The Captain's Christmas Family

As he washed, shaved and dressed for the day, Gideon’s thoughts turned back to his unsettling interview with Miss Murray the previous evening. The woman reminded him of a terrier—small and rather appealing, yet possessed of fierce tenacity in getting what she wanted. What in blazes had possessed him to tell her about being sent to sea after his mother’s death?

He seldom talked to anyone about his past and never about that unhappy time. Perhaps it was what she’d said about a bereaved child needing the comfort of familiar surroundings. It had struck a chord deep within him—far too deep for his liking. Before he could stop himself, the words had poured out. For an instant after he’d spoken, Gideon thought he sensed a thawing in her obvious aversion to him. Then she had turned and used that unintentional revelation as leverage to wring from him a concession he’d been reluctant to grant.

He counted himself fortunate that he had not come up against many enemy captains who were such formidable opponents as this simple Scottish governess.

It wasn’t that he begrudged his young cousins’ houseroom—quite the contrary. They had been born and lived their whole lives at Knightley Park, while he had only visited the place at Christmastime and in the summer. Though it belonged to him by law, he could not escape the conviction that they had a far stronger claim to it.

While they remained here, he would be reluctant to make many changes in the domestic arrangements they were accustomed to…no matter how sorely needed. He would always feel like an interloper in his own home, prevented from claiming the solitude and privacy he’d hoped to find at Knightley Park.

That was not his only objection to the arrangement, Gideon reminded himself as he headed off in search of breakfast. What if his young cousins needed something beyond the authority of their governess to provide? What if some harm befell them and he was held accountable? He, who had been charged with the welfare of an entire ship’s crew, shrank from the responsibility for two small girls. It vexed Gideon that he had not thought to raise some of these objections with Miss Murray last night.

It was too late now, though. He had given his word. He only hoped he would not come to regret that decision as much as he regretted some others he’d made of late.

“Dolly!” That soft but urgent cry, and the light, fleet patter of approaching footsteps jarred Gideon from his thoughts; but too late to take proper evasive action.

An instant later, the child came racing around the corner and barreled straight into him. Her head struck him in the belly, like a small blond cannonball, knocking the breath out of him. Meanwhile the collision sent her tumbling backward onto her bottom. It could not have winded her as it had Gideon, for her mouth fell open to emit an earsplitting wail that made his aching head throb. Her eyes screwed up and commenced to gush tears at a most alarming rate. The sight unnerved Gideon like nothing in his eventful naval career…with one recent exception.

Before he could catch his breath or rally his shattered composure, Marian Murray charged around the corner and swooped down to enfold her young charge. “Wist ye now, Dolly!”

She looked up at Gideon, her eyes blazing with fierce protectiveness. “What did you do to her?”

“What…?” Gideon gasped. “I…?”

That was one unjust accusation too many. Somehow he managed to suck in enough air to fuel his reply. “I did…nothing to her! That little imp ploughed into me. A few inches taller and she’d have stove in my ribs.”

Anger over a great many things that had nothing to do with the present situation came boiling out of him. “What was she doing tearing through the halls like a wild thing? Someone could have been hurt much worse.”

Now he’d done it. No doubt his rebuke would make the child howl even louder, if that were possible. Less than twenty-four hours had passed, and already he’d begun to regret his hasty decision to let the children stay.

To his amazement, Gideon realized the child was not weeping harder. Indeed, she seemed to have stopped. Her sobs had somehow turned to chuckles.

“Wild thing.” She repeated his words as if they were a most amusing compliment, then chuckled again.

“You needn’t sound so pleased with yourself.” Miss Murray helped the child to her feet and dusted her off. “Captain Radcliffe is right. You could have been hurt a good deal worse. Now tell him you’re sorry and promise it won’t happen again.”

The little scamp broke into a broad grin that was strangely infectious. “I’m sorry I bumped into you, Captain. I hope I didn’t hurt you too much. I promise I won’t run so fast around corners after this.”

“I’m not certain that running indoors at all is a good idea.” Gideon struggled to keep the corners of his mouth from curling up, as they itched to do. “You are not a filly, after all, and this is not Newmarket racecourse.”

