THEY CAME BACK to Cheyne Court before first light, entirely unmolested, calling in the pickets that Arthur had set on their way to the house. No one was up at that time of the day. Arthur, as a precaution, had made himself a bed in the hallway. He lay there in his cot, snoring gently, the stubble of his thick ginger hair exposed for once, with a loaded musket and a pair of pistols by his side. In repose his face had none of that hauteur which seemed so natural when he was upright. Harry and Pender, having removed their boots, made their way to the kitchen, stole some of Mrs Cray’s fresh bread, covered it with dripping, ate hungrily, then went gratefully to bed.
That morning, with their captain still sound asleep, the first of Harry’s crew started to drift in. These were proper sailors, clearly identifiable by their dress and pigtails, men who had served in a man-o’-war before they ever took Harry Ludlow’s money. They knew how to hand, reef, and steer, and could carry out their tasks without any of the shouting and starting so common on a king’s ship. Any naval captain, in the present shortage, would give his eyes and teeth to have them on board. They would be a prize catch for the numerous press gangs. Yet these same sailors could walk the length and breadth of England and not be taken up.
And, it transpired, Arthur had only to contact one and the rest followed. Whatever method they had worked out to communicate with each other operated better than the postal service. They arrived in twos and threes, slung their hammocks in one of the barns, and set to with a will to turn their temporary home, to them so full of animal filth, into something more habitable. Within two days the barn was scrubbed clean, with hammocks slung and all the men Harry expected fully mustered.
Tite was as pleased as Punch, swapping yarns and informing all and sundry that he was a true blue-water sailor, as well as boring them to distraction about his years of service. They listened politely to his boasting but held him as a person of no account, a mere servant by land and sea. But this Pender fellow, with whom they’d never served, so obviously close to the man who had been their captain, was a different number altogether. The man was not a proper sailor, bred to the sea, even if he did seem to know his stuff; or at least he didn’t dress himself like one. But he had an air of confidence which under normal circumstances might have commanded respect. So they were unsure how he fitted in. Harry Ludlow took great care to issue his orders through him. Not that there were many of those, for they were a crew without a ship.
Yet hints to the man that he should relate something of his background were met with silence, for Pender, though friendly enough, was not slack-mouthed, and certainly not the type you could ask to explain himself outright. So they pressed Tite for details, and given the old servant’s natural malice, were not overly impressed with what they heard.
“Fit to fetch and carry in the victuals line, I dare say,” was the old man’s verdict, delivered with a loud and derisory sniff, relishing the attention such enquiries afforded him. He was unaware that he was describing, very accurately, the general opinion the sailors held of him. He let his eyes run over the men assembled round the red-hot stove, so out of place in the timbered barn. “Pender’s poor-quality canvas to my mind, fair-weather stuff that’s apt to split in any kind of blow.”
Harry read the letter from James over a proper breakfast, fighting to keep a straight face as his sister watched, hungry for news of her “little” brother. The first news was disappointing. Grisham, the master builder at Deptford, was sure that the ship could not possibly be ready for six months. But that was not the problem. It was the second part that made him fight to keep a straight face.
… For in spite of the strictures of my attorney, I could not avoid paying a personal call on Caroline Farrar. In the past her husband kept an entirely separate establishment. But for reason of economy, no doubt, he has actually taken to living with his wife. That he turned up there while I was visiting was unfortunate, for it of necessity involved a unpleasant scene. But despite the threats he made that night to my person I did not take him seriously, otherwise you would have been appraised of this affair earlier.
But the demon of his life, drink, reached his addled brain, as it always does. In a fit of inebriated anger he actually issued a public challenge. Indeed it was so public, in the gaming room at Brooks, that he is at a stand when it comes to withdrawing. I am sure he regrets all this, for if he puts a ball in me (I have chosen pistols!) then he will be killing the goose he needs to lay a golden egg. And if he fails and I survive, he cannot, in all honour, continue with his court case after a duel. Not that he has much honour, so I will suspend judgement on that possibility. Who knows, for the sake of Caroline’s honour, I may end up settling with the rogue, financially, on my deathbed.
I cannot ask you to attend, for you have your own concerns. But if you feel that you would wish to be present, we have appointed a time four days from the above date, at dawn, by the high pond at Hampstead Heath. Please convey my regards to Anne, and keep from her the latter part of this letter.
