Neville and Daniel proudly escorted Elizabeth through the crowd, which politely parted for them, to where Gage stood with his parents. On that cue, three musicians in the fireplace corner began a waltz, and Gage whisked Elizabeth away to the dance floor, taking time only to say, “Gentlemen, please excuse me. Introduce yourselves to my parents. I’ll be right back.”
“Most irregular,” grumbled Mr. Hall, even for wartime ….”
Edward, Daniel, and Neville were introduced to the Halls by the ladies and were soon dispersed into the throng when the host and hostess were besieged by others.
Neville’s eye caught sight of a man sitting in a corner chair.
“Look there, Daniel. Someone we know. We must go pay our respects.”
“Good evening, Sir Mulholland,” said Daniel. “We think you had more to do with our navy beginnings than we realized, and we thank you greatly. We knew nothing of the importance of ‘date of service’ before we arrived at Chatham.”
“Aye, Sir, both of us,” added Neville, slightly on edge for words. “We didn’t expect to see anyone we knew here, other than our families.”
“You are rather outnumbered by the army, aren’t you?”
Of about forty guests, there were only the three in navy uniform. There were five in scarlet. John Hall’s regiment was well represented tonight, and they had attracted four very pretty young ladies.
“Well, you know I have been friends of your families for years,” Mulholland continued, “and, when I received this invitation, I felt it would be extremely rude to turn it down. I have so little to do these days, you know,” he said, giving Neville the quickest wink. “You are both most welcome regarding the service dates. It appears my effort was well rewarded. I see two fine young officers here; a credit to the service, indeed. But I must ask for something in return.”
“Anything, just ask,” said Daniel.
“We must hear all about the battle. We get some news from the papers, but nothing is like a first-hand account. I’m sure we all here would be glad to hear it.”
“I will agree, of course, but I must be careful about it, or my sister will skin me. I already have her warning,” Neville said.
“And, I think Father has the same warning from Mum,” Daniel added.
The gathering was going extremely well. Neville noticed his mother and Mr. Blake leaving the dance floor and starting toward him; they were detained by another couple before getting half way. He mingled with the crowd a bit before his mother disappeared, but he managed to find a moment with his mother’s suitor.
“Mr. Blake, I am most pleased to meet you.”
“And I you. We have all enjoyed your letters. It sounds as though you have had quite some adventures.”
“Yes, for sure. What is your occupation, if I might ask, Sir?”
“Your time in the Navy shows, Neville. Commendable – and most direct – for a young man watching out for his mother. I am a corn merchant here in Bury.”
Such an occupation was not surprising in the middle of Suffolk, where farmers were admired.
“I mean no disrespect. You have obviously impressed Mother, who is a woman of uncommon intelligence. My wish for her, of all things, is to be happy. I did immediately worry, on hearing of Elizabeth’s betrothal, that my sister might move to Bury and not be able to help Mum so much. The Good Lord knows that I’m not around.
“It is an idle worry, it seems. She is talking of moving to town. That reverses things, doesn’t it? With Elizabeth marrying into the Halls and being a military wife with an absent husband, she should certainly have time for Mother, and be quite close by.”
Neville let his eyes wander around the room, and then said, “It would appear that the Halls are wonderful people, and I shouldn’t concern myself for Elizabeth’s well-being.”
“That would appear to be correct,” said Mr. Blake. “You needn’t worry about my ability to support your mother, either, if such a thing might ever come to be. I’ll excuse myself now, though. It looks as if you are about to become something of a celebrity ….”
Neville had avoided the dancing, it being an activity he had never mastered, but he would not be able to avoid the role of storyteller. Sir William was, undoubtedly, guilty of leaking word that all three navy officers had been at the recent Naval Battle that had since been dubbed ‘The Glorious First of June.’ They were soon surrounded by guests wishing to hear of it and asking question upon question.
