by Jay Worrall
Charles looked at the glowering sky and felt a sprinkle of rain. “I’ve seen nicer,” he said.
“Dost thou think it will rain?” the boy asked. Before Charles could respond, Peter glanced anxiously at the house. Apparently seeing some signal, he said, “Please, won’t thou go in? I will put thy horses in the stables.” The door opened before Charles knocked, and a pleasant-looking older woman said, “Come in, Charles Edgemont and friends. We were hoping thou might visit.”
Charles introduced his companions: “My sister, Eleanor, and my friend, Stephen Winchester.” The woman responded with a cheerful “Welcome one and all,” and announced herself as Elizabeth Brown, Penelope’s mother. She led them to a small sitting room in the back of the house.
Penny sat primly by a window, her injured arm in a proper sling across her chest. She appeared composed and self-assured, two things that at this moment Charles knew himself not to be. He stood nervously, not knowing what to say or do. Penny’s mother said, “I will see to hot chocolate for everyone.” Ellie promptly crossed the room, sat on the settee close beside Penny, and took her free hand. “I’m Ellie,” she introduced herself volubly, “Charlie’s sister. He’s told me all about your meeting. Isn’t it simply amazing how these things happen?”
Penny looked at the girl with amused eyes and laughed. “Our meeting?” she said. “I guess thou couldst call it a meeting. Thy brother hath a very forceful way of introducing himself.”
“He never had much in the way of social graces,” Ellie said conspiratorially, holding Penny’s hand in both of hers. “He has to knock them over or no one will pay any attention to him.”
Charles found a chair by the far wall and sat down while the two women talked. “Oh, I don’t think so,” Penny said, glancing in his direction. “He only needeth a little refinement, is all.”
Seeing the direction of Penny’s eyes, Ellie rose abruptly, looked at Winchester, and said, “Come, let’s go look at the millpond.”
“The millpond?” Winchester asked. “Why would anyone want to look at the millpond?”
“There might be ducks,” Ellie said, pushing him toward the door.
Charles sat stiffly in his chair looking at Penny from across the room. He’d worked over in his mind a thousand things to say to her, and now none would come to him. “How is your arm?” finally bumbled out.
“Sometimes it pains me, but not as badly as before. The doctor came yesterday. I’m to take willowbark tea every few hours. He admired thy work with my splint.”
“I’m glad,” Charles said. He wished Ellie were still in the room.
“I don’t like talking to thee over there.” She indicated a chair adjacent to the settee. “Thou art too distant.” Charles moved closer and sat silently.
“Why art thou so quiet?” she asked in a small voice. “Thou wert not so shy two days ago.”
Charles managed a smile. “I haven’t broken any of your bones yet today.”
“I hope thou won’t think that necessary.” After an awkward pause she said seriously, “I looked for thee yesterday.”
“Yes,” he said, his floundering returning. “I—”
“Charles Edgemont,” she said and touched his arm. It was the first time that day she’d used his name or touched him, and he stopped. “If I ask thee a difficult question, wilt thou give me a truthful answer?”
“I’ll try.”
“No, thou must promise.”
“All right,” he said at length. He knew what she was going to ask.
“Didst thou know I am a Quaker?”
Charles shook his head. “No, I didn’t until later. My brother told me.”
“Dost thou abide Quakers? Many don’t.”
“I have no quarrels with Quakers,” he said carefully, “but I don’t know very much about them. More important, I’m afraid that Quakers won’t abide me.”
“Because thou art a soldier in the navy?” she said.
Charles hesitated. What was wrong with his being in the navy? He knew that Quakers wouldn’t fight; did that mean no one else could? “No,” he said finally. “I mean because I’m not myself a member of your sect.”
Penny said directly, “I am troubled by thee being in the navy and I will labor with thee about that another day. As for the other thing, it’s God’s will that’s important more than the rules of religions.”
“How do you know God’s will?” Charles said doubtfully.
“If thou listens, God speaks to thee.”
