Book Twelve: The Duty
and Destiny Series
From the author of the acclaimed,
‘A Poor Man at the Gate’ Series
Andrew Wareham
Digital edition published in 2017 by
The Electronic Book Company
A New York Times Best-seller
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Shores of Barbary
Copyright © 2017 by Andrew Wareham
All Rights Reserved
Contents:
Title Page
Copyright Page
Introduction
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
By the Same Author
Introduction
Shores of Barbary: Frederick is slowly adapting to his debilitating injury, and to life ashore. After a period of reacquainting himself with his family, he is sent to the north-east of England, supposedly to put an end to smuggling. Later he is promoted and takes charge of a well-armed squadron. His orders are to stir up trouble on the Barbary Coast and ultimately, to thwart French ambitions in the area.
Best read in series order
Author’s Note: I have written and punctuated Shores of Barbary in a style reflecting English usage in novels of the Georgian period, when typically, sentences were much longer than they are in modern English. Editor’s Note: Andrew’s book was written, produced and edited in the UK where some of the spellings, punctuation and word usage vary slightly from U.S. English.
Book Twelve: The Duty
and Destiny Series
Chapter One
“Captain Sir Frederick Harris and Lady Harris, Your Majesty.”
His Britannic Majesty, King George, Third of that name, creased his face into the automatic smile of greeting, acknowledging the bow and curtsey.
He peered, his weak old eyes frequently letting him down these days, saw that it was the same couple still in front of him, waiting; they had not risen and passed along the line. He could tell it was the same man, he was wearing naval uniform and had no left arm – but Nelson was dead, was he not? Had the buggers called him back from his grave, poor chap? They would allow no man rest these days, but that was still going too far, in his opinion; he would give Billy Pitt a piece of his mind, except that he was dead too – there was no end to it. All the best sorts were dying, except for himself, and he didn’t think he was dead, but maybe he was and that would explain it all. The fellow was still there and that meant he had to do something else; he wondered what.
A hand gently prodded his back, a voice whispered in his deaf old ears.
“Eh? Speak up man!”
The whisper became a louder speaking voice.
“Bath? I had one last week! Or perhaps it was last month – I don’t know! That’s what valets are kept for, man! He can tell you. Oh, very well! If you insist!”
His Majesty began to fumble with his breeches-band; he was quickly dissuaded from disrobing in public, was informed that he was to honour Sir Frederick as a Knight Companion of the Bath.
“Oh! Is that a good idea?” His Majesty lowered his voice from the toneless bellow of the newly deaf to a confidential shout. “Do you know the fellow only has one arm? How does that come about? How will he hold the soap and the sponge, eh? I suppose you could ask Nelson how he manages – I saw him here only a few minutes ago.”
“I am sure something may be arranged, Your Majesty. Perhaps you might wish to retire now.”
The King was led away, still loudly demanding an answer to his question and calling for Lord Nelson to present himself immediately. His eldest son, the Prince of Wales, stepped forward, face showing his sense of triumph. The old man had gone publicly mad again, must be locked away for good this time; the Prince of Wales would soon be no more, the Prince Regent in his place!
“Sir Frederick, in recognition of your many services at sea and the sacrifices you have made in our service, we are pleased to appoint you Knight Companion of the Bath and invite you to attend the investiture at the Chapel at Windsor.”
Frederick bowed, as instructed by the equerry beforehand.
“We much hope that you will soon recover from this latest injury taken in our loyal service, Sir Frederick, and that you may continue long at our command.”
The Prince was in expansive mood, the Royal ‘wes’ and ‘ours’ rolling from his tongue as he practised for his long–anticipated chance to reign.
Frederick bowed again and Elizabeth curtseyed, thinking that she would have ensured a higher bodice had she known she would be exposing herself before the leering eye of the Prince. They stepped to the side and retired, all as instructed. The line of those making their bows moved forward another pace and the next of the favoured stood before Majesty.
Mr Critchel joined them, bowing and making his quiet, restrained congratulations.
“I am so pleased for you, Sir Frederick. Should you wish to retire immediately, none will take it amiss, bearing in mind your recent mishap. A seat is not possible, I am afraid.”
There was a scurrying about the Royal Party, bodies placing themselves at the Prince’s shoulder.
“I see the Princely hangers-on are appearing – rats joining the recently-launched ship!”
Frederick smiled his appreciation, commented that royalty seemed to attract the company of the very worst of Society. He thought he recognised the smirk of Colonel Georgie Hanger, one of the more appalling of the Prince’s coterie.
