“Caleb should be returning in a day or two,” Richard said, filling the pause that followed Hugh’s remarks, “and when he does, he’ll bring Joan and Thomas down with him from Boston. I understand that they intend to be here at least through Diana’s wedding. And of course Caleb will welcome you in this house for as long as you wish to stay.” His gaze wandered around the parlor as his mind wandered through memories. “It’s comforting to see the house full again,” he said wistfully. “With you two in my old room, and Joseph in my sisters’ room, it will be like old times. May they last . . .”
“You needn’t worry about that, old boy,” Hugh Hardcastle interjected. “Phoebe and I have given the matter considerable thought, and you will be pleased to learn that we intend to stay right where we are, in this house, until young Thomas grows up, takes over the business and the house, and kicks us out. When he does, we will move in with Will and Adele on Ship Street. Adding my generous wages from Cutler & Sons to my Navy savings, and without having to worry about living expenses, we should be quite comfortable in Hingham, wouldn’t you say, my dear?”
Phoebe Clausen Hardcastle was a lovely and charming woman, as one might expect of the wife of a Royal Navy post captain born to the manor and to the best English schools—and thus to the fantasies of many young women of society, and their mothers. She was several inches shorter than Hugh and nine years younger, and her lithe body retained a youthful allure. Although not of noble blood, she carried herself as regally as any marchioness. Equally important for a happy marriage, her sense of humor, when called for, and her sense of decorum, when required, matched Hugh’s own—which was one reason, Katherine had observed, why they complimented each other so well. She had immediately loved Phoebe six years ago when she and Lizzy Crabtree had sailed with their children to England to visit with their parents one last time and to attend Hugh and Phoebe’s wedding at the family church in Fareham.
“My husband’s wit,” Phoebe said, taking Hugh’s hand without looking at him, “sometimes gets the better of him. I must apologize on his behalf. The truth is, I very much doubt that Will and Adele will have us when we’re ‘kicked out of here,’ as my husband has it. By that time they will doubtless be living in splendor on Beacon Hill near Adele’s parents.” She dropped her mock seriousness to add, “Oh, they are such fine people, Adele. I especially admire your mother. She is beautiful and gracious, just as you are, and clearly she cares very much about you all. I can only imagine her relief this evening. Joseph told me that when Dove’s company sailed from Boston this afternoon, Will was on his way to Belknap Street to inform your parents of everyone’s safe return. She will be overjoyed.”
“Indeed she will,” Katherine said, so softly that only her husband heard her.
“Thank you, Mrs. Hardcastle,” Adele said. She started to add something, hesitated, thought better about what she was going to say, and then thought better about not saying it. “Will and I would love to have you and Captain Hardcastle stay with us on Ship Street,” she said. “That goes without saying. But the truth is, that is not going to be possible. And not because of any future move to Boston.”
Everyone in the parlor cast her a curious look, more so when her cheeks flushed bright pink. “You see,” she explained, “we have only one extra bedroom in our house. And that room is no longer available as a guest room. We are turning it into a nursery.”
Silence, and then Katherine asked cautiously, “Adele, are you telling us . . .”
Adele beamed at her mother-in-law. “Oui, maman,” she said, reverting to her native French for this delicate announcement. “Je suis enceinte. Will asked me not to say anything about it until he could be here, but I could not stop myself. Tonight seems so perfect!”
Katherine was up in an instant to take Adele in her arms, trying through her tears to express her joy. The others gathered round to give their own hugs and kisses of congratulations.
The evening ended with more laughter when Hugh Hardcastle, flush with drink, proclaimed loudly to his wife, “My God, my dear. These young people are showing us up. I say it’s time you and I get cracking!” In truth, there was an element of poignancy in the amusement. Everyone in the room was aware that more than two years earlier Phoebe had given birth to an infant daughter who had died in the womb, and that she and her husband had been unable to conceive again.
