The sergeant stood and disappeared down a corridor, leaving Argent to decide if he would sit and wait or stand and wait. The debate lasted but a moment, for the sergeant returned, all smiles and bonhomie.
“If you’ll go straight in, Sir. The door that’s open, Sir. Right at the end.”
This accompanied with much smiles and nodding.
“Sir, just before you go in, Sir, allow me to say Sir, bloody good business with the La Mouette. First rate, Sir.”
Argent nodded.
“Thank you, sergeant. I couldn’t have done it without my Marines!”
“No Sir. Course not, Sir. Now, he’s just down the end there, Sir.”
Argent walked the corridor to soon make out the corner of a desk, seen beyond the doorframe. Argent reached the opened door, reached forward and knocked on one of the panels. Argent saw a balding head with frizzy tufts above the ears before it saw him. The figure behind the desk gained his feet, or rather his head moved more sideways than up. The rotund figure was only a little less tall sitting down as he was standing up. He took with him a very long napkin that dangled from his collar.
“Captain Argent. This is a pleasure, I was hoping to meet you sooner.”
The last contained a hint of displeasure, but he came around the desk with his hand outstretched, leaving his Commodore’s jacket on the back of the chair. Argent dropped his hand from the salute and Budgen shook it vigorously. Then he waved him into a chair, before he returned to his own side of the desk and regained his seat, but Argent couldn’t be certain if Budgen’s feet were touching the floor. The Commodore pointed to the miner’s flask of coffee and the plate of crusty rolls.
“Would you care for some coffee? Captain. And perhaps a bread roll?”
“Yes to the coffee, Sir. Thank you.”
Budgen moved his head to one side, as if to shout around Argent.
“Venables, another cup. Tout suite!”
The reply came from the distance down the corridor.
“Tout suite it is, Sir. On its way.”
The sergeant arrived, smiling, with the cup, it being vigorously polished with another napkin. He saluted and left, still smiling. Budgen poured the coffee, then sat back, his fingertips meeting before him, his elbows on the arms of his chair, to regard Argent somewhat sternly. Argent followed the movement with his eyes to note that the view from the windows behind Budgen, of the harbour, included his own Ariadne, still moored securely some distance away. He noticed carpenters at the damaged bulwark.
“Now, Captain. You’ve come seeking orders?”
“Yes, Sir. I received none within my packet as we left Plymouth.”
“No, that’s because your orders now come from me, unless I hear different. You are to be based here to patrol the triangle.”
He dropped his hands and sat forward.
“You know what that is, from here to The Fastnet, to 48 and 8, then back to here. You don’t stay out as you have done, ranging up and down, but you do the three legs, then back. Their Lordships consider that to be a better use of you; you being within the few ships at their disposal.”
Argent had been rapidly pondering “48 and 8” He felt that he could safely assume it to be a particular point in the Atlantic, 48 latitude, 8 longitude. In his mind he saw it as the same latitude as the island La Quessant, off the Brittany coast, and the same longitude as The Fastnet.
“Yes, Sir. Do I leave when ready, Sir?”
“Yes, day after tomorrow, if reports about progress aboard your ship are correct. The repairs are taking a little longer than the re-supply, but I think you can work with that.”
Budgen finished a swig of coffee and reached for the flask.
“Now, you’ll be anxious to get back to your ship, but first I have to ask where’ve you been?”
“I took the chance to visit my family, Sir. I haven’t seen them for over a year. They farm just below the estate owned by Admiral Broke.”
Budgen jerked his head back.
“Well good luck to them with that. As for swanning off to see them, I’ll make it allowable this time, but, next time, I expect you to report first to me.”
The cherubic face had taken on a very stern set as Argent made his apologies.
“Yes, Sir. Sorry Sir, it’s just that I didn’t know whose orders I was under. My orders from Plymouth didn’t actually state a change in my Commander, Sir. So, I assumed no change.”
“Perhaps, but perhaps there was also a question of courtesy, towards the Office of Port Commodore?”
