A matter of honor, p.28
A Matter of Honor, page 28
They walked along in silence until Richard asked, “What is it you need?” “Your company,” she replied, as she put her arm through the crook of his left elbow.
“Tell me about Paris,” she said.
Her question startled him, not because she asked it, but because her voice seemed too off-handed, too devil-may-care, rather than simply eager to know. His suspicions aroused, he wondered just what she had been told and by whom. He shrugged off his concerns, realizing it could make no possible difference whatever the answers.
“It’s a lovely city,” he replied. “The people are a bit off-put, but that’s the French for you.”
“And the jeunes filles. Are they as pretty as English girls?”
“Depends on the English girl.”
“Ah. A clever answer. You should be a diplomat. But seriously, Richard. Didn’t you find their company… enjoyable?”
He glanced askance at her. “Why are you asking me this, Katherine?”
“I’m curious, that’s all. Don’t be cross with me. You needn’t tell me anything you don’t want to.”
“It’s not that I don’t want to. It’s just that there isn’t much to tell. I was seldom in the company of French girls.”
“Ah, well. That’s their loss, isn’t it.”
At the end of the drive they turned round and began walking back to the house, their pace slowed as though by mutual, unspoken accord. Suddenly she said, “Richard, do you remember the day your uncle took you and me and Will and Jamie with him to Portsmouth? What a glorious day that was! You do remember, don’t you?”
☆ ☆ ☆
WILLIAM CUTLER had to go to Gosport to transact some business in his shipping office, and he asked Will and Richard if they’d care to join him. Absolutely they would, they replied, and would it be all right, Richard asked, if Katherine and Jamie came along? After all, he told his uncle, he and Will would be leaving England within a fortnight, and this would be the only chance for the Hardcastle children to see Eagle. His uncle agreed, and the five of them set off for the port city.
The business transactions turned out to be more complicated and timeconsuming than William Cutler had anticipated, and he was forced to excuse himself after a quick noontime meal. “I apologize,” he said to his charges. “I had hoped to spend time with you here. I’m afraid you’re on your own for the afternoon. Don’t wander off too far and stay together. I’m here if you need me for anything.”
“Don’t worry, Uncle,” Will said self-assuredly.
Just then Richard, scanning the harbor where Eagle was berthed, was struck with an idea.
“Uncle,” he said, his face creased with excitement, “may we take out the tender?”
William Cutler stroked his chin as though contemplating the merits of his nephew’s request.
“Think you can handle her?”
“Handle her? I should say! Will and I grew up in boats like that in Hingham. Please, Uncle,” he pleaded as much with his eyes as his voice.
“All right. But stay on this side of the harbor. And don’t go out past Burrow Island. Agreed?”
“Agreed!” Richard cried. He took Katherine’s hand and began running with her toward the quays, feeling the pain in his leg hardly at all, so happy was he to be getting back under sail. Eagle had been warped up against the quay, her larboard side facing inward toward the port city, as all vessels were when either on-loading or off-loading. Tied to a bollard at quayside was her eighteen-foot, narrow-beamed tender, the single lateen fore-and-aft sail furled tight to the mast.
“Let’s go,” Jamie shouted enthusiastically. Will restrained him from leaping into the boat.
“Not so fast, squire,” he said. “Let your sister and Richard have the first go. Ill take you aboard Eagle and show you the ropes. Maybe well go up to the maintop there. What do you say?”
“Well…,” Jamie grumbled, though he did cast an appreciative eye over Eagle’s top-hamper.
“Are you sure?” Katherine asked him. “There’s plenty of room for us all.”
“I know,” said Will. “But first I want to show Jamie the workings of a brig. We’ll go out with you later.” He unraveled the clove hitch on the bollard as Richard released the sail from its stops. The loose-footed lateen sail spread out on a long yard attached at a forty-five-degree angle to the mast. The sail caught the wind as Will pushed the boat out from the dock, and Richard took the tiller and sheet in the stem.
