Secrets of the Fearless

by Elizabeth Laird

  ‘You’ll come back to Jalignac, to find me, won’t you,’ she said at last, ‘when the war’s over?’

  ‘That mightn’t be for years and years.’ He could barely speak for the thudding in his heart. ‘You’re going back into your old life. You’re an heiress, Kit. You’re rich. I’m nothing – just a sailor. You can’t tie yourself to me.’

  He was taken aback by the ferocity of her frown.

  ‘Don’t ever, ever say that, John. Don’t ever think like that. I’ll wait for you, no matter how long it takes. You know I will. You’re the only person in the world that I’ll ever really trust.’

  He bent his head to kiss her again, but Rufus, who had been grazing nearby, butted him sharply in the back with his long black nose. Recalled to the real world of war, they stepped cautiously out of the copse and looked round. The light had faded and it was almost dark. They realized that the sounds of battle had died away. The guns were still. On the hill behind them they could see great bonfires and the shadows of British soldiers passing in front of the flames. On the far hillside were the fires of the French, who seemed to have withdrawn to their positions of the night before.

  ‘Our fellows have beaten them back!’ John said exultantly. ‘All our soldiers – we’ll be able to get them off into the ships now.’

  Kit pulled her cloak tightly round her shoulders.

  ‘John,’ she said. ‘It’s time.’

  ‘I know. You have to go.’

  They held each other for one last, long moment, and then he joined his hands for her and she stepped lightly into them and leaped up on to Rufus’s back.

  ‘Don’t,’ she said, looking down at him.

  ‘Don’t what?’

  ‘Don’t get yourself killed.’

  ‘I promise,’ he said. ‘And you must promise me. But I feel . . . oh, I don’t know . . . that nothing can hurt either of us now.’

  He ran beside Rufus, holding the stallion’s bridle, until they had crossed the field and were back at the farm. The buildings were still on fire, the flames casting a lurid glow across the hillside. In its light they could see the scattered bodies of dead men. From the far hillside, an occasional gun boomed out sonorously into the night. Behind, from the closer, British lines, he could hear the groans and cries of the wounded.

  When they reached the far side of the farm, where the lane set off down into the valley, she hesitated for a long moment, and he reached up and gripped her hand.

  ‘I’ll come to Jalignac, as soon as I can,’ he said. ‘As soon as the war’s over. I swear it.’

  ‘And I’ll be there, waiting for you,’ she answered.

  Before he could say another word, she drove her heels hard into Rufus’s side, and he saw the cavalry officer’s cloak billow out behind her as she galloped off down the lane.

  He knew she wouldn’t look back. He ran after her, determined to see her safe for as long as he could.

  A few moments later he had lost sight of her in the dark, but he could still hear the sound of Rufus’s hoofs on the hard packed surface of the lane. Then a sharp voice came out of the night.

  ‘Arrêtez! Qui va là?’

  ‘A citizeness of France!’ he heard her answer in a high, commanding voice. ‘Inform your colonel that I wish to speak with him!’

  He waited for a long time, until all sounds from ahead had died away, then he turned and went slowly back, up towards the British lines.

  Nobody challenged him. He passed straight through the sentries and went on, down the long road, overtaking the lumbering carts of bleeding, wounded men retreating towards the sea. He barely saw them. His heart was full only of Kit. Ahead of him lay the beach, and the boats, and his duty on the Fearless, which was riding serenely at anchor, out in the bay.

  PART SIX

  1809–1817

  ENDINGS

  Chapter Forty

  Letter from Captain Samuel Bannerman to the Secretary of the Admiralty, Whitehall, London:

  21 June 1809

  Sir,

  You will please acquaint their Lordships of the Admiralty with the news of the safe arrival into Portsmouth of the convoy of sixteen merchant ships under the protection of HMS Fearless. The passage from Jamaica was concluded without incident.

  Sightings however of a force of two French sail of the line and three French frigates were reported to me by Captain Spellen of HMS Firebird. Before these ships came within sight of us, Captain Spellen observed them being in communication with one of their own frigates, after which they bore away to the south.

  It is my belief that false information regarding the destination of our convoy, which was laid with the French at Corunna, was the cause of this fortunate alteration to the French fleet’s course. If they had met with us, their guns would have grossly outnumbered ours and our convoy would in all probability been captured.

  I would like to put forward for their Lordships’ attention the courageous actions of Kit Smith (ship’s boy, no longer serving with the Fearless) and Mr John Barr, midshipman.

  I remain, sir, your obedient servant,

  Samuel Bannerman

  Letter from Catherine de Jalignac to John Barr:

  12 July 1810

  My dearest John,

  It is so long since we parted, and I have never heard news from you. I am very afraid to know what has happened. In my bad moments I fear something terrible – that you are hurt, or even lost forever, but even in those times I believe in my heart that you are alive and that we will be together one day.

  If you did not receive my previous letters you will not even know that I came safely home from Spain, though the journey was filled with dangers. It was the biggest adventure of my life! Now that I am settled here at home I can hardly believe all the exciting times I have lived through. No one who knows me here, as a proper young lady, would ever believe it if they knew the truth.

