Three Ships

Chapter Four

The evening went splendidly. The lieutenant was convivial company and demonstrated through his actions as well as his words that his claim of rank was not unfounded.

Indeed, he had impressed Laura's father to the extent that he brought out a bottle of port after dinner. The two men stood by the fire with a glass each and Laura sat opposite with some needlework – anything to stop her restless fidgeting.

She watched Lieutenant Renten beneath her lashes.

It would have been lovely to have met him under other circumstances, Laura thought. A tea dance perhaps, where he would be in his dress uniform and she would be in a pink – no, a green, sprigged dress.

He would approach her, bow and say –

"Are you feeling all right, love?"

Laura started.

"I'm sorry, father. I was wool-gathering."

A blush crept up her cheeks and she pointedly kept her face away from their visitor. There was a silence which threatened to be awkward before Renten spoke.

"May I ask what happened to your foot, Mr Winter?"

"Too much Whisky."

"Oh..." said the lieutenant, unsure how otherwise to respond.

Laura held a smile in check at his expression.

Then, as if on cue, a furry, orange-brown streak sped across the room, narrowly missing the man.

"Meet Whisky," said Laura. "Around her, no one is steady on their feet."

And they all joined in the laughter.

***

As the evening wore on, Laura's father excused himself to check on the light once more before retiring, politely refusing the lieutenant's offer to do it for him. To Laura's surprise, Renten then offered to assist with cleaning the kitchen.

They chatted over the chores and she found out the lieutenant was from Dorset where his family still lived. He had a sister who was to have her coming-out next summer and a widowed mother who he was supporting.

Laura listened and waited for mention of a wife. The fact there was none made her unaccountably glad.

She told him about the offer to train under Miss Jones to become a school mistress in town and start as a teacher the following September, and of her interest in keeping meteorological records like her father.

Suddenly, as quick as a flash, Whisky raced across the kitchen again, under a chair, around a table leg, through Renton's legs and skidded on the slate floor to come to a halt right by the back door.

A strange note came from her throat, a chattering sound, not quite the same as her hunting sound.

"Whisky! What are you doing, you daft cat?" Laura called. "Shoo! Get away from the door, go sleep in front of the fire like your brother."

Over the wind outside, Laura could hear shuffling noises but dismissed them as nothing more than Milly and Acorn in their stalls.

The cat, its gaze fixed on the door, reversed a few paces, back arched and a ridge of fur rising up at the tail.

Laura reached for a broom propped in the corner when Renten grabbed it. Their hands barely touched but the warmth of his lingered as she allowed him to take it.

"I'm going outside to check."

Laura shook her head. "Really, there's no need, there's always odd sounds when the wind pushes on shore like this..."