“Yes, Sir. I apologise.”
“Well, if, as you say, there was some confusion, then you have something on your side. But it’ll be right from now on, yes?”
“Sir.”
“Right, off and on your way, but report before you sail. There may be a change.”
Argent left the office and then the building, but not before formally returning the immaculate salute, delivered whilst stood to perfect attention from Marine Sergeant Venables, him wearing his hat with chinstrap down. Once out, he made straight for his ship and took himself up the gangplank, both following and preceding barrels of salt pork. Once in his cabin, he saw on his desk a small pile of correspondence, each of which he dealt with in turn. They were mostly to do with the re-supply and repair of his ship, but what stood out was the letter in heavy cream vellum, with a generous spread of sealing wax and the wide seal in the centre. He recognised the crest within the seal immediately, distorted even as it was within the thick red wax. He opened it and read the simple line.
“Lady Willoughby requests the pleasure of the company of Captain Reuben Argent and two other Officers of his choosing for Dinner at 7.30 on the 16th July. Signed Lady Constance Willoughby.”
His first reaction was to cover his face with his hands, “Oh, God. Not another joust with Broke and Cheveley”, then it struck him. 16th July! That was today. When was it delivered? The day he left for home. He rose from his desk.
“Sentry! Send for Lieutenant Fentiman”
Fentiman duly arrived and Argent slid the paper towards him, for him to read the simple line, but it was Argent who spoke.
“Another Dinner. After the last two, I could do without. I tell you true.”
“The penalty for being the hero of the hour. Everyone wants your company. To take a good look at you.”
Argent ran his hands over his thick hair.
“My fault, the penalty for self indulgence. They want us there this evening. Can you get yourself up to the mark?”
“Yes, of course.”
Fentiman then read it carefully.
“It asks for two. Who should we take?”
Argent pondered.
“Not Sanders again. He went through enough at the hands of the dear Admiral and Captain. What about Middy Bright? She seemed well taken with him when she came aboard for the inspection. Can we shine him up in time? Is Mortimor still aboard?”
“Yes to both.”
“Then tell him to spend his time on Bright. My dress uniform will do me well enough. I’ve not worn it much more than thrice, two of those in the last week.”
oOo
For the next two hours, there came down the corridor various exhortations from Bible Mortimor towards Midshipman Bright. “Shine you belt”, “polish that buckle,” “that’ll disgrace the ship,” until finally, “The excellence of dignity. Genesis, 49, verse 3”. Later, at 7.00 pm, an open landau, of no level of ostentation, appeared on the quayside. At the foot of the step they had given Bright a final check, but all was as it should be. Mortimor had even used some of his precious grate blacking on the curious four cords that supported the brim from the top of his Midshipman’s hat. The badge on his crossbelt, the handle of his dirk, the buckles on his shoes, all shone to match their owner’s name..
The streets were almost empty as they rode in silence through the town to the outskirts. Conversation was difficult in any case, the road being almost all cobblestones, these setting up a fearsome rumble during the ar
gument with the steel rims of the wheels. The footmen opened the elaborate green gates, they entered and the wheels crunched on the sea gravel, soon to take them up to the imposing portico, which they drove into and then alighted. At the open door was Lady Willoughby herself, with Admiral Grant as escort and their welcome was genuine and cheerful, unshaped by any formality. Argent grew hopeful for the evening, with a greeting so warm and unceremonious. Grant shook hands with Bright and even carried in his hat, whilst telling him a tale about his own Midshipman’s hat, from many years ago. Grant passed it to a servant and then, himself, handed out the glasses of sherry to each of them.
“There, enjoy that, and you are most welcome.”
Argent noted that there were a modest number of guests, about 10, mostly what Argent took to be local landowners. The four sailors were the only representatives of the military, save an Army Officer, that Argent thought was probably a Major, but he couldn’t be sure from the distance, but what he did notice were the white facings on the turnbacks of his red jacket. He was stood in a small group that also, Argent very quickly noticed, included Charlotte Willoughby. However, she had seen him first and Argent saw her excuse herself to her companions, then touch the Officer’s forearm and, as he bowed towards her, she left the group. Argent spoke sideways to his two companions.