“Father could see far more than we could of the battle,” said Daniel. “Neville and I were prisoners aboard Rear Admiral Neilly’s flagship, the Sans Pareil. It was dismasted with us aboard. We could see some of the final fighting through the smoke, and we saw more of the results than most would want ever to see.”
Edward’s rendition of the battle from his surveillance perspective on the deck of a signals frigate was the hit of the party, but there was also great interest in Daniel and Neville’s story of the Castor’s capture and their treatment by the French as prisoners.
“… treated extremely well, yes, but the food was not good, even getting beyond it was French and not what we’re used to. They were frugal with it, to be sure, and we found out later that they had no choice. Their stores were horrible low, and we had to beg some from the English ships before we sailed the Sans Pareil home as a prize.”
The battle stories were very adroitly concluded by the hostess’ announcement that the starters for dinner were set. Neville was glad of it, as he knew Elizabeth would be furious if she hadn’t had the company of Gage.
He was sat for starters at a table between one of the crimson-coated soldiers, and one of the lovely creatures he had seen on the dance floor earlier. Across from him was an older man of possibly his father’s age. Another redcoat was on the other side of the girl to his left. To the right, closer to the head of the table, sat Mr. Blake. Mrs. Watson sat on one side of his opposite and another of the girls to the other. The hostess had done a splendid job of scattering the guests, presumably to enhance conversation. Neville would have preferred to have the ear of Sir William, or possibly Mr. Blake, whom he thought he ought to get to know better; or, so he was thinking when he sat down.
The girl at his left elbow whispered, “Go ahead, give it a try. I didn’t prefer it at first, either, but it’s really marvelous.”
He was looking down on a splendid fillet of pickled herring in some white creamy sauce on a few lettuces. Having been raised on more simple fare, and not treated to delicacies at all in the navy, he was not convinced on first look that it would be to his taste. On the other hand, after over a year of navy food, anything should be worth a try.
“You have no idea who I am, do you?” she asked.
She was, he guessed, a bit younger than he was. Never having paid much attention to girls, he was surprised at his feelings. Interested? Excited? Definitely bashful. Clumsy and ill-fit for the situation, surely. Light brown hair, combed smooth as corn silk, fell beneath the shoulders of her light yellow flowered dress. Dazzling blue eyes looked back into his.
Not of all things wanting to be thought a clod, he knew he must answer and not just stare at her. “N-No. Should I know you?” Here in Bury?
“Mary. Mary Mitchell?”
“I’m very sorry,” he said, feeling much the fool and beginning to turn warm in the cheeks, “but I can’t place you.” Then, “I think I would remember someone so lovely,” fell out of his mouth.
It was her turn to raise a bit of pink in the cheeks, but she began: “When you came into town after your dad was gone missing and you stayed at The Flowers, you and Daniel used to roll your hoops on the green with all the others, you remember?”
“You’re one of ‘the others’?” he asked, summoning a vague remembrance. “The skinny one that always used to hit Daniel with a stick, and he pulled your hair. That one?”
“I remember that now,” she said, “but no. That was Angelica, over there in blue. I think she still fancies him.” She suddenly turned to face him straigh
t on with a whispered admonition, “but don’t you tell or she’ll do something naughty to me, I’m sure of it. I was the one usually just sat and watched because my mum would tongue-wag me something awful if I came home with a soiled skirt.”
“Ahhh, yes, on the wall by the swings; I do remember.”
“That’s good. I asked Mrs. Hall if she would sit me by you,” she admitted, then turned a decidedly dark pink that very nicely set off her small lips. The pink flowed down her neck into the top of her summer-cut dress. She must have decided that she had let the cat out of the bag with that, and so added, “I think the two of you are quite handsome in your blue uniforms,” and then continued the sentence, again in a whisper, “much better than those gaudy red ones. Oh, but I’ve done it again. Don’t you dare tell your sister I said that, either.” A devious little smile rose with a twinkle in her eye. “Go on, try the herring. It won’t bite you.”
