3 William William goes nor'east

Chapter 1

William saw no reason to drag Amelia back to London when word came that his presence was requested and required by the Lords of the Admiralty, so he took himself to ‘Crown’ Inn to await the coach for the ‘Spreadeagle’.  William decided to lay at the inn overnight to be roused by its staff for the early start.  He wanted all his wits about him if the admiralty wanted to brief him in person on his mission rather than merely send written orders. Doubtless it was the sort of mission an expendable but unconventional officer might be sent on, but William had no intention of being talked into agreeing to anything without listening to every word carefully.

“Just in from London, sir?” asked the ale draper, as William settled in the bar for a pint after dinner.

“No, the reverse; looking for a coach to set a Nor’Easterly course, to set sail on the ebb tomorrow first thing,” said William, humorously.

The tapster laughed and drew William his pint.

A rough looking man came over to William and sat down beside him.

“Clever words, them,” he said.

William regarded him with disfavour.

“Just a passing jest, nothing clever,” he said, coolly.

“Don’t be so sniffy, mate, you ain’t got no cause,” said the man. “It’ll be on your bed.”

And then he had moved away again, leaving William blinking in confusion.

“What an odd fellow,” said William to himself.

William had taken a single room, and when he went up, there was a packet on his bed, sealed with an ornate seal.

“I dunno what vat’s abaht, but some sneakin’ little feller come in an’ left it,” said Walden.  “’E didn’t see me, and I weren’t abaht ter show meself.” William had asked Walden to come to London with him as his man rather than his Coxwain, Dempsey, as Walden knew every trick in the book.

“Yes, I had an odd encounter in the bar,” said William.  “I suppose it’s too much to ask that you can charm off a seal and put it back as neatly as Adam Peacock?”

“Wodjer tike me for, a fule?” said Walden, indignantly. “I can do it a sight more neatly than Adam can, fancy fevver work o’ his or no.”

William hid a smile.  Adam Peacock was well known for turning feathers into beautiful flowers, or miniature furniture to delight the younger daughters of the sailors,  as well as covering boxes cut from packing cases with beautiful patterns, varnished into place.

“Well, I will leave it to you, then, and will watch to see how it is done,” said William.

Mollified, Walden heated his pocket knife in the flame of the candle.

“’Ave ye got a kerchee I can wipe it on?” he asked.

With a muttered apology to Amelia for so misusing the fine linen she insisted on him using, William handed his handkerchief to Walden. The sailor skilfully wiped the soot from the blade with a nod of approval over how the fine linen removed it swiftly and cleanly. It was a matter of boldness; being tentative would never work.

He slid the knife under the seal and it lifted clear away, and passed the papers inside to William.

Inside there was a list of names which looked to be ship names, dates, and against some the name of a man.

“Most curious,” said William.  “And whatever it is, it is decidedly clandestine.”

“Packet boats?  Mails?” suggested Walden.

“‘Tom and Nancy’; ‘Philip’s Fancy’; ‘Skimmer’; if it ain’t packets or mails, it almost has to be race horses,” said William.  “And as horses don’t run by the ebb on particular dates, I would say you are probably correct. What it means, however, I can’t guess.”

“Why don’t you make a copy, sir, and I’ll see if I can catch the mailcoach to send it on to Sir William Wickham?” suggested Walden. “Leaves at eight it does, if we shift I should get it orf ready for ‘is nibs ter spile ‘is breakfast wiv it.”

“I had been going to take it to him, but yes, a better idea,” said William, getting out the beautiful writing slope he had purchased.  It meant he had with him better quality paper than was generally found in inns, and his own steel-pointed pen and good quality ink for fast, accurate writing. 

“I’m almost tempted to copy out the original slightly wrongly to carry on until someone demands it,” he said, regretfully, “But I cannot copy handwriting and it might alert someone to my substitution.  There, I am done; if you will reseal it, I will write a covering letter to Sir William whilst you do so.”

Walden grinned. He worked his magic with the hot knife, holding it under the paper to re-seal the wax, as William wrote.

“Dear Sir William,

I was accosted in the bar of the ‘Crown’ in Portsmouth by a fellow who seemed inordinately interested in a feeble joke I made about setting a course north-east to London on the morning ebb tide, and he left a sealed package on my bed. Please find enclosed a copy of what was written, which I found most strange.

It is probably nothing, in which case I apologise for wasting your time, but in case it is something of interest, I felt I should let you have it soonest, and Jeb Walden suggested the Royal Mail. In haste,

Wm Price.”

