THE CAPTAIN'S HOUSE

A Jack Aubrey love story spanning 186 years across time

By Atonia Walpole

Chapter l:

September 12, 1820

His ship lay in the harbor but he would not come ashore. From the hilltop she could see the masts waving in the whitecaps. She waved back, “Soon my love.” The wind whipped her skirts around her legs making it difficult to walk down the path to the house.

The babe had been wrapped warmly in his blankets and placed in his cradle. The old woman would care for him today. His son born of her body, born of their love, slept soundly as she bathed and dressed for the weather. She walked down the pathway to the main road that turned toward the docks. If there was a boat for her today she would see him.

“Hullo, Miss, we’ve come for you. Looks like a blow tonight,” called out the boatman.

“Aye, it will be a dark night,” she replied and sat under the canvas cover as the boatmen set out toward the ship across the harbor.

August 16, 2006

John Scarlet adjusted the lens again and took aim at the widows walk. Great shots. The light was perfect for the gray house and the clouds gathering above. He packed his gear back into the leather bag and walked up to the front door. The ancient house sat at an angle to the street, tall and forbidding with darkened gray siding. This was the original part of the house, he was sure. He entered the door and walked around inside, taking in the workmanship. He had to dip his head to move through the rooms for he was a tall man. It was all there, the mullioned windows and wooden shutters. Period furniture had been placed about, none of it original he thought, but still it provided the look he wanted. He would come back again with the proper lighting to take his photographs. He walked back outside and climbed the hillside behind the house to see the harbor. The wind blew his long blond hair around his face as he gazed at the sail boat masts bobbing below. As soon as the weather broke he was going out.

He parked his car, picked up his camera case and the day’s accumulation of wrappers and cups, and carried them into the condo he rented on the third floor. The furnishings were sparse but neat and clean. John hadn’t added anything to the décor except a photograph of a sailing ship. His needs were simple and he was used to living lean. He called his sailboat home when he was docked down south in Wilmington. The second bedroom was turned into a darkroom for his photos. John was working on a book of photos with a tentative title called Sea Captain’s Houses.

He stood with his hands on his hips watching his photos come to life.  The only one he liked was the widow’s walk picture. He would have to go back again for the outside shots. The rain, however, kept him from going back to the house for over a week. He spent much of his time that week at the Tavern on the corner of his street. The fishermen were in because of the weather and he enjoyed talking with them and hearing their stories. He had been told he came from a long line of seafaring men but the only ones he knew were his father and grandfather and they were both shrimpers.

The sun finally came out on Saturday and so did John. There weren’t many visitors to the old house during the week and only a few more on the weekend. He took his shots sometimes waiting for the people to leave the grounds. It was a nice day and he was in no hurry. He went inside to check with the docent again, making sure there would be no problem for him to come in for his interior shots on Monday, a day the house would be closed to visitors. While inside he walked through the rooms, ending up by the fireplace staring at the ship's painting over the mantel. He felt drawn to this particular house though he didn’t know why; there was nothing to set it apart from others he had photographed, nothing particular at all and yet…he turned startled to find someone in the room with him.

September 12, 1820

He stood on the quarterdeck with his glass trained to the open sea, studying the dark clouds gathering on the horizon. They would be in for a blow tonight. His ship anchored in the harbor had been restocked and would sail in the morning but tonight…tonight he would allow himself the pleasure of Anne. He handed his glass off to the boy and smiled. Anne had become his mistress two years ago. He had been surprised at her passion and the response she awakened in him. It had been ten months since he had seen her golden tresses and green eyes the color of jade. He turned once again to the horizon then walked down to his cabin.

The half-written letter to Sophie lay on the table and he placed it under a map. He had ordered dinner for two to be served in his cabin. The Captain poured a glass of port and watched the clouds on the horizon through the window as he waited for the boat bringing Anne. He'd been attracted to her beauty and composure when he first met her. Later the sensuality of her mouth and the look in her eyes invited him to know her better.

August 16, 2006

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt you. It’s a beautiful painting, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is...the way the light was captured on the waves. It’s very good.”

The air in the room seemed to stand still. Dust motes in the light coming from the windows no longer moved. A chill filled the void. She stood unmoving, listening to the house creaking in the wind and feeling the chill bumps on her arms, smelling the lavender. He hadn’t moved, his hand still resting on the mantel, his body half-turned toward her.

