Take, Burn or Destroy, page 33
It took but half an hour to drive into the village, the morning as clear and still as a day of worship. A mourning dove lamented deep within the wood, and a cockerel offered up a heartfelt reply. Henrietta kneaded the hem of her shawl, her fingers unable to remain still.
Elizabeth felt her heart go out to her cousin, who had been through all of the most intense experiences a woman might imagine short of childbirth. Betrayal, death of her intended, a proposal of marriage, and then, miraculously, the return of the man she had hoped to marry—returned and redeemed, as his betrayal had been proved false. And now she must make a choice between two men—two different futures.
“Lizzie . . . ?” Henrietta asked softly. “Is it worth it? All of the time apart? All of the worry—I know there is a great deal of anxiety on your part.”
“I could never have married anyone but Robert Hertle. When one has no choice, one accepts the heartache. It is that simple.” She gazed at her poor cousin, who appeared ill with indecision. “And what is it you intend to say to Charles Hayden, pray?”
For a moment Henrietta focused her gaze out of the window, and then, without looking at her cousin, said, “I will attempt to tell him that I have chosen another. And if I can form those words, if I can say them aloud, then I will know. If I cannot, then I shall become Mrs Charles Hayden . . . assuming Charles will have me. He must hate me for having so little faith in him.”
“He does not hate you, my dear. On the contrary, I believe he is as attached to you as ever. Do not spend the smallest amount of your energies on that matter.”
The carriage drew up before the inn, and Henrietta appeared so miserable and weakened by lack of rest that her cousin thought her nerve might fail and she might order the driver on, but instead she gave Elizabeth’s hand a squeeze and with only the slightest hesitation allowed herself to be handed down from the carriage, Elizabeth right behind.
Immediately, upon their enquiry, they learned that Captain Hayden had walked out not ten minutes before and was seen proceeding along the north road. Thinking they would catch him up, the two women hurried off, arm in arm.
The north road followed along the edge of a brook, winding under very ancient trees, the leaves of which parsed the sunlight into a jumble of flickering shards. They had no time to stop and marvel at the scene and only rushed along. Twenty minutes on, they were chastising themselves for not employing the carriage, for it seemed that Charles Hayden had outpaced them when Elizabeth caught sight of white breeches climbing up a switchback path and then bits of a blue coat like a jay flitting from tree to tree, its wing patch catching the sun.
They found the entrance to the path but a few paces distant and set off after Charles, neither calling out for some reason they could not explain. The way was not too steep, and in a quarter of an hour they emerged from the trees onto a grassy hilltop, where Charles Hayden stood, hands behind his back, gazing at the scene spread out below.
“Captain Hayden . . . ?” Henrietta attempted to call, but barely a whisper emerged. Her cousin was forced to come to her aid.
“Charles . . . ?” she called, and Hayden turned, clearly surprised to see them.
Lizzie gave her cousin’s hand one last squeeze and let her proceed, retreating a few paces herself.
Hayden could not have been more surprised if he had found a pair of wood nymphs calling his name. But there were Mrs Hertle and Miss Henrietta, utterly unlooked for. Mrs Hertle squeezed her cousin’s hand, then pressed her gently forward, retreating two dozen steps as soon as she had done so.
Henrietta walked, rather lifelessly, to him, and stopped two paces off, gazing at him with eyes so darkly surrounded that she appeared fevered and ill.
“Henrietta, you do not look well.”
“I am not well, but neither am I ill. Sick at heart . . . that is what I am. And you, Charles. What has been done to you?”
“A shipwreck. I shall be myself in a fortnight. No need for concern.”
“How many hundreds of men were lost? I thank God you were not among them.”
“I had much to return to . . . or so I believed. It was my intention to ask for your hand upon landing in England, and I thought I had reason to believe you might favour me with your consent. Instead, I find you are engaged to another . . . Is my presence here no longer wanted?” Hayden had not meant his words to sound so formal, but given the number of times he had stood before another and not heard the words he hoped for, he found now that he made an effort to escape with at least his dignity intact.
Henrietta looked down, her eyes closing, hiding away that little window into her heart. “It is not that. I have wronged you, I know. I should never have doubted you or believed the stories of these French women—”
“I am not a monument to virtue,” Hayden interrupted. “You cannot be blamed . . . given the circumstances.”
“You are being very kind . . .” She raised her head and met Hayden’s gaze, her lip trembling just perceptibly. “I have learned something of myself by the news of your death—something I have only just realised. I could not bear to hear it twice. I am not made of such stern stuff that I can live my life in constant fear of you dying or being maimed or injured in some unspeakable manner. Lizzie told me that every time Robert goes to sea she sends her heart to war. My heart is not so made. I am not courageous . . . I have come to realise. I lost you once, Charles, and it was more than I could bear. I cannot suffer it again. I am so sorry.”
And with that she turned quickly and hurried back the way she had come. Elizabeth came forward a few paces to meet her and then took her off down the path into the trees, looking back only once, her face filled with distress.
