Riding in the park was a welcome break from winter-bound domesticity, for the February skies had cleared, the temperatures had risen a tad, and there had been no rain or snow three days running, making for a brilliant sunshine day, so bright that the remaining piles of snowfall could barely be looked upon. There was just one snag.
“Jess, my Lord! That’s scandalous!” her brother Charley said as her favourite livery stable prad was led out for mounting, saddled with a man’s saddle, and she swung up astride!
“And I thank you for your oldest pair of breeches, Charley,” she said with a delighted giggle as she flicked the deep skirts of her long, wool riding coat over her boots. “They fit me ever so much better than Alan’s. And I won’t even mind the tar stains, since no one will ever see them!”
“Ah, Captain, sir?” Charley Chenery pled, looking for aid from that direction. “Can you not do something to spare Jess the embarrassment? The family? Mean to say!”
“Oh, don’t ask me, Mister Chenery,” Lewrie rejoined with a laugh. “We should know by now that Jessica will go her own way.”
“See?” Jessica said, tossing back her head to laugh as well. “One man understands me. Let’s do the Lady’s Mile, and spare all of the prudes on Rotten Row their outrage.”
Off they went, first at a sedate walk, then at an easy trot as Jessica felt more comfortable and sure of herself, her favourite gentle mare tossing her head as if in on the prank. When Jessica urged them to a canter, her younger brother lagged back as if to say that he was definitely not with them, and had no part in it. Yet, even on the Lady’s Mile through Hyde Park, they left many slack-jawed people in their wake, and a chorus of, “Well, I nevers”. Young girls getting used to side-saddles craned their necks to watch, making pleas that they could ride that way, too.
“They say, Alan, that a young lady must have two saddles. One for her right leg, one for her left,” Jessica teased.
“Why? What for?” Lewrie asked, sure he was being twitted.
“So one half of one’s fundament doesn’t grow too muscular!” she said with a straight face, then broke out a wide grin and a laugh. “Do imagine how lop-sided one could look if one didn’t!”
“Catch up, Charley,” Lewrie called back. “Your sister has a joke to tell you!”
“I’d rather not,” her brother replied, rather snippishly. “Hear it, that is.”
“Then you won’t get dinner,” Jessica threatened, “and Yeovill’s prepared all your favourites!”
* * *
“Oh, that was glorious!” Jessica exclaimed as they removed hats, coats, gloves, and mittens in the entry hall. “I cannot wait ’til the Spring, when we can coach to Anglesgreen and go riding like that every morning.”
“Where no one from our parish can see,” Charley glumly carped.
“Poor Charley,” Jessica cooed, giving her brother a hug. “I’ve no wish to shame you, but riding astride is so … exhilarating, and so much safer. Why, I almost dreaded horses after Mother and Father insisted that I ride the properly expected way. You wouldn’t wish me to fall off backwards and break my neck, would you?” She ruffled his hair to tease him from his pet.
Lewrie left them to it, ready for a warm-up in front of the parlour fire, but a letter on the side-board caught his eye; blue wax seal, and stamped with a crowned anchor in a bead wreath. He sucked in an expectant breath, snatched it off the salver, and went into the front parlour, to the windows where the light was better.
Sir, you are Required and Directed to Call upon the First Secretary at your earliest Convenience tomorrow to discuss the Implementation of the Plan previously evaluated earlier this month. Admiralty, and Horse Guards, have seen fit to grant tentative Approval for a Test Deployment …
He would have roared a hearty “Hell, yes!”, thrust the letter into the air, and even essayed a gleeful hornpipe dance, but realised how upset he’d make his wife, and that before a good dinner.
Time enough, later, he chid himself, and stuck the letter deep into a breast pocket of his coat before going to the fireplace to warm his hands and backside. Now, if they’ll only let me be the one that commands it, please Jesus! he wished most fervently, looking out to the entry hall where Jessica and her brother were making their amends with some familial joshing. He locked eyes with Jessica and bestowed a wide grin on her, as if amused by their little tiff, but approving of her outré riding style. That reassurance lit up her face and made her look as if she would giggle out loud, so pleased with the morning, seemingly so pleased with her life with him.
We’ll see how long that lasts, Lewrie thought; when I tell her that I might be goin’ back t’sea.
