The Captain's Nephew

by Philip K Allan

  Sutton chuckled to hear his friend, normally so restrained and in control, speak of his emotions.

  ‘Do not be so coy, Alex,’ he teased. ‘You have not yet mentioned her chief accomplishments, a very handsome figure and an exceedingly beautiful countenance!’

  Sutton thought for a moment. ‘Has a formal understanding been reached between Miss Browning and yourself?’

  ‘Not as such, no. We had become very intimate on board the Devon, but I was not able to make a proper declaration of my feelings,’ Clay conceded. ‘Yet I am confident that if I declared myself to her, she would welcome my approach.’

  ‘I have no doubt that she would,’ agreed Sutton. ‘What young lady would not be flattered by the attentions of such a handsome fellow as yourself? Do you intend to make a declaration?’

  ‘I certainly want to, but do you believe I can have any hope in that quarter?’ asked Clay.

  ‘From the lady I am sure there can be no objection,’ said his friend. ‘No, your principal issue here will be to persuade Sir Francis and Lady Aston of the honour of your proposal. While I do not claim to have any clear intelligence as to their intentions in taking their niece with them to India, you can be sure it was in part to find a suitable match for Miss Browning.’

  Sutton touched his friend’s arm. ‘You must try to perceive the world through their eyes, Alex. Doubtless Miss Browning has a fortune of some kind, possibly quite a substantial one left to her by her parents. Her uncle and aunt must live in constant fear that their niece might fall prey to some fortune hunter. I know that your motives are beyond reproach, but they will take a deal of persuading on the matter.’

  ‘You mean that a naval lieutenant with no fortune and few prospects might not be the match they have in mind for their niece?’ said Clay.

  ‘You put it well, brother,’ said Sutton. Clay thought about what his friend had said, struggling to see a solution.

  ‘So what course do you recommend?’ he asked. ‘Must I give up all hope of mine and Lydia’s future happiness?’

  ‘Well, you must prepare yourself for that possibility, unless you are willing to consider an elopement?’ Clay shook his head, and Sutton carried on. ‘I thought not.’ Sutton paused for a moment to gather his thoughts. ‘Before I lay out my recommended course of action, I must be clear that my scheme may offer hope but not any guarantee of success.’

  ‘I understand, John,’ said Clay. ‘I can perceive no way through this at all, so I will happily proceed with any plan that has at least some hope of success.’

  ‘Very well,’ continued Sutton. ‘This is what I believe you must do. You must act tomorrow, for you have little time. Even if we are not ordered away immediately, the East Indiamen will weigh anchor within a day. For all their airs and graces, at heart the Company is about commerce and a swift passage is a profitable one, so it will always be touch and go with them. When we arrive in port tomorrow, your first duty will be to the ship. Once we have completed our water and stores, you will be free to act.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Clay. ‘What is the character of that action?’

  ‘Firstly you will need to seek out Miss Browning, and reveal your feelings to her unambiguously,’ continued Sutton. ‘You have to be sure, of course, that her feelings are the same as yours, but you also have to reach an understanding with her. The nature of that agreement must include her consent that she will wait for you.’ Sutton paused to let his friend absorb this. When he was sure he had, he carried on.

  ‘Once you have that undertaking, you can then request an interview with Sir Francis. I would recommend absolute candour with him, anything less will see you rejected. You must explain the attachment between his niece and yourself, naturally, but you must also show that you understand the objections he may have to your circumstances, which frankly are material, Alex. Currently you are in no position to maintain a lady like Miss Browning on your service pay alone. But all is not lost. You must draw his attention to your advantages. You are an intelligent, well regarded officer with some seniority as a lieutenant. As the country is at war, you can expect promotion in the natural course of events. You are also sure to accrue prize money, particularly as you serve aboard a frigate on detached service. You should propose that your engagement is agreed but suspended until you have the position and resources to meet your obligations to provide adequately for Miss Browning, at which point the marriage can proceed.’

  Clay thought through his friend’s plan, and groaned. ‘Oh John, it all seems very flimsy. What if I am wholly rejected by Sir Francis as deficient, with no merit as a potential husband? Do you truly believe that this may work?’

