He drew his horse to a standstill in the shelter of a rick of new hay on Martin’s land, pointed over the shoulder of the hill to the Channel, grey in the distance.
“In eighteen months, hopefully less, ma’am, I must go a-knocking on the First Lord’s door, begging a ship of him, early in the Year One, at latest, and that might take me far foreign for three years, perhaps four.”
“A long time, sir, but not forever. What sort of ship would you beg, Sir Frederick?”
“A big frigate, one of the greatest of the fifth rates, forty or even forty four guns, twenty four pounders, a razee perhaps, one that I can take to the Great South Sea to roust out the Spanish treasure argosies and outdo Anson! In fact, any frigate at all, or if not a frigate, then whatever the Admiralty in its wisdom decides to offer me. I shall not refuse a command, will even accept a slab-sided seventy four and the tedium of blockade. Of course, my store of credit with the Admiralty may be insufficient, I may be sent away with a flea in my ear! Or, even worse, the war may have come to its long overdue end, ten captains banging at the door for every ship in commission. But, seriously speaking, I think I will be given a ship if there is still a need for a fighting captain.”
She nodded, smiling thoughtfully, reading a meaning into his words, hoping it was there, shaking herself out of a delightful, but possibly over-optimistic, dream.
“What is a razee, sir?” The question seemed almost random, as if she had to say something and knew not what.
“A very heavy frigate, ma’am, made from a cut-down two decker, a fourth rate or small third. The fourth rates have never been a success – cruisers that could stand in the line of battle, the theory, but too slow to do a frigate’s work, too light to be a battlewagon. The 64s were, mostly, good ships in their day, but the Spanish build first rates at more than twice their size, and the French have too many of ninety and a hundred guns. They cannot really live in an Atlantic battle, are of little use in the Mediterranean, will do in the shallows of the German Ocean, can show the flag in the Indies, West and East – mostly they are no longer needed, but we are always short of frigates. Cut down to a single deck, they are heavy, powerful and often fast – Pellew’s Indefatigable is one such - they have great hold space, can cruise at far away, are often independent.”
She smiled, filed the information away, rode shoulder to shoulder with him back to Partington House. Once home she ran upstairs to change and expunge the smell of horse, came back down in a working gown to join her mother in the daily round. Her father came out of his library and workroom, intercepted her at the bottom of the stairs.
“Elizabeth, my dear – did you enjoy your ride?”
“Very much, sir! I met Sir Frederick and we looked at the new cut on the river.”
“Good – I thought that was him I saw. Do you like Sir Frederick, my dear?”
She flushed bright red, looked him in the eye, nodded.
“He is a fine man in many ways, Elizabeth, one for whom I have formed a great respect – kind-hearted, generous, modest – a true gentleman. But, as well, at the same time, he is a fierce, ruthless, fighting man, a true man of blood! The only men you really know are your brother and myself, and few could be more peaceful than we two – you have no knowledge of men of war. Come into the library, my dear, my predecessor had copies of the Gazette for the whole war and I have turned up the letters and reports that name Sir Frederick and detail his prowess.”
She read, folded her hands in her lap, looked up at her father, stood by the window. “He is truly a man, sir.”
“He is – and as I said, I have the greatest respect for him and his deeds, but he has killed repeatedly with his own hands, has sought out the opportunity of battle.”
“The enemies of the King must be killed, sir.”
“Must not the other cheek be turned, my dear?”
“Certainly, sir, and forgiveness be sought and granted, but only after the war is won, the killing ended.”
“You are fiercer far than I, my dear. Perhaps that is why only men become priests, for otherwise the Church would truly be militant.”
She smiled, but in the silence of her mind was much inclined to agree with him – the Church was too meek.
“What am I to say if he should call on me, Elizabeth?”
“Do you think he will, sir?” She stood, breathless and eager.
“Your mother and I both felt that he looked tenderly on you last night, but we could not tell if you favoured him at all.”
