” she asked, her tone gentle. Mute, Molly shook her head, and Roxane nodded. “It may be that John makes reference in his letter to, um, matters of intimacy between you. This could cause some embarrassment, having someone else read it. Does that bother you? I swear, no-one else will know the content of the letter unless you give permission.”
Molly gestured, colour high in her cheeks. “You already know I shared his bed, Miss Roxane, as I know you shared the Captain’s.”
“Indeed, Molly. Now, your letter?”
“Please.”
Roxane reached for the letter beside her, and passed it to Molly, who took it, a little surprised. Roxane smiled. “It is your letter, Molly. It is only right that you should be the one to open it.”
Molly laughed. “Indeed so, Miss Roxane.” She opened the letter carefully, revealing two pages of writing, and a small pencil drawing. Molly stared at the drawing, then passed it to Roxane. “Look,” she said, “’tis the Pelican!”
“So it is. And look, the initials in the corner, J J.” Roxane laughed. “It would seem you are to marry not only a sailor, Molly, but an artist, too.”
“As long as he is a good husband, I care not what he is,” declared Molly.
“Only right and proper. Your letter now?”
“Oh! Please.”
Molly passed the two sheets over to Roxane, who scanned them quickly. A clear hand, although with a few mis-spellings, she noticed. Not as fluid as Gilroy’s hand, but she knew she would have no difficulties in reading the letter. She glanced across at Molly. “Ready?”
Molly nodded eagerly. “Oh, yes!”
“Very well.”
John Jenkins’ letter was plain, straightforward, a simple sailor’s letter to the girl he’d left behind. He made it plain that he missed her, and looked forward to the day they could be together again. He finished by avowing his love, and, his only hint at any previous intimacy, by declaring that he looked forward to sharing her bed again.
Molly sighed when Roxane had finished, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. She looked up at Roxane, who smiled at her.
“Would you read it to me again, Miss Roxane?”
“Of course I will, Molly, and again whenever you wish. Shall I begin now?”
“Please.”
“Very well. Stop me if you want anything read over again.”
“I will,” said Molly, but she waited until Roxane had finished, then sighed. “Miss Roxane?”
“Yes, Molly?”
“Is reading hard to learn?”
Roxane stared at the young maid for a moment or two. “In truth, Molly, I do not really know. My mother always read to me, from when I was but three or four years old, with me sitting in her lap and the book open in front of us as she traced the words she read, and when I came to try to read myself, my familiarity with the works she read to me was such that I began to recognise the words in other contexts. I think I was six or seven when I began to read alone on a regular basis. After that, well, I read! Everything that I could lay my hands upon.” She laughed. “Including some works which a proper young lady ought never to read. Mama caught me reading such a book one day, but instead of scolding me, told me why such books were not considered suitable and warned me not to be caught by anyone else. But I have not answered your question, have I? I think a lot may depend on the individual, how much they want to learn.”
“I want to learn!” said Molly.
Roxane smiled. “I have heard of people teaching themselves to read, but I think it easier if one has a teacher.” She paused, studying Molly. “Is there any text with which you are already familiar?”
Molly gave her a wry smile. “Only the bible, and only certain parts of it. Oh, and hymns.”
“Capital! The bible will do very nicely. I must have a word with my uncle, and with Mrs Trevelyan, but if we can arrange it around your free time then perhaps we shall see if I can teach you how to read.”
Molly stared at her. “You, Miss Roxane? But haven’t you more important things to do?”
“Until Captain Gilroy returns, I fear that I might have rather too much free time. Perhaps, if we work together on your reading, the time may seem to pass more quickly until our men return to us.”
“Oh, yes! Yes, please, Miss Roxane.”
“Do you have a bible of your own, Molly?”
The maid’s face fell. “I fear not.”
“Then you shall have the loan of my own. Is there any part of it that is a favourite?”
Molly smiled. “Several, but why not begin at the beginning? Genesis?”
