“On family business,” she reminded him, smiling. “Nonetheless, I do so look forward to his return next week.”
Richard returned her smile and gave her a brief, appreciative once-over. “I have no doubt that he does as well,” he said. As she blushed prettily he offered his arm, and together they walked slowly down the grand hallway to the sitting room located off the far end.
“How is Frances?” he asked. “I have not seen your younger sister in a while.”
“She is doing very well these days. You will be pleased to learn that she has several beaux. One of them is becoming quite ardent in his pursuit of her. You may know him. His name is Robert Pepperell. He lives not far away, at Louisburg Square.”
Although Richard did not know the young man, he certainly was acquainted with his family. In 1745, during the War of the Austrian Succession, Robert’s grandfather William Pepperell had served as commander in chief of a New England colonial militia unit that, with help from a British naval squadron, had captured the French colonial capital of Louisburg on Cape Breton Island in Canada. For services rendered to the Crown, Sir William was awarded the first American baronetcy, and Louisburg Square, where the Pepperell family still lived, was named in commemoration of the momentous victory.
“Good for Frances,” he said, then lowered his voice and whispered conspiratorially, “Do you think Jamie will be jealous?”
“I suspect he will be delighted,” she whispered back. Frances Endicott’s long-standing interest in Jamie Cutler had by now become a subject of good-natured banter between Richard and his daughter-in-law.
“What are you two discussing in such secrecy?” Jack Endicott’s voice boomed out into the hallway. “I trust it has nothing to do with me!”
“It always has something to do with you, Papa,” Adele assured him. She gave her stepfather a peck on the cheek and disappeared inside the sitting room. Endicott motioned to Richard to follow her. “I have summoned a bottle of our best Madeira,” he said, clapping a hand on Richard’s shoulder, “as I do whenever you honor us with your company. I only wish your dear wife could be with us this evening.”
“As do I, Jack,” Richard agreed.
“Richard, my dear, how wonderful to see you.” Without hesitation, Anne-Marie Endicott walked up and put her arms around Richard. As was normally the case, even in Katherine’s presence, she allowed her embrace and the kiss on the side of his face to linger longer than propriety might deem appropriate. As usual, Richard returned her greeting chastely. Although he realized that Katherine had long ago made peace with the affection Anne-Marie still harbored for him, her open sentiments made him uncomfortable, in part because it flouted normal social conventions, but in greater part because feeling her supple body pressed close against him inflamed memories best left forgotten. After giving her a brief kiss in kind, he backed away a half step.
Anne-Marie backed away as well but kept hold of his hands. “I am so very sorry, Richard, about Katherine. I can’t imagine how terribly difficult this must have been for her, confronting such a cruel disease with you away in the Mediterranean. I wish there was something I could have done for her.”
“You did do something, Anne-Marie,” Richard said. “The very kind letter you wrote meant a lot to her. She keeps it on the table by her bedside.”
“Along with many others, I should imagine. So many people care so much about her—and with good cause. She is a warm and loving woman.”
“She is blessed with many friends,” Richard agreed.
Just then a servant entered the room bearing a tray and four glasses brimming with rich amber liquid. Jack Endicott distributed the glasses and raised his. “To Katherine Cutler,” he said.
“To Katherine Cutler,” the other three said in unison, and four glasses clinked together.
TWO WEEKS LATER, as the chill of November yielded to the cold of December, stirring reports headlined the front pages of American newspapers. A British naval fleet under the command of Admiral Horatio Lord Nelson had achieved a stunning victory against a considerably larger French and Spanish fleet under the combined command of French admiral Pierre-Charles Villeneuve and Spanish admiral Federico Gravina. For weeks the two massive fleets had been jockeying for position off the coast of Spain and across the Atlantic in the West Indies. On the twenty-first of October, Villeneuve and Gravina ventured out from the Spanish naval base at Cádiz and made a dash eastward toward the Mediterranean. Lord Nelson, however, caught wind of their intentions and was lying in wait for them off Cape Trafalgar near the entrance to the Strait of Gibraltar.
