by V. E. Ulett
“Why do you say so? Not the old maid part, the being of one mind.”
“I don’t like the enterprise above half, what I know of it. You should have seen Aloka’s face. He is with child to have a part in the mission.”
“Remember what it is to be young. He has not yet established himself and is eager to do so. It’s an anxious time for all of them.”
“I hope I don’t grow such a gray beard as that, only I could wish my son were less willing to do his duty. Explosion vessels are outside the rules of warfare, do you see? Any man captured from one can be hanged, no exchange for the officers, no prison for the men. Not even the galley.”
“Oh!” Mercedes gasped. “Oh, James.”
“I’m sorry to distress you. I’m overset myself. Aloka is sure to find his wish gratified, I believe he hopes to be given command of one of the fireships. That’s only a fond dream. Lord Cochrane is a sensible man and would not move a junior officer up so rapidly. Still, having been a mid in Imperieuse all this while, and now as her third officer, he’s sure to be given a berth of some kind.”
“Will you be leaving too?”
Mercedes’ voice was constrained. She lay curled on her side, her shoulders slightly hunched, with one arm protecting her painful left breast.
“Not before I see you and Emma settled in London. Then all will depend on the Admiralty.” Captain Blackwell was silent a moment. “Has Emma made Lord Cochrane’s acquaintance before?”
“No, this is our first meeting. Just as you.”
Lord Cochrane actually lay in the next room. They’d given him Captain Blackwell’s bedchamber with its grand bedstead from Polynesia and the dressing room connected to it. Mercedes and Captain Blackwell were sharing her bedchamber, with a screen set up for the close stool and wash handstand. Captain Blackwell had been all for evicting Edward from his rooms, except Mercedes would not have it.
“It is only that they both looked…conscious somehow.”
Mercedes imagined the meeting, and unlike Captain Blackwell, she pictured Aloka very much present in the room. She could not contain a great sigh. She’d meant to tell him right away about her troubles, the worst one a hard little lump in her breast. She was afraid, fear almost overwhelmed her at times, and she wanted his strength. Mercedes could not share this with her children, did not wish to burden their already somewhat fraught lives. But she’d hesitated, out of vanity mostly, for Mercedes still wanted Captain Blackwell to think her strong and brave. She’d waited and now he had worries of more moment, and he would be going away again soon.
“Mercy, sweetheart,” he said gently. He was like a great pillow she was relaxing into. “You would tell me was I to…to, well, importune you.”
“Importune me? Darling, you know I love you. You and your big cock.”
To one degree or another, sex was on all their minds. Aloka’s back still ached from the fall out the Frenchwoman’s window. Underneath his fine linen shirt he had a livid bruise covering one side of his back from the band of his breeches to his shoulder. He shifted his shoulders uncomfortably. Normally, Aloka, Emma, and Edward, were much gayer when they were together, the talk lively and natural. They were lounging about in the small upstairs parlour of the house on Curzon Street in London, waiting for their parents to conclude their conference downstairs with Lord Cochrane. His lordship had come to beg permission to call upon Miss Emma.
“Now Emma is to be launched upon the ton,” Edward turned to Aloka, “and has her first serious admirer, you should share the advise Father gave you when you first—”
“Ed! That ain’t fit for ladies.” Aloka blushed beneath this dark skin tone, remembering Captain Blackwell’s few words of wisdom. ‘Ladies first, son, always. See to her pleasure, and she will welcome you. There is never a reason to force a woman, or be unkind.’
“If she isn’t fit to hear it, I don’t know who is. Seems she is to be paired off first of all of us.”
Edward was the only one at ease after that remark.
“Suppose they are disposing of your hand at this moment?” Edward said. “Then you shall be married to the Royal Navy, just like Mama!”
“Should you like that, indeed, Emma?” Aloka cried.
“Hell and—”
“It is a good thing his lordship don’t hear such talk or he might reconsider his attachment,” Captain Blackwell said, walking in with Mercedes.
Emma flashed Captain Blackwell an injured look. “If his lordship is anything like the rest of you, no manner of oaths and vulgarity shall shock him.”