* * *
He was at Admiralty, suffering the hectoring tones of the old Greenwich Pensioner tiler, just a bit before Eight, and was summoned up barely after checking his boat-cloak, hat, and sword with an usher, with no need to hunt up a seat in the already crowded Waiting Room.
“Ah, good morning, Sir Alan,” First Secretary Croker welcomed as Lewrie entered that worthy’s offices. “Captain Middleton will be with us in a moment. Coffee, or tea, sir?”
“Coffee, if ye please,” Lewrie said, taking a seat before the desk. He had barely sugared and creamed his cup to his taste when they were joined by Middleton who bustled in, yawning.
“Well, then,” Crocker began, “we’re going to try it on, sirs … but, with only three transports, for now. That will still give you six companies of troops. And, if the initial raids prove to be fruitful, then we will expand to the full five transports, and the full battalion of troops. Since Captain Middleton has so much experience lately with the dockyards at Gibraltar, he will be seconded to you, with the authority of a Commissioner of the Admiralty, to smooth the path in fitting out the transports with all the needfuls, and the boats, and crews. You gentlemen will have your choice of such ships as you find suitable to the endeavour.”
“Where, sir?” Lewrie asked.
“Portsmouth, to begin with,” Croker told him. “There is an old Sixth Rate frigate, the ah … Boston, returning from the West Indies to pay off and be scrapped for her fittings. Her very name reveals how old she is, what? First in commission in 1762, before the American Revolution. Her Captain will be getting a new command, but her three Lieutenants and her Midshipmen will be available to man the transports you select, and her Master’s Mates can serve as Sailing Masters, as we discussed. There will be a welcome rash of promotions for several of Boston’s people.”
“And the owners and ship husbands will continue to be recompensed monthly, Mister Croker?” Middleton asked. “What, then, will be done with the hired civilian crews, masters, and mates?”
“They will move on to other merchant ships,” Croker told him in a sly way. “It is thought necessary to purchase the transports into naval service, outright, much like hired-in merchantmen used as armed auxiliaries. The cost for that necessity is why you are limited to only three, for now, Sir Alan. You, Captain Middleton, are to negotiate the purchase prices, so long as you are not spend-thrift. Keep around nine or ten thousand pounds, with as much of the necessary fittings all found, and Portsmouth Dockyards will make up the needful.”
“Armed?” Middleton posed with one brow up.
“Oh, swivels, perhaps, but no carriage guns,” Croker allowed. “Muskets, pistols, cutlasses, boarding pikes, and hatchets, that sort of weapons. With troops aboard, there’d be no room for guns, or working them.”
“And where after they’re ready, Mister Croker?” Lewrie asked.
“Malta and Sicily, though you should keep that under your hats for now,” Croker cautioned them. “Admiralty envisions that Southern Italy, round the old Kingdom of Naples and the Two Sicilies, is to be a good proving ground. Our Army has already made some temporary forays there with good results, to the great embarrassment of the French, and with no fears of our losing either Sicily or Malta to them, our Army deemed it feasible to free up some garrison troops for your use.”
“And is there a strong intelligence network in place there?” Lewrie pressed on. “Can’t succeed without one, as I mentioned.”
“I gather that there is,” Croker allowed, though not sounding all too sure upon that head. “The French ruler Napoleon put in place, Marshal Murat, is a perfectly brutal tyrant, quite unlike his predecessor, Joseph Bonaparte, as cruel as a Turkish satrap, if I may style him so, and his heavy-handedness has created a great and growing resistance to occupation … though there are few reports that the Neapolitans emulate the ferocious activities of the Spanish or Portuguese partisan fighters, yet. Murat’s forces are made up mostly of soldiers dragooned into French service from the Germanies, Holland, Piedmont, Savoia, Genoa, Naples, and other Italian duchies, who may not enjoy being conscripted to fight to expand the French Empire, either, so it may be that some of them may be dis-affected, as well.”
“Sounds as if they may not be too much of a threat to our raids, then,” Middleton commented with a dismissive grunt, more concerned at stirring up a cup of coffee for himself.
