"That rules out Oxford or Cambridge for me, then," Roger sighed. "I've no particular wish to go to the Colonies, but it looks as if that is all that remains to me. In the new lands no stigma attaches to a gentleman who engages in trade, and I might, perhaps, become a rich merchant."
Old Toby nodded. "That certainly is a possibility; although to engage in commerce successfully one requires capital. You might, however, obtain a post with the India Company or, if you prefer Canada, seek employment with that which controls the vast territories round Hudson's Bay. With either I doubt your sword being likely to rest for long in its scabbard. But neither will it if you remain at home for that matter. In the event of another war against the French every man will be needed, and you would hardly be able to avoid service with the Army, however much you may now dislike the idea."
"You seem very confident that there will be another war, Sir."
"I am, alas! After the French and ourselves have had a few years to lick our wounds I regard it as inevitable. For seven hundred years they have been our hereditary enemies, yet neither of us have succeeded in destroying the other. With the constant expansion of our interests a final decision becomes more imperative with every year that passes. The loss of our oldest colonies in the Americas has been more than compensated for in the last few decades by our gains in Canada and India and the great new lands that Captain Cook has opened up to us by his voyages in the southern seas. Britain has now become an Imperial Power unrivalled since the days of Rome; but our hold upon these great possessions is still fragile in the extreme. The French, too, need 'living room' and their population is twice as large as ours. The far-flung bases over which new fly the flag of the Union gives us a stranglehold upon their commerce. They know that they must break that hold or lose the leadership of Europe and degenerate into a second-class Power, where poverty will take the place of affluence. Overseas the game has gone to us, but only a narrow strip of water divides us from King Louis's numerous and well-armed legions. Believe me, Brook, before ten years are gone the French will make another great effort to overwhelm us and obtain the Empire of the World. For them 'tis either that or stagnation, bankruptcy and death."
For a moment there was silence in the quiet room, then OldToby glanced at the clock on the mantel, and said:
"Good gracious me! I had no idea 'twas so late. I fear I have detained you overlong. Well, speak with your mother as to your future when a suitable opportunity arises, and let me know any fresh thoughts you may have upon it on your return next term. A happy holiday to you."
"Thank you, Sir; the same to you." Roger stood up and added with a smile: "And permit me to thank you for your interest in me." Then he made a formal bow and left the room.
As he walked back along the corridor, where earlier that evening he had had his affray with Gunston, he realised that the time had come when he ought to face up to this business of choosing a career for himself. For years the nightmare of being forced into the Navy against his will had haunted him, yet he had not dared to think of any other future. Then, as with the passing of time the shadow had lifted, he had gradually begun to savour the joy of escape without formulating any alternative. But now Old Toby had precipitated matters, and it seemed a much more knotty problem than he had imagined would be the case.
He Was an only child, but, even so, his inheritance would amount to no more than a moderate-sized house with a few acres of garden and meadows and something less than a thousand a year; and in the meantime he must find some way to support himself honourably in the quality of gentleman to which he was bred. The Church would give him leisure to read and the service of the Crown would ensure him travel; and he wanted both, but was most strongly averse to entering either; yet, without money of his own every other prospect seemed barred to him. It was indeed a poser.
On opening the door of the Junior Common room, a burst of riotous sound almost deafened him. Scores of his companions were ragging together as they cleared out their lockers. The thought that he would be at Sherborne for another two years, so there was realty ages of time before he would have to burn his boats, drifted through his mind; then he was struck sharply on the cheek with a pea blown from a pea-shooter. Forgetting all else, with a high-spirited yell he rushed upon his attacker.
Next morning he was up and dressed soon after four. For all but the haute monde of London and such fashionable spas as Bath, who could literally afford to burn money in the constant consumption of many candles, the sun governed most people's lives in those days, and "early to bed and early to rise" was still the general rule; but, anxious to be on their homeward way the boys had risen of their own accord an hour earlier than usual.
The great courtyard of the school and the road outside it was now the scene of immense bustle and activity. Scores of grooms with led horses, some in smart liveries, others in plain home-spuns, jostled one another for place while seeking their young masters. The road for half a mile was blocked by a double line of private coaches, hired post-chaises, gigs, cabriolets and phaetons. While the drivers swore at their neighbours and strove to quieten their restive horses the boys ran amongst them, each seeking the familiar equipage that had been sent the day before, or overnight, to fetch him; and an army of servants struggled through the crowd bent under the weight of heavy corded boxes.
Entering the turmoil Roger raised himself on tiptoe, looking eagerly to left and right in search of Jim Button. As he did so he caught a glimpse of Droopy Ned, standing beside a splendid gilded coach with postilions, outriders and a great coat of arms emblazoned on its door.
Not a cap or gown was now to be seen, and the boys were all dressed in holiday attire, like little replicas of their fathers. Most wore good suits of broadcloth, riding-breeches and unornamented three-cornered hats, but the richer among them swaggered in brightly coloured coats of silk or satin, with embroidered waistcoats and lace ruffles at throat and wrists; Droopy Ned outshone them all.
