Just before the dinner hour the entire family and house guests all made their way to the withdrawing room upon hearing the pianoforte being exercised by Mrs Carthew. She was not as accomplished upon this instrument as at least two of her daughters but she played with great feeling and chose her music to flatter those skills she did possess. The first piece was followed by a round of applause, and then just as she was about to perform an encore, she stopped.
‘If my memory grows worse I shall forget all your names, and my own as well,’ she declared and began to search her pockets hurriedly until finally a letter was produced. ‘Ah! I do apologize, my dear Lizzie, this arrived with the post and I have been carrying it about all afternoon meaning to give it you. It is from Captain Hertle, which makes my lapse even more unforgivable.’
Penelope retrieved the letter before any could rise and carried it straight to Mrs Hertle, who received it with both joy and trepidation. A small blade was produced by Mr Carthew, and the seal broken. Elizabeth held the letter up to the light, clearly hungry for every word, turned pale as milk, and could not catch her breath. Everyone thought she would topple from her chair.
‘Elizabeth,’ Henrietta cried, ‘what is it, my dear? What does it say?’
But Elizabeth was unable to answer, tears streamed down her cheeks, but she could not utter a word, and waved the letter towards Mr Carthew that he might read it himself.
‘“My Darling Lizzie”,’ he read, taking the sheets of paper, ‘“I have this hour received the worst possible news, and I must ask you to sit down and prepare yourself for it. Charles lost his ship to a French squadron a few days past. He and his officers were taken as prisoners aboard a French seventy-four, Les Droits de l’Homme. Not long after, this ship was chased by a pair of Royal Navy cruisers and Les Droits de L’Homme was driven ashore in a full gale, with great loss of life. We were informed by the captain of a lugger we captured this very day that only two Englishmen survived – a boy and an older officer with red hair – almost certainly Charles’s sailing master, Barthe. I am, as you can imagine, utterly desolate. I have lost my oldest, dearest friend and brother. This terrible, terrible news will come as a shock to you and I do hate to send it but certainly Henrietta must be informed at the earliest possible moment. Poor Henri, and you too, my dear, for I know what high regard and warmth of feeling you held for my friend …”’ But the reading was cut short. Henrietta stood up from the sofa, covered her mouth with a hand, and would have collapsed had not Wilder been standing so near that he caught her and lowered her back to the cushions.