“Like clings to like, in this instance, Sir Frederick; Hanger is as clever as he is vicious and will feed the Prince his lines when he meets the politicos. The Prince will be in full voice this evening, when, inevitably, the Duke of Portland, his Prime Minister, must attend him, but it will do him little good. It has been likely for weeks that the King would discover the need to go into seclusion, and provision has been made for the occasion. He is not yet to be declared mad, Sir Frederick; he will officially be ‘tired’ and his public appearances to be given to the Prince for the time being. That is all he will get until he has engaged in a number of very pointed discussions. There will be a most thorough understanding of the gentleman’s place in the scheme of things before any Act of Parliament shall declare Prinny to be Regent. No matter how much he squeals, he will discover that the royal powers are much curtailed, or so I am informed.”
They could not believe that to be wrong; there was no place in the world of government for so weak-minded a Prince.
Mr Russell appeared from among the onlookers, those members of Society who attended levees simply to see and be seen rather than attend to business.
“I am so pleased for you, Sir Frederick! The Bath is the very least that you deserve, sir! Though I am not myself to suggest that you are unwashed, poor old gentleman! One can only regret the inevitable elevation of our d
ear Prinny, but his sad papa is overdue to rest from the long cares of his kingdom. I presume you will be even less inclined to face the so-called pleasures of Society now, sir – from tasteless extravagance there can be little doubt that Mayfair will descend now to simple vulgarity. Not to worry, sir – such as myself, who are bred to Town, must survive the years to come; the rurally inclined will spend much of their days in tasteful seclusion, no doubt. But not too many days, Sir Frederick! It will be desirable that you should show yourself in Mount Street for the Season, but the winter will be all yours, sir.”
Elizabeth smiled her kindest at Mr Russell, a dear friend, and hoped that some part of the winter might be his, that he would be able to visit them in the desert wastes of Dorset.
“That must indeed be so, ma’am. I must show myself in the wilds, and cast the smiling light of my countenance upon the children! Are all well, ma’am?”
“Very much so, sir! And, as ever, looking forward to your company.”
“Excellent! I am so glad! I dearly love to be with them – the family that is denied to such as I. You will not have displayed yourself to them yet, Sir Frederick? A difficult task, I believe!”
“Very much so, Mr Russell. I cannot look forward to that first meeting, yet do not wish to be away from them – I have been too long parted from my family. I am not to be permitted to take to the road yet, however.”
“Two more weeks, sir – providing only that the doctor shall agree.”
Elizabeth was firm, would not be moved from her stance. He was not to jeopardise his health bouncing about on the mud tracks that passed for English roads outside of high summer.
“The wise man knows when to obey orders from superior authority, Sir Frederick. On which note, sir, considering the antics of those set in authority over us, I understand that the matter of the prizes has been solved in a satisfactory fashion.”
Frederick laughed, uncertain just what had been done but knowing that the system of government had been manipulated very cleverly in his favour.
“My prize agents, who pocket three and one half per centum from me, have fallen to their bended knees on my drawing room carpet, Mr Russell, lauding me to the high heavens! I think your street songs must have had some remarkable power, sir!”
“They are still to be heard in the drinking houses, I am told, Sir Frederick. The ordinary people do love their heroes, you know. And our masters in Downing Street are often wise enough to cock an ear to what the lesser folk are saying – or singing – and cast their policies anew when necessary. Are you to purchase another estate, Sir Frederick?”
Frederick said he would not; he was far more inclined to dabble in coal and iron and steam, for he much suspected that the future lay in those fields rather than in the farmers’ acres. Lady Harris’ relatives might have much of interest to say on such topics.
“Lord Turner, who you introduced to me when he was still Captain Murray – a wise man indeed – said very much the same to me only recently, Sir Frederick. I am much inclined to advise my esteemed father to ‘get into’, as they say, a coalfield. You will no doubt wish to examine the prospects in the North Country yourself, but not perhaps this year!”
Lady Harris, standing her very tallest, stated that it most definitely would not be in the coming few months.
They left the presence of Royalty, glad to be gone, even Mr Russell not unhappy to shake the dust of St James off his feet.
“Should we give a dinner before we leave Town, my lady?”
“Probably it would be polite, Frederick – on condition that you drink no more than one glass of port wine and eschew the brandy entirely afterwards!”
“The thought of either nauseates me at present, my love! Not a hard-drinking affair, that for sure. Who to invite? Sir Iain is to go direct from Chatham to Dorset, may already have done so. Lord Turner; Mr Russell – those names leap to the tongue. Lord Alton is not in London. Who else?”
“Major Paget, I think, sir. Is he wed, do you know?”
Frederick did not; he would ask Mr Russell.
“Mr Critchel, who I do not like, Frederick, but for whom I have a very lively respect.”
“He is not a man to be ‘liked’, I suspect – but he has been a very good friend to me, for more than simple personal advantage, I believe. Should he live another decade, and I have not an inkling of his age, then I am sure he will be a powerful influence behind Iain and Robert as they attain manhood. I would be happier if I knew why, but I have a great trust in him – and I am certain few can say that! Guests, now!”