“T-t-tell, F-f-father, did you give the chit away?” Edward said.
“There is no giving anyone away, you should both be ashamed.” This came out as ‘a-chamed’, in Mercedes’ slight accent. “Lord Cochrane merely asked if he might call upon Emma. Very agreeable and gentlemanly he was too.”
“He may be an e-e-earl one day, Emma. You should like being a countess.”
“We told him,” Mercedes came and took Emma’s hand, “we had to consult you first. To discover your inclination.”
“You told him, Mama, I’m sure.” Emma glanced at her father.
Captain Blackwell and Aloka were standing shoulder to shoulder, nearly identical perplexed looks upon their faces.
“Well, what is your inclination? That’s what we’d a-a-all like to know.”
“I haven’t even come out yet, nor seen a scrap of London or society. Am I to be made to decide immediately if I will have a man twice my age just because he expresses a passing fancy?”
“No, no, of course not.” Captain Blackwell shook his head, frowning. “He’s merely asked to call, not to take you to wife. But it would be impolite not to give him an answer as soon as may be, after how handsomely he expressed himself.”
“Yes, I’m sure his feelings are important to you, Papa,” Emma said. She rounded on Mercedes. “What do you think, Mama?”
“I think these Navy men are not to be trifled with, nor any of the male persuasion.”
All the Blackwell men now had the good grace to look somewhat conscious.
Few fathers were left in attendance in the ballroom, most of the gentlemen having retreated to the card rooms. Edward was among those at the whist tables, and he was the only male attendant with Mercedes and Emma this evening. First Lord Cochrane and Aloka had departed to rejoin Imperieuse; then, with the London season only a fortnight old, Mercedes had to bid farewell to Captain Blackwell. She thought of his dear battle scarred face and said a silent prayer for his safety, and Aloka’s.
The ballroom was insufferable. Mercedes was mashed up with other mamas on dusty sofas lining the walls, and there were so many dancers her toes were nearly trodden upon as the couples went up the dance. After weeks of festivities Mercedes did not know if she could bear another ball, rout, levee, soiree, or excursion to Ranelagh Gardens, the opera or theatre. Mercedes certainly felt as if she couldn’t tolerate the tight bodice of her ball gown much longer.
The throbbing in her breast was very bad, and the heat and airlessness of the room oppressed her. Emma was brought back to Mercedes by Lord someone or another. Her radiant daughter employed her fan for several seconds, and was led away into the next set by a different gallant. When she’d gone a groan escaped Mercedes.
A tall gaunt gentleman in the black evening dress of an earlier era, sitting on the other end of the sofa, must have heard her for his head swiveled in her direction. He regarded Mercedes with pale, expressionless eyes.
“Sure, beauty can be a curse,” he said. “And she is a diamond of the first water.”
“How kind in you, sir. Well may I groan when I think how young girls are brought out these days.”
“So it is, too, a pernicious round. May I make myself known to you, madam? My name is William Russ. Allow me to present my wife, Christine.”
Mercedes shook hands and they were just discovering a connection, for Doctor Russ was a physician in the Navy, when they were interrupted by the appearance of the couple’s own dau
ghter. She was an exuberant, talkative, handsome and showily dressed young woman. Mercedes guessed she must be of an age with Emma. One instantly wondered how such a lively creature could have sprung from Dr. and Mrs. Russ, equally unfashionable, unimposing, and shabby. But surely the same was thought of her and Captain Blackwell when seen in company with their offspring. None but Aloka took after them in point of looks. Aloka resembled Captain Blackwell, they were the same height though Aloka was heavier of build, and few knew he was not Mercedes’ son.
She rose when the Russ family moved away, and curtsied to them. Doctor Russ took her hand, and Mercedes felt a card pressed into her palm.
“Forgive the freedom with which I address you, Mrs. Blackwell,” he said. “I know pain when I see it. You must go home and remove that gown, and you will be much easier. Do not delay, I beg.”
The passing of the card and the doctor’s speech were done with a discretion and an effortlessness that drew no attention in the crowded room. A protest was on Mercedes’ lips, when she was suddenly flushed and sweating.
