Many heads were nodding around the table, but it was Argent who continued.
“Forgive me, but how did enclosures double your acreage?”
“Land came up for sale. There were various reasons, but one is that some old farmers had no proof of entitlement, so their land passed to the Crown and came up for auction. I found the finance and bought. Best thing I ever did!
Argent’s face smiled, but his spirits sank. However, he politely nodded his head.
“Thank you for that, Mr. Portbury. I’ll certainly pass that on. My Father will be very interested.”
Argent concerned himself with finishing his food. Blake was talking to Charlotte, on his other side. Gloom and worry resurfaced, but he reassured himself with the La Mouette prizemoney, knowing what could be done with it. The meal soon finished, terminated by some kind of soufflé. Argent had been keeping his eye on Bright up the table and was growing concerned that the 15 year old hand reached frequently for the wine bottle. There would be the loyal toast and then drinking would move to the port. Argent caught Fentiman’s eye, pulling him away from him regarding Charlotte across the table. He pointed up the table with his left hand and covered his own glass with his right. Fentiman divined the message and looked at Bright. After a few moments Argent saw that Fentiman had caught Bright’s attention, because he repeated Argent’s gesture. Fentiman nodded that the message had been received and, Argent hoped, understood and acted upon. The port arrived, time for the Loyal Toast and, of course, it fell to Bright. However, it was done well enough, after all, he had completed it often enough on board.
“Ladies and gentlemen. Please charge your glasses.”
A pause.
“I give you The King!”
The toast was repeated, then there was applause and several, “Well spoken, young fellah.”
Charlotte spoke.
“William has been in action against the French. He commanded a whole section of guns against La Mouette.”
An elderly farmer gave reply.
“Then I raise my glass to you, young Midshipman Sir.”
Then Argent grew anxious for another reason, besides the wine, how would such a teenager cope with this lavish amount of praise and attention? However, Bright did not reach again for the port bottle as the Ladies made their excuses and left, but cigars appeared and Argent saw one offered to Bright and he took it. Anxiety rose again to the surface as a cloud of smoke emerged from his vicinity.
Blake had drunk as much as anyone, but in him it had produced a mood of subdued contemplation. He turned to Argent, but his speech was clear and plainly weighed and considered.
“You know, Reuben. May I call you Reuben?”
“You certainly may, Algernon.”
“I count myself as a thoughtful fellow. I think about the game we’re in, a lot, perhaps too much, some may say, but I would value your opinion on something. Something that’s splitting the army in two. It’s this, you see, more and more of our Regiments are being given names, that is titled by the county that they have been affiliated to, often quite arbitrarily. Thus, the 32nd Foot are now also The Cornwall Foot. Would you have an opinion?”
“Concerning what? Where is the controversy?”
“It flies in the face of cherished army traditions, many say. They are adamant on retaining and using only the old Regimental Number, which designates seniority in the line. Horse Guards believe that giving Regiments a county or a town will somehow make them more effective, which I presume means to fight harder.”
“I would suspect that it has more to do with gaining recruits; men volunteering for their own home regiment. We have The Press, you don’t. Other than that, the only difference that occurs to me, is that you’ll get a louder cheer when you march through Truro. Although there’s probably something in the notion of your men not letting down the name of their County; making the people back home proud of their own regiment, as it were.”
“But your men don’t need a county not to let down, do they?”
“No, and I definitely can’t see sailors taking as much pride in their ship if she were known merely by a number, rather than some stirring name, like Mars, Bellerophon, “Billy Ruffian” to her crew, or Agamemnon. We fight for the ship, and for self-preservation. If she’s sunk, then we’re in a very parlous state.”
Blake grinned and nodded agreement, but he was plainly thinking further.