Charles considered this bit of wisdom more than a little mystifying. “God hasn’t spoken to anyone since biblical times,” he said, “and certainly not to me.”
Penny smiled. “Yes, he does. Thou art not listening.”
“I don’t understand,” Charles said. “Listen to what? A burning bush? A voice from the sky?”
“No, no. It’s nothing like that,” she explained patiently. “We Friends—the people of the world call us Quakers, but we call ourselves the Society of Friends—believe that God dwells in the heart of every person, man, woman, and child. If thou sit quietly and listens to what’s inside, in thy heart and in thy conscience, God will speak to thee.”
“That’s incredible. If God speaks directly to ordinary people, then what are preachers for?” Charles began sarcastically. “And what does he say?” He was about to ask if God told her whether or not to receive calls from men who weren’t Quakers, but realized that he had already gone too far.
Penny sat silently for a moment with a hurt look. “Dost thou truly wish to know, or dost thou wish to ridicule?” she asked.
Charles paused. He was unhappy with the direction the conversation was taking and knew he had already offended her. It didn’t matter whether she thought God spoke to her or not. He only needed to know one thing, the one thing he could not ask directly: Was there, or was there not, any purpose for him to continue to call on her? “I want to know,” he said carefully. “It doesn’t mean that I will accept it, but I want to understand what you believe and what’s important to you.”
She nodded. “That is fair; I could not ask more. Sometimes God tells one what is right and what is wrong, what thou must do and what thou must not do. At other times he explains the meaning and importance of things. And sometimes he just brings one joy and contentment.”
“So what God says, or what you think God says, is more important than what your preachers say,” Charles persisted, trying for a clear answer to his central concern.
“We have no priests or preachers in the way you mean it,” she said. “But yes, what God says is more important than what any man says, or any rules laid down by man—even the rules of religion.”
Charles thought he understood this much of what she had told him: She thought herself free to make up her own mind about who she would see or marry. After that he felt more at ease, and they talked about other things. Rather, he mostly talked and she listened attentively. He told her about how and when he’d been sent to sea, the ships he’d served on and the places he’d been. He did not tell her about the battle at St. Vincent or the circumstances under which he’d been promoted to commander or the money he’d been awarded. He described his family home at Tattenall and his hopes of buying an estate of his own.
At one point a maid appeared with a tray bearing some biscuits and two cups of hot chocolate. Charles took the opportunity to ask the whereabouts of his sister and Winchester.
“Oh, they’ve gone out for a walk,” the maid answered.
As soon as they were alone again, Penny said, “I like thy sister. I think she’s a wonder.”
“It was six years before I’d seen her last week. I hardly recognized her,” Charles said with some warmth.
“But it’s more than her personal beauty,” Penny said, “although she has that in abundance. It’s the joy within her that shines, and her openness and generosity.”
A small cloud passed over Charles’s face as he thought of Ellie and Winchester being “out for a walk,” a worry that Penny
’s phrase about Ellie’s generosity awakened in him.
“What?” Penny asked. “Art thou uneasy about thy sister?”
“Yes,” Charles said, thankful to have someone to share his concerns with. “I’m not sure what to do—or not to do—about her and Stephen Winchester. She’s very taken with him.”
“Any woman would be. He’s beautiful,” Penelope said. “Hast thou spoken to her? Hast thou spoken to him? Dost thou trust them?”
“I have spoken to him, in a way. I haven’t any idea what to say to her. And do I trust them? It’s not a question of trust. It’s a question of what I can imagine.”
“Doth she have anyone to advise her?” Penny asked. “A relative or older friend?”
“There’s only my brother John and me.” He thought about his brother’s evident lack of experience with women. “I don’t think John would be of much help, either.”
Penny nibbled on her lower lip, then said, “Would it be helpful if I conversed with her?”
“About what?” Charles asked.
“About womanly things,” she answered promptly. “About things that are otherwise none of thy concern. And thou must discourse with Stephen Winchester in more clearly defined terms.”
