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Admiral Bell had, of course, no urgent matter to discuss with Flora during their stroll through the shadowy gardens of Bennett Hall. Yet, he chose to speak of a subject close to her heart: Charles Holland.
The gardens, usually vibrant and welcoming, were now draped in the melancholy of dusk. Twisted, ancient trees cast eerie shadows over the paths, and the soft rustle of leaves whispered secrets long forgotten. The admiral, with his rugged demeanor softened by the dim light, knew that speaking of Charles would ease Flora’s troubled mind. He praised Charles with a fervor that mirrored her own devotion. Only the straightforward and passionate Admiral Bell could bring such solace to Flora, who was desperate for reassurance about her beloved.
“Never you mind, Miss Flora,” he began, his voice a gruff but comforting rumble. “You will find, I dare say, that all will come right eventually. Damn me! The only thing that provokes me in the whole business is that I should have been such an old fool as to doubt Charles for even a moment.”
“You should have known him better, sir,” Flora replied softly, her eyes reflecting the fading light.
“I should, my dear. But I was taken by surprise, you see, and that was wrong, too, for a man who has held a responsible command.”
“But the circumstances, dear sir, were of a nature to take everyone by surprise,” Flora insisted, her voice trembling slightly.
“They were, they were,” he admitted. “But now, candidly speaking, and I know I can speak candidly to you—do you really think this Lazarus is the vampire?”
“I do,” she said firmly, her gaze steady despite the fear lurking in her heart.
“You do? Well, then, somebody must tackle him, that’s quite clear. We can’t put up with his fancies always.”
“What can be done?” Flora’s voice was a mere whisper, filled with desperation.
“Ah, that I don’t know, but something must be done, you know. He wants this place; Heaven only knows why or wherefore he has taken such a fancy to it; but he has done so, that is quite clear. If it had a good sea view, I should not be so much surprised; but there’s nothing of the sort, so it’s no way at all better than any other shore-going stupid sort of house, that you can see nothing but land from.”
“Oh, if my brother would but make some compromise with him to restore Charles to us and take the house, we might yet be happy,” Flora suggested, a glimmer of hope in her eyes.
“Damn it! Then you still think that he has a hand in spiriting away Charles?” the admiral asked, his voice rising with renewed anger.
“Who else could do so?” Flora’s voice wavered with a mix of conviction and dread.
“I’ll be hanged if I know. I do feel tolerably sure, and I have a good deal of reliance upon your opinion, my dear; I say, I do feel tolerably sure: but, if I was damned sure, now, I’d soon have it out of him.”
“For my sake, Admiral Bell, I wish now to extract one promise from you.” Flora’s eyes pleaded with him, her hands clasped tightly in front of her.
“Say your say, my dear, and I’ll promise you,” he responded, his tone softening.
“You will not then expose yourself to the danger of any personal conflict with that most dreadful man, whose powers of mischief we do not know, and therefore cannot well meet or appreciate,” she implored.
“Whew! Is that what you mean?” He paused, clearly taken aback by her request.
“Yes; you will, I am sure, promise me so much,” she insisted, her voice steady but urgent.
“Why, my dear, you see the case is this. In affairs of fighting, the less ladies interfere the better.”
“Nay, why so?” Flora questioned, her brows furrowing in confusion.
“Because—because, you see, a lady has no reputation for courage to keep up. Indeed, it’s rather the other way, for we dislike a bold woman as much as we hold in contempt a cowardly man.”
“But if you grant to us females that in consequence of our affections, we are not courageous, you must likewise grant how much we are doomed to suffer from the dangers of those whom we esteem,” Flora argued, her voice filled with emotion.
“You would be the last person in the world to esteem a coward,” the admiral noted, a hint of admiration in his tone.
“Certainly. But there is more true courage often in not fighting than in entering into a contest,” she replied, her voice resolute.
“You are right enough there, my dear,” he conceded.
“Under ordinary circumstances, I should not oppose your carrying out the dictates of your honor, but now, let me entreat you not to meet this dreadful man, if man he can be called, when you know not how unfair the contest may be.”
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“Unfair?” he echoed, raising an eyebrow.
“Yes. May he not have some means of preventing you from injuring him, and of overcoming you, which no mortal possesses?”
“He may,” the admiral agreed, his voice now a contemplative murmur.
The gardens of Bennett Hall lay shrouded in a mist that clung to the ancient stone walls like a spectral veil. Flora and Admiral Bell wandered through the shadowy paths, their footsteps muffled by the damp earth. The twilight had cast long, eerie shadows, and the gnarled trees seemed to whisper secrets of old, lost souls. Flora’s heart was heavy with worry, but the Admiral’s words, even when blunt, brought a strange comfort.
“Then the very thought of such danger should be enough to make you abandon any notion of meeting with him,” Flora urged, her voice trembling with concern.
“My dear, I’ll consider the matter,” Admiral Bell replied, his voice a low rumble that seemed to blend with the rustling leaves.
“Please do,” Flora insisted, her eyes pleading.
“There is something else I wish to ask of you, as a favor,” the Admiral said, his tone softening.
“It is granted before it is spoken,” Flora replied, trying to hide her apprehension.
“Very good. Now, you mustn’t be offended by what I’m about to say. I know it may touch your pride, but you possess the judgment to see what is truly offensive and what is not.”
“You alarm me with such a preface,” Flora said, a frown creasing her forehead.
