Chapter Thirteen

Luke lay awake for hours, wondering if Mary would actually spend the night working on this commission. He had been careful to tell her that the building was always patrolled and that he had specifically told the guard to see her safely home, if she finished.

He got up several times and went downstairs to look out the window and pace the sitting room, chastising himself for leaving her there to draw and color alone, even if she felt she needed solitude. He reminded himself that his guard was a trusty fellow with a wife and daughters, who would never countenance Mary walking back to Palmer Lane alone. That knowledge was the only thing that allowed him to sleep, only to be wakened an hour later by his housekeeper’s morning knock on his door.

After he dressed, he knocked on Mary’s door, dithered about, then opened it a tiny crack to see for himself. No, her room was tidy, bed made, and no clutter. Then again, what clutter did Mary Cooper possess? She was a woman with absolutely nothing.

He leaned against the wall in the corridor, knowing that wasn’t true. With a jolt that nearly felt like a cosmic slap to his head, he knew that Mary possessed a fierce resolve to survive, and if humanly possible, make the world around her a better place. She had turned Aunt Luella’s wretched Notions into a tidy, sparkling, even cozy place for ladies who did fine sewing to shop. He chuckled. Complete with a fat cat in the yarn bin. That was Mary.

That same little nobody that the world had no use for had also alerted him to the fact that his only child was being abused by those who should have cared for her welfare. For that alone, he owed her a debt he could never repay. That was also Mary.

“Papa, where is she?” Sally asked over their shared breakfast.

There was no overlooking his child’s distress. He placated her as best he could, explaining that Mary wanted to finish that commission for Magleby & Wainwright, and all was well. Sally was not happy, but Luke had to smile inwardly. She gave him that same one-eyebrow-arched look that her departed mother used to give him , when he wasn’t measuring up.

He walked to work, reflecting on his reaction to Sally’s expression. Only a few years ago, that reminder of Clarissa’s funny quirk, gone for good now, would have left him to mope for days. Now it was a gentle, funny memory that touched his heart, but didn’t wound him. He owed it to Mary Cooper. He stopped short of the drydocks, captured by the knowledge that he was ready to move on. He knew Clarissa would always remain in his heart as his first love and a wife to treasure. Without a doubt, he also knew he wanted Mary Cooper. How did all that work? He had no idea, but he wanted to – needed to – find out.

His first stop was the small room next to his office, just to reassure himself that Mary was there. He tapped. No answer. He opened the door a crack and there she was, sleeping deep, her breathing rhythmic and steady. He had to swallow once or twice and compose himself. She held that third sandwich, half-eaten. He closed the door quietly.

She had put the drawing of the drydock on his desk. He stared at it in amazement, he, who was only proficient with stick figures. She had outlined the proposed drydock in blue, so there was no mistaking it, and no mistaking how much a part of South Yards it would become. He smiled to see how she had rough-sketched in other maritime business, and trees and greenery. He admired the two rows of houses, nodding to see tiny wreaths on doors, and laughed at what had to be Christmas carolers.

Luke decided that Biddle and Bancroft would be hard cases, indeed, if they could resist all the charm of Mary’s landscape, plus her skillful blending of prosaic drydocks into what made Devonport and Plymouth so essential to Britain’s seagoing commerce and national safety.

Luke took the artwork, for such it was, to Mr. Magleby’s office, hoping he was at work and not languishing at home with the dread toothache. His father-in-law’s cheerful “Come in, come in,” suggested that the tooth crisis was over.

“Dear boy, did you know that some dentists are kind enough to use a little laudanum to keep a man from leaping off a tall building?” he said. “He told me I will live to fight another day. And what have we here?”

Luke put Mary’s art on Mr. Magleby’s desk. He stepped back, relieved and pleased, to see his father-in-law’s reaction. “Amazing, amazing,” he said over and over. “Oh, and look, carolers!” Another look. “Is that a dog treeing a cat? Well bless my soul.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” Luke said, wondering what else the picture might reveal. “Well, sir? Will this suit those persnickety fellows at B&B?”

“Without a doubt,” Mr. Magleby said. “On your way out, tell my secretary to summon me a hackney. I’m going to Biddle and Bancroft without a moment’s delay. Good day to you, sir, and my best to Mary Cooper!”

