by Lynn Bryant
“Hugh.”
“Yes, love.”
“I need to get up. I need to…”
Roseen could feel her face burning. Hugh smiled, suddenly understanding.
“All right, lass. Let me get my robe for you or you’ll freeze.”
He helped her to sit on the edge of the bunk and wrapped the robe around her then to her surprise, lifted her into his arms and carried her to the small door in the corner of the cabin.
“Can you stand?”
“Yes, I’ll be all right.”
She was shivering when she emerged and he picked her up again and carried her back to the bunk, settling her warmly. Roseen was smiling through tears.
“You’re very good at this,” she whispered.
“Not much space for modesty aboard a warship, lass.”
There was a knock on the door and he went to admit Brian with his breakfast tray. Hugh brought the tray through to the cabin to sit beside her again, balancing his tankard on the wash stand.
“Want some?”
Roseen laughed at the sheer normality of the question. “I can’t remember the last time I ate.”
Hugh broke off a small piece of bread and leaned forward to feed it to her. She ate it, suddenly very conscious of the intimacy of their situation. They had sat together eating so many times the previous year and she had never thought she would do so again. Hugh met her eyes and his were smiling.
“You need feeding up, Miss Crellin. Let me help you up.”
He set the tray down and helped her into a sitting position then handed her a fork and set the tray on the bunk between them. At first Roseen picked at the food but then suddenly she was famished and between them the plate was cleared. She was licking bacon from her fingers and Hugh was laughing, passing her a cloth when Brian reappeared.
“Sir. Mr Durrell sends his compliments; the boat is ready when you are.”
“Thank you, Brian, I’ll be there shortly. Take this will you? And while I’m away, make sure Miss Crellin gets fed regularly. She’s obviously on the mend she just ate most of my breakfast.”
“I will, sir, word of honour.”
When he had gone, Hugh got up. “I’m going next door to wash and change, I can’t visit the flagship in yesterday’s linen,” he said. “Get some sleep, lass.”
“I am so tired.”
“You almost died, Roseen, it’s going to take some time.”
Roseen allowed him to help her lie down and snuggled into the warmth of the bunk. “A proper bed,” she said drowsily. “But where are you going to sleep?”
“They’ll sling a hammock in the day cabin for now. I’m not leaving you alone all night, you might need something.”
Roseen looked up into the smoky grey eyes. “I don’t deserve that you’re being this nice to me, Captain.”
“What happened to Hugh, lass?”
Roseen felt herself redden. “I thought I’d forfeited that right,” she said quietly.
“That’s a conversation for another time, Roseen. But it’s one I intend to have. I’ve got the oddest feeling I’ve got something wrong somewhere.”
“You did,” Roseen said. “But not as badly as I did. I just wish I could have told you before you left.”
She was so tired that speaking was an effort and he seemed to sense it. He came forward and took her hand.
“Told me what, Roseen?”
“That I loved you. And that I always will. I’m so sorry, Hugh.”
“Roseen - are you married?”
“No. Oh no, I couldn’t have, you must know that.”
She saw the smile come into his eyes. “I have no idea what’s going on here, lass and I don’t care. You’ve just told me everything I need to know. Go to sleep, I’ll be back later.”
She could hear him moving about in the day cabin. She was almost asleep when the door opened again. “I’m off, Roseen. I’ll see you later.”
She murmured a response and then was aware of him bending over her. To her astonishment she felt his mouth brush hers, very gently. “I love you too,” he said, and was gone before her exhausted brain could even begin to assimilate the words.
Chapter Fifteen
Sir Arthur Wellesley was furious.
Paul finally managed to find him alone in his sitting room the following day, writing a letter to London. He had been pleasant on Paul’s arrival but his face had steadily darkened as Paul told his story. He said very little apart from to bark a question when a point was not clear. Paul told the story in full. There was no point in holding back; at some point the entire tale would come out. Paul suspected that by now the bosun from the Flight would be telling it to Admiral Gambier and he was fairly sure that the man would be telling a version that made him appear less culpable.