Roxane laughed. “Why not, indeed? Tonight, will you bring the hot water for my toilet a little earlier? Then I shall loan to you my own bible, and mark the beginning of Genesis for you. We shall go over the first page or so together, and then you can take the bible away and see if you can associate the shape of the words with the sound of them. Do you have a slate? Of the sort that a child might use in school? And chalk, to write on it?”
“No, but Mrs Trevelyan has several that she uses to make lists of things we need. There are two or three of those not used, I think.”
“Ask her if you might borrow one. Then, while you are trying to associate the sound of a word with how it looks on paper, copy any you do not understand onto the slate and we can discuss them later. While I am trying to teach you to read, I think it as well if I try to teach you to write as well.”
To Roxane’s alarm, Molly burst into tears, but it did not take long to establish that they were tears of joy. Calmed, Molly smiled at her.
“I just hope I am worthy of your efforts, Miss Roxane.”
“Just do your best, Molly. That is all I ask of you. But for now, get yourself away. I shall have a word with my uncle when he has finished whatever task keeps him in his study, and I shall see if we can arrange a little time each day for your learning. Remember, when you bring the hot water for my toilet, later, we shall make a start.”
“Thank you, Miss Roxane. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.”
“No thanks are needed, Molly, for you have given us both something to fill in those empty hours until our men come home. For now, though, away with you, and I shall see you later.”
* * * * *Chapter 32
Roxane enjoyed teaching Molly to read and write. The young maid was determined that she herself would be able to read John Jenkins’ next letter to her. Not only that, but pen a reply to him as well. Her determination was infectious and Roxane found herself working equally hard at the tasks set her by Mrs Trevelyan in her own learning of household management, work that she was thoroughly enjoying, working as she was towards the household she expected to share with Alex Gilroy once they were married.
‘Young maid,’ mused Roxane with a smile as she waited for Molly one evening. Gracious, the girl was two years older than herself, but there was a naivety about Molly that made her think of her as younger. But older or younger, Molly was proving an apt student and in the six weeks or so that they had been working together, had made progress faster than Roxane had expected. She still brought a closely-written slate with her for each lesson, with words that she either did not understand, or found puzzling. Roxane smiled to herself again. ‘Tis best I do not confuse her with such words as ‘dough’ or ‘bough’ or ‘cough’ then. Not for some time at least.
They had established a routine of sorts, spending the first part of each lesson on the word list that Molly brought, then having Molly read as best she could a passage which Roxane chose, pausing at each hesitation by Molly to discuss the problem she had found, then moving on, and finishing each lesson with Molly writing as best she could while Roxane dictated. Molly not yet being used to using a pen, they used either a slate and chalk, or else a pencil, with whatever paper they could find. Soon, Roxane decided, she would bring some ink and quill pens to the lessons, for Molly to try her hand. Not yet, though, perhaps in another week or two at the speed Molly was learning.
A tap at the door alerted her, and she put aside her partly-completed letter to Alex.
“Come in,” she said, and Molly’s smiling face appeared round the door.
“Good evening, Miss Roxane.”
“Good evening, Molly. Goodness, three slates?”
Molly laughed. “I read for longer than I expected last night, so there were more words that were new to me. Although, I think that some are strangely familiar, yet spelled differently to what I’d expect from the sound of them.”
Roxane nodded. “A common problem, I fear. In English, in French too for that matter, some words look most unlike the sound one would expect to hear on knowing the word. But such things resolve themselves with experience and as you have only been learning for scarcely a month it is quite normal for some words to look strange to you. Now, come sit by me, and let us address ourselves to your slates.” She smiled at the maid. “At least you already know most of the words, even if you cannot read them yet. Think of the poor five-year-old learning to read, all those words to learn as well.”
“Indeed so,” said Molly, laughing. “‘Tis bad enough for me.” She held out the top slate to Roxane. “See that first word? The first part I recognise, and the last, ’tis the middle that puzzles me, for how does one pronounce that ‘g’ in the middle? Such words as ‘gate’ or ‘girl’ I recognise, but not that.”