“Quite good, yes.”
Then began a barrage of questions from his opposite about his exploits; How did he find the Americas? … What of Toulon? … How was the Castor taken? … How many ships did Howe have at the great battle?
Being outranked, Neville had been reticent to speak to the army officer at his right elbow without being spoken to. All of the soldiers present were lieutenants, save Gage, leaving him and Daniel in an awkward spot. This lieutenant seemed to know nothing more of social custom on this subject than Neville, but he had questions about the battle. He found himself drawn in; not about the battle so much, possibly, but about personally being in combat, as he hadn’t yet been.
He began to rattle on with increasing excitement; or possibly increasing apprehension: “The 78th Foot,” he said, “was raised in Scotland just last year by Francis Humberston Mackenzie. We have orders to depart soon for Holland to fight an expected invasion of the French. We haven’t seen any action yet, just endless training …” and so on into the topic of weapons. “Do you prefer sword or cutlass? I understood the latter is used by the navy?” When he got to asking whether Neville had ever killed anyone, he was pulled up short by the man opposite, for which Neville was most pleased.
“Not quite talk for the table, is it, Sir?”
By then, Miss Mitchell was engaged with the soldier on her left in what must have been a pleasant conversation about horses. Soup arrived.
By the third remove, he felt ‘talked out’, as well as filled up, and was looking forward to the cheese tray when Mr. Hall stood and rang his glass for a toast.
He held up his glass and began, “With such a group of gallant men among us, I must make my first toast in proper military fashion,” he said. “To the King!”
“To the King! Hear! Hear!” responded the crowd.
“My second toast must be to young love, for it is the real reason we are here tonight,” he declared, beaming at his son and Elizabeth.
While the table repeated “Hear, Hear!” Neville glanced at Mary. She saw him look, and she turned bright pink once again. Sensing an opportunity, she gave the slightest nod to Angelica; they both excused themselves and left the table.
Soon after they returned, and the sweets and the cheese tray came and went, the women moved to the garden to take some unusually warm summer air. Mr. Hall shepherded the men into his library where cigars and port were offered, at last giving Neville a chance to speak to his future brother-in-law. It was not a long conversation, but friendly, and Neville was treated to another description of the origin, armament, and orders for the 78th Foot. They promised to keep in touch and wished each other success in the service, and Gage was begged away by a proud father for a few minutes with the esteemed Sir William Mulholland.
Only by chance was Neville able to catch Mary for a final word. She was carrying a small tray with a silver creamer on it into the house from the garden as the Burton-Watson party was leaving.
“May I call on you?” he asked quietly as he opened the door for her to enter. “I’ll be in Bury at least a fortnight.”
“You’d better,” she mouthed. Her wonderfully soft hand brushed over his as she passed through the door.
“It was truly a magical evening, don’t you think?” asked Elizabeth as soon as their small group boarded the carriage for home. “Our men are all home, there was music and dancing, a wonderful dinner, and the weather couldn’t be nicer. Gage was so attentive and, when he was called away, he made sure to send one of his friends over to pamper me. And you enjoyed yourself tonight as well, didn’t you, Neville?”
The lilt of his sister’s voice left no doubt that it was a revelation, not a question, and Neville felt himself turn instantly bright red. He was glad of the darkening evening. “Did you remember Mary Mitchell next to you at dinner? Was she too warm, or were you telling her bawdy sea stories? She certainly was pi-ink.”
“Elizabeth …” he began, and the whole carriage burst out in knowing laughter, followed by raucous conversation that continued into the house after the coach ride.
The lazy summer days, with no watch to stand, were tonic for Neville. He could feel himself calming; restoring himself for whatever might come. It was not, however, a time to lie about.
“When do you move, Mum?” he asked.
“Early September, dear, if all goes well. Elizabeth and I are fully capable of packing – and Mr. Wagstaff – you remember him, yes? His helper Charles will cart our things. Oh, you could help pack some of the heavy things before you leave again. We have some apple baskets that will do nicely, and Mr. Blake will be sending out some corn bins to help.”
