How Dark the Night (28 page)

The snug little room that Richard entered was one of the few rooms in the entire residence, Richard often thought, that looked as though people actually lived in it. The “downstairs study,” as the room was called to differentiate it from the more spacious and richly adorned study that Jack Endicott maintained at the rear of the second floor, featured oil paintings, a teakwood desk, wingback chairs, twin camelback sofas, a thick Turkish rug, a deep-set marble fireplace, and tiers of shelves on three walls lined with leather-bound books. Richard was perusing titles embossed on the spines of the books when he felt more than heard someone enter the
room. He turned, expecting to see Jack Endicott. Instead he saw Jack's wife.

“Anne-Marie,” he said, smiling. “How very nice to see you.”

“And you, Richard.” She came up to him and embraced him in her usual manner, as always conveying a silent message by pressing her fingers briefly into his upper back and allowing her lips to linger on his cheek before drawing away. “Congratulations to you and Katherine,” she said cheerfully. “You have an exceptionally beautiful granddaughter. Mother and child are doing just fine, you will be happy to learn—a great deal better than
this
grandmother. I had quite forgotten how demanding a wee one can be.”

Richard grinned. “From where I'm standing,” he said, “that grandmother is doing just fine as well. And congratulations go all the way around, Anne-Marie. This is a blessed event for us all. My congratulations go also to Frances and Robert. I understand that the newlyweds have returned to Boston and have taken up residence in Louisburg Square. You must be delighted to have them living so close to you.”

“I am indeed. And I am pleased that so many of your family were able to attend the wedding. It meant so much to us all—to me, especially.” She leaned in and said conspiratorially: “For a while there I thought it might be Jamie giving Frances away, and not her stepfather. I have never seen a young man so eager for a wedding to proceed.”

Richard could not help laughing. Never before had he heard Anne-Marie acknowledge her younger daughter's long and unsuccessful pursuit of his younger son.

“You will be interested to learn,” he said, “that Jamie now has a love interest of his own. I had begun to worry that he would never find a woman to meet his high standards, but she was right there in Hingham all along. Mindy has been Diana's best friend since they were children. You may recall seeing her with Jamie at Frances' wedding: the tall, slender young woman with blond hair?”

“Yes, I do recall meeting her. But I thought her name was Melinda?”

Richard nodded. “‘Mindy' is a nickname.”

“Well, good for Jamie. She is indeed a lovely young woman. Is matrimony in their future, do you think?”

“Nothing is official yet, and of course that is for them to decide. However it may turn out, for the moment Katherine and I are delighted. We've rarely seen Jamie so happy and we have adored Mindy for years. I believe even Jack approves of her. And as we both know, when it comes to women and the finer things in life, Jack has impeccable taste.”

He meant it as a light jest and also as a compliment to Anne-Marie. Which is why he was not prepared for the dark cloud that passed over her face. She looked away.

Puzzled, Richard asked, “Is something wrong, Anne-Marie? Did I speak out of turn?”

She laughed wryly. “No, Richard, you did not speak out of turn. You
never
speak out of turn.”

“What's wrong, then?”

Her eyes returned to his and she smiled. “Nothing is wrong. In fact, I have glad tidings to share with you. Will and Adele will be returning to Ship Street early next week. It is their wish, and mine, that their daughter be raised in Hingham and not here in Boston. Hingham is their home and where they need to be. Little Katherine will grow up strong and healthy there.”

“That
is
wonderful news,” Richard said. “Katherine will be so pleased.”

“I do hope so. And if Will joins the Navy, as he has his heart set on doing, there will be many more people in Hingham to attend to Adele and the baby than there would be here.”

“That's true. And those people in Hingham must include you and Jack. You can come down and visit us anytime and stay for as long as you wish. You would be such a help to Adele, and of course Adele would be happy to have you there. And remember: a Cutler & Sons packet boat is always at your disposal. Just contact George Hunt whenever the mood strikes and he'll make the arrangements. You need only show up at the dock at the specified hour. Cutler & Sons will take care of the rest.”