Mercedes mumbled, “Yes, sir, thank you, sir,” before sitting down hard on the sofa. She nearly collapsed, and a sudden panic seized her that she should not be able to hide her condition much longer. When she’d taken leave of Captain Blackwell, she had cringed, cringed, in his strong embrace.
The pain in her breast had actually ebbed with the fright the doctor had given her. She took deep breaths to calm herself. Slipping the card he’d pressed on her into her bag, and tilting it to read, Mercedes received another jolt. She’d expected to see ‘William Russ, Physician’, or something very like. No name appeared on the card, only ‘Physician of the Fleet’ and the insignia of the Royal Navy. Could the man in the worn and shiny black suit be the Physician of the Fleet? She’d nearly fainted in front of him.
Mercedes was sufficiently disturbed, vague hopes from the encounter with the doctor mixed with other sensations, that she made Emma sit down beside her when next she returned.
“Listen, my dear, I must go home. I do not feel at all well.”
“Oh, no, Mama! They have not even danced the Roger Decoverley, and I’ve promised it to Lord Marlborough.”
“Lord M., is it? And Lord Coch—”
“Do not say it, Mama. You know I do not care for him, and see him only because he is in the precious Service.” Emma had the good sense to pitch her voice low as she spoke. “May I not stay? Edward is here. You go and take the carriage. Edward and I shall come home in a cab.”
Mercedes bowed her head. She longed to remove her gown, she felt if she were forced to stay in the ballroom much longer she must shrink into a corner and rip her bodice down the front. At the same time she knew it was unwise, most unwise, to leave a girl of Emma’s vivacity and beauty unattended. Yet she believed her daughter a sensible being, and another wave of pain and sweating decided her.
She stood up. “Let’s go speak to Edward.”
Lord Castlereagh was so disturbed by the sight of Edward Blackwell’s sister standing at his elbow, he could hardly complete the hand of whist with any credit. Leaving aside Emma Blackwell was a damned fine looking girl, flashing green eyes, graceful womanly curves, at the end of the hand Lord Castlereagh would lose his partner when Mr. Blackwell must escort his sister back to the ballroom. His lordship was extremely unwilling this should happen, with Edward Blackwell for partner he was for once trouncing the insufferable Mr. Canning. The young man sat there mum, his Apollo’s head cocked slightly to the side, playing brilliantly.
“Stay, Mr. Blackwell, won’t you?” Lord Castlereagh said, rising when Edward did and moving to his side of the table. “Should you not like to finish out the round? I do not wish to keep you from your duty, but I am sure your sister is a good girl. One who no more needs a minder than a nursemaid.”
Lord Castlereagh ended by speaking directly to Emma, as Edward turned his head and gaze to the side. The tall handsome girl gave him a frank considering look, but even she could not help but be swayed by what was obviously the Secretary of State’s preference.
She turned to her brother. “Should you prefer to remain in the card room, I shall do very well in the ballroom until you are quite ready to leave.”
Lord Castlereagh had counted upon Emma Blackwell being too spirited a girl to cry out, “But Mama said!” He carried the day.
Mr. Blackwell walked his sister back to the ballroom, and then returned and took his seat at the card table. When they all rose from it some time later not one of them gave a thought to the dancers in the adjoining room, they each ordered a carriage or hackney cab and pursued their way homewards.
Emma was collapsing with fatigue, her feet ached from the heeled satin pumps she wore, and she guessed it must be four o’clock in the morning. She was more than willing to retire, but when she looked into the card room she gave a little gasp. The card tables had already been taken away, and there were only servants remaining, carrying out chairs and glasses. She hurried, her heart thumping a little, and took a place in the line of people waiting for their carriages. It was always she who ordered the hackney or their carriage to be brought round, that was not a problem, but Emma missed Edward standing near her. She felt she must be conspicuous, an unescorted female, especially after the attention paid her earlier.
When her turn came at the head of the line, Emma spoke up. “A hackney coach to Curzon Street, if you please.”
“Oh, no, Miss! Not for you.” A man in pigtail and seaman’s garb was suddenly at her elbow. “His lordship, Captain Lord Cochrane sends his carriage.”
