Sails on the Horizon: A Novel of the Napoleonic Wars (39 page)

“I see. Thank you. I am most grateful.”

As the last of the stretchers was being carefully lifted out of the wagon, Charles turned to see Penny returning, tight-lipped, pale, and clearly agitated. He knew what she would be upset about and decided that it was something they were going to have to deal with sooner or later. “Come into the house,” she said brusquely. “I must converse with thee.”

He followed dutifully as she led him to the doorway, opened it, and stood aside without speaking as he hobbled through. Charles felt he could cut the silence with a knife.

“Charles Edgemont, see what thou hast done,” she said, her anger spilling out as soon as she had closed the door loudly behind her.

“I didn’t do it,” he said defensively. “The Spanish did.”

“Yes, but thou wert a willing conspirator,” she said furiously. “If thou and thy warship were not there, thou wouldst not have been set upon, and these poor men would still be whole.”

Charles faced her squarely. “I was not set upon,” he said evenly. “I gave the order to attack the Spanish warship. A warship, I might add, considerably larger than the
Louisa.
I saw an opportunity to defeat her and I took it. This is my duty, the thing that I do. If I have another such opportunity I will do the same again.”

Penny stared at him for a long moment, her face pale and strained. “I do not like war,” she said at last. “Thou can see what it does.”

“Yes,” Charles said, “I don’t like war either. Hardly anyone does. But sometimes it is necessary.”

“No, Charlie, it is not.” There was an intensity in her tone that he had never heard before. “Oh, the men of the world always speak of war as necessary and heroic and honorable. But it is never thus. War is murder, cruelty, and greed, bloodlust and thievery. Why are all the women ravaged after a battle? Why are all the goods and chattels looted? War is not noble. War is man’s lowest instinct. It is butchery, arrogance, and lust, and nothing more.”

Taken aback by her outburst, Charles raised his voice. “You must remember that France declared war on England. Surely we are entitled to defend ourselves.”

“In God’s love, Charlie,” her outrage building, she almost shouted, “we are the same people. It doesn’t matter who declared first. If they hadn’t we would have the very next day. England and France have had one war after another this past century and longer. All this violence has yielded nothing, only death and widows and cripples and orphans and poverty. A hundred years ago we fought against the French long and hard because we could not agree on who would be the king of Spain. Imagine,” she exclaimed, “English blood over the king of Spain. Then there was war and war and war with Spain herself. For what? A few islands. Then more war with France. And the so-called Seven Years War; and the American War; and now this war against the Republic of France because their people overthrew a vile and stupid king—their king, not ours. Still we fight and fight and murder and slaughter without end. I ask you, what good has come of all this war? What good at all?”

Charles stood, stunned and mute. She was not entirely wrong, he thought, if one looked at it her way. He knew he could argue with none of it, not in any terms that would pacify her. And he had a greater worry as he watched the anger in her face, one that terrified him. “Does this change our…plans?” he said in a very soft voice.

Her breath still came rapidly, but her eyes softened. “No,” she spoke in more measured tones, “I am not angry with thee. I am angry at the world. I have long known who thou art and have resigned to it.” Looking firmly up into his eyes, she added, “But if thou comes home to me dead, Charlie, I will be angry with thee forever.”

He pulled her to him and put his arms around her. “I’m very sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry to have distressed you. I wouldn’t cause you pain for the world.” They stood together for some minutes, close together and alone in the hallway while he felt her breathing slowly return to normal.

Soon after, she led him to the parlor at the back of the house, helped him out of his coat, and set him down at a table. She left to go into the kitchen and, after a moment, came back with a tray containing two bowls of steaming stew, one rather larger than the other, and bread and butter. Once the food was arranged on the table she sat opposite him.

There was something more he wanted to know; something he had never fully understood. “Penny,” he asked, reaching for her hand, “why are you resigned to me? Why do you put up with my ways?”

She met his gaze and answered seriously: “Because thou art kind, Charlie; I fear too kind for thy profession. I saw it immediately when thou tended my horse and set my arm. That is why I love thee. I am sorry for thee and what thou feels thou must do, and I pray that it will not always be thus.” Then she smiled brightly at him and gave a small laugh. “There is that, and also because thou art not frightened by me. All the others have been.”

