Any Approaching Enemy: A Novel of the Napoleonic Wars

by Jay Worrall

  Daniel and Molly Bevan were asked to stay to supper, during which most of the attention was devoted to the very young Claudette, who ate happily and smiled suspiciously when addressed. Once, when Charles helped her slice her food, she nodded seriously to him and said, “Merci, Monsieur Sharrle,” which sent an arrow through his heart.

  Toward the end of the meal, he studied his wife, seated on the other side of the girl. She seemed both pleased and content, and had a rosy sort of glow about her. “I am sorry,” he said, “you told me earlier that there was something you wanted to tell me. What was it?”

  Penny met his eyes, then looked back down at her plate. “I will speak with thee later,” she said. Charles noticed Molly glance quickly across the table at Penny, who furtively glanced back with a small shake of her head. Daniel Bevan contentedly chewed on his roast chicken, picking a bone clean and dropping it on his plate. Charles stared intently across the table at Molly until he caught her eye. Molly turned pink.

  “Ain’t we had nice weather today,” she observed a little too loudly. “Wasn’t I worried when I saw you fighting that other ship. Wasn’t I worried, Daniel?” she said, elbowing him in the ribs.

  “What?” Bevan said.

  “Wasn’t I worried.”

  “About what?”

  Charles studied Penny, whose rosy glow seemed to have heightened. He knew what it was she had to tell him.

  “Are you?” he said. “We?”

  She nodded once, then looked at him, a hopeful, serious, apprehensive look.

  Charles smiled his largest smile.

  Penny smiled back, her eyes glistening.

  “What?” Bevan said, laying down his knife and fork and wiping his mouth with his napkin.

  Molly jabbed him in the ribs again, then raised her hand to his ear and whispered into it.

  “You mean there will be more of them?” he said in apparent dismay. He took his wife’s elbow firmly in his two hands.

  Charles rose from his chair and knelt beside Penny. He lay one hand on her belly and kissed her cheek. He said into her ear, “A child couldn’t have a better mother.”

  “Qu’est-ce que c’est?” Claudette said, her big eyes following the activity in the room.

  Penny turned and spoke to her in French that Charles followed well enough to understand his wife was explaining that she was about to become a mother. Then the child asked something that he did not follow, to which Penny gave a long, serious answer, then kissed her on the forehead and smoothed her hair.

  “What was that?” Charles asked.

  “She told me that she has never had a mother, only an aunt, and that she lived with her father, only she doesn’t know where he is now.”

  “Oh,” Charles said.

  “And she said that so long as I was going to be a mother, would I mind being her mother also.”

  “What did you tell her?”

  “I told her that I would be especially pleased, but I would have to speak with thee first.”

  “Of course we will,” Charles said. “Ask if I may be her father also, at least until her real father is found.”

  Penny smiled and pecked his cheek. She spoke to the girl, who nodded solemnly, meeting Charles’s eyes with her own.

  “Ask her,” Charles said carefully, “her father’s name, so that I will know him if I meet him.”

  Penny asked.

  “Paul,” Claudette answered promptly. “Capitaine Paul.”

  Charles kept his expression neutral. His heart went out to the little girl. “Well,” he said, in his first official act as at least a temporary father, “mangez votre legumes.”

  Bevan and Molly excused themselves soon afterward, and Charles walked with them to the entryport. “I ain’t never seen Penny so happy,” Molly said. “I’ll draw you a picture of her and the baby, and send it with the post. Ain’t you the lucky one.”

  “I am,” Charles said, “and so is Daniel.”

  As Molly was secured in her chair to be lowered over the side, Charles overheard her say to Bevan, “What she’s with child already. Ain’t you got a lot of work to do.”

  “It’s back to the office, then,” Bevan said, touching his hat and descending over the side.

