Under Enemy Colors (47 page)

Henrietta displayed a bitter smile, her full, soft mouth turning down a little. “Though you believe your prospects poor in the service, it is my prediction—and when I choose to make predictions I am seldom wrong—that you shall be given a ship. The Navy will be forced to recognize your talents, Lieutenant. Now see if I am not right.”

“I hope with all my heart that you are right, Miss Henrietta, but I did not know it was your talent to predict the future.”

She moved a little, side to side, favouring him with a charming half-smile. “It is not, commonly, but from time to time I feel very sure that events will order themselves in a certain manner, and I flatter myself that often I am proved to be in the right.”

Hayden repeated that he hoped Henrietta was right, and immediately felt foolish for it. There was a moment of faintly strained silence.

“Perhaps we should join the others,” Henrietta said softly, giving Hayden the impression that he had said something she found unpleasant, though he could not think what it could have been.

As he opened the door that she might precede him into the house, she paused in stride and said, “Then we might look for you to call upon us, Lieutenant Hayden?” And then, quickly, “I’m sure Lady Hertle would be very pleased.”

“I would like nothing better,” he admitted, with a small sense of relief that whatever unpleasantness or misunderstanding had passed between them could be so easily overcome.

Inside, they found Robert overseeing the servants as they exchanged the seascape over the fireplace with a painting of the admiral. It was upon this matter that the newly minted captain had been called to consult.

Lady Hertle gazed up at the portrait of her husband, painted sometime in his fiftieth year, a pleasant-looking gentleman, round-faced and full-mouthed. Hayden thought he looked about to laugh or make a jest.

“You see, Elizabeth, it is much better when love creeps up on you unnoticed,” Lady Hertle was in the midst of saying. “I knew the admiral for many years, for he would often visit us at our home, and never had the least suspicion that between us lay anything but the fondness you would expect when two young people were so much in one another’s society. It was something of a surprise to me when I found myself thinking of him often, in a daydreaming sort of way. I was aware of this ‘sea change’ in our feelings before the admiral, and was forced to bide my time until he saw it for himself, which happily he did. I must say that men who will engage an enemy in battle without a moment’s hesitation are often the most irresolute when it comes to engaging a lady’s affections. But finally he spoke, and it still fills my heart with joy to think on it.

“It is a very different thing when you imagine you are in love with someone soon after you have met; then your heart is all aflutter, you can never think what to say and make the most foolish answers to the most innocent enquiries. One lives and dies by every word, and parses every sentence, every look, seeking signs that one’s feelings are returned.” She waved a hand as though pushing away something unpleasant. “Don’t you agree, Lieutenant? Is it not infinitely preferable to discover oneself in love with a young woman whom you have known for some time, rather than a complete stranger whose entire disposition must be created out of hopes and hearsay?”

“I’m sure that is the very best way, Lady Hertle, but one must take love however it finds one, I suspect, not that I am any authority on such matters, of course.”

Lady Hertle looked at him in some surprise. “There is a great deal of wisdom in what you say, Lieutenant. Upon my word, you are full of surprises.” She turned to the others. “Now, who shall play this evening? My fingers are all swollen and stiff. My dear Elizabeth, will you not play a little for your old Aunt Bill? I have just had the pianoforte tuned.”

Elizabeth did play, then she accompanied Henrietta as the latter sang; they then played, at Lady Hertle’s insistence, a mistake-filled duet, provoking much hilarity. Finally, Henrietta favoured them with two lovely airs, her rich soprano filling the room. While she played, Hayden thought there was always about her face a look as though she would lose herself in the music—that it would overwhelm her—but that she resisted this fullness of feeling, staying always just within the bounds of what might be deemed acceptable expressions of the music’s sentiment.

“You play with your heart, my dear,” Lady Hertle said when the songs were done. “Your entire delicate heart.”

The evening passed too quickly, to Hayden’s mind, and he found himself taking his leave of the company. Mrs Hertle leaned close in a moment when everyone’s attention had been taken by a small dog escaping into their company, pursued by a horrified maid, who apologized profusely despite everyone’s apparent delight and laughter.

“You did not miss the moral of my aunt’s story of her courtship, I hope?” Mrs Hertle asked quietly.