“I see your problem, Molly, for in a word such as this the ‘g’ is silent, not to be pronounced. Tell me, how would you attempt to say this, were the ‘g’ not there?”
Molly studied the slate for a moment, her lips moving as she tried the syllables, then turned to Roxane. “For-een-er?” she said, hesitantly, then looked again as Roxane said nothing. Molly smiled suddenly. “Foreigner?”
“Bravo, Molly. It is indeed ‘foreigner’, but whatever were you reading to find such a word?”
“Mrs Trevelyan gave me some old newspapers to use to practice my writing on, and I just had to try reading them.” Molly shrugged. “I enjoyed it, for I was finding that I understood a lot of it, even if some words confused me.” She indicated the slate they were examining, and the others nearby. “As you can see,” she added ruefully.
“Molly, my dear, you are making progress far faster than I dared to hope, believe me. Very well, what is the next word? Show me.”
And so it went. Molly pointing out the words that puzzled her, attempting to pronounce them, Roxane correcting her, and then the two of them discussing the use of the words. It was an enjoyable time for both of them and the enjoyment continued as Molly read, as best she could, the passage Roxane had selected for her and then Roxane dictated while Molly wrote, more fluidly now as she was becoming more familiar with writing, but still, to Roxane’s eyes, showing obvious signs of being in her writing infancy.
As Molly finished writing, Roxane glanced at the clock. After ten! She turned to Molly. “I fear we must end there, Molly dear. I shall read this in the morning, and mark it as necessary, and we shall go over it first in our next lesson. For now, though, I shall bid you goodnight.”
Molly nodded, beginning to gather up her materials, then paused, turning to Roxane. “Hot water for your toilet, Miss Roxane? Shall I put it in your room?”
“Please, Molly. I shall bid my uncle goodnight, and see you in the morning.”
“Very well, Miss Roxane, and a goodnight to you too.”
Silas Le Tessier was in his study, but reading, rather than working on his accounts, when Roxane went in a few minutes later. He smiled to see her.
“My dear, come to bid your old uncle goodnight?”
“Indeed I have, Uncle Silas.”
“How do Molly’s lessons progress? Well, I trust?”
“Very well indeed, Uncle. Far better than I dared to hope. I think Molly has a hunger for learning, and knowing how to read will help feed that hunger.”
“You are wise beyond your years, niece. Tell me, do you find Molly intelligent?”
Surprised by the question, Roxane nodded. “I do. More so than I’d expect to find in a housemaid, I think.”
“You but confirm what I think myself, my dear. I think I might have other duties for Molly, but only once she is comfortable with reading and writing. How long has it been? A month? Six weeks?”
“Six weeks since Alex sailed, so a little less than that, Uncle. I think after three months or so I will only need to offer a little guidance, and encourage her to practice her writing.” Roxane paused, and Le Tessier arched his brows in query. Roxane smiled. “I think I will need ink and pens for her soon, and paper.”
Le Tessier nodded. “Add them to the list, my dear. Better they are ready, and any spares will not come amiss, for we both may use them as well as Molly.”
“Indeed so, Uncle Silas. For now, though, I bid you goodnight.” She bent and kissed his cheek, and Silas smiled, more comfortable now at demonstrations of affection than he had been when his orphaned niece had first come to stay with him.
“Goodnight, my dear. We breakfast together tomorrow?”
“Of course. In Alex’s absence, I would have it no other way.”
Le Tessier laughed. “Go,” he said, “To your bed, girl. Sleep well, my dear.”
“And you, dear Uncle. Goodnight.”
Roxane’s sleep was more restful now that Alex’s departure was nigh six weeks in the past, but she still thought about him every night, remembering his touch, the thrill of having him take her in lovemaking, and wishing that he was there with her at that very moment. She always included him — and, indeed, the entire Pelican crew — in her evening prayers, and as she settled herself for sleep whispered her usual entreaty, ‘Good night, beloved Alex. Come home to me soon.’