  Near the entrance to his cabin, Charles saw the two sea chests and a canvas satchel containing Félicité’s books and papers. He left the chests to deal with in the morning but took the satchel inside with him. Rummaging through the bag, he soon found a thin ledger with page after page listing names, birth dates, birthplaces, ratings, and other entries relating to the bureaucratic record keeping of the French navy. He opened it to the first page and found what he was looking for: Paul André le Baux, Capitaine de Frégate.

  After the name were entries showing that the man had been thirty-five years old, born in Arles, and served as the frigate’s captain for the past three years. Charles wondered what kind of man he had been, why he had a child but no wife, why he had found it necessary to bring his daughter to live on board with him. Charles thought the captain must have cared a great deal for her.

  Little doubt remained that Claudette was Captain le Baux’s daughter. The entry Claudette Marie le Baux had been penned later, wedged in beneath the line for her father and above that of the first lieutenant. She had been born on 12 Vendemiaire, 1794, by the French revolutionary calendar, in the village of Maussane in Provence. With her father dead and her mother unknown, Charles knew there would be no finding her relatives with the war in progress, and little hope afterward, whenever that would be.

  IN THE MORNING Charles inspected the jury-rigged fore and main topmasts and the repaired stays and halyards. Satisfied, he sent Beechum across with two seamen to set fire to Félicité, stay until it had taken hold, then return to Louisa. With the party back on board, he watched the darkening smoke rising from the frigate’s hatchways with mixed emotions. It saddened him to watch a once-living, vibrant ship consumed to ashes like some cast-off scow.

  “Syracuse,” he said to Winchester. “Signal Pylades to keep station.” His intentions were to call at the Sicilian port and inform the British consul of the French presence in Egypt, then continue on directly to Gibraltar to report to Admiral St. Vincent what he had learned and of his failure to find Nelson’s squadron. From Gibraltar he could also arrange safe transportation for Penny, Molly, and now Claudette, back to England.

  It took twelve days before sighting Syracuse. They sailed against largely contrary winds, tacking to the northwest toward the familiar south coast of Crete, then to the southeast, then to the northwest again, an irregular course that resembled the teeth of a saw. So it went, day by day.

  Penny, Charles noted, took to instructing Claudette in English for several hours each morning and afternoon. The results of this the child would demonstrate for him by approaching on the quarterdeck and saying something like “ ’Ow art thou today, Sharrle Edgemont?”

  Charles would reply that he was fine and that it was a beautiful day, and Claudette would toddle in her clean, pressed dress and white apron and cap back to Penny to ask what he had said. She acquired a facility with the language remarkably quickly, although with a strong Provençal accent. She proved a serious, inquisitive child, except when he would sit her in his lap and tickle. There she would shriek with delight and beg him to stop, then dare him with an impudent look to begin again. This game, he discovered, could continue indefinitely.

  ON THE TENTH day, after supper, Penny asked Charles to remain at the table as the dishes were cleared away. She went to a chest that she had traveled with and produced a ledger book.

  “What’s this?” Charles asked.

  “We must discuss issues regarding thy estates in Cheshire.”

  Charles sighed loudly in hopes of conveying that he would rather not.

  “Would thou discuss this another time?” she said with a certain stiffness. “When?”

  Charles sighed again, this time hoping to indicate a grudging indulgence. Ignoring his sighs, she opened the book on the tab
le in a businesslike manner and licked her finger, then leafed through the pages until she found the one she wanted. “This page is a summary of income from rents and sales for the three months I have been resident there, and this the costs and expenditures,” she announced.

  “Ah,” Charles said, rapidly scanning the surprisingly detailed column of figures. At the bottom he noted an entry for excess of income over expenditures. The sum was thirty-seven pounds, twelve shillings, and eight pence. “These are John’s accounts?” he asked. Somehow Charles imagined his brother keeping more casual figures.

  “No,” she said. “These are my accounts. Thy brother, dear human being though he may be, does not keep adequate accounts.”

  Charles wasn’t sure he understood. “Who is managing my land?” he asked.