“Do you feel it?” she asked.

“The chill? Yes, these old houses can be drafty,” John replied.

“But it’s August,” she protested softly, shaking her head and walking to the window into the sunlight.

He turned and moved his hand, knocking a porcelain figurine from the mantle and breaking it on the stone hearth. “Oh, no! I’m in for it now. No telling how old or valuable that piece was.” He stooped to pick up the pieces, slicing his right thumb, which began to bleed. “Damn! I’ve cut myself.”

She had moved quickly when the figurine fell and dug around in her bag for a tissue. “This is all I have,” she offered. "Here, I’ll pick up the pieces.” She went down on her knees gathering the broken porcelain in her hands. She was very careful placing the shards in her left hand but she cut her right palm. “Oh, look, I seem to have cut myself, too.” She looked up as he squatted down beside her and took the bloody tissue, pressing it to her palm.

“Let’s find the docent. Maybe she has a first aid kit or something. Are you okay?”

She was staring at her palm. A tingling sensation spread to her fingertips. “Odd, that’s odd.

It’s tingling like a warm tickle.” She looked over at him and smiled.

John held his thumb in his right palm. His thumb felt like it was pulsating and he opened his hand. The bleeding had stopped. “Yeah, my thumb feels funny, too. Come on let's find her.”

He stood and offered his hand to pull her up, not thinking about the blood. She gave him her left hand and their blood mingled as he pulled her up. He looked down at the mess on the hearth and led her out to find the docent.

She was behind the table in the little alcove by the entry and became alarmed when she saw their bloody hands. “Oh, my dears, what has happened? You’re injured! Come with me.”

She led them into a room in the newer part of the house where a bath had been installed, gave them the antibiotic soap to wash their hands, and went to find the first aid kit. The cuts were deep enough to bleed but nothing serious and she took care of them with antibiotic salve and band aids.

“There’s more. I’m afraid I broke a figurine.”

The docent looked at him strangely. “Where did you find a figurine?”

“The one on the mantle, a figure of a man and a woman. It was porcelain I think and quite old.”

“I don’t think so, dear…no decorative items were placed there. Come show me what you’re talking about.” The docent was puzzled.

John led them back into the room by the fireplace. “Here on the hearth…it was here.” He turned to the young woman. “You saw it! You cut yourself on the same piece.”

“Yes, I did. It was there but it’s gone now.” The air began to move again in the room, the scent of lavender fading as she met John’s eyes.

Chapter 2:

August 16, 2006

The docent looked from one to the other. “I’m afraid I have no explanation for it. The only figurine in the house is locked here in the library cabinet.” She indicated a glass-fronted cabinet holding a man on a horse.

“No, it wasn’t like that. It was a man and a woman. Oh, well, maybe someone came in and picked up the pieces while we were getting our band aids.” John pursed his lips looking down at the hearth, no trace of the broken porcelain remained.

The docent was truly puzzled and shook her head. “You two are the last visitors today. There’s no one else here. Well, if you’re ready, I don’t want to rush you, but it’s near closing.”

The young woman was still standing in the doorway and thinking. Something was happening here only she didn’t know what it meant yet. “I’m sorry, don’t let us keep you,” she said to the docent, who was going back to her alcove. “Would you have time for a cup of coffee?” she asked John.

He ran his hand through his hair, still unsettled by the incident. “Uh, yeah, I could use a cup. I’m sorry, my name is John Scarlet.” He held out his hand and felt a warmth flow up his arm as she took it.

“Annie Aubrey,” she said, noticing the tingling warmth flowing up her arm as she took his hand. A slight trace of lavender filled her nostrils. “I walked up from Watersole Street.”

“Well, I can give you a lif,t then. My car is just outside.” He followed her out to his vehicle and drove down to the main street, parking by a café. “Is this okay with you?” he asked, indicating the café with the red and white checked half curtains in the glass.

John took a sip of his coffee. “I think I’m a little spooked,” he laughed.

“Um, yes, I’m not sure what is going on. How’s your thumb?”

“It feels warm. Hope it’s not getting infected.”

Annie smiled feeling the warmth in her own palm. “It's way too early for that, you know. You look familiar. Do you live here?”

“No, I rented a place for a couple of months. I’m taking pictures for a book I’m doing on sea captains' houses. How about you?”

