Beginning, Previous Section, Section XXVII
All had gone perfectly that evening as the Laconia weighed anchor and caught the tide. She was several hours out and Captain Wentworth was satisfied with her trim, the performance of the crew, and the weather. He had remained on deck, silently basking for nearly an hour. He savoured the tang of the fresh air, unpolluted by the smells of the daily life of Plymouth. His soul would forever take joy when he was back on the sea, but he was a mortal man, and after it all, was feeling the weight of the day. He turned over the watch to Lieutenant Dorman and went below.
"From Mrs Wentworth, sir." Michaelson said as he traded the Captain's scraper for a note.
He opened it and read:
Please, dear husband, come to visit me, no matter what the time
L
The note was tantalizingly mysterious. Could be any number of things, I suppose. Gad, I hope she has not suddenly taken ill, he thought. He loved his wife but felt that he had done more than his share of nursing duties over the course of their short marriage.
"This should not take long," he said to his steward as he passed by.
The door closed behind his captain and Michaelson finished laying out Wentworth's nightshirt. As he brushed the hat, mindful of the lace, he murmured, "I'll not hold my breath waitin' for ya, sir." Between Miss Jensen's tone when the note had been delivered, and Mrs Wentworth's later request, he held out little hope of seeing his bed any time soon.
Frederick crossed the common area to Louisa's door and saw that lights still burned. He knocked softly, aware that the last days had been strenuous and she might not be awake. A soft, "Enter, Captain," met his ear.
Louisa stood in the center of the tiny chamber, opened her arms and said, "Good evening, sir." She was beautiful. Her satin wrapper shimmered in the candle-glow. Her hair, tied with a matching ribbon, sweetly rested on her shoulder. The room warmed noticeably the longer he looked.
She came to him and smiled, then hugged him. He returned her embrace and said, "Is everything all right? You ate so little at dinner, I feared you had taken ill."
"I was too excited, meeting your friends and all." He smiled at her notion that the officers under his command were his friends.. "And we were leaving in just a few hours. I did not know what to expect."
"And were you disappointed?"
She stood away and took his hands. "Oh no. It was wonderful. The man with the fiddle, and the men chanting at the ... " She faltered for the word.
"Capstan."
"Capstan. The men climbing up the ropes and lowering -- "
"Setting -- "
"Setting the sails," she corrected. "And when the wind ... what did you say the wind did?
"Filled the sails."
"Filled them. There we were, stock still, then ... " she paused, " ... we sprang away, just like a horse at the start of a race. It was magnificent."
Her eyes were bright with the memory. In her, he saw a kindred heart. He saw a female version of himself.
She continued, "It was a beautiful dance, all the partners knew their places. I thought it would be more ... chaotic, less orderly. I thought there would be more to it."
"Then you were disappointed."
Oh no. Not at all. Papa always says that the more skilled one is the easier they make a difficult task look. You are very skilled, I think." She bit her lip. "I will always be safe with you," she said and threw her arms about him. She proclaimed to his neckcloth, "I am so proud of my ingenious, talented ... my brilliant husband."
At first blush, her proclamation was too warm, too overgenerous and exaggerated his true skill. The Captain, very accustomed to empty flattery, thought to down-play her fervor. "Such praise will swell my head ... " But he knew this was no empty praise on her part. She trusted him without exception. His aching throat and stinging eyes made it impossible to continue with his self-deprecation. Her little pronouncement touched a place in him, long ago and deeply wounded. Her balm was cool and healing as it seeped into the cracks of that dry and private place.
She felt small in his arms, adding to his protective sense. "Thank you," he whispered into her hair. Nothing more was said for a little while.
After a time, she raised her head, took a swipe at her eyes and asked, "Well, how do you like my room?"