“I can well imagine,” he said, thinking of something entirely different and gently rubbing his thumb in small circles on the palm of her hand.

She instantly met his eyes and pulled her hand away. “Oh, thou art a challenge to me,” she said, slightly flushed. “What am I to do with thee?”

“If you give me a little time, I may come up with an idea or two,” he said with a grin.

He felt her shoe rub against his calf. “Thou art impertinent,” she said without expression and promptly changed the subject. “How long before thou returns to the sea?”

Charles hesitated. “Two months, maybe longer. It depends on how long it takes the dockyard to repair my ship.”

“And thy injuries?”

“My injuries will be healed before then. Lincoln says I should be able to use my wrist in about a week and put some weight on my foot a little after that.”

“I would like Joseph Willard to look at thee while he’s here.”

“All right.” Charles put down his fork. “I’d like for us to be married, if you’re still willing.”

“I am,” she said, touching his hand. “When wouldst thou wish to have the ceremony?”

“As soon as possible,” Charles said seriously. “I’d like for us to be able to spend as much time together as we can.” He held her hand tightly in his.

“I want that also,” she said softly. “But there is planning to do. People will have to be invited. I need a dress fit for a wedding. And you must speak with my mother and father. They know, but thou must make thy intentions direct.”

“Of course,” Charles said, trying to arrange the details in his mind. “I would still like it to be soon. I want to be with you,” he added huskily. “We can talk to your parents this afternoon.”

Penny lowered her eyes and nodded.

Charles heard someone clear his throat and looked up to see Bevan standing in the doorway. “I’m sorry to interrupt,” he said, looking from Charles to Penny, “really sorry. Your servant, ma’am. The men have eaten. They’re cleaning up. Do you want us to wait for you?”

“No,” Charles said. “Just leave York and one of the wagons. Get the men settled in at Tattenall as best you can. I’ll be over later.”

“All right,” Bevan said and turned to leave.

“Daniel,” Charles said hurriedly, “don’t leave without congratulating us. It’s official.”

“I feared as much,” Bevan said, crossing the room and kissing Penny on the cheek. “Good luck. You, miss, in particular will need it. And you, Charlie,” he continued, shaking Charles’s hand, “if luck were cows there wouldn’t be anywhere to step.”

Penny rose and hugged Bevan. “Thou art a good friend, Daniel Bevan,” she said. “Take York and the wagon. I will bring Charlie home this evening.”

Bevan bowed. “This evening, then.”

The remainder of the afternoon passed quickly. Joseph Willard, the Quaker doctor, soon arrived. Charles thought him a pompous and graveyard-serious middle-aged man. The doctor carefully examined each of the wounded men, removing their dressings, questioning them about their injuries and pains, prescribing medicines, and reapplying poultices and wrappings. “I will assume responsibility for tending these men, but I expect your surgeon to call on me when he is free,” Willard said.

Charles was introduced to the Worrall and Clayton families, who arrived with their carriages and older children to take their share of the more seriously injured away. With Penny at his side, he spoke briefly with each of the men before they were moved, explaining quietly what was being done for them and how they should behave. The three most critically injured, who were to stay with the Browns, were moved carefully into an upstairs room.

A short while later, Dr. Willard found Charles and Penny in the parlor. “Thou may return when I call thee, Penelope Brown,” he said sternly. As soon as they were alone, he sat Charles on a chair and frowned at him. “I do not approve of military officers and military affairs,” he said. “Look what thou hast caused.”

“Yes,” Charles said in a clipped tone; he had had this argument already.

Willard sighed. “Take off thy shirt,” he said. After a period of bending, poking, and stretching Charles’s injuries, the doctor grudgingly pronounced him reasonably fit. “Thou canst do without the sling,” he said. “Thou mayest use thy wrist gently; much of the strength in it will return in time. Thou mayest also begin to put a little weight on thy ankle, but not so much that it pains thee. Continue to use a cane or crutch for another week or two.”

Charles said, “Thank you for all you’ve done. I’d like to pay you for your services.”

Willard appraised him sourly. “I will not accept money for tending to the navy’s injured. I do not approve of what they do.”

