“Captain Giles,” interposed Mr. Hughes. “I don’t suppose that you would consider using them as bow-chasers.”
“After what happened to Patroclus, Mr Hughes? Impetuous does not even have the special strengthening needed to fire such guns.”
“I talked to your carpenter, Mr. Evans, about that, Captain Giles. He thought that the reinforcing could be done quite easily. The problem would be lessened, he pointed out, because it would be possible to have the recoil extend quite a bit farther than was possible on Patroclus, so there would be less of a jolt when the gun reaches the end of its restraining tackle.”
“And what would you do with the long-nines that are the present bow chasers?’
“Might I suggest using them for stern chasers, sir?”
“Go ahead with the changes. I don’t know how happy the Admiral will be about this use of the captured guns when he finds out about it, but that is a problem for another day.”
With the guns safely on board Impetuous, Giles swung himself over the side to inspect the second gun boat. Without its burden, it swam higher, and the pressures should not be such as to have the boat break up. It would still need constant pumping. Giles decided to continue towing the gun-ship landing craft with the others.
The wind ceased rising and they made adequate progress so that at six bells of the afternoon watch they spotted the lead ship of Admiral Gardiner’s fleet. They came up with the flagship as daylight was beginning to fade into dusk.
Giles went aboard the flagship immediately to report to the Admiral. His initial reception was not warm. “Captain Giles. You seem to have trouble obeying orders. I ordered you to stay on station until I gave you orders to leave.”
“Yes sir, but you also ordered me to capture some of the landing craft making their way to the French ports.”
“Is that what those miserable vessels, which you are towing, are?”
“Yes, sir. They would not have reached you if they were sailing alone.”
“Why not? They do seem to have arrived here safely.”
Giles outlined the deficiencies of the craft and the problem with the major gunboats. . The Admiral continued to be sceptical and announced that he would inspect the landing craft himself when there was enough light in the morning.
“Now, tell me about that schooner that accompanies you.”
Giles told the Admiral about his capture of the schooner, a tale which also included his first description of the taking of the landing craft. He explained how the schooner was unable to cross the sand bars and so had to seek a channel to the sea. That requirement had put her under the French guns.
“I see,” said the Admiral, “but surely the French would not fire on a ship they knew. Didn’t she sail under French colours?”
“She did, sir, but she ran aground when she turned to the open sea, at which point the French battery opened fire.”
“I guess that anyone could run aground in those waters. Pity. But she is still a worthwhile prize, I’ll give you that.”
“It’s not quite that straightforward, sir.”
Giles went on to recount how Lieutenant Kirkpatrick had tried to shift the blame to Midshipman Stewart because the lieutenant had not properly studied the chart and also how he had not allowed for the possible difference from what he was used to in the lead-line that was used.
“Are you saying that this Mr. Kirkpatrick shirked his duties, Captain?” asked the Admiral.
“I suppose so. There have been other problems with him.”
Giles went on to tell about the problem with the gun carriages and why the rig of the schooner was so peculiar.
“I had heard that you had a very poor lieutenant, but I didn’t realize it was this bad,” commented the Admiral when Giles completed his narration.
“Heard, sir?”
“My coxswain makes a habit of talking with the coxswains of other ships when their captains come aboard the flag ship. He picks up a great deal of information that way. No, he reported that your coxswain knew exactly what he was doing and thought it would be a good idea if the deficiencies of your lieutenant were known to me. Kirkpatrick was a client of Old Blazy, wasn’t he?”
“I understand so. Apparently the new Marquis is not prepared to advance Mr. Kirkpatrick’s career in the same way.”
“Good. But you never know when he might pick up the strands of his father’s spider web. Gad, sir, we can’t do without influence, I suppose, but it harms the navy more than would an extra dozen French seventy-fours. Kirkpatrick’s is a court-martial offense, you know, but it would be difficult to prove it and to find a court which was not hesitant about convicting a man who may still have powerful interests behind him.
“I’ll think about what to do, overnight, Captain Giles. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
Giles returned to his barge, where he gave Carstairs a very significant look, one that said that he was not happy with his coxswain and would see him in his cabin shortly. He had hardly reached his quarters, after giving orders about the craft they were towing and their place in the fleet, before Carstairs arrived.
“Carstairs, I really didn’t like finding out that the Admiral already knew about Lieutenant Kirkpatrick’s weaknesses even before I realized how serious they are.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, what do you have to say for yourself?”
“Sir, there was nothing I could bring to you. Just a feeling among the crew about how Mr. Kirkpatrick avoided his duties. Nothing definite, rather a feeling. I didn’t really have anything to bring to you, sir. But I thought it would be a good idea to let the Admiral know that there might be trouble, so he could deal with it promptly if it ever came to him.”
“I know you meant well, Carstairs, but in future please let me know if there is anything serious enough to alert an Admiral.”
“Yes, sir, but I didn’t think there was anything you could do about it even if I had told you.”
“Not quite true, Carstairs. For one thing, I would not have put Mr. Kirkpatrick in charge of the sloop. I am just lucky that that decision didn’t get anyone killed. So in future let me be the judge of what I cannot deal with, Carstairs.”