He had noticed very little when he had entered the cabin, or during their exchange. That was now rectified. When they had arrived the day before she had eagerly anticipated seeing her new home. In the hurly-burly of refitting, the condition of the second sleeping cabin had been ignore. There were no fit furnishings for the sleeping berth; only a broken down chest and partially unravelled hammock. She had make-shifted with Miss Jensen for the night. First thing that morning, Mr Martin had been dispatched to escort Mrs Wentworth and Miss Jensen on a hasty trip into Plymouth to buy the appropriate furniture. When the party had returned, the Captain had been otherwise employed with Harville, though had noticed when the purchases; large and numerous; had been hoisted on deck and carried down the companionway.
"And, how do you like it?" she asked again.
The furniture itself was in good taste; classic lines and unoffending. The overriding issue was not the style, nor the quality, but the overwhelming amount of it. Every available inch seemed to be filled with the bed, double wardrobe, a small writing desk, a bench at the bed's foot, a little table here and a flowerstand there. An upholstered chair and companion table completed the picture. He noticed that a new carpet graced the floor. From the few open patches he discerned it to be a deep blue. The room was so stuffed, he was hard pressed to make out any pattern.
His senses rebelled at the overthrow of order and neatness. This room was the antipodes of his own spartan quarters. "I am," he said, "astonished that you have made so much change in such a short period of time." It was the truth, but only in the most common understanding of the words.
"I am glad you like it. I intend this to be our own little haven of peace." She grasped his hand, unashamedly kissed it and pulled him further into the melee. "Miss Jensen offered the opinion that there might be too many pieces and that the room was over-full. But now I will be pleased to tell her you quite approve and commend my choices. Come and be comfortable." The more exacting part of Captain Wentworth cried out to correct her misimpression, while the loving husband chose to walk a better, quieter path.
She indicated that he should take the chair. As he was about to sit, she stopped him. "You have finished upstairs for the night, have you not?"
He smirked at her blunder and would correct it. "On a King's ship, we do not refer to it as 'upstairs' if you please. The proper term is: 'on deck.' And yes, I have done for the night."
She coloured. "Ah, 'on deck'. I shall endeavour to remember. Turn." She made a circle with her hand.
He did so. "What are you about?" She began to remove his coat. He was concerned as it was his best. He had entertained his senior officers at dinner and formally introduced them to his wife. He had not taken time to change after the festivities. It seemed fitting for him to be rigged in his finest when they weighed anchor and began their journey.
"I am making you comfortable. My, but this is very heavy," she said, as she took it away from him.
He turned and watched closely as she saw it hung on the back of the chair to the writing table. He was relieved that she took a great deal of care. "You must be mindful of the lace. If it breaks, it is very costly to replace." Looking more closely about the room, he added softly, "And lack of funds might keep you from decorating more extensively."
She returned to him and saw him seated. "You needn't worry. I have everything just the way I like it and do not expect that I shall need to do much more."
"Ah, very wise. A few excellent pieces are all one needs." He tightened his lips to stifle the smile.
She had the look of a cat at the cream. Without a word, she turned and reached over the chair for something on the desk. He could not help but admire the drape of her satin wrapper. She turned back. "I spoke with Michaelson." She held up a tray with a decanter and glasses. "He said it is a favourite of yours." The liqueur looked to be sherry. "I thought it would be nice to drink a private toast to our first adventure together." She placed the salver on the companion table and poured them each a tot. "I do have one problem," she said, handing him his glass, "I was only able to fit in one chair."
Considering the abundance of furniture, he wondered that she had managed such a miracle, but said, "I shall take the desk chair." As he began to stand, she stopped him.
"No." She touched his shoulder to keep him seated. Doing so, her drink splashed a bit onto his shirt. "You must have this chair. It is the most comfortable."
It was easy to see that she wished him to remain as he was.
"I shall just take my ease here," she said and sat in his lap.
So, this is your game, my girl, he thought. He took her glass and set it on the table along with his own. Putting his arms about her, he shifted her to a more comfortable spot. "While I do not mind this arrangement, don't you think that visitors might find it a bit inconvenient?" Her arms went about his neck and she rested herself against him.
"This is our haven, remember?" she said, "I do not intend to entertain anyone besides you. And as long as you do not mind ... " Her voice faded into a kiss.