“Who of your naval acquaintance is in Town, sir?”
“Admiral Sir Iain Farquhar is in Scotland since relinquishing the Malta command. Captain Forshaw may well be, he was due in England some months ago, I know – and in all courtesy, I must not cut him, though he is not the world’s most likable fellow. I shall pay a call at the Admiralty to discover just who may be to hand. What of your friends, my dear?”
“Very few remain in London, but I can call acquaintance with the Jerseys, who are still in residence and might well find an evening for us. My lady is a powerful figure and relentless in her cultivation of the latest figures in Town. You are a known man, of course, Frederick, and Lord Turner is a valuable gentleman to have as a friend and one she will not have found easy to meet. She is, obviously, of use to us. Should she decide that you must be made an Admiral of the Blue, then your fortunes are secure; she has great power behind the scenes, Frederick.”
Frederick was aware of the fact, and knew as well the open secret that she had graced the bed of every figure of power and influence in the whole of political London. Her husband indeed, when asked by a friend why he had not called out a less than normally discreet paramour, had commented that if he once started challenging her lovers he would run out both of pistols and of dry dawns before he had completed the task. Fortunately, Frederick knew that he himself lacked the political ambition or the vast wealth to be interesting to her; he merely hoped that the missing arm might not suggest a frisson of the uncommon to her jaded palate. Wise men offered the lady’s favours found very convincing reasons to refuse them, or risked her unending and highly intelligent malice.
“You must invite her, Elizabeth, but suggest in conversation that I am still much enervated by my wounds, am indeed enfeebled in my constitution!”
His prudish lady understood his meaning and flamed scarlet in the cheek, before starting to laugh.
“I shall purchase you a walking stick, sir!”
Frederick thought of a very rude comment to make about what could be done with the walking stick, would have spoken it aloud in naval company, but felt that he might not wish to do so in his wife’s sitting room.
The navy had some nine hundred and eighty ships at sea, each with her captain, and any number of posts onshore for officers. As a result, very few of Frederick’s acquaintance were in London, and only Forshaw, as he had suspected, of those he wished to meet socially. He decided to beg Forshaw to make a morning call upon him rather than invite him to dinner; the gentleman’s parents were not well-born and he remembered his company manners to be better-suited to the middle order of people than to the fashionable of Mayfair. Embarrassment should always be avoided, he thought.
He was reassured in his judgement when Forshaw responded quickly to his note, appearing the very next morning in his best shore-going clothes, which included a sky-blue waistcoat and neckcloth of an elegant pink. The butler brought him in, tottering with shock.
“Captain Forshaw, Sir Frederick.”
Frederick made to rise and was pressed to remain seated, all with the greatest of kindness but in the most officious fashion.
“It is many years since our paths crossed, Sir Frederick – but I have always been conscious of your presence behind me, sir! Nearly ten years, first as master and commander and then post captain, and almost always in employment in fine ships on the best of postings! I have known that could not be luck, or even wholly my own merit – I have had a p
atron, sir, and must express my sincerest thanks. You made my first and rapid promotions to command, sir, and, I must say, enabled me to make my own fortune as well. Not to match your captures, sir, but I have had some luck in Eastern waters and have been able to tuck a pretty penny away in the Funds!”
Frederick had barely given Forshaw a thought since seeing him promoted out of his ship, out of a desire to shift his unpleasant, even if highly efficient, presence elsewhere. He was amused to be venerated in such an undeserved fashion.
“I can recognise a man who will succeed, Captain Forshaw, and have indeed been informed of your career more than once.”
That, he thought, was true enough, as far as it went.
“Have you the expectation of a ship in the immediate future, Captain Forshaw?”
“I am to go to Portsmouth within the week, Sir Frederick. It is no coincidence, of that I am certain, that the very day after you spoke with the First Lord last week – and he told me that was so himself, mentioning you as an old captain and friend to me – I was given the powerful frigate you brought in as a prize earlier this year. She has been renamed, sir, out of consideration to Spanish sensibilities, and is now Weymouth frigate, 44! A twenty-four pound broadside, of course, sir, for so large a vessel. I am to sail her to Eastern waters, I am informed, having such knowledge of the seas there, and will call at Canton before taking myself to the coasts of the Americas, though what is planned there I do not yet know for certain.”
“I suspect, Captain Forshaw, that there is an expectation of war with the States before too many years are passed. A large British ship of war on the American coasts may give some food for thought to the Americans – they have a rich trade in furs and whale oil on that coast. Additionally, of course, there are our Spanish allies, who nonetheless often need to be discouraged in the area of Nootka Sound and those parts of the coast that will belong to Canada. You may find yourself in a very important part of the world, sir.”
Shores of Barbary (The Duty and Destiny Series, Book 12) Page 1