If Miss Murray found his remark at all amusing, she certainly gave no sign. “I apologize, as well, Captain. This is all my fault. I will keep Dolly under much closer supervision from now on.”

Gideon found himself torn between a strange desire to linger there in the hallway with them and an urgent need to get away. Since the latter made far more sense, he gave a stiff nod to acknowledge her assurance and strode away in search of a strong cup of coffee to restore his composure.

“Dorothy Ann Radcliffe,” Marian muttered as she marched her young pupil back to the nursery, “you won’t be content until you make my hair turn white, will you?”

“Could I really do that, Miss Marian?” Dolly sounded far more intrigued by the possibility than chastened.

“I don’t care to find out, thank you very much.” Marian pointed to a low, three-legged stool in the corner, with which Dolly’s bottom was quite familiar. “Go sit for ten minutes and think about what you’ve done.”

“Why must I sit in the corner?” demanded the child. “When you told the Captain it was all your fault?”

“Impudence, for a start.” Marian fixed her with a stern look. “I warn you, I am not in the mood to tolerate any more of your foolishness, just now.”

Though Dolly deserved her punishment, Marian could not deny her own responsibility for what had happened. Since their father’s death, she had encouraged Dolly’s high spirits, in the hope of lifting her sister’s.

“What happened?” asked Cissy, who sat at the nursery table, an untouched bowl of porridge in front of her. “I heard shouting and bawling.”

Before Marian could get a word out, Dolly announced, “I bumped into the captain and fell down.”

Walking toward the corner stool, she rubbed her bottom. “He called me a wild thing and said the house isn’t a racecourse. I think he’s funny.”

Captain Radcliffe was anything but amusing. A little shudder ran through Marian as she recalled his dark scowl, which seemed to threaten he would send the girls away if another such mishap occurred. “That’s quite enough out of you, miss. I don’t want to hear another word for ten minutes or I’ll add ten more. Is that understood?”

Dolly opened her mouth to reply, then shut it again and nodded as she sank onto the stool.

Marian returned to her rapidly cooling breakfast but found she had no appetite for it now.

“What did he say, Miss Marian?” Cissy asked in an anxious tone.

“He wasn’t happy about being rammed into on his first morning here, of course.” Marian cast a reproachful look toward the corner stool. “I can’t say I blame him.”

Now that she thought back on it, the captain had seemed more vexed by her tactless assumption that he’d done something to hurt Dolly, rather than the other way around. She couldn’t blame him for that, either. No one liked to be unjustly accused, especially when they were the injured party. But what else was she to think, after the experiences of her past and the things she’d read about him in the newspapers? There had been reports of severe cruelty to the younger members of his crew, resulting in at least one death,

“I don’t mean what the captain said just now.” Cissy pushed her porridge around the bowl with her spoon. “What did he say last night when you went to talk to him…at eight bells?”

“Oh, that.” He’d told her about being sent away to sea when he was only a little older than Cissy, though Marian sensed he hadn’t intended to. “He said you and Dolly are welcome to stay at Knightley Park until your aunt comes back from abroad. That was kind of him, wasn’t it?”

So it was, Marian reminded herself, though she still resented his obvious reluctance.

Cissy ignored the question. “I wish Aunt Lavinia would come tomorrow and take us away with her.”

“I don’t!” cried Dolly, undeterred by the prospect of ten more minutes in the corner. “I want to stay at Knightley Park as long as we can.”

That was what Marian wanted for the girls, too. She feared what might become of Cissy and Dolly once Lady Villiers took charge of them. Her best hope was that she would be allowed to remain as their governess. Though she disliked the idea of having no fixed home, flitting from one fashionable destination to another, at least she would be able to shield the children from the worst excesses of their aunt’s way of life.

But what if Lady Villiers decided that traveling with her two young nieces and their governess in tow would be too inconvenient? What if she dismissed Marian and placed the girls in a boarding school, while she used their money to stave off her creditors?