Emma recognized the coat of arms on the carriage, and with a murmured, “How kind”, she allowed herself to be handed in by the rough seaman. The man shut the door of the carriage and jumped up on the box alongside the driver. Emma sank back into the padded seat with a sigh, put off her shoes and promptly fell asleep.
She awoke when the carriage lurched to a halt. The door was opened by the same seaman, the steps let down, and Emma was out of the carriage and upon the pavement before she looked about her.
“This is not Curzon Street. Why have you brought me to Harley Street? This is Lord Cochrane’s house, surely—”
“Pipe down, Missy.”
Another man had appeared at Emma’s side, together the two seamen hustled her up the house steps and into the foyer.
“How dare you.” Emma shook them off. The men let go of her as soon as the house door was closed, the second man melting away into the interior of the place. “His lordship could not have ordered this, he is not even here in London. Do you know who I am?”
“Oh, aye, Missy. But I ain’t shy of no Black Savage, not John Bargeman.”
“How do you feel about the Younger? What do you think Mr. Blackwell will say when he hears of this caper? Lieutenant Blackwell is a great favorite of Lord Cochrane.”
This seemed to give John Bargeman pause, a considering look came over his butcher-like countenance. Then he brightened. “Ain’t I heard his Lordship say, “If her parents do not favor my suit, I declare I shall steal her away. An elopement to Scotland, just the thing a spirited young lass loves.’ Well, you see, I’m just helping his lordship’s plan along like. Keeping you away from them other leaping lords in the meantime, besides.”
Emma noticed sand bags stacked in the foyer, against the walls facing the street. She’d thought matters would be straightened out in a moment once inside the house, and she would be on her way home. Her heart misgave her looking into the credulous yet menacing face of John Bargeman. Emma recalled her father speaking of ‘awkward sods’ who sometimes attached themselves to commanders, following them unwanted from ship to ship, often violent men of great strength but addled wits.
She made a dash for the front door. John Bargeman caught her in a painful and too intimate grip.
“Don’t make me have to give you a little correction, eh, Missy? Bruises will heal by the time his lordship returns, and he may even thank me for bringing you up.”
He hauled
her up the stairs and into a grand bedchamber. Emma went quiet. She looked about for a weapon and tried to keep from sobbing aloud. They marched through the large bedchamber and its adjoining dressing room, to a smaller bedchamber beyond. John Bargeman shoved her in, clapped the door to, and Emma heard a key turned in the lock.
The room was cold and dark, the light of day not yet reaching the miniature west facing window. Emma immediately went to this sole view upon the world and looked out, at the blank façade of the next town house. A wrought iron grating surrounded the whole of the outside of her window.
Such was the cheerless apartment meant for Lord Cochrane’s lady, with the only entrance and exit through the master’s chamber? Emma began to sob, but it was the last she thought of Lord Cochrane for some time. She longed for home, her own bed, and most of all for her mother. Why hadn’t she gone home with Mama when she said she was unwell, instead of staying on at the ball like a goddamn fool? From thoughts of Mercedes, which made the tears fall fast, Emma passed on to other members of her family. She curled up on the bed under the coverlet with her ball gown still on, imagining Aloka coming to release her from this prison, and at last fell asleep.
Three
Aloka was in the great cabin of the flagship Caledonia, thunderstruck, as were his father and Lord Cochrane. Admiral Eliab Harvey had just stormed in. “‘I do not care if I am passed by, and Lord Cochrane or any other junior officer appointed in preference, I will strike my flag, and resign my commission!”
Alerted by the hallooing Admiral Gambier and his secretary rushed in, and hurried Eliab Harvey into the admiral’s apartments. Lord Cochrane, Aloka, and Captain Blackwell were left in the captain’s cabin, where they’d been awaiting Admiral Gambier’s pleasure. They could not so much hear the words as feel the concussion of Eliab Harvey’s booming voice. He was occasionally silenced when they imagined Gambier must be trying to interject a pacific note. Admiral Harvey was not having it, and he burst out again through the adjoining door, red in the face.