Hayden watched her silent retreat, knowing that there was no reasoning with another’s heart. There was no argument to be made, no case to be presented that could make a person feel things they did not feel. Either she loved him enough to marry him or she did not—he could not change that with a fine speech. Feeling suddenly unsteady, Hayden sat down upon the grass, his gaze fixed on the path where the two women had gone.
“Come back,” he whispered. “Come back.”
And so he waited a protracted hour, and when no one returned he rose and walked slowly to his inn, feeling all the while that his feet did not quite weigh properly upon the ground, as though gravity had all but set him free and he might float off into the sky to be carried by the winds, here and there, through the archipelago of endlessly drifting clouds.
Nineteen
The seated officers of the court-martial, all of them plucked from high on the captains’ list, regarded Hayden and his gathered crew with something less than ideal detachment. Hayden awaited their judgement with a peculiar sense of inevitable resignation. Having so recently been found wanting by the woman he hoped to marry, he did not expect the captains of the court-martial to be more generous. In truth, despite being a man who believed in reason, he could not escape the feeling that unseen forces conspired to undo him. Perhaps he had been prideful or had committed some other mortal sin—a memory of Madame Adair passed through his consciousness. Certainly, he had spent the lives of others in this war against the French—though never at the cost of his own safety. Higher powers might not care that he put himself in harm’s way as often as he did his own men. Higher powers had their own laws, and Hayden was not certain men comprehended them clearly.
Hayden had seen men beset by ill luck before. It was not even terribly uncommon. He had observed the faces of these poor souls, bewildered, injured, not knowing what to do to stem the onrush of misfortune. Wondering what they had done to be so mistreated in this life. And now it was his turn. He had lost his ship—almost lost his life—an act of compassion had led to his near financial ruin and the eventual loss of the woman he adored. And now he stood before the panel of captains to be judged for the loss of HMS Themis. Under normal circumstances, this would be hardly more than a formality—he had lost his ship to superior forces after making every conceivable effort to preserve ship and crew. It had merely been bad luck . . . again. Given the direction his life had been progressing, he expected the panel of captains had been chosen by whoever his enemies were within the Admiralty, turning a mere formality into the ruin of his career.
And so he waited, calmly expecting the destruction of the last of his hopes to be announced. Where he would go after his military career had been blasted he did not know. He was accomplished in this single occupation and nothing more.
The presiding rear-admiral, Sir John Harland, settled spectacles upon his nose, raised a sheaf of papers to the light that streamed in the gallery windows behind, and cleared his throat.
“It is the opinion of this court,” he began in a soft Irish voice, a voice that did not seem representative of higher powers, “that Captain Charles Saunders Hayden and his officers and crew, in the loss of their ship, the thirty-two-gun frigate HMS Themis, conducted themselves at all times with enterprise and courage. The loss of the ship to superior French forces encountered in dense fog cannot in any way be attributed to lack of competence on the part of said captain and crew. The subsequent recognition by the French government of the actions of these men aboard the wrecked French ship of war, Les Droits de l’Homme, speaks very highly of their courage and coolness in the most trying circumstances. We therefore find Captain Hayden, his officers, and his crew innocent of any dereliction of duty in the loss of the frigate Themis.” He lowered the papers and smiled. “You are all free to go.”
Despite the fact that everyone believed it would be highly unlikely for them to be held responsible for the Themis’ loss, there was still a great and palpable dissipation of tension and anxiety at the admiral’s pronouncement. The Themis’ officers and young gentlemen all looked one to the other, their carriages relaxing in ways that were clearly noticeable, and not least among them in feeling this assuagement was their young captain.
The men all began to file out of the great cabin, a low murmuring heard among them, largely words of thanks. As Hayden reached the door, a lieutenant standing there stepped forward.
“Captain Hayden?” the young officer asked. “The admiral desires you attend him, if you please, sir.”
“Certainly.”
Hayden followed the admiral’s messenger as he stepped into the human tide ebbing from the great cabin. Although the tide went to the upper deck and the spring sunlight, Hayden was ushered into the empty cabin of the captain and offered a chair. It was forty minutes before the admiral finished taking his leave of the captains of the panel and seeing to whatever legal duties the proceedings immediately demanded. Hayden rose promptly to his feet as Admiral Harland entered.
“Hayden,” the admiral began, “thank you for waiting.”
“My pleasure, sir.”
Harland bore in his hand a package tied with blue ribbon, and this the admiral proffered to Hayden. “From the First Secretary. I suggest you assure yourself the seal has not been broken, then read the orders immediately, as I was instructed to deliver this as soon as practicable upon the completion of the court-martial.”
Hayden did as instructed, the admiral wandering off a few paces and apparently taking in the view from the gallery. It occurred to Hayden that at least someone within the Admiralty had faith in the outcome—a striking contrast to his thoughts of only a few moments before. The package bore the seal of the Admiralty, unbroken, as Hayden assumed it would be. Opening the package, he found, to his very great surprise, a second letter within, sealed and addressed to Admiral Lord Howe.
