by Jay Worrall
Penny’s father appraised him thoughtfully. “I can well understand that,” he said. “She brings those things into my life, and the lives of others, too.” The older man took a breath. “I judge thee an agreeable man, Charles Edgemont. I think thee honest and direct and I think thee would be a caring husband to Penny. I am concerned about thy profession, but that is not for me to decide. Still, I do not think that thou fully grasps what thou art asking.”
“There is nothing complicated about what I seek,” Charles asserted.
“Then thou dost not fully know our Penny. We have raised her to be an independent being, one who knows her own mind.” George Brown paused for a moment and shook his head as if in wonderment. “In this I sometimes feel we have been more successful than I ever desired. When she gets an idea into her head…” He left the thought unfinished, then said, “Penny is a person with a great strength in her convictions. She has been both a source of great joy to me and at times a challenge. She would be a trial to thee also,” he said significantly. “More than thou might expect.”
Charles did not know what to make of this, except for the fact that her father was attempting to discourage him. In any event, he felt he understood her perfectly well—or at least well enough. “Are you giving me permission to talk with her?” he said directly.
“My permission is not at issue,” George Brown said with a sigh. “There is one additional concern that I must speak with thee about.”
“What is that?”
“Thou must also understand Penny would pay a heavy price if she agreed to take thee to husband.” Charles opened his mouth to object, but the older man stilled him with a wave of his hand. “She would be disowned by her religion, which she dearly loves. The members of our meeting have cherished and nurtured her from infancy, and to cut her off from them would be cruel. She told me that thou said once that she was asking thee to choose between two things thou loved. Understand that thou art asking the same of her. Now, I ask thee again, art thou certain what thou art about, Charles Edgemont, and what thou require of my daughter?”
Charles tried to digest Penny’s father’s words. Why did it have to be so complicated? If her religion was so important, that was all right with him. Religions were fine so long as they didn’t actually interfere with your life. If she would only be reasonable, she would understand. Penny’s father waited patiently for him to answer. Finally he said, “May I speak with her?”
“That is not for me to say,” George Brown said firmly. “She agreed that I should explain these things to thee and I have done so. I will also relate to her what thou hast said. But hold no hope that she will alter her thinking.” He paused for a moment, as if undecided, then continued. “I propose, Charles Edgemont, that thou put thy feelings aside and seek another woman to wed. One more in keeping with thy way of thinking.” He said in a softer voice, “I am sorry for both of ye, but I see no other path.”
Charles clung doggedly to what few rapidly fading shreds of hope he could find. “I will have to go to sea again soon, probably in a month or six weeks. Will you tell her that?”
George Brown’s mouth hardened into a straight line. “I will tell her everything thou hast said. But do not expect her to seek thee out, Charles Edgemont. I would advise that thou cut the cord with a sharp knife and let the past be past. It would be best if thou didst not trouble thyself or my daughter further. Thy affection is difficult, painful to her…and unwelcome.”
Charles rose, stung by the father’s words. “Please tell Penny that I’m sorry. I never meant to distress her,” he said, struggling to keep the bitterness out of his voice. “Tell her that I respect her choice. I won’t bother her again.”
He made his way slowly toward home, feeling abandoned and despondent at the finality of it. After a time he attempted to convince himself that it was all for the best. There would be other women, he was sure, who would be more than pleased to have him—beautiful, compliant women from more conventional families who would admire his career. The thought did little to ease the emptiness that had settled in his chest.
His mood lightened at the sight of Stephen Winchester’s horse in the paddock by the stables. He gave Pendle to Ezekiel without a word and hurried into the house. He found John, Ellie, and Winchester in the parlor in the midst of being served sherry by the maid.
“Stephen, it’s good to see you,” he said warmly. “What took you to York? Ellie wouldn’t tell me.”
Ellie beamed what was possibly her biggest smile ever while Winchester stammered, “Well, sir,…I…” Then he broke into a broad grin.
“Better bring another glass, Constance,” John said to the maid. To Charles he continued, “We’re to have a new brother-in-law. I’ve given my blessing.”