“Don’t know about that, sir,” Lewrie told him. “It never pays t’take the French too lightly. Murat may have just enough Frenchmen on hand to keep the rest in line. Death by firin’ squad if they fail, or go sullen? Besides, they may be gettin’ their pay regularly, have plenty of food, cheap wine, and biddable peasant girls to lord it over. They may be as happy as clams with their lot. Even the Italian conscripts … they’re far from home, no one they know can see what devilment they’re up to, the locals ain’t their people, so they can be as beastly as they, and Marshal Murat, want, and get away with it. They just might fight to stay top dogs.”
“Hmm, perhaps the intelligence gathered by our, ah … people who do such things, would know more about that when the expedition arrives on the scene, Sir Alan,” Croker said with an air of distaste.
Turd in your punch-bowl, Lewrie thought, wondering how many other ideal assumptions had been made about this enterprise.
“Ehm, I would suppose, Mister Croker, that the transports represent a squadron, no matter how small,” Lewrie went on, hoping that he didn’t sound too desperate. “So, might a flagship of some kind be necessary? If so, what kind? You make it sound as if I will be offered the command of the experiment, so…?”
Croker just stared at him.
“I, or any other officer assigned, needs a warship from which to command, plan, direct…,” Lewrie added, wondering how grovelling he appeared.
“The transports, and the troops aboard them, are to be considered an adjunct to a larger squadron with the frigates and brig-sloops diverted from their blockading duties, from time to time, to protect and support the landing force whenever it sets out on a raid,” Croker patiently laid out as if setting Lewrie up for dis-appointment. “There were no plans to provide a flagship—.”
“Whoever it is, sir, can’t run the training of the transports’ crews from a hotel room at Portsmouth,” Lewrie interrupted, “nor can an officer senior enough to command this plan be expected to sail them into action from a corner of a transport’s ward room.”
“Pursers, sir,” Middleton said, making both Lewrie and Croker turn to gawp at him and his non sequitur. “It seems to me that Purser’s Mates aboard the transports must be supervised by a senior man, aboard a flagship. Then, there’s the Army to consider. One would suppose that a Colonel of some sort will be appointed over the troop contingent, and he and his staff will need berthing and planning space, close to the naval officer in command of the raids, ’til the moment that he goes ashore with his men. And, did we not factor in the use of a larger warship’s Marines, along with armed seamen, to re-enforce the army? Lewrie is right … the officer in charge needs a flagship.”
“Well … hmm,” Croker said, nettled but determined not to let the others see it, drumming fingers atop his desk.
It was rare in Lewrie’s naval career that he’d ever stood on his dignity and sense of honour, for the good reason that he doubted if he had any, but he’d seen many officers demanding their rights, their due place in a pending action, their claim for a shot at fame and glory, or merely a higher seat above the salt. He reckoned that if he balked at running the operations from the back of a dram shop, Croker would appoint someone else in his place, but, dammit, it was his plan, his past experiences that another officer didn’t possess, and damned if he would do it “on the cheap”. He would go with the due honours he had earned, or he would turn truculent. Life on half-pay with Jessica was too sweet to leave if he sailed off slighted.
He sat, legs crossed, arms crossed, as Croker delved into some papers on the side of his desk, ready to fume in high dudgeon.
“I think, ah…,” Croker slowly said. “Perhaps a sixty-four of the Third Rate might be coming available. I’ve a request here from a Captain Nunnelly of the Vigilance asking to be relieved for some medical reason. She’s been allowed to quit the Brest blockade, and will be in Portsmouth within a fortnight, as soon as my communication reaches her. Would a sixty-four suit, Sir Alan?”
“Admirably, Mister Croker,” Lewrie said, almost letting out a sigh of relief, a breath held too long. “She’d have bags of room for a small army staff, at least seventy Marines aboard, and her eighteen- and twenty-four-pounder guns could provide fire support for the troops sent ashore.”
Now, let the other shoe drop, Lewrie thought; will I have her, or some other senior son of a bitch?
“Room enough for me, temporarily?” Captain Middleton stuck in. “Hunting up suitable transports and fitting them out, for as long as I am there, is better done from a ship with available rowing boats, than from a room at an inn. Save me the costs of lodging, meals, and boatman’s fees.”
“Of course, sir,” Croker agreed. “Now, Sir Alan, do forgive me for giving you a false impression.”
Oh, shit, it’ll be someone else! Lewrie thought, appalled.