Dividing his twenty-seven battle cruisers into two parallel columns—the weather column led by him in Victory, the lee column by Vice Admiral Cuthbert Collingwood in Royal Sovereign—Nelson had cast aside time-honored battle tactics by sailing his two columns at right angles against an enemy fleet strung out in traditional line-of-battle formation. Nelson’s unexpected tactic shattered the enemy line and tore into 100-gun ships of the line, raking them bow and stern, pulverizing one battle cruiser after another at point-blank range while the eight ships cut off in the van struggled to come about in the fluky northwesterly breeze and bring their guns to bear on the English. Unable to do so—or perhaps despairing of their chances based on the devastation taking place behind them—the eight ships disengaged entirely and sailed off to leeward.
Reports in Boston newspapers numbered the French and Spanish ships captured or destroyed at twenty-two, or two-thirds of the entire allied fleet. The British, by contrast, lost not a single ship. The initial reports did not specify the exact number of casualties suffered by the British; but whatever the number was, the Boston Traveler speculated, it paled in contrast to the many thousands of casualties suffered by the French and Spanish. Editorial writers and military spokesmen alike were already calling Trafalgar “a most decisive and glorious victory,” and for good reason. The French defeat at Trafalgar ended Napoléon’s dream of invading England. The French fleet that was to escort his invasion barges across the Channel had been rendered impotent. Of greater significance, the victory at Trafalgar ensured Britannia’s rule of the waves for many years to come.
Richard Cutler pored over every account of the battle he could lay his hands on, and not just because of his standing as an American naval officer. A man he greatly admired had died in that battle, a victim of a sniper’s bullet fired from a French fighting top as Victory sailed past a French ship with her starboard guns blasting. When Richard first met Horatio Nelson as a teenager, the two young men—boys, really—had been vying for the heart of Katherine Hardcastle. Over the years, Richard’s jealousy toward Nelson, which continued even after Richard had won Katherine’s hand, had matured into a deep and abiding respect, both for the man and for his gifts as a brilliant naval strategist. The last time Richard had seen Nelson, on the island of Malta during America’s war with Tripoli, the two men, once rivals, had met as friends.
“Poor Horatio,” Katherine mused quietly as she and her husband sat together on a sofa before the fire in their home on South Street. They were alone that evening; Diana, the only child still living with them, was having supper at the Sprague residence nearby. The joy Diana had radiated when her beau, Peter Sprague, arrived to walk her to his parents’ home helped to offset Katherine’s sadness over the loss of a man she too held in the highest regard.
“This must be so terribly hard on Emma,” she said. “I could never approve of their affair, of course, even though I understood why a beautiful young woman would leave a husband twice her age for a living legend who adored her. It crushed Fanny Nelson. She’ll never recover from the humiliation and loss.” Indeed, the passionate affair had been the subject of extensive coverage by the scandalized British press, although the British people were willing to forgive their hero anything—even open adultery, especially after it became known that the cuckolded Lord Hamilton also regarded Nelson as a hero and even set up house with Nelson and Emma, the three of them living together in luxury for a spell.<
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“His death is hard on the entire British nation,” Richard said. “I heard that when word of Nelson’s death reached England, men and women wept openly in the streets. As my Uncle William used to say, England loves its naval heroes. And England has never had a naval hero quite like Horatio Nelson. It likely never will again.”
“No,” Katherine agreed. For several moments she sat quietly staring at the flames crackling in the hearth, her mind drifting back fondly to an earlier age in Burnham Thorpe, in East Anglia, when she had been the light in Nelson’s eyes. As his fame mounted, she had sometimes idly wondered how different her life would have been had she chosen him over Richard. Her conclusion was always the same: no man could have been a better husband than the one she married. “Have you heard what the funeral arrangements are to be?” she asked, taking Richard’s hand. “I saw nothing about them in the newspaper.”