Since he had left her in Shropshire, Frederick had endured more than his share of marital frustration. The joy of having her returned was great but took precedence for only so long. Having her near enough to embrace, but being denied intimacy for the sake of her ribs, had been a sore trial indeed. Anticipating his return to the sea had relieved the frustration somewhat, but now that the ship was underway, and she had literally thrown herself into the seat of the issue, he was more than a bit discomfited.
"Uh, I think, my dear, that ... " He began to rise. He was in no mood endure another sleepless night. Without a word, Louisa took his hand and moved it from its chaste resting place on her knee, and brought it gently, but decidedly, to her side. He quieted as he felt her up and down. "Your bindings ... "
"I had them removed."
He endeavoured to not smile like a jackass. "So, Hemmings has declared you fit and ready for duty?"
She too held back a idiotic grin. "You might say that. I am prepared to fulfill my wifely duties." She kissed his cheek chastely.
"Ahem, I did not mean that. I was merely ... "
"I know what you meant," she said, touching his lips with a finger. "I declared my self well. The Doctor said that I would be the best one to know when my ribs were all healed."
"And are they?" He was not blind to the fact that her enthusiasm might cause her to be injudicious. "No pain at all?"
She held up her fingers, "Just the tiniest bit tender, but not so much that I would regard it." She kissed him warmly. "I have no wish for us to be distracted by anything."
He looked in her eyes and there was no slyness. "Ah, I see." He nodded and pulled her close for a kiss.
"Come," she said, standing, offering him a hand.
"You know, I am in mortal danger here," he said as he joined her.
She smiled. "However could that be?" She faced him and stood teasingly close. "You think me plotting you harm, sir?"
He released her hand. "No," he said, as he deftly untied her wrapper. "Not so much to my physical being." He followed the folds of her nightdress and pulled her close. "But my high-minded opinions about woman being allowed to live aboard ships." He kissed her. He drew a breath and whispered, "It is in a fair way to be scuttled by one, small wife ... "
The victory was hers to claim.
Michaelson had been correct about waiting for the Captain to return. He had been formally dismissed at two bells. Before crawling into his hammock he had left word with the Marine outside the captain's door to call him the moment the gentleman stirred. The man got a decent four hours sleep. At five, the Marine relayed the message that the Captain had been up, taken a turn on the deck, left instructions with the Officer of the Watch and had gone back to his quarters. At seven, Michaelson was to deliver a hearty breakfast -- for two -- to the Captain's dining room. It was to be placed on the table and left on its tray. Then he was to leave.
After seeing the tray placed and the door to the Captain's quarters securely locked, he said to the serving boy, "I am fair certain we have the rest of the mornin' to ourselves."
Solveig Jensen surveyed the deck where her young mistress
sat reading to the little boys aboard ship. It was not lost on her
that several of the Midshipmen, or young gentlemen as the Captain
called them, and even older ordinary sailors, had crept close to
hear as well. The men were free from normal duties for it was
Sunday. Since they had departed Plymouth on Friday, Miss Jensen
had been impressed by the faithfulness to routine exercised on a
King's ship. But as on land, the faithful order of the past
several days was set aside for the Sabbath rest.
Many of the men brought their needlework or carving while others combed and plaited one another's hair. Though the crew had stood Divisions directly after Church and before dinner, any sailor worth his salt would never neglect an opportunity to titivate his appearance.
She noticed Mrs Wentworth was silent, scowling at the book. She glanced at the text. "Lugubrious," Miss Jensen said under her breath. For one raised with so many advantages, her mistress's reading was not what it should be. Solveig had been apprised of the injury to her head, but still thought that lack of application was more to blame and encouraged the girl to exercise her mind whenever possible.
Looking about, she saw that no one seemed to mind, or even notice the bobble. She turned and looked towards the quarterdeck. Her cousin, Timothy, stood straight and tall next to the captain. Seeing all the officers in their best dress uniforms, she understood precisely why her little cousin, Elsa, was so giddy over a man as plain as Harville. If she were less disciplined, she herself could find several reasons to sigh with admiration.