“It is, after all, your plan in all respects, based upon your own previous experience, and the officer now in command of the squadron to which the endeavour shall be attached requested you to command it. Of course, the duty will be yours.”
“Well, alright, then!” Lewrie rejoiced.
“In point of fact, you will serve under Rear Admiral of the Blue, Thomas Charlton,” Croker went on. “What is that odd word, serendipity? The odd, co-inciding stroke of fortune? Admiral Charlton was promised a new active commission when we spoke with him before Christmas, and a suggestion was made of several areas of operation, though nothing definite was promised. Then, when he was given his orders to sail for the Mediterranean, and Malta, he broached the subject of your proposal as a way to discomfit the French, which set the study of it in motion. When we recently informed him that the plan would be tentatively approved, he wrote back, saying that he’d trust no one else with putting it into operation. When you coach down to Portsmouth, Sir Alan, make sure you fetch your cabin furnishings along.”
“I will, sir, and thank you,” Lewrie said, then added, “May I name to you, sir, Midshipman Charles Chenery. He served under me when I had Sapphire, and is currently available. I’ll be needing someone to clerk for us ’til Vigilance comes in, a staff of one ’twixt me and the transport squadron, after.”
“You wish him, then you have him, Sir Alan,” Croker agreed. “I will have your formal orders written up and sent you by tomorrow’s post, both your command of the transports to be selected, and for the Vigilance, so you can relieve her present Captain.”
“Excellent, Mister Croker!” Lewrie exclaimed, now in much finer takings, now that things were settled.
“Now, let us hope that this … experiment in amphibious expeditionary operations proves fruitful, and successful,” Croker replied.
“If that’s it, I suppose we should bid you good morning, sir,” Captain Middleton said, rising.
“And a good morning to you as well, gentlemen,” Croker replied, coming from behind his desk to see them to the door, and shake hands. “There is really no tearing rush, but it would be nice if you could be at Portsmouth before the next fortnight’s out.”
“Within ten days, I’d think, right, Lewrie?” Middleton supposed.
“About that,” Lewrie agreed.
“Coach down together, take rooms at the George Inn for a day or two?” Middleton went on.
“’Til our ship comes in, aye,” Lewrie agreed.
* * *
Will Jessica forgive me for takin’ her brother away, too? Lewrie asked himself once ensconced in a hackney on the way home.
She had turned tearful once he’d revealed the letter to her after supper, even with his assurances that it was bad odds that Admiralty would give him the assignment beyond organising it, and once they had retired she had clung to him fiercely, and they had made love as desperately as if that night would be their last. Their earlier-than-usual breakfast had been a frosty affair, though Jessica had tried to put a brave face on it.
What would she make of it, though, now that his orders were official? How dis-appointed, how heartbroken, would he make her? There was so much to do to prepare for his own departure, so much to do to prepare her and their household for his absence; solicitor, bank, and house staff, for he’d be taking Desmond, Deavers, Pettus, Dasher, and Yeovill with him, of course, and new people must be vetted and hired at very short notice.
Lewrie devoutly hoped that it would not prove to be too much for her. For the most part, the wives of naval officers or army officers that he had met over the years had given him the impression that they were capable of continuing life without their husbands, despite their fears, and the unfair burdens placed upon them. His late wife, Caroline, had been self-sufficient, whether in their cottage at Nassau in their early years, or when they’d rented their farm from her uncle Phineas Chiswick at Anglesgreen; there was always too much to see to, whether it was livestock, children, pantry or still room, or the farm workers, to keep her engaged.
Would Jessica find the same engagements, the strength to be that same sort of self-sufficient? he wondered. She was certainly not one of those silly shrinking violets who had nothing to do with her days but read ghastly novels, make idle rounds of tea, cards, and gossip sessions, as Lewrie secretly supposed of her girlhood set of friends. She had her career, her paintings, commissions for portraits and illustrating books, her family, and charitable and social events held at St. Anselm’s. And, in the short time she’d had as mistress of their house, Jessica had not been blithely above how it was managed, what would be served at meals, how it was cleaned, how the beds were made, how the fires must be laid, or let even Yeovill be the only one to do the shopping! Surely, she would cope! He was sure of it … mostly.
He cautioned himself, though, to not act too glad to be going back to sea, ’til his coach at last drove away, at least.