AS JULY slipped warmly into August and the first inklings of autumn chilled the night air, the Cutlers became increasingly engrossed in family matters. In addition to Will and Adele’s welcomed announcement, which ignited a profusion of back-and-forth visits between the Cutler family in Hingham and the Endicott family in Boston, the final details of Diana’s wedding required attention. Early in the month, a Navy dispatch announced that Jamie Cutler should be home in time for the wedding. Although Constitution remained on station in the Mediterranean, some of her officers who had been on duty for more than three years were being rotated off and granted extended shore leave. Chesapeake was due to relieve Constitution as flagship of the Mediterranean Squadron in several months. The official dispatch, signed by Lyle Pearson, clerk of the Navy Department, went on to request that Richard Cutler reconsider his decision to resign his commission. Impressments and ship seizures at sea were on the increase now that the proposed Monroe-Pinkney Treaty, which was to have repaired relations with England, had come undone. Certain U.S. Navy warships currently held in ordinary would soon be recalled to active service, and the Navy Department was most anxious to have Capt. Richard Cutler reassume command of Portsmouth. A personal note scrawled at the bottom of the dispatch in the hand of Secretary Robert Smith appealed to Richard’s patriotism, and to his sense of honor and duty.
“Why did negotiations break down?” Hugh Hardcastle asked the morning after Richard received the dispatch. He and Agreen Crabtree were talking with Richard in the original Cutler & Sons shipping office at Baker’s Yard near Hingham Harbor. It was tight quarters compared with the family’s spacious countinghouse on Long Wharf in Boston, but the family kept the office nevertheless. It carried great sentimental value while providing space for family members in Hingham to discuss business affairs in quiet and familiar surroundings. Both men already knew that Richard had tendered his resignation from the Navy; they had, after all, made the same decision. But Richard had sworn them to secrecy until he felt the circumstances right to tell Katherine and other family members. Specifically, he wanted to wait until Jamie returned home.
“I’m rather out of the loop these days,” Hugh admitted. “I was aware that Mr. Monroe, your minister to Great Britain, was negotiating a treaty with Lord Holland and Lord Auckland on behalf of Mr. Grenville,” referring to the leader of what had come to be known as the ‘Ministry of All the Talents.’ “But I hadn’t realized that the negotiations had broken down. More’s the pity that William Pitt died in January. I daresay the outcome would have been quite different had he been around to direct things. Not only was he a strong advocate of American rights, he actually liked you chaps in the colonies.”
“Us chaps in the colonies, you mean,” Richard corrected him. “You’re one of us now, Hugh. From what I understand,” he continued, “negotiations didn’t break down. Secretary of State Madison received the full draft of the treaty from Mr. Monroe and found it acceptable. But President Jefferson rejected it outright and refused to send it on to Congress for approval.”
“Why, in heaven’s name?”
“I believe he found the treaty lacking on the issue of impressment. It may have adequately addressed trading rights between the two countries, but to Jefferson, impressment is the predominant issue and is nonnegotiable. He has made it clear, time and again, that he will not tolerate British seizures of American ships and citizens at sea.”
“Nor should he,” Agreen put in. “How long d’you think King George would tolerate havin’ his ships and sailors seized? I’d wager about as much time as a half-cocked rooster would last in a sex-starved hen house.”
“I agree with y
ou,” Hugh said, “although I would not have put it quite that way. It is an abominable practice, however much the Royal Navy may require additional hands to man its ships. Precious few Englishmen are volunteering these days in spite of the French threat. However poorly that fact may speak to English patriotism, the question on the table is what your president intends to do now. Without a treaty of sorts, we’re back to sailing in stormy waters. So . . . what do you think Jefferson will do, Richard? What can he do?”
The voice was his brother-in-law’s, but the words were those of Jean Lafitte, and Richard still had no idea how to answer. “I don’t know,” he said, “but he’ll have to do something. Congress and the American public will demand action. As will the president’s own conscience. Nevertheless, I fear that whatever he does decide to do will have grave consequences.”
“Count on it,” Agreen said.