“I suppose that we, too, fight for what we are stood on, a piece of ground in our case. But, I have some opinion that there’s much more to it than not letting down the people of a particular county back home. For example, to withdraw, when others stand their ground would be an appalling disgrace. Or to lose a Colour, for another. I mean, for such as that, is there any difference between us and the men, do you think, in terms of disgrace, that is? That kind of thing worries the likes of us terribly, Officers have blown their brains out because of it, but the men?”
“I think our men are capable of feeling dishonour, just as we are; they feel terribly any disgrace to their ship, but I am of the strong opinion that our men fight more for each other, than for any other reason. To keep each other alive, they fight the enemy. Personal honour matters little to them, certainly not as much as it does to us. And, in my opinion, they have more the right of it.”
Blake sat back and thought, his face quizzical, his eyes far away.
“Honour and glory, yes, certainly a strong currency in our, so called, higher society.”
He then leaned over, almost conspiratorially
“You know, in that line, this is something I found very remarkable, almost astounding. We were in the Peninsula, last year, the first to land. After we had clattered the French at Rolica and Vimeiro there was an armistice whilst that God Forsaken Convention of Cintra was set up. Thus, there were two armies, not fighting, just looking at each other. What staggered me, was that there were regular duels between Cavalry Officers. One chap, from the Life Guards, would ride out and call out the opposing French. He did it three times, and each time killed his opponent, killed him; whilst both sides looked on, but not interfering; dueling code, you see. So, there’s a dead Frenchman stretched out on the ground, between the lines, and this Life Guard would pick him up, drape him over his horse, the Frenchman’s that is, and lead him back to the observing French. So, there’s Johnny in a total fume, but can’t do a thing, it’s all been conducted in the most proper form, then he comes back to the cheers of his own side, like a cricket match. Lust for honour and glory; what do you think of that? Can you imagine yourself poking your nose into some French port and calling out the local frigate?”
Argent openly laughed at the thought.
“Very unlikely, if only for the reason that we are most often sent out for a purpose, which must not be put at any hazard by having some joust with the local opposition. Sometimes, we are sent on “seek and destroy”, as for my last cruise, but usually it’s picket duty or relaying information. Nothing must be allowed to interfere. A Captain who risks his ship whilst under orders to the contrary could find himself in a fine pickle.”
Argent paused and smiled again.
“But to send in a message conveying a challenge? Now, there’s a thought, but I can’t see it.”
The carafe of port passed across them from right to left and Argent pushed it across the table to the gentleman next to Fentiman. However, he also moved it to his left, but it was at that point that Grant decided that the time had come to rejoin the Ladies.
“Gentlemen, shall we adjourn?”
Grant stood and was soon joined by all others. Blake stood and placed his hand briefly on Argent’s upper arm.
“An interesting discussion, Reuben. I value your opinion. What you have said I have found valuable. And informative.”
“Likewise, Algernon. It’s a topic that I too have concerned myself with. In fact, I recently had just such a discussion with a fellow Captain, but he had a very different view. I’m sure you would be interested to hear it, but, we should le
ave that for another time and take ourselves back to the Ladies. Admiral’s orders!”
However, Argent then went straight up to Bright and made a careful examination. The cigar was half smoked down, but Bright’s complexion seemed untroubled.
“William. Are you feeling quite well?”
“Why, yes Sir. Quite well. Is there a problem, Sir?”
“No, William, but I would strongly suggest that you now leave that cigar here. You wouldn’t be the first to trouble the swabbers by smoking a whole cigar, after a full meal and glasses of wine and port. You’ve conducted yourself very well, I’m proud of you. Let’s hold what we have, yes?”
Bright dropped the cigar onto a plate.
“Yes, Sir. If you think it best, Sir.”
“I do. It’s happened before, and the person it happened to was me!”
Bright looked up astonished.
“Very good Sir. Thank you, Sir.”