“How marvelous!” Katherine sang out as the boat picked up speed in the greater wind and chop farther out in the harbor. Moored on this side of the massive harbor were numerous merchant vessels, and Richard had to concentrate on threading the small boat among them until they were in open water and heading for the narrow entryway between Burrow Island on the west shore and Whale Island on the east. In the far distance, they could begin to make out the Isle of Wight and the wooden fortress that was the naval fleet at Spithead.
“Richard!” Katherine shrieked with a mixture of fear and delight when a burst of wind sent the boat heeling. Instead of easing out the mainsheet, to bring the boat level, Richard trimmed it in, increasing the angle of heel. “Stop that this instant!”
A wave more menacing than the rest was fast approaching to windward, its crest up and, Richard sensed, about to break. At the precise moment, he jogged the tiller to leeward, swinging the bow more to windward. The wave slapped against the larboard bow just as it broke, sending up a shower of sparkling seawater that doused them both.
“You beast!” she cried, laughing. “You did that on purpose. What a horrid thing to do!”
“Beats riding a horse, hey?” he said, grinning, though he did ease off the wind and paid out the mainsheet until they were on a more comfortable broad reach. “Want to try sailing her?”
“Heavens, no,” she snapped as she wiped water droplets from her face and brushed them off her clothes. “I wouldn’t dream of such a thing.”
“Well, in that case, since you insist on being just dead weight, at least sit where that weight balances the boat properly.”
“Why? What’s wrong with where I am?”
“Nothing, really. You’re just too far forward. You need to move aft some, toward me.”
She scooted a ways over. “How’s this?”
“Better. Now just a little closer. A little closer. Just a bit more. There. That’s it. Perfect.”
“Richard Cutler, you are a cad,” she sighed, as she nestled her back comfortably against his chest.
“Would you have it any other way?”
“No,” she giggled, and they sailed on that way, back and forth across the mouth of Portsmouth harbor, until the warm September sun had dried their clothes, it was time to head in, and propriety dictated they assume more decorous positions within the cockpit.
☆ ☆ ☆
“YES, I remember. Why bring it up now?”
“Why not bring it up now? I often think of those days, Richard. Do you?”
“I used to,” he allowed, adding, though not before a pause for emphasis, “but not so much anymore.”
“How terribly sad. I had hoped you would never forget them.”
They were nearing the house and her carriage in waiting. “How are plans for the wedding coming?” he asked, trying his best to sound sincere and nonchalant. “I understand from Lizzy that it’s been postponed.”
She withdrew her arm from his. “It has,” she confirmed. “Probably until June. I shall be leaving in several weeks to visit Horatio in London. We shall decide for certain then.” She whirled around to face him. “Richard, I do so want you to come to the wedding. You will come, won’t you? Promise me you will. I’m sure your uncle can get permission for you to leave Fareham just this once…”
It was the first time he had looked at her this closely that afternoon, and it greatly disturbed him to see just how sunken and bloodshot her eyes seemed to be, and how gray and puffy the skin beneath. She who had always seemed the paragon of self-assurance and buoyancy now stood before him the antithesis of a blushing bride-to-be. Again his heart yearned to embrace, protect, comfort her. Again his brain said no. It was her decision, willfully made, to pledge herself to another.
“I promise,” he said, although he already had a plan in place that would have him long gone from Fareham come June.
☆ ☆ ☆
THE LINCHPIN of his plan was Pennington Sharpe, a young man of impressive lineage who had befriended Richard years ago when he had first visited Fareham. Penny, as he preferred to be called, was a squirrelly, mild-mannered, often effeminate-acting fellow whose outrage, nonetheless, erupted whenever he had a podium from which to denounce King George and anyone else in the British government who sought to prolong the suffering in America. The war was an affront to the rights and liberties of Englishmen, he had confided to Richard, and he, for one, would act upon his principles. He would book passage on a merchant vessel bound for British-held New York and seek residence in Connecticut, a state that, for a reason he did not specify, he fancied more than the others.