Charles was almost disappointed when Ellie and Winchester returned. Ellie looked radiantly happy and Winchester slightly perplexed. Charles guessed that Stephen had said something that Ellie had taken as a compliment but that he had meant as a suggestion. Whatever it was, Charles resolved to talk to his lieutenant at the earliest opportunity. Penny motioned for Ellie to sit next to her, and Charles overheard her asking his sister to tea the next day. Then she leaned and whispered something in Ellie’s ear, and both women laughed. On parting, Charles asked Penny if he could call on her again. “I hope thou wilt,” she answered, “but not tomorrow.”
Charles sent Attwater with Ellie in the carriage for her visit with Penny Brown the following day. After the noon meal he collected Winchester, and the two walked through the village to the abandoned Howell manor house, the old Tattenall Hall, so Charles could examine it a second time. In the beginning they talked about the Louisa, how work on her would be progressing at the Plymouth yards, and speculating about what duty she might be assigned to.
Walking around the house and examining its vine-covered exterior, Charles changed topics: “May I ask what your intentions are toward my sister?” he said directly.
Winchester cleared his throat and seemed to become absorbed with some architectural detail of the building’s construction, perhaps a cornice on the gable end of the roof high above. “What do you mean?” he asked innocently.
“What do you think I mean?” Charles demanded. “The two of you goggle incessantly at each other like moonstruck…somethings. You’re hardly ever out of each other’s company.”
“Well,” Winchester looked uncomfortable, “I didn’t think it was that obvious.”
“Not obvious?” Charles said, almost angrily. “Look, I know she’s pretty and—er, well—desirable, and that she’s very attracted to you. She’d probably do anything for you if you asked her. What I want to know is, what are you thinking of asking her?”
“Oh,” Winchester said. He swallowed hard and his eyes darted everywhere except at Charles. “I was thinking of asking her to marry me.”
Charles stood, stunned. “Dear God help us,” he muttered finally. He knew from direct experience that years at sea, punctuated by dalliances with mercenary ladies at various ports of call, did strange things to a man and his matrimonial inclinations. Many wealthy, even titled, officers had married barmaids or innkeeper’s daughters, even actresses or prostitutes—virtually the first woman they met on shore who treated them half-decently. This problem did not apply to Charles himself, of course, since he was older and more experienced, but Winchester was obviously smitten. “Do you know what you’re saying? You’ve only known her two days. She’s only sixteen.”
“Yes, sir,” Winchester replied, the starch of defiance in his voice. “She’s almost seventeen. My mother was fifteen when—”
“I don’t care if your mother was still crawling on all fours,” Charles growled. “We’re talking about my sister here. And don’t call me ‘sir.’ What would your father say?”
Winchester’s voice roise. “I don’t give a damn what my father says. And I’m sorry she’s your sister, but you asked my intentions and I’ve told you. Besides, you’re doing the same thing.”
“The hell I am!” Charles snapped. “That’s entirely different.”
“How?” Winchester shot back. “How is it so different?”
“How is that different? How? Because—because I’m a commander and you’re a lieutenant. That’s how. I mean, I’m older than you. I’m wiser, too. It’s clear as day.” Charles heard the words as they came out of his mouth and realized how absurd they sounded. “Hell’s fire,” he said after a moment. “You’d be a lucky man.”
“Yes, sir,” Winchester replied, breathing hard.
“Oh, stop with the ‘sirs,’” Charles said resignedly. “You’re talking about becoming my brother-in-law.”
“I didn’t think about that,” Winchester said, a grin on his face. “Maybe I’ll reconsider.”
“Have you spoken to Ellie about this?”
“Not directly,” Winchester said seriously. “I made an allusion yesterday, something about her being the sunshine in the springtime of our lives together, but I’m not sure she caught my drift.”
“God, you’re poetical,” Charles said. “Here are the standing orders,” he went on, remembering Penny’s instructions for him to be as clear as possible. “No—er, relations—without a priest having blessed it. And even so you’ll have to talk to John first. He’s her guardian.”