She felt a little restive next morning, but helped Mrs Trevelyan prepare the breakfast for herself and her uncle, and at the usual time sat down with him to eat.
“You slept well, my dear?”
She smiled. “Mostly, yes, but I did feel a little restless.”
“I trust you are not ailing with something, my dear?” said Silas with gentle concern.
“I do not think so,” she began, but felt sudden nausea. “Oh! Excuse me, please,” she gasped and hurried from the room to the privy, only just making it before vomiting what little breakfast she had managed to consume. Shaken, she took a little time to ready herself before making her unsteady way back to her uncle. Concerned, he frowned at her.
“How do you feel, my dear? You do not look well at all.”
“I fear I may have eaten something that disagreed with me, Uncle, that is all, but I fear I will not be able to finish my breakfast. You are finished?”
“Indeed I am, my dear.”
“Well, I shall clear these breakfast dishes away and go to see what tasks Mrs Trevelyan has for me.”
“Very well. I shall see you for lunch, I trust?”
“Of course, Uncle Silas.”
In the kitchen, Mrs Trevelyan was just finishing her own breakfast, but her welcoming smile turned to a frown as she regarded Roxane.
“What ails you, Miss Roxane?”
Roxane shrugged. “I do not know, Mrs Trevelyan. I had no sooner started eating my breakfast than I had to rush to the privy and bring it up again!”
“Oh dear.” The older woman regarded Roxane for a long moment before speaking again. “Miss Roxane? I am afraid I must ask you a rather personal question. When did you last have your courses?”
“Oh! Let me think.” She did a rapid calculation in her head. “Some two weeks before Captain Gilroy sailed.”
“So it has been about eight weeks?”
“That seems about right, yes.” She frowned in sudden realisation. “Mrs Trevelya? I’m pregnant, aren’t I?”
The older woman smiled and reached out to take Roxane’s hand, squeezing the fingers gently. “It is possible, yes. If you are, you can expect morning sickness for about another six weeks. It was so for me, with my own children, and for my daughters, with theirs. But let us see what the next few days bring, shall we?”
By the end of the following week, both women, and Molly, were convinced of Roxane’s pregnancy, her regular morning sickness being a convincing argument.
“You realise you must tell your uncle, don’t you?” said Mrs Trevelyan, as they worked together on that evening’s meal. “Tell him before you start to show, and he guesses.”
“I shall tell him at dinner tonight.”
And at dinner, after a meal they had both enjoyed, Roxane steeled herself.
“Uncle Silas?
“Yes, my dear?”
“I have something I must tell you.”
“So tell me.”
“I fear I am with child.”
To Roxane’s great relief, her news was not greeted with anger or alarm, but with one of Silas’s gentle smiles.”
“I thought that might be the case, my dear. Your morning sickness was the clue, perhaps.”
“You are not angry?”
“Why should I be angry, my dear? The very strong affection between you and Alex was evident to us all, and it does not surprise me that you shared his bed.”
“It was only those last two nights before he sailed.”
“And as many women before you have learned, sometimes only once is enough.” Silas frowned. “Are you going to tell Alex?”
“Do you think I should?”
Silas paused in thought before replying, then shook his head. “Were it peacetime, I would say yes, for as the child’s father he deserves to know, but I fear such news might distract him at an inopportune moment. We are still at war with the French, although Wellington’s victories in Spain and Portugal suggest that the tide may be turning. Let us pray it is so.”
* * * * *Chapter 33
Roxane suffered another five weeks of nausea and occasional sickness in the mornings, but three months after she and Alex had been parted she was able to greet each day normally. Although she had no idea where Alex was in actuality, she did have an address to which she could send letters, and she happily wrote letters to him, a task she began after church each Sunday, and which she committed to the mercies of the postal system each Saturday. The letters were long, affectionate, and she had no hesitation in describing the trivia of everyday life for Alex had told her, emphasising the fact, that a seaman away from home in time of war valued every trivial reminder of home.