Worrying down a spoonful of cold porridge as an example to the girls, Marian tried to push those fears to the back of her mind. She had enough to be getting on with just now—she didn’t need to borrow trouble. If she could not keep the children from disturbing Captain Radcliffe, she feared he might turn them out long before Lady Villiers arrived to collect her nieces.

Gideon had intended to catch a few days’ rest before plunging into his new duties as master of Knightley Park. But after the collision with his young cousin on his way to breakfast, he decided a dignified retreat might be in order. If Miss Murray could not keep the children out of his way, then he must take care to keep out of theirs.

His belly was still a little tender where the child’s sturdy head had butted it. That did not smart half as much as the memory of Miss Murray’s accusation. Her tone and look made it abundantly clear her opinion had been turned against him before he ever set foot in Knightley Park. Was that the case with all the servants? He’d hoped the vile gossip about him might not have spread this far into the countryside. Apparently, that had been wishful thinking.

Such thoughts continued to plague him as he rode around the estate, investigating its operation. What he discovered provided a distraction, though not the kind he’d hoped for. Everywhere he looked, he encountered evidence of idleness, waste and mismanagement. By late that afternoon, his bones ached from the unaccustomed effort of sitting a horse for so many hours. His patience had worn dangerously thin by the time he tracked down the steward of Knightley Park.

“Pray how long have you been employed in your present position, Mr. Dutton?” Hands clasped behind his back, Gideon fixed the steward with his sternest quarterdeck stare.

Unlike every midshipman who’d ever served under him, this landlubber seemed not to grasp the significance of that look.

The steward was a solid man of middling height with bristling ginger side-whiskers and a confident air. “Been here nigh on ten years, sir. Not long after the late master’s marriage, God rest both their souls. In all that time, Mr. Radcliffe never had a fault to find with my service.”

“Indeed?” Gideon’s voice grew quieter, a sign his crew would have known to heed as a warning. “You must have found my late cousin a very satisfactory employer, then—easygoing, content to leave the oversight of the estate in your hands with a minimum of interference.”

“Just so, sir.” Dutton seemed to imply the new master would do well to follow his cousin’s example. “I didn’t presume to tell him how to hunt his foxes and he didn’t tell me how to carry out my duties.”

The man was drifting into heavy weather, yet he appeared altogether oblivious. “But there is a difference between those two circumstances, is there not? My cousin’s hunting was none of your affair, while your management of this estate was very much his. Now it is mine and I have never shirked my duty.”

At last the steward seemed to sense which way the wind was blowing. He stood up straighter, and his tone became a good deal more respectful. “Yes, sir. I mean…no, sir.”

From his coat pocket, Gideon withdrew a folded sheet of paper on which he had penciled some notes in the tight, precise script he used for his log entries. “From what I have observed today, Mr. Dutton, you have not been overseeing this estate so much as overlooking waste and sloth. I fear you have left me with no alternative but to replace you.”

“You can’t do that, sir!”

With a raised eyebrow, Gideon inquired what prevented him.

“What I mean to say is, I’ve got a wife and family and I’m not as young as I used to be.” Dutton’s former bluster disappeared, replaced by fear of reaping the bad harvest he had sown. “If word gets out that I’ve been dismissed…”

“I have no intention of broadcasting the information,” replied Gideon. “Though I could not, in good conscience, provide you with a reference.”

“Please, sir. Perhaps I have let things slide around here of late.” The man looked a proper picture of repentance. “But if you give me another chance, I’ll lick the estate into shape. So help me, I will.”

Though he knew the importance of decisiveness in maintaining command, Gideon hesitated. Granting second chances had not worked well for him in the past. One might argue that it had contributed to his present predicament. Too often, offenders looked on such a reprieve as a sign of weakness to be further exploited. And yet, there was Dutton’s family to consider. His wife and children had done nothing wrong, but they would suffer for his conduct, perhaps more than he.

“A fortnight.” Gideon fixed the man with his sternest scowl, so Dutton would be in no doubt this was an undeserved opportunity he had better not abuse. “I will give you that long to persuade me you are worth keeping.”

Ignoring the man’s effusive thanks, Gideon turned on his heel and strode away. He hoped this decision would not prove as much a mistake as his last one.

