Sails on the Horizon: A Novel of the Napoleonic Wars

by Jay Worrall

  She gave a small laugh. “He’s so large. When thou art mounting him thou couldst say thou wert climbing Pendle Hill.” She smiled prettily at him.

  Charles hadn’t the least idea why anyone would name a horse after a small mountain in northern England, but he loved the sound of her when she was happy. He gallantly said, “Pendle it is.” He flicked the horse’s reins. “Git up, Pendle,” and the stallion broke into a trot.

  She started to laugh again and then stopped and said, “Oh, my arm hurts.” After that she fell increasingly silent, leaning against him for support and shivering. He stopped the wagon, removed his jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders.

  He hurried the horse as best he could while trying to minimize the jolts and rattles of the cart on the uneven dirt lane. Occasionally Penelope groaned and once cried out when a wheel hit a rock in the roadway. It was becoming more dark than light, and it was difficult for Charles to see some of the smaller bumps and ruts.

  “There,” she said, pointing to a track on the left. He slowed to take the turn and walked the stallion up the lane toward a large stone house with lights showing on both floors. Several figures emerged from the doorway before Charles brought the wagon to a halt.

  “Penny, is it thee?” a man called as the wagon neared.

  “Yes, Father,” the girl answered weakly.

  “What is this?” the man said, seeing Charles’s horse in the harness, and then, on seeing Charles, “Who art thou?”

  Charles jumped to the ground and went around to help Penny from the cart. “Give me a hand, will you,” he said to the man. “I’ll lift her down to you. It’s best to get her inside and warm as soon as possible.”

  “Of course,” the man said. Charles climbed onto the cart step, lifted Penny with one arm under her thighs and the other behind her shoulders, and handed her down. Her father carried her into the house.

  Alone in the near-dark, and chilly without his coat, Charles set about unhitching his horse. He got the one-reined bridle on and was carrying the saddle from the wagon bed when the door to the house opened and Penny’s father and a young boy came out. The boy carried a lantern and Charles’s jacket.

  “May I know thy name?” the man said.

  “Charles Edgemont, sir,” Charles replied.

  “Penelope said there was an accident. We are most grateful to thee for helping her.”

  Charles threw the saddle across the stallion’s back and turned to the man. “It wasn’t an accident like that, sir,” he said. “It was my doing that caused it. Any help I was able to give should be seen in that light. I’m terribly sorry for what has happened, and will of course pay for any damages—doctor’s bills, the injury to your mare, repairs to the cart, anything.”

  The man stood silently for a moment, then said, “I am George Brown, Penelope’s father. This is my youngest child, Peter.” The boy, perhaps fourteen, nodded and handed Charles his coat. The father continued, “It was lucky that thou knew how to set a broken bone. May I ask where thou learned such a thing?”

  “I am an officer, a ship’s commander in His Majesty’s Navy,” Charles replied. “I’ve seen plenty of broken bones.”

  “I imagine thou hast,” the father said. “Still, not everyone would have done what thou did. We are grateful. Wouldst thou like something to eat? Penny hath gone to her room, but we would be pleased to fix something for thee.”

  Charles hesitated. “Thank you, no,” he said. “I think it’s better if I get home. I would like to pay a call tomorrow, if I may. To see how Miss Brown is, of course.”

  “Thou wouldst be welcome, I’m sure,” George Brown said.

  Charles bent under the horse, cinched the saddle, and, after waiting for the horse to exhale, pulled it tight. “There is one thing,” he said.

  “Yes?”

  “May I borrow a small length of rope? I only have one rein at the moment.”

  CHARLES REACHED EDGEMONT Hall an hour later. He brushed down Pendle and put him in a stall with some fresh hay. He found his brother and sister in the dining room at their dinner.

  “What took you so long?” John asked.

  “Don’t ask,” Charles said with a broad smile on his face. He’d caught himself grinning all the way back from the Brown home, thinking about Penelope, the look of her eyes, the touch of her hair, and the sound of her laughter.

  “Well, sit down and eat,” Ellie said. “We set a place for you. And tell us why you’re wearing that silly smile.”