“I could go get them tomorrow, if you wish,” said Neville, thinking of Mary, “and get my uniforms started. I can’t count on having much time for that.”
“A wonderful idea. I might go as well. We could stop ‘round Mr. Blake’s first thing and see if he can lunch with us.
“And me,” chimed in Elizabeth. “I hate to be here when Gage has so little time in town.”
Well, thought Neville as he walked to the postmistress’ shop to beg a ride into town next morning. A fine kettle of fish this is. So much for my good idea.
“The Halls have been gracious enough to insist on lunch at their house for the lot of you,” announced Neville, after he had taken the opportunity to call on them with a request for Elizabeth to visit. “I’ll be going with Daniel and his dad to the tailor and to check in with Sir William about moving our prize money up from London. We’ll catch a pint in the King’s Arms.” Neville could feel his chances of seeing Mary swirling down the drain.
“Daniel, I need you to do me a favor,” Neville began while Edward was being measured by the tailor. “If you agree, I’ll tell you a secret.”
“All right, go ahead,” he answered suspiciously.
“You know where Mary Mitchell lives, don’t you?”
“I don’t think so, but I can find out, easy enough.”
“I would most enjoy seeing Mary again before we ship out. Could you run this note by her house, and ask if she could send me a note back with the post this week. It asks if I might call on her when I come back in for my uniforms.”
“That’s it? Sure, I’ll drop your note ‘round. What’s your secret?”
“Remember the girl in blue t’other evening? Angelica?”
“Yea, I know her. She’s gorgeous, but she despises me. She used to hit me with a stick when we played hoops, remember?”
“Did you speak with her at dinner?”
“No, I didn’t dare. She was always with those redcoats, anyway.”
“Well, my secret is that Mary told me Angelica is sweet on you – has been for a long time. Hitting you with a stick is how little girls act when they want a boy’s attention, you know. You mustn’t tell Angelica that Mary said this, or she’ll be mean to Mary; and I’ll find a way to fix you for it. But you might ask to see her.”
The two families were back at The Flowers after a pleasant afternoon, and had just sat to eat a simple ploughman’s for supper when the postman dropped two letters from the Navy Of
fice in the bin. The two letters demanded the immediate attention of Edward and Daniel.
Reading as rapidly as possible, each mumbled out the essentials of their letters:
Lieutenant Edward Watson:
…return to the HMS Pegasus at Portsmouth – On or about 15th August
Midshipman Daniel Watson:
…return to the HMS Orion at Portsmouth – On or about 20th August
“Never in life the same ship. We can travel together, at least, Daniel. The Orion’s a seventy-four. She was there on First June, you know. Oh, and have you seen the London Gazette? That convoy the French were escorting from America arrived in France, so the French claim they won that battle. Even after all the ships we took.”
“I’ll help pack today, Mum,” said Neville next day at home. “I’ve walked down to the post office already this morning, but there was nothing for me.”
He busied himself helping to pack in the corn bins they had brought home from Mr. Blake, and doing other neglected chores about the Thurston cottage.
Two days later, two letters came. One from the Navy Office, and one addressed in a very feminine hand from Bury. He allowed his mother and sister to see the latter which, quite formally, allowed him permission to call on Mary on the Tuesday next.
The Navy Office letter was next:
By the Commissioners for executing
the Office of the Navy and
First Lord of the Admiralty,
Midshipman Neville Burton,
By virtue of the Power and Authority given us, We do hereby ordere you to proceed to join with the company of HMS Sans Pareil before she Sails from Portsmouth on or about the 24th August, 1794, and to execute what Orderes are given you from your Captain, or any other of your Superior Officers. Hereof, none of you shall fail, as you may answer to your Country at your peril.
The Glorious First Of June (Neville Burton: Worlds Apart Book 1) Page 20
