by Lynn Bryant
There was an element of self-interest in his decision. Among the references was a short but eloquent letter from the Earl of Chatham himself. It surprised Hugh, who despite his affected indifference to politics, knew enough to realise that Chatham was beset by political pressures and would not have thought that the Earl would have the time or inclination to bother to write a personal reference for the son of a man more closely associated with his father and brother than with himself. Hugh was not sure if his positive reaction was to the subject or the writer of the letter, but it had tipped the balance in Durrell’s favour. He knew how patronage worked and it would not hurt him to give a chance to a young man about whom the Earl appeared to genuinely care.
After six months Hugh was not sure if he regretted his decision or not. There was no question that Durrell was a competent first lieutenant. He obeyed every order readily, had a very good understanding of all aspects of the operation of the ship and did not seem afraid to make decisions for himself, all of which were qualities that Hugh liked in an officer.
Personally, however, he found Durrell impossible. He was a young man very much on his dignity who disliked any deviation from navy regulations and had a tendency to quote the rule book if he disagreed with anything Hugh requested that was even remotely unusual. He also had an infuriating habit of referring back to and sometimes quoting his previous captains as if their pronouncements were the word of God. He was also overly verbose and at times, Hugh wanted to hold a pistol to his head in order to get him to speed up a sentence.
Hugh was trying to restrain himself because he knew that his own bad temper was not all Durrell’s fault. Since returning to duty after his leave, he had found that his mood was uneven and his temper, usually very well under control, tended to explode at the least inconvenience. It was unlike him and he knew that the officers and men who had served with him before were surprised and puzzled by his irritability. Hugh was trying to bring it under control and regain his usual good spirits but it was proving much harder than he had expected.
He found himself thinking about Roseen Crellin on a daily basis. When he had left he had been angry; so furious that all his thoughts were bitter. He hoped with a passion that she would be miserable with her young redcoat and indulged in unworthy imaginings of returning to the island some years down the line with a pretty young wife on his arm to find that Mrs Barton was aged and careworn and deserted by her fickle husband.
The anger did not last and with it died his stupid fantasy. He did not want Roseen to be unhappy; it was bad enough that he was so himself. Through weeks of frustrating negotiation with carpenters and chandlers and sailmakers he thought of his time on Mann and wondered with bitter regret how he could have so badly misunderstood her feelings.
Hugh had not been looking for a love match when he began his courtship of Josiah Crellin’s adorably awkward daughter but looking back he realised that she had quickly come to mean more to him than a sensible marriage with the daughter of his business partner. Her quick wit, ready laughter and lively manner had completely charmed him and her distinctive beauty had captivated him. He had fallen in love, he supposed, with a girl he had not known well enough and it served him right at his age that she had made a fool of him. He tried hard to wish her well and tried even harder to put her from his mind.
He had not asked Isaac or any of his other Manx correspondents for news of her or her wedding and nobody had mentioned it. There had been one or two business matters with regard to his investment in Crellin’s shipping company but he had dealt with them through either Moore or his advocate and the letter on his desk, still unopened, was the first he had received directly from Crellin.
Dragging his mind away from its probable contents, Hugh got up and walked through into his dining cabin to the sideboard. It was new and he was particularly pleased with it; an attractive piece with space for wine bottles and decanters, glasses and crockery all neatly partitioned to avoid them being thrown around and broken during rough seas. He had seen something similar aboard the Victory several years earlier and had been determined to have one for his own dining cabin. He poured two glasses of wine and turned back with a smile to Durrell.
“Before you run off with a long list of things I need done now, Mr Durrell, why don’t we drink to our first campaign together?”
Durrell came forward, narrowly avoiding hitting his head on the door lintel. “Yes, sir. Thank you.”
Hugh raised his glass. “To Copenhagen and our first voyage with the Iris,” he said, and Durrell drank solemnly.
“Do you know much about what’s been going on?” Hugh asked, motioning his first lieutenant to a chair at the big dining table. “With Denmark?”
