Seasons of War 2-Book Bundle (103 page)

“Yes, indeed, it would,” whispered Emily. She had turned again toward the windows when a commotion brought her swiftly back. If it were not for the crutch, she might not have immediately recognized the flushed-faced midshipman who came scurrying toward them, narrowly averting a somersault on the parlour’s carpet. He was so agitated he could not speak, only grin at Emily as he struggled to catch his breath.

“Mr. Walby!” Emily could sense Gus’s heart thumping in its ribcage. “Did you run all the way from the wharves just to greet me?”

“Yes! No!” was all he could manage. He seized Emily’s wrist and tried to pull her to her feet.

“What is it?” she asked, exchanging an incredulous stare with old Dr. Braden as she willingly jumped up, hope swelling in her breast.

“We must — we must hire a coach,” he said, resting against the brick wall of the fireplace as he coughed. “We must go … now!”

“Take a moment for yourself, Mr. Walby,” said old Dr. Braden, himself rising.

“There’s no time, sir. I’ll tell you all in the coach.”

Completely caught up in Gus’s web of mysterious excitement, Emily laughed. “At the very least, tell us where we must go.”

“To the church of St. Peter and St. Paul,” he exhaled with another grin, “in the parish of Wymering.”

Noon

Wymering, Portsmouth

Leander left the front
entrance of the church and stepped outside to find that the rain had stopped. He had been anguished, watching Mr. Evans’s coffin being lowered into the ground next to the copse of yew trees; the presence of rain had only made the scene and the mourners more desolate. As he slowly walked along the churchyard path, Leander could hear Fly’s hollow footsteps on the stones, but he did not turn around, thinking it best to leave his grieving friend to his silent reflections.

Magpie, who had tarried in the church, never having been in one before, awestruck by the hushed magnificence of its nave and altar, finally caught up to him. His face was tear-stained and his mouth was still fighting to withhold his tattered emotions, but seeing the new pair of shoes they had purchased that morning for the funeral looking so splendid on his small feet, Leander could not help but smile.

“Could I put it on now, sir?”

“Yes, now that we are out of the church, you may.” He watched the boy pull on the woolly thrum cap, disheartened when his dark curls and eye-patch disappeared under its weight. “Here now,” Leander said brightly, “if we fold up the bottom, it will sit very well on your head and you shall still be able to see.”

“It doesn’t fit me proper, does it, sir?”

“No, Magpie, but one day it shall.”

Leander looked around for Fly. He had stopped walking to gaze back at the church, his eyes moving over its foundation of grey stone and the lichen-encrusted roof before scaling the length of the bell tower. “I should like to journey home now to be with my wife and children,” he said, mumbling as if speaking only to himself. “It has been too long a time.” He glanced sadly at Leander. “What about you, old fellow? Before the Admiralty tracks you down, I believe you have earned a day or two at leisure.”

Leander continued along the pathway, keeping a watch out for their hired carriage, having asked the driver to return for them at noon. “Magpie and I have planned to — we are — we have —” His stumbling words died upon his lips. His eyes flickered away from his friends, over the churchyard’s low fence and across the road where a yellow post-chaise had slowed down and come to a stop.

“What’s wrong, sir?” asked Magpie, peering around as if something sinister were lurking behind the crumbling tombstones.

When Leander did not reply, his companions followed his expectant stare and frowned at the older gentleman who had alighted from the post-chaise and was now standing motionless beneath a stand of shivering trees, his arms at his side, his face turned in their direction.

“Do you recognize him, Lee?” asked Fly.

“Is it someone come to mourn their loved ones,” Leander said, trying to make sense of what it was he was seeing, “or is it simply a ghost?”

Magpie gasped. “I hope it ain’t a spectre, sir.”

A smile began to play upon Leander’s lips. “No! No, it’s my father.”

“But he ain’t dead, is he, sir?”

“Not that I know of, but — I don’t understand — how can this be? How would he ever have known to find me here in this lonely churchyard?” His eyes never once leaving the shadowy apparition, Leander drew toward the fence, but before he had reached the roadside, he stopped again, this time more abruptly, this time to catch his breath. A second person had stepped from the carriage — a young fair-haired woman in a white dress, whose dark eyes searched the churchyard until she had found him. Across the distance, he could hear her clear happy laughter, he could see her tremulous smile and the pink of her cheeks, but it was only when the boy at his side yelped and shouted her name that Leander realized he was not gazing upon a cruel vision.

