The Flood-Tide

by Cynthia Harrod-Eagles

  The birth of his child, combined with the death of his father-in-law, were sufficient to complete the change of heart that had been slowly taking place in Charles. It was impossible for him to continue to function with divided loyalties, and though he was barely aware of it, it was essential for survival that he should give his whole heart to one side or the other. He had resented the invasion of his home and his private world by the Patriot Party, but he resented even more when his own countrymen came to burn his boats.

  The result of the struggle was inevitable from the moment his tiny, helpless daughter was placed in his arms, still damp and red and exhausted from the effort of being born. His adolescent disappointment with Eugenie had been fading all that year, and disappeared entirely the moment she became mother of his child, and a fierce determination filled him to protect and provide for them, at whatever cost. The news of Philippe's death crystallized his resolve. He had liked and admired his father-in-law, and had, in marrying Eugenie, tacitly promised to serve Philippe's ends in protecting the estate and the heritage. Philippe died at the hands of the British, and in doing so made his son-in-law an American. York Plantation would survive, Charles swore by the head of his infant daughter; and Philippe's grandchildren would inherit it, to live upon it as free Americans.

  *

  The Ariadne, being the mercury of the fleet, was usually the first to receive news, and handled such a volume of it that Thomas did not at first notice the tale of the sinking of a privateer sloop, the Sainte Jeanne, running guns from Martinique to Delaware. It was only on second thoughts that he checked the name of her captain, and then sank into deep and gloomy thought.

  He had received coldly William's suggestion that Charles might have become sympathetic to the rebels, and found for himself plenty of reasons for Charles's apparent strangeness, though none of them were entirely convincing. But the discovery that Charles's father-in-law had been running guns for the rebels seemed evidence conclusive. Perhaps, he thought, it was not an entirely voluntary betrayal - if his wife were about to give birth he might find himself in a painful position. But even so, it was a betrayal, and Thomas felt it more a betrayal of himself than of England. Added to his disappointment with Flora's letters, and his need of leave after almost three years continuously at sea, it made him morose.

  The war news was not encouraging either. Howe had taken Philadelphia, and freed the Delaware River, but had still not crushed Washington's army; and in October grave news came from further north. General Burgoyne had led the Canada troops southwards to free the upper Hudson, but had been trapped at Saratoga. General Clinton who was holding New York had begun to march north with reinforcements, but had been ordered back to help Howe at Philadelphia. Without the reinforcements, Burgoyne had been forced to surrender.

  The surrender was made under convention, by which the troops - around four thousand men - were to lay down their arms and were to be allowed to return to England on condition they did not again serve in America. Ariadne was sent to New York to collect General Burgoyne and take him and the news of the defeat back to England as rapidly as possible. Other ships would be provided later for the transport of the troops.

  It was not a mission to please Thomas, even though it meant returning to England and the possibility of some leave. He had to do the honours of his ship and give up his cabin to Burgoyne - a general ranked far above a mere captain - but a disgraced general and bad news were not the most favoured cargoes. The war was going badly, the rebels were being aided more and more openly by France, and it seemed to him that it was impossible for England ever to win without the use of forces far greater than she could afford to employ.

  The passage was a particularly difficult and slow one, and it was December before a weary Ariadne sailed up the River Thames to London Pool. Having got rid of his passenger, Thomas made out his reports and, pausing only to change into his best uniform, gathered them and the despatches and passed the word for his gig to take him up to the Admiralty. There, after a considerable wait, he was ushered into the gilded presence of the First Lord himself!

  ‘Ah, Captain, good of you to come,' the First Lord said, as if his word were not law to a lowly captain. 'You know the Comptroller Sir Maurice Suckling and Admiral Sir Peter Parker - and my secretary Johnson - Captain Thomas Morland, Sir Peter, just back from New York with the—' he searched amongst the papers on his desk.

  ‘The Ariadne, sir,' Thomas supplied him politely.

  ‘Ariadne, 28, yes. Well, Captain, Sir Peter and I would very much like to hear how matters stand out there. We have your reports, of course, but we'd like to hear anything you have to tell us.’

  Thomas told all he knew, and the three dignitaries put a number of questions to him, about conditions, and the strength of American seagoing power, and the success of the blockade. He struggled with his fatigue to put his report to them concisely and clearly, for it was not often that a captain had the opportunity of impressing the arbiters of fate. When he had finished, there was a brief silence, before Parker said, 'You have served for some time on the West India station, I believe, Captain?'

  ‘Yes, sir. Three years now in the Ariadne, and before that in the old Hydra.'

  ‘Hm. And your father, of course, was Admiral Morland, who knew the West Indies well?'

  ‘Yes, sir.'

  ‘Sir Peter is to take over next year as commander-in-chief of the West India station, Captain,' Sir Maurice explained kindly, and Thomas found that Parker was actually smiling at him.

  ‘We shall need all the experienced captains we can get,' he said, 'and I look forward to having you under my command.'

  ‘Thank you, sir,' Thomas said.

  ‘But not yet, I fear,' the First Lord went on. Thomas raised an inquiring eyebrow.

  ‘What is the condition of your ship at present? Is she ready for sea?'