  News almost never comes to us. I have seen Mr E’s cousin once or twice, but he knows no more of your whereabouts than I do. He begged me not to visit him for fear of creating trouble, as he keeps very quiet and stays unnoticed. I am giving this letter to Jem, who has managed to visit us again, in the hopes that somehow it will find its way to you, as I fear the others did not.

  You will be happy to know that all is going on in a good way for us. M. F. has done miracles for me. He has worked day and night. He even went to Paris (a dangerous journey now, with brigands everywhere on the roads) and received an audience from Her Majesty. Whatever you think of Josephine, you cannot deny that she has been a kind, true and generous friend to me. The chateau, and everything that my uncle did not steal, is safely now in my name. The money is not important to me – except that with it I can make all safe and comfortable for B. and J-B., and for the old tenants of my father, who have suffered so much in the past years.

  Oh, John, I wish you could see us now! We have a new coach (the smell in the old one made me sick!) and the rooms are being cleaned and repaired. The hay field behind the house is a lawn again. It’s beautiful! And B. has two maids to help her in the kitchen, besides other servants for the house, gardens and stables. As for Rufus, he is king of all the horses, and I ride him every day.

  My grandmother was so angry with me that she became ill when she found I had disappeared after the ball. I feel a little guilty that it was my fault, but I cannot feel very sorry, for now she is so weak and her mind confused, she has become quite kind to me. She doesn’t frighten me any more. She stays quiet in her house in Bordeaux and I visit her very often. My uncle thought that he would be arrested when his dishonesty was discovered, so he ran away to Switzerland, like the coward he is. I have heard he is only able to live by gambling. I am sure he cheats. He has no power over me now. I am safe here, with my dear B.

  There is little to amuse us in Bordeaux, and life is very quiet. All the young men are away at the war, and everyone complains of hardship, with the port still unusable. Sometimes Mme de M. takes me to the theatre, but she talks all the time only about he
r horrible son. She is determined that I will marry him. I will not. Never. You know why.

  Dear John, how can I know if this letter will ever reach you? I cannot. I send it out into the unknown, with all my hopes attached to it. It holds inside it the heart of

  Your Kit

  Letter from John Barr, on board the Fearless, to Catherine de Jalignac at Jalignac:

  3 August 1811

  My dearest, dearest Kit,

  Your letter was written a whole year ago, but it reached me only yesterday. The paper is all blotched and smudged, with dirty finger marks and heaven knows what other stains besides. I can hardly imagine what travels it has made to reach me here, and whether this letter of mine will ever get to you.

  I wish you had heard my shout of joy when yours was put into my hands. I startled everyone around me! I have read it already so often that I can recite every word by heart. It is my most precious possession. Only to know that you got through safely, and arrived home, and that all your business there has gone well – it was the most wonderful news I ever received in my life.

  I am not at liberty to tell you much about myself in case I reveal too much, for who knows whose eyes may fall on this letter? But you will happy to hear that our old friends are well. Tom has a splendid new scarlet waistcoat, which he likes to show off on all occasions. Davey is still concerned with his chickens and piglets (his brains are just as confused as before). Mr E. is the same, and still the best man I ever knew. Your old master is busier than ever, though he must miss you, for I don’t think the boy he has now as his servant knows how to sew at all.

  I have new companions now. There are some good fellows among them, but I miss my best and dearest friend every day, more than I can ever say. I have roved about here and there since we parted (now two whole years ago!) and will go on, no doubt, to destinations new until this terrible war ends. We have been in one or two small scrapes, but the outcome, thank God, has always been in our favour.

  Dearest Kit, I think of you every minute of the day and try to imagine how everything at your old home must now look. Is the lantern over the front door hanging straight now? Are B.’s tarts and pies as good as ever they were? I would give anything to eat one again! Is Rufus still afraid of water?

  The only thing that makes me unhappy is the thought of Mme de M.’s hideous son. Is he the only one? Are there not many more trying to make up to you? When I think about it, I feel mad with rage and I want to take my fists to someone.

  I would like to write much, much more, but the fellow who brought me yours is waiting, and he has promised to try to get a letter back from me to you.

  I love you, Kit. I always will. All I can do is to hope, with all my heart, that this terrible war will soon be over, and you will once more be with

  Your loving

  John

  Letter from John Barr, on board the Fearless, to Patrick Barr, Luckstone, Fife:

  26 November 1812

  Dear Father,

  I received your letter last month, off the frigate Firebird, and was very happy to hear your news and that all goes on well at Luckstone. I am happy to tell you that since I last wrote I too have been in the best of health.

  Today is my eighteenth birthday, and I reckoned up this morning that I have now been at sea for more than five whole years! When I remember the miserable little boy who couldn’t tell a halyard from a sheet, and was too scared to go aloft, I feel amazed at the good fortune which has been my lot on board this ship, which is so well and justly captained, when others I know of have suffered extremely under harsh and unreasonable discipline.