“Upon my word,” Charles said, beaming. He took Winchester’s hand and shook it warmly. “It’s about time. I was beginning to worry.”
OVER THE FOLLOWING week, Charles threw himself doggedly into overseeing the repairs and improvements to the manor house and estate that he’d purchased and preparing to go to sea in the Louisa whenever she would be ready. He made several trips into Chester to order stores and furnishings that he would take aboard. One day, while he was talking with the foremen supervising work on his house, it dawned on him that there would be no one to live in the place while he was away. Until recently he had hoped that Penny would stay there with numbers of servants and a growing collection of children—his children. Now all that had turned to ashes. That evening, still brooding on the subject, he asked Attwater if he had any family.
“Oh, yes, sir,” Attwater said proudly. “There’s Mrs. Attwater, and we have—” he counted on his fingers—“eleven children still living, most of them grown, though.”
“You do?” Charles said in amazement. “Where do they live?”
“The missus and those that ain’t set off rents a cottage down by Cheltenham, sir. Near Gloucester, like.”
“What would you think of having them live in my house?” Charles asked. “For free, no rent. There’s plenty of room, and they could look after it while we’re away.”
Attwater beamed with pleasure. “That would be wonderful, sir. I ain’t seen my missus never in two years.”
“Well, see to it quickly,” Charles said. “You can take the carriage if you need to.”
“Oh, no, sir,” Attwater said quickly. “I’ll just have someone write to them, like. The missus can have the parson read it to her.”
“I’ll write it for you, if you wish,” Charles said. Then, thinking something was out of place, he asked, “How come you haven’t gone to visit your family before now?”
Attwater eyed him steadily. “You ain’t, haven’t, given me no leave to, sir. Captain Wood, he did. But you ain’t said nothing yet. I expected it was just a matter of time.”
“But I didn’t know…” Charles began. Then, Attwater’s reasoning being beyond him, he changed his mind. “That was my fault, but bringing them to live here should help correct things. I apologize.”
And there was Ellie’s wedding to plan for. She and Winchester were scheduled to marry in the third week of April. Stephen arranged for a small ceremony at St. Michael’s Church, halfway up Bridge Street in Chester, and promptly leased a modest house alongside the road just outside of Tattenall. He and Ellie seemed to be constantly together, surveying their home, shopping in Chester, or exploring the countryside in the carriage or on horseback.
Daniel Bevan arrived by hired coach from his family home near the fishing village of Rhyl in northern Wales on a sunny afternoon in the middle of April. “Well, Charlie,” he greeted his friend with a grin, “anything interesting happen since we last met?” It took Charles late into the night and several bottles of wine to fill him in.
TWO DAYS BEFORE Ellie and Winchester’s wedding, in the late afternoon, Charles and Bevan were occupying Winchester outdoors near the stables so that Ellie could have some time alone planning the finishing touches for her trousseau—or “trust-you,” as Att
water liked to put it. Daniel Bevan was in the midst of explaining in explicit detail just what difficulties Winchester could expect on his wedding night (which mostly involved headaches, women’s troubles, “not with that you aren’t,” and general lack of interest) when Charles started at the sight of a familiar gray mare with its cart racing up the lane. Penny Brown sat alone on the cart bench, snapping the reins and urging the clearly exhausted animal to greater effort. He ran to the drive in time to grab the horse’s halter as she brought the cart to a halt. Penny was breathless and her face flushed. Somewhere she had lost her bonnet, and her hair hung in tangled curls around her face and shoulders.
“Please help me,” she cried from the bench. “They’ve taken Peter!”
Charles went to help her down, and she stumbled against his chest. The contact with her seemed to burn into his flesh. “Who took him?” he asked. “When and where?”
“In Chester, this morning,” she choked. “The soldiers in the navy took him by force and said he was to be one of them. He said he wouldn’t, but they only laughed. And I said they couldn’t have him, he was a Quaker. They only laughed more, and one of them touched me and tried to kiss me. It was horrible!”
