A Ship of War, page 30
‘Capitaine Lacrosse,’ Hayden said in French, ‘I am pleased to see you well, sir.’
‘And I you, Capitaine. So many men were lost. You must have been touched by God to have survived.’ Lacrosse smiled.
‘Do you know where we are being sent? To what prison? My men are not yet recovered enough to make a long march.’
‘You shall make the shortest march possible – a stroll, I should call it.’ He smiled. ‘Down to the quay, Capitaine Hayden, and aboard a ship.’
Hayden was confused. ‘How far do they send us, then?’
‘Not so far. You will be home tomorrow or the day next.’ He smiled again. ‘I have been in Paris working on your behalf, Capitaine Hayden. Once I had convinced my superiors that Les Droits de l’Homme had a fatal flaw – her lower gundeck was too near the water for us to open the gunports in anything but a calm – I was absolved of all blame and reinstated to my position. I then set out to convince them that without you and your crew many more lives would have been lost. And I must say they were moved to hear of the loss of your bosun caused by French sailors. It has been agreed, therefore, to return you and your men to England. It took some time to arrange this with your government but they have now agreed to allow a single transport to carry you all to Portsmouth and return here without being molested by your cruisers. It is, I believe, unprecedented and a singular honour by both nations.’
Hayden could not believe what he was hearing. ‘Do I dream, Capitaine Lacrosse. This seems … impossible.’
‘It is more than possible, my friend, it is a fait accompli. You have but to accompany me down to the quay and you will set out this day.’ He turned to another officer standing by. ‘Is everything in order?’
‘Would Capitaine Hayden object to signing these forms for my records?’
‘Would you mind, Capitaine?’ Lacrosse asked. ‘Bureaucrats, you know.’
Hayden signed everywhere he was asked, only glancing briefly at the documents, trusting that Lacrosse would not be involved in anything underhanded – he was too honourable.
And so they made their way down to the quay, a few guards in company, though they appeared not at all concerned about their charges and were quite friendly and amiable to all concerned.
‘You appear quite hale, Capitaine,’ Hayden observed. ‘Given our ordeal you have recovered rapidly.’
‘I have been blessed with a strong constitution, Capitaine Hayden – a great blessing in our profession. Ah, here,’ he said gesturing to a small gate. ‘We have but a brief stop to make here.’
They were led in past guards to a barracks.
‘I thought you might all desire a moment to bathe. Your clothes will be taken and washed, and sent with you aboard the ship. The commander of the citadel has ordered clothing for all of you.’
To bathe was a luxury Hayden had dreamt of these last days, for the bedding in the cells was lousy and they were all bitten and itching. They bathed and dressed in the clothing supplied – simple breaches, hose and a cotton shirt. Still, to be clean and dressed in fresh clothing did something for their feelings of well-being that Hayden could hardly describe. They emerged to a table set for them and were offered all that they might eat. Lacrosse joined them and was so amused by the looks upon the Englishmen’s faces that he kept laughing in spite of himself.
‘I am sorry, Capitaine, please excuse me, but if you could see the looks upon your faces … No one yet seems to believe their good fortune – though it stems from perhaps the worst fortune.’
‘We have gone from believing we would die, to being certain we would spend some months at least in prison, to being pardoned and sent home in very short order, Capitaine Lacrosse. It is a great deal to take in.’
‘Indeed it is. I myself thought I might end upon the guillotine, but it seems the man who drew the draughts of Les Droits de l’Homme had some enemies in Paris and so he was blamed and has fled the country, poor fellow. And instead of ending my days or at the very least my career, I am to be given another ship.’
‘And somehow you have even managed to have us sent home, for which I can never thank you.’
‘Capitaine Hayden, it is I who can never thank you. When my own officers refused to do their duty, to my lasting shame, your own men stepped forward and took their places. Your sailing master and midshipman piloted one boat safely ashore and I am certain that your bosun would have done the same had he been given the chance. His death will hang over me all the rest of my days.’