  ‘Once we have revictualled, yes, sir,' Thomas said -there was no other possible answer - but he felt constrained to add, 'The crew are pretty tired, though, sir. We have been at sea continuously since April '75.'

  ‘Hm. Yes,' the First Lord said, frowning a little at the unrequested information. 'Well, Captain, you will not be returning to the West Indies at present. Your services will be needed with the Channel fleet. I see no reason not to tell you that we expect France to enter the war against us very soon.'

  ‘That will at least clarify the situation,' Parker commented.

  The First Lord went on, 'Your men are tired, you say?'

  ‘Yes, sir.' No need to add anything more. The First Lord was an experienced sailor, well able to judge the effects of more than two years at sea without a break.

  ‘Very well. I think we can grant you a little leave. I'll make out your orders to that effect. You can have until 6 January, unless anything urgent crops up.'

  ‘Thank you, sir,' Thomas said.

  It was late the following day, a cold, wet, dark December day, that Thomas, with William beside him, had himself rowed up the river to Whitehall Steps. There had been too much to do on board to leave any earlier, but though he wanted mostly to get back to Morland Place and see Flora and the child, he felt he could not leave London without paying his respects to Lord and Lady Chelmsford, who had been so kind and hospitable to his wife.

  ‘With a bit of luck, William, we'll be asked to stay the night. I shouldn't mind a hot bath, and a night's sleep in a real bed, before we take the coach.'

  ‘Christmas at Morland Place,' William mused, remembering the great roaring fires and the smell of spiced wine and roast goose and his mother playing the heroine in the Twelfth Night masque. Oh, and there would be a new little brother in the nursery now, little Harry, born in August. William was not sure how he would like that idea. He had been too young to remember the birth of James, previously the youngest.

  When they arrived, Chelmsford House was ablaze with light and there were a number of carriages in front of it, and Thomas realized belatedly that he ought to have sent word that he was coming.

 
‘Oh well, too late now to worry,' he said. 'If it's not convenient, we can go away again.’

  The impassive butler who opened the door did not seem at all put out by the appearance of two rather bedraggled naval officers, though there was a sound of laughter and talk from within, and a piano tinkling, and two elegantly dressed people were just mounting the stairs, as though recently arrived.

  ‘Captain Morland, and Mr Midshipman Morland, to see his lordship,' Thomas said.

  ‘Yes, sir, of course. If you gentlemen would like to wait in the library, I will inform his lordship that you are here.'

  ‘Pray give my apologies if it is inconvenient,' Thomas said. 'We seem to have arrived in the middle of a party.' The butler bowed, but in silence, and left them. Thomas sat down gratefully in the nearest chair, and William wandered across to the bookshelves to examine the books. They were silent for a few minutes, until interrupted by the violent opening of the door to admit a young woman, closely followed by a young man, both of them evidently dressed for the party that was going on above. The young woman was in the middle of speech, her head turned back to her companion.

  ‘I'll prove it to you, and then you shall eat your words, if only I can find the—’

  The expression on the face of Charles Morland, Lord Meldon, warned her that something was amiss, and she turned her head and broke off abruptly in mid-sentence, to stare with no less dismay than astonishment at the uniformed naval captain who had risen to his feet a few yards from her. She flushed with confusion, and then grew pale, and her hand fluttered up to her low décolletage in a gesture of defence.

  ‘Flora,' Thomas said, stunned by more different emotions than he could well separate at the moment. 'Flora -I wouldn't have recognized you.’

  It was more true than that expression usually was. It was a woman of fashion before him rather than the pretty little cousin he had married four years ago. Her hair was built up into a tower on top of her head, the front a smooth slope, the back a structure of elaborate plaits and curls, the whole powdered white and topped with feathers and ribbons. Beneath it, a little painted face, a long neck, a deep square décolletage, a tight bodice of primrose yellow satin, a much-hooped skirt with wide embroidered robings over a frilled petticoat, and drooping lace and ribbons at the sleeve ends. He told himself that this was his wife, and the mother of his child, but his mind rejected the information. He felt he had never met this woman before.

  ‘Nor I you,' she said at last with an effort. 'You are so—' she waved a small hand vaguely - 'so very weather-beaten. And you have arrived so unexpectedly.'

  ‘I did not know you were in London. I would have thought you would have come down to the ship, or at least sent word.’

  She looked indignant. 'How could I know your ship was there?’

  Thomas paused before replying. He had always assumed that Flora, like any naval wife, would keep abreast of the news, that she would have been informed the very moment Ariadne was sighted in the Channel, and yet, put to him like that, he could see that she might not, indeed, know where to go for intelligence of ships. And yet, 'Surely Lord Chelmsford would have—'

  ‘My father is from home,' Lord Meldon said quickly, with a small bow. 'Otherwise I am sure he would have brought the news.' There was a silence, which Meldon broke by making a graceful escape. 'I am sure my father would wish me to beg you to regard this house as your own for as long as you wish. And now I will leave you alone, as I am sure you must be desiring to be. Pray ring if there is anything you require. Your servant, sir - ma'am.’