He sat looking at the signature, his eyes slightly misty as he contemplated the letter’s contents, embued with James’s characteristic understatement. None of the passion of the encounter was allowed to intrude. It was as though none had existed. Harry knew better. He’d spent a great deal of the last eighteen months in James’s company. He knew that he had a temper, that he was just as likely to be the cause of the duel himself. Added to that, he was no fool. All his regard for the lady in question had not kept him chaste. He had returned to the bachelor state, taking opportunity with relish as it presented itself.
And while they’d been away, James had allowed some of that passion to seep through into his art. He had eschewed portraiture, with its calm and studied composition, on most of their journey, taking instead to marine painting, forever asking his brother’s advice about the trim of a ship’s sails as it tossed about in tempestuous waters. And in doing so he had revealed a great deal of himself, for he could never be brought to paint a calm sea. It was as though the swell of the waters reflected his own turmoil. Chided about this, James had merely replied that Reubens, in his marine works, was a more troubled soul.
“Is James well?” asked Anne, cutting through his thoughts.
Harry gave her his most reassuring smile, through his swollen nose sounding like a man with a cold. “Perfectly. And he sends his love to you.”
Arthur raised his eyes slightly. No action of James’s elicited praise, even a correct one. “He is fanciful with his words. He uses love in place of regard.”
“That is just your dour northern way, husband,” said Anne. “Here in the south it is quite in order to name the true affections.”
The mask of the grand seigneur re-asserted itself on Arthur’s face, a sure sign that he was preparing a rebuke. “Whatever you say, it is clear that the effect of your brother’s regard ensures me little at my own table.”
Harry coughed softly, for his brother-in-law had quite forgotten the table was his. Anne covered the embarrassing silence. “All the news in James’s letter cannot be happy, Harry. I quite distinctly saw you frown.”
“The ship,” said Harry quickly. “James went to look it over for me. I think I mentioned that I had asked him to.”
“Indeed you did,” she replied, ignoring Arthur’s impatient glare, which appeared at the merest mention of a ship. “Is it not suitable?”
“It is not ready, nor likely to be for some months.”
“Are we to have your tars about the place for ever?” asked Arthur, who considered Harry’s crew a disreputable bunch who were shirking their proper duty to the nation. Normally he would not have mentioned it, but he seemed to be in an exceedingly bilious mood this morning.
“You cannot say that they are not clean, Arthur,” said Harry.
“In their habits, yes. If we shifted them from barn to barn they’d be doing the estate a service.” He gestured towards his wife. “But I am glad my child is not yet born, and so is not about to witness their language.”
“They have been exceeding courteous to me, husband.”
“So they should be,” he said sourly.
Anne looked at him for a time, but there being no clear way to cheer him up, she turned back to Harry. “And what other news does he send?”
“Who?” said Harry, whose mind was quite definitely elsewhere. Was James asking for his support? Did he need it? Not normally flustered, he was now, as he searched for something to say that would avoid relaying the truth. “The usual things, tittle-tattle from the town.”
It was Arthur who saved him. “It must be a fine thing to lead such a useless existence.”
The remark made Anne’s rosy cheeks turn bright red, but she fought to control her voice, so as not to embarrass her husband in the presence of her brother. “If you had one good word to say about James, husband, it would lend some credibility to those you use to complain of him. One thing he is not is useless.”
Arthur stood up angrily, then collected himself lest he allow his standards to drop. “It is not a subject that you and I should discuss, since it always makes you forget where your duty and loyalty should lie.”
For all Anne’s self-control, family tensions were never far from the surface. Harry wondered why he was the only Ludlow not to have such a temper, and since it was a thought, there was no one to disabuse him of this patent fallacy. His sister’s tone was clipped and biting.
“They have always lain with the truth, husband. Something you have often had cause to remind me is a higher duty.”
Harry turned away, ashamed to be forced to witness this public quarrel.
“I see I am to have my words twisted then thrown in my face.”
“You leave me no choice, husband.”
“Please do not fix your lack of proper behaviour at my door, madam.” Arthur bowed slightly to Harry. “The mere mention of James Ludlow seems to diminish me in my wife’s eyes. I shall leave you to discuss your paragon in peace.”
“Arthur,” said Harry.
Now Arthur lost his temper. His voice rose as much as his eyebrows. “Allow me the freedom of following my own dictates, Harry. To be at the mercy of one brother-in-law is bad, but two is intolerable.”