  You asked me in your letter if I would not now leave the service and come home to you at Luckstone. Of course I would dearly love to see you, and tramp about the old place, which I remember so fondly, but I cannot. The Fearless is now constantly engaged at sea and there is no opportunity to leave her at present. Do not pity me, however. To be a midshipman of a man-o’-war, such as the Fearless, is not a bad thing, after all. I am likely to bring home eventually some amount of prize money, as a result of the many ships we have taken. This will be needed at home for the repairs you tell me are becoming urgent, and there is no money to carry them out.

  But there is another reason, dear Father, which would keep me from home even if I were able to leave the ship. I have written to you about Mlle de Jalignac, and told you everything about her situation, and our feelings for each other. As long as I am here at sea, I am sometimes within sight of the coast of France and know she is not far away. If ever the occasion arose – if ever I had the chance – I would go to Jalignac before anywhere else, in the hope of seeing her.

  Please forgive me, Father, if this reply disappoints you. I do long to see you, and am confident that soon these troubled times will give way to a proper peace and the Fearless will return to Britain. In the meantime, please believe that I am

  your most loving and obedient son,

  John

  The Times, 22 June 1815

  The official dispatch from the Duke of Wellington, dated Waterloo, 18 June 1815, states that on the preceding day Bonaparte attacked, with his whole force, the British line. The attack, after a long and bloody conflict, ended in a complete defeat of the French army.

  Glory to Wellington! To our gallant soldiers! Bonaparte’s reputation has been wrecked, and his last great battle has been lost in this tremendous conflict.

  Fellow countrymen – the war is at an end!

  The Times, 27 June 1815

  Shipping News

  Yesterday the men-of-war lying off Portsmouth fired a salute from their guns to celebrate the great victory won by our brave army.

  In consequence of orders received, the Channel fleet is to be reduced greatly. The ships will either be paid off or remain in harbour with a small complement of men.

  Arrived yesterday His Majesty’s Ship Fearless into Portsmouth harbour, to return her guns, stores, etc. She will not return to sea.

  Chapter Forty-one

  It was a brilliant, sunny morning in late July. The road running past the gates of the chateau of Jalignac that had once been crowded with troops, horses, guns and prisoners, on their way to and from Spain, was now deserted. Blackberries were ripening on the hedgerows, and crickets chirred in the long grass.

  A young man, around twenty years old, appeared in the distance, riding slowly on a sluggish hired horse. He was tall, and he sat his horse uncomfortably, like a man unused to riding. His thick fair hair was tied at the neck, and he had clearly taken trouble with his clothes. His blue coat was well brushed, its brass buttons gleaming, his cravat was neatly tied and his boots highly polished. Anyone looking closely at him might have noticed the magnificent muscles in his arms and shoulders, the deeply tanned skin of his face and the small wrinkles round eyes that had often been screwed up to scan great distances. They might have guessed that he had spent many years at sea.

  The horse arrived at the chateau gates and John Barr dismounted. The journey from Scotland had taken longer than he had expected. He had stayed at Luckstone for no more than a few days, just long enough to see his father and assure him that he was well, and then he had been off at once, first on the Leith smack to London, and then the packet to Bordeaux. The closer he had come to France, however, the more his courage had failed him. When at last he had stepped ashore, and seen how changed everything was, how busy and bustling Bordeaux had become, and how well people were now dressed, he had become horribly aware of his own rough appearance. Instead of rushing straight to Jalignac, as he had planned to do, he had spent several days in Bordeaux, visiting a tailor and having a smart new coat made, getting his hair cut and buying these uncomfortable new boots. And all the time, the longer he had delayed, the more his courage had failed.

  It’s been six years since I saw her, he kept telling himself. She’ll have changed completely. We were hardly more than children. I’ve had only one letter from her in all that time. She’ll be married, almost certainly, with a couple of babies too. And
even if she isn’t, why should she remember me? There’s nothing sadder than a sailor without a ship, and only a bit of prize money tucked away in my pocket – hardly enough to buy her a ring. What do I know about high society, and chateaux, and life on shore? I can’t even speak French.

  He was almost at the gates and had slowed right down. I’m being ridiculous, he told himself. Kit and I are old shipmates, that’s all. I’ve simply come to call on her. If she wants to see me, that’s fine. We can talk about old times together. If she doesn’t, I’ll go home to Luckstone. There’s no reason why she should still feel about me as she once did. She won’t have been thinking of me every day for the last six years, as I have of her. I’ll be friendly, but formal. I’ll keep my distance. I’ll try not to make a fool of myself.

  He was at the gates now, looking up the long drive towards the house. The shock of what he saw made him gasp out loud. He had expected to see the new Jalignac, which Kit had described in the one letter he had received from her, four years ago. He had thought that the lawns would be mown, the shutters painted, the house cared for, and that Jalignac would once more be a noble chateau, nobly maintained.

  Instead, he was looking at a blackened ruin. The facade still stood, but the roof behind it had clearly fallen in. The soot-blackened shutters hung drunkenly in the empty windows, through which he could see nothing but sky. Weeds sprouted from the gravel drive, and the lawns were hay fields once more.

  Dread clutched at John’s heart. What could have happened here? What terrible disaster? Had the fire, which had clearly destroyed the house, carried Kit away too? Could she possibly still be alive? Surely no one could be living here now, in all this devastation!