  Charles sat and helped himself to the food. “You know Attwater and I went into Chester this morning,” he began. It seemed like years ago. He told them about the matched mares and the carriage he’d bought, and hinted that there was a present for Ellie, at which point she jumped up and kissed him. “Attwater is bringing them, and whatever else he’s bought, in the morning.” He told them about the stallion that he’d ridden back on. They all agreed to go look at the animal after dinner.

  “That still doesn’t explain your smiling all over,” Ellie insisted.

  “Well,” Charles said simply, “I crashed a woman’s cart and broke her arm on the way home. I think she likes me. I’m to visit her tomorrow.”

  “You navy men certainly know how to get a woman’s attention,” John observed. “What’s her name?”

  “Penelope Brown,” Charles said between forkfuls of potatoes and pork. “From over by Gatesheath.”

  “Oh, the Quaker Browns. I’ve met the father—what’s his name? George, I think. He’s all right, but I haven’t much use for Quakers generally.”

  “Why not?” Charles asked. He knew about Quakers, of course; Philadelphia had been largely populated by them, and they were not uncommon in England. But he could remember little about their beliefs except that his father had praised them as honest businessmen and that they were derided in the navy as cowards for steadfastly refusing to fight.

  “I don’t want to speak ill of your new love, Charlie. But some say they’re false Christians who think of themselves as better than other people. They can be very sharp with money. They won’t swear to anything, not even in court, and they hold themselves apart from everyone else. They dress differently, and they talk differently. And, Charlie, they don’t allow their women to marry anyone who isn’t of their kind.”

  FOUR

  EARLY THE NEXT MORNING, CHARLES RODE PENDLE TO Bruxton to have a new rein fastened to his bridle. There were other bridles hung on pegs in the stables at home, but he wanted to get out of the house and away from anything cheerful or familiar. He had slept poorly and rode in a black mood, alternately cursing his fate and reviling himself for any thoughts he may have nurtured toward the girl. And damn all Quakers and their haughty exclusions. Where did they get the right to think they were so much better than anybody else? After he’d done his business at the tackle maker’s, his anger began to drift into disappointment, then self-pity. He remembered the light in her eyes, her soft hair, her thees and thous, her laughter, and most particularly the closeness of her body when he set her arm and when he had helped her into the wagon. The cruelty of it left him feeling abandoned and depressed.

  On the lane to the house he saw that Attwater had returned from Chester with his train of horses and wagons. In no mood to talk with anyone, Charles stopped Pendle a distance from the house and watched as his brother walked around the carriage, even shaking its wheels, then stood in front of the mares, stroking their necks and flanks. Suddenly he saw the front door burst open and Ellie rush straight for the dappled gelding. All in one motion she hugged its neck, kissed its muzzle, and, in a very unladylike motion, threw herself sideways across its bare back, struggling to a sitting position. From this viewpoint she looked around and spied Charles on his horse in the lane.

  “Charlie, Charlie!” she called. “Come see!” She kicked her heels against the gelding in an effort to ride over to him, but, having no reins, the horse took three steps forward and stopped.

  The cloud over Charles’s head lightened fractionally in
spite of himself. He smiled grimly, tapped Pendle’s flanks, and walked the stallion up toward the house, stopping beside his sister. “Are you happy?” he said.

  “Oh, yes,” she answered, giving him a blinding smile. “Aren’t you?”

  Charles didn’t answer. Instead he dismounted and out of curiosity went to the carriage to see what else Attwater had purchased in the city. He saw hundredweight bags each of barley, wheat, and rye flour, at least eight cured hams, several slabs of bacon, pigs’ jowls, salted beef, a large box of coffee, two cases of wine, huge quantities of dried peas, and other bags and containers he would have to open in order to identify their contents. Apparently Attwater had bought everything any shopkeeper told him he might need, and Charles was confident that his steward had not the slightest idea how to prepare any of it. Attwater beamed with pride.

  Ellie came up beside him and took his hand in hers. “What’s the matter, Charlie?”