  ‘I honestly do not know,’ Sutton replied. ‘You need firstly to confide in Lydia. If she feels as strongly as you do, and can be persuaded to wait for you, then there is at least some hope of her will prevailing over that of her uncle and aunt. From what you have described of her character, she appears not to want in resolve and determination. I have seen that her uncle and aunt hold her in high esteem and affection. Surely they will not be entirely indifferent to her views? They must have some regard for her future happiness.’ Clay twisted his hands in each other, as he thought about his meeting with Lydia’s uncle. Could any of this work? John made it all seem so simple. His friend took his arm, and led him away from the rail.

  ‘As I said earlier, I offer no guarantee of success, only a little hope. First you must win the alliance of Miss Browning. Then you can tackle her relations. What I do know is that they will have little regard for a prospective son in law who appears before them looking like he has not slept in days. Take yourself back down below, and try to sleep. You have a busy day ahead.’

  *****

  After a hard morning of work that had begun the moment the convoy dropped anchor in Madeira, the deck of the Agrius was at last starting to clear a little. The tackles rigged at the main yardarm swayed up the final few bundles of purser’s stores from the lighters on either side of the ship and lowered them down through the middle of the deck into the hold. Somewhere deep below, Fleming supervised a working party stowing everything that had been bought, packing the stores in so tight that nothing would shift if they encountered any bad weather.

  ‘Whoater’s komplete, sir,’ reported Johansson the cooper. Clay considered the balding warrant officer, wondering once more how, after almost twenty years service in the navy, his Swedish accent could still be as strong as ever.

  ‘Very good Mr Johansson, carry on please,’ replied Clay. ‘Mr Knight! As soon as the last of the firewood for the galley is on board you can replace the gratings and ship those tackles. Once the deck has been scrubbed clean again, and all is stowed away as it should be, you can dismiss the hands to their dinner.’

  ‘Aye aye, sir,’ replied the boatswain.

  Clay watched as the final bundle of wood swung up from the lighter alongside, twisting in the air and disappeared into the dark square hole in the deck. As it vanished from sight he swallowed, a nervous panic rising in him. All morning he had been able to focus on getting the stores on board – familiar routine with which to drive back the knot in his stomach at the knowledge of what he was to do now. He turned from the quarterdeck rail and called across to the midshipman of the watch.

  ‘Mr Preston, my compliments to the captain, and please inform him that our stores are now complete. Can you also say that I would like to borrow the jollyboat. I have an urgent matter to attend to.’ Even to Clay’s heightened senses, this simple message sounded false, his voice cracking towards a stammer with the strain of his emotion.

  ‘Aye aye, sir,’ said Preston, staring at his normally calm first lieutenant. He disappeared from the quarterdeck, and Clay exchanged glances with Sutton.

  Christ, thought Clay, I feel more anxious than I have done going into battle. Doubts began to crowd around him as he waited for Preston to return. Did Lydia really love him, or had he misjudged the situation on the Devon? Was this all not just an infatuation that would have little hope of
lasting through long months of separation? Even if she did truly feel as he did about her, such emotional arguments could never impress the stern-faced Sir Francis. Sutton’s advice, so beguiling in the warmth of a tropical night, seemed thin stuff in the sharp light of day. He felt sweat prickle on the back of his neck.

  To try and calm himself, he paced up and down the weather side of the quarterdeck, and looked around him. They were at anchor inside the breakwater at Funchal, Madeira’s largest town, in an area reserved for warships. Ahead of the Agrius two Portuguese ships swung at anchor, while astern was an American brig that had come in on the same tide as the convoy. Here was a fresh piece of naval routine to clear his mind of what lay ahead. He made a mental note to organise a guard boat tonight to discourage desertion. Few of the crew could swim but those that could, might take the chance, knowing they would be welcomed on board an American man-of-war. Further into the harbour he could see the three East Indiamen at anchor on the edge of the clearway. There was a bustle of activity around them too as they completed their preparations for departure. He would be there soon, he thought with a gulp.

