None But You (Frederick Wentworth, Captain: Book 1)

by Susan Kaye

  “This won’t take more than two shakes, sir. Don’t you just see if it don’t.” The scissors took their first cut and a large wad of hair fell down the frills of his evening shirt.

  ~~~~~~~&~~~~~~~

  Again the evening’s breeze annoyed him by caressing his bare neck. His collar stood high, but gave little comfort. He determined to buy a scarf against the colder months ahead. Wearing a scarf like a little old man would insure that he never forget this day’s events. As he approached the Guild Hall the sound of music grew louder, spilling out of open windows. This meant the place was already a crush.

  Do the polite and get out before it’s too late. The Admiral of the Port was sponsoring the party as a celebration of the ending of the war. And, he could not help thinking when he opened his invitation, the end of so many careers. Nodding to several fellow officers as he made his way in, he chided himself for being in such a disagreeable frame of mind. After making an inventory of his grievances, he left off, determined to keep to himself for as long as he was in a position to inflict his mood upon others. Within minutes a man took his coat and another saw that he had a glass of wine. The atmosphere was gay and loud. It seemed there was a tinge of hilarity, almost hysteria, which was not generally present at such a gathering. He was not the only one sensing the changes in the wind.

  “Well, it is about time you joined the rest of civilized mankind!” A voice from behind and a hand clapping him on the shoulder startled him. Turning, he faced Gilmore Craig. “You have finally decided that being in fashion is not a sin, eh, Captain?”

  Wentworth frowned a moment, then understood of what his friend spoke.

  “Ah, yes, well,” he absently brushed at the newly exposed skin of his neck and cringed. Craig was rosy with wine and Wentworth had little appetite for derision.

  Gilmore leant and looked him over, one side to the other. “Well, I must say, it is a bit short, but that is the miracle of hair is it not?”

  “How so?”

  “Well, one may groan over a bad haircut, but given a fortnight, there is no reason left, for it is all grown out.” He smiled at his pun and giggled a bit as he took a drink of his wine.

  Wentworth forced a smile. It was to be one of those nights. Craig’s tongue was loose enough to make him think such a play upon words funny, and that meant he would not guard himself in the least. Without thinking, he reached up again and touched his freshly shorn neck. So this is the fashion. His hard feelings towards dear Jack were not assuaged.

  Taking a drink, Craig looked over the crowd. “Everyone seems to be quite lively. The last hurrahs, as it were.”

  “To be sure. I have no scruple in thinking that most are smiling through the agony.”

  “Ah, I must ask, how was that last case on the docket settled? Some fellows at the warehouse are interested.”

  The docket was the Courts Martial board, and Wentworth suspected Craig and his fellows had monetary interests rather than those of justice. “And why would that be? It was merely a case of self-defence.”

  Craig frowned. “I thought it was unquestionably murder. Letters from the unfaithful wife to the lover and then the cuckold flattened with a belaying pin. Hardly sounds like self-defence.” His eyes were wide with certainty as he exchanged his empty glass for a full one from a passing tray.

  The Courts Martial had been an endless affair that seemed to create its own set of difficulties rather than solve those presented to it. Just as one affair would be laid to rest and the officers bound to the court close to dismissal, another set of unfortunates would be hauled before them and another set of pitiful stories would unfold. The six officers sitting in judgment were all acquainted and on good terms. This was fortunate, as they saw more of one another than they could have anticipated.

  The Admiralty Secretary warned that there might be more cases found as new ships came into port and officers took the opportunity to rid themselves of dead weight in their brigs. This would necessitate lengthening their commitment. They christened the Secretary a prophet when the second week began. By the third week, they cursed him as the Magistrate of the Devil Himself and were more serious than not about jumping ship rather than sit the last round of cases.

  The final case was one of the worst. A carpenter on the sloop Reliant and the ship’s purser hailed from the same town near Manchester. They were mates from previous cruises and on good terms. When it was discovered that a bit of criminal conversation had taken place between the carpenter’s wife and the purser, a fight had broken out and the carpenter was killed.

  When the evidence was presented, the purser was portrayed as a vicious man, bent on ridding himself and his married lover of their mutual impediment. However, witnesses to the fatal fight told a story of the carpenter enraged, embarrassed, and bent on doing the purser a permanent injury. The brawl took place outside the purser’s locker, and a lucky blow with a prying tool used to open casks of beef felled the carpenter. The purser was eventually judged to be not guilty of murder and acquitted of the charges; but all knew him to be guilty of another sort of crime.

  After explaining the finer points to Craig, Wentworth concluded, “So the purser will not swing. How much did you lose on it?”

  Looking disappointed, Craig replied, “Enough! I should have known better. I just returned from London and had not enough time to cast about for good intelligence concerning the matter.”

  Wentworth emptied his glass. “All I can say is I am happy the thing is over. The Captain of the Fleet discharged us and that is that.”

  “So when did Laconia go into ordinary?”

  “Nearly a month ago. The wrights sat on their haunches and dragged us pillar to post as to when they would take her. I finally knew when the Admiral’s clerk appeared with the money for the pay-off.”

  “That’s cutting it fine.”

