“Etienne LaForge's,” I replied.
THE BUSINESS WAS CONCLUDED WHILE MARTHA CODDLED two dozen eggs.
LaForge was brought forward, his white shirtsleeves rolled high and his jaw wiped clean with a reasonably fresh towel. He stood easily before my brother, regarding him with the faint expression of amusement I had detected the previous day. For support he chose an ornately-carved walking-stick, ebony with a silver handle — so precious a thing must surely be his own, carried out of the Manon. He leaned upon it with all the careless disregard of long use.
While the two gentlemen conversed, I undertook to assist Hill with his patients — it seemed the least I could do for the harassed surgeon. My brother's interrogation did not require many minutes.
Frank bowed; the Frenchman nodded — and with a slight glance over his shoulder, returned to the place where he had been sitting. I thought his countenance somewhat sobered. But before I had occasion to consider the man and his moods, my brother was at my side.
“He does not deny his story, at least,” Frank said without preamble. “What he told you yesterday in the vestige of fever, he is very happy to report with a clearer head to a panel of British officers. He attempted to bargain, naturally — but I could promise him nothing. I told him merely that I would exert myself on his behalf, and so I shall.”
“What sort of price does one put upon the truth?” I asked curiously. “Exchange to France? A quantity of gold?”
“Neither. He merely begs to be allowed to remain in England, a free man. I suppose there are many who cannot love the Monster Buonaparte.”
“But it is agreed? He sails with you tomorrow?”
“Quite early.” Frank's grey eyes moved over the face of the prisoner beside me; I had been attempting to feed the man an egg, but found him unequal to the task. “The trial is settled for eleven o'clock, you know, and I should like to be arrived in good time. I must write to Admiral Hastings aboard the Valiant, and request permission for LaForge to come aboard.”
“I should like to accompany you, Fly.”
“To the court-martial? Don't be absurd. It is not the place for a lady,” he said stiffly.
“Not to the Valiant itself, but to Portsmouth.”
“Jane, you do not know what a dreadful thing it is to see a man hang. It is entirely possible that if things go badly — not at all in Seagrave's way — that the sentence will be carried out immediately. It is the tradition in the Navy.”
“Then Louisa Seagrave will undoubtedly require a companion,” I rejoined with equanimity. “Think, Frank! A lady in such a state! With her little children all around her, and no support but a surly maidservant in a black eye-patch! It is not to be thought of. Certainly I shall go.”
Frank's lips parted, but he failed to voice a word. An appeal to the feelings of a lady must always reign paramount in his mind, however strong his attention to naval niceties and forms.
I handed Mr. Hill the remnants of coddled egg. There was a spark of humour in the surgeon's grave eyes as he took charge of spoon and bowl.
“This is become quite a pleasure party,” he observed. “A morning's diversion on the Solent! Do not neglect a hearty breakfast, Miss Austen. It is the surest safeguard against seasickness.”
“I should never ignore the advice of a surgeon,” I said, and prepared to attend Martha to the French Street theatre.
THE PALE SUNLIGHT THAT HAD GREETED THE DAY WAS soon fled, and succeeded by the usual Southampton drizzle we had come to abhor. I feared the night would prove far too wet for my mother's health, and that a diminution of our evening party must be the result. Nothing short of widespread revolution, however, should prevent me from seeing the play in French Street. I had found too little enjoyment this winter, and meant to have my share of amusement.
I have long been a devotee of good hardened real acting, and though I may win contempt for preferring a Comedy to a Tragedy, I own that Mrs. Jordan is exactly the sort of player to please my taste. She is bright and light and sparkling; ingenuous in her air, despite the increase in grandeur that has attended her notice from the Duke. She delivers her lines with so lively a humour, that one might almost believe the words to have sprung directly from her wit, rather than the pen of a Kotzebue or an Inchbald. I had once been disappointed in a glimpse of her at Covent Garden, while on a visit to my brother Henry; I could hardly credit my good fortune in finding the lady descended upon Southampton, and must assume that some imminent embarkation aboard a royal yacht had occasioned Mrs. Jordan's removal hither.