“That one should marry a woman as much like one’s sister as possible, but who is no relation at all?” replied Hayden.

“Oh, why must men at all times be so obtuse?” Elizabeth shot at him, and then joined the gathering around the little terrier, who had been swept up into Lady Hertle’s arms and was wagging its entire being in excitement.

Having his leave-taking rather overshadowed by a small canine, Hayden went out into the dark street and made his way down to the harbour. Mrs Hertle’s last words were not easily disposed of, and he found himself contemplating Lady Hertle’s story about her courtship. Was she saying that he should have no aspirations toward her niece Henrietta, because they had known each other only a very short time? She had also opined that men most ready to engage the enemy were often the most reticent to engage a woman’s heart—or words to that effect. Certainly she might have been sending a small message that he should not be timid in his pursuit of Henrietta, but if that were so, her other statement seemed designed to work against it. Hayden simply did not have a lady in his life whom he had known for many years, with whom he could suddenly find himself in love and then pursue boldly. He was of the opinion that Mrs Hertle had mistaken the intent of her aunt entirely. There was no message there for anyone, least of all him. Merely an observation of life, one of several she had made during the course of the evening. He determined then to put this matter from his mind.

An hour later he entered the gunroom to find Griffiths seated at the table, the
Times
spread before him, a look of mild indignation upon his studious face.

“Is that the account of our recent cruise, Doctor?” Hayden asked.

“No, it is the account of some other cruise entirely, for I recognize nothing about this story but the name of the ship, and oft-repeated name of the heroic Captain Hart.”

“It has not affected you as it did Mr Barthe, I see.”

“Our good sailing master was still in an indecent rage when he left the ship. I have never heard such cursing and damning. I even heard him damn the captain’s eyes, which I had previously thought the prerogative of Captain Hart alone. But then he had much to say about many another of the captain’s body parts. Quite a little anatomical catalogue.”

Hayden gestured to the slim newspaper spread upon the polished wood. “It did not surprise you, then, as it did me?”

“Indeed, Mr Hayden, I was taken by surprise for a moment, but then almost immediately felt that my own naïveté alone had allowed this. Anyone more worldly would have realized that Hart would do exactly this.” He touched the paper with his fingertips. “I have been to see our former captain this very evening. Or perhaps I should say, to his physician, who led me to believe that Hart was not recovering well. I even thought he made the slightest suggestion that my treatment of the captain was responsible for the tardiness of his healing, though perhaps in this I am mistaken, for when I asked him to state this more clearly he then complimented me on my medical skills—me a mere surgeon—though I dare say I have treated more men who have been flogged than he.”

“You did not see the captain, then?”

“No, he was not well enough to receive me, I was told, though I did discover he was quite well enough to meet with a barrister for some length of time this very morning. Terrible what gossips some loblolly boys can be.”

“A barrister…” Hayden mused. “Certainly he knows that officers are seldom held accountable for losing their ships, except in the cases of the utmost negligence.”

“So one would think. But then Mr Archer spoke with his brother, who is a barrister himself, and that gentleman was of the opinion that any officer at a court-martial would do well to have a knowledgeable friend attend him at the court.”

“And will Mr Archer’s brother be attending, then?”

“So I suppose.” He glanced toward the door of Archer’s cabin, from which could be heard a soft, even breathing. “Have you witnessed a court-martial, Mr Hayden?”

“I have not.”

“I wish I could say the same, but I was called to give evidences at the trial of Mr McBride…only to say that the finger that had dropped from the bunt of the sail appeared to have been severed with a knife, and to say also that no man aboard had so recently lost a finger. A small part, though I still feel like a Judas, even so, especially since all of our fears have been borne out and McBride proved innocent.”

“Do not take on Hart’s sins. It was he who persecuted McBride, and the officers of the court-martial who found him guilty and passed sentence without proper evidence. It was not your doing.”

“But I played my part, even so. Perhaps less a Judas and more a Roman soldier. I digress. What I did learn on that day was how brotherly these captains are, for all their posture of disinterest. In McBride’s case, the paucity of evidence carried far less weight than Hart’s firm assertion that this was the guilty man. Which is a long way of saying they will not find Hart to blame if there is any other upon whose shoulders, perhaps I should say
back
, they can lay this burden.” The doctor gazed up from the
Times
, his silvery hair almost aglow in the candle-light.