Harry could have checked him, reminded him of his situation, as well as the fact that no one was permitted so to address him. The matter of Naomi Smith still rankled unresolved; perhaps that was the reason for this display of spleen. His return could not have been entirely welcome. But it would never do to say anything in front of Anne. Besides Arthur had turned to leave. Harry looked down the table at his sister’s face, set hard, determined not to even glance at her husband as he left the room. She sat still long after the door closed. Then she raised her eyes from the table to look at her older brother.
“Do you know what is amiss?” asked Harry, gently.
Anne smiled, but it had a bitter quality. “I was just about to ask you the same thing.”
“I don’t follow.”
“James, when he was small, used to lie to me. All boys do and it is in itself nothing to remark on. But he rarely succeeded, for he could not carry it off. I knew him too well. For the first time, this morning, I realised how much like him you are.”
Harry lifted the letter from the side of his plate. “He is having his usual misfortunes with Caroline Farrar.”
“That is all?”
Harry nodded, quite prepared to test Anne’s theory that she could tell when he was lying. But he spoke quickly, just in case, turning the matter back to Arthur and wondering how much Anne knew, for the Griffin’s Head was mighty close to Cheyne Court. He doubted that his liaison with Naomi had been a secret to her. Did that apply to Arthur as well? Caution demanded that he avoid enquiring, but even as he formed that thought his tongue had embarked on a dangerous course.
“I’m more concerned with your husband. I’ve never known him more morose. And as for displaying a temper …”
“Am I permitted to scold you, Harry?” asked Anne.
That remark, given his train of thought, shocked him. But he fought hard to keep that hidden and forced himself to smile. “You, sister, and you alone.”
She didn’t respond to that, her face remaining grave. “How do you think Arthur views his situation here?”
She gave the impression of someone about to confess. Harry didn’t want to know, didn’t want the responsibility that would follow disclosure. That made him a little sharp in his response. “Is that what is making him so difficult?”
“I am with child. I think impending fatherhood has concentrated his mind somewhat. Things which appeared rosy in the past have taken on a different hue.”
Harry’s mind could not avoid the image, even though he was aware that the drift of his thoughts was wrong. He found himself comparing his sister’s rosy cheeks to the ashen ones he’d seen at the Griffin’s Head. That was a different hue, and no mistake. But Anne was talking about something entirely different. He coughed to cover his mild embarrassment and said the first thing that came into his head. “I know that I have abused his good nature.”
Anne laughed, this time with real pleasure. “Good nature. What a strange expression to use about Arthur.”
It was with some relief that Harry continued, for the conversation seemed to have moved to safer ground. “You know what I mean, Anne. I have gone off on my travels and left him here to carry a burden that’s rightfully mine. I must say though that up until the present I always thought that Arthur enjoyed the arrangement. That it was mutually convenient.”
“He has never hidden the fact that he feels you irresponsible.”
Arthur had said the same thing to him, many times. He shrugged that off. But somehow the words in his sister’s mouth stung him more. “And what, sister, do you think?”
“Is a woman’s opinion worth asking for? That seems a mightily modern notion.”
“Don’t tease me, Anne,” said Harry with a frown. “Arthur and I have always enjoyed a degree of friendship. I have also to observe that I’ve rarely met a man with more self-control. Yet both seem breached. If you have an explanation for what has changed your husband, I’d appreciate it, for I’m at a loss to know how to respond.”
A note of desperation crept into her voice. “Have you asked him, Harry?”
“Of course I have, Anne,” said Harry softly, leaning forward to emphasise the point. “But I’m afraid his Versailles manners don’t assist him in such a case.”
“Versailles manners? That’s James’s expression.” It was hard to tell if the words in Harry’s mouth pleased or disturbed her.
“Do you know what he wants?”
“Freedom,” said Anne.
“Arthur is under no compulsion from me to stay here.”
Anne rubbed her burgeoning stomach. “Perhaps this is the cause. The baby makes something which was once acceptable feel suddenly like a constraint.”
“Why?”
She smiled to take the sting out of her words. “Being a sailor debars you from so much, Harry. Being wealthy takes away the need to consider the rest.”
“Such as?”
“The child’s future. Arthur does not want his dependence on you to extend to his son.” She laughed slightly. “He is so sure that it is a boy. A girl will quite crush him, I fear.”