  When he had left, Flora at last collected herself and presented herself to Thomas, a little stiffly, to be embraced. ‘How lovely that you are here!' Her voice lacked conviction, and she hurried on, 'And how long can you stay? Have you leave? Sure the Ariadne is not paid off? Did you not tell me in one of your letters that you were commissioned for another three years?’

  Thomas told his story briefly. 'Now they tell me I am to be attached to the Channel fleet for a time.'

  ‘Then you will be more often at home?' Flora asked. Thomas shook his head.

  ‘If France enters the war, as they think she will, I doubt if we will have any leave. But of course we will have to put in to revictual, and if you were to come down and take lodgings at Portsmouth, I might see you for an hour or two—'

  ‘Why, Thomas, what do you think I could do with myself in Portsmouth, all alone, month after month?' Flora interrupted him hastily.

  ‘I have cousins there,' he said, 'my Aunt Ann's children, who would be happy to entertain you.'

  ‘But I don't know them, Thomas. No, no it would be impossible. But you have not said how long you will be here.'

  ‘We have leave for Christmas,' he said, making an effort to rouse himself to cheerfulness. 'We had thought of paying our respects to Lord and Lady Chelmsford and then taking the coach tomorrow for Yorkshire. Can you be ready by tomorrow?’

  Flora's expression was dismayed as she looked from Thomas to William and back.

  ‘Of course you will want to go straight away, but it would be very strange for me to rush away so suddenly, without warning. I really don't see how I can go tomorrow.'

  ‘But I am sure they would understand, in the present case—'

  ‘Besides, you see, I was not going to Morland Place for Christmas. I have been invited - we are all going - a large party at Wolvercote. Lord Aylesbury's place, you know.'

  ‘But you must make your excuses, of course,' Thomas said. William, embarrassed by what he was being forced to witness, tried to make himself small, and earnestly studied the pattern on the carpet. Flora looked dismayed.

  ‘Oh Thomas, I couldn't possibly do any such thing. It would look so particular. It has all been arranged these weeks, and not for anything would I offend his lordship. They are not expecting me at Morland Place, you know. But wait, why do you not join me at Wolvercote? Yes, that would be much the best thing. It will be perfectly easy to get you invited too, and Lord Aylesbury, you know, is a great friend of the First Lord, which would be good for your career, would not it? Charles - that is, Lord Meldon - can write and ask to bring you too.’

  She beamed with satisfaction at having solved the problem, and Thomas sighed and yielded. It would be a good thing to ingratiate himself with a friend of the First Lord, it was true, but a large house-party was not what he had looked forward to at Christmas.

  ‘Very well,' he said. 'But you will visit Morland Place with me first? There is time before Wolvercote, I am sure.'

  ‘Oh Thomas, I can't. There are ten thousand things to be done here first, and I have already said, I cannot leave the Chelmsfords just like that. I have engagements right up until the moment I leave for Oxford, and it would be too tiresome to break them all. You and William must go, and take my compliments. They do not expect me, you know. If you go post, it will only take two days, and you will have near a week before you need come back to London.’

  Thomas could only assent, though with bad grace. 'Very well, if you will not come—’

  Flora, now feeling she had command of the situation, smiled prettily and pressed his hand. 'I cannot come,' she corrected cheerfully. 'Jemima will understand. But I am so glad you will be with me at Wolvercote. I will enjoy it so much more. And be sure to bring your riding boots. They have wonderful hunting country there, and the Chetwyns keep good horses. I have hunted there a dozen times this year, and had splendid runs, and indeed young Chetwyn says that I am the fastest woman to hounds in all of Oxfordshire! Oh, and I must tell you what Charles -Lord Meldon - said of me. It was so droll!’

  She chattered on, and Thomas listened, part with amazement at the change in her, and part with a deepening gloom that he could not quite account for, for she was holding his hand affectionately and smiling at him as she spoke, and surely a loving husband ought to be glad that his wife had found friends to solace her in his absence?

  CHAPTER TEN

  The defeat at Saratoga had a great many repercussions. Generals Howe and Carleton
resigned, General Burgoyne was of course precluded from fighting in America again by the terms of the convention, and Lord North, who before had been anxious to resign the leadership, now became desperate to do so. In December 1777 France recognized the United States of America as an independent country, and in February 1778 signed treaties of commerce and alliance with America, and was thus unofficially at war with Britain.

  From the time he came back from Wolvercote to return to his ship, Thomas had been shuttling back and forth from the Channel fleet, under Admiral Keppel, to London and the Admiralty, and so had had considerable time on shore. He was often at Chelmsford House, partly so that he could see something of Flora, and partly because he had struck up a friendship with Lord Chelmsford, who could supply him with the latest information from Court and Cabinet. On the occasions when he would return from the ship to Pall Mall and discover that Flora had gone out to a ball or party or entertainment, he would sit beside the fire with Lord Chelmsford and discuss the international situation, so as not to have to think about the domestic one.

  ‘One good thing about France entering the war - it has finally spurred the First Lord to do something about our naval strength,' Chelmsford said one evening. 'Forty-two new ships of the line for the Channel and Mediterranean fleets, and eight for West India. Well, it is better late than never, I suppose.'