Despite the delay occasioned by our visit at Wool House, Martha and I were in good time to procure seats for our entire party. The hearty dinner Martha had ordered was duly laid at an early hour; my mother descended to table for the second time in as many days — an unprecedented honour — and insisted that the rain was nothing she must regard. By seven o'clock we were all established cosily in a hack chaise, pulled up before the theatre doors in a long line of similar conveyances. The downpour was considerable, and Frank was so gallant as to offer to carry me across the wet paving-stones. I declined, and splashed my slippers regrettably in achieving the foyer.
Such a crush of local worthies! Such a display of fine silks and sateens, of feathered headpieces and naked shoulders! How one was frozen from the draughts that flooded through the doors, and yet toasted unbearably when too near the roaring fires! The danger of spilled claret from a neighbour's glass, trailing like blood down a skirt of white lawn — the danger of an inflammation of the lungs, to so much goose-fleshed womanhood! I had elected to wear a sober gown of blue sarcenet with long sleeves, several years behind the fashion; what it lacked in daring exposure, it more than compensated in warmth. My hair was pulled back in a simple knot, and bound with ribbons of a similar colour; it was nothing very extraordinary in its arrangement. I felt positively dowdy; and suffered, of a sudden, from an access of shyness.
The sensation was increased when a broad-shouldered, chestnut-haired fellow jostled my arm in attempting to ease by me. He glanced at my face, muttered an apology, and swept on with only the barest civility of manner. I thought his countenance familiar. There was a mix of worldliness and contempt in his eyes that struck me like a blow. I had seen this man before.
“Frank! Frank—”
My brother turned from assisting his wife with her pelisse.
“That gentleman by the staircase, ascending to the boxes — with the woman in dark grey. We are acquainted with him, surely?”
The chestnut-haired man had a hand under the elbow of his fair companion. I had not noticed her previously, a testament to my confusion; she was extraordinarily lovely, with a haunting, fine-boned beauty. Her cheekbones were high; her nose aquiline; her deep-set eyes heavily lashed. A luxuriant mass of gold hair trembled elegantly above her nape; her ears were two pink shells. And though she was dressed in dark grey, with complete sobriety and disregard for ornament, the lines of her gown could not disguise the exceptional in her figure. It was a wonder that every male eye was not turned the lady's way. Her companion bore her along like a prize he had seized.
“By Jove,” Frank murmured. That is Sir Francis Farnham — a member of the Navy Board. I wonder what he is doing in Southampton?”
“Seeing to his ships, one must assume.”
“He should far rather work his coded signal lines from a safe distance,” Frank retorted.
“You would refer to the Admiralty's cunning flags, which communicate intelligence from London to Portsmouth?”
“Sir Francis never goes near the water if he may help it, and thus is a great advocate for telegraph — and every new form of jiggery-pokery the Admiralty may advise. It is said they contemplate a signal-line that will run the length of the Kingdom — God help them when the wind blows too strong!”[13]
“You seem quite familiar with the effects of Sir Francis's administration,” I observed.
“I made the Baronet's acquaintance some years ago in Kent, when I commanded the Sea Fencibles; I warrant he will not rem
ember me now. He is grown so very great in Influence!”
“Ramsgate,” I said thoughtfully. That is where I have had a glimpse of him.”
“He does not observe,” Frank persisted, craning his neck; “he has already ascended. I shall seek him out during the interval, however. Sir Francis governs the Transport Board, and I should dearly like to consult with him on the matter of those Frenchmen in Wool House. The Transport Board holds authority, you know, over prisoners of war.”
“His wife is very lovely.”
“Wife! That is Phoebe Carruthers; Trafalgar widowed her. Perhaps Sir Francis hopes to secure her as his second lady — though I should have thought him capable of attaching a woman of greater fortune. He is handsome and rich, and Mrs. Carruthers possesses little more than her beauty.”
“Many men are happy with less.”
“I wonder at her sensibility, Jane. I should not have thought her in a humour for play-acting.”
“And why is that?”
“Cannot you see that she is in mourning? It was her son — the Young Gentleman — who fell dead from the shrouds on the Stella Maris.”