“There shall be no blame ascribed at all, I’m sure. The resistance to the mutineers was so spirited that all will be held blameless, yourself included, so you may put your mind at rest on that matter. As to who is to blame for the mutiny taking place…the mutineers will be held to account for that. No one else. And do not forget, all the officers and loyal crew conducted themselves honourably in retaking the
Themis
.”

“Not all, Mr Hayden.” Griffiths brushed the paper with the backs of his fingers. “Captain Hart was whimpering in the sick-berth at the time, and ordering you to return him immediately to England. He attempted to steal your command away so that you would not embroil him in a battle to retake the ship he lost. His behaviour was cowardly…nay, notorious. If it comes out it will ruin him, and I am not referring to just his career.”

A
board the
Themis
work proceeded apace, despite the reduced crew—or sometimes, thought Hayden, because of it. The men who remained aboard went about their business with a will, and for those not yet rated able, opportunities were taken to teach them their trade, for it seemed the ship might be in port for some time.

All of the disquiet that had formerly infected the ship was now dissipated, and an easy sense of camaraderie came over the men before the mast. Hayden’s orders were obeyed with alacrity, even good cheer, and poor Franks, the hobbled bosun, and his mates were almost at a loss, for they appeared never to have any cause to start a man. In short, the
Themis
became a happy ship for the first time in many years.

The promise of prize money made desertion unlikely, and Hayden began granting brief shore leaves to small numbers of men, who repaid this trust by returning to the ship more or less on time, though rather less sober. The battered frigate began to take on her former lustre as carpenters and riggers plied their trades. Several coats of paint concealed the usual multitude of sins.

Hayden felt that he was suspended upon the surface of time; the weeks of suffering under Hart were past, but great uncertainty lay yet ahead. Between these two terrible seasons, the halcyon spread its charm upon man and sea, and Hayden’s spirit took on a strangely resigned contentment, although he suspected the presence in Plymouth of Henrietta Carthew played some part in this.

Hayden took the deck, on one of these golden mornings, and was saluted sharply by crew and officers, several of the latter concealing good-natured smiles. He was wearing his best coat and very clean linen—a sure sign that he went to visit a certain lady—but his contentment was such that he did not mind in the least being the cause of amusement for his fellows.

“The ship is yours until I return, Mr Archer,” Hayden said as he went to the rail and his waiting boat. “Do not neglect airing the magazines. There cannot be many more days such as this.”

“The magazine scuttles are already open, Mr Hayden. Enjoy your time ashore, sir.” Archer did not hide his smile very completely, but then neither did Hayden.

As Hayden’s cutter pushed off from the
Themis
(he refused the bosun’s insistence that he use the captain’s barge), Hayden regarded his ship. Men sat on staging planks hung over the sides, and plied their brushes, a low murmur of amiable conversation, like bees on a bush, emitting from the ship. The cool airs of autumn appeared only at night, most days still unseasonably warm, the rains held at bay.

“She looks very well, Price,” Hayden called.

“Thank you, sir.” Price twisted around on his staging plank. “If clothes make a cove a gent, then I reckon a coat will make this old ladya…well, a frigate, sir.”

“I could not have said it better,” Hayden observed.

In a few moments he was on the quay, and at the appointed place met Captain and Mrs Hertle in company with Mrs Hertle’s cousin, Henrietta Carthew. He was favoured with a smile that never failed to quicken his pulse, and in a moment was walking with Henrietta while the Hertles fell a little behind, stopping to gaze at some object of interest or other.

“Is this not the most exceptional weather?” Henrietta declared. “I can hardly remember an October day so warm.”

Hayden agreed that this was so.

“It must be a great boon for your crew and the refitting of your ship. How goes the work, Captain?”

“I am only a lieutenant, as you well know.”

“But your captain has quit the ship, I believe you said, and Captain Hertle tells me that in such cases, the acting senior officer is addressed as
Captain
. Is this not so?”