So Roxane duly wrote of little things, trying her best to amuse her distant love, but she always ended each letter with some mention of how she enjoyed his touch, and how much she was missing it.
The one thing she did not mention was her pregnancy. Quite why, she wasn’t sure, but she wanted nothing to distract Alex in carrying out his duty
Her pregnancy passed without incident, and their son was born after only an hour’s labour. She had been almost in awe at the tiny being that she and Alexander Gilroy had brought into the world, although a couple of sleepless nights took away the awe, but not the love she felt for their son, a love that only strengthened as the baby grew.
She had received several letters from Gilroy, written and sent as means were available, and she had sent replies, although she never knew if they reached him. For reasons she could never fully explain, although she told herself it was for fear of distracting him from his duty, she had not mentioned her pregnancy in her letters, and it was only after the baby was safely delivered that she had mentioned him, but she didn’t know if he had received that letter when his ship came home. Not the Pelican, for Gilroy had been given command of the captured French frigate, Ardent, and had spent most of the time away from her in the Caribbean.
It had been two weeks since the Ardent had returned to home waters, being replaced by another frigate, and Molly came hurrying into the parlour where Roxane was rocking the baby in his crib.
“Miss Roxane! They’re here!”
“Molly, dear, calm yourself. Who is here?” But even as she asked the question, she knew the answer, and realisation almost made her faint. She had to ask, though.
“Captain Gilroy? And your John?”
Molly nodded. “Aye. It’s them, they’re home. Andrew saw the ship come in, and hurried back to tell me, and there’s a gig coming along the lane now!”
Roxane felt panic strike her. Did Gilroy know about the babe? Would he be happy? Or not prepared? She sat, with a thump, then rallied.
“Molly? If it is Captain Gilroy, will you show him straight in here, please? Just the two of us, please. I do not know yet if he even knows about his son, so tell him nothing. I shall be the one to tell him.”
“Very well, Miss Roxane. Oh! The gig is here!” Molly dashed out, laughing, and Roxane steeled herself, wringing her hands, worrying. It was only a couple of minutes later that Roxane heard the familiar footfall in the hallway and as the door opened she stood. Gilroy’s face was bright with anticipation as he came into the room, a smile breaking across his face as he saw Roxane.
“My love! I am home again, and safe!” He moved towards her but faltered as she took no move towards him. “Roxane? My love, what ails you?”
She tried to speak, failed, cleared her throat and tried again. “Alex, there is something you must know.”
“Well, tell me, then, and then let me kiss you.”
She gestured towards the crib, and saw his eyes fall on it, saw them widen with shock, then, to her vast relief, saw pleasure on his face. He turned back to her, and when he spoke his voice was gentle.
“Our child?”
“Yes. I – ” She faltered, but he took the two steps to her and folded her into his arms.
“I hazard you were unsure as to how I would receive this news. Not so?” He laughed. “Silly girl, you make me the happiest man alive. Have we a son, or a daughter?”
Relief flooding her, she smiled. “We have a son.”
“His name?”
“Not christened yet, and we have certainly not discussed names of any children we might have, but I thought Alexander, for his father, Nathaniel, for your father, John, for mine, and Silas, because my uncle has been so good and loving to me.”
“Alexander Nathaniel John Silas Gilroy?” She nodded. “It has an excellent ring to it, my love, and shall be his name. But us? When can we wed?” He reached for her. “And when are you going to kiss me?”
Laughing she fell into his arms, raising her lips for his kiss, a kiss that burned, demanded, promised, and brought a heat to her that she had almost forgotten.
“Can we share a bed tonight?” he murmured into her hair.
“If your son allows it,” she said. “He is most demanding of being fed regularly.”