THAT SAME evening, for a reason he could not explain even to himself, Richard cast aside his resolution to wait and read the dispatch from the Navy Department aloud to his wife. They were sitting side by side on a sofa before a crackling fire in the parlor of their home on South Street, in what had become a nightly ritual for them, whatever the weather. This was their time together, their sanctuary from the cares and concerns of the outside world. A glass or two of red Bordeaux helped to keep those cares and concerns in proper perspective.
“You resigned your commission?” Katherine asked incredulously. “Why would you do such a thing? When did you do such a thing?”
“During our layover in Portsmouth. I included a personal letter to Secretary Smith in the dispatch I sent to the Navy Department. I had hoped Mr. Smith might be in Portsmouth—he often is—but it turned out he was in Washington. I wanted to tell you at the time, but I feared you would try to dissuade me.”
“I would most certainly have tried to dissuade you, Richard. The Navy is your life. You love the Navy. Why did you do it?”
He stared into the fire. “I’m getting on, Katherine. I’m not the young man I used to be. Command is best given to younger sea officers, and our Navy is fortunate to have a boatload of them who have been battle-tested in the Mediterranean. ‘Preble’s boys’ are the Navy’s future. Jamie is one of them, I’m happy to say. You’ve heard me speak of some of the others: Stephen Decatur and James Lawrence, for example. And of course Eric Meyers.”
“I have heard you speak of them often, and indeed they sound like exemplary officers. Now tell me the real reason you resigned your commission.”
Her inquiring eyes seemed always to see through to his very core. “You’re right about one thing, Katherine,” he said. “I do love the Navy. I am honored to have been given the opportunity to serve my country in the way I have. But you’re wrong when you say that the Navy is my life. You are my life. Our children, our family: this is my life. The whole truth is that I no longer have either the ability or the desire to sail away from you for months or years on end. That part of my life I have cherished, but that part of my life is now over, as it should be. There is plenty for me to do right here in Hingham and Boston. It’s where I want to be and where I need to be.”
“You are doing this for me, then,” she said softly.
“No,” he said, “I’m doing it for myself. I love you, Katherine. Neither of us knows what the future holds for us. But whatever it holds, we will face it together. Not separated by thousands of miles, but here, together, where we have lived and loved for so many years.”
Katherine said nothing further. She rested her head on Richard’s shoulder and felt his arm adjusting to make her more comfortable. She stared blankly into the dying flames in the hearth until she heard her husband drift off to sleep. Then, finally, she too succumbed to the blissful dark, safe for the moment within the tender embrace of her husband. Safe, too, for yet another day, from the terrible secret she was carrying silently within her, and that she dared not speak of, whatever the consequences, until the inevitable day of reckoning.
Seven
Hingham, Massachusetts
Fall 1806
THE CEREMONY uniting Peter Sprague and Diana Cutler was mostly a South Shore affair. Relatives and close friends from away were invited, of course, and those able to attend filled First Parish Church to beyond capacity, forcing many of the male attendees to stand in the back of the church and in the narthex. But there was little of the pomp and ceremony that had marked the wedding of Will Cutler and Adele Endicott in this same church four years earlier. Today, the cream of Boston society remained in Boston—with one notable exception. As Jack and Anne-Marie Endicott, in company with their daughter Frances and Frances’ fiancé, Robert Pepperell, approached the center of town along North Street, they caused many heads to turn and tongues to wag. Many, perhaps most, citizens of Hingham had never before seen a coach-and-eight replete with English-style coachman, footman, and postilion dressed in full livery.
After the Reverend Henry Ware conferred God’s blessings on yet another Cutler wedding, the entourage and invited guests—who included most of the population of Hingham—repaired to Caleb and Joan Cutler’s home on Main Street for the traditional post-ceremony fun, fiddling, and feasting. The air was crisp, and thick, leaden clouds covered the sky. When shards of sunshine managed to break through, a golden brilliance highlighted the nascent splendor of autumn colors against the backdrop of dark, brooding pewter. The clash of seasons posed a constant threat of quick-soaking squalls, and the more devout among the guests cast their eyes skyward and prayed that the rain would hold off for several more hours.