“It is very ill-mannered to display affection in public, Papa, or so you have taught me! I love him, sir, wish only to go to him, forever. I will tell him so, if he should ask. I think he may, sir, but, as you rightly say, I know nothing of men, sir, wish to know nothing of any other man.”
Bosomtwi drove Frederick to Partington House next morning, whistling quietly, wholly unable to account for his master’s decision to dress his smartest in frockcoat, pantaloons and half-boots, cravat in his shirt, all very neat, pressed and brushed, rather than his normal adequate riding clothes.
“I go round to the stables, sir, isn’t it. May be a long stay. Good luck!”
“Sod!” Frederick muttered at the innocent departing back.
My lord was at home, was pleased to receive Frederick, said so as he shook hands.
“Just a morning call, Sir Frederick, or have we business to transact?”
Frederick scowled at the open face of the older man, sure he could detect an incipient smile.
“My lord, to your evident surprise, I am come to beg the hand of your daughter, Elizabeth.”
The presentation of finance and settlements was the more complex for the pre-existence of an inheriting son, but it was clear that Frederick was rich enough for two – the estates could be divided fairly, without impoverishing Iain.
“The Hampshire estates of the Harrises, My Lord, small in land though they are, carry an income from Consols as well and can form a reasonable basis for the inheritance of Elizabeth’s children – if she will have me.”
“And we must not lose sight of the possibility of future prize-money, Sir Frederick.”
Frederick explained, at some length, the reasons why prize-money could be expected more at the beginning of a war than in its extended duration. Merchants would never believe that peace would not last for ever and at least two days – the moment war ended they stripped their crews to the bare bones, sold off the guns, ignored all considerations of prudence, scouted sailing in company in the hope of reaching port first and creaming off the market. In the first six months of any war there were unescorted, undefended merchantmen pottering along, begging to be snapped up, with those frigates and sloops already in commission only too pleased to oblige them, but by the time the war was even a twelvemonth old and the ships that had been laid up in ordinary had all been recommissioned, the seas were empty, the pickings terribly thin.
“The golden days are over, My Lord, except for the lucky few.”
“Ah, well – one can always hope, Sir Frederick. I will call Elizabeth to you, sir, let her make her own answer – I shall be very surprised if her answer does not please you, I would add, from my observation of her, but I shall offer her neither advice nor persuasion, Sir Frederick!”
“Marry you, Sir Frederick? Yes, sir, if you please! I had thought that you might look on me with favour, sir, hoped very much that it was so! I want nothing better from life, sir.”
“I, too, Elizabeth, for I love you, and have done so since the evening when first we met. I came home from the Taylors’ dinner knowing that you were the cleverest girl I had ever met, as well as the most beautiful – and have waited only for our acquaintance to have been of respectable duration, and to be within reason sure that you had not taken me in aversion.”
“I love you, sir, and came home from the Taylors’ jealous that some other, more eligible, lady would one day catch you – and then, over these last weeks I have come to hope that I might have caught your eye, despite the obvious reason
s that I should not have.”
Frederick was puzzled, could imagine no ‘obvious reasons’ at all – but young misses in the nature of things had scant knowledge of the world, might see problems where none existed.
“I had thought you looked kindly on me, my love – so much so that I brought the piano tuner in from Poole three weeks since! He tells me, by the way, that he knows the instrument of old, and that it has a good, mellow tone.”
“I knew that he came, Frederick – your parlour maid is sister to our Betty who works in the kitchen – and I knew you did not play, am amazed you did not see my smile, the cat that got the cream, my love, for the Taylors do not play either, so neither daughter there could have been your chosen!”
Frederick laughed – Sir Geoffrey’s daughters were all pleasant girls and he could remember the name of neither of the unwed.
“I believe, my dear,” he ventured, holding his arms out invitingly, “that we are permitted to plight our troth with a decorous kiss.”
Both were breathing hard when they surfaced from a very close-locked embrace.
“If you please, sir,” she smiled, “if that is a decorous kiss, what is an indecorous one?”