“Same here. I have rooms in a Bed and Breakfast on Watersole Street. I’m researching my family, with hopes of turning it into a book eventually.”

“Your family is from here?”

“My ancestors were here. I live in Philadelphia.”

“I’m from Wilmington, NC.  I never got into that whole ancestry stuff. I know my father and grandfather. That’s enough.” He studied her over his coffee cup. She had the prettiest blue green eyes and golden blond hair.

“The house, I’ve been researching it for a while. I think it may have been owned by one of my ancestors but I can find no trace of him ever having lived here. That’s a little mystery I hope to solve while I'm here.”

“I’d be interested in what you have on the house. The only thing I have is the brochure.”

“It’s not complete. Much was left out of the brochure or maybe not known. I’d be happy to share.” She smiled across the table at him. “You said your last name is Scarlet. Would that be the Philadelphia Scarlets?”  She narrowed her eyes taking in his very blue eyes and blond hair.

“No, that would be the Wilmington Scarlets,” he grinned.

He drove her to the old house on Watersole Street and stopped by the door. “This house must date back to the same time as the Captain's house,” he said as he tilted his head back, taking in the four-story house fronting the street.

“Yes, it does. Would you like to come in? I have a suite on the third floor there.” She indicated the windows facing the street.

“If you don’t mind. These old places interest me.” He thought he must have seen many houses like this up and down the northeastern coastline.

He entered the doorway and turned to the left. The parlor would be here ,he knew, and the dining room through the double doors to the rear of the house. The pocket doors were now closed and he walked over to them.

“We can’t go through there. It’s part of the private residence of the owners.” She watched him turn around in the room with a strange expression on his face. “What is it, John?”

“Déjà vu I guess. Funny, I know the dining room is through these doors.” He felt very strange and followed her back into the hallway and through another door.

“This is the dining room now. Breakfast is served here. I think it used to be another parlor, perhaps for the ladies?” she smiled. “Would you like to come up see the suite I have? It’s very authentic.”

September 12, 1820

Jack Aubrey took his glass of Port and sat down on the seat by the windows, remembering the fist time he had met Anne Turnball. He had been invited to dine at Captain Turnball’s house. The ladies came in and he was introduced to Captain Turnball’s sister- in-law, sadly widowed these three years. She hadn’t seemed very sad at all as he bowed his head and kissed her hand. She held a lively conversation during dinner and caught his eye on more than one occasion. He had been given rooms on the third floor for the two nights he would be at anchor. That Anne’s room was across the hall, he discovered when he retired for the evening. He had mistakenly opened her door, finding her in her nightgown brushing out her long golden hair. He made his apologies as she turned and smiled. She had pointed out his rooms across the hall, turned back and brushed her hair over her shoulder. He had taken that vision to bed with him that night, tossing and turning with the thought of her. The next night he had taken her to bed with him.

August 16, 2006

They arrived at her door and she inserted the key. John’s head turned toward the door across the hall and back to Annie. Her golden blond hair was caught up in a ponytail hanging down her back. She opened the door and they walked in.  Annie stood back and waved her arm, indicating the little sitting room with the two windows that overlooked the street. He walked around the room and moved over to the windows.

“You could see the ocean before those houses were built across there.” He turned slightly from the window to Annie.

She caught her breath and stepped back. For an instant she had seen someone else, someone

tall, dressed in a dark coat with his blond hair pulled back and tied with a black ribbon. She reached for the chair, sat down and blinked. The tall man with the windblown wavy blond hair stood before her.

“Annie, are you okay? You’ve gone white as a sheet. Maybe you had better go get that hand looked at.”

“No…I’m fine now.” She looked down at her hand and back at John. "The um…papers I have on the…uh, house.  I’ll pull them for you if you’d like.”

“You don’t have to do that today. I think we’ll be seeing each other again. Monday I’m photographing the interior of the Captain's house.Would you like to be there?”

“Yes, I would, thank you. I’ll have the papers ready for you then. Would you like to sit down?”

“Um, no, thanks. I think I'd better be going. I’ll see you Monday around 9:30, okay?” He walked out the door, closing it softly behind him.