“That is extremely kind of you, Richard. I can't thank you enough. But the fact is—” She paused, and the dark clouds gathered anew.

He placed his hands lightly on her shoulders. “The fact is what, Anne-Marie? Tell me what's bothering you.”

She looked up at him, her deep blue eyes glistening with unshed tears. She turned away, walked over to close the door to the study, and returned.

“The fact is, Richard,” she said quietly but forthrightly, “I'm not sure if Jack
will
be joining me. He has been corresponding a great deal with Jan Van der Heyden in Java, and he may be leaving soon to meet with him in person. If he does, he tells me, he will be gone for many months. Perhaps for more than a year, depending on where they decide to meet.”

Richard shrugged his shoulders. “Is that so unusual? The Orient trade is critical to C&E, and Jack hasn't seen Mr. Van der Heyden in quite a few years. Given the difficulties we are facing today and those we'll be facing
in the future, a personal meeting makes good business sense whatever the time and distance involved.”

“I don't disagree,” she said. “Understand: it is not
what
he is saying to me, it is
how
he is saying it. I think he is not telling me the truth about this trip. Perhaps he does not even mean to return. He is so angry now, all of the time, with me and with the government because it does not protect his ships and business. And he has so little time these days for me and his daughters. I often wonder if he is even aware that he
has
a grandchild.” She raised a hand as if to stop Richard from speaking. “Yes, I know, Jack is above all else a businessman. I knew that before I married him. Truth be told, it is
why
I married him. I wanted the life and social position he could give me. But one thing I have learned in this marriage is that there is more to life than making and losing money.
People
are what matter.
Family
is the most important. You understand that, Richard, God bless you. But Jack does not. Oh, no. All I am to him these days is . . . a possession: a charming hostess when he wishes to entertain other businessmen and a person who will listen to his angry rants when we are alone. I am his wife in name only.” She paused, placed one graceful hand over her mouth, and then said in a quieter tone. “I'm so sorry, Richard.
I
am the one who has spoken out of turn. I should not be troubling you like this on such a glorious day. I apologize.”

“You needn't apologize, Anne-Marie,” he said with a dismissive gesture. “Not to me. These are hard times, and I fear they are going to get harder. Jack is my family's business partner, and he takes justifiable pride in the commercial empire he has built. We are all the beneficiaries of his good business judgment.

“Jack is not mad at you, Anne-Marie,” he continued. “Jack is scared. He can't bear to see everything he values, everything he has worked so hard to build, threatened by forces beyond his control. He has to take out his frustrations on someone, and as his wife, that burden unfortunately falls on you.”

“Yes,” she said simply, then: “Thank you, Richard. Thank you for saying that. I need to hear it. Still, I feel terrible placing that burden on you when you have . . . when you have your own concerns to consider.”

She did not explain what she meant, nor did Richard ask.

“I believe I hear a distant wail,” he said. “Shall we go up?”

“You go. This is a special day for you and Katherine, and I have no wish to intrude upon it further. I will see how dinner is coming along. Jack will be joining us, if he can find the time.”

T
WO HOURS
after the Hingham packet boat set sail for Boston, another boat, a smaller craft, cast off from the same dock and followed a more northerly course. It was clinker-built and carried a single mast with a quadrilateral sail. At its bow was a loose-footed jib whose luff was secured to a forestay that bore down from near the top of the mast to the tip of a 4-foot bowsprit. Forward, an unenclosed cuddy provided storage and shelter for supplies. Planking built in around the cockpit in the shape of a sideways
U
provided seating, and the polished mahogany tiller was attached to a sizable rudder bolted to the stern. Impressive enough, to Mindy, was the fact that Jamie and Will had built this beauty, but what had caught her eye the first time she had sailed in this craft earlier in the summer was its wide beam—nearly half the length of the boat at the waterline. When she had asked Jamie to explain the boat's unusual design, he had laughed.

“That's easy,” he had quipped. “Girls.”

“Girls?”