They were the last to enter the Drawing Room, which was considerably bigger than the Dining Room. Whilst the theme of the Dining Room was cream, here it was maroon, counter pointed by the careful inclusion of blue and pink. The deep and large armchairs were of light maroon, upholstered in soft silk, whilst the thick carpet was deep maroon. Whatever in the room was made of wood, it was polished mahogany, all of the same shade, as if it came from the same tree. The light from the chandeliers shone back up from the wood almost as much as down from the ceiling. There were sweetmeats arranged in glass dishes on a low table in the centre of the room and four of the Ladies were grouped around a card table, engrossed in their game. Argent and Bright joined Fentiman on a long settee, from where he could and did, Argent discerned, enjoy an uninterrupted view of Charlotte Willoughby. The three talked aimlessly about good food, good wine and making the most of this memory; they would soon be back at sea. Suddenly, Blake stood up.
“Let’s have some entertainment! Who can do something? Charlotte play us a tune.”
Charlotte looked up and at him, with mock annoyance.
“Algy, you are a thoroughgoing nuisance. This is the best hand I’ve had since sitting down.”
“Never mind all that, what’s a game of cards! Do that thing that you did last week, by that Mozart. A Requiem, as I recall.”
“Very well, and it’s called Lacrimosa. And really it’s for a choir.”
“All to the good, we’ll take out the furniture and get an echo going!”
“Fool!”
Charlotte took herself to the grand piano, gleaming black, which occupied but a small proportion of one corner of the room. From the piano stool she found the music, she opened the lid, then sat, and played and sang. It was a very accomplished performance and, at it’s finish, through the genuine applause, Argent was not surprised to hear Lady Constance mention to one of the other guests that Charlotte had had singing lessons at an Operatic Academy in London. The mood had been set, this was to be an evening that involved the guests each doing a turn to further the entertainment, what you could do, you did. Two of the gentlemen farmers stood up, one of which was Portbury. In stark contrast to what had gone before, together they performed a comical recitation between two farmers, arguing over a blocked road. In rhyme, the argument was passed back and forth. It began,
“That’s your haywain.”
“No, it b’ent. That’s the one what Arnold’s rent”
“You should move it.”
“Shut thy trap! B’en’t my wain and so that’s that.”
“Road’s all blocked.”
“B’ent my fault. Go see Arnold, hay’s his bought.”
This continued between the two belligerents until the haywain was burnt to the ground along with half the village, the other half being wrecked by two teams of carthorses running amuck. Whilst each blamed the other for the catastrophic events, which both had done nothing to prevent, the village was reduced to ruin. No one could fail to laugh and none did, it was a performance that would stand up in any theatre. The accents were perfect, along with the gestures and facial expressions and it drew loud applause. Next Blake himself sang the “The Blue Bell of Scotland”, accompanying himself on the piano. Argent and Fentiman became increasingly uncomfortable, performances were coming from everywhere, soon the finger would point at one of them. Another landowner, or farmer, stood for another recitation, this time serious; Tom Wharton’s “Ode to Sleep.” Another gave the first six verses of the Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner. He insisted that he knew more, but did not want to be tedious, nor “hog the limelight”. Then came the inevitable, from Major Blake.
“I think something now from the Navy!”
All through Argent had been cudgeling his mind about “Horatio at the Bridge”. Although there were serious gaps, he had felt obliged, until a voice came from his left.
“I can sing, Sir.”
“Sing, what, young Midshipman?”
“The Sisters.”
“I know it, and therefore, I will accompany you. We’ll call it a combined operation; Navy and the Army.”
Blake went to the piano, played the introduction and Bright sang, word and note perfect. Come the last verse, a strong affinity had built between singer and accompanier and so Blake joined in, his bass baritone perfectly complementing Bright’s tenor. They finished to loud applause. It was a high point to end a splendid evening. Argent clapped his hand on Bright’s shoulder.
“Well done, young William. We’ll have to shove you atop the capstan next time we weigh anchor!”
Many heard and grinned, but it was time to go. However, Argent hung back. He told Fentiman and Bright to go to the carriage and wait, he needed a word with Lady Willoughby. However, she and Grant were seeing their guests off through the door, Charlotte besides them, until, finally, only Argent himself remained in the entrance hall. He walked forward, towards all three, them expecting smiles and fond farewells, but Argent was driven by his own concerns.