‘Sir, your position was made untenable by your own government and you bear none of the blame,’ Hayden said firmly.
‘You are too kind.’ He tapped his forehead. ‘Ah, I have almost forgotten to say that I lost everything in my cabin. Had you anything stored there it would be gone too. I am sorry but nothing was saved.’
‘I am sorry to hear it, Capitaine.’
They came to a set of steps where a boat was waiting. ‘C’est des Anglais pour la Fortune, Capitaine?’ a sailor called out.
‘Yes, these are the men. You will treat them well. They saved many French lives and lost some of their own.’
‘We have all heard, Capitaine. Be at peace; we shall treat them like honoured guests.’
Lacrosse turned to Hayden. ‘I must take my leave of you, Capitaine.’
‘I am in your debt, Capitaine Lacrosse. I do hope when next we meet it shall not be as enemies.’
‘I hope the same, Capitaine Hayden.’ He looked at Hayden oddly. ‘You have no coat, Capitaine?’
‘It was lost.’
‘Then you will take mine’, and before Hayden could protest he removed it and pushed it into Hayden’s hands. ‘I will not hear otherwise. It will be cold upon the ship this night. Bon voyage.’
He thanked all the English sailors, especially Barthe and Wickham, and not without a show of emotion. The remains of Hayden’s crew climbed into the boat and took their places, but before they could push off there came a shout from down the dock to hold the boat.
Hayden looked at Hawthorne, who sat nearby.
‘Have they changed their minds?’ he asked.
‘I do not know.’
Three guards came hurrying along the quay, a man held between them.
‘Ah, just in time,’ Lacrosse announced.
The prisoner was Rosseau – Hayden’s cook!
Lacrosse put a hand on Rosseau’s shoulder and the little Frenchman looked as though he might collapse from fear. ‘This member of your crew was mistakenly thought to be French, no doubt because he speaks our tongue almost as well as you, Capitaine Hayden. But clearly he is English.’
The manacles were removed from Rosseau’s hands and the terrified Frenchman was bundled into the boat, almost too weak to make it on his own.
Lacrosse waved the boat away and it set out across the Rade de Brest.
Rosseau hid his face in his hands and his shoulders heaved between deep gasps.
Wickham put a hand on his shoulder. ‘You are safe. Be of good heart.’
‘I was … on my way to the guillotine …’ Rosseau managed.
‘For God’s sake, man,’ Wickham whispered, ‘do not speak!’
Sixteen
‘You appear very thoughtful this evening, Mrs Hertle,’ Robert Hertle observed, putting a hand over the fingers she had tucked into the crook of her husband’s arm.
Robert had appeared unannounced, as often he did, for no one could ever predict the day a ship would return to harbour, and for the past two days she had been so utterly happy and content that she had begun to wonder if she did not look rather girlish, though in truth she hardly cared.
‘Do I, my dear? I must be thinking always how much happiness your sudden return has brought me.’
Happiness was in the very air that evening, among the gathered Carthew family and their guests, but not everyone partook of it. She let her gaze wander over the familiar faces. In a room of notably joyful souls, Elizabeth Hertle wondered who, next to Penelope, was least pleased with the proceedings. Mrs Hertle hovered near to her youngest daughter, attempting, largely in vain, to lift her spirits. And though Pen was striving to put on a brave face, far too often she seemed about to weep. Mrs Carthew appeared happier than Elizabeth would have guessed, given the reservations she had recently expressed regarding a match between Henrietta and Frank Beacher. Perhaps her motherly instinct had come to the fore when she realized her lovely daughter was engaged to a gentleman whose character she knew, from long familiarity, was in all ways above reproach.
Elizabeth put this question aside a moment. Who the happiest person was anyone could tell; Frank Beacher looked as though he had been granted every wish he had ever imagined. Miss Henrietta Carthew was to be his wife and he was transported into a state of near bliss, a smile always upon his lips, his gaze ever returning to his intended.