Diana Cutler Sprague was not among those who did. She paid scant attention to the weather as she, arm-in-arm with Peter, made the rounds outside and inside the house. Tradition suggested that the bride and groom need not linger long at such an event, and the newlyweds wished to pay their respects to as many people as possible before departing for Stockbridge. That picturesque village, nestled at the foot of the Berkshire Mountains of western Massachusetts, was renowned for its English missionary roots, its magnificent scenery, and the Red Lion Inn, a hostelry with a well-established reputation for hospitality, fine cuisine, and discretion. The honeymooners would be gone for ten days, giving them a solid week together in Stockbridge to explore the wonders of Man and Nature.
“My dears,” Katherine Cutler said as she bade them good-bye near the stage and hired driver waiting on Main Street. “You have given me one of the happiest days of my life. Thank you for that gift.” She embraced first Peter and then her only daughter.
As she withdrew from their embrace, Diana looked deep into her mother’s hazel eyes, mirror images of her own. “Thank you for all you have done for me, Mother—every day of my life.” She clasped her mother to her again, harder this time.
“Go now, my darling,” Katherine whispered to her. “Go with God; go with your husband; and go with my love forever.”
Diana, swiping at tears, embraced her father and Peter’s parents in turn and then let Peter hand her up into the stage. At the crack of the driver’s whip the coach lurched forward, clattering down Main Street and across South Street before taking a sharp left on North Street at Albert Fearing’s house.
After the stage had disappeared, Richard gently pulled his wife against his side. “Will you come back into the house with me, Katherine?”
“You go along,” Katherine said, still staring at the spot where the carriage had disappeared. “I’ll join you in a minute.”
“Very well,” Richard said reluctantly. “I’ll have a glass of Madeira waiting for you in the parlor. We could both use a glass of that, I think.”
Katherine gave him the inkling of a smile. “I think we could both use a lot of that.”
As he made his way back across the fairground-like lawn, where merriment was backsliding into raucous and rowdy behavior, Richard noticed Anne-Marie Endicott approaching him. She was elegantly attired, as was her wont in public, and the sight of her took his breath away, as it had every time he had seen her since he had spirited her
out of Paris on the eve of the French Revolution. Her husband at the time, Marquis Bernard-René de Launay, the last royal governor of the Bastille, had been seized when that bastion fell and was summarily decapitated by a mob hell-bent on revenge for the marquis’ stoic defense of King Louis and the ancien régime. Richard had first met Anne-Marie Helvétian a decade earlier in Paris, during the high noon of the American Revolution, when she, an alluring young woman of savoir faire and Swiss heritage, had been a protégé of Benjamin Franklin, and he, a young, sexually naïve midshipman, had served as aide-de-camp to Capt. John Paul Jones. They had danced the minuet together at Versailles; they had attended a performance of The Barber of Seville together at the Tuilleries Palace; and they had fallen head over heels into bed together at the Helvétian residence in Passy. The memories of those few idyllic days had continued to tantalize them both, long after Richard had risked all in 1789 to snatch the beautiful marquise and her two young daughters from the holocaust consuming Paris and spirit them away to America in his sloop Falcon. Since arriving in Boston, Anne-Marie Helvétian de Launay had regained her former wealth and social status by marrying Jack Endicott.
She came up to him and said in a concerned voice, “Is Katherine all right?”
“I think so,” Richard replied. “I suspect she’s feeling as I do: a little down despite the joy of the day.”
Anne-Marie nodded knowingly. “Let me talk to her.”
Anne-Marie joined Katherine on Main Street and followed her longing gaze. “Four years ago,” she said softly, “I watched from this very spot as a carriage took Adele and Will to the Hingham docks. I was so very happy for her, to have married such a fine young man as your son. And yet, do you know what I remember most about that moment? It was the pain of loss. My beloved daughter had left my home and my side to live with someone else; and in truth, at that moment, it didn’t matter to me who that someone else was or how right he might be for her. She was with him, not me, and I knew that would never change. One of the hardest things for a mother to do is watch a daughter ride off with her prince, especially a daughter with whom you have been so close. I never bore a son; but I imagine it is easier for a mother to watch a son ride off than a daughter.”
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