Making certain Cissy and Dolly did not disturb Captain Radcliffe was proving a great deal harder than she had expected. Marian reflected on that difficulty as she put the girls to bed one evening, a week after his arrival at Knightley Park.

Part of the problem was the captain’s unpredictable comings and goings. She could never tell when he might be spending time in the house, out roaming the grounds or riding off around the estate. If she knew, perhaps she could have adjusted the children’s schedule of lessons to take advantage of his absences. As it was, she could not take the chance of encountering him out in the garden or on their way down to the music room.

Since their disastrous run-in, Dolly had taken an unaccountable fancy to the captain and would no doubt pester him for attention if they met again. Cissy clearly resented his presence and might offend him with a rude remark.

Neither of the girls took kindly to being confined to the nursery after enjoying the run of the house during their father’s time. Just that morning, the governess had overheard Cissy muttering about being “kept prisoner.”

Marian found it difficult to discourage such an attitude, since it mirrored her own far too closely. In all her time at Knightley Park, and especially after Mr. Radcliffe’s death, she’d felt at liberty to come and go as she pleased, even free to borrow books from the well stocked library. Wistfully, she recalled the master’s hospitable answer when she’d first asked if she could.

“By all means, Miss Murray! Those books might as well serve some better purpose than giving the maids more things to dust.”

Since Captain Radcliffe’s arrival, she had not even dared return the last volume she’d borrowed for fear of meeting up with him. Considering the captain’s reluctance to have his young cousins around, Marian doubted he would tolerate a servant making use of his library. She knew she must soon put it back, before he noticed its absence and blamed someone else.

Perhaps now would be a good time, with the girls off to bed and the captain occupied with his dinner.

“I won’t be long, Martha,” she informed the nursery maid, who sat by the fire darning one of Dolly’s stockings. “Just a quick errand I have to run.”

And run she did—first to her own room to fetch the book, then down the back stairs. She was in such a hurry that she nearly collided with the butler on the landing.

Poor Mr. Culpepper seemed more agitated than ever. “Miss Murray, have you heard? Mr. Dutton has been threatened with dismissal! I fear I shall be put on notice next.”

The news about the steward did not come as a great surprise to Marian. Though she was working hard to make sure Captain Radcliffe was not conscious of the girls’ presence in the house, she found herself constantly aware of his. It was as if a salty ocean breeze had blown all the way into the landlocked heart of England, bearing with it a host of unwelcome changes.

“These naval men have most exacting standards.” Mr. Culpepper wrung his hands. “At my age, where should I go if I am turned out of Knightley Park?”

Marian bristled at the thought of such a good and faithful servant treated so shabbily. “Has Captain Radcliffe complained about the running of the house?”

The butler shook his head. “Not in so many words. But he is so very quiet and solemn, just the way he was as a boy. Who knows what plans he may be making? He is so little like his cousin, one would scarcely believe they could be of the same blood.”

That was true enough. The girls’ jovial, generous father had been a down-to-earth country squire devoted to his children, his horses and his dogs. His cousin seemed distinctly uncomfortable with all three.

“Don’t fret yourself, Mr. Culpepper. I’m sure the captain would tell you soon enough if the housekeeping was not up to his standards. He seems the type that’s quick to find fault. Silence is as close to praise as you can hope for from him.”

The furrows of worry in the butler’s forehead relaxed a trifle. “I hope you are right, Miss Murray. I will endeavor to remain calm and go about my duties.”

“Good.” Marian flashed him an encouraging smile, pleased that she had been able to ease his fears a little. “That’s all any of us can do, I reckon.”

As she continued on down the stairs, Marian strove to heed her own advice, though it wasn’t easy. She would have feared the captain’s disapproval less if her position was the only thing at stake. But with the children’s welfare hanging in the balance, she could not afford to put a foot wrong.