Knotting off her needle and choosing another piece to sew, her mind drifted back to the morning. Church had been "rigged" as Captain Wentworth called it. Though she thought it ridiculous to dignify what they done with the name "Church."
There had been a hymn, but no sermon as the Laconia carried no clergyman. She had hopes that, in time, Cousin Elias would make his true calling known. He too hoped for this, but had made it clear that he would not press any advantage offered by Timothy's station. He would wait on God to present His opportunity.
She had been disappointed that, rather than appeal to the eternal spirit of his men, Captain Wentworth had appealed to their naval spirit by reading the Articles of War. As it was explained to her, reading them aloud to the assembled crew was required once a month. She had listened and determined that at the first possible opportunity she would find Elias and have him preach her a proper, Norwegian Baptist sermon.
"Ahem." Solveig cleared her throat quietly. Mrs Wentworth had finished her story. The men spoke quietly among themselves, though none dispersed. Likely, they had hopes she would read more. Mrs Wentworth showed no signs of comprehension as she was engaged in mooning over the Captain. Miss Jensen leant over and tapped the book gently. Mrs Wentworth roused and began to search the pages for another story.
Casting on her needle, Solveig was thankful that her mistress
was so pliant. From the beginning of the voyage, Mrs Wentworth had
been inclined to accepted Solveig's corrections with a willing
spirit. "You must be mindful, Madam. When he is at his station,
you cannot look at him with the eyes of a wife. He is the captain
of the ship and due respect, not romantic adoration." When the
young woman had protested, Solvieg had duly explained a truth told
her by many married women of her acquaintance. "When the adoring
looks are confined to the privacy of the bedchamber, they produce
much more abundant and much sweeter fruit than when applied
aimlessly." Mrs Wentworth had blushed when she had fully realised
the meaning, but thought the reasoning sound. Now all that was
left was to discipline her actions.
"I think that Miss Jensen
will do my wife much good." Wentworth said to Harville as they
stood the quarterdeck. He took joy in the fine, straight bow wake
cutting through the bright blue of the sea. "She is a woman of
sense and taste." He harboured a little hope that, over the course
of the next several months, Solveig Jensen might work her magic on
his wife's domestic senses. Louisa had shown particular concerned
when he had barked his shin on one of her little tables. Perhaps
if he continued to injure himself, and Miss Jensen continued to
refine his wife's sensibilities, there was hope.
Harville looked over to the canvas awning which had been erected for Mrs Wentworth. "My wife's cousin is a credit to the family. I must say, she takes marvelous care of the children when ... " He faltered. "I did not mean to imply that your wife is a child ... "
Wentworth glanced and smiled. "No such meaning taken. Louisa has a good frame, my in-laws chose only to hang a few pictures and paint a little rather than build a solid structure. Miss Jensen will see to many things, I think."
"Aye," Harville replied, "That she will. But make no mistake, she was beside herself when she was asked to accompany your wife. This is quite an adventure for any spinster."
Wentworth turned and paced towards the larboard. "I intend to do everything in my power to make this as exciting a cruise as one could wish for, Timothy. Ladies included."
At that moment, a shadow from above passed over them. Shading his eyes, Harville said, "I am amazed at Mr Batts. For a man of such bulk, he is quite the acrobat."
"He has talents," Frederick said, his eyes following Mr Batts's, "you can not even imagine." The mute's progress across horses of the topgallant was sure and quick. "The man has a definite feel for the yards."
Harville agreed and continued his previous tack. "I am surprised, sir. You are taking the ladies presence very well, considering your personal opinions." He watched his friend closely.