He was wearing a long-skirted coat of yellow watered silk, the huge cuffs and pockets of which were braided with gold. The curls of a great white wig tumbled down between his narrow shoulder-blades and perched on the top of it was a tricorne hat edged with more gold lace and a thin ruching of feathers. From one hand he dangled a large lace handkerchief and with the other, while he directed the liveried footman in the stowage of his baggage, he leaned negligently on a five-foot long malacca cane topped with a huge opal.
Roger was just thinking how fine it must feel to be the Lord Edward Fitz-Deverel, now a man, rich beyond the dreams of avarice and just about to set off on the Grand Tour, when he caught the sound of r familiar voice.
"Hey, Master Rogerl Here I be! I thought ye was never a-coming."
Turning, he pushed his way through the crush to an angle of the yard where Jim Button was waiting, holding the reins of a hired led horse for him.
With a laughing "Good morning, Jim; all well at home?" Roger caught the reins of the led horse, thrust a foot into the stirrup and swung himself into the saddle.
As he reached it Jim leant over with a grin. "Aye, all's well, Master Roger. And I've great news for 'e. The Captain's back. 'Twas only yester-e'en but y'r father's at last come home from the sea."
CHAPTER III
AN ENGLISHMAN'S HOME
THIS startling news put a damper on Roger's high spirits as effectively as a snuffer douses a candle. It was not that he disliked his father. Far from it; until the announcement that he was destined for the Navy had engendered in him a secret fear of his parent he had had a warm affection and high admiration for that hearty, vigorous man who could tell such fascinating stories of buccaneers and the hazards of the ocean. That early attachment would still have been strong enough to make him rejoice at the thought of the Captain's return had it not been marred by a sudden wave of renewed anxiety as to his own future.
He had counted on their having news that his father was about to sail for home before his ship actually left the Indies. The voyage took from six to eight weeks and,
normally, even had he been ordered home that summer, which from his letters had seemed most improbable, Roger had reckoned that he could hardly reach England before September. That would have left him only a little over three months in which to pull such few strings as he had with the Admiralty; and, knowing the appalling delays to which officialdom customarily subjected such unimportant applications, Roger had felt confident that January the 8th, 1784, his sixteenth birthday, would still see him unfettered by a Midshipman's commission. But now that the Captain had six months to work in Roger had serious grounds for alarm.
Nevertheless, by the time they had changed horses at Blandford, the lovely morning sunshine and the feel of his own little mare between his knees again had done much to dispel his gloom; and when, an hour later, they left the King's highway to strike through leafy lanes towards the New Forest he thrust his misgivings into the back of his mind.
The road, if it could be called one, that ran through the forest, was merely a rutty track, confined at times by mossy banks feathered with ferns and bracken, but for the most part barely furrowing the flat surface of broad grassy glades that ran one into another. At the end of each the track curved a little to open up a new prospect of giant oaks, chestnuts and beeches, the lofty branches of which in some places met overhead and in others were separated by several hundred yards, so that their green crests could be seen towering to the sky.
Roger had always loved the forest for its silence and the mystery that seemed to lurk waiting for discovery, in the depths of each shadowed cavern of undergrowth. Leaving Jim to amble along he frequently cantered ahead or explored byways where the green sward beneath his mare's hooves was dappled with golden sunlight flickering through its branches. Here and there he startled a rabbit or squirrel into a headlong retreat and more than once set little groups of fallow deer loping away from him.
When they reached the ferry over the Avon they made a hearty second breakfast off the provender that Jim had brought with him, then, fording the stream, continued their way through the seemingly endless forest. They encountered no footpads but came upon an encampment of Egyptians, as the gipsies were then called. These strange dark folk, with their black locks, gold earrings and brightly coloured scarves seemed very alien to England, yet they had dwelt there in the forest in apparent contentment for centuries. It was said that they sometimes kidnapped children and they were certainly horse thieves, but they never molested travellers. Roger gave them a friendly wave and the white teeth of their women flashed as they smilingly waved in reply. The children ran beside him for a little way, shouting for largess in their strange Bohemian tongue. He threw them a few small coins and cantered on.
The sun was high overhead by the time they left the forest and crossed Setley Heath. Shortly after one o'clock they walked their horses into Lymington.
The town was opposite the western end of the Isle of Wight but lay about four miles from the sea. It consisted of some half-hundred houses grouped round the quays, where a widening of the river Lym formed a small natural harbour, and a single long street that ran up a steep hill to westward of the old town. Just above the crown of the hill the High Street divided into two narrow alleys passing either side of the Town Hall, with its stocks, blind house and butchers' shambles, then uniting again in a broad thoroughfare as far as the church. Beyond this lay a straggling ribbon of houses, known as St. Thomas's Street.
It was from this western end that Roger entered the little town and on reaching the church he turned seaward, down Church Lane, a few hundred yards along which lay his home. The house was situated on a gentle slope to the south of the High Street and separated from it by gardens, a strip of woodland and a large meadow.