Durrell eyed him cautiously. “My understanding,” he began, with the air of a man beginning a speech before Parliament, “is that there is anxiety about the French obtaining access to the Danish fleet. It is moderately obvious to anybody with the most rudimentary understanding…”
“Mr Durrell, stop talking and drink some more wine. If it’s obvious to you, it’s obvious to me, I don’t need it explained. It’s possible that this is all smoke and that we’ll do nothing more than sail to Copenhagen, sit around while the diplomats negotiate and then sail away again. But it’ll be good to do something. About a week in good conditions I’d say. The only thing that bothers me about this, is that it’s going to be a joint operation with the army. You taken part in one of those before?”
“Only on a troop ship, sir.”
“I don’t mind that so much. You get them there, kick them off and wave goodbye with the echoing sounds of the officers howling about the condition of their horses ringing in your ears. Actually working with the bastards is a lot harder; a lot of the officers are bloody useless and even those who are any good don’t like working with us so there’s always politics involved. One of the things you’ll learn about me is that I don’t enjoy politics so my aim is always to stay out of it and take my orders. While you’re my first lieutenant I’ll expect you to do the same, are we clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And if we have to go ashore, don’t go drinking with the army officers; they can’t hold their drink and they get belligerent. Stick with our lads.”
He saw Durrell stiffen. “Sir. If you are under the impression that I would allow myself to become so inebriated while on duty that I could be provoked into…”
“No, it’s all right,” Hugh said hastily. “All I need to hear is ‘yes, sir’.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good man. Will you let them know I’ll need the boat, I’ve been invited to dinner on the Prince of Wales with the Admiral and his captains for a briefing.”
“Yes, sir.”
Hugh surveyed his first lieutenant thoughtfully. “You got a decent uniform?” he asked. “I am invited to bring my first lieutenant with me.”
He saw the younger man’s eyes light up and remembered that he had once felt that same sense of excitement at being included, for the first time, in such a meeting. It made him feel slightly kinder towards Durrell.
“Go and get changed and hand over to Mr Davies,” he said. “Have you met Admiral Gambier?”
“I don’t think so, sir.”
“He is very religious. Evangelical, which means he doesn’t allow swearing of any kind and fines his officers if they do. That shouldn’t be a problem for you, you’ve the cleanest mouth on the ship as far as I can tell. He’s pompous and he likes the sound of his own voice. I know you have the same problem; try to keep it shut, you’re very junior here. One of these days you’ll have a say but not today. None of us get much of a say here, we’re just hearing our orders. The Admiral’s flagship will be captained by Captain Sir Home Popham whom I have met several times. He smiles a lot, which I always find worrying. Go on, get yourself ready. And send Brian in to me, will you? Let’s see if he can shave me without cutting my throat.”
Chapter Eight
Old Mrs Crellin died quietly in her bed half way t
hrough July, and Roseen, who had shared the nursing with her aunt, found herself tired and out of sorts. Roseen had been fond of the old lady although for at least a year she had barely recognised members of her family and her death came as something of a relief. Roseen was surprised to find herself more upset than she had expected. She supposed that although it was exhausting, taking care of her grandmother had occupied a good deal of her time and she felt at a loss.
Mourning was not particularly strict in Manx society although good taste suggested at least a year for a husband or a wife. There was a solemn discussion between Mrs Faragher and Mr Crellin about the wearing of sober colours and black gloves and about what kind of parties it might be appropriate to attend and Roseen sat in the window seat with her embroidery and listened with half an ear.
“No dancing, I think, at least for three months,” Mrs Faragher said. “And I don’t know that a public ball would be appropriate. But a private party, such as the Quayles are holding cannot be cause for censure. And it is not wise to retire from society entirely, you know, in the circumstances.”