Wellesley had not asked him to sit down and Paul stood to attention, fixing his eyes on a spot on the wall as Wellesley allowed the silence to lengthen when the story was told. Eventually his chief spoke, in tones of pure ice.
“Am I expected to get you out of this particular mess, Major van Daan?”
Paul shifted his gaze to Wellesley’s face. “No, sir,” he said. “I don’t expect you to do anything at all. You needed to know, because the bosun from the Flight is going to tell the Admiral what happened and it is going to come back to you. I am sorry.”
“Sorry? Do you think that is enough? You effected an armed boarding of a Royal Navy ship, locked up the crew, threatened the captain of the Iris when he very properly came to take over and asked you to leave and kidnapped a group of men who had been legally pressed into naval service without making any attempt to speak to a senior officer in either service about…”
“I did make an attempt to speak to the Admiral, sir. I spoke to Captain Popham.”
“Don’t interrupt me!” Wellesley snapped, furiously. “You deserve to be court martialled and cashiered for this, you insubordinate young imbecile! The situation here is difficult enough; we’re invading and threatening a neutral country, nobody knows who is in command or whether the army or the navy should be taking the lead, orders from London are slower than usual and nobody is telling me anything at all or listening to anything I have to say! Admiral Gambier has every right to be furious about this and every right to demand your stupid young head on a plate and if he writes to Horse Guards to that effect or even complains to Lord Cathcart, there isn’t a damned thing I can do about it. I am not in command here and I don’t have that much influence.”
Paul met his gaze. “I know. And I know you don’t want to hear it, sir, but I am genuinely sorry. I lost my temper.”
“When you were a twenty-one year old junior officer, Major, your outbreaks were mildly amusing, mostly because they caused no real damage. At your age and with your rank they are no longer funny.”
Paul could think of nothing to say. He suspected that he had genuinely gone too far this time. His friends had told him often enough that he could not continue to rely on Wellesley’s indulgence indefinitely. On this occasion he knew that his chief’s fury was exacerbated by his own frustration at being sidelined from the centre of events. Wellesley was ambitious and had pushed for this appointment, wanting to get away from his administrative and political duties in Ireland and back into combat where he believed he was meant to be.
Paul agreed with him. He had served under a variety of officers in both his early navy career and since joining the army and he had never come across any man whom he respected as he did the austere Anglo-Irish general. He had caught Wellesley’s eye in India when he was a young lieutenant and they had remained in contact since then, corresponding regularly. He knew that despite the twelve year age gap, Wellesley liked him and he returned his chief’s regard. They were friends, as far as it was possible to be friends with the distant, unemotional Wellesley and Paul tried hard not to trade on the fact.
He had not consciously assumed that Wellesley would extract him from his current situation, but he realised that it had not occurred to him that the genera
l might not be able to. In India and in Ireland, Wellesley had been in command. He was subordinate here to Lord Cathcart and the political situation made it difficult for him to demand immunity for a young officer’s rash disregard for the dignity of the navy.
“Nothing to say, Major?” Wellesley said finally.
Paul shook his head. “Not really, sir. I could make a very impassioned speech about the state of those men aboard that ship. I could point out that I wouldn’t have needed to get involved at all if they’d listened to me when I went to the flagship to tell them what was going on. I could work myself into a temper all over again about a system that pays bonuses for legalised kidnapping, but we all know that I’ve a personal axe to grind on that particular subject; the navy stole two and a half years of my life when I was a boy and you don’t want me to go into detail about what some of that was like, trust me. But none of that matters, because you’re completely right. I’m old enough and intelligent enough to weigh up the consequences of my actions and I didn’t. I went blundering in and I didn’t give a thought or a single damn about how I was going to get out of it. And it isn’t fair to expect you to put your neck on the block because I need to learn self-control. I am sorry. Let it take its course.”