  Preston came over to where Clay was standing, and saluted.

  ‘Yes, Mr Preston,’ said Clay.

  ‘Captain’s compliments and he would like to discuss your request to borrow the jollyboat, sir.’ The midshipman looked a little awkward as he spoke. An officer’s request to borrow a boat in harbour when off duty was normally just a courtesy. Clay had never known a captain to refuse it.

  ‘Thank you, Mr Preston, I will join the captain directly,’ said Clay, wondering what the problem might be. He hurried down to the main deck and along to the cabin door. The marine sentry saluted him as he approached and knocked at the door for him.

  ‘Come in!’ called Follett, and Clay entered the cabin.

  ‘Ah, Mr Clay. Pray grant me a moment if you please.’ Captain Follett sat at a desk that was strewn with paperwork. He was working with his clerk on the various indents and manifests that recorded all the supplies purchased for the ship that morning. Clay waited while the last few details were completed and signed for by Follett. Once he had blotted the final signature, the clerk departed, leaving Clay and his captain alone.

  ‘Now Mr Clay, I understand from Mr Preston that you wish to use one of the ship’s boats. May I ask why?’ began Follett.

  ‘It is a very normal request, sir. Is there a problem?’ replied Clay, unwilling to reveal his reasons.

  ‘Come, come, Mr Clay,’ said the captain. The familiar v reappeared between Follett’s eyes. ‘You have been a King’s officer long enough to know that that is not how you reply to a request for information from a superior officer. I repeat, why do you wish to borrow a ship’s boat?’

  ‘I do not wish to be evasive or disrespectful, sir, but I am not at liberty to reveal my purpose, as it involves others whose consent I have not obtained for such a disclosure,’ replied Clay.

  ‘How very mysterious you are, Mr Clay. You may not wish to be disrespectful but I find your unwillingness to satisfy a reasonable request for information does show a want of respect. It is also not the first time I have found myself being addressed by you in such a fashion,’ said Follett, struggling to keep his temper. ‘Will you at least tell me where you propose to go in this boat?’

  ‘I intend to visit the Earl of Warwick, where I have some personal matters to conclude before the convoy departs,’ Clay conceded.

  ‘Good, some progress at last,’ Follett remarked, ‘and may I ask if you intend to visit Miss Browning while you are on board?’

  Clay was left speechless. The cabin seemed to swim about him. How did Follett know that it was Lydia whom he wanted to see? For a dark moment he wondered if Sutton had told the captain, but he dismissed the idea. After a pause, Captain Follett carried on.

  ‘Mr Clay, you cannot imagine that your antics on board the Devon have passed entirely unseen? Your growing familiarity with Miss Browning was noted by all who were there, and has been reported on by those who witnessed it.’

  ‘I see nothing to reproach in my behaviour, sir. My regard for Miss Browning and my behaviour towards her has been quite honourable,’ Clay replied. ‘I also see nothing in my behaviour that warrants the interrogation to which I am being submitted.’

  ‘You are correct with regard to your behaviour, so far,’ said Follett. ‘What concerns me is what you are likely to do next. Damnation man, are you seriously going to pursue your infatuation with this lady? What are you thinking? Miss Browning comes from a background quite superior to yours. Even in the event that her guardians could somehow be persuaded to accept you as a son-in-law, how would you support her? Your current pay barely serves for your needs and those of your mother?’ Follett shook his head in disbelief. Clay was furious.

  ‘Sir, I must protest!’ he said. ‘This is my private affair. By what right do you justify your interference in this matter?’

  In answer the captain picked up a letter from his desk, still shaking his head.

  ‘I have today received this communication from Sir Francis. In it he writes that he has specifically forbidden his niece from seeing you again, and solicits my assistance. He wishes to avoid any unpleasant scenes that may distress his wife or niece, and asks me to make sure that you remain on board this ship until the Earl of Warwick has sailed. As you are no doubt aware, Sir Francis’s family and my own share a number of connections, but even if that were not so, I would still have agreed to do what he asks. Your request for use of a ship’s boat is denied. You will remain on board. That is an order, Mr Clay. Do I need to put it in writing, or do I have your word that you will not attempt to leave this ship to see Miss Browning?’