“Yes and no. Were I put in charge of the ship for some reason—a job-captain, as it were—the crew would address me as you say, but as Hart is still officially the captain and only away from the ship, I am nothing more than the first lieutenant.”

They had become very contented in each other’s company, Hayden fancied. He even began to imagine that there was an understanding growing between them, though often doubts assailed him. But whenever his pessimism would get the better of him, Henrietta would say something to raise his hopes again, almost as though she sensed his thoughts, his moods.

As they walked along the bustling quay, weaving in and out among the costermongers and fishermen, Landry appeared from behind a knot of men and women. He hurried along with his head down, hardly minding where he was going. At the last second he managed to pull up, and as he raised his eyes to make his apologies, he gave a little start of alarm.

“Mr Hayden, sir. I do beg your pardon. I did not see you. Madame, please accept my apologies.” He quickly doffed his hat to Henrietta.

Hayden introduced the two. “I am glad to find you under any circumstances, Mr Landry. There is much work yet to be done, and we are waiting on the press to bring up our numbers. But we will speak of it aboard ship.”

Landry looked suddenly uncomfortable, or perhaps embarrassed. “By your leave, Mr Hayden, Captain Hart has need of my aid to prepare for the coming court-martial.”

“Prepare for the court-martial…Whatever do you mean, Mr Landry? Captain Hart will give his account of what occurred and the officers shall all say much the same. The ship’s logs and the journals of the various officers will bear witness to his account. What need is there for preparation?”

“I know not, sir. I only know that the captain has told me he will require my services for several days.” He shrugged, raising his hands in a helpless gesture.

“He is the captain, Mr Landry,” Hayden said, “of course you must do his bidding. How goes his recovery?”

“Slowly, sir, but I believe the worst is past.”

Hayden shook his head. “It was a deplorable business, Mr Landry. Well, we should not detain you—a man in so obvious a hurry.”

Farewells, and Landry hastened on his way.

“So that is Lieutenant Landry…” Henrietta appeared to be deep in thought. “He seemed rather alarmed to see you. As though he had been caught out in some shameful act.”

Hayden realized that he had thought the same. “He did look rather dismayed.”

“Curious that he is aiding Hart. Did you not say that he defied the captain at the end, and Hart threatened him?”

“So it was, but apparently all is forgiven. Or perhaps Hart has no other upon whom he can call. Landry could hardly refuse him.”

“No, I am sure you are right.”

The walk continued, though Landry’s unlooked-for appearance began to raise questions in Hayden’s mind. How long had the man been in Plymouth? Odd that he was not staying aboard the ship, even if just by night.

When they found themselves in a situation that no other might hear, Henrietta had begun speaking to him in French, largely to practice her almost-perfect accent. Their “private language” created a kind of intimacy between them, Hayden imagined, but at the same time he found the experience brought back the confusion and storms of emotion he had experienced on his recent cruise. As he did his best to hide this, Henrietta continued to speak his mother’s tongue.

She observed that her cousin bore Captain Hertle’s frequent, sometimes prolonged, absences rather stoically.

“Would you think such an arrangement intolerable?” Hayden asked.

“Intolerable? Perhaps. Wearisome, certainly, but then,” she said with a quick glance at his face, “it would depend…Were I married to a man I loved deeply, I don’t know if such a depth of feeling would make the separation unbearable or if such a bond would ease the burden. You are often abroad, Mr Hayden, how bear you this separation from your loved ones?”

“I have no family but my mother in Boston, and we are in each other’s company so infrequently I cannot remember what it was like to be often near her. Were I to marry, though, I fear I should miss my wife terribly. I know Robert does so. How I wish this war were over and all of us returned safely home.”

“It is the fervent wish of us all, Lieutenant.”

She took his offered arm to step over a tread where several stones had become dislodged. Hayden thought she looked for excuses to do this, and a small glow of warmth would spread through him each time.

Hayden left them at Lady Hertle’s, though not without paying his respects to the dear lady, and hurried down to find his boat. His coxswain had the cutter riding to a small anchor…just far enough from the quay that his men could manage a decidedly bawdy exchange with the waterfront sirens, but not so close that they could be tempted to ruin upon those notorious hearts of stone. Hayden hailed the boat and Childers soon brought her up to the stair, but before Hayden could take up his station in the stern sheets, a letter was placed in his hand.