There was heavy silence in the room. Outside it had begun to rain and Paul could hear the raindrops against the shutters, the wind whistling through gaps in the wood. He thought inconsequentially that it was typical of Wellesley to find himself in a billet that would be freezing cold at night and not bother to change it. His chief seemed to have no interest in personal comfort when he was on campaign although he had a genuine interest in the welfare of his men. It was something Wellesley’s officers found hard to understand about him.
Abruptly, Wellesley said:
“I received this just before you arrived. Information has come through, it appears the Danes have finally managed to raise some troops and they are heading this way. I am riding over to Hellerup for a meeting with Lord Cathcart and Admiral Gambier. I think you had better come with me.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You will apologise, sincerely and publicly to the Admiral, to Lord Cathcart and to Captain Popham along with anybody else you might have offended during this appalling episode. I will ask for leniency on the grounds of your previous good service. I will point out that your judgement was clouded by your own youthful experience in the navy and I will remind them - since it is good for them - that in your case they effectively kidnapped a fourteen year old boy who was the son of a gentleman, failed to listen to his attempts to tell them who he was, and forced him to serve for more than two years. I will also remind them that you did so with courage and distinction under the late Admiral Nelson. I will point out that the Royal Navy owes you a debt and I will call it in.”
“You don’t need to do that, sir.”
“Yes, I do, you stiff-necked young fool, because if I don’t, your extremely promising career is going to be over, and while I am aware you can more than afford to take the loss if you are cashiered, I am also aware that you have no wish to leave the army in disgrace; you are a career officer and if you can manage to learn some self-control you should have a brilliant future ahead of you. So you will shut up, look penitent and say whatever you need to say to keep your commission. And if you fail to follow those orders, Major, I am going to personally shoot you! Now get out of here while I finish this letter. We will leave in half an hour.”
“Yes, sir.” Paul saluted and left the room. He found Jenson waiting for him in the dark panelled hallway of the house and the expression on his young orderly’s face informed him that Jenson’s expertise as an eavesdropper had not failed him. Paul did not speak, jerked his head and led the way outside. The rain was torrential and Paul moved quickly to the stables with Jenson limping behind him. Inside it was warm and dry and Paul made his way to the stall where Luna grazed peacefully on hay.
Paul moved to the horse and ran his hand down her smooth neck. Luna whickered softly and nuzzled Paul’s shoulder and Paul took a nut from his pocket and fed the horse, leaning his cheek against Luna’s neck. He found it comforting. Jenson still had not spoken. After a few minutes Paul looked over at his orderly.
“Aren’t you going to ask, Jenson?”
“I don’t need to, sir,” Jenson said. “The way he was yelling, they probably heard him in London.”
“I hope not. If they kick me out, Freddie, are you coming with me? You don’t have to. Whoever gets the battalion instead of me will need an orderly and you’re the best. I’m really hoping they give it to Captain Wheeler, he’s bloody earned it. I wonder if he’d accept a loan from me for the purchase?”
“If you go, sir, I’m coming with you. But you won’t go.”
“I think I might, this time. Wellesley’s right. He’ll do his best for me, he always does. But this time it’s not up to him. I don’t have anybody there with any influence who gives a damn and the navy would just love to have an excuse to get one over on the army.”
“Can’t say I blame them, sir. Don’t we do the same if we get a chance?”
Paul forced a smile. He was trying not to let Jenson see how upset he was. He had said often enough and loudly enough, when he was in the grip of rage, that he did not care if the army kicked him out. The reality of it felt very different and he realised that without this, he had no idea what he would do with his life.
Despite his complaints about the cost, he had been overjoyed at the unexpected opportunity of early promotion and delighted at the opportunity to serve under Wellesley again. Like his chief he was less than enthusiastic about the Danish campaign itself but it was an opportunity to get noticed and he was hoping that it would be followed by a posting to Europe somewhere to fight the French. He had no plans to leave the army; as Wellesley had said, it was his career.
