'This one is from the proctor. It will be about the two neutrals that were on appeal,' he said, breaking the seal at last. 'I am almost afraid to open it. Yes: just so. Here is my lee-shore. The verdict is reversed: I am to pay back eleven thousand pounds. I do not possess eleven thousand pence. A lee-shore . . . how can I claw off? There is only one thing for it: I will give up my claim to be made post and beg for a sloop as a commander. A ship I must have. Stephen, lend me twenty pounds, will you? I have no ready money. I shall go up to the Admiralty today. There is not a moment to lose. Oh, I have promised to ride with Sophia: but I can still do it in the day.'
'Take a post-chaise. You must not arrive fagged out.'
'That is what I shall do—you are quite right, Stephen. Thank you. Killick!'
'Sir?'
'Cut along to the Goat and tell them to have a chaise here at eleven. Pack my valise for a couple of nights: no, a week.'
'Jack,' said Stephen urgently, when the servant had left the room, 'do not speak of this to anyone yet, I beg you.'
'You are looking terribly pale, Captain Aubrey,' said Sophia. 'I do hope you have not had another fall? Come in; please come in and sit down on a chair. Oh dear, I am sure you ought to sit down.'
'No, no, I promise you I have not fallen off my horse this last week,' said Jack, laughing. 'Let us make the most of this burst of sun; we shall get a ducking if we wait. Look at the clouds in the south-west. What a fine habit you are wearing.'
'Do you like it? It is the first time I have put it on. But,' she said, still looking anxiously into his face, which was now an unhealthy red, 'are you sure you would not like a cup of tea? It could be made in a moment.'
'Yes, yes, do step in and have a cup of tea,' cried Mrs Williams from the window, clutching a yellow garment to her throat. 'It will be ready directly, and there is a fire in the small sitting-room. You can drink it together—so cosy. I am sure Sophie is dying for a cup of tea. She would love a cup of tea with you, Captain Aubrey, would you not, Sophie?'
Jack smiled and bowed and kissed her hand, but his iron determination not to stay prevailed, and in time they rode off along the Foxdene road to the edge of the downs.
'Are you quite sure you did not have a fall?' asked Sophie again, not so much from the idea that he had not noticed it and might recall it with application, as from a desire to express her real concern.
'No,' said Jack, looking at that lovely, usually remote face now gazing at him with such tenderness, such a worried and as it were proprietorial tenderness. 'But I did have a knock-down blow just now. A damned unlooked-for blow. Sophie—I may call you Sophie, mayn't I? I always think of you so—when I was in my Sophie, my sloop, I took a couple of neutrals sailing into Marseilles. Their papers said they were from Sicily for Copenhagen, laden with brimstone. But they were in the very act of running into Marseilles: I was within reach of that battery on the height. And the brimstone was meant for France.'
For Sophia brimstone was something to be mixed with treacle and given to children on Fridays: she could still feel the odious lumps between her teeth. This showed in her face, and Jack added, 'They have to have it to make gunpowder. So I sent both these ships into Port Mahon, where they were condemned as lawful prize out of hand, a glaring breach of neutrality; but now at length the owners have appealed, and the court has decided they were not lawful prize at all, that their masters' tale of merely taking shelter from the weather was true. Weather! There was no weather. Scarcely a riffle on the sea, and we stood in under our royals, stuns'ls either side, and the thirty-six-pounders up on the hill making rings in the still water a quarter of a mile wide.'
'Oh, how unjust!' cried Sophie in extreme indignation. 'What wicked men, to tell such lies! You must have risked your life to bring those ships out from under the battery. Of course the brimstone was meant for France. I am sure they will be punished. What can be done? Oh, what can be done?'
'As for the verdict, nothing at all. It is final, I am afraid. But I must go up and see what other measures—what I can wring out of the Admiralty. I must go today, and I may be away for some time. That is why I bore you with my affairs, to make it plain that I do not go away from Sussex of my own free will, nor with a light heart.'
