everyone in the room, including her husband, who sat between Headmaster Croker and the barrister. He had a “why am I here?” look on his face, which probably mirrored hers.
Captain Hector Rose, Trinity House’s warden, had joined them, as well as the ubiquitous Captain Ogilvie. How did that man insinuate himself into so much? she wondered. There were other distinguished-looking fellows, enough of them to make Meridee wish for a kettle full of petit fours from Ezekiel Bartleby as solace for nerves.
I marry a bona fide genius, end up in raffish Portsmouth, and my life changed, she thought, still marveling at the difference of a few years. She smiled at her husband, reading his thoughts almost perfectly. And you wish I were sitting beside you. So do I.
Meridee prepared to be bored but look interested through the reading of Sir B’s will, and she succeeded, to a point. Who could know anything about St. Brendan’s usually denigrated students and not feel a catch in the throat when the barrister, Sir Charles Park, announced a huge bequest?
“He wrote this in his own hand,” Sir Charles said, with a kindly glance at Grace St. Anthony. “’I know not what the coming years of war will bring, but St. Brendan’s must continue as a school for workhouse lads of promise.’” He removed his spectacles and addressed Grace. “My dear Lady St. Anthony, he was so adamant that he word the matter correctly.”
“He knew how important St. Brendan’s was. He always knew,” Grace said softly.
Sir Charles cleared his throat and continued through other bequests, then came to one which brought a smile to his face. To Meridee’s surprise, he looked at her. “You are Mrs. Able Six?” he asked.
“Yes, Sir Charles,” she said, then glanced at Able, who shrugged his shoulders, as mystified as she was.
“Very well, then!” Sir Charles gave her a deferential nod. “’To Meridee Bonfort Six, wife of Sailing Master Durable Six, should her husband predecease her in his service in the Royal Navy and/or St. Brendan the Navigator School, one thousand pounds per annum, as long as she shall live.’”
Meridee gasped. She looked across the room to her husband, who had bowed his head. When she saw his shoulders shake, she longed to leap to her feet and hold him.
Sir Charles held up his hand. “A little more, so humor me.” Another throat clearing. “’The house at 11 Saints Way has already been purchased by me and will be assigned to Mrs. Six now, with the addition of a few signatures. She need never fear eviction, provided she does not mind living in this devil-may-care port.’”
Meridee struggled between laughter and tears, and tears won. Without a word, Smitty took a handkerchief from an inside pocket and pressed it in her hand.
It wasn’t enough. She knew she wanted her husband right then; fortunately, he knew it, too. With no apology he left the table and was at her side in remarkable time. She clung to him, and he to her. After a moment, they turned their attention to Headmaster Croker.
“Sir, accept our apologies for this interruption,” Able said. “By his unparalleled bequest to my wife, Sir B has allayed my only fear. God bless the man.”
He returned to his seat and Meridee sat again, certain that everyone in the room could hear the pounding of her heart. She whispered to Grace, “Friend, did you know this?”
Grace nodded, and blew her a kiss.
After several more mundane bequests, all of which indicated to Meridee that Sir B was far wealthier than she ever could have imagined, Sir Charles finally reached the final page of the will. He looked and then looked again, showing it to the solicitor seated behind him. They conferred. Meridee heard, “I don’t recall this. Do you?” and “But Sir Charles, it has been initialed, has it not?” “Someone’s initials. Can you make them out?” “No, Sir Charles. It’s Greek to me.”
Sir Charles Park read the final entry to himself, shaking his head. He looked at Master Croker apologetically. “I daresay our firm has been working too many long hours.” He tapped the page. “This little entry I disremember, but all things considered, it is a wise one, I have no doubt.” He looked at his audience.
“It is this: “I will my yacht the Jolly Roger to St. Brendan’s, with the proviso that it be assigned to the Royal Navy for the length of our current national emergency. She is a sweet vessel and can easily handle ship-to-shore messages from