  “I see to the Tattenall estate,” she said. “Thy brother is attending the part attached to his properties. I will wish to speak with thee about this arrangement also in time.”

  “I see,” said Charles doubtfully. He was pretty sure he had left his brother in charge of the whole thing. “Just one more question, and we’ll get on to the accounts. How did you come to be in control of the Tattenall lands? Did John agree with this?”

  “Thy brother has agreed … in truth, reluctantly,” she said. “We disagreed about some improvements I proposed but he did not wish to make. I conversed with him directly, as any Christian would. In time we came to a loving agreement.”

  Charles felt that he would have liked to witness these conversations. Still, this arrangement raised other questions. “How can you manage an estate? You’re a woman. A woman can’t even open her own bank account.” He thought he had a very good point.

  “A woman can, if she is persistent,” Penny said. “I went to the bank in Chester, where they agreed, if I would bring a letter of thy approval on my return.” She pulled out a blank piece of paper and wrote a note on it: Letter from C.E. to Chester Bank, 1.) estate account. She looked at him with a fixed expression. “I have learned that thou has an account at this bank also.”

  “I do,” Charles answered reluctantly. He had left all these arrangements happily in his brother’s hands precisely so that he could avoid conversations such as this.

  “How much does it contain?” she asked.

  “Ah …” Charles said.

  Penny’s eyes seemed to pierce his skin. “Oh, come,” she said. “I am thy wife, thy helpmate, thy life’s partner. Thou must confide in me if I am to be useful to thee. Especially if I am to manage thy properties.”

  Charles knew this was the time for him to stand firm, to maintain his place as head of the household and master of his domain. This was his Rubicon; if he crossed now, there would be no going back.

  Penny’s attention remained fixed, her mouth a determined line. “Charles Edgemont,” she said firmly.

  “About six hundred pounds,” he said finally. This was safe; he was certain the sum was more like seven hundred and fifty.

  “It is necessary to mention in thy letter that I may draw on these funds,” she said, and added to her note: 2.) C.E. account. She then returned to her ledger and opened it to another page without waiting for Charles to reply. “These are thy crofts and their tenants,” she said, showing him a list of entries several pages long. “This shows their production, averaged over several years, their estimated expenses to others for milling, carting, marketing, and so on, their customary rents, and their adjusted rents as I have proposed.”

  Charles groaned inwardly. “I see,” he said.

  “Now,” she said, licking her finger and turning to yet another page, “this is thy—our estimated income from thy lands for one full year. This number is the same for the rents as they have traditionally been.”

  Charles followed the finger to her lips and watched as her pink tongue wetted it prettily. Now he followed his finger across the page and saw a very comfortable number.

  “And this is the sum after I have adjusted the rents and made several other improvements.”

  He looked at a number about one quarter larger. “You increased the rents?” he asked.

  Penny smiled at him. “Thou are not attending,” she said patiently. “I have reduced the rents by a percentage, but to achieve the increase, certain investments are required. These will be incurred as costs in the short term, but will yield permanent gain. Thou will then be able to afford other improvements.”

  Charles remembered the letters he had received from her and had avoided answering. He didn’t want to disappoint her, but he didn’t want to throw all his money away, either. “This is where your school and mill come in, isn’t it?” he said.

  She patted his hand consolingly. “I have conceived of three projects as a beginning,” she said, “a school, a market, and a mill.” Step by step, she took him through each, their expense, their potential for profit and benefit, both for him and for others in the community. A school would require a building, a schoolmaster and a schoolmistress (one for boys and one for girls, to avoid distractions), and certain other expenses such as a well and firewood. Fees might be requested for the children from wealthier families, but she acknowledged that the school would cost him a certain amount from year to year. The benefit would be an increase in literacy and the advancement of the village as a whole.

  “It is thy moral and Christian duty to see to the improvement of those less fortunate than thyself,” she insisted.