'Oh, you do not bore—you could not bore me—everything to do with the Navy is—but did you say today? Surely you cannot go today. You must lie down and rest.'
'Today it must be, alas.'
'Then you must not ride. You must take a chaise and post up.'
'Yes. That is just what Stephen said. I will do it: I have ordered one from the Goat.'
'What a dear good man he is: he must be such a comfort to you. Such a good friend. But we must turn back at once, this minute. You must have all the rest you can before your journey.'
When they parted she gave him her hand and said, with an insistent pressure, 'I do pray you have the best of fortune, everything you deserve. I suppose there is nothing an ignorant girl in the country can do, but—'
'Why there you are, you two,' cried Mrs Williams. 'Chatting away like a couple of inseparables. Whatever can you be talking about all this time? But hush, I am indiscreet. La! And have you brought her back safe and sound, quite intact?'
Two secretaries, one sure if another failed, wrote as fast as their pens would drive.
'To the Marquis Cornwallis
My Lord,
With every disposition to pay the most prompt attention to your Lordship's wishes in favour of Captain Bull, I have greatly to lament that it is not at present in my powers to comply with them. I have the honour to be, etc.
are you there, Bates?'
'Yes, my lord.'
'To Mrs Paulett
Madam,
Although I cannot admit the force of your argument in favour of Captain Mainwaring, there is something so amiable and laudable in a sister contending for the promotion of her brother, that no apology was needed for your letter of the twenty-fourth, which I lose no time in acknowledging.
I am, Madam, etc.
'To Sir Charles Grey, KB.
My dear Sir Charles,
Lieutenant Beresford has been playing a game to get to Ireland, which has lowered him much in my opinion. He is grave and enterprising, but, like the rest of the aristocracy, he thinks he has, from that circumstance, a right to promotion, in prejudice of men of better service and superior merit; which I will never submit to.
Having refused the Prince of Wales, Duke of Clarence, Duke of Kent, and Duke of Cumberland, you will not be surprised that I repeat the impossibility of departing from my principle, which would let in such an inundation upon me as would tend to complete the ruin of the Navy.
Yours very sincerely
'To the Duchess of Kingston,
Madam,
Your Grace is largely correct in the character of Captain Hallows of the Frolic; he has zeal and conduct, and were it not for a certain independence and want of willing submission to his superiors that may be cured by the passage of time, as well as certain blemishes of a family nature, I should, exclusive of the interest your Grace has taken in his fortunes, be very glad to do justice to his merit, were I not precluded from doing so by the incredible number of meritorious commanders senior to him, upon half pay, who have prior claims to any of the very few ships that offer.
I beg leave to assure your Grace that I shall be happy in an occasion to mark the respect with which I have the honour to be, Madam,
Your most obedient, humble servant
So much for the letters. Who is upon the list?'
'Captains Saul, Cunningham, Aubrey and Small. Lieutenants Roche, Hampole . . .'
'I shall have time for the first three.
'Yes, my Lord.'
Jack heard the stentorian laughter as the First Lord and his old shipmate Cunningham parted with a gun-room joke, and he hoped he might find St Vincent in a good mood.
Lord St Vincent, deep in his attempts to reform the dockyards, hamstrung by politics, politicians, and his party's uncerta
in majority in the House, was not much given to good moods however, and he looked up with an unwelcoming, cold and piercing eye. 'Captain Aubrey, I saw you here last week. I have very little time. General Aubrey has written forty letters to me and other members of the Board and he has been told that it is not in contemplation to promote you for the action with the Cacafuego.'
'I have come here for another purpose, my Lord. To drop my claim to post rank in the hope of another sloop. My prize-agent has failed; two neutral owners have won their appeal against me; and I must have a ship.'