He glance Harville's way. His First knew him very well indeed. On previous occasions, when the topic was even touched upon, Wentworth was aware of his fractiousness and how it could border on apoplexy. And, how when given a platform, he would be the first to uncompromisingly state his beliefs followed by example after example to prove his point. But since he had arrived, other than explaining to Harville the legal necessity of his wife's passage, he had said nothing. No pointed remarks when either of the ladies blundered concerning ship's protocol, no sweeping generalities about evil of the female presence. And as none of the ladies had proven vulnerable to sea-sickness, even feminine delicacy had been spared his rough treatment. His First had observed all this and was goading him to account for the change of attitude.
"As I have told you, Harville, this is not a decision I was at liberty to make. My wife is a victim of a crime and for justice to be done she must identify the perpetrator -- Daniel Randwick. The complaint is sworn and the agents of it aboard. I have nothing to do with it. Mr Congrieve!" he shouted without hesitation.
Two of the younger boys were pelting towards the stern, and, he assumed, his now resident story-teller. The boys had carefully avoided Wentworth's sacred starboard side of the quarterdeck, but one, a stout, red-faced fellow, had a hand in the pocket of his trousers. Though a minor offense, it was one which Wentworth could not abide.
"Aye, sir." the boy stammered.
"This is not the first time you have been reminded of this, Mr Congrieve," Wentworth said, his face stone-like and unyielding. He continued, "Because of this breach, as the administrator of your twelve pound allowance, I am now a guinea richer. If this happens a third time, Mr Congrieve, the punishment will be more severe than you can imagine."
The boys shivered under the Captain's imperious look. Mr Congrieve glanced from Wentworth to Captain Harville, a man known to have heart. There was no help from that quarter. The first's face was a mirror of Wentworth's as he stared towards the bowsprit.
The sturdy shoulders squared. An "aye aye, sir" as hearty as any rightfully chastised ten-year-old could muster was stuttered out.
"Dismissed."
The squeakers tore off, no doubt thankful for their escape.
"It is a shame that that sort of discipline rarely works when one is at home."
Wentworth scowled. "And why not?"
Harville held back a smile, "I suppose it has to do with the fact that I would break my own purse if I were to exact tribute for punishment. But, back to our previous conversation" said Harville, his look turned serious. Wentworth worried that he would press for more detail than the Captain was prepared to give. "You said that you had met this Randwick character face-to-face, not once but several times."
As well as Harville knew Wentworth, the Captain knew his First. Harville was as loyal a friend as one could wish, except when he observed a personal frailty ripe for plunder. The mutinous look in Timothy's eye warned him that his hypocrisy was perfectly aligned in Harville's sights.
"Why should your wife be put to such dreadful inconvenience, considering her health, when you could just as easily identify the h*ll-hound."
As Timothy presented the obvious facts, it was impossible for Frederick to miss the unabashed gleam which brightened his countenance. Only an admission that he had engineered his wife's being called to witness and therefore her accompanying him to Madeira would satisfy Harville. This hound had the scent and was closing in fast.
"While it is true that I am able to identify the man, there is another ... " He stopped mid-sentence as Harville straightened and others on the quarterdeck began to murmur.
"There is indeed another difficulty with that." Wentworth turned and was glad to see he had been saved by Montague Batts. He had not noticed the time. Since they had weighed anchor, Doctor Hemmings brought a sea-sickened Batts above deck every two hours to take the air.
"I hope you do not think me rude, Captain, but I could not help overhearing your conversation. The sea air carries sound beautifully. Anywise, Captain Wentworth is quite right that there is more to this case than merely Daniel Randwick. There is the matter of of a woman named Rosamond Coucher. She is as evil and calculating as Randwick, more so perhaps, and the Captain has no knowledge of her. So you see Captain Harville, Mrs Wentworth is the only person, man or woman, who can be used as a thorough and reliable witness." Batts looked from Harville to Wentworth. The slightest of nods passed between them.
"Thank you, Mr Batts. Might we walk?" Wentworth turned and slowly paced towards the starboard of the quarterdeck. He took satisfaction in stifling Harville's over-active interest. Batts walked slowly, eventually coming even with the long-legged man.