“Oh, sir! She’s come!” sobbed Magpie, reaching up for his hand. “She’s come lookin’ fer us!”

Leander’s body shook with joy and disbelief. Tears started in his eyes. “Dear God! Emily!”

Fly came at once to his side. “Pull yourself together, old fellow.”

“But it’s really her.”

“Yes! I can see that! But it won’t do for her to see you so silly.”

Leander hesitated, still worried that if he blinked, if he went to her, she would vanish in the trees, taking his father with her.

“What are you waiting for?

“Right!” laughed Leander. “How — how do I look?”

Fly snuffled. “You look like an old scarecrow.”

“And you — of all people — who are privy to the true state of my woeful confidence.”

Fly leaned in toward Leander and clapped him lightly on the back. “Standing a stone’s throw away is solid proof that she did
not
forget her doctor on the sea. Go to her, man, and God bless you both.”

They shook hands and Leander hurried off. Feeling wistful, Fly watched him go, praying his friend wouldn’t stumble in his exuberance or be knocked down by a passing carriage. Only once he could see that Leander and Emily were safely in each other’s arms did he turn away, taking Magpie with him.

“Oh, but sir, I was hopin’ to go too!”

Fly studied the sailmaker’s bandaged arm, and then — with affection — looked into his bright pleading eye. “’Tis such a wide, wide sea and all of us have come so far.”

“Beg yer pardon, sir?”

Fly quickly brushed away a tear. “Nay! Not just yet, Magpie. Stay with me awhile. Let them have a private moment together.” He glanced one last time at the jubilant scene across the way and smiled. “But, there now — look! Mr. Walby has come as well! Wave him over to our side of the road, and together we shall tell him of our adventures and show him the peaceful, sloping bit of greenery where Mr. Evans sleeps.”

Epilogue

1:00 P.M.

On the Wharves at Portsmouth

The clerk looked up
from his rickety desk, arranged on the docks beside the ramp that led to the decks of HMS
Expedition
. The tall prisoner standing before him was busy inspecting the ship’s hull and rigging, giving him a chance to size him up as he would a haunch of salted beef in the victualling yard.

“You’re an American then?”

“Yes,” answered the prisoner, wavering slightly on his swollen, ulcerated feet.

“Any papers on you?”

“I have no papers.”

“Ha! They never do!” harumphed the clerk. “Any belongings?”

“Anything I once owned was gambled away long ago.”

“Had to sell your pantaloons for a crust of bread, eh? Ha! Not many of you Yankees manage well in our prisons. Sooner or later you enlist with us, just to get out of them. When your mates heard you were joining us, did they tie you up and flog you?”

“They did not.”

The clerk squinted up the man, so unlike the others he was. In his manner of speaking, he seemed confident and he could steadily hold his gaze with those sunken eyes of his. “Right then, you just need to be registered in the muster books. Give me your name and place of birth?”

“Asa Bumpus. New Bedford, Massachusetts.”

The clerk made a few scribbles in his ledger. “Well, on you go then. The purser’s mate will see you get new slops once you’ve been shaved and bathed.”

With a nod, the tall prisoner started to shuffle toward the ship’s ramp, but he hesitated as if he’d forgotten something. “Might I ask when we are putting to sea?”

The clerk smiled proudly. “We sail at high tide, Mr. Bumpus.”

Afterword

The majority of the characters in
Second Summer of War
are fictional; however, a few of them require a note of explanation.

THE ROYAL FAMILY: King George III and Queen Charlotte had a large family. Six daughters and seven sons lived to adulthood, including their eldest son, George, the Prince Regent (later George IV), and their third son, William, the Duke of Clarence (later William IV), both of whom appear in
Second Summer of War
. Their two youngest sons, Octavius and Alfred, died when they were young children. George III and Queen Charlotte did not have a son named Henry. In creating the fictitious father of my fictitious Emily, I bestowed upon him the title of Duke of Wessex, having borrowed it from the present Earl of Wessex, Queen Elizabeth’s son Edward. I imagined Henry to have been born between the Duke of Cumberland and the Duke of Sussex, as Queen Charlotte — who was pregnant most years of her early marriage — had a window of childbearing opportunity between these two sons.