“Lady Willoughby, may I have a word. Excuse me, please, Charlotte, excuse me, Sir.”
Grant looked concerned, his face in sudden contrast to the bonhomie that it had worn moments before.
“Local business, Argent?”
“Yes, Sir. I’m sorry Sir, but it concerns my family.”
“Right, your affair. Let’s leave them to it. Charlotte?”
He held up his forearm for her and led her back into the Drawing Room, however, as he waited for them to get out of earshot, Argent noticed her looking back anxiously. He turned to Lady Willoughby.
“Lady Constance, I am so sorry to finish the evening on so low a note, but I must beg your help if you can give it.”
“Why, of course, Reuben, whatever can be the matter?”
“It concerns enclosures, as was raised by Mr. Portbury earlier. Do you think it will come about?”
“Yes, I think it will. Both Broke and Cinch are behind it, and Cinch has influence. On top, the Government want it. Portbury was right, more food is produced from enclosed farms to feed us during this war, and who can say for how long it will go on.”
Argent sighed.
“What Mr. Portbury said has deep relevance to my Father. He cannot find his Deeds. My sisters are looking, but I fear the worst. Can you think of any avenue that could be explored? Perhaps you have documents that could furnish the proof just as well. For any help that you could provide, you would have my deepest gratitude.”
Lady Willoughby looked directly up at him, placed her fingertips on his chest and smiled, almost maternally.
“You can count of my help, Reuben, of course you can. I have dealings with all the solicitors in Falmouth, and I’ll instruct them to conduct a search, as a favour to me. None will want my disfavour, be assured. I’ll do what I can.”
Argent felt such gratitude that he surprised himself. He seized her left hand, kissed it and then shook it.”
“Whatever the outcome, Lady Constance, you have my family’s undying appreciation of your efforts.”
Lady Constance was moved by Argent’s evident f
retfulness and anxiety
“Don’t worry, Reuben. I’ll get them to come up with something.”
Argent bowed deeply.
“My thanks again. Now, I’d like to say that this has been a most enjoyable evening; my thanks for inviting myself and my Officers. Thanks, once again. Good night, Lady Constance.”
“Good night to you, Reuben, and Godspeed, to you and to your ship.”
Argent nodded and smiled his further acknowledgment and took his leave, to descend the steps to the landau. In it Fentiman sat waiting, Bright sat sleeping, the wine and port having finally had an impact, more in the leaving than in the taking.
oOo
The next day, Fentiman interrupted Argent’s breakfast.
“We’ve got a runner.”
“Who?’
“Wilmot. Afterguard of the Starboard Watch and one of Morris’ guncrew.”
“He was pressed, wasn’t he?”
“Of sorts. He was tried and condemned for some minor offence against a landowner up Okehampton way. Sentenced to “Service until released by His Majesty.”
“Have you informed the Provosts?”
“Not yet, but I’m about to.”
Argent looked even sadder and sighed as his shoulders sagged. He seemed to bear it heavily and Fentiman noticed.
“Don’t take it to heart, Sir. It’s not your fault. If I may say so, Sir, you run a taught but contented ship, as far as can be achieved on any man o’ war. You know as well I, how hard a seaman’s life is, whatever we try to do, although others don’t, I know. To a landsman, it’s an appalling life, and Wilmot is such. To be honest, I’m surprised it’s just one. Every ship laid up like ours, that I’ve ever heard of, loses several, unless they’re marched off to some barracks, of course.”
Argent nodded.
“Yes. No surprise, really, but a disappointment, all the same.”
He rose from the table.
“Let’s hope the Provosts don’t take it out on his family. If they don’t find him, then with his home, they’ll be none too gentle. Now, repairs and re-supply, I need to check, especially the former.”
A Question of Duty Page 15