___
THE FOLLOWING SEVERAL days passed in a blur of activity. Early the next morning a crew of builders showed up—carpenters, masons, thatchers, roofers, glaziers, painters—to begin the repair and refurbishing of Edgemont Hall. Soon the air was crowded with the ringing of hammers, the rasp of saws, and the chatter of workmen passing to and fro. At midmorning a coach and four arrived, the horses steaming from exertion. Two well-dressed men emerged, a very wide middle-aged accountant named Mr. Rhodes and a young, more naturally proportioned assistant named Mr. Smith. They had been dispatched by Thaddeus Edwards, Mr. Rhodes announced, in response to Captain Edgemont’s inquiry about the purchase of the Howell estate. Mr. Rhodes and Mr. Smith took two full days, insisting Charles accompany them, investigating every aspect of the Howell buildings and property, as well as other available properties in the area. They also spent a day in Chester on the tax records at the Registry Office. In the end the accountant approved of the purchase of the estate in its entirety, mentioned a sum, and recommended acquiring a second property of about one thousand acres adjoining Edgemont Hall. This was to be joined with the family estate in return for giving Charles half-ownership of the whole, including forgiveness of the monies he had already lent his brother. “Mr. Edwards,” Mr. Rhodes said confidentially, “feels very positively toward investing in agriculture at the moment and feels crop prices will rise significantly as the war with France progresses.” Mr. Rhodes then offered his legal and financial expertise to bring the matter to completion.
Charles went to talk with his brother. They had a long discussion, eventually agreeing to the proposal for joint ownership of an expanded Edgemont estate, which John would manage. John also agreed to look after his brother’s other property while Charles was at sea. With everything in place, Charles told Mr. Rhodes to make it so.
Around ten the next morning a navy courier arrived unexpectedly and asked to speak with Commander Charles Edgemont of His Majesty’s Navy on official business. Attwater called him from the stables, where he was saddling Pendle; he was about to call on Penny to tell her about his new estates. When informed about the courier, Charles’s heart sank. More than likely he was to deliver orders for Charles to report to Plymouth immediately, or at least so
oner than expected, due to some emergency or another. He left the horse in its stall and, muttering obscenities to himself, went to meet the courier.
“Commander Edgemont, sir?” the man inquired as Charles approached.
“Yes,” Charles answered.
“I’m sorry to intrude, sir, but Admiral Livingston—he’s the port admiral at Liverpool—has asked to inquire as to your availability for a temporary command of not more than one month’s duration. I am to return with your answer.”
Charles relaxed. It was an offer he could refuse without incurring the displeasure of the Admiralty. “What sort of command?” he asked, although he already knew what answer he would give.
“The brig Lomond, sir, twelve guns. You’d perform duties as required by the local admiral in the Irish Sea for about one month while her usual commander recovers from an illness. You would be expected to report in a week’s time.”
This was easy. He could well imagine what the “duties as required” for a tiny brig would be: carrying dispatches and supplies to the larger warships on the Irish station, keeping a lookout for a French invasion fleet (there had been an unsuccessful attempt by the French to invade Ireland only months before), and suppressing the smugglers and privateers who abounded in the area. It might have been an interesting challenge at another time, but he had a larger and more powerful frigate awaiting him, and he was in any case involved in the much more engaging pursuit of Penny Brown. The privateers and smugglers would have to wait.
“Please convey my regrets to Admiral Livingston,” Charles answered. “I am flattered by his offer, but family responsibilities require my attention here. I must decline.”
“I see, sir,” the courier responded evenly. “I will inform the admiral of your decision.”
AS SOON AS the courier was given refreshment in the house and had departed, Charles returned to the stables, finished saddling Pendle, and left to call on Penny in an exuberant mood, full of the news and possibilities he was bursting to share with her. He was, he realized as the stallion trotted along, a made man: a substantial landowner, a ship’s captain in demand, and, in every sense but one, set for life. The only things he lacked were a loving wife and a growing number of children at home.