Poor Pen, Elizabeth thought, such happiness must be like a knife in her heart.
Henrietta, who was capable of a near saintly grace when it suited her, had donned that persona and smiled upon everyone and everything as though they gave her unimaginable joy – but there was, for the briefest second, now and then, a tightening of the skin around her eyes that Elizabeth had come to recognize as distress or perhaps disquiet.
Disquiet was precisely the word that Elizabeth would have chosen to describe her own feelings – not her feelings towards her returned husband, which were never in doubt – but her feelings towards the match that had been announced that evening. Despite the approbation of Henrietta’s father and two Carthew sisters – and even Beacher’s friend Wilder – Elizabeth felt that a terrible mistake was being made. Not that she thought poorly of Frank Beacher – like everyone in the room she believed him integrity brought to life. He would cherish Henri and do everything within his power to assure her happiness, she had no doubt of it. But … she could not feel joy or even moderate satisfaction. She had pushed Henrietta in this direction and now she regretted it most profoundly and she could not even say with certainty why. For no reason that she could explain she felt that, in time, Frank Beacher, even more than Henrietta, would be made entirely miserable by this union. And then it occurred to her – Henri would never be able to love Frank as he imagined she would. Oh she might love and respect him and care for his happiness, but there would be always be something amiss – she would never give herself over to him completely, body and soul. And he would spend his life always yearning for a love that could not be. She felt sorry for him already – and for Henri as well.
Mr Carthew cleared his throat, caught everyone’s attention and then held aloft a glass. ‘Is everyone’s glass charged? Then let me propose a toast that I am sure will win Mrs Carthew’s approval; may Mr Beacher and our dear Henrietta be blessed with children.’
Everyone was willing to drink to such a proposition and Elizabeth, with Robert at her side, crossed over to Mrs Carthew to say how she wished she would soon have a grandchild. At that moment a servant entered the room, spotted Mrs Carthew and came immediately to her.
‘Pardon the intrusion, ma’am. There is a gentleman caller at the door – a sea officer. He has asked to speak with Miss Henrietta on a matter he describes as of the greatest urgency.’
‘How very odd,’ Mrs Carthew interrupted. ‘Did he give his name?’
‘Yes, ma’am. Charles Hayden.’
Mrs Carthew put a hand to her heart and though she opened her mouth three times could make no words issue forth.
‘I will attend to this caller,’ Robert stated, gently removing his wife’s hand from his arm and immediately making his way towards the door.
Mrs Carthew looked at Elizabeth. ‘Who in their senses would come to our home and make such a claim?’
‘I do not know, but whoever it is Captain Hertle will see him on his way.’
And then, without either saying a word, they made for the door in Robert’s wake.
‘What is it, Mother?’ Cassandra asked as her mother hurried past. ‘Whatever is the matter?’
This caught everyone’s attention and as Elizabeth and Mrs Carthew passed out of the door, half clinging to one another, a general enquiry followed.
As no guests were expected that night the entrance hall was poorly lit. A man stood inside the door, too stooped and thin to be Charles Hayden, certainly. Elizabeth perceived that immediately.
Robert did not hesitate but approached the stranger directly, his shoulders tight with anger.
‘Robert!’ the stranger said. ‘Thank God!’
‘Charles … ? My God! Charles!’
And the two friends all but threw themselves into each other’s embrace.
‘How is it you are here?’ Robert managed as they pounded each other on the back. ‘I was informed you had perished. The Admiralty think you dead.’
‘They did, but no longer. I will tell you the whole story but …’
There was a swishing of gowns behind and Elizabeth turned to see the remaining family and guests wedged in a little knot, staring past one another at the two murky figures before the door.
The two friends released one another, and Robert noticed all the others staring. ‘Henrietta,’ he said, ‘it is Charles … returned to us by what agency I do not know.’
It was one of those moments, Elizabeth thought, so completely unexpected and fraught with emotion that no one knew the proper course of action or even how they should feel.
