‘Sir,’ he whispered under his breath to the Lord above. ‘Help me know what to do.’
Once Teddy was inside, Hollinsworth’s expression changed to his usual cheery demeanour. Jem understood. ‘Captain Grey, we’re going to let every flying insect into this print shop. Hurry up and come in!’
He hurried, closing the door after him. Teddy stood behind the drafting table, as if afraid of them both. Her eyes were huge in her face until Hollinsworth bowed from the waist and introduced himself. To Jem’s relief, she smiled.
‘Miss Winnings, I had to do something to get this slow-moving captain out of the street. He doesn’t understand Savannah the way we do, does he? Do have a seat, please. No one here is going to harm you.’ The printer gestured toward the stool in front of the drafting table. He propped a broom against it. ‘If anyone sets the doorbell tinkling, start sweeping.’
Teddy nodded and sat. With a pang, Jem watched her smooth down the rough fabric of the shapeless dress she wore, recognising the graceful gesture from many a time when she sat beside his bed in the hospital in much better clothing. His heart eased, as he realised Teddy was still Teddy.
Jem had to admit that Osgood N. Hollinsworth had a certain charm, something he had not noticed before in their various exchanges. Teddy appeared to relax as the tension left her face. ‘Yes, Sir,’ she said. ‘I can sweep.’ Jem saw the dimple in her cheek and relaxed further. ‘No one will know I don’t belong in here.’
The capable, assured, confident post captain that James Grey knew himself to be had vanished. He stood there like a lump, awkward as though his feet and hands were five times larger than usual. At least so he felt, until Hollinsworth took his arm in a surprisingly gentle grip and motioned him toward the other chair beside the drafting table.
Hollinsworth regarded them with something nearly resembling beatific goodwill toward men. ‘Talk,’ he said. ‘I am going to the Marlborough for some food. Captain, do you have any money? You know what a poverty-stricken editor I am. Why is it writers cannot make an honest dime?’
Wordless, Jem reached inside his coat and took out several bills. ‘What do you like to eat, Teddy? I remember macaroons and something with pecans.’
She smiled for the first time, and Jem felt his heart cuddle down into a little pile. ‘You remember well... Jem?’
‘That’s still my name,’ he said, even though all he had heard in years was Captain Grey, or something more informal. ‘My men call me Iron Belly, but only out of my hearing.’
Her smile grew larger. ‘I recall a time when all you did was puke.’
Hollinsworth rolled his eyes. ‘My land! Eleven years and this is the best you two can do? I’m going, before I smack you both!’
Jem laughed, and Teddy put her hand over her mouth, a gesture he remembered as though the hospital was mere days ago, when she was a lady and too polite to laugh out loud.
‘Fried chicken and greens? Corn bread?’ Hollinsworth asked. ‘Crab sandwiches?’
‘It all sounds wonderful, sir,’ Teddy said. ‘I haven’t had chicken in a long time.’
The door closed, and Jem absorbed the sight of Theodora Winnings, still the loveliest woman he had ever seen, and he had been in many a foreign port since his proposal by letter. He wished he could tell her he had been a chaste, celibate man, but that would have been a lie. He wished he had received her letter years sooner.
He could have said all that; instead, he held out his hand to her. He could have died with delight when she held out her hand and grasped his in a firm hold. Her hands were rough and her grip strong, much like his own. He remembered her delicate touch and the softness of her hands, but much time and many tides had rolled over them both since he wrote that letter and she answered it.
She opened her mouth to speak. He held up his free hand, ready to break a social rule.
‘A gentleman would let you speak first, Teddy, but I have to start. I won’t have you apologise for anything when I owe you the apology.’
It didn’t work. ‘Jem, I’m a slave. I always was. I never told you.’ Her voice was low and earnest. ‘It was wrong and I’ve regretted it for years. May I please apologise first?’
‘No, you may not.’ He felt like he floundered, but he was still a man used to command. ‘Teddy, I didn’t get your letter until September.’ He reached in his pocket and pulled out the fragile thing, setting it carefully on the drafting table. ‘You see what I could read. Mrs Fillion had set a box on top of it, and there it remained for years.’
‘You told me to send a letter care of the Drake,’ she said. ‘Her hotel?’
‘We officers of the fleet based in Plymouth have long used the Drake as an informal place to store our personal effects. Everyone passes through there sooner or later,’ he explained. ‘What happened in this case is that the owner of the box on top of your letter died.’
‘So there it sat,’ she said with a sigh.
‘Every so often, Mrs Fillion advertises in the newspaper, listing the names and property, hoping next of kin will claim the items,’ he said. ‘Someone finally did. I happened to be in port when she found the letter underneath.’
‘And you dropped everything and ran away to the United States? Captain Grey, I don’t remember you as an impulsive person. Aren’t you at war? Did you bring your frigate with you?’
The way her eyes twinkled made him laugh. Funny how they had picked up where they left off. When his malaria fevers had begun to subside and he lay there in the convent, stupefied and even unsure where he was, Theodora Winnings had jollied him out of the doldrums by reading a book of wise remarks and tomfoolery by Benjamin Franklin. He knew she liked to laugh, and by God, he could have used a few laughs in the past decade.
‘There is no war right now. First Consul Bonaparte has foisted the Peace of Amiens on us.’
‘That’s a good thing, I would imagine, Jem.’
He smiled to hear her affectionate name for him. Amazing how eleven years could nearly vanish. With a start, he realised that since his parents’ deaths years ago, no one called him that except Teddy Winnings.
‘Amiens is good for me,’ he assured her. ‘Most of us post captains were thrown ashore on half pay, which meant I could book passage on the first ship to the United States and the Royal Navy is none the wiser.’
‘You came all this way without knowing even where I was or whether I was alive or dead?’ she asked.
He heard the wonder in her voice. He could assure her that was the truth, or he could be honest. Which would it be? He knew now she was a slave, a woman of Ashanti or Ibo origin two or three generations back, someone who had to bend to the will of others. He could chat with her, satisfy himself she was well, and leave for Baltimore at the end of the week, as planned.
He might have done precisely that, if he had not looked into her eyes and remembered what it was beyond her amiability and breathtaking beauty that made Theodora Winnings so memorable. Kind eyes looked into his and he recalled with delight her amazing ability to give whomever she was talking to her complete and undivided attention. He knew it was a rare gift. He would be honest, because she was paying attention to him, completely focused.
‘Teddy, I wanted to assure myself that you were alive,’ he said. ‘I had no doubt you would be married and with a family of your own.’
‘Not this slave,’ she said. ‘Why else are you here then?’
He couldn’t help looking around to make sure British spies weren’t pressed against the front window, peering in and listening. I’m an idiot, he thought, suddenly weary.
‘You can tell me,’ she said, putting her hand over his. ‘I don’t expect you to come to my rescue. You had no idea