Roseen set her work aside. “If you mean Mr Gelling, dear Aunt, do not hesitate to name him. You are not going to offend me, I’m not going to marry the man. Why do we not miss the Quayles’ reception? Or you go and I shall be indisposed. Perhaps that will give Mr Gelling the opportunity to find another bride.”
“That’s enough, you’re going!” her father growled. “I’ve told you I won’t force you, but you might change your mind. And he’s awfully keen, lass, I’ve never seen him put this much work in for a woman.”
“Sad that it is wasted,” Roseen said. “Very well. At least I shall not have to dance with him, I dislike being that close.”
Her father ignored what was clearly deliberate provocation and Roseen set out for the Quayles’ house on the edge of Castletown with gloomy resignation. She could not remember the last time she had enjoyed a party but she suppose it had been the last time she attended one with Hugh Kelly.
It was an unusually fine evening and warm in the reception rooms, so the long doors onto the terrace had been opened and people strolled outside looking over the lawn which ran down to a bubbling stream at the bottom. Roseen remained beside her aunt. She no longer had any reason to wander off and having no friends of her own to be with, she was obliged to make do with the collection of older ladies whose chief concern tended to be gossip and sly criticism of the other female guests.
Bored and restless, it was almost a relief to see the familiar stocky figure of Orry Gelling approaching. He bowed and exchanged pleasantries with her aunt and then looked at Roseen.
“Miss Crellin, if your aunt permits, may I escort you down to the fountain? It is much cooler there and several of the guests have gone down; Mrs Quayle is having her servants bring down some lemonade.”
Mrs Faragher beamed. “Go, go, my dear. You should not be here with a pack of fussy old women. I know Mr Gelling will take good care of you.”
Roseen obeyed with some reluctance. There were steps down from the terrace and a long curved path down to the ornamental fountain, but she could see no sign of any other guests gathered there or the promised lemonade. It was cooler with a fresh breeze from the stream and Roseen breathed deeply and then turned to her escort.
“Mr Gelling, have you brought me down here on false pretences? Because if you have, we need to go back, this is out of sight of the house and my reputation is not robust enough for that, I’m afraid.”
“I thought you might like a walk in the fresh air, Miss Crellin. You’re not a girl for stuffy rooms, and that caterwauling they’re calling an orchestra is giving me a headache.”
Despite herself Roseen grinned. “They aren’t very good,” she admitted. “And it is pleasant. But we do need to go back, I’m afraid.”
“Aye, in a while. But I’ve something to say to you first.”
Roseen took a deep breath. “Please don’t, sir, it would be awkward for both of us. I am well aware that you know my mind.”
He was standing in front of her, his eyes moving over her in the way she remembered when he had first announced his intention of marrying her. He made no attempt to move out of her way, so Roseen stepped to one side to walk around him and Gelling did the same, blocking her way. She was not frightened but she was angry.
“Let me pass, Mr Gelling, I wish to go back to my aunt.”
“Aye, I’ll do that in a minute. But since I’ve got you alone, and it’s taken me six bloody months to do it, I’ll say my piece and you’ll listen to it.”
“Sir, I beg you will not insist, this is not gentlemanly conduct.”
He gave a short bark of a laugh. “I’d give a lot to know how much of a gentleman that sprig in a red coat was with you. To say nothing of Kelly – now he wasn’t a greenhorn and he had the look of a man more than capable of taking what he wanted from a girl. I’ve been patient, which isn’t like me, and I’ve come a courting. I’ve watched you and I’ve seen enough. You’re a good strong woman and I think you’ll give me sons, which is what I need. You’re good with the girls, and if you’re not one for running a house, it’s all right, I can pay for a housekeeper. Let’s settle it now.”
Roseen repressed a shudder. “No,” she said. “Sir, I’m sorry. I’ve tried to be as clear as I can and remain civil. But I’m not ready for marriage, and even if I were, I don’t think we’d suit.”
Her words did not appear to discompose him at all. He was too close to her and she could smell him, faintly sour and unwashed under his expensive broadcloth and linen. He grinned.