They stood watching the spoondrift churn and spread out from the bow wave. Wentworth noticed Batts take out a handkerchief and dab at his forehead. Poor man, the motion is making his head swim. He turned and faced away from the waves.
Swallowing hard, Batts said, "Have you spoken with your wife? Asked her the questions I gave you?" He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Oh, to be on the family pond in Essex," he murmured.
Wentworth pitied the man as much as was possible for a inveterate salt. "Yes I have. You understand it is painful for her to speak about it. She has expressed a great fear of having to see him again, face-to-face. She -- and I -- would prefer to forget the entire incident."
He looked at the Captain. "I understand. And I assure you, Captain, when the fiend is taken, I will require her to identify him personally. But I can assure you that he will be under the tightest guard -- the room will be so stuffed we will be lucky to wedge her in -- she will need only look at him, nod a yea or nay, and then you may take her away. She will never be alone with him."
"By G*d, not."
Please understand that anything you can do to bring this to a resolution will work in your favor. When Randwick, and with good luck, Miss Coucher swing, this will be over, once and for all."
"True. From what she told me, on the face of it, it would seem that Randwick was somewhat involved in the Levant murder. It was Randwick who delivered Louisa the message from Levant stating the time and place she was to meet him."
Batts fought his physical state to consider the case. "So, Randwick knew that your wife was coming to the Hall. Perhaps that is what dictated the time of their departure. And it would explain having a note ready for Amber Glenn. Do you think it out of the realm of reason that he engineered Levant's sham 'assignation' with your wife?"
Wentworth glanced at Batts. "Very Likely. Louisa would not do such a thing on her own. I have not, and do not intend to tell her Levant's expectations. His death was shock enough."
"Of course. I understand completely." He coughed. "Please excuse me, Captain, I am feeling the sea again." Clamping the handkerchief to his mouth, Batts walked quickly towards the companionway. Hemmings nodded to Harville and followed in the small man's wake.
The Captain rejoined his First, still feeling heady from Batts rescue. He eyed the the growing crowd at the stern. "This is what comes," he intoned to Harville, "of the female influence aboard a King's ship."
Harville glanced about and acknowledged the continuing migration towards the stern.
"Grown men acting no better than little boys," Wentworth muttered.
Harville bit back a smile when the Captain continued to mutter about bibs, nursery fenders and cups of milk. "According to my wife, men are nothing more than little boys in grown bodies," he offered.
"Mmm," he snorted, "I believe that your good wife is a prophetess, and the proof is on my poop deck!"
They fell silent, but Harville was not content to leave things so.
"Did you ever think, sir, when you came to visit us in Lyme, that we would so soon be back to the sea, aboard the Laconia, or that we would be shipping two women -- and one of them would be your very own wife?"
Frederick arched a brow and turned to look at his First. "I could never have imagined such a thing. But might I remind you, Captain, that these circumstances were cruelly forced upon us. It is only in the interest of justice that Mrs Wentworth sails with us -- and it would be inappropriate for her to sail without a woman. This is certainly not because I approve, in principle or even in particular, of this circumstance."
Just then, the bell marking the hour was struck, the glass was turned and Harville gave the order for the log to be heaved.
After seeing to his duty, Harville turned back to find the captain looking towards the stern. A smile touched his lips. "No sir," Harville said loudly, "No one could ever mistake that! It is obvious that this is a cruel, an extraordinarily sore trial for the both of you."
Wentworth glanced at Timothy. "Aye, a cruel trial indeed." He lowered his voice, "As for Louisa being my wife, I must own that I am greatly indebted to Providence."
"Aye, sir," was all that was said. He nodded his compliments to the Captain and made his way to the helm to have a word with the Master.
Stepping off his beloved quarterdeck and making his way to the stern, Frederick Wentworth could not help but feel pride in the smooth working of his crew and ship. And as the Laconia continued south to Madeira, he felt his luck and anticipated every adventure that lay beyond.
Again, thank you for reading.
SusanK and Laura Louise
© 2000, 2001 Copyright held by the author.