“Aye, aye, sir. Oh, sir, Mr. Carrell asked me to give you these.”
Carstairs held out a handful of letters that must have been delivered while Giles was with the Admiral. Giles waved him away as he studied his mail. There were several from Daphne, one from his mother and one from Mr. Edwards.
He opened Mr. Edward’s letter first, in case it contained some urgent news that he would have to deal with as soon as possible. It did not. Just a summary of his financial affairs, revealing that he was even richer than he supposed. The mail from Daphne came next. She had written every day since she had returned to Dipton, and had numbered the letters so that it was easy to get them in order. He read them carefully, savouring every detail that she included. How he wished he could be with her as she went about the estates! How easily she seemed to have mastered the problems and opportunities which they presented.
When Giles came to Daphne’s concerns about his nieces, he realized that he had unfairly left his wife to deal with a very awkward situation. He had insisted that Lady Marianne and her daughters live in Dipton Hall, rather than elsewhere, in order to try to keep a better rein on her spending. But now he saw that he had placed a very unfair burden on his wife. Of course, she had not been his wife when he made the arrangements. Indeed, he had not even known of her existence at that time. How his life had been turned upside down by his meeting her and how happy he was at the change! He had been lucky in his career, but far more fortunate in finding the perfect woman with whom to share his life! He’d have to do something about these dowries. What would be a suitable sum? Did Daphne know? He doubted that she did since she had never shown any interest in dowries to his own knowledge, nor had she ever thought how large might be her own. But maybe she did know. He would have to ask her in his next letter. Mayb
e Mr. Edwards would have the information. Would any of his officers be aware of the proper figure and could he ask them without their thinking that he was asking how much it would cost him for them to take his half-nieces off his hands?
He continued his reading, reaching Daphne’s adventure with Dark Paul. He could well see her riding joyfully on the hunter and pushing the horse to perform more and more exhilarating things. He already knew enough about his wife to guess that the spill she mentioned was more serious than she was making it appear. Should he forbid her hunting on Dark Prince? He knew she would obey, but he didn’t want to try to limit her independence. Yes, wives should obey their husbands, but he liked Daphne’s adventurous and confident spirit too much to want to curb it. He would just have to delicately point out that Dark Paul was a very large horse and he was not sure how well trained the creature might be since he had never hunted on the horse himself. Maybe a suggestion that she buy a smaller mount for the hunt? As for hosting the Hunt and the Hunt Ball, he knew that was part of being a prominent landowner; he just wished he could share in the preparations and the event. He wondered idly why Mr. Moorhouse did not hunt. Anyway, he would have to reply to all her questions now so that his letter could be taken to the flagship for sending before Impetuous was dispatched on her next task. He had not slept on the previous night, but writing to Daphne was far more important than getting another hour of sleep.
Chapter VIII
Daphne woke to find that her hip hurt, her knee was stiff and burned and her ankle was very sore when she first used it. That would teach her to take stupid risks on a horse! She struggled out of bed when Elsie drew the curtains letting in the weak, gray light that signaled it was just before dawn. She was tempted to return to bed. And why shouldn’t she? She was in her own home and could do as she liked. But she didn’t really want to lie around in bed, and she didn’t want her relatives to think that her fall off the horse, Dark Paul, had incapacitated her.
When Elsie helped her to remove her night gown, and Daphne stood shivering as she waited for the first layer of her clothes, a glance at her hip revealed an extensive, dark-purple bruise. Her ankle looked a bit swollen. She couldn’t see her knee since Elsie had renewed her bandage after her bath the previous evening. Even as she got dressed, the stiffness in her ankle and hip seemed to retreat a bit. She might hobble a bit today, but that wouldn’t stop her going about her planned activities. She would just have to stare down any knowing looks from her relatives and any others who had heard of her accident.
Daphne wanted to spend the morning with the accounts and other records for Dipton Hall, but again she was interrupted by visitors. This time it was Mrs. Sandforth from Deepling Hall together with her daughter Penelope. Her husband was a great friend of Daphne’s father and Penelope was one of Daphne’s closest friends in Dipton. Mrs. Sandforth was also one of the women who had formed a very poor opinion of Lady Marianne when she first moved into Dipton Hall. Daphne felt very relaxed with her and Penelope. She saw no need to have Steves inform Lady Marianne that she had visitors.
The visiting ladies expressed their own happiness at Daphne’s having married so well and their good wishes for the future. Mrs. Sandforth was quite open about her astonishment that Daphne had actually married and seemed to take at face value Daphne’s claim that she was herself still surprised about it. Mrs. Sandforth’s comments sounded suspiciously like a losing player congratulating one who had prevailed in a competition. The reason became evident when Mrs. Sandforth revealed that there had been a widespread misunderstanding about the desirability of Captain Giles as a match. This had made them delay having Mr. Sandforth visit the Captain at the Dipton Arms when he first appeared in the area. She laughingly congratulated Daphne on stealing a march on all the rest of them, acknowledging that the first time any of them had seen Captain Giles was at the ball where it was already very obvious that he had somehow become infatuated with Daphne. That view had been confirmed by Steves in conversation with the Sandforth’s butler. Before Mrs. Sandforth and her daughter could concoct a strategy to get around this difficulty, they found that their schemes were no longer relevant. Captain Giles had persuaded Daphne to marry him.