  ‘No sir, you have my word,’ he replied. He was still choked with anger, but it was the only possible answer he could give to a direct order from his captain.

  ‘Good, you have my thanks,’ said Follett. ‘I do not expect you to agree at present, but I believe in time you may come to see that I am acting for the best.’

  ‘Aye aye, sir,’ replied Clay, his voice dangerous and quiet. Follett stared at him for a moment, before returning to the letter.

  ‘In his note Sir Francis goes on very generously to invite the officers of the Agrius to a farewell dinner tonight on board the Earl of Warwick to thank us for our diligence in convoying them this far. I call that a very handsome gesture under the circumstances. I need hardly say that you are specifically excluded from the invitation.’

  *****

  Well, at least that has now been done, thought Follett as the cabin door closed on the lieutenant’s departing back. Of course a marriage between the penniless Clay and the wealthy Lydia Browning was too ridiculous to consider. No, he was clear that he had done the right thing, and spared his impulsive young first lieutenant from a painful rebuff at the hands of Sir Francis. Families like the Brownings and the Ashtons, or indeed the Folletts did not marry for love. Marriage was far too important a dynastic tool to be wasted in such a frivolous way.

  Did he not have personal experience of such matters? He remembered the time when he was no older than young Windham and he had been quite infatuated with the lovely Miss Emilia, the pretty, kind daughter of the teacher in the village school. He would ride over to her little cottage by the mill stream most days, and walked with Emilia through woods and fields bursting with the new life of a fresh spring. He could still picture her now, her pale skin, the bridge of freckles across her nose, her chestnut hair piled up under her bonnet, the material of her dress as covered with flowers as the meadows around them. But his father had sat him down in his study and explained matters to him in his usual bluff way. Such a match was quite out of the question, so best not to lead the young girl on, what? No, the family had a much superior wife in mind for him. He was to marry Anne. She was young, beautiful, of impeccable character and came with a substantial dowry. It was his duty to marry her for his family’s sake as well as his own. Should love not follow after marriage, and he found that he still had
yearnings for this Emilia, why he could always take her as his mistress.

  Follett opened the top draw of his desk, and after a moments search, found the silver locket his wife Anne had given him several years ago. He flipped it open and looked at the two little painted images that faced each other. Even at this tiny scale the artist had done a good job. He had somehow caught the boyish enthusiasm of his son John, and behind the calm beauty of his wife, the hint of ice in her stare. He had done the right thing by his family, he told himself, just as he had done the right thing in the case of his first lieutenant. His thoughts had now come full circle, as if to convince him by dint of repetition.

  He pushed himself back in his chair and let out a long sigh. So why did he feel so empty inside? Where was that familiar feeling of supreme confidence in his own judgement?

  ‘I have done my duty well,’ he told the twin images nestling in his palm. That of his wife stared back at him from within its silver oval. He looked at the face of Anne, and thought about Clay, desperate to declare his love for this unobtainable girl. Was it possible that he might be jealous of his first lieutenant?

  *****

  Dawn the following morning found Clay up early on the almost deserted deck of the Agrius. The few members of the anchor watch stiffened to attention when he appeared, but he ignored them as he made his way to the rail, telescope in hand. He settled down on one of the quarterdeck carronades and looked across the misty harbour at the three East Indiamen. Over the calm water he could hear the faint echo of their officers’ shouted commands as they first weighed anchor, and then set sail. He watched as they passed in a slow line down through the harbour, their elephantine hulls cutting the few tendrils of sea mist that spiralled across the still water.

  In Clay’s heart little was still. Rival emotions swirled and clashed. He felt hot rage burn against his captain for keeping him and Lydia apart. He felt black despair, knowing that the stately procession of ships was carrying her away from him. But in one tiny corner, flickering hope held its breath. He pushed his hand into his pocket to reassure himself that the slip of paper was still there. Having brushed it with his finger tips, he returned to his examination of the deck of the Earl of Warwick with his spy glass, seeking further reassurance.