The Substitute Countess. Lyn Stone
see. Someone shouted, “Spar’s falling!” There was a huge crash and everyone began dashing about. I was knocked down.”
Jack frowned and stared at her. “How could you remember that incident if you were only—? How old were you?” he asked.
“I have no idea,” she said with a shake of her head. “Odd that I’ve never thought of it since, isn’t it?”
He nodded. “Strange indeed. Tell me, do you recall entering the convent?”
“Not at all,” she replied truthfully.
“Probably another dream,” Jack said. “You know, such as the ones you mentioned having of your mother. It stands to reason a child brought up in a ritualistic environment like a convent would exercise imagination in such a way.”
“You make the convent sound like prison and it wasn’t that at all,” she informed him. “But perhaps you are right about the dreams.”
“I wonder how you knew of the spar, though.”
Laurel wondered, too. The dream seemed so real.
“Shall I point out other parts of the ship?” Jack asked. “I’ve been a seaman for most of my life, so this is a second home to me.”
She took his arm and they continued their stroll around the deck of the brigantine. Laurel found herself searching in memory for other nautical words she might have dreamed of or learned as a child, but nothing else they passed by seemed familiar.
Only the spar and the storm.
Chapter Five
They sailed into Plymouth Harbor four days later on a gray afternoon. Laurel found the town fascinating when they disembarked, so different from the buildings in La Coruña or any others she had seen in Spain. When she began to ask about the differences, Jack did not patronize her. He answered with alacrity and encouraged her to question.
“This Plymouth is the harbor where, two hundred years ago, the famous Mayflower set sail for the new world, isn’t it?” she asked, turning to look back out to sea.
“The very place. You studied about that, eh? A group of dissidents spurned Church of England ways.” He smiled as he hefted his travel trunk onto his shoulder. “They thought the rituals too Catholic.”
She lifted her bag and set off beside him down the cobbled street. “Not all aboard left England due to that,” she said, glad she could show him that she knew a little something of the world. “Saints and strangers, they were called. Whatever their reasons for leaving, weren’t they courageous to set out on such a venture, facing the unknown in a strange land?”
“Precisely what you are doing yourself,” he said with a grin. “Aren’t you the brave one!”
She smiled. “Am I? I hadn’t thought of that. The natives here are welcoming and civilized, I trust.”
“Most of them are, but it pays to watch your purse,” he advised. “In regard to scoundrels, may I offer you a bit of advice?”
“Of course,” she replied.
“Here, and especially in London, there will be very many men everywhere you go, something that will be new to you, having been reared with the sisters. If I’m not by to provide you protection, have a care around them, Laurel, even those who appear to be gentlemen.”
“For they do not always mean well,” she said, mimicking his low, serious tone of voice. “Especially beware of those from Spain with roving eyes and hands,” she added, pointedly reminding him that she had already learned that particular lesson.
He laughed. “Well then, now you know of the pickpockets, as well.”
Laurel felt safe enough since she owned no purse or anything to put into one. The only two things she treasured were within her travel bag. She held it closer, uncertain whether he had been jesting about thieves everywhere.
“Plymouth seems a lovely town from what I see.”
“I like it. My early years were spent several streets from this very spot.”
“May I see where you lived?” she asked, hoping for a better picture of the boy he had been.
“Aye, and you must meet my mother. She has a larger place now that she’s remarried, but it’s very close to our old home.”
“You have a mother!” Laurel exclaimed.
“Well, I wasn’t hatched,” Jack said with a twist of his lips.
She laughed. “You know what I meant. Never once have you mentioned she was alive. I assumed you were an orphan like me.”
“Sorry, but you never asked. So I am telling you now, you have a mother-in-law. Come, we’ll go and see if she will let me keep you.”
Laurel knew he was joking now, but worry set in nonetheless. Would his mother tolerate a Catholic daughter-in-law, one who had very little real knowledge of the world and barely looked presentable?
She hurried to keep up with Jack as he strode the smooth stones of the streets, winding through the alleyways, a beatific smile on his face.
“Just there,” he said as he stopped and pointed to a row of small shops. “We lived above the chandler’s. See the sign? Mother’s family were candle makers. She did right well during the war but sold out when she married the chemist.”
“When did your father die?” Laurel asked, wishing they had dwelt more on his family’s history. They were her kin, too, after all.
“Ten years ago. I was eighteen and sailing on my own then. All those years Da survived at sea, could climb rigging like a monkey and battle pirates and privateers better than anyone. Then he fell off a ladder while hanging a new sign over the shop when he was home on a visit. Broke his neck.” He shook his head. “An ignominious end for a born sailor.”
“That’s so sad. But your mother is happy in her new marriage?”
“Mr. Ives does right well by her, so she says. I sailed out of here on my way to fetch you, so she’ll probably be expecting me back sooner or later.”
“But not me,” Laurel guessed.
He laughed. “No, not as my wife. She’ll be shocked to silence to find me married. And glad of it, too, when she recovers.”
They walked on down the street to the chemist shop and Jack entered first, holding the door open for Laurel. He set down his trunk just inside.
A statuesque, fair-haired woman in her midfifties threw up her hands and cried, “Jackie Boy!”
Laurel noted the resemblance in their features. The mother had the same strong nose and chin. The indentations in her cheeks that could almost be deemed dimples softened her countenance just as Jack’s did. Her mother-inlaw was a tall, handsome woman with a proud carriage and a capable air about her.
Mrs. Ives rounded the counter and grasped her son in a hearty hug. “Seeing you twice in a month almost never happens!” Then she noticed Laurel and stepped a little apart from Jack, though she seemed not at all embarrassed by her open display of affection.
“Excuse me, miss. I didn’t mean to ignore you. What is it I can do for you today?”
Jack hugged his mother with one arm and gestured to Laurel. “You can welcome a daughter, Mum. This is my wife, Laurel. Laurel, my mother, Hester Ives.”
The woman’s mouth dropped open and she gaped, first at Laurel, then up at her son.
“See? I told you. She’s speechless. Not a condition we shall see again right soon.” He seemed delighted.
“Mrs. Ives, so nice to meet you,” Laurel said, hoping to break the woman’s spell. She dropped a curtsy and ducked her head.
“Wife?”