Page 61 of The Scholar’s Spy

“It is my fault his mission to find Pinhayers was unsuccessful. I was out late at night, working on my sea creature. Robert—Captain Davenport saved me, whilst there was a smuggling—a landing taking place. Without him I might be dead. That is another reason why I came up to Town.” His fiancé’s back straightened and then she turned and smiled with such a romantic look at Robert that it shocked him. “Because they realized how much I needed to see my captain. And as a local to Lyme, unless you set up an ongoing service you will not be able to stop the sale of brandy and French wine.”

“I see.” Montacute studied her for a moment before turning and looking over Robert.

For a minute, the tension in the parlor stretched. Encompassing all of them. Then much to Robert’s shock, Montacute made a scuffing noise and proceeded to pack up his items. He was done with the pair of them.

Was Abigail’s theory about the baron correct? And Montacute believed them nothing but lovesick fools. Robert watched the man leave, wandering what the baron was thinking, but on that his lordship gave no clue. Then when Robert looked back at Abigail, he realized that it didn’t matter what the man thought, all that mattered was that they were free.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Excitement bubbled through Abigail. It fizzed down her body, and she was certain could be seen almost radiating out of her. She had experienced a great deal in the last few weeks, more in some ways than she had ever expected. Previously, her life was going to revolve around Lyme Regis and her discoveries, but as Robert said, there was no reason why they could not return to the Dorset coastline. Eventually.

“What do you think?” Robert was next to her, his hand on his elbow, guiding her down the gangway and into the first steps in Dublin. He was watching her face with interest, keen to witness her response.

Lamplight glowed from on high. Up above their heads, the lamps sent out bright lights, spreading a cheerful glow out and into the city beyond them. It flicked off the water in the dock. Rough cries mingled with much heavier accented voices as travelers disembarked from the ship to mingle in the dockyard. There was something like optimism that emanated out from the city, that captured Abigail entirely.

Abigail watched with interest the other passengers, wealthy ladies, seamen, and the rest of the crew of the ship, making their way down the gangway around them. It had not been a long journey, between Liverpool and the sprawling Irish city, and Abigail had enjoyed the trip. The lapping of water, the sound of the sea, and the sense of purpose on the ship. The ease of the experience had made her hope for the future when they might be able to visit France. The world was opening up before her, before the pair of them, in a way that Abigail would never have imagined possible, just a few months ago.

‘It will be our honeymoon,’ Robert had whispered to her at night on their wedding night, as they’d walked happily through the Scottish town. He had been worried that the romance of it would not be conveyed, but Abigail had woven her fingers through his and kissed his knuckles. She was becoming more and more comfortable with sentimental gestures, enjoying the ease that came to her and Robert’s response to them.

She had whispered, ‘I do not need grand or expensive presents…none of that. You and I, us…that is what I need.’ It had burnt at her throat, the effort of letting go of those tightly held and wished for dreams.

A way of celebrating their recent wedding, Abigail thought. They had been married just four days ago in Gretna Green. It turned out Robert had been rather eager for the romance of an elopement. For instance, he had insisted on the hand fasting too, and the scarlet ribbon was now folded up and tucked inside by Robert’s breast pocket. It touched Abigail to know the strength of his feelings, conveyed without words, but visible by the flash of the red by his heart. Some things never needed to be said.

“I am looking forward to meeting your parents,” Abigail said. She might be pleased to make their acquaintance, but she knew that it was causing her new husband some anxiety. Having resigned his work with the home office, he was now a retired captain, with his half pay and whatever they might be able to earn themselves. “Will your family not mind…me?” He might be used to her, but Abigail was not certain anyone ever would be.

“If they do not love you, then it is their mistake.”

She nodded, hoping that it would be so.

Abigail watched as Robert ordered their luggage to be sent on to his parent’s address, before turning to look at Abigail, giving her a reassuring smile.

The dockyard was busy and jostling, the night air nipping around them. It might have been the summer, but the salty chill aired recalled the bite of Lyme Regis, and the excitement that encircled them felt almost festive. With a sucking in of breath Abigail made herself focus on the thrill of the place, rather than her fears.