Mrs. Stanford had a tongue, as Mr. Moorhouse often expressed his perception of her, which ran far ahead of her brain. In prattling on, and coming to the subject that most engaged her interests, she revealed that Penelope now had her cap set on capturing Lord David, or failing him, Captain Bush. A red-faced Penelope, looking as if she wished the floor would open up under her, protested that there was no truth in her mother’s allegations but with so much stammering that Daphne knew it to be true.
To Penelope’s relief, Daphne turned the conversation towards the Ameschester Hunt. Mr. Stanford did, it was true, ride with the Hunt regularly and he was invited and usually attended the Hunt Dinner. The Sandforths had even hosted the hunt but not the dinner and would be doing so again in the near future. Of course, Mrs. Stanford herself had never ridden with the Hunt. It was not her sort of thing at all! When Daphne revealed her interest in participating, Mrs. Sandforth warned her of the dangers of riding about the country in cold weather and told of the many accidents which she knew were the result of the dangerous sport. Penelope, by contrast, sounded eager to try hunting and speculated on whether her father would let her ride in the coming meet. As Daphne appreciated, Penelope, by the reference to her father’s permission, had avoided her mother’s being able to dismiss the idea out of hand.
This visit was followed by two others of women who had been, in the past, not nearly as close to Daphne and her father as had been the Sandforths. After they left, Daphne found that, once again, she had succeeded in doing little of what she wanted to accomplish in the morning. She also was beginning to appreciate how lucky she was that her father and now her husband encouraged her in activities that fully absorbed her interests. She had the feeling that the visiting women welcomed any breaks in their routines.
After lunch, Daphne again set off on estate business. She wanted to speak to some of the cattle-men and shepherds about the cull and the spring breeding, even though much of the cull had already happened. She knew that this was really an excuse to get out into the glorious fall weather which she was sure would not last, but she felt no guilt at fooling herself. She also had no compunction about taking Dark Paul as her mount, though now saddled as was normal for her. She finished her business quickly and found that she had a good deal of time before she had to return to dress for dinner; she would skip tea as she often did. It would be much more pleasant to give Dark Paul his head on some of the open country of her estates and if it involved some simple jumps, so much the better. She made quite a sight gleefully pushing Dark Paul to see how he would go, her hair streaming out behind her like another horse’s tail when she lost her bonnet, taking easy jumps with aplomb and laughing as the horse landed. It was only when, on one of the landings, she came down rather hard on her right hip, and she suspected that Dark Paul had again shied to try to unseat her that she realized this activity might be foolishness and reined in the stallion for a more sedate ride home.
Once Elsie had helped her change, Daphne had her carriage take her to her father’s house. It turned out that he had invited Lord David and Mrs. Bush and her daughters to dinner. While they were waiting for the others to arrive, Daphne asked her father why he didn’t ride in the Hunt.
“That is a long story, my dear,” Mr. Moorhouse replied. “It has to do with some things I should have told you about years ago. We don’t have time now. If you can forego roaring about the countryside on Captain Giles’s horse for one day, come to tea tomorrow and I will tell you all about it.”
Normally, Daphne would have started to try to pry from her father a hint of what the mystery was, but she was interrupted by the arrival of the guests. Lord David opened the conversation by saying, “I performed a wedding today, my first after yours, Lady Daphne.”
“Oh? Whose was it? I don’t remember you publishing any banns recently,�
�� inquired Mr. Moorhouse.
“No, I haven’t. This was by special license.”
“Oh, yes? Tell us about it.”
“Yesterday, Ted Miller came to see me to tell me that I would be needed at the church today about ten o’clock.”
“Ted Miller, the Blacksmith?” Daphne asked.
“Yes. He is also the Parish Constable, and it was in that role that he visited me.”
“Why”
“I was to marry Molly Trueblood to a man called Archer, George Archer. She is a milkmaid and he is a gamekeeper. She was very definitely with child.”
“So they wanted to get married?”
“Not exactly. Archer could either marry her, or pay the parish to keep her and the baby or go to prison. After some persuasion, he chose to marry the girl. So I performed the ceremony. To my surprise, Mr. Miller paid me half a guinea when the wedding was completed. I never realized that the Parish could require someone to marry, or that I would get a fee for doing it. I just presumed it was part of my duties, like holding services on Sundays.”
“Oh, yes, such fees are standard for anything extra a clergyman does,” remarked Mrs. Bush. “Weddings, either by license or by banns, baptisms, churchings*, funerals, they all carry their fees. As I know well. Mr. Bush’s living was not a generous one, and we needed those fees to have some special treats or to meet some extra expenses. That is how we had enough money put aside so that we could get Tobias’s – Captain Bush’s – uniform and sea chest when he required them. Of course, in more wealthy parishes, these duties are passed on to the curate who usually relies on them for much of his income. Are you going to get a curate, Lord David?
“Not immediately. I am enjoying the work. And Mr. Moorhouse tells me my sermons are becoming much better for not being so learned.”
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