  Charles scratched his chin and pulled on his ear. “Humm,” he said. “Ah.” He had a sense that she was set on this, there was a certain inevitability about it. He knew he was one of the wealthier landowners around Tattenall, and it was appropriate that he patronize something. Still, he had concerns about the expense; perhaps she would compromise. He could think of one area right away.

  “Is it really necessary to have two schools?” he said reasonably. “I mean, one for girls? What benefit comes from educating girls; for what, to become women?”

  “Are girls less worthy of education?” Penny answered almost calmly. “I have been educated. Would thou not wish to see Claudette learn her letters and sums? If our child is female, dost thou wish her ignorant?” Her brow creased. “Are girls less worthy than boys?”

  “No, no. I wasn’t referring to our own children, or Claudette,” he said. “I meant for the crofters’ children, the farmers, shepherds, and—”

  “Surely thou art not serious.” Her lips tightened.

  Or perhaps she would not compromise, he thought. Charles had known her long enough to understand that he needed to be subtle. “A school for girls, ordinary girls. It takes one a moment to appreciate what a good idea that is.” Then, in an attempt to find calmer seas, “So, you also wish to build a market? I thought Tattenall already had a market.”

  “Yes, in the village square, exposed to the weather,” she said suspiciously, but turned her ledger to a new page. “It is open two days each week. There is a need for a covered market, open every day except First Day.” She went on with some evident knowledge about the general benefits to the region from stimulating economic activity, benefits that would, of necessity, accrue to him as well. A license would have to be obtained, and there would be costs for acquiring a suitable plot of land and erecting a structure, but these would be repaid over time through small fees.

  Charles did not immediately object to this, although the initial costs were substantial. At least the likely benefits seemed somewhat more tangible. “All right,” he said, “I will consider it. Your third project is a mill?” He was beginning to conceive a strategy to graciously allow her the school or the market, but not both. “I am opposed to these projects on the basis of their expense,” he would say firmly. “In consideration of my affection for you, I will allow one of the first two. I will not approve a mill.” It would be as simple as that. Having decided, he leaned back in his chair with his arms crossed and waited for her to finish.

  Penny nibbled on her lower lip in concentration as she leafed through her ledger book in search o
f the correct page. Charles found this distracting; he had nibbled on that same lower lip very agreeably himself. Having found her place, she ran her palm along the crease of the binding. “This is the most important,” she said, and smiled at him uncertainly. “It is the most dear, but it is the foundation—the anchor, in thy terms—for everything that follows.” She went into a long explanation of the benefits to his crofters, to the community, and to his purse. It would provide employment; reduce the costs to his tenants for milling their grist and cartage back and forth; and draw more farmers and their families from the lands around Tattenall to the village and its market, creating more opportunities for future projects.

  At ease now that he had made up his mind, Charles watched her as she spoke, the way her finger moved on the page, the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. He idly wondered if it was true that a woman’s breasts became larger when she was pregnant. Penny’s seemed fuller, pressing more tightly against the front of her dress when she inhaled. This interested him far more than the numbers.

  She was saying she had already picked out a place for a millpond, conveniently close to the village center; her father, who owned and managed his own mill, had agreed to oversee its construction and operation. “It is an opportunity that if thou dost not seize, someone else surely will,” she said, laying her hand on his and looking up into his eyes. Seeing the direction of his gaze, she said, “Charles Edgemont, thou art incorrigible. Pay attention.”

  Charles was momentarily tempted to acquiesce to anything she wanted. She had clearly put a lot of thought and effort into her plans, and at least some of it seemed plausible. She looked so desirable; she was soon to be the mother of their child. He truly did not want to disappoint her, but everyone knew that no woman, schooled or unschooled, could carry out such a complex scheme. Particularly not a woman in a maternal state. It was in opposition to the female nature. He realized now that he couldn’t just say he forbade it. He thought he saw a safe way out.

  “How much would it cost?” he asked innocently.