Chapter Forty-Six

L awrence leaned out of the kitchen window. “Children! Breakfast’s ready.”

Silence.

They were in that bloody den again—sulking about her .

He glanced at the kitchen table—at the day-old, half-eaten loaf of bread and the congealed mess in the bowl that might pass for scrambled eggs if he closed his eyes.

And held his nose. And ignored the taste.

It was better than nothing—and no different to what they’d been used to before. But he missed the aroma of freshly baked bread.

And he missed the woman who’d baked it with love.

It was true that, when enjoying a good meal, one could taste the love that went into the preparation. And, by goodness , she had loved. She’d loved cooking—she’d loved her home, and the children.

And she’d loved him.

Cursing, he strode out into the garden and approached the den.

The sign was different to before.

Keep out. On pain of death. That means you , Pa.

“You can’t stay out here forever,” he said.

He heard whispered voices, then silence.

“If you want to pretend you’re not there, children, you must do better than that.”

After a pause, Jonathan responded. “Who goes there?”

“It’s your father.”

“You can’t come in,” Roberta said.

“And we’re not pretending,” William added. “Unlike you .”

The arrow hit home. Admitting defeat, Lawrence retreated.

As he returned to the kitchen, he heard whistling, and a young lad appeared at the window.

“Mornin’, Mr. Baxter,” the boy said. “I’ve got that cheese you ordered.”

“Come in, Jimmy,” Lawrence said. “I’ll give you a penny for your trouble.”

The boy’s face creased into a smile as he entered the kitchen carrying a basket. Then he pulled out a small packet wrapped in brown paper.

“A right tasty bit o’ cheddar, that is,” he said. “My ma let me have a whole slice to meself.”

Lawrence fished a penny from his pocket.

“Thank you, sir,” the boy said.

“Would you like a spot of breakfast, Jimmy?”

The boy glanced at the scrambled eggs, then shook his head. “Best not—my grandma’s needin’ a hand at the farm. My ma wouldn’t want me to be late.”

“Be off with you, then,” Lawrence said. “You mustn’t get into trouble with your mother.”

“That wouldn’t happen,” the boy said. “Ma loves me, she does. But she’s not well today, and I don’t want her worryin’ when she needs to get better.”

“You love your mother, don’t you, Jimmy?”

“Aye,” the boy said. “My real ma’s dead, and when Pa married again, I didn’t want anyone to replace her. But she’s been so kind to Pa and me, and I love her more than anything. Grandma says she’s a special gift, and we must treasure her.”

Lawrence’s chest tightened at the love in the boy’s eyes.

“You’re a fine lad, Jimmy,” he said. “Go take care of your ma.”

“I will, sir. And, beggin’ your pardon, I’m sure Ma would like a visit from Mrs. Baxter if she can spare the time. Ever so fond of her, she is. She sat with Ma all day the last time she took a turn and said to send for her any time she needed a bit of company.”

Lawrence glanced about the kitchen. “So, you don’t know…”

The boy turned his wide, expressive eyes on him. “Is Mrs. Baxter not at home?”

Lawrence shook his head.

“Well, I hope she’ll be home soon.” Jimmy picked up the basket, then exited the kitchen whistling a merry tune.

Lawrence stared at the cheese, his mouth watering at the memory of the pie Bella had made with cheese in the pastry crust.

I hope she’ll be home soon…

“So do I, Jimmy,” he whispered. “So do I.”

The desperation that had been festering inside his soul swelled into determination. Then it burst and he slapped his hands on the table.

“Fuck it.”

It was time to end the prevarication. Dunton and his thuggish footmen might have the means to fend off a lone man, a gardener—a filthy peasant . But no man could withstand an army—or a band of brothers.

He marched across the garden until he reached the den.

“Ahoy there!” he roared.

“Who goes there?” Jonathan said.

“Admiral Horatio Nelson!” Lawrence bellowed. “I come seeking my brothers.”

After a volley of whispers, Roberta spoke. “What for?”

“Bonaparte has kidnapped the fair Lady Hamilton. I’m recruiting an army to rescue her.”

More whispers, then the bush shook, and three faces appeared.

“Are you pretending, Pa?” William asked.

“No.” Lawrence shook his head. “I’ll never pretend again.”

Three bodies emerged to accompany the heads.

“You’re wrong, Pa,” Roberta said.

His heart sank—did his daughter have no faith in him? “I’m wrong?”

“We’re not the army,” she said. “We’re the navy .”

“Then, my fine bunch of sailors,” he said, “let us recruit the rest of our band. We head for enemy lands within the week.”