She watched him leave. He seemed to take the life out of the room with him. She walked over to the windows and watched him get in his car and drive away. The scent of lavender played about her and she felt a cold sense of loneliness, finding herself near tears. She looked across at the houses. Yes, you would have seen the sea. She was getting closer to the mystery she thought, and reached inside her blouse touching the pendant. But what did all this mean?

John drove down the street and turned down toward the harbor. He wanted to check on his sailboat and think about what had just occurred. Parking his car, he walked down to his dock and climbed aboard. He checked out his cabin, straightening his bunk, then lay down. He couldn’t get his mind around the feelings he had experienced in her room. Hell, he didn’t even know the woman, Annie, yet he had wanted to take her in his arms. The feeling was so strong he had run out of there like a scared rabbit. The whole house was weird. He could have sworn he had been there before...but he hadn’t.

That night the dreams began. It was the only answer she had for it. She felt his presence in the bedroom as she readied for bed. A glimpse of a white shirt out of the corner of her eye yet when she would turn, nothing was there. She awoke in the night and reached to brush the hair off her face but there was no hair on her face. She had braided her hair before turning in. A warm rush  enveloped her as she turned in her bed, the scent of lavender strong about her blankets. She stood by the windows watching the sun come up feeling tired and restless. He was here, whoever he was, in this room with her and meant her no harm. Quite the contrary. She had never experienced anything like this before and had no idea how to deal with it.

Annie spent Sunday trying to find out about the house where she was staying. She questioned the owners and found they had a book about it so she spent the afternoon and evening reading. The name Turnball kept coming up. She'd known there were a lot of Turnballs around here.  Opening her laptop, she looked up the names she had for this town. Six Turnballs, all male, came up. Maybe a trip to the local library might shed some light? Captain Turnball had been the original owner of this house. Surely there was more on his family to be found. She turned off her laptop and stretched her arms over her head, feeling the tickle sensation run down her arm. “Stop that!” she said quietly.

Chapter 3:

August 18, 2006

On Monday morning John waited outside to give Annie a ride to the Captain's house.  “Hey, thought I’d give you a lift.”

“Thanks, I appreciate that,” she said as she slid onto the passenger seat.

John chanced a look at her, smelling that scent that had haunted his dreams for the last two nights. “What’s the scent you wear? It’s nice.”

“You mean the lavender? It came with the pendant.” She pulled the pendant from under her knit top.

“Oh, yeah, that’s a pretty little thing. It looks like something you'd like. Where in hell did that come from?" He ran his hand over his face and looked both ways before turning up the road to the house.

“I inherited it. I think it was a brooch at one time and converted to hang from a chain. The lavender scent comes when I wear it.”

“You’re kidding ,right?”

“No, I’m not, John, and I can’t explain it. I’ve just accepted it.” Like a lot of other things, she thought.

John unloaded his gear and the docent unlocked the door for them. It was a different woman today and John was glad. The broken figurine still bothered him. He had already decided what rooms to photograph and set his lighting up in the largest room first. He did have a look on the hearth for any telltale slivers of porcelain but none were found. Annie had wandered off, not wanting to get in his way, but her scent remained with him, following from room to room as he took his photos.

Annie had gone upstairs to the large bedroom and was on her knees by a cradle when John found her. She turned, tears streaming down her face. John rushed over to her. “Annie what’s wrong?”

The c…c…cradle!  John, it's original to this house. I don’t know why I’m crying. I’m going outside.” She got up and ran down the stairs, leaving John staring at the cradle.

John set his equipment up and photographed the cradle. Annie was a funny thing. He didn’t quite understand her sometimes but, then, there were the times when he knew her too well, as

in his dreams. He went over to the window and saw her up on the hill behind the house looking toward the sea. That would make a nice picture he thought so picked up his camera and walked outside. He stood against the house aiming his camera toward Annie. He found her in his viewfinder and liked the way her skirts billowed in the wind. He snapped her picture and looked up. She was wearing shorts.

September 12, 1820

Anne tucked her skirts under the canvas covering trying to keep them dry as possible. She felt for her brooch and cursed herself for leaving it behind. It was the last thing he had brought her and she'd wanted to wear it tonight. He always had something for her, the lavender water, lace hankies and the figurine of the man and woman he said represented the two of them. She treasured it and had been heartbroken when the babe had dropped it. He hadn’t meant to, poor little soul. She thought of him, little John Aubrey tucked up in his cradle. She hadn’t made up her mind whether to tell Jack about him. What would be the use? It had caused a furor down at her brother-in-law’s  when she moved out into the house Jack had purchased for her. After that, she had been cut from their society. Ha! She thought, if they knew about little John what would they think then? She peered out into the rain, trying to make out the shape of the ship.