“I do know, but only because of the dispatch I received today. Apparently, our Navy Department is as saddened by Horatio’s death as the British Admiralty. The tradition is to bury the body of a dead sailor at sea, of course, whatever his rank. But both Admiral Collingwood and Captain Hardy understood that England would wish to honor his remains, so they preserved his body in a barrel of brandy and brought it back to England.
She smiled ruefully. “Horatio would have approved of that decision. He ever did enjoy his brandy.”
Richard went on, “The funeral is set for early January. As you can imagine, it will be quite the affair of state. Horatio’s remains are to be interred at the crypt in St. Paul’s Cathedral.”
“How appropriate,” Katherine said, then sat silently for several minutes. She continued to stare at the flames in the hearth, remembering the fine young man she had known so long ago. Then, in a half-whisper, “I do so wish I could be there.”
“Jeremy will be there,” Richard consoled her. Katherine’s older brother had been a close friend of Horatio Nelson since the early days of their naval careers. “Hugh will be there too,” he added, referring to Katherine’s other brother, also a Royal Navy post captain and personal friend of Horatio Nelson. “And don’t forget that Hugh and Phoebe will be visiting us this summer. They can tell us all about the service then.”
The reminder that her brother and his wife would soon be emigrating from England to Boston lifted Katherine’s mood considerably. On an impulse, Richard sought to reinforce that mood.
“No doubt we’ll be home from our voyage long before Hugh and Phoebe get here,” he said offhandedly.
She gave him a puzzled look. “Voyage? What voyage?”
“The voyage we are taking together.”
“Where are we going?”
“Barbados.”
“Barbados? Richard, what are you talking about? Have you taken leave of your senses?”
“To the contrary. I have been in contact with John and Robin. There are serious business matters we need to discuss, and we all agree that we need to discuss them in person. Caleb suggested I be the one to go, and I had thought you might care to join me.”
“Care to join you? Of course I would care to join you. But . . . but . . . I don’t see how it will be possible.”
“Why not?”
“Well, Diana for one thing.”
“Diana will stay with Caleb and Joan while we’re gone. Joan is delighted to have her help with young Thomas.”
“They are in on this?”
“Of course.”
“What about your commission?”
“I’m on the beach at half pay for God only knows how long. I have notified the Navy Department of my intentions, and there is no problem from their perspective. What’s more, Agee writes that because Portsmouth is well settled, he’ll be sailing home in a fortnight or so, and he’ll be here to look after things too. I’m sure Lizzy is beside herself over that welcome piece of news.”
She shook her head slightly. “My health, Richard. It’s long past time that I be concerned about it . . .”
“As are we all. So of course I have consulted Dr. Prescott.”
“Does he approve?”
“Not only does he approve, he strongly encourages it. He thinks the sea air and tropical sun will work wonders on you.”
She gave him a look that was a blend of bewilderment and amusement. “And Robin and John? What do they have to say about all this?”
“John assures me that he and Cynthia will have the West Room done up good and proper for our visit, and Robin writes that Julia already has the horses saddled. So, what further concerns might you have?”
“That everyone has been in on this secret except me,” she said dryly.
“Well, it has taken some doing to keep it from you. Your ability to sniff things out is legendary.”
“How long has this secret been going on?”
“For several months. I had planned to tell you next week, as a gift on Christmas Day. But somehow it seemed appropriate to tell you tonight.”
“When do you propose we depart?”
“In the early spring, if you’re willing. . . . So what do you think, my lady? Are you willing?”
She raised his hand and brushed her lips against it. As he lowered it, she lifted her gaze to his. “What do you think, my lord?” she asked quietly.
He put his arm around her shoulders and drew her close. “Methinks this ship’s master has found himself a mate.”
“I believe he has,” she agreed. “I believe he has.”