Richard had subsequently learned from his uncle that principle was not the sole motivation behind Penny’s bold decision to leave England. His family, on a downward financial spiral for generations, had gambled heavily in certain investments. Why, or just what these investments were, was very hush-hush, but it was known that Lloyd’s had sponsored them, and they had gone belly up after ingesting most of what was left of the Sharpe family fortune. To Penny, emigrating to America to start a new life seemed a civilized alternative to living in disgrace in England—or fleeing to France as many of his countrymen in similar circumstances had done.
“Why not sail with me to New York?” he asked outright, soon after Richard had begun cautiously testing the waters. “We can share a cabin, or whatever space they provide passengers on those ships. It’d certainly make the trip a lot more enjoyable. You’ve really a mind to leave England, then?”
“I do.” It was a throw of the dice; he had not been prepared to wade in this far this quickly. “But I must beg your indulgence, Penny. Under no circumstances must my family get wind of my plans. I will not have them involved in any way or hurt more than is necessary. And where I need to go is France, not America.”
“Where in France?”
“Brest.”
“Hmm.” Penny tapped an index finger on the front of his chin, the sole area on his lower jaw free of mustache or sideburns. “That won’t be easy to arrange, Richard, but not impossible. And of course you may rely on my discretion.”
He went on to explain how he could use his family’s “interests” in Portsmouth shipping circles to identify and approach a captain who would be willing, for the right price, to cross the Channel at night. “It will require money,” he insisted. “A good deal of it. Do you have some?”
“Enough, I believe,” Richard said. “I haven’t had much occasion recently to spend what I have.” They shared a smile, Richard adding that, for services rendered, he would expect to pay Penny whatever commission he stipulated, an offer Penny summarily declined.
“Nonsense, my dear man. It’s an honor to serve the cause. Besides, you couldn’t afford my commission. It’d cost you too pretty a penny.”
Richard laughed along with Sharpe’s high giggle.
A fortnight later, he was mentally reviewing the details of his plan while having a quiet dinner with his family As usual, Lizzy was seated to his right, though as was her wont in recent weeks, whatever conversations she engaged in were directed at her parents across the table. A serious strain had intruded upon their relationship and Richard did not understand why Although it pained him to be estranged from one he held so dear, he had decided to let the situation play out its natural course without getting further involved. A coward’s way out, he had to admit, but God willing, there would be opportunities in the future for explanations and reconciliation. For the present, he had more pressing needs to consider.
“Richard,” Emma Cutler said when they were well into their meal, “you know that Katherine is leaving soon for London. You will plan to see her before she goes, won’t you?”
Richard laid his fork gently back on his plate. “I have been thinking about it, Auntie,” he replied. “I want to. I’m just not sure I can.”
“Well, I should think you would invite her to come over. Imagine her hurt if you didn’t.”
“Well see, Auntie.”
“’Well see?’ That’s all you have to say? ‘Well see?’ I don’t mean to meddle in your affairs, Richard, really I don’t, but in this case I do think-”
“It doesn’t matter, Mother,” her daughter interrupted, her voice low and dangerous. She was glowering down at the plate set before her.
“What? How can you say such a thing, Lizzy? Of course it matters. It matters very much. Why, the two of them…”
“Mother! Listen to me!” Her eyes shot up. “It doesn’t matter because Katherine isn’t going to London.”
“Isn’t going? Whyever not?”
“Yes, Lizzy,” Richard asked, his senses suddenly alert. “Why isn’t Katherine going to London?”
Her eyes swung to him, rage embedded in them.
“If you’d had the heart to talk to her just once this winter, Richard, I mean really talk to her one time, you’d have the answer for yourself. Since you didn’t, you don’t.”
She excused herself from the table and balled up her linen napkin, nearly hitting Richard with it when she threw it down. She turned to go.