Mary was up and folding the bedding on the cot when he returned to his side of the hall. He noticed that the sandwich was gone. He also noticed the dark circles under her eyes.

“Mary, you’ve exceeded all possible expectations,” he said as he leaned against the doorframe. “Mr. Magleby is positive that the loan will be ours.”

She nodded, her satisfaction evident, even if her eyes were tired. “Then you’ll have what you want and a happy Christmas, too.”

I want more , he yearned to tell her, but settled for, “Yes, indeed. And now, Miss Cooper, I am going to escort you downstairs where there should be a hackney ready to take you back to 152 Palmer Lane. Sally promised me she will keep everyone quiet so you can sleep a little longer.”

He thought she might object. She even opened her mouth to speak, but he held up his hand. “No argument, dear Mary,” he told her, keeping his tone light. “You have earned a solid day’s sleep.”

“Aye, sir, I have,” was her quiet reply. “Thank you for the work. I enjoyed it.”

It was simply said and effective, polite permission for him to go back to work, which he did. Or at least he stared at the year-end facts and figures, thinking at a tiny thing she had said that probably gave him way too much hope.

When he handed her into the hackney – she had protested about a hackney, but he was firm – Mary said, “You need to be home for dinner. Sally wants to sing some Christmas carols to you. None of this late-night work, she told me and she was adamant about it. Home, sir.”

They had both laughed over that, and he promised. What kept him on edge and hopeful all day was what she said: You need to be home . Home.

Good Lord but he was a hopeless case, sure of his own mind now, but wondering to what extent Mary cared. You would have thought he was twenty again, and full of piss and vinegar, contemplating kissing some pretty miss under mistletoe, and not thirty-two and tired and worried and so uncertain. What an idiot.

He knew he was prone to over-thinking. Clarissa had called it a hiss and a byword. “You know you needn’t do that, my love,” she told him once. “Trust yourself.”

She was right then and right now. Here he was, imagining something hopeful about a future with another wife, and he was partner in a firm with his former father-in-law. What would Mr. Magleby think about this whole matter?

“Shut up, Luke,” he muttered to himself. “You’re getting tiresome.”

And he was. He almost didn’t want to go home and over-think some more. He wanted to remain until his father-in-law returned with news, good or bad, from the counting house. Mr. Magleby had already sent the ship builders home, such being company practice on the remaining days before Christmas. Others might keep their lads working long hours as the 25 th approached, but M&W reaped the benefit of time off, when time occasionally became of more value than money, when families yearned to gather together.

He could at least tidy up his desk, and then the little room Mary had occupied. His desktop was easy. He opened a drawer and swept everything into it. He knew the office Mary had used would be simple, too. It was due to be painted, and nearly everything had already been moved.

The cot and bedding were already gone. He smiled. And the sandwich. The desk next to her drawing board was littered with the remains of her work, the crayons almost waxy lumps. There were a few large sheets of paper remaining, so he stacked those.

He noticed that the last piece of stiff paper was colored. It was her second rendition of his house. Intrigued, he took the drawing into his office and sat down to study it. Since she had been here a few days, she had taken more time to observe the front of his house. She had drawn the entrance arch correctly this time, with four windows across the front instead of three, two on each side of the door.

The Christmas wreath, a vibrant splash of red berries and green ivy, mirrored the one already in place. There on the front steps was Gargantua again, but with Sally holding him. The effect was charming, but that wasn’t what caught and held his attention.

There was nothing of interest beyond the lacey curtains that he knew graced the dining room windows. When he glanced at the sitting room windows on the other side of the door, he knew he was looking at quiet Mary’s own way of stating her intentions.

He took the drawing to his window, where the light was better. No, he wasn’t indulging in wishful thinking over that first smudgy outline in her earlier sketch. A man and a woman stood close together, their arms around each other. Her face in profile was raised, his was lowered. They were on the verge of kissing. It was stunning in its simplicity.

No, Mary hadn’t drawn a random house. Plainly over the front door was 152 Palmer Lane in the same lovely script actually painted there. This was his house, no, their home. And this was his Mary.