Three
Hingham, Massachusetts, and Barbados
Winter 1806
KATHERINE CUTLER ladled out a healthy portion of hot porridge into a bowl, sprinkled a dash of Ceylon cinnamon on it, and brought the steaming gruel over to the oval wooden table. After she put a plate of toasted bread next to it, she sat down across from her daughter, near the fire that warmed the kitchen. Outside, the sun was inching up above the trees, spreading tentacles of feeble blue light across a frozen landscape carpeted with freshly fallen snow that seemed studded with diamonds.
“Aren’t you having any, Mother?” Diana asked as she poured cream into the bowl from a chinaware server. “You mustn’t just have coffee for breakfast.”
“I ate earlier. I’ve been up awhile.”
“Are you feeling all right?”
“I’m feeling fine,” her mother assured her, adding with a note of sternness, “and please stop treating me like I’m some sort of wounded bird. Please God, there’s a dance in this old girl yet.”
Diana looked chastened. “Yes, of course there is. I’m sorry, Mother.”
Katherine smiled. “Right, now; out with it. You’ve been near to bursting at the seams ever since you came home last evening. I heard you prancing about your room during the wee hours of the morning, and I have a strong suspicion that Peter is somehow responsible.”
“He is!” Diana burst out in an explosion of joy. “I couldn’t tell you last evening, Mother,” she explained rapidly. “Oh, how I wanted to, but I couldn’t, not with your friend Mrs. Preston here so late. Peter has asked for my hand. He has asked me to marry him!”
“Aha. So my suspicions were correct. And you said what?”
“I said, ‘Oh dear lord yes, of course I’ll marry you, Peter! I love you! There is nothing on this earth I wouldn’t do for you!’”
“How very ladylike. You didn’t pounce on him like a cat, did you?”
Diana laughed delightedly. “No, Mother. I wanted to, but I restrained myself.”
“Well, good. I am relieved to learn that your parents and your Derby education instilled some sense of modesty in you. Did you say anything else to him?”
Diana came abruptly down to earth. “I told him that he will have to speak to Father.”
“That was wise of you.”
“He will speak to him, Mother,” she said earnestly, “either tomorrow or the next day, as soon as Father comes home. Peter is very traditional. He insists on receiving Father’s permission. And yours, of course.”
“He
already has mine, which can come as no surprise to you. Peter is a fine young man from a good Hingham family. And he has excellent prospects, both at Harvard and in the practice of law afterward. More to the point, his feelings for you clearly match yours for him. What mother would stand in the way of such happiness and security for her daughter?”
“So, you think Father will acquiesce as well?” Diana asked eagerly.
“Yes, but not right away, all else being equal. He’ll want to ask you and Peter to wait awhile. He’ll say you’re too young to get married.”
“For heaven’s sake, Mother, I’m eighteen . . . almost.”
Katherine laughed softly. “No matter what your age, your father would still think you too young. You will always be his little girl, even after you have your own little girls. He’s perfectly aware of your feelings for Peter. And I assure you he holds Peter in as high regard as I do. But he’ll want to defer the inevitable for as long as possible because he doesn’t want you ever to leave us, even though he knows you must.”
Diana nodded ruefully. “I had feared as much.”
“Now, now, not to worry,” her mother soothed. “You just heard me say, ‘all else being equal.’ But all else is not equal. You and I are allies in this matter, and we have two secret weapons in our arsenal that cannot fail to persuade him.”
“We do?”
“Yes, we do. The first weapon,” she announced, “is me.”
Diana gave her mother a quizzical look. “You? I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“It’s quite simple, really. Ever since I met your father I have been, by his own admission, both his greatest source of strength and his greatest weakness. If there is something I truly want, he loves me too much, and respects my judgment too much, to say no to me. Of course, to ensure that I don’t ever overplay my hand, I never ask for anything that is unreasonable. Being entirely committed to your happiness, I am now prepared to draw this weapon on your behalf.” She did not add that given the uncertainty of her medical condition, the last thing Richard would ever deny her was the joy and satisfaction of seeing her only daughter properly wed.
How Dark the Night Page 4