Lord St Vincent's hearing was not good, and in this innermost shrine of the Navy Jack had lowered his voice; the old gentleman did not quite catch his meaning. 'Must! What is this must?' he cried. 'Do commanders walk into the Admiralty nowadays and state that they must be given a ship? If you must be given a ship, sir, what the devil do you mean by parading Arundel with a cockade the size of a cabbage in your hat, at the head of Mr Babbington's supporters, knocking honest freeholders about with a bludgeon? if I had been there, sir, I should have committed you for a brawl, disorderly conduct, and we should have none of this talk of must. God damn your impudence, sir.'
'My Lord, I have expressed myself badly. With respect, my Lord, by that unhappy word I meant, that Jackson's failure puts me in the obligation of soliciting your Lordship for a command, sinking my other claim. He has ruined me.'
'Jackson? Yes. However,' said St Vincent coldly, 'if your own imprudence has lost you the fortune your command allowed you to win, you must not expect the Admiralty to feel responsible for finding you another. A fool and his money are soon parted, and in the end it is just as well. As for the neutrals, you know perfectly well, or you ought to know perfectly well, that it is a professional risk: you touch 'em at your peril, and you must make proper provision against an appeal. But what do you do in the event? You fling your money about—ducks and drakes—you talk about marriage, although you know, or ought to know, that it is death to a sea-officer's career, at least until he is made post—you lead drunken parties at a Tory by-election—you come here and say you must have a ship. And meanwhile your friends pepper us with letters to say that you must be made post. That was the very word the Duke of Kent thought fit to use, put up to it by Lady Keith. It was not an action that entitled you to post rank. What is all this talk about "giving up your claim"? There is no claim.'
'The Cacafuego was a thirty-two gun xebec-frigate, my Lord.'
'She was a privateer, sir.'
'Only by a damned lawyer's quibble,' said Jack, his voice rising.
'What the fucking hell is this language to me, sir? Do you know who you are talking to, sir? Do you know where you are?'
'I beg your pardon, my Lord.'
'You took a privateer commanded by God knows who, with a well-manned King's sloop at the loss of three men, and you come here prating about your claim to post rank.'
'And eight wounded. If an action is to be rated according to the casualty-list, my Lord, I beg leave to remind you that your flagship at the Battle of St Vincent had one killed and five wounded.'
'Do you presume to stand there and compare a great fleet action with a—'
'With a what, sir?' cried Jack, a red veil appearing in his eye.
The angry voices stopped abruptly. A door opened and closed, and the people in the corridor saw Captain Aubrey stride past, hurry down the stairs and vanish into the courtyard.
'May 3. I did beg him not to speak of all this: yet it is known throughout the countryside. He knows nothing about women except as objects of desire (oh quite honourable desire at times): no sisters, a mother who died when he was very young, and has no conception of the power and diabolical energy of a Mrs W. She certainly wrung her information out of Sophia with her customary lack of scruple, and has spread it abroad with malignant excitement and busyness—the same indecent busyness that she displayed in whirling the girls off to Bath. This transparent blackmail of her health: playing on Sophia's tender heart and sense of duty—what easier? All arrangements made in two days. None of her usual slow complaining muddle and whining vacillation for a month, nor yet a week, but two days' strong activity: packed and gone. If this had happened even a week later, with an understanding between them, it would not have mattered. Sophie would have held to her engagement 'come Hell or high water'. As it is, the circumstances could not be worse. Separation, inconstancy (JA's strong animal spirits, any young man's strong animal spirits), absence, the feeling of neglect.
'What a barbarous animal that Williams is. I should have known nothing of their unseemly departure but for Diana's notes and that sweet child's troubled, furtive visit. I call her child, although she is no younger than DV, whom I look upon in quite another light: though indeed she too must have been exquisite as a child—not unlike Frances, I believe: the same ruthless, innocent cruelty. Gone. What a silence. How am I to tell JA of all this? I am tormented by the thought of striking him in the face.'
Yet the telling was simple enough. He said, 'The girls have gone. Mrs Williams took them away to Bath last Tuesday sennight. Sophia came to see me and said she regretted it extremely.'
'Did she leave a message for me?' asked Jack, his sad face brightening.