“Aye, your father told me he didn’t think I could bring you round. But there’s nobody else asking for you and you’re old enough to be wed now. Women are capricious and I don’t know if it’s the red coat or the blue you’re pining after but they’ve both gone and you’re left with me. I’ll be generous with you – you’re a pretty little thing and I can afford to make you the envy of every woman on this island with fine clothes and jewels, a carriage of your own...”
“I don’t want those things,” Roseen said desperately. “Sir, you need to listen to me, because I will not change my mind. I’ve said no. Please do not ask me again.”
“Oh, I’m not asking you, lass,” Gelling said. His tone was even, almost pleasant, so his sudden movement was a shock to her and suddenly his arms were about her. Roseen opened her mouth to scream and his hand covered it, silencing her. He held her against him, her back to him, easily pinning her arms down and she heard him laugh.
“Easy, now, stop struggling, you’ll hurt yourself. And stop squawking, nobody’s coming, they’ll never hear you over that racket. Be calm. No need to be frightened.”
He was stroking her steadily, in a motion that a man might use to a nervous horse, his hand moving over her breasts under the thin muslin. Roseen was suddenly terrified, feeling sick at his hands on her.
“Did he do this – Kelly? Or the other lad?”
Roseen shook her head. She was frozen with fear, unable to move. Gelling gave a confident laugh. “So I’ll be your first then, same as with my other wives. Good, I like that. Right, let’s get this done, and then we’ll go and tell your father we can set a date. The sooner the better, both my wives got pregnant on our wedding night or close to. Let’s see if I can put a son in you here and now, Roseen. It’ll hurt a bit the first time, but it gets easier. Later on, when we’ve got time, I’ll teach you what I like you to do and say and how to please me. I’ve got my ways, but you’re a clever little thing, you’ll soon learn.”
He was speaking soothingly, his free hand unbuttoning her gown, pushing it from her shoulders. Roseen willed herself to move, to do something to stop him, but terror seemed to have left her immobile. She felt cool air on her body and then to her horror, his mouth on her neck and shoulder, his teeth sharp and painful. He laughed again.
“You’re going to cooperate, aren’t you?” he said. “Who’d have thought it? Well that’s good, means we can make it a bit more i
nteresting. I’m going to take my hand off your mouth. Don’t scream. I’m not going to hurt you, I’m just going to make sure of you and then we’ll be married. Don’t fear I’ll land you with a brat and run off, I’m an honourable man.”
His hand moved and he steered her forward to the stone balustrade around the edge of the fountain, still oddly gentle but very firm, positioning her forward and hoisting up her skirts. Roseen felt strangely numb, as though it was happening to somebody else. He was tugging at her drawers
“It’ll hurt a bit, but not for long.Come on, get your legs apart for me. And say my name. It’s Mr Gelling in company but Orry in the bedroom, lass, you’ll learn that. Say it, there’s a good girl.” In fact, since you seem willing, I’ll take a kiss or two first.”
He turned her face round to him, an awkward angle, and his mouth found hers, wet and eager, pushing his tongue into her mouth while his hand kneaded her breast. The feeling sickened Roseen and she almost gagged. He lifted his head, grinning.
“Don’t tell me you’ve not been kissed, Miss Crellin, I know you have and in front of half the bloody garrison! Let’s do that again properly, you’re not that innocent. Kelly was slower than I thought with you, but I’m damned sure he got you into a dark corner whenever he could, I used to see him looking at you and...”
Suddenly Roseen realised she could move. Her limbs were free of whatever had frozen them and the lassitude of fear was replaced by blind rage as she had never felt it before. Lifting her arm she dug her long sharp nails into the florid face close to hers and raked them down as hard as she could.
She had drawn blood and she knew it. Gelling swore and let her go, clamping his hand to his face and Roseen twisted away from him and sped across the stone square to the balustrade on the other side, pulling her gown up around her.