Captain Hayden, the orders began:
You are hereby instructed to proceed aboard the sixty-four-gun ship Raisonnable lying at Spithead and take command of said vessel. As Raisonnable has been recently refloated from dry dock and her refitting only lately completed, you are to take any or all officers you see fit from the crew of His Majesty’s Frigate Themis to fill such positions as required aboard Raisonnable. You are to put to sea at first opportunity of wind and weather and proceed with all haste off Ushant bearing dispatches of great import for Admiral Lord Howe, who is cruising in this vicinity in command of the Channel Fleet. As it is possible Admiral Lord Howe might have departed this station, you are to gather any intelligence from passing vessels as might lead you to discover the admiral and his fleet at sea. As the delivery of the dispatches entrusted to your care is of the most urgent importance to the success of the present war you are instructed to press this matter forward with all energies until such time as you have succeeded or learned that Lord Howe has returned to England. Once you have fallen in with Lord Howe you are to consider yourself under his orders until he shall release you.
As a valuable convoy of French transports under escort has sailed from America for unknown French ports and as apprehending this convoy is one of the objects of Lord Howe’s cruise, any information you might acquire from ships at sea as to the position or expected arrival of this convoy should be transmitted to Lord Howe immediately upon joining his fleet.
The letter was signed by Philip Stephens, First Secretary of the Admiralty.
Hayden looked up to find Admiral Harland regarding him. “There is one other small matter, Hayden.” The admiral went to a chair that was turned away from Hayden and took up a package, wrapped in paper and tied with string.
“What is this, sir?” Hayden asked as Harland pressed it into Hayden’s hands.
The admiral shrugged. “Here is a note pinned to it; perhaps that will explain.”
Hayden opened the note quickly.
I have been informed, Hayden, that you lost your coat in the recent wreck and were forced to wear that of a French captain. That will never do. I send you coats to replace those lost.
Philip Stephens
At the admiral’s insistence, he laid the package on a table and opened it, revealing the full dress coat of a junior post captain, and, beneath that, an undress coat for the same rank.
“From Mr Stephens,” Hayden said, confused. “But it is a post captain’s coat . . .”
“May I be the first to offer compliments, Captain Hayden. I believe it is an honour richly deserved.”
“I-I have lost my ship,” Hayden said, hardly able to believe what he looked at, “and they grant me my post?”
“God and the Admiralty work in mysterious ways.” The admiral appeared to hide a smile. “Given the formality of the recently concluded proceedings, I believe you should wear the full dress.”
Feeling terribly self-conscious, as though there had been some mistake, he pulled off his threadbare frock coat and shrugged the new one onto his shoulders.
“It is a passable fit, I should say,” the admiral observed. “Nothing even a poor tailor could not put to rights. Would you care for a glass of port, Captain?”
“Thank you, sir.”
Port was poured, a toast drunk, Hayden not even tasting the liquid, his mind raced so. When the port had seared its way down to Hayden’s nether reaches, the admiral stood. “I know I should not keep you, Captain, as much as I should like to. I have put my barge at your disposal to take you wherever it is you need to go.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Good luck to you, Captain Hayden.”
Of an instant Hayden was upon the ladder, his ancient coat and undress captain’s coat poorly bundled into paper and tucked beneath an arm. He hastened up into the sunlight, where all the persons who had been in attendance at the court-martial were awaiting boats to carry them ashore, the captains of the panel taking precedence over all others.
“Mr Wickham,” Hayden said as the midshipman approached him, grinning broadly.
“Sir?”
“Gather all of our officers and warrant officers together this instant. We have been given a ship and will proceed to sea . . .” Hayden looked up at the telltale on the masthead, “this very day, if it is possible.”
One of the many reasons Hayden believed Wickham would be a sea officer of great skill one day was that he knew instinctively when questions were required and when they were not. A quick touch of the hat, he spun on the ball of his foot and was calling out the names of the Themis men as he crossed the deck. As he was collecting Hayden’s officers, the lieutenant, who had earlier led Hayden to his meeting with Harland, approached.
“Captain Hayden? I am to carry you to your ship, sir,” he informed Hayden. “My compliments on making your post, sir.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant.”
In fewer than ten minutes Hayden, his officers, warrant officers, and midshipmen were making their way across the anchorage of Spithead, all of them grinning foolishly.
“If I am informed correctly about the readiness of our new ship for sea, every man will have four hours to have their trunks collected and returned to the ship,” Hayden informed his crew. “Any servant or trunk that is not aboard at that time will be left behind. We have a fair wind to St Helens and I do not intend to waste it.” Hayden twisted around to find a flag, assuring himself that the small wind was still fair. “We will muster in my cabin as soon as we are in the Channel.”
“If you please, Captain,” Barthe said meekly. “What ship have you been given?”
“Raisonnable.”
“The sixty-four?”
“The very ship, Mr Barthe.”
“Did you not serve in her before?”
“As a lieutenant.”
Barthe shook his head, glancing at Hawthorne, as pleased as if he had been promoted himself.
“If I may, sir,” Hawthorne interrupted, “it would appear you have donned some other man’s coat by accident . . .”
“It is my coat, Mr Hawthorne, recently sent to me by a friend within the Admiralty.”
Hawthorne turned to the others in the launch and said, “Three cheers for Post Captain Hayden.”