“Then I wish him the right of it. A son will be a fine thing.”
“He wanted you to go to London, Harry.”
“He has told me that many times.”
“Arthur longs for London. Not long ago, indeed just before your return, he had some hopes of a coup that would allow him to do so.”
“A coup?”
“Strictly financial, I assure you. And don’t go asking me what it was. He does not confide these things to me. I only know that he has engaged himself to some enterprise which is designed to free him.” Her face clouded over, even though her cheeks stayed rosy. “Yet I cannot believe that everything has gone according to plan. Arthur has stopped mentioning society, and, as you have observed, has turned fractious.”
“He wishes to give up his responsibilities here?”
“Not entirely, that is, unless you wish to assume the burden yourself. He adores Cheyne Court, for all he’s forever carping on about improvements to the house.”
Arthur was afire to face the house in stone, in a desire to bring it up to date. Harry rather liked it the way it was, but out of fairness had consulted James. His brother’s reply had all his customary anti-Scottish venom: “He just seeks to line the pockets of the Adam brothers, Harry. I should leave the house be.” He brought his mind back to the present. “Am I being particularly insensitive, Anne, in what I’m missing?”
She shrugged. “If you had a residence in London, he would be happy there, too. Happier than he is here, for it would afford him the chance to make his own way in the world. After all, he has the proper degree of interest.”
“The Secretary for War esteems him, and despite what James says it is not merely for his Scottish blood. Arthur is clever, Harry. Given even a moderate opportunity he would do well. But that is not a course he can undertake from east Kent. He needs a proper residence in town. Then, instead of being dependent on his wife’s family, he could stand on his own two feet, plan his own future and that of his unborn child, without reference to anything other than his own conscience.”
Harry fingered the letter, thinking that Arthur had some strange methods of easing that conscience. “He has your portion, Anne. Would that not suffice for him to move?”
Anne dropped her head, making Harry regret that he’d posed the question, for if Arthur had been speculating that was the likely source of his funds.
“That is a question only my husband could answer. Perhaps he does not feel that such a sum provides him with security.”
Harry recalled the settlement his father had made. It had been sufficient, without being overly generous. As a man who’d started poor and had to make his own fortune, their father had not been spendthrift with his daughter.
“I am going to see James, after I’ve been to Blackwall Reach, Anne …”
“Whatever for?”
Harry lied smoothly, taking the second part of his statement only, proving beyond doubt that he was very different from his brother.
“I cannot leave decisions about ships to James. If anything he knows less now than when I first took him to sea. You would not credit how ignorant he is in that line. There are ways of hurrying shipwrights …”
“Bribes?” asked Anne.
Harry laughed. “Not always, sister. But the man could easily be holding out on a lubber like James, just to secure a better price. He will find me a harder bargain.”
“What has that to do with our conversation about Arthur?”
Harry looked down at his empty plate, unwilling to meet his sister’s eye. He knew what he was doing was for his own advantage, which engendered a degree of guilt. He cared a damn sight more about his own freedom than he did about Arthur’s. And a brother-in-law in London was no use at the Griffin’s Head, if Harry decided to pursue the matter. He could not countenance Naomi Smith’s preferring Arthur to him. Indeed the more he dwelt on it, the more he realised that with his unexpected homecoming he’d merely caught the lady unawares.
Their loose relationship, with no questions asked, had worked well up till now—anything else, for Harry, would have been another unwelcome tie to the shore. Thus she was free to behave as he had on his travels. That she’d chosen to do so with his brother-in-law was damned irritating. But it wasn’t enough to terminate the connection entirely, even if Arthur wasn’t around to gloat or feel traduced. Nothing was guaranteed to make Harry feel more of a scrub at a time when he was appearing generous whilst in reality merely being selfish.
“Don’t you know, Anne? While I’m in London, it will give me a good opportunity to find a place to live.”
“But you don’t want to live in London, do you?”
That made him look up. “No more than I wish to spend my life here. But I own the house nevertheless.”
Anne went bright red again, but the embarrassment was mixed with a feeling of joy. “Harry!”
“I cannot say to Arthur that I do not need him here. And I hope he will forgive me if I choose to extend his responsibilities to looking after my house in London as well.”
She was on her feet and heading his way before he’d finished, to envelope him in the kind of sisterly hug that she usually reserved for James. Given what he was about, it was surprising how good that made him feel.