  He looked at her and forced a smile. “Nothing’s the matter.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Ellie persisted. “It’s because of that girl you met yesterday, isn’t it?”

  “Of course not,” he answered a little too quickly. Then, because she frowned at him, he said, “Maybe a little.”

  “Do you want to see her again?”

  Charles hesitated. “Yes, but I think I’d better not.”

  “Do you love her?” Ellie’s eyes never left his face.

  The question jolted him. “Love’s a strong word. Beside, you’re too young to know about things like that.”

  “No I’m not,” she asserted hotly. “Do you think about anyone or anything else?”

  Charles stared at the ground. Did he love her? He’d only met her once, under unusual circumstances to be sure, but still only once. His heart ached at the thought of her. She had cared about him when she’d noticed his injury. Her touch was feather-soft, even while she had her own far worse pain from her broken arm. She’d shown real courage, and he sensed something direct and practical about her. He could love a woman like that. Maybe he did. Not that it mattered now. “Not very much else. Not recently,” he finally admitted.

  “Then go and see her. You said you would. John doesn’t know everything. Go visit and see what happens.” She squeezed his hand to emphasize her point, then added in a dreamy voice, “Love is so beautiful.”

  Charles considered this in silence. Maybe Ellie was right. He could just be paying a courteous visit to a person he’d accidentally injured. There was nothing wrong in that. What did he have to lose? He had an inspiration.

  “I’ll tell you what,” he said, “I’ll go tomorrow morning, if you’ll come with me. Besides, I’d like to know what you think of her.”

  “Oh, I’d love that,” Ellie said, glowing with pleasure. “We could ride our new horses. I’m naming mine Passion.” Charles thought it a strange name for a gelding.

  He and Ellie let the horses loose in the pasture. His sister went into the house and Charles cleared the stalls in the stables while John and Attwater unloaded the wagons. At lunch his brother announced that he had rehired the household cook and another of the maids. “And now I’ll have to find a stableboy,” he said with a mock frown. Turning to Charles, he added gravely, “I expect you to tell Attwater that he can’t cook for us anymore.”

  In the afternoon Charles went into the parlor and put some wood on the fire. Pleasantly tired and in a better frame of mind, he sat in an armchair to think. He tried to set his thoughts on his new frigate and crew, the preparations he should make, and things he should check on. But he kept drifting back to Penelope, Penny, her clear gray eyes and soft, fawn-colored hair. He tried to imagine what she might say and what he should say when he visited her. While he was remembering the feel of her waist under his hands when he lifted her from the wagon, his head nodded to his chest and he slept.

  SOMEWHERE FROM THE depths he heard a loud knock at the door and was aware that someone had gone to answer it. He was awake by the time Ellie came into the parlor, furiously, smoothing her dress and pushing at her hair. “It’s for you,” she said in a high state of anxiety, and promptly fled through the dining room and kitchen to the back stairs to her room. Charles found Stephen Winchester standing just inside the front door in a brand-new uniform of a lieutenant in the Royal Navy.

  “By God, Stephen, you’re a welcome sight,” Charles said with genuine pleasure. “Come in, come in.” He hadn’t expected Winchester or Bevan to arrive for several weeks, perhaps a month, but he was pleased nonetheless.

  “Hello, Commander Edgemont,” Winchester said. “I’m sorry to intrude. You mentioned I could come to stay while we’re waiting for the Louisa.”

  “Yes I did, and I meant it. You’re more than welcome. When did the Argonaut arrive? Have you already visited your family?”

  “I don’t think I’ll bother to go home,” Winchester said sourly. “We landed in Plymouth four days ago. I came by coach as soon as I could and bought a horse in Chester. Lieutenant Bevan has gone on to Wales. He expects to be here in a month or so. He said for me to tell you that he still thinks you’re God’s punishment for all the navy’s sins.”

  “The feeling is mutual,” Charles said with a grin. “Did you see the Louisa while you were in Plymouth?” He was intensely interested in anything he could learn about his ship.

