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“Let them have some fresh air,” Angus said instantly. “They can’t stay below for the entire voyage.”
“When they recover,” Captain Inges said. “Now all but two of them are under the weather.”
“Seasickness,” Mr. Jones said.
“You seem to be a good sailor,” the captain said to Edilean. “No sickness? Either of you?”
“We’re too happy to have escaped to be sick,” Edilean said, then when they looked at her in question, she said, “I mean we’re happy to have escaped our well-meaning friends and relatives who never hesitated to call at our house in London to wish us well on our marriage.”
“Ah,” Captain Inges said, “am I right in guessing that this is your bridal tour?”
“Yes,” Edilean said. “A belated one.” Again she reached for Angus’s hand.
“Perhaps, Mrs. Harcourt, I could persuade you to sing for us,” the captain said. “And I will try my hand at the mandolin.”
“I would love to,” she said, pushing back her chair as the steward came in and began to clear the table. “What would you like? Psalms? A bit of opera? Or perhaps a folk song from the English countryside?”
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“What about a Scottish ballad?” Angus asked. “Something that we might all know.”
“I’m not sure I know any Scottish songs,” Edilean said, looking at him in curiosity before turning back to Captain Inges. “My husband has an uncle who lives in Scotland, and he used to spend his summers with him in a romantic old keep set on a hill, so my husband knows a lot about Scottish ways.”
“I thought I detected a bit of a burr in your voice,” Captain Inges said. “You’re lucky that you aren’t in Scotland now, as there is a murderer on the loose. Perhaps you saw the flyers with his picture when you were in Glasgow.”
“We did,” Edilean said. “He looked quite dangerous, although I did see something of kindness in his eyes. Or perhaps it was just the expertise of the artist that put it there.”
Angus gave her a look as though to say he didn’t know whether to laugh or grimace.
“I thought the drawing looked rather ordinary,” Mr. Jones said. “I think it was a bit out of proportion, but, worse, he made the blackguard look almost handsome. It’s my true belief that what we are shows on our faces. A man that bad could not be anything but as ugly as sin.”
“I agree,” Angus said, smiling broadly.
It was obvious that the captain had planned to play after dinner, as his mandolin was nearby, and he opened the case to lovingly remove the beautiful instrument. “Now, what shall you sing?”
Before Edilean could speak, Angus said, “Do you know the tune to ‘Greensleeves’?”
“Yes, of course,” he said, pleased.
He began playing quite skillfully, and the music of the old melody filled the small room. Edilean knew the ancient ballad, reputed to have been written by King Henry VIII, but just as she opened her mouth for her first note, Angus surprised her by starting to sing. His voice was rich and deep and beautiful. Edilean sat still and listened to him.
He sang what was probably an ancient song about a young lord whose father sent him away to school in the care of a servant. As soon as they were out of sight, the servant showed his true nature by sending the young lord out into the world penniless and in dirty, torn clothing, while the servant took his place and met a beautiful princess.
When Angus got to this part, he looked at Edilean; he was singing to her. The princess’s father wanted her to marry the man who said he was a lord, but she begged him to wait. In the meantime, she fell in love with a stable lad—who was the real lord.
At this, Angus took Edilean’s hands in his and held them. He told how the boy had sworn not to tell his true story or the servant would kill his family, so the clever girl persuaded him to tell his horse.
Edilean laughed. A prince in the clothes of a workman and a fine horse had played a part in their lives.
After the princess heard the story, she wrote the young man’s father, and he came with an army and told the truth about who was the rightful prince. At the end, the servant was executed, and the young lord married the beautiful princess.
When Angus stopped, the captain played a bit of a flourish, and they all laughed and applauded.
“I do say but that was good!” Mr. Jones said. “A story and a song in one. Perhaps we could have another one.”
Angus started to speak, but Edilean gave a yawn that she ostentatiously covered with her hand. “I’m afraid not,” he said as he offered Edilean his arm. “It looks like my wife has had enough for one day. If you will excuse us.”
Once they were outside she kept her hold on his arm. “That was wonderful. Truly beautiful. Your voice is so good you could have a career on the stage.”