  “It surely was. They were paying off one watch while the other was rowing their dunnage ashore.” Paying off after a fine cruise was a bittersweet event, and this being the end of Laconia’s career, and perhaps his own, it was even more so.

  “So what of the half-wit giant case? I still have a place for him if he’s not being used as bear bait somewhere.”

  “No, no need. My coxswain took him to Cornwall. He’s to pull a plough for an old auntie there. But I thank you.” Taking a glass from another passing tray, Wentworth took a drink and continued, “Those are the ones I hate seeing off; the mind of a child residing in a giant’s body, alone in the world to be abused by God knows who, only God knows how.”

  “There’s only so much you can do for the world, Wentworth. You are a Captain of the Navy, not a reformer. That’s your brother’s line, is it not?”

  He smiled. “Yes, it is.”

  “Well, then, leave it to the likes of him…or join him.” Craig raised a brow in jest.

  Wentworth shook his head and laughed quietly. Frederick Wentworth, a parson! Such a thing would shock even the archangels.

  Craig took another glass as a footman passed. “Look, we both know you will not be joining any religious communities any time soon, but I do wish that you would give more thought to my proposal.”

  At their first dinner, after the peace was declared, Craig had asked that he take command of his few lumbering merchantmen making their regular run to Ireland and Scotland. It was sailing at its most mundane; only piloting a mail packet could be worse. The ships were inelegant barges, the men were infinitely worse, though the peace would put decent hands within reach. It was still a sop and though he knew he should be grateful for it, he was not.

  “In fact,” Craig continued, “I think I might be able to make the offer a little more tempting.”

  “How so?”

  “While I am as patriotic as the next man, and I am glad to see that pox-ridden despot put away for good, my war has always been much larger than just dealing with the French. My bigger fights have always been with jumped-up yokels who have boats big enough and friends sober enough to take to the water with suffic
ient guns to scare my not-so-gallant captains. A few of my colleagues and I have talked about creating our own little cartel that would include the beginnings of a tidy private navy.”

  This idea intrigued him, and he encouraged Craig to continue.

  “The word is that the Navy will be selling out of service several very nice little ships. It is our hope to buy a brig, perhaps even a sloop, and outfit her to shepherd our ships up north and back. With the peace, all of us are feeling the pinch, and we have to turn our attention to markets farther from home. Guns, shot, and powder take up space better dedicated to cargo; but it would leave us too vulnerable to privateers and the usual pirates hoping for easy pickings to go without them.”

  “A sloop you say?”

  “Perhaps, if we can find one for a bargain and in good enough shape.”

  “Shepherding, eh?”

  “Yes, I’m afraid that is all we could offer you. No letters of marque. No prizes to be had, or five pounds per head for live prisoners. Taking off on a chase would leave our wares vulnerable and defeat the purpose of the entire affair. Though, when last I talked with the gentlemen, I laid down a hint or two that it might be a fine idea if, rather than a straight commission per trip, we paid the captain a percentage of the cargo. They are mulling it over. But if I can convince them, you could pay out a bonus using that Byzantine formula the Navy favours.”

  It was not very tempting. He had risen above commanding a sloop. But there were no opportunities on the horizon that were in any way superior.

  “Besides, you might then be able to take a few of your more deserving mates and give them employment.”

  Wentworth considered whom he might seek out were he to take up Craig’s proposal.

  Noting the hesitation, Craig continued, “Listen, there is no hurrying on this. Beezel and Hedridge are out of country until after Christmas, and I doubt anything will be done before the end of January. Take a few months and make the rounds of the family. Then, when you all are thoroughly sick of one another, you can give me a decision.”

  The idea of being a private captain had some appeal but not enough for him to make an immediate commitment. He decided to turn the conversation from himself to his friend.

  “Perhaps I will return and find you married.” A dark look came over Craig. He took a drink of his wine and stood silent as he studied the crowd. For the past weeks, his friend had been away to Bristol and London, and all Wentworth knew of the romantic intrigues concerning Miss Hammond was that her uncle was still reluctant to have her marry a man in trade. The effect of his quip on Craig’s countenance was profound, and though he was not precisely in the mood to enquire further, he felt obliged to offer up a sympathetic ear. “The Admiral has been gone for over a fortnight. Did he find a fitting situation for his niece?”

  “Yes, it was the very situation he took her from when he brought her to live in his house. She is back with an aunt outside of town.”

  “Then you are able to see her frequently?”

  “No, the old man was pointed that I should stay away from her.” He nodded to someone across the room.

  Looking over, he saw Miss Hammond return the acknowledgement.

  Turning to Craig, he said, “She seems not to be abiding by her uncle’s wishes.”

  “It would seem not. But I do not wish to bring her any grief concerning her family.”

  “So, how does her aunt feel?”

  He frowned. “What does it matter what the aunt feels? It’s the Admiral who has laid down the law.”

  “True, but it is not unusual for men and women to feel quite differently about matters of the heart. The Admiral is on the other side of the world. There is little consequence if his wishes go unheeded.”