Gilroy laughed. “He takes after his father, then.” He kissed her again, gently, and then released her. “I would hold my son?”
When she laid the sleeping baby in his arms, Roxane almost cried with happiness, seeing the love and care with which Alex Gilroy held his son. He smiled up at her.
“He is so small.”
“He will grow, God willing.” She laughed. “He did not feel small when I gave birth to him!”
“Ah, my love, would that I had been here.”
“Would that you had, dear Alex.”
There must have been a note in her voice that caught his attention. “Has there been talk?”
She wouldn’t pretend. She nodded. “Yes, there was talk, but I ignored most of it. Most, for some of it was to our benefit.”
“I take it some wasn’t?”
“Quite so, but never again to my face after Uncle Silas lost his temper.”
“Silas? Tell me more.”
“A woman, a customer of Mr Jones. She made some audible comment about loose morals when Uncle Silas and I were in the shop. I was visibly pregnant, and Uncle Silas lost his temper when she spoke.” Roxane smiled. “I remember his words so well. ‘Madam,’ he said, ‘apologise to my niece this instant. She is not and never has been of loose morals. Her betrothed saved her life on the day they met. Within two weeks of that she had twice saved his life. Such an introduction tends to produce strong emotions, which I doubt you have ever felt in your life, madam. They were planning to marry when he had to sail. Sail, indeed, because the Navy, the Navy which protects your shores, madam, because the Navy needed him elsewhere. They had two snatched nights together before he left. Yes, she is pregnant, pregnant and blooming, and prays for her betrothed’s safe return every night. As do I, not because her acquiring a husband will stop these vile comments, but because she loves him, loves him with her very being, and he loves her, as anyone with half a mind would realise, seeing them together. I say again, apologise’.”
“Did she?”
Roxane smiled. “No, she stalked out, pretending offence. I think it was the chorus of approval which greeted Uncle Silas’s comments which offended her most. Quite a few of the other women always made a point of greeting me, openly and welcoming, after that.” She gave him a wry smile. “I still felt very lonely without you.”
“And will be again, I fear, but not for long, this time, and not until we are wed. My love, would you care to live in America?”
Startled, she stared at him. “In America? I fear I know nothing about America, but if that is where you go, then that is where the baby and I follow.”
“I plan to resign my commission soon. With my prize money, and my inheritance, I have enough money to establish us. John Jenkins, and Molly of course, will come with us, for John and I have plans for the future. Your uncle would welcome a trusted agent in America and there are those in America who would welcome such an agent as Silas in Europe, now that peace is restored. But that is for after the wedding, and after I leave the Navy. For now, though, my love, our priority is the wedding.”
*
One year, three weeks and two days after their two nights of love, Roxane Lucille Harrison and Alexander Nathaniel Gilroy were finally joined in holy matrimony, in a joint ceremony with John Peter Jenkins and Molly Catriona Dubois, two months after Bonaparte’s army had been finally defeated at Waterloo. Roxane was wearing Elspeth’s dress, although Mrs Trevelyan had been obliged to loosen the bust to make room for Roxane’s milk-swollen breasts. The little church was packed, for a substantial number of Alex Gilroy’s crew were present, as well as a goodly number of locals and in the congregation Alexander Nathaniel John Silas Gilroy gurgled contentedly in Mrs Trevelyan’s arms.
Seven months later, Alex and Roxane, with young Alex, and John and Molly Jenkins – visibly pregnant – sailed for America aboard the schooner Pelican, no longer in Naval service and now owned by Gilroy, Le Tessier and Jenkins, and captained by Sam James, and eleven months after their arrival in America, in their farmhouse in North Carolina, Roxane gave birth to a daughter, Elspeth Roxane Lucille Elizabeth Gilroy.
* * * * *And there I draw this tale to a close. It may be that I write more about the Gilroy family, or maybe not. Time will tell. Constructive feedback welcomed, and a vote would be nice. Go on, it’s only a couple of mouse clicks!