“Stand by for a coming alongside. Off the larboard bow!”
Both Fentiman and Bright looked left and came to the attention as they saw who and what was approaching. Charlotte smiled warmly, clearly pleased to see Argent, then she extended her hand for him to bow over.
“Captain Argent.”
“Miss Willoughby, a pleasure to see you again. May I present my second, Lieutenant Fentiman, and one of my Midshipmen, my youngest, William Bright.”
Fentiman maintained enough presence of mind to bow over her hand and speak his greetings, but young Bright was absolutely sunk and could but jerk forward and remember just in time to release her hand, and then stand transfixed. Charlotte addressed herself first to him.
“I remember you from the recent inspection. I seem to recall seeing you twice, once on the Captain’s deck, what’s it called?”
“The quarterdeck, Mmm.”
“And where else was it?”
“Larboard battery, Mmm. Bow section.”
“Now explain. Larboard means?”
“Left side, looking at the bows, Mmm”
“And bow section?”
“Guns one up to eight, Mmm, coming back from the bows.”
“There, I’ve learnt something. Learnt it from you. And you are in charge there are you?”
“Yes, Mmm, when at “Stations”. But also I keep Watch, Mmm.”
“And you were at “guns one up to eight”, during the fight with the La Mouette?”
“Yes, Mmm.”
The dinner gong sounded.
“Mr. Bright, would you be pleased to escort me into dinner? You will sit by me?”
Bright looked as though he’d been asked to work out difficult a navigation problem in his head. Argent recognised the confusion, but, luckily, Charlotte was stood sideways to him, but Bright was directly facing Argent. He pointed to his own left arm, then raised his forearm to the position for a Lady to place her hand to gain escort. He lowered it, just not in time, as Charlotte turned and smiled at him, before returning to Bright, who by this time was stood in the required form, left forearm raised. Charlotte placed her right hand upon it, and the pair, Charlotte nearly a head taller, followed the other guests into the Dining Room. Argent stood watching the pair until other guests closed behind them.
“Well, that’s him lost to us for the next few hours or more.”
However, when he looked at Fentiman, he was equally statuesque with a faraway horizon in his eyes, both very wide open.
Argent, almost out of habit, was the last into the room, immediately noticing it to be furnished in the best of taste, a high pale yellow ceiling with green highlights in the plaster discretely picked out in the corner mouldings. The walls were not panelled, rather a cream, satin wallpaper, very much in vogue and the table was a panorama of fine glass and silver. The only place vacant was beside the Army Officer. Fentiman would be opposite, and Bright, would be between Charlotte and Lady Constance, Charlotte was on the Officer’s right, the only vacant place for Argent, remaining on his left. As usual, he was on a corner, so Argent sat down in the space and, whilst organising his napkin, he took the initiative with the introductions.
“How do you do? I’m Captain Reuben Argent, HMS Ariadne.”
The Officer offered his hand across his body. He looked in his early thirties, his eyes were young, but his face was haggard.
“Major Algernon Blake, 32nd Foot.”
His face grew serious.
“I suppose that really I should call you, Sir.”
Argent threw a mock frown, made so by a twisted grin.
“Oh no. I do think we can dispense with that!”
Blake beamed a smile and attended to his own napkin. Soon the first course arrived, this being the soup. As the pale liquid, it was a fish soup, was ladled out, Lady Constance leaned forward from three places up.
“Algernon, you must have an extra portion.”
She leaned back to address a servant.
“Biggs, see to it.”
The she leaned forward to continue her instruction of Blake.
“You are convalescing. You have to build your strength back up. I expect to see you eating extra.”
An extra ladle was dispensed to place his bowl in danger of brimming over. Argent looked at him and grinned.
“Orders! No argument, Court Martial otherwise.”