BUT BY THE TIME WE HAD WITNESSED MRS. JORDAN'S skill, and laughed until our sides ached, and stood once more to seek the foyer — Frank's project of appeal on behalf of the French prisoners must perforce be postponed. Sir Francis Farnham and his companion were gone.
Chapter 10
A Morning Pleasure Party
Thursday
26 February 1807,
IF FRANK RECEIVED ANY REPLY FROM TOM SEAGRAVE TO his express of Tuesday evening, I was not informed. My brother was unwontedly silent this morning as we sailed down the Solent. It was so early that the dusk had barely lifted from the New Forest, so early that the faint winter light had no power to warm me, and I huddled in my old pelisse while the frigid spume raced across the small vessel's hull.
Etienne LaForge was braced in the bow of the boat drinking great draughts of fresh air. To him, the cold and wet seemed immaterial. He had donned this morning a black wool coat, serviceable and unadorned. His hair, overlong from inattention, was bound at his nape with black ribbon, and his countenance was alight with freedom despite the manacles at his wrists. I had winced at the sight of those bonds, heavy and remorseless about his fine hands; but I did not question them. Frank had warned me that the French surgeon's motives must be suspect. It was possible, after all, that the man had schooled his story to the hints I had given him — that having heard a little of Seagrave's court-martial from the Marine guards, he had fabricated Chessyre's perfidy with precisely this view to escape. Frank had no intention of appearing a fool; he had sacrificed reputation enough in taking Tom Seagrave's part. Did LaForge intend to hurl himself from the hoy halfway to Portsmouth, he should sink like a stone from the weight of his irons.
The Frenchman had bowed low, the perfect gentleman regardless, as we stood on the Water Gate Quay. There was no cause for LaForge to feel shame at his bonds; he was a prisoner solely from unhappy circumstance; yet I did not think there were many Englishmen who should have worn humiliation so carelessly.
“Miss Austen! Your taste for the macabre runs to hanging, I see. Shall you be very disappointed if the Captain survives?”
“Monsieur LaForge.” I had bowed my head in acknowledgement of his greeting. “You must recollect the friend of the bosom — the Captain's wife. I go to Portsmouth solely to comfort her.”
A twitch of amusement, peculiarly his own, had worked at the corners of his mouth. “La pauvre petite. But as I have agreed to tell whatever I know to whomever will listen — perhaps your comfort will be unnecessary, hein?”
We had now been underway nearly half an hour, and Gosport was fast approaching to the larboard side; the squat dark shape of the Isle of Wight loomed like an enormous turtle. Mr. Hill, as a sailor of long standing and a responsible gaoler, stood stoutly next to LaForge in the bow, the two men spoke but little. Given the tearing breeze, Hill's attention seemed fixed upon securing his periwig to his skull. LaForge's eyes eagerly swept the horizon, as though he expected to find salvation there. My brother was engaged in steady conversation with the vessel's master — a conversation that consisted mainly of assessing the wind and clapping on sail — and so I was alone amidships, with my gloved hands clenched upon the edge of my seat.
Mr. Hill chanced to look around — chanced to furl his wizened face in a smile, which I returned — and that swiftly it seemed the two men could not sustain the picture of lonely self-sufficiency I presented. As one, Mr. Hill and Etienne LaForge picked their way over coils of rope, dodged taut lines and shuddering canvas, and settled themselves beside me.
“That is better.” Mr. Hill sighed with relief, and dropped his hands to his sides. The gusts of wind in this part of the vessel were greatly diminished in relation to the bow. “I never wear my wig at sea if I can help it; but circumstances this morning must dictate the strictest attention to propriety. One cannot present a ragged appearance before Admiral Hastings.”
“You look very well, sir,” I assured him. “You shall disgrace no one in your present guise.”
Etienne LaForge raised one eyebrow. “Is it not the custom for surgeons to look pitiful and go in tatters? I had thought it was requisite to appear as the dregs of humanity, a testament to impoverished circumstance.”
“Surgeons are a mixed lot, I warrant you,” replied Mr. Hill equably. “Five drunkards for every sober man, most without the scantiest learning, and not a few fleeing charges of murder at home. But you have seen the same in the French Navy, surely?”