Richard was up, seized her arm.
“What is it, Lizzy?”
“You’re hurting me, Richard.”
“I’m sorry.” He released her arm, then held her more gently by the shoulders. “What is it, Lizzy?” he said again, this time in a kinder, beseeching voice. “Please. I beg you. Tell me what you know.”
She glared at him, her sea blue eyes wet with emotion.
“You’ve never seen Katherine cry, have you, Richard? Well, you wouldn’t. She wouldn’t let you. But I’ve seen her cry. I’ve seen her cry too many times these past few weeks. And it’s all because of you.”
“Me? What on earth are you talking about?”
She retrieved the napkin from the table and wiped away tears. She breathed in once, twice, to steady herself, as if she knew she was being melodramatic and not entirely fair.
“The wedding is off,” she announced, in one long exhale. “Katherine is not going to marry Horatio.”
“Why?” he heard himself say.
“Why? Why?” Lizzy was beside herself. “Lord, Richard, for an intelligent man you can be so ghastly stupid sometimes. The wedding is off because Katherine doesn’t love Horatio. She never has. And if you weren’t always so caught up in yourself and your silly notions of propriety and honor, you’d know perfectly well that the man Katherine loves is you!”
☆ ☆ ☆
AT THAT moment, a mile to the south, a carriage-for-hire slowly wended its way northward, the driver reigning in a two-horse team now and again to request directions from another carriage traveling southward. Inside sat a lone occupant facing forward. He had no pocket watch, but from his estimation they had been on the road somewhere between an hour and an hour and a half. That would make it about 9:00. No later than 9:15. By 2:00 the next morning, in five hours, they had to be back at Portsmouth Dock. That’s when the tide turned, and he suffered no illusions that the Dutch captain would cut him slack if they were late. He would simply sail without them. To be safe, they’d have to leave Fareham by 11:30. The question was, did he have enough time?
He gazed out the window at the estates passing by He could not make out the buildings themselves, it was too dark, but he marveled nonetheless at their sheer size. That one there, he smiled to himself, the multistoried house with the flickering stretch of lights visible through the windows, that would be a village where I come from. Then his smile faded, the dark reality settling over him once again that this was not his land, these were not his people.
The carriage ground to a halt.
“We’re ’ere, guv’nor,” the driver called down to him. “That there’s the Cutler estate. Want me to drive in?”
“No,” the young man called back up. “What time is it?”
“I’d say about three bells,” the driver announced, revealing his past service in the Royal Navy.
“Thank you. Wait here, please. I won’t be long.”
The young man disembarked. Though the weather was not cold, he pulled his borrowed boat cloak around him as he set off at a brisk pace on a mission, he knew, that would be decided, one way or another, within minutes.
At the front door he lifted the sturdy brass knocker in the middle and let it fall with a reverberating bang. From inside he heard footsteps. The door swung ajar and a liveried servant in a white peruke appeared in the open space.
“May I help you?” he inquired, stoically sizing up the young, freckled-faced visitor.
“I’m here t’ see Mr. Cutler,” the youth replied, summoning up his best official sounding voice.
“Which one, may I ask?”
“Come again?”
“Sir, there are two Mr. Cutlers in residence. Which one are you inquiring after?”
“Oh. That would be Mr. Richard Cutler.”
The servant hesitated. He glanced inside then turned back: “I’m afraid Mr. Cutler is somewhat… indisposed at this moment. I… um…”
“It’ll take just a moment,” the footman was assured. “Please. It’s important. And I’ve come a long way”
“Very well,” he finally relented. “I shall tell him you are here. May I ask your name?”
“Agreen.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Agreen. That’s my name.”
“I see. Very good, Mr. Agreen. Please wait here.”
Several moments later the door opened wide, and this time it was Richard in the doorway, a look of stunned disbelief on his face.
“Agee! How on earth…? When…?”