“Do I? Then I’ll speak plainly. Your brother Henry, poor fellow, has enough to do, hasn’t he, to make ends meet?”
A flush of discomfort colored Flora’s cheeks. The old Admiral’s bluntness had struck a raw nerve, though she already knew the bitterness of her brother’s struggles.
“You are silent,” the Admiral continued, “which means I’m not wrong. Charles told me as much, and I’m sure he got it from a reliable source.”
“I cannot deny it, sir,” Flora admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Then don’t. Poverty isn’t a crime, but like being born a Frenchman, it’s a damned misfortune.”
Flora couldn’t help but smile at the Admiral’s peculiar way of mixing his prejudices with his liberal sentiments.
“Well,” he continued, “I don’t intend for him to struggle as he has. The enemies of his king and country shall free him from his embarrassments.”
“The enemies?” Flora asked, puzzled.
“Yes; who else?” he replied, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.
“You speak in riddles, sir.”
“Do I? Then I’ll make it plain. When I went to sea, I was as poor as a ship’s cat after the crew had been paid off. But I fought hard, and the more battles I won, the more prize money I got.”
“Indeed!” Flora exclaimed, her curiosity piqued.
“Yes, prize after prize we hauled into port, until the French vessels wouldn’t come out of their harbors.”
“What did you do then?”
“What did we do? The most natural thing in the world—we went in and took them out.”
“You went into their harbors?” Flora asked, astonished.
“To be sure we did. And by the end of the war, I had plenty of prize money, all from defeating England’s enemies. I intend for some of that money to help your brother. That way, as I said, the enemies of his king and country will free him from his difficulties.”
“I see your noble generosity, Admiral,” Flora said, her voice filled with gratitude.
“Noble fiddlesticks! Now that I’ve mentioned it, I need you to manage it for me.”
“How, sir?” Flora asked, her curiosity turning to concern.
“You must find out how much money will free your brother from his troubles, and then I’ll give it to you. You can hand it to him, so I don’t have to say anything about it. If he questions me, I can brush him off with, ‘It’s no business of mine.’”
“And can you, dear Admiral, imagine that I could conceal the generous source of such assistance?” Flora asked, her eyes welling up with tears.
“Of course; it will come from you. I’ll make you a gift of the money. What you do with it is your business, not mine.”
Tears streamed down Flora’s face as she tried to speak but could not. The Admiral, seeing her distress, swore under his breath and pretended not to understand why she was crying. When her initial flood of emotions subsided, she finally said, “I cannot accept such generosity, sir—I dare not.”
“Dare not!” the Admiral exclaimed, his voice a mix of frustration and affection.
The gardens of Bennett Hall, veiled in twilight, exuded an aura of quiet desolation. The ancient stone walls were draped with ivy, and the gnarled branches of ancient oaks cast ghostly shadows upon the cobblestone paths. Flora walked alongside Admiral Bell, her mind a tempest of worry and gratitude.
“No,” she said, her voice steady despite her turmoil. “I would think poorly of myself if I took advantage of your boundless generosity.”
“Take advantage?” the Admiral huffed, his weather-beaten face etched with stubbornness. “I’d like to see anyone try to take advantage of me, that’s all.”
“I should not accept your money. I will speak to my brother, and I know he will deeply appreciate your noble, generous offer.”
“Well, do as you see fit, but remember, I have the right to do what I like with my own money.”
“Undoubtedly,” Flora agreed, her voice softer.
“Very good. Then since that is undoubted, whatever I lend to him, I give to you. It’s as broad as it’s long, as the Dutchman said when he looked at the new ship built for him. You may as well take it yourself and make no more fuss about it.”
Flora’s eyes shimmered with emotion. “I will consider,” she said, her voice trembling. “Between now and the same hour tomorrow, I will think about it. If there are words more expressive of heartfelt gratitude than others, imagine I have used them regarding my feelings toward your unparalleled offer of friendship.”
“Oh, bother—stuff,” the Admiral grumbled, waving off her thanks.
He swiftly changed the subject, turning to talk of Charles Holland—a most welcome topic for Flora. His rough voice softened as he spoke of Charles, recounting little details that painted his character in a noble light. Flora listened intently, each word a balm to her troubled soul.
“The idea,” the Admiral said, his voice growing more animated, “that Charles could write those letters is quite absurd.”
“It is, indeed,” Flora agreed. “Oh, if only we knew what had become of him!”
“We will know,” the Admiral said with conviction. “I don’t think he’s dead. Something tells me that one day we’ll see his face again.”
“I am glad to hear you say so,” Flora whispered, her hope rekindled.
“We’ll stir heaven and earth to find him. If he were dead, there would be some trace of him. Besides, the scoundrels would have left him where they attacked him.”
Flora shuddered at the thought.
“But don’t fret yourself,” the Admiral reassured her. “You can bet the sweet little cherub that sits up aloft has looked after him.”
“I will hope so,” Flora said, trying to muster a smile.
“And now, my dear,” the Admiral continued, “Henry will be home soon. He has enough troubles without adding more. You’ll take the earliest opportunity to tell him about our conversation and let me know what he says.”
“I will—I promise.”
“That’s right. Now, go indoors. There’s a chill in the air, and you’re too delicate a plant to be out here too long. Go in and make yourself comfortable. Remember, even the worst storm must blow over eventually.”