“Sure. Girls get scared when a sailboat heels over in the wind. So, if Will and I wanted them to go out with us, we needed a boat that doesn't heel as much. We also needed a boat that doesn't require a substantial keel so we could get in close to one of the islands, anchor, and then wade ashore for some private time.”

She raised one eyebrow. “I see. The girls liked
that
, too, no doubt.”

“They were lining up at the dock,” he said with a mischievous grin.

“I'm sure they were.” To change the subject she had asked, “You and Will really built this boat by yourselves?”

“Well, no. The shipwrights at Harrison's Boat Yard helped us out a lot. So did Father and Mr. Crabtree after they returned home from the war in the Indies. It was therapeutic for Father. It gave him something to do. He had just lost his own father.”

“How well I remember,” Mindy said quietly, recalling those days and weeks that had brought together the entire village of Hingham in a common bond of mourning. “It seems impossible that seven years have passed since we lost that dear man.”

Mindy's heartfelt reaction to his grandfather's passing had touched Jamie deeply. “Actually, Mindy,” he had confessed, “it was Father who insisted on the wide beam and sail plan. He wanted a boat that was sturdy and reliable, and that Will and I could handle on our own. I made up the stuff about the girls.”

“Ah,” she had said.

Almost two weeks had elapsed since their last outing together in this boat. Since early June, Jamie had spent considerable time in Boston at the Charlestown Navy Yard.
Constitution
was due at long last by mid-October, recalled home, along with
Enterprise
and
Hornet
, the last three ships of the Mediterranean Squadron, following a mutiny by members of the flagship's crew. Frustrated beyond measure by what for some sailors had been a five-year term of service, and fearful that if war with England were to break out they would be forced to remain on station for perhaps years longer, they had refused to sail anywhere unless the destination was America. Only when Capt. Hugh Campbell threatened to fire into them with grapeshot did the mutineers reluctantly return to duty. What
Constitution
's sailing orders might be after she arrived at the Navy Yard remained a matter of conjecture, although the commandant of the yard had speculated to Jamie that the flagship would likely require a major refitting before putting to sea again. The naval dockyards at Syracuse, the squadron's base on the island of Sicily, had limited capabilities.

Meanwhile, front-page newspaper articles highlighting what the national press had dubbed the “
Leopard
-
Chesapeake
Debacle” continued to stoke public outrage against Britain. Although the proceedings of the court-martial were kept under wraps, those in the know were certain that Commodore Barron would ultimately take the fall. Not only was he the ranking officer in
Chesapeake
at the time, he had, by his own admission, taken his flagship to sea unprepared for battle. That Barron had no reason to anticipate a battle—and that he had a six-week cruise ahead of him to put his ship and crew to rights, and that Secretary Smith had urged him to set sail as soon as possible, and that Captain Gordon had advised him that
Chesapeake
was ready for sea—seemed not to matter. Also indisputable was the fact that
Chesapeake
's guns were in such a sorry state of readiness, and her gun crews so ill trained to service them, that to fire the one gun that replied to
Leopard
's three broadsides her first lieutenant had plucked a hot coal from the galley fire and juggled it in his bare hands over to a gun that was touched off for “the honor of the flag.” So Commodore Barron reportedly told the five judges presiding at the court-martial, among them Capt. Stephen Decatur and Capt. John Rodgers. None of that group of five naval captains was impressed by Barron's statement about honor.

And the national press would have none of it. “
Whither the honor, Commodore?
” headlines screamed from Boston to Savannah. When it was further revealed that after a perfunctory trial in Halifax, Nova Scotia, the captured British seaman had been hanged from the yardarm of
his former ship, and that the three American sailors were condemned to receive five hundred lashes with the whip—a crueler and bloodier form of execution than hanging—the cries of outrage reached a fever pitch. The public demanded punishment for those responsible, and they got what they demanded. Commo. James Barron was suspended from the Navy for five years without pay. Capt. Charles Gordon and Lieutenant Hall, captain of
Chesapeake
's Marines, received official reprimands; and
Chesapeake
's chief gunnery officer was dismissed from the service.