Paul’s father had made his fortune several times over and his shipping line alone had won him the hand of a Viscount’s daughter and a place in London society which was available to few men with a background in trade. He ran his business empire with the able assistance of Paul’s elder brother Joshua. Paul had never enjoyed a good relationship with his father, although it had improved since he had joined the army. He supposed that if he had to leave and return home he could find a place in the business working alongside Joshua or he could retire to Southwinds, the family home in Leicestershire, and busy himself managing the estate. The thought of doing either appalled him. He was a soldier and the army was his home and his life. If he had truly thrown that away because he had failed to control his temper he was never going to forgive himself.
“Want me to get her saddled up for you, sir?” Jenson asked. Paul moved reluctantly.
“Yes, thanks, Freddie. No need to come with me, this weather is foul.”
“I’m coming, sir.”
“Freddie…”
“I’m coming with you.”
Paul felt a little rush of gratitude. He smiled. “Why the hell do you all put up with me, Jenson? Sometimes I am such an arsehole.”
Jenson moved to the tack room and returned with Luna’s saddle which he lifted onto the horse. “Sometimes, sir. The difference between you and most other officers is that you’re normally being an arsehole for a good reason. Go back inside and get yourself some ale and something to eat, you’ve not eaten today and you really are a pain if you’re not fed.”
Paul obeyed finding his way to the kitchen. He admitted, finishing the plate of fish stew, that Jenson had been right. The food did make him feel better. After a moment’s thought he summoned the servant again and several minutes later was knocking on Wellesley’s door.
“Enter.”
Paul pushed the door open and motioned the servant inside. The boy set the tray down on a table and Paul handed him a coin and waved him out. Wellesley was just sealing his letter. He regarded the steaming bowl of food in some surprise and then looked up at Paul.
“What is this?” he asked, and his tone was so astonished, that sudde
nly Paul’s battered sense of humour revived and he laughed.
“It’s food, sir. I know that generally you’re not that interested in it, but it’s how the rest of us keep going. Fish, I’m afraid - they don’t seem to eat anything else here - but it is good. It’s bloody freezing out there and it’s still raining. I thought it might do you some good.”
He drew out a chair. After a long moment, Wellesley set down his letter, rose and moved to the table. He sat down and reached for the mug of ale. Taking a sip he pulled a face and set it down.
“I am not drinking that,” he said. “There’s wine on the side table. Pour me one. And yourself, unless you prefer that unspeakable brew.”
Paul went to pour two glasses. “It’s clear you’ve not tasted army grog, sir, or you wouldn’t be quite so nice in your notions,” he said, bringing one to Wellesley. “Jenson is saddling the horses.”
“Good God, of course I have not! Why would I? Thank you. Do I not have an orderly of my own?”
“You do, but he’s probably in hiding, given the tone of your voice earlier.”
“You deserved it.”
“I did. Sir - I’ll do as you say and grovel as far as I’m able. If it doesn’t work, I’ll resign my commission. No need for the army to suffer the embarrassment of a court martial. I appreciate what you’re trying to do but I don’t want you to put yourself in a difficult position over this, it’s my mess.”
Wellesley began to eat. “Did you actually hit anybody?”
“I don’t think so,” Paul said, considering.
“But you did threaten to shoot Captain Kelly.”
“I did. But I think Captain Kelly understands, sir. Once he’d seen what had happened he was as angry as I was.”
Wellesley shook his head. “He outranks you by a good deal, Major.”
“I know he does, sir, I was in the navy. It isn’t about rank. I was just furious. Those poor men.”
“He’ll want you court martialled, Major. I certainly would.”
Paul considered. “Perhaps he will, sir. I don’t know. But not every man in the navy is quite that high in the instep and Hugh Kelly is Manx.”