Blake grinned and began the task of consuming the soup. Argent was curious and, in any case, felt the need to begin the conversation.
“Convalescing? A wound?”
“No, swamp fever. The Regiment’s in Walcheren, now, as we speak, and the men are going down like flies with it. I was lucky, one of the first to contract it and so I got myself evacuated.”
He plied his soup, then his bread roll.
“We’ve captured a fair proportion of the place and we’ve got ourselves around Flushing, but the French are entrenched and we can get no further. Thus we’re stuck there, in the marshes, the most disease ridden place outside the West Indies. It’s a God Awful mess! We’ll have to pull out soon, or we’ll have no army left.”
Many at the table had been listening and, feeling the need to set a relaxed and good-humored tone to the meal, Lady Constance again leaned forward.
“Algernon has an amusing anecdote of his time in the Low Country. Haven’t you, Algernon?”
Blake plainly saw his cue and the requirement placed upon him. He dropped his spoon and grinned at the recollection.
“Yes, a bit of bad form, really, but it amused the men immensely. It was in the trenches at Flushing. The French, to their credit, made a sortie out and counter attacked. I was having a shave, it was an attack at dawn, you see, so there I am, all lathered up, just about to apply the first razor stroke, when the alarm went up, “stand to”. Well, plainly, I had to answer, so I shot out of the tent, shirtsleeves, no jacket and placed myself with the Grenadiers. Then I heard them laughing and realised that I’d even forgotten to drop the razor! Well, the French were some way off and so, without a mirror, I have to say, I finished the job. Didn’t even cut myself, I’m proud to say.”
All laughed, none more so than Argent.
“And the attack? And the razor?”
“The attack was beaten off, but the razor lost. I was distraught, it was a very fine one.”
More laughter, but Lady Constance again addressed the table in general.
“Now leave him alone. He must eat his soup.”
The soup plates were cleared and the main course arrived; roast mutton with roast potatoes, of both of which Argent was very fond. The plates were loaded up with the fine food, Blake’s more than anyone’s, at Lady Constance’s insistence, so the e
nd result was quite a construction. Blake leaned towards Argent.
“I say, Captain, you couldn’t help me out with some of this, could you? Her Highness’ll be in a helluva lather if I don’t make a clean plate.”
Argent leaned forward himself to check that Lady Constance was looking in the other direction. She wasn’t, she was attending to Bright, but suddenly she turned away to address another gentlemen further up the table. Argent pushed his plate over and Blake lifted across some meat and potatoes, then each set to eating, as though nothing had happened. The food was excellent and Argent began to feel, thoroughly, that he was in good company, good people ready to like and be liked, then came the shout from down the table.
“Captain Argent!”
The thought immediately arrived, no change, not even here. It was one of the country gentlemen, so Argent turned to face up the table. He said nothing, he considered looking back at the gentleman to be sufficient, but the full and ruddy face was plainly friendly and open.
“I’m told that your family farm up at Barton? Name’s Portbury, by the way, James Portbury.”
“How do you do, Mr. Portbury. Yes, we farm up there.”
“I farm in the next valley over. Warrenbury. I hear that enclosures are afoot at Barton. How does your Father feel about that?”
Argent felt a pang of unease, but he decided to remain noncommittal
“He’s not certain. Having farmed there for two generations, he’s quite content with the ways he’s used to.”
“Well, tell him from me to welcome it. No need for worry, he should support it.”
Even though the conversation was at some distance, Argent wanted to know more.
“What are the arguments in favour, Mr. Portbury?”
“I speak from my own experience. My furthest field is now less than one mile away from the house, although I’ve now got double my acreage. I can grow what I like, where I like, when I like. No more compulsory rotation of wheat; barley and fodder; then fallow. I’m trying new methods and new breeds. I do just as I choose and my yields have doubled. It has to happen, there are a damn sight, oh, apologies, Ladies, many, many, more people in this country now. They need feeding, and there’s money there for farmers like us to make.”
A Question of Duty Page 14