  Craig turned from watching Miss Hammond. “I am shocked, Wentworth. Here you are, a man who depends upon strict loyalty and discipline to maintain order in life, advising me to boldly disobey. Again, I must say, I am shocked.”

  Taking a drink, he realised he, too, was a bit shocked. He had not realized that Gilmore Craig’s affections for Miss Hammond concerned him enough that he would give any sort of opinion, much less advise his friend to disregard the old man. But as he found another glass, he determined that Craig had nothing to lose, not being beholden to the Admiral for his career or anything but an occasional dinner. Moreover, her being forced to await her uncle’s approval while sitting cloistered with her aunt was, most likely, not enjoyable for Miss Hammond. Let them be together and happy was his only thought on the matter.

  “I would agree that obedience to authority is vital, but genuine affection is difficult to come by. While Admiral Hammond is an admirable seaman, I think you are far better suited to make her happy than he suspects.” Wentworth’s heart was pounding, and he could feel his short hair prickling with sweat. If only someone had been available to persuade him to work at his own happiness with such vigour.

  The room was growing hot, and the women’s voices were suddenly sharp and grating, like the close-quartered hens kept in coops on the quarterdeck. He was about to say they should step out onto one of the terraces when Craig grimaced. “Sorry, old man, but I must fly!” He disappeared in the crowd instantly.

  “Captain Wentworth!” A falsetto voice penetrated the noise of the crowd, causing many to turn and stare in his direction.

  “Damned coward,” he said to Gilmore Craig’s back.

  Smoothing his lapels and tugging at his cuffs, he made himself presentable. “She can’t eat you alive, Captain,” he consoled himself quietly. “Her presence merely stops the passage of time.” Smiling, he turned to make his bow.

  “Lady Grierson. You honour me.”

  Her curtsey dipped a bit too low, and he offered her a hand. “Sir, the pleasure is all mine.” An ivory fan snapped open, and she stood back a little, eyeing him closely. With no pretence to gracious conversation, she said, “Something has changed about your person, but I am at a loss to say precisely what it is.”

  Her observation was surprising, as he never thought her terribly perceptive. A cursory study of the lady showed that nothing had changed about Lady Mary. She was still a small, rosy dumpling of a woman, cinched and tucked and still threatening to burst any number of her seams. The dress tonight was Turkey red and the turban, extraordinary. The foundation of this edifice was comprised of yards of silk from which several feathers and a stuffed robin perched on the left side. While the elaborate headgear was highly entertaining, it was a small gold tassel, hanging just near her right eye, which truly captured his attention.

  Forcing himself to look at her face rather than either side of her headdress, he answered, “Any perceived change is not for the worst, I hope.”

  “No, no never with you, sir.” She continued to study him, but after an uncomfortable pause, moved to another topic. “I am endeavouring to recall when last we were in company. Surely, you have not forgotten how you and our fifth daughter, Emily, got on so famously.” The motherly glow in her eyes made Wentworth’s stomach churn.

  “That would have been in February, Ma’am. In Mahon,” he answered. The muscles in his face ached, but settled into a pleasant smile that gave the impression of interest. As for Emily Grierson, it had been strictly duty. Nothing resembling affection had put him in the way of Lady Mary’s notice in the first place.

  Admiral Sir Henry Grierson’s ship had been taking on water and victuals one dirty night in Mahon Harbour. The Captain suspected it was the convergence of the facts of her husband finally arriving in port and her daughters having new dresses that had furnished reason enough for Lady Mary to arrange an exclusive supper aboard the Admiral’s man-of-war. Between the wind and rain, every surface had been glistening wet and treacherous. As they had proceeded up the gangway, the girl slipped, and it was Wentworth’s hand that kept her from sliding into the drink. When later harassed for his gallantry by fellows just as near the clumsy girl, he had battled back by saying it was either keep her dry or wet his sleeves fishing her out.

  �
��It is so crowded this evening. I would have thought the Admiralty would be more select. It would seem that every man with a board on his shoulder is here eating and drinking his fill.”

  “I suspect that many are taking the opportunity to pay homage one last time before returning to life on land.” It was a lie. He knew many were eating and drinking as much as they could hold in hopes of bankrupting the Crown.

  Lifting a brow, she said, “Well, that is honourable…if true.” The stipulation was insightful and took him aback. Everything to do with Lady Mary was ordinarily fixed on procuring officers to serve as husbands for her seven marriageable daughters. What else was there for her to do? She had the mischance of giving birth to seven girls, and this drove the speculation that Sir Henry kept to sea out of self-preservation. The only decent thing to do was to see them all married and continuing in the occupation of naval wife. She had been heard to say, “I see my girls as the tenders that spread out all over the ports, caring for the needs of the ships that come in to be refreshed and renewed.”

  When he’d heard it, he’d thought that in a broad, poetic sense that might be admirable, but in a practical comparison to boats filled with the likes of slovenly jobbers, whores, and chandlers, it seemed to him to fall short of a compliment.

  The tassel and feathers were bobbing wildly with the beating of her fan. The room was warming and he wanted nothing more than to wipe his brow. But appearing in uniform, he refused to be seen daubing at his face as if he were a swooning old woman. It did not keep him from fingering his sword knot.