Nor did he have the consolation of reflecting on some glorious battle, some dauntless act of courage, to account for the loss of his limb. Yes, he had fought and served with distinction in the late war, but his loss had been occasioned by an encounter with the native prickly pear on the Bermuda coast. He remembered the moment and how unimportant it was at the time—some of the officers had all gone for a final swim before setting sail for England. They had laughed and rolled about in the surf, he had returned to the shore to dress himself, and stumbled and scratched his arm.
A few days out to sea, and his arm began to itch and then to ache. He awoke one morning to see the alarming symptoms of a corruption in the blood. The surgeon lanced him, but the wound grew putrid and nearly killed him. Over his screams of protest, the surgeon cut his arm off and flung it overboard and at times he wished he had gone over with it.
The news had not reached his family. But his ship had put in at Bristol, where Fanny lived.
Sam had only seen Fanny once since she had left the family to live with their uncle and aunt, and that very briefly. He knew from her correspondence to him over the years, that she was exceedingly kind-hearted and solicitous of his welfare, and that she was a companion to a rich lady. He shrank from the thought of her pity while at the same time longing for some feminine solace from an older sister.
As well, he doubted the propriety of knocking upon Mrs. Butters’ door, for he did not know the lady, and a wide gulf separated them in terms of rank in society. He was relieved, upon finding the house, to spy some stairs leading down to a servant’s entrance. Down he went and knocked on the door, which was soon opened by an older woman wearing a long apron and a suspicious expression. The delightful smells of roasting meat wafted out from behind her.
“And who might you be?” She demanded in a strong Scottish brogue.
“Ma’am, if you please, I am brother to Miss Fanny Price.”
This announcement had an immediate effect. The frown disappeared, replaced with surprise. She closely scrutinised the handsome young sailor’s face and announced, as though informing him, “Why, yes you are! I do believe you have a bit of the look of your sister. You have the same sort of light blue eyes. Come in, come in,” she urged, “but stop—you must take off that cape, for I’ll not have ye dripping water all over my kitchen floors.”
Sam complied, awkwardly tugging at the string which held the cape around his neck. With one hand, he pulled it off and shook the cape out on the pavement, studiously looking down, rather than meet the eyes of the cook as she took in the fact of his injury.
“Well there, you poor bairn,” she said quietly. “You’ve been to the wars, have ye not. Give us the cape, I will hang it by the fire. Let’s have your hat, as well. Come in, come in, and I’ll send for Fanny. Will you have some soup?”
Mrs. McIntosh sent a maid to find Miss Price, then she urged and re-urged him to take a seat at the kitchen table. He sat down, but sprang up again so soon as a housemaid entered or re-entered the room, until they began to laugh at him. A bowl of delicious-smelling beef stew was placed in front of him, followed swiftly by a basket of warm bread, with butter to spread on it, and a tankard of cider. Sam had never received such a demonstration of maternal solicitude from a stranger. He knew not how to respond to the kindness of Mrs. McIntosh and he feared he must cut a very awkward figure.
He soon heard the rapid patter of female feet, and an elegant, slender young lady came bursting through the door, exclaiming, “Sam! My brother!”
Even an observer less shrewd than Mrs. McIntosh could perceive that here were brother and sister. Sam stood more than a head taller, but his brown hair curled around his forehead, his eyes were the same soft shade of blue, and his countenance, when he smiled, was as sweet as his sister’s. The only other difference was that he was dressed in rough and worn clothing, while Fanny was neatly attired in a pretty but simple gown.
Fanny’s reunion with her brother comprehended all that was tender, loving and sorrowful. Sam had been a favourite with her in his infancy and seeing him in his present straits wracked at her heart. Her eye went to the empty jacket sleeve, then returned resolutely to his face. She bid him resume his seat and eat his meal.
Mrs. McIntosh very kindly banked the kitchen fires and announced she was off for her afternoon lie-down and would Fanny keep an eye on the pot on the back of the stove? Soon brother and sister were alone and Sam found that telling Fanny about the loss of his arm was not so uncomfortable as he had anticipated. She was distressed, but dry-eyed and resolute.
Had he found lodgings? Was he intending to remain in Bristol or would he go on to Portsmouth?
He hardly knew. He thought he must go and visit his mother at one time or another. Tomorrow or next week or next month, all would serve, for he had no other plans.
Fanny nodded, obviously revolving various schemes in her mind. Sometimes she picked up his hand and squeezed it. Then she jumped up from the table, and refilled Sam’s bowl from the stove. “I shall go find Mr. McIntosh—he is husband to the cook who