“Mr Barthe sent this out from the ship, sir,” the coxswain explained. “He thought it might require your immediate attention.”

Hayden broke the seal, noting it had not come by regular post. Unfolding the single sheet, he found the briefest note directing him to a particular inn. It was signed “Philip Stephens.” Hayden bid Childers to lie off again, and hurried back the way he had come.

The First Secretary had rooms overlooking the sound, and Hayden was immediately taken up to meet with him. There was no desk to hide behind this time, no jar containing a severed finger to be produced with a dramatic flourish. Stephens rose to greet him, and the two sat where the light from the open windows fell upon them in elongated squares. The First Secretary was not much given to pleasantries, and from a small stack of papers produced Hayden’s last missive to his friend Mr Banks.

Slipping on his spectacles with one hand, Stephens tilted the letter to the sun, as though to remind himself of its contents. Hayden felt his resentment kindle at that moment, and begin to grow. It had been Stephens who had, in full knowledge, put him under Hart’s command—an able lieutenant to bear up the weak-kneed captain, as someone among the Lords Commissioners had requested. But Stephens had possessed his own designs; perhaps to intrigue against Hart within the Admiralty, or to expose the well-connected captain to men who apparently were unaware of his true nature. And Hayden had been his instrument in this matter, much to the lieutenant’s distaste.

The spectacles were removed, set aside, and the measuring gaze settled on Hayden. “I must say, Mr Hayden, that your own account of your recent cruise differs significantly from the narrative published in
The Times
. Have you seen it?”

“It is a pack of disgraceful lies,” Hayden stated unequivocally.

This brought Stephens up short, and he fixed Hayden with a most serious look, but Hayden was in no mood to be intimidated. Stephens had thrust him into an untenable situation aboard the
Themis
and his already precarious career had been brought lower as a result. He wanted no more “favours” from the estimable Mr Stephens.

“You seem to be indignant, Lieutenant,” Stephens said, his throaty voice even and emotionless.

“And how could I not be, sir? You put me aboard a ship with a man who must be the most cowardly officer in His Majesty’s Navy, a tyrant whose crew had already turned against him, and expected me to rescue him from his own folly. And what did this man do at every turn but undermine my authority and my ability to aid him. From this day forward I will have Hart’s mutiny attached to my name, and I was not even aboard ship when it occurred—a ship, I must add, which was recaptured from mutineers against Hart’s express wishes!” Hayden fell silent, his mind suddenly in a blur of resentment and rage.

Stephens did not appear to take offence at this outburst, nor did he appear the least contrite. “I hope it will comfort you to know that your account has been related to certain gentlemen of influence, and if I have my way, Josiah Hart will serve in His Majesty’s Navy no more.”

Hayden threw up his hands. “Certainly it was worth my career to accomplish that,” he spat out.

Stephens turned his head and gazed out the window a moment, his thoughts impenetrable to Hayden. His eyes still fixed on the distant view, the First Secretary observed, “The court-martial will begin in four days.” He turned back to Hayden and noted the lieutenant’s reaction to this news. “You did not know? Having received word that Bourne is soon to return, Hart is suddenly recovered enough to face a court-martial. Much…politicking has gone into the selection of captains who will make up the panel. I have done what I could in this regard, but we shall see. Others are perhaps more skilled in these matters than I.” He rose and offered his hand. “Good luck to you, Mr Hayden.”

Hayden also rose, startled at this abrupt dismissal. Rather reluctantly he took the First Secretary’s soft little hand, and in a moment was back on the street—quite stunned. The man had overseen the ruin of his career and did not even offer an apology. At least when first they met Hayden had been offered a commission. From this meeting he took nothing but a handshake.

Robert had warned that he should never have taken the position without some solid promise in return. Perhaps, as always, Robert had known more of the character of Philip Stephens than Hayden had been able to guess from their single meeting.

He cursed under his breath. There it was, clear as clear. The First Secretary had met with him, and nothing whatsoever had come of it. Lieutenant Charles Hayden had no future in His Majesty’s Navy.