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“Wonderful. Allow me to assist you.” She inclined her graceful head to Mrs. Boucher and offered her arm to Mrs. Sheffield, helping the older woman rise. Casting a sorrowful look over the table, she said, “I’m not sure if I’ll return. Pray finish the game without me.”
Giulia rose. “Let me help you.”
The women bid the rest of the room goodnight and took their leave, and Mac watched them go, wishing he could join them.
“You have been quiet this evening,” Miss Sophy said, leaning close and lowering her voice. “Is something troubling you, Mr. MacKenzie?”
“No,” he said, offering her a smile that felt more like a grimace.
“We are old friends, are we not?” she pressed, her mouth forming an unattractive pout. “You can trust me.”
“That is a relief,” he said, pushing his chair back. “If you will all excuse me, I have an early morning tomorrow.”
Miss Sophy’s pout grew, but the remainder of the table didn’t seem to mind. Charles and Miss Pemberton seemed to notice least of all.
Mac slipped upstairs to his room and closed the door behind him. Pulling the chair closer to the low-burning fire in the fireplace, he lifted the letter that had arrived earlier that day from the desk and read it again. Father’s tiny scrawl took up the entirety of the page and crossed diagonally twice. He had much to say about the conditions of his home and the rats which had taken up residence within the room he slept in; apparently, the prison cat had gone missing a few weeks before and now the rodents were roaming free and unhindered. And Father was begging for speedy assistance.
The tale had likely been embellished to gain sympathy, but guilt nipped at Mac regardless. He would have enough to pay his father’s creditors the moment the prize money was awarded. Surely that had to be soon. It had been tied up in courts for eight months now.
But the lines at the end of the letter puzzled Mac, and he squinted to make out the words again through the layering, overlapping words.
The only bright spot to my days are the dignified conversations with those men whose positions are in greater turmoil than my own. One man in particular has alleviated my suffering with his association. Though I mourn for him, his friendship has greatly relieved my suffering. There is no bonding agent like shared grief, is there? In any case, I hope you can soon relieve me from this wretched place. Soon, even my dearest friend will depart.
The passage was as cryptic as it was perplexing. Had Father meant to confuse Mac or to persuade him to quicken his liberation? Mac was not sitting on a fortune, biding his time as he considered his options. He needed the prize courts to approve their acquisitions.
Mac believed he’d made a good deal of his money during his years serving as Captain Sheffield’s lieutenant, but he wasn’t the only man in that role, and they would have to split the prizes accordingly. Every man on the ship would get their cut—even if some did not deserve it as much as others.
Slipping quietly from his room, Mac let himself down the stairs and knocked on the study door. When the deep, familiar voice bid him enter, he opened the door and let himself into the room.
“Ah, MacKenzie,” Captain Sheffield said, gesturing him forward. “Come in.”
“Have you thought more about my proposal?”
“Sparing the vale?” the captain asked. His white eyebrows lifted, and he pushed the reading spectacles up on his nose. “I did consider it, but that’s the best place to put the cottages.”
Mac swallowed his frustration and lowered himself into the chair across from Captain Sheffield. “But the south field is so far from the vale. Surely there is a better, closer location for the houses.”
The captain removed his spectacles, folding them and setting them on his desk. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he leaned back in his chair. “By the time we fill those houses with men, I hope to plant every space of earth between the south field and the vale. There will be nowhere else to build.”
“That is a mighty goal, Captain.”
“The more fields we farm, the more men we can bring to work.”
“Did you have other men in mind? I only heard you mention Rogers, Halpert, and Jemmings.”
“Aye,” Captain Sheffield said, “but I return to sea in two months’ time, and I am certain to find more men who might fit our situation well.”
A beat of silence passed, and Mac held his captain’s gaze. “You cannot help every man, sir.”
“No, but I can do my best to help as many as possible.”
“And the three families coming here now to farm these lands will greatly benefit. I’m certain they would have ended up in the workhouse without your assistance, Captain. These men and their families have much to be grateful for. But the fact remains that you cannot help every man who leaves the navy with nowhere to go.”
“But I wish I could,” Captain Sheffield said softly. “Perhaps in time…”
“Perhaps we ought to focus on those we might help now and worry about expanding in the future. We can’t even bring Rogers, Halpert, or Jennings’ families in until the cottages are finished.”
Captain Sheffield puffed up his rosy cheeks before blowing out a long, slow breath. “This is why I brought you on, son. I need your level-headedness to maintain control when I leave.”