Henrietta gazed, in either amazement or confusion, at the shadow-man standing by Robert, then at the face of Frank Beacher. Then back again to Hayden. In what appeared to be three strides she crossed the hallway and threw herself against Charles’s chest, her face pressed into his neck. Neither said a word but clung to each other.
Elizabeth turned towards Mr Beacher, who stood looking on helplessly, his mouth slightly open, and she thought for a mad instant that his soul had slipped out of that opening and left him – a husk awaiting a bitter wind.
Seventeen
There was only the feel of her pressed softly against him, the scent of her hair, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath or not to sob or both.
‘My letter found you … ?’ he whispered.
She nodded.
Thank God, Hayden thought, all will be well. Now if he could only find a few moments alone with –
‘Henrietta …’ an older male voice intruded. ‘My dear, think of your fiancé …’
Opening his eyes, Hayden saw a gentleman approaching – almost certainly Henrietta’s father.
‘Henrietta?’ the man coaxed a bit more firmly.
Hayden pried Henrietta far enough away that he could see her face.
‘Fiancé? Whatever does he mean?’
‘I-I believed you had betrayed me … And Frank – Mr Beacher – asked for my hand … It was only after I had been informed of your death that I received your letter …’
‘My poor Henri,’ Hayden whispered. ‘What have you been through?’
‘Henrietta, really,’ Mr Carthew insisted. ‘We are happy to see Captain Hayden alive, but you have engaged your affections elsewhere…’ Mr Carthew came forward, his gaze now on Hayden. ‘Captain, my daughter has been through a great deal. I believe she needs rest and some time to think … Come, Henrietta.’ He glanced over at Robert. ‘Captain Hertle … ?’
But Robert, who was never indecisive, hesitated.
‘Can you speak with your friend, Captain?’ Mr Carthew prompted him. ‘Privately …’
Reluctantly Robert turned to Hayden. ‘Let us walk out into the garden, Charles …’
Henrietta was disentangled from his grasp, though gently, by both Mr and Mrs Carthew. Robert stepped between Hayden and the gathered Carthews, though Hayden suspected it was one of the young men whom Robert intended to separate him from.
Henrietta was led away, though she glanced back twice, so disconcerted that speech appeared to have abandoned her.
Robert gently took Hayden’s arm and ushered him towards the door.
‘What in the world has transpired in my absence?’ Hayden demanded as they passed out into the night.
‘Let me call for my carriage, Charles. There is an inn not too distant …’
Robert stood by a small and slightly unbalanced table in Hayden’s newly procured lodgings. As he poured wine into their glasses the table tilted noticeably to his left, the leg ‘clicking’ as it contacted the floor.
‘Elizabeth would be the one to explain all that has occurred in your absence,’ Robert began, setting the bottle down so that the table then tilted back again. ‘I have it all at second hand from her. It began with these French émigrées – the mother who claimed you had married her comely daughter. Had you really assisted them to come to England?’ He passed a glass to Hayden.
‘At the request of as eminent a personage as Sir Gilbert Elliot …’ When Hayden had been led aboard the transport in Brest to be carried home to England he thought the nightmare he had been living had come to an end. Spring had spread its warmth over that small quarter of the world and all would be renewed. But instead he felt like he had been returned to another part of the nightmare – from which he could not wake.
‘I was at sea at the time, as were you, Charles, but I am told these women went about London with such confidence, flashing a marriage certificate, spreading charm everywhere—’
‘Running up debts in establishments that would never have extended credit to me, blackening my name …’
‘Exactly so. News of the claims of these women found its way to Henrietta – and Mrs Hertle as well – accompanied by reports of the alleged Mrs Hayden’s astonishing beauty …’ Robert stopped and looked at his friend expectantly.
‘That part at least was true – I have seldom seen a more handsome woman – nor had Sir Gilbert, I expect, which led him to make such a request of me. Never have I regretted any favour so much as that one!’