So they’re sweeping as far as Chester, Charles thought. They must be in a terrible need for hands. For a moment he thought of the press gangs he’d seen in Liverpool. “It will be all right,” he said, trying to calm her. “We’ll get him back.” To Winchester and Bevan standing nearby he said, “If you’re with me, then uniforms and swords.”
Penny looked up. “Swords?” she said. “I want no bloodshed.”
“No, of course not,” Charles said reassuringly. “Only, well, swords are part of our uniform. They make it more official.” He quickly followed the other two men into the house, yelled for Attwater to ready the carriage, and hurriedly changed. Outside, he approached Penny and said, “You go home. Leave the mare here and take Ellie’s gelding. We’ll bring Peter back safe and sound, I promise.”
Winchester and Bevan emerged from the house as Attwater led the horses and carriage from the stables. “No,” Penny said firmly, “I am coming with thee. He’s my brother and I’m responsible.”
“It’s out of the question,” Charles said directly. “It might be dangerous. I forbid it.”
Penny eyed him through narrowed lids. “Dost thou?” she said evenly. Then she promptly turned, lifted her skirts, climbed into the carriage, and sat down, folding her arms defiantly across her chest.
Charles muttered something about headstrong women under his breath, which she heard but ignored, then climbed up and sat beside her. “Winchester,” he growled, “you’re junior, you drive.” They rode almost the whole way in flinty silence.
They found the sweepings of the press gang where Charles thought they would be, huddled together in a pen out in the open on the old castle grounds. There seemed to be about thirty men and a few boys, frightened and miserable in the chilly night air. He saw an elderly midshipman and two seamen, armed with cudgels, sitting around a table with a lantern and several tankards on it. Charles jumped from the slowing carriage and approached the petty officer, buckling on his sword as he went.
“Who’s in charge here?” he demanded as he neared the table.
“Bugger off, it’s all legal,” replied the midshipman, his back turned and raising his tankard to his lips.
“By God, you’ll stand when you address me,” Charles snapped.
The midshipman, well into his forties, pushed back his chair and stood. “Bugger off, I said,” he snarled, turning. When he saw Charles’s uniform and epaulette, he froze.
“You address me in that tone again, I’ll see you swing for it,” Charles threatened. “Where’s your officer?”
“Yes, sir, I don’t know, sir.” The petty officer struggled to attention, swaying slightly on his feet.
Charles felt rather than saw Bevan and Winchester arrive to stand behind him. “What’s your name and ship?”
“Withers, sir. The Repulse, sir.”
“Have you been drinking, Mr. Withers? And what do you mean you don’t know?”
“No, sir. And I just don’t know where the lieutenant is. He went off with some doxy—er, woman—sir.”
“That’s dereliction of duty,” Charles said. “I want to see the boys you’ve impressed.”
“Why, sir?” Withers asked, clearly puzzled.
“Damn your eyes,” Charles growled. “Don’t you ever question my orders. But if you must know, I think you’ve taken a boy I’ve promised a midshipman’s berth to on my own ship.”
“Yes, sir,” Withers said quickly. “I’m very sorry, sir. This way, sir.”
As soon as the man opened the gate to the pen, Penny pushed through and ran into the group calling, “Peter! Peter!” When the boy stood up she waded into the crowd and pulled him away. As she shepherded her brother back out the gate, she passed Withers and hissed, “Thou foul lecherous beast.”
Charles looked at the midshipman with renewed interest. He remembered Penny saying something about being touched. “Did you molest this woman when she protested your taking her brother?”
Withers swallowed hard. “T’were only in fun, sir.”
“Lieutenant,” Charles said to Bevan. “Put this man on report: insubordination, drunkenness, swearing, questioning orders, and attempted rape. I want him arrested and put under restraint the moment he sets foot on the Repulse. Send the report to Captain—”
Turning to the now-ashen Withers, he asked, “Who’s your captain?”
“Jenkins, s-sir.”
“—send your report to Captain Jenkins of the Repulse first thing in the morning.”
“Aye aye, sir,” Bevan responded, suppressing a grin and making a show of writing out the charges.