  “Oh, yes. Lieutenant Bevan and I walked down to look at her. She’s still in stocks on the beach. They’re giving her a whole new bottom, copper sheathing and all.”

  They had barely seated themselves in the parlor before Ellie bounced in, slightly breathless. Charles noticed that her cheeks were scrubbed pink, her hair carefully brushed, and she had on a fresh dress that fit tightly over her bosom. “Your guest must be tired. May I get the two of you anything?” she said, looking straight at Winchester under lowered lashes.

  The men stood and Charles introduced his newly made lieutenant to his sister. “Your servant, ma’am,” Winchester said, bowing and eyeing her with barely disguised interest. She curtsied and bubbled, “Thank you, sir.”

  “Yes,” Charles said loudly, to get Ellie’s attention. “Please find Attwater and have him stable Stephen’s horse. Then, if you would, bring us two glasses of sherry. I’m sure Attwater bought some. He bought everything else.” Ellie looked at him sharply and Charles promptly said, “I meant three glasses of sherry, one a very small one.” The instant she left the room Charles turned to Winchester. “I trust you will remember that she’s my sister.”

  “Of course, sir,” Winchester replied quickly, his eyes still fixed on the empty doorway.

  At dinner, wonderfully prepared by the newly returned cook, Winchester was induced to relate his experiences during the battle of St. Vincent. He labored over the expression on Charles’s face when he had told him he was now in command. “Rather like someone who had just walked into a post” was how he put it. John asked questions while Ellie sat silently, intently watching the lieutenant out of the corner of her eye. Charles studied the two with a growing sense of discomfort, noticing that Winchester frequently glanced in Ellie’s direction, possibly due to the second fresh dress with a low, scooped neckline that she was now wearing. Winchester was handsome and quick-witted with an easy charm. That and a naval uniform could be devastating to women, Charles knew. On their night of celebration in Lisbon, even the professional dark-eyed Portuguese ladies competed for his attentions. Then Charles remembered the act over which the Portuguese ladies were competing to perform with Winchester. He resolved to keep his lieutenant and his sister where he could watch them as much as possible.

  After dinner Charles asked Winchester if he had any other clothes. “I have some things in my kit,” he answered, “and two more uniforms on order in Plymouth. Why?”

  “Tomorrow morning Ellie and I are going to visit a woman whom I met, injured actually, on the road the other day. You’re welcome to come along, but not in uniform.” Not only was there safety in numbers, Charles thought, but it would enable him to keep an
eye on the two nearly the whole day.

  “Surely,” Winchester said cheerfully, “but why the ordinary clothing?”

  “She’s a Quakeress. I don’t think they approve of military men.”

  Winchester made a wry face and said, “They’re a peculiar and obstinate people.” To which Charles readily agreed.

  The next morning, Charles, Ellie, and Winchester rode under low skies and a fresh westerly breeze along the back roads toward Gatesheath and the Brown home. The white dots of sheep and the black-and-white bulk of cattle were visible on the meadows, but Charles had little interest in them. Of the three, he was the only one seemingly in a hurry. Ellie and Winchester repeatedly lagged behind, riding side by side and talking animatedly to the extent that Charles had to occasionally halt Pendle impatiently in the roadway and wait for them to catch up. Finally they turned up the lane to the house, more or less together. In the daylight he saw that it was a substantial place, a large stone building with a much larger and well-kept millhouse behind. That explained the girl’s finely made clothing: She was a prosperous miller’s daughter.

  As they neared the residence, a boy whom Charles recognized as Penny’s younger brother, Peter, emerged from the doorway, looking back over his shoulder and nodding to someone inside. He hurried down the steps to meet Charles and the others. “Good day to thee,” the boy said seriously. “May I take thy horses?”

  Charles dismounted and handed Pendle’s reins to him. “Is Mistress Brown at home?”

  “Penny? Well, I think so. In just a moment, anyway,” he answered, then he was distracted as Winchester handed his horse over. Winchester went around to help Ellie down, with somewhat more contact between the two of them than Charles thought absolutely necessary. “It’s a nice day, isn’t it?” Peter said conversationally, holding all three horses.