“I will show you on the night we are wed, my love – my word! That is a deep blush!”
“I do not think you should say such things, Frederick!”
“Quite right – most landspeople do not.”
“Oh! I see! It is a naval habit!”
“Yes, my love – I will show you some more naval habits…”
“On the night we are wed! I can guess. Come, let us go to my parents, my love.” She took his hand, with no obvious intention of ever letting go again.
Parental blessing was granted, much more willingly by lady than by lord – ‘every woman loves a pirate’, said she, and then laughed just a little shame-facedly.
“Mrs Montague, we need to have a long discussion!”
“Certainly, Sir Frederick,” the housekeeper calmly replied. “Miss Hackett accepted your offer, sir?”
“Why, yes, Mrs Montague, but I am surprised you needed to ask! I would have thought you might have known well before me!”
“Well, Sir Frederick,” she responded, taking his sarcasm at face value, “Montague said it was a certainty, but he was going on what Mr Bosomtwi said, and he could never dream of anybody refusing you anything. Mr Ablett said that Lord Partington should have been a parson and didn’t approve of fighting and war and might try to turn her against you. But Betty thought she wanted you ever-so!”
Frederick was reminded, yet again, that everything he said and did on his own acres was public. His every action would be discussed, dissected, approved of, occasionally deplored, probably before he made it.
“I expect then, Mrs Montague, that you have made all your plans for the day when Abbey has a mistress?”
“Out of course, Sir Frederick, and sat down with young Mr LeGrys and Mr Hartley so that all is written down in a budget for my lady to approve of.”
Frederick smiled his thanks, brought the unnecessary meeting to a rapid end. He really should have known better, he supposed.
“Keep me informed of anything I must know, Mrs Montague. Otherwise, well, a captain of mine told me that he did not keep a dog and bark as well!”
“Quite right, too, sir! You just look after that poor shoulder of yours and leave us to do what’s necessary without bothering your head about it – there’s more than enough on your plate, sir, without you worrying about us. And, sir, if I might make so bold, can I enquire whether you have shown your shoulder to our good Doctor English?”
“As I am sure you know, Mrs Montague, I have not, and, yes, I should. I will send Bosomtwi to him with a note.”
And that also was a duty and must be done – he must keep his people happy and Mrs Montague’s advice must be accepted in courtesy to her and to show the staff that he respected her and so must they.
The doctor came to Abbey next morning, showed himself to be learned, clean and sober – all that could be asked of a doctor and at least a third better than most practitioners. He had no experience of sword wounds, but felt it to be essentially similar to a slip with a billhook, the damage resultant to be fundamentally the same.
“Exercise, Sir Frederick, in moderation – very little at first, a fraction more each week, never straining. As if you were preparing for a prize-fight, sir, building step by step. In a few months you should hire a fencing master, sir, for your hand will have lost its cunning. Pistols are less of a problem, you may practice with them as soon as you will, for I do not believe their slight recoil will cause any damage. A fowling piece, however, might well be less desirable – no, I do not think you should attempt to bring a gun to your shoulder this year, sir.”
“The thought of a twelve bore’s kick does not appeal, doctor – I shall be glad to take that advice, sir! Whilst you are here, sir, you might wish to have a chat with young Mr LeGrys, ensure that all is well with him.”
“The crippled young man – boy I should say, Sir Frederick? Certainly. Was he born lame, sir?”
“Wounded, serving as an eleven year old midshipman.”
Doctor English tutted, was deeply inclined to give his opinion on the practice of sending children to battle, felt that wisdom suggested he should not.
Young Mr LeGrys was not sure he needed or wanted the services of a doctor, but obeyed orders, finally, and bared his person.
“A vicious wound, Mr LeGrys, you did very well to survive it, sir. Painful just there?” Doctor English gently touched a small white swelling in the purple scarring across David’s hip. The wince that resulted spoke for itself.
