A Rose for Beauty

Chapter 20

Lydia had more than sufficient to occupy all of her attention on the ride home, and fortunately Thomas seemed content to allow her to pass the time in silence. When she entered the cottage, however, her troubles were banished from her mind by the sight of her father sitting by the fire, thickly wrapped with blankets but smiling. Lydia went over to him at once and laid her arms gently around his shoulders, dropping a kiss on his cheek before giving him a careful squeeze. 

Clara and Anna sat at the table nearby, deep in a lively discussion of the placement of the ribbons that Clara was adding to the sleeves of the blue calico. 

“What do you think, Lydia?” Anna asked, the laughter in her eyes dispelling the fleeting memories that surfaced of all the times she had asked Lydia for her opinion for no purpose other than to mock her. “Clara wants to hang a rosette from each arm as though my elbows were show ponies.”

Clara glared at Anna with a mock-scowl. “Anna seems to think that a patch on the elbow is all that is needed.”

“I did not say patches,” Anna protested. “But a simple band of new cloth around each arm will surely be enough for me.”

Lydia laughed as she slid into the seat next to Clara, for the first time in months feeling as though everything was right with her family. No, she realized with a bittersweet pang, it had been far longer than a season since she had been so at ease with her sisters. She had not had such effortless closeness with them since they had been children, since before Mother had died. She blinked rapidly to dispel the tears that gathered in the corners of her eyes, forcing her smile to stay in place. “I agree with Anna,” she said, ignoring Clara's huff at her words. “A band of new cloth will do nicely. But Clara, perhaps you could embroider it with some of those ribbon roses you do so well and it will not seem so plain.”

Clara smiled triumphantly and Anna raised her hands in surrender. “Very well, I shan't complain about embroidered elbows.”

Thomas slipped inside, still seeming somewhat more reserved than was usual, and headed straight up the stairs. I hope his meeting did not go badly, Lydia worried, but she wasn't allowed to stew for long as her sisters seemed determined to include her in their happy mood.

“How did Mrs. Warren like the walnuts, Lydia?” Anna asked.

“She seemed quite pleased with them,” Lydia replied, then remembered the charge that Becky had given her. “Little Becky Warren asked about you particularly, Anna, and wanted to know when you might be back again.” She was surprised when at her words Anna flushed and darted a glance at their father, dozing in his chair, although there was no other change in her expression.

Clara laughed but did not observe her sister's reaction, as both her eyes and her fingers were occupied by fabric and scissors. “Why, Anna! Bosom friends with Miss Becky, are you? I had no idea.”

“Upon the last occasion I had to be in town we spoke for some time,” Anna said, her cool tone at odds with her heated cheeks. “She is an attractive young creature and very inquisitive – indeed, she asked a great many questions that may only be excused by her age. I suppose by that very fact we must now in some measure be considered intimate.” She seemed to have regained her composure and smiled, giving no further sign that it had ever been shaken. “It would only be polite for me to visit her again the next time we venture to town.”

Clara agreed absently as she threaded her needle; Lydia nodded as well, throwing Anna a sidelong glance. Anna locked eyes with Lydia, as though attempting to convey an important message - Lydia shrugged, genuinely uncertain of what was going on. Anna gave her one more sharp glance and then nodded as well, seeming to dismiss the incident. 

Moments later, Thomas and Henry descended the stairs. Thomas headed straight for the kitchen door, but Henry went over to their father and woke him with a gentle touch on the shoulder. Father turned to him, blinking and smiling - Henry smiled in return, but it seemed strained. After a few moments Thomas returned to the room with William; both of them looked uneasy. Henry sat down in a chair next to their father, pulling a letter from his pocket. 

“Henry, what's going on?” Anna searched his face, the lighthearted happiness draining out of her as she became aware of the serious atmosphere that had descended on the whole room.

“A letter for Father arrived with the post in Glasbottle yesterday, and Thomas collected it this morning.” Father sat up straighter, fear and pain and resignation flashing through his eyes as he extended his hand for the letter. Henry handed it to him without a word, his reluctance plain to read in his demeanor. Father unfolded the letter with shaking hands and began to read; after only a few minutes he made a choked sound and dropped it to his lap. It slid to the floor, but Henry picked it up, folding it carefully. 

“What does it say?” Clara demanded. “Henry, what does it say?”

“Read it,” Father said, his eyes closed, one hand lightly covering his mouth. “Let them hear.”

After a pause, Henry cleared his throat and began to read, his voice low but steady in the sudden silence.

“To Mr. Henry Hartford, Sr.

Dear Sir,

I write to you at almost the first instant of opportunity to convey to you the news that your ship, the Pelican, is safe and her cargo intact. While rounding the tip of Africa we were not, as you must have believed, destroyed by the violence of the sea, but only separated from our sister ships. We were damaged and suffered the loss of the foremast, as well as some minor damage to the keel and hull, and as such we were forced to seek refuge at the nearest landfall available and put ashore at Angola. 

It is from these shores that I write to you, to reassure you as swiftly as it is in my power to do that the Pelican has not been lost to you. The foreign port is friendly enough to a ship and crew carrying such valuable cargo, but I do not know how long it will be before we can return to the sea and head once more for home. Repairs to the Pelican may take some months. The damage to the keel and hull are easily patched; acquiring a new mast is another task altogether. Trees suitable for masts are not available any nearer than Cabinda, I am told, and a special expedition will have to be sent to retrieve one. In the meantime we can only wait, for without all three sails our chances of completing our homeward voyage alone are slim, indeed. 

With that reality in mind, I am booking my second officer as a passenger on the first available ship bound for home to convey this letter to you with all possible speed, that your mind may be set at ease as to the mystery of our fate. Though we are far from out of danger, we have not yet succumbed to the deep and will continue to strive to return to our port of origin as swiftly as God allows.

Yours faithfully,

Capt. Ellis Fletcher.”

 For a moment after he finished, no one spoke. 

 “We are saved!” Clara cried, and chaos erupted. 

 “Wait just a moment -”

 “The Pelican was carrying the gemstones, Father -”

 “What does it mean?”

 “How much do you think-”

 “...By this time, surely...”

 Only Henry held himself apart from the fray, one hand resting lightly on their father's shoulder. He did not seem as excited as the others; if anything, he looked perturbed. Lydia exchanged a worried glance with him before she was swept up into her sisters' feverish excitation. 

 “We must pack our things at once,” Clara said, her cheeks flushed with high color and her eyes bright as stars. She seized Lydia's hands and spun her nearly round in a circle.

 Lydia staggered as Clara released her halfway through the pirouette. “Pack? Whatever do you mean?”

 “We can go home, Lydia!” Clara seemed not to see her at all, as though some other vision entirely consumed her view. “Things will be as they were before, you shall see!”

 Lydia froze in place, her mouth agape as her heart dropped like a stone. Go back home? Leave Briarwood Cottage? Leave the magic that was here? The peace she had found with her family? Even worse – was she to abandon Julian to his fate?