The Admiral's Wife

Chapter Two

This week's artwork: Halifax, Nova Scotia; circa mid 1800s.

Mary opened the door to her room and stepped out over its threshold and into the upper hall. Lizzie, the large calico cat and the best mouser in all the land, appeared from where she had been napping and rubbed herself affectionately against her ankles. Mary reached down and scratched the top of the animal's head.

"Ah Lizzie, how is it that I find myself in such a state?" The cat had no answers and completely unaware of the situation at all, simply closed her eyes in ecstasy and mewed appreciatively at her mistress.

Mary straightened and reluctantly descended the staircase to the main level of the house. Upon reaching her father's library door she stopped to take a deep breath, correct her posture, and steel herself for what awaited her there.

She was dreading the next few days. Her greatest fear was that he would send her away to England to stay with her sister, and that she would be forced to leave Nova Scotia to wait out her confinement. She felt she would face the worst gossip and all ill wishes, rather then to make the long journey across the sea, away from her home and the place that held her heart.

She tapped at the door so softly as almost not to be heard.

John Hamilton did hear however, for that gentleman was of course expecting just such a tap and the door pulled open before Mary had even lowered her hand. He was a man of standing, well bred and well educated, the second son of an Irish peer who had made his way to the colonies to seek his fortune. This he had done by hard work in shipping, by making intelligent alliances with other men of trade, and as a solicitor, by making his way into the governing body of Nova Scotia. He was also a family man who had loved his wife and Mary knew he did love all his children dearly.

Her father smiled at her and momentarily scrutinized her face. She stepped back slightly at his appraisal. Concern for his daughter mirrored in his eyes. "Come Mary and let us settle this," he said gently, and taking her hand in his, he drew her through the door and into the room.

She was fortunate indeed, Mary thought, to have a father such as he. Many would have been very severe to a daughter who had landed herself in such a position as she had. He, however, had shown her only a gentleness and kindness that she was quite sure she did not deserve from him. "Yes of course, father," she replied with as much composure as she could muster and stepped deeper into the room. She raised her chin and steeled herself for whatever was to come, determined she would not disappoint him.

A fire was burning in the fireplace to ward off the chill of a cool spring evening. Its crackling warmth eased her somewhat. Her father's study was an inviting room. The walls were lined with hundreds of books, for he was a studious man and read much. His desk was scattered, as was usual, with his papers and writing apparatus, and the large double armchair stood comfortingly where it had stood since her childhood days. There were two other chairs in the room, one being empty, and the other being presently and surprisingly occupied by the Admiral, Sir Aaron Morton, who was one of her father's closest friends. He stood up as she entered the room and bowed. She curtsied in response and both men continued to stand, as was customary, until she had taken the unoccupied seat nearest the fire. Neither one nor the other immediately spoke and this had Mary shifting somewhat uncomfortably in her chair, until finally, her father broke the silence.

"Mary," he sounded apologetic; "I know it will come as a surprise to you, but I have taken the Admiral into my confidence. It was necessary to do so, to find a resolution to this situation."

Mary could think of no way that the Admiral could possibly assist them in this, but she did not venture to say so. Instead she frowned, tilted her head, and nodded slightly for her father to continue.