“That must be dealt with, sir. I would like a glass of brandy, Sir Frederick – not to drink, sir, do not fear!”
A lancet and a pair of whalebone tweezers were laid on the desk and a little of the brandy was poured on the white patch.
“It stings, I am afraid, Mr LeGrys, but it helps for some reason – does something to the skin, I suspect – I was taught the trick in Edinburgh. Now, just look out of the window, sir, not at what I am doing, just a little nick… let me get a grip… a quick tug, and here we are!”
He laid a dripping sliver on the table, much the size and shape of a cod bone, bloody and nasty.
“They move about over the years, sir, and I am told one can never be sure to find every one. Eventually they work their way up to the surface, sometimes make an ulcer, can even cause mortification, so you must watch out for them, have them removed immediately – though you may well never see another, sir. They can travel, too, sir. I saw one young man when I was walking the wards as an apprentice in Edinburgh, had been peppered in the leg with birdshot as a boy, came in with a lump on his neck which, when removed, disclosed a Manton’s Number Six. That was when I learned to use the brandy – not merely a successful operation, the patient surviving his twenty four hours, but he lived and walked out within the sennight!”
The doctor left, he had other patients to visit, and each would hear of his new client, would know that English was doctor to Abbey – it would help his practice no end!
Frederick sat down to write his letters – courtesy demanded that these should be in his own hand – to the Pagets, his own parents, to Critchel, Lord Alton and Major Paget. After a little thought he addressed a note to Mr Russell as well – the man had been honest and remarkably well-behaved in a distressing situation, it was the merest politeness to maintain the acquaintance. A somewhat longer letter went out to the Mediterranean fleet, Sir Iain had any number of rights to be kept informed, and he would spread the news. Formal announcements in the appropriate columns of the newssheets and Gazette were David’s province, no doubt were already drafted and ready to be sent. The letters to Hampshire went with Bosomtwi, he and Ablett seeming to alternate between the two counties, perhaps three weeks of each month with Frederick, one at home, an unofficial arrangement that pleased them.
It was convenient that Bosomtwi could act as an out
rider to the coaches bringing the party from Hampshire, coaches in the plural because Frederick’s parents decided it was incumbent on them to meet his fiancée at the earliest possible moment, certainly before the formal dinner parties that would celebrate the engagement.
“And we had heard that you might have an attic with a pallet spare,” Frederick’s father said, stepping back to survey the acre and more of sprawling manor. “What a friendly, welcoming old house, Frederick!”
“Frederick! Congratulations, my boy – and I trust that I may still call you so!”
“I am pleased that you still wish to, sir. How are you?”
The Pagets were well, the Harrises surprisingly so, and Iain was hand in hand with Bosomtwi, earnestly discussing his horse’s points, the configuration of the Arab pure-blood and the differences in the English hunter.
“How do you do, sir?” Iain greeted his father, a handshake ending the formality. “Sir, if you please, Grandpapa and Bosomtwi do not agree on whether I am old enough for my own pony. Bosomtwi says that I am, that Arab boys of my age would be mounted, and I shall be four very soon!”
“Then you may have your own pony… but! Listen carefully to what I say! You will not ride alone until Bosomtwi says that you are good enough. Disobey and you will show that you are too young to be trusted and the pony will be taken away. Understood?”
“Yes, sir!”
“Good. Bosomtwi – will you be so good as to arrange Iain’s pony? You know so much more of the beasts than I.”
“Yes, sir… by luck, sir, we got one in the stables already, isn’t it.”
Bosomtwi became aware of the number of sceptical stares he was receiving, flushed visibly even under the dark tan of his face. “Yes, sir – well, sir, you say to be ready, isn’t it. Oh, and sir, my Kitty say she due in November time, so we needs be in Long Common, about then, or me, anyway.”
There were general murmurs of congratulations, Bosomtwi occupying an anomalous position, more than a servant, less than a companion, outside of the normal certainties.
Britannia’s Son (The Duty and Destiny Series, Book 4) Page 3