Returning to Withers, Charles added, “Consider yourself under arrest.”
“But sir—” Withers pleaded.
Charles found himself beginning to enjoy browbeating the smarmy midshipman. He was considering threatening to hang the poor man right there in the street when he felt Penny’s hand on his arm.
“What about all those others?” she said, nodding to the rest of the men collected by the press gang. “They’ve all been unfairly captured. Surely we can’t leave them here.”
Charles turned back to Withers. Why not? he thought. In for a penny, in for a pound. He smiled inwardly: in for a Penny…“Release the rest of these men you’ve pressed,” he ordered. “Anyone who hasn’t accepted the King’s guinea.” He heard Bevan clear his throat loudly, suggesting a warning that he was going too far.
“Why, sir?” Withers said, clearly aghast.
“Are you questioning me again? Because I suspect they’ve all been improperly impressed.”
The disordered rush of cold and hungry men toward the open gate nearly knocked Charles over. Several swore at the petty officer as they passed, and two actually spit on him.
Bevan took the opportunity to pull Charles aside. “Are you quite finished?” he muttered under his breath. “You’re sure you don’t want to stroll over to the city jail and empty that as well? Perhaps you’d like to have the sheriff arrested.”
Charles smiled in spite of himself. “No, you’re right. We’ve gotten what we wanted. We can go.”
While Bevan hurried Penny and her brother into the carriage, Charles left Withers in the custody of his two mates with orders that he be turned over to Captain Jenkins first thing in the morning. As he pulled himself up into the carriage, he turned to Peter, now wrapped in his sister’s arms. “Are you hurt?” he asked the boy.
“Not much,” Peter answered in a shaken voice.
Winchester snapped the reins and the carriage jerked forward. Once they were safely across the Dee bridge, Charles settled back and smiled. He had carefully neglected to mention his name or that of his ship. There would have been all hell to pay if he had done otherwise. Badgering the unfortunate petty officer, however enjoyable, was pointless, since he had probably done nothing
illegal. On the other hand, ordering the release of the pressed men was highly irregular and Charles might have been severely reprimanded, even court-martialed.
“You like living dangerously, don’t you, Charlie?” Bevan observed. Winchester remained studiously silent. Penny focused all her attentions on her younger brother.
They reached the Brown house in the early hours of the morning. Charles got down and walked the girl and her brother to the door. “I’ll see that your horse and cart are returned in the morning,” he said awkwardly. He wanted to say something more but didn’t, afraid of the words that might come out.
Penny pushed Peter in through the doorway, then turned to Charles. “I don’t know how to thank thee,” she said softly.
“It’s not necessary,” Charles answered, his voice suddenly hoarse. He could feel her nearness in the dark. “It’s all right.” Steeling himself he added, “I only wanted to talk with you.”
“I know,” she said softly. “When dost thou leave for the sea?”
“In about ten days or two weeks, I think.”
Penny paused significantly. “Wilt thou call on me before thou leaves?”
“I’d like that,” Charles said. “May I see you after Ellie’s wedding?”
“Isn’t that tomorrow?”
Charles had to stop and think what day it was. “Yes, tomorrow morning in Chester,” he said finally. “Won’t you be there?”
“No. We are not to attend ceremonies presided over by priests, only Quaker ones.”
“It’s just the parson,” Charles said. “It’ll be a very small wedding.”
“I don’t know,” she said in the darkness. “I’ll think on it. I have caused scandal enough by being called on by a military man.”
“Then I’ll stop here on my way home.”
“I will look for thee,” she said, and slipped inside the doorway.
THE WEDDING PROCESSION to Chester was a joyous affair, with a radiant Ellie and a happily smiling Winchester in the carriage, hurriedly decked with wildflowers and ivy, driven by Attwater. Charles, John, and Bevan rode on horseback alongside. Across the Dee bridge and up the cobblestone street to the church, the couple was greeted with rude jeers and good-natured cheers by many of the passers-by. Inside, Charles was surprised to see Penny and her brother sitting in a pew near the back. On seeing him, she patted a space beside her, and he went there and sat down.