'She did not. In direct terms, she did not. At times it was difficult to follow her in her agitation. Miss Anna Coluthon, overcome by her position—an unattended girl calling upon a single gentleman. Champflower has not seen such a thing. But I do not mistake when I state that in substance she told me you were to know that she did not leave Sussex of her own free will, nor with a light heart.'
'Do you think I might write to her, under cover to Diana Villiers?' asked Jack.
'Diana Villiers is still here. She does not go to Bath: she stays at Mapes Court,' said Stephen coldly.
The news spread. The decision on the prizes was public knowledge, having been reported in the London papers; and there were enough naval officers in the neighbourhood, some of whom were affected by the agent's defection, to make the extent of the disaster clear. The announcement 'at Woolhampton, on the 19th instant, to the lady of General Aubrey, a son' merely rounded out the anecdote.
Bath was filled with Mrs Williams's triumph. 'It is certainly a divine retribution, my dears. We were told he was a sad rake, and you will remember I never liked him from the first: I said there was something wrong about his mouth. My instinct is never mistaken. I did not like his eye, neither.'
'Oh, Mama,' cried Frances, 'you said he was the most gentleman-like man you had ever seen, and so handsome.'
'Handsome is as handsome does,' cried Mrs Williams. 'And you may leave the room, Miss Pert. You shall have no pudding, for want of respect.'
It was soon found that other people had never liked Jack either:—his mouth, chin, eyes, lavish entertainment, horses, plans for a pack of hounds, all came in for adverse comment. Jack had seen this process before; he had an outsider's knowledge of it; but although his condemnation was neither gross nor universal, he found it more painful than he had expected—the first cautious reserve of the tradesmen, a certain easiness and assumption in the country gentlemen, an indefinable want of consideration.
He had taken Melbury for a year, the rent was paid, the house could not be sublet; there was no point in removing. He retrenched, sold his hunters, told his men that although it grieved him they must part as soon as they could find places, and stopped giving dinners. His horses were fine animals and he sold one for as much as he had given for it; this satisfied the immediate local duns, but it did not re-establish his credit, for although Champflower was willing to believe in any amount of cloudy wealth (and Jack's fortune had been reckoned very high), it had poverty weighed up to within a pound or two.
Invitations fell off, for not only was he much taken up with his affairs, but he had become prickly, over-sensitive to the least unintentional slight; and presently Mapes was the only place where he dined. Mrs Villiers, supported by the parson, his wife and sister, could perfectly well invite Melbury Lodge.
'You would not care for a hand of cards, I suppose?' said Jack, pausing on the stairs and looking down into the hall.
'I would not,' said Stephen. 'My mind is turned elsewhere.'
His person, too. He walked fast through the night over Polcary Down, carefully skirted a group of poachers in Gole's Hanger, giving them a wide berth, and paused under a clump of elms that stood, swaying and creaking in the wind, over against Mapes Court. The house was of some antiquity, irregular in spite of its modern alterations, and the oldest wing ended in a blunt square tower: one window lit. He passed quickly through the kitchen-garden, his heart beating, beating, so that when he stood at the little door deep in the base of the tower he could hear it, a sound like the hoarse panting of a dog. His face set in a steady, unmoved acceptance of defeat as he reached for the handle. 'I take my happiness in my hands every time I come to this door,' he said, not trying it for a moment. He felt the lock's silent response: turned it slowly.
He walked up the spiral staircase to the first floor, where Diana lived: a little sitting-room with her bedroom opening out of it, the whole communicating with the rest of the house by a long corridor that opened into the main staircase. There was no one in the sitting-room. He sat down on the sofa and looked attentively at the gold-thread embroidery of a sari that was being turned into a European dress. Under the golden light of the lamp gold tigers tore a Company's officer lying on the spotted ground with a brandy-bottle in his hand: sometimes in his right hand, sometimes in his left, for the pattern had many variations.
Book 2 - Post Captain Page 7