From time immemorial there had been a dwelling there and part of the last remained; a low-roofed building faced with old red tiles which was now used as the kitchen quarters. Roger's grandfather had bought the property, demolished most of the earlier structure and built the main portion of the present house. It formed a solid square block with tall, white-painted windows most of which faced south and had a fine view of the Island. There were two storeys only but the rooms were spacious and on both floors twelve feet in height. It was not a mansion according to the times, but if for sale would have been advertised as a commodious residence, suitable to persons of quality.
A small orchard lay to west of it, an acre of walled kitchen garden to its north, stabling and outhouses to its east; along the south front of the house ran a long balustraded terrace, ornamented with carved stone vases and with two sets of steps leading down to a wide lawn beyond which a number of fine trees and shrubberies formed shady walks. The whole was enclosed by a high brick wall which, although the property was so close to the town, gave it as much seclusion as if it were a mile or more from its nearest neighbour.
Eager to greet his mother, Roger dismounted at the orchard gate, leaving Jim to take his mount round to the stables, and, running up the path burst into the house by its side entrance. As he had guessed would be the case, at such a time, she was in the kitchen superintending her maids in the preparation of a gala dinner for her returned hero.
Lady Marie Brook was then forty-six. The dark hair, partly hidden by her lace cap, was now turning grey, but in her deep blue eyes and fine profile, it was still easy to recapture the ravishing beauty that, eighteen years earlier, had caused the dashing Lieutenant Christopher Brook to declare that he must have her even if he died for it. And he very nearly had, since both her brothers had called him out and in the second duel he had been seriously wounded.
At the time of their meeting Jacobite plots had still been rife, and he had come upon her, white-faced and indignant, while he was leading a naval landing-party in the forced search of her home in Scotland for a concealed store of arms. She had been only seven when her father, the Earl of Kildonan, had joined Prince Charles Edward's ill-fated rising and after the battle of Culloden been butchered by the Duke of Cumberland's brutal Hanoverian horsemen; but had been old enough to remember the grief of her devastated clan at their losses in battle and the merciless hunting for fugitives that had succeeded it. The passing of twenty years had made no difference to the extreme hatred that she and her family bore to all who wore the uniform of the Hanoverian King; yet the very first sight of Christopher Brook had caused in her an overwhelming emotion. Her first love had been killed as a result of a shooting accident and she had felt the blow so deeply that she had rejected all other offers, but the dashing young Naval Lieutenant had dissipated her old loyalties as swiftly as mist is dispersed by strong sunshine and, in spite of all arguments, entreaties and threats, she had broken with her family to run away with him.
Lady Marie was not only a beautiful, but also a very practical, woman; and her housekeeping was a model of industry and efficiency, even for those times. Not a fruit, herb or vegetable in her garden was ever allowed to go to waste and the shelves of her storeroom groaned under their loads of conserves, pickles, spices and syrups.
In the old kitchen where she now stood, making pastry herself while she kept a watchful eye on her ample-bosomed cook and her two maids, Polly and Nell, the time-blackened beams overhead were festooned with hams, tongues, and flitches of bacon, while the tables could hardly be seen for joints, game, pudding-basins and vegetables.
As Roger ran in she swiftly dusted the flour from her hands and, laughingly submitting to his wild embrace, kissed him on both cheeks; then she held him from her and exclaimed:
"My darling boy, you're looking wondrous well, and I can see that you're much excited by the great news. Your father is out on the terrace with some other gentlemen. He's just mad to see you, so run to him now and leave me to my cooking."
After kissing her again Roger did as he was bid, and slipping from the old to the new part of the house, he came out through the pillared portico that gave on to the terrace.
His father was there, a big, brown-faced, jovial-looking man of fifty-two, surrounded by a group of neighbours who had called to welcome h
im home. Roger knew most of them; old Sir Harry Burrard, the richest man in the district, who lived, across the river at Walhampton; General Cleveland of Vicar's Hill; John Bond of Buckland Manor; Mr. Eddie of Priestlands and Mr. Robbins of Pylewell. Captain Burrard was there, too, talking to Harry Darby, the Mayor of Lymington whom he hoped to succeed, in that ancient and honourable office which had been held by no less a person than the Duke of Bolton only ten years earlier; and Sam Oviatt, the local wine-merchant, present by virtue of his calling, which was considered of such importance at that date that wine-merchants were freely admitted to country society, which rigorously excluded all other tradesmen.
As Roger's father caught sight of him, he cried: "Why, Roger, boy, thou hast become a man! Stand not on ceremony but come hither, lad."
Roger had been about to make a bow but instead he ran down the steps and his father kissed him heartily.
"What a surprise you gave us," he laughed up at the bronzed, heavy jowled face just above his own. "Where is the Bellerophon? Did you dock at Plymouth or is she in Portsmouth Roads?"
"Nay, I left her in the Indies, and came home as a passenger in the frigate Amazon. I carried dispatches, and having a fair wind behind us we made all sail up channel to anchor at the Nore. 'Twas half a day saved, though it meant my jolting all the way from London in a plaguey post-chaise yesterday. But you know the company, Roger?"
Recalling himself, Roger made a deep sweeping bow which, beginning with Sir Harry Burrard, included all those present.
The Launching of Roger Brook rb-1 Page 3