“Zut,” cried Monsieur LaForge, “you ask me to impugn the honour of the French? Never! Besides, I cannot claim to be a real surgeon. I am versed in the physical sciences, not the sawing of bones; I was pressed into service aboard that ship, and know very little of the navy, French or otherwise.”
“Aha!” said Mr. Hill with satisfaction. “I thought there was something peculiar in your air, sir. Too much the gentleman to be merely a sawbones — there was the matter of your attire, that handsome walking-stick, and all those books you brought from the Manon. Great intellect is not often wanted aboard ship.”
“Nor evident in the conduct of its sailing,” LaForge retorted. “That is one blow to French honour I may freely give.”
I remembered that the same bitterness had marked his views of the dead captain, Porthiault. LaForge had called him a fool, and evinced no regret at the man's violent passing. He wished, as well, to remain in England rather than return to France. Life under the Monster's claws must be brutal beyond enduring.
“I myself fell in with the Navy purely as a view to research, you know,” continued Mr. Hill. “I am a passionate ornithologist, and one cannot stay at home and hope to master the subject. Was the Manon your first berth?”
“Yes,” returned LaForge abruptly, “and I pray God it may prove my last Having seen the inside of Wool House, I have no grande envk to see the rest of the world.”
“And where in France do you call home, monsieur?” I enquired.
“The Haute Savoie,” he replied, “not far from the Swiss border. It is a beautiful country, quite unlike your England.”
“And yet you wish to exchange the one for the other,” I rejoined, stung.
“Beauty is not the sole recommendation for a méthode de vivre,” he said. “Whether I remain in this country, or flee to another, I am not likely to see my Haute Savoie again.”
This last was muttered in so low a tone, I could not be certain I had heard the man correctly; but when I would have begged his pardon, and asked him to repeat his words, he turned the conversation by exclaiming, “I commend you, mademoiselle, for an excellent sailor. Votes avez depied matin. No sickness, no cries of womanly fear at every movement of the boat — it is in your blood, yes? You enjoy the sea as your indomitable brother?” He gestured at Frank, who was still engrossed in the matter of sails.
“Who may regard the constant life of the waves and be unmoved, monsieur? Who may
witness the ebb and flood of the tide and not yearn to be carried far from shore, to know the multitude of peoples and places about the globe?” I enquired wistfully. “I should dearly love a man's experience of the sea, but must be content with stories of my brothers' wanderings.”
The master of the hoy shouted suddenly to his mate; the canvas was reefed, and the vessel slowed as it turned. We had achieved the entrance to Portsmouth harbour once more — to starboard, the ships at anchor off Spit-head; to larboard, the mass of buildings tumbling towards the quay. Within the sheltered port itself were anchored a few men o' war. One of these, I knew, must be the Valiant, with its signal flag for court-martial fluttering at the mizzen.
“And there, I presume, sit the rest of the Manon's complement,” observed Etienne LaForge wryly.
My eyes were drawn to the massive stone prison that rose forbiddingly above Portsmouth — a prison in which perhaps hundreds of French sailors languished in expectation of exchange. I had not spared it a thought on Monday. Were the men within ill and despairing? And had they anyone to write their letters?
“Steady, Jane,” my brother said at my elbow as the hoy dropped anchor. “You will not scold us if we do not accompany you to the quay. Our course lies with Admiral Hastings's ship — the Valiant, just to larboard there. The irregularity of LaForge's circumstance is such that we ought not to delay in paying our respects.”
“Of course,” I replied with intrepidity, as though the experience of two days on the water had made me a seasoned sailor. Frank paid off the hoy while Mr. Hill handed me into the cockleshell of a skiff; Monsieur LaForge's hands, after all, were bound.
I TOOK TWO WRONG TURNINGS BEFORE I PETITIONED FOR aid, and found my way at last into Lombard Street. Once there, I managed to distinguish the Seagrave household from its companions in the uniform row of small cottages. This is a more remarkable feat than it sounds, for all passage of the narrow lane and entrance to the residence were blocked by a stately and expensive carriage. Two sets of arms — both unknown to me — were empalled on the panels, surmounted by the bloody gauntlet of the baronet.[14] Not all of Louisa Seagrave's acquaintance among the Great had ceased to notice her, it seemed.
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