WILLIAM, DUKE OF CLARENCE: Although Emily’s Uncle Clarence is not a fictitious character, the adventures he has in
Second Summer of War
are imaginary. I did, however, try my best to stay true to his personality and temperament. He was described as being loud, boorish, and impulsive, and fond of bawdy jokes, but he was also generous and good-natured. For twenty years he lived in domestic bliss with Mrs. Dora Jordan, a popular stage actress, at Bushy House, and though they were not legally married they had ten children together. He was, in fact, appointed Admiral of the Fleet by his brother the Regent in December 1811, and later, upon his brother’s death, became King William IV.

FRANCIS “FLY” AUSTEN: Fly was one of Jane Austen’s most beloved brothers. He enjoyed a long life and a distinguished naval career. Many of the personal details I gave to his character are true to his appearance and nature, but I did take literary licence with regard to the experiences I had him endure during the War of 1812. He did fight the Americans, but not as a commander of HMS
Isabelle
nor a “fighting” passenger on HMS
Amethyst
, and by 1813 he had long since been promoted to captain. But I like to imagine that the well-respected, intelligent, courageous, and humourous Fly Austen in
Second Summer of War
is very similar to the man that once was.

ROYAL NAVY SHIPS: Although there have been several ships known as HMS
Amethyst
and HMS
Illustrious
, the vessels and their crews in
Second Summer of War
are fictional.

The following appear in the text and warrant a word of explanation:

Page 18 — The prison on Melville Island, Halifax, housed several American prisoners of war during the War of 1812.

Page 22 — During the exchange on deck in this scene, Emily hears an unnamed officer quote lines from
The Sluggard
by Isaac Watts (1674–1748).

Page 23 — Georgiana Cavendish, the Duchess of Devonshire (1757–1806), was known for her beauty and her sense of fashion, including her elaborate hats.

Page 31 — Princess Charlotte (1796–1817) was the only child of the Prince Regent (later George IV) and his wife, Caroline of Brunswick.

Page 48 — Tom o’ Bedlam was the name given to former inmates of London’s Bethlem Royal Hospital (otherwise known as Bedlam), which treated those suffering from mental illness.

Page 63 — The lines of verse are taken from the eighteenth-century seamen’s song
Can of Grog
.

Page 102 — Boodle’s was a men’s club on St. James’s Street, London.

Page 122 —
An Orange and a Slice
refers to the Orange Prince of Holland and the Duke of Gloucester who were both romantically linked to Princess Charlotte in 1813.

Page 151 — Burgoo is a thick oatmeal porridge or gruel that was regular fare in a seaman’s diet.

Page 166 — Ratafia was a popular fruit and almond-flavoured liqueur.

Page 167 — A buck was a young, spirited man whose interests included the pursuit of pleasure, often of a debauched nature.

Page 167 — Sir Henry Halford (1766–1844) was a royal and society physician who attended King George III from 1793 until his death in 1820.

Page 168 — The Old Bailey (aka the Central Criminal Court) was so named for the street in London on which it was built, and over the years thousands of criminal cases have been heard here. Newgate Prison once stood next to it.

Page 185 – Tothill Fields was a slum area in London known for its brothels and grog shops.

Page 186 — A fop was a man who took a great interest in his clothes, which were often extravagant and worn in the hopes of securing attention and setting a new fashion trend.

Page 197 — Stovies is a Scottish dish of stewed onions and potatoes.

Page 199 — Leander Braden and Biscuit utter a prayer that is a variation of the one commonly used when a man was buried at sea. In their case, however, they can recall neither the words nor their order.

Page 212 — Tossing a cannonball along the deck and knocking a man off his feet was called shot rolling. The crew often did this to the officers prior to carrying out a mutiny.

Page 235 — Mrs. Maria Fitzherbert (1756–1837) was a mistress of the Prince Regent. They were secretly married in 1785, but their marriage contract was an invalid one.

Page 258 — Sparring and boxing matches were a popular form of entertainment held at the Fives Court in St. Martin’s Lane, London.