“Shall we make our way there?” Robert asked. There was a smile on his lips that Abigail was becoming familiar with, Robert’s true grin—a boyish, hopeful sign of happiness. Sometimes Abigail thought there was a faint sign of a dimple. These smiles were becoming more frequent. “It is only twenty minutes away,” Robert said, “I believe I know the way. I can show—”

His words were cut off by an echoing cry from close by. A woman’s voice rose above the general murmur and chatter on the dockyard, and it was moving closer.

“Robbie—” Her cry echoed and there was a scuffing momentum nearby and suddenly a woman rushed through the throng, heading directly toward Robert and Abigail. She had auburn hair streaked with a few white streaks topped with an unbalanced hat, fierce blue eyes that were rather familiar to Abigail, and the sort of smile that illuminated the other woman’s graceful appearance. In contrast to the elegant look, she threw her arms around Robert’s neck, and hugged him tightly.

“Mother.” Robert’s voice was soft, but Abigail could detect the note of sensitivity in the single word, his fear over her reaction to his return written in his response. The worries that had overridden him for the last week, the one he had confided in Abigail, where he stated that he feared that his family would not be pleased to see him. These concerns seemed to vanish entirely, as his hands closed around his mother’s waist to hug her back.

“You did not give us a return address. All we had were the details of your last letter.” The older woman broke away and swatted at Robert’s shoulder. “You made mention of your wife, and—” Robert’s mother looked around her and her gaze landed promptly on Abigail, and she grinned, her bright eyes dancing as she looked between them. It took no introduction for Mrs. Davenport to know that it was Abigail who was her new daughter-in-law.

Abigail offered her hand out, prepared to shake or even if Mrs. Davenport wanted her to, curtsey in lieu of greeting. Instead, the older Mrs. Davenport threw her arms about Abigail with such great enthusiasm—the typically effusive warmth that Sophia would have normally demonstrated in introductions. It surprised Abigail that anyone would be that delighted to meet her. As Mrs. Davenport hugged Abigail tightly, she whispered in Abigail’s ear, “You brought him back to us.”

Despite Abigail’s surprise and discomfort with immediate physical contact, the sentiment behind Mrs. Davenport’s embrace made her smile back. “Hello, Mrs. Davenport. It was entirely Robert’s doing. Although I am happy to be here too, and see Dublin for the first time.”

“Oh, none of that, none of that. You must call me Molly.” Mrs. Davenport stepped back and looked smilingly between the newly married couple. There were tears in her eyes, but she blinked rapidly to clear her gaze. “Your father has collected the girls. But we—that is your father, and I thought it best you just see us first,” she said, moving with the bright eagerness of a child given a present unexpectedly. “He said that he didn’t want to overwhelm you. Come—” She grabbed both of their arms. “I have brought the carriage round.”

Mrs. Davenport ushered them into a waiting carriage which was close by. Abigail noticed the matching snowy white horses, and the smartly made carriage.

Abigail looked out of the window, taking in the port city that was whizzing past her at a brisk pace the horses set. Having never seen much of cityscapes before this year, she was pleased to see the place despite only catching elements in the half light. The people who hurried past caught her eye, but the carriage did not give her time to pause.

She let the conversation drift over her in the carriage, giving Robert and his mother time to reminisce after such a long time apart.

“And this one is our street,” Robert said.

Excitement and nerves churned through her stomach as Abigail felt the carriage slow in front of the smartly made terraced houses. Red bricked, with steps that lead up the front doors. These were painted in bright colorful shades, and several of the homes had ivy or wisteria climbing up the fronts. The front windows, all four floors, were filled with lace curtains, with lights glinting behind them. There was a painful twang echoed in Abigail’s chest, as for some reason it made her think of her home back in Lyme Regis. Not how it currently looked, nor how it actually resembled her home, but there was a real warmth to the building that harked back to the recollections of Abigail’s house when her father was alive. How she missed her dear father, and the tugging memory of him prevailed in her mind as she climbed out of the carriage.