“I see,” Charles said tersely.

“As for thee,” the doctor continued, “I understand thou art to marry our Penny.”

“Yes,” Charles said, wondering what was next.

“My wife brought that girl into this world. I have been her doctor all her life and I expect thee to make sure she is content in it.” Charles started to say something, but Willard went on. “I also expect to continue to be her physician and thy children’s. I suppose, for efficiency, that will make thee my patient also, as distasteful as that may be. On this basis I will charge thee one pound, ten shillings for this visit.”

Charles paid him.

Penny entered the room as soon as the doctor opened the door. She found Charles fumbling to redo the buttons of his shirt and, brushing his hands away, she fastened them for him. The touch of her fingers on his bare skin thrilled him. “Thou wilt have to tuck thy shirttails in thyself,” she said primly. Charles pulled her onto his lap and kissed her. She kissed him back for a moment, then pulled her face away. “My parents are waiting for us to speak to them,” she said, her eyes shining. “There will be plenty of time for kissing later.”

“Do you promise?” Charles said, but she had gotten to her feet. He pushed himself upright, and, balanced on one foot, managed to get most of his shirttails down into his trousers. She studied him, straightened his collar, and brushed her fingers through his hair. “That will have to suffice,” she said finally. After he’d collected his crutch she led him to a larger parlor in the front of the house, more formally furnished. George and Elizabeth Brown sat on a sofa with Peter fidgeting expectantly on a chair nearby.

Penny took Charles’s arm and stood close beside him in the middle of the room. “Thou speakest first,” she whispered in his ear.

“Your daughter and I wish to marry,” he said directly. “We seek your blessing.”

George Brown smiled broadly; Penny’s mother did not. “When?” Elizabeth Brown asked.

“As soon as it can be arranged,” Charles answered. “Within the week, I hope.”

Penny’s father rose from the sofa. “If the two of ye are decided on this, then congratulations to ye both,” he said, shaking Charles’s hand and then hugging his daughter.

Elizabeth Brown remained on the sofa. “Art thou truly fixed in this?” she said to Penny.

Penny said firmly, “Yes, Mother. We have spoken about it already.”

George Brown sat down beside his wife and put his hand on her arm. He talked to her in very low tones and patted her hand affectionately. Elizabeth looked undecided, then resigned. She rose and stood in front of Charles. “I welcome thee with small misgivings,” she said. “Penny is my youngest daughter and very special. I let her go reluctantly.” She kissed Charles’s cheek and then Penny’s. “I do wish thee joy,” she said, dry-eyed.

CHARLES STAYED FOR
supper with the Browns, eating a simple country meal and answering when spoken to. Mostly he watched his soon-to-be wife with a mixture of anticipation and wonder. Penny talked distractedly with her parents and brother about the unusual events of the day and her plans for the wedding. At the end of the meal, she announced that it was time for her to take Charles back to Tattenall. She had promised Daniel Bevan she would do so, she explained.

“But it’s nearly dark,” George Brown said, a look of alarm spreading across his face. His eyes darted from his daughter to Charles, who tried to look unconcerned and said nothing. “I will take him in the cart myself.”

“No,” Penny said firmly. “I said I should, and I shall.”

“But it will be very late. How wilt thou get home?”

“I can spend the night at Ellie Winchester’s,” Penny said quickly, looking desperately to her mother.

“No,” George Brown said, his voice rising. “I won’t have it. I forbid—”

“George!” Elizabeth said, rising from her chair. “I need thee in the kitchen.”

When the two came back a few moments later, Penny’s mother said, “Make sure thou hast something warm to sleep in.” George Brown looked at Charles and started to speak, changed his mind, and fell unhappily silent.

Penny and Charles sat side by side on the bench of her cart under a crisp January moon as Penny’s mare, Maggie, trotted along the roadway, her nostrils streaming puffs of mist into the cold air.

“What do you think your mother said in the kitchen?” Charles asked as the cart rattled along.

Penny, the reins in her hands, stared at the road ahead. “I have heard there is some question as to whether my oldest brother, Thomas, was conceived before or after their wedding. It apparently caused quite a scandal at the time. My uncle Seth sometimes still teases about it.”