As she tiptoed past the dining room, the muted clink of silverware on china assured her the captain was busy eating his dinner. A few moments later, as she hurried back from the library, a sudden crash from inside the dining room made her start violently. It sounded as if a piece of china had been hurled to the floor and smashed into a hundred pieces. The noise was immediately followed by a wail of distress from Bessie, a nervous, and often clumsy, housemaid. What had the captain done to make the poor lass take on so?

Marian marched toward the dining room, not certain how she meant to intervene but compelled to do what she could to defend the girl.

She was about to fling open the door when she heard Bessie sob, “I’m s-sorry, s-s-ir! Have I burnt ye with that tea? I told Mr. Culpepper I’m too ham-fisted to be waiting table. Now ye’ll send me packing and I wouldn’t blame ye!”

So it was Bessie who had fumbled a teacup. A qualm of shame gripped Marian’s stomach as she realized she had once again jumped to a most uncharitable conclusion about Captain Radcliffe.

His reply to Bessie made Marian feel even worse. “Don’t trouble yourself. If Mr. Culpepper asks, you must tell him it was my fault. I am not accustomed to handling such delicate china. Now dry your eyes, sweep up the mess and think no more of it.”

As Marian fled back to the nursery, her conscience chided her for all the harsh things she’d thought and said about Captain Radcliffe since his arrival. She should have been grateful to him for allowing Cissy and Dolly to stay at Knightley Park when he’d been under no obligation to keep them here. Instead, she’d compared him unfavorably with his cousin and held those differences against him. She’d resented the loss of a few petty privileges, as if they’d been hers by right rather than by favor. Worst of all, she had allowed mean-spirited rumors to poison her opinion of the man without giving him a fair opportunity to prove his worth.

Clearly she needed to pay greater heed to her Bible, especially the part that counseled “judge not, lest ye be judged.” It might be that, in the eyes of God, Captain Radcliffe had a great deal less to answer for than she.

Chapter Three

Coming to Knightley Park had clearly been a huge mistake. As Gideon returned to the house after several frustrating hours reviewing the steward’s progress, he reflected on his folly.

He had come to Nottinghamshire expecting to escape his recent troubles by revisiting simpler times past. But Knightley Park was no longer the calm, well run estate it had been in his grandfather’s day. And he was no longer the solitary child, made welcome by one and all.

The seeds of gossip had followed him here and found fertile soil in which to breed a crop of noxious weeds. Young footmen turned pale and fled when he approached. Tenants eyed him with wary, resentful servility. Housemaids trembled when he cast the briefest glance in their direction. His cousins’ governess sprang to her young charges’ defense like a tigress protecting her cubs.

Gideon had to admit he preferred Miss Murray’s open antagonism to the sullen aversion and dread of the others. And he could not fault her willingness to shield the children, even if there had been no need. Unfortunately, his flicker of grudging admiration for Miss Murray only made her suspicion and wariness of him sting all the worse.

As he entered the house quietly by a side door, Gideon could no longer ignore a vexing question. How could he possibly expect the Admiralty’s board of inquiry to believe in his innocence when his own servants and tenants clearly judged him guilty?

Passing the foot of the servants’ stairs, he heard the voices of two footmen drift down from the landing. He did not mean to eavesdrop, but their furtive, petulant tone left Gideon in no doubt they were talking about him.

“How long do you reckon we’ll have to put up with him?” asked one.

The other snorted. “Too long to suit either of us, I can tell you that. With old Boney beaten at last, I’ll wager the navy won’t want him back.”

Gideon told himself to keep walking and pay no heed to servants’ tattle. He knew this was the sort of talk that must be going on behind his back all the time. The last thing he needed was to have their exact words echoing in his thoughts, taunting and shaming him. But his steps slowed in spite of himself, and his ears strained to catch every word.

Did part of him feel he deserved it?

One of the footmen heaved a sigh. “So he’ll stay here to make our lives a misery instead of his crew’s. It’s not right.”

“When did right ever come into it?” grumbled the other.

Gideon had almost managed to edge himself out of earshot when a third voice joined the others—a woman’s voice he recognized as belonging to Miss Murray.

“Wilbert, Frederick, have you no duties to be getting on with?” she inquired in a disapproving tone, as if they were a pair of naughty little boys in the nursery.