August 20, 2006

John had been back to the house again, taking more pictures of the outside and now was finished developing them. The picture he had taken of Annie on the hilltop still puzzled him. It came out correct as far as the shorts went but was blurred as if looking through the wavy glass of the house. He was sure he had seen a woman in long skirts. They were blue and billowed out, showing white petticoats underneath. He ran his hand through his hair. Must be losing my mind. It’s this place, he thought as he looked out his window. His dreams were becoming more frequent and the scent of lavender seemed to envelope him. He needed to see her again.

Annie had spent most of the day in the library, trying to put the pieces together. The librarian had been most helpful and they had sent away for the birth registry from All Saints church. Her ghostly roommate had been absent all afternoon and she was grateful for the time alone. She smiled at the thought of him. He had almost let her see him last night. What tricks was he playing with the light? She had wandered off in her research today to check on military uniforms because she believed her roommate was a British Naval officer.

August 21, 2006

John caught up with Annie at lunch in the café with the red and white checked curtains. He bought her a sandwich and asked her if she would like to go sailing the next day.

“Yes, I'd love it, but I will warn you, I’m no sailor. I don’t get sea sick but I know nothing about sailing.”

“That’s okay. I know enough for both of us. I’ve been on water since I was old enough to wear a life jacket. Bring a swimsuit.”

“John, I don’t know how to ask you this except to ask you. You aren’t married or anything ,are you?” She wondered why this was so important to her.

John sipped his coke and put his cup down. “No, divorced two years ago.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry. I just wanted to know.”

“It’s okay. You…you are widowed, aren’t you?”

“Yes, how did you know that John?”

“I don’t know. It just came to me. It’s this place, Annie. I think I am losing my mind here. Things just come out of my mouth I didn’t think to say. Hey, you want to go look at my boat?”

John took her down to the dock and jumped on his boat. “Permission to come aboard, Captain?” she asked.

He met her eyes and held out his hand. “Granted, madam.”

After a quick, impressive tour he led her to the living quarters. “I live here, actually. I took the apartment for a place to develop my pictures and because the weather was bad when I first came up.”

“This is nice, John, kitchen and everything.”

“Um, that’s a galley, ma'am,” he smiled.

“You’ll have to teach me the terms, then. I like it. You just sail around, do you?”

“Pretty much. I’ve been up the northeast coast this spring and summer but I’ll head south after hurricane season’s over.”

A little shiver ran through her body and her palm began to tingle again. She waited to see what would come next.

“I’m sorry but I have the strongest urge to kiss you.” He moved over beside her on the built-in banquette. “You don’t mind.” It wasn’t a question. He took her face in his hands, kissed her softly on the lips and looked into her eyes.

Annie responded by moving into his arms. No, she didn’t mind at all and she raised her face for another, the scent of lavender strong around her. Suddenly she said, “I…uh, think I should be going, John. There’s some work I need to do tonight. What time do you want me here tomorrow?”

“Say 10:00, if that’s okay?” He wanted her here today, right now.

“10:00 then…I think I'll walk home. Its' not far.” She hesitated a minute, meeting his eyes, then turned to climb up the steps.

John could hardly breathe for the lavender after she left. He went up into the fresh air, the scent still around him. He wondered if anyone else could smell it. That might become embarrassing at the Tavern.

As soon as Annie opened her door she felt the electricity. He was back. Ignoring him didn’t work. “I have some work to do tonight, so go away.” She put her bag down and sat at her computer. Pulling the notebook from her bag, she began transferring the information to the program she had up. She worked for a while and reached up to turn on her desk lamp. It immediately went back off. “Okay, now that’s not funny. I can’t…see…oh, my God!” He faded away. “You are…were…a naval officer! I knew that! Why are you here? Who are you?”

Nothing greeted her except the semi darkness of the room. She got up from her chair, too rattled now to enter anything else. He had revealed himself to her for an instant, in full dress uniform. She felt the air stir around her neck and stood very still. He was close. “Don’t do this to me,” she murmured softly.

ON TO PART 4

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