Walden took the letter and slithered off like an eel out of a trap. He was back within a few minutes with a pleased grin.

“Caught the mail, and she’s gorn, sir, so not hardly likely to be stopped,” he said.

That was true enough; the mail was heavily guarded.

“And now we need to be sure not to be assaulted in our beds when whoever sent it realises that it has been given to the wrong person,” said William.

Walden scratched his nose.

“Well, it so ‘appens that there’s a swell cove,  name o’ Withimere, which if I recall was the name o’ the viscounty o’ the pa o’ our Mr. Perceval,” said Walden. “Carryin’ on somethin’ awful about not havin’ the best room, that bein’ this one.”

“Jeb, I have no intention of permitting the Viscount of Withimere to be murdered in his bed in mistake for me,” said William.

“Oh, ‘E won’t be,” said Walden.  “’E ‘as ‘arf an army o’servants to sleep by ‘is door and whatnot, an’ ‘is own linen.  I sent a boy wiv a message to the ‘Thetis’ for Mr. Perceval to lay low.  ‘E weren’t stupid enough to say what ship ‘e was on when ‘e wrote. So we’re packin’ an’ movin’ account o’ how I told the viscount  I might persuade my orficer to do so, makin’ like I was askin’ for a vail, see, so ‘e’ll be ‘ere ‘narf a minnit.”

“Damn your eyes, Jeb,” said William. “I hope he vailed you well.”

“Dropped me two guineas,” said Jeb, shamelessly.

It was less comfortable to be sharing a room with two other naval officers, but less uncomfortable, William suspected, than being assaulted in his bed.  Walden made up a bed on the floor with the cheerful insouciance of a man who can sleep standing up if need be.

The other officers were also lieutenants, but they deferred to a man with the single epaulet of a master and commander.  William was secretly amused, since both were older than he was, and possibly had more seniority.  But then, command was never about mere seniority, it was about Interest, and though well-connected relatives were a part of what constituted Interest, so was having your name in the Gazette, or impressing someone. Or being sufficiently apparently reckless to be considered both expendable, and willing to take on impossible tasks. 

“Hoping for a new command, sir?” asked one. “George Ebden.”

“I have a command, but I’m off to London to be given orders,” said William.

“What ship?” asked the other.  “I’m Tallis Beckham; I suppose you have all your lieutenants?”

“Yes, I’m sorry, I do,” said William. “‘Thetis’ only gets two lieutenants in any case.”

George Ebden whistled.

“That pretty schooner?” he said.  “So that makes you Mr. Price, who took her from pirates?”

“Goodness, is the tale so well-known?” asked William, taken aback.

“Oh, you’re the darling of all the ladies, hadn’t you noticed?” said Beckham. “You’ve not been to any of the assemblies here?”

“I’m content to be the darling of my wife,” said William.  “And I’m going to sleep; I don’t mind talking in the coach to while away the journey, but I’m as grumpy as a midshipman in the mornings if I don’t get my sleep.”

There was a disturbance in the night, and a lot of shouting, and William devoutly hoped that the howls of anguish came from anyone trying to steal a packet rather than from the viscount.  Jeb was not going to be popular with the viscount if ever that worthy found out that not only had Jeb kidnapped his son, mistaking him for a rich man’s carpenter, but had also set him up for this nocturnal disturbance.

William shrugged and went back to sleep. There was not a lot else he could do.

Eating bacon and eggs at four thirty, William did ask the sleepy girl who served him,

“What was all that noise in the night?”

“Oh, some thief or other tried to roll milord the viscount,” said the girl. “Only fancy, the brazen cheek of it!  Well his man threw one of them out of the window, and the other is locked up in the cellar waiting for the watch to take him away.”

“Good gracious!” said William. “I hope that doesn’t happen often.”

“First time I ever knew of it,” said the girl. “And thank you kindly, sir,” as she pocketed a groat.  “Reckon they was drunk.” She moved on, pleased with a small vail, but it was not so large as to be memorable. William mostly vailed her as a sop to his conscience over the disturbed night of the unfortunate viscount. Doubtless that worthy would take it out on the staff in the inn.  He finished his breakfast, used the necessary offices, and found himself in good time to board the coach.  Walden was riding outside with a couple of midshipmen and someone who looked to William to be a ship chandler; he shared the inside with Ebden and Beckham, and a widow of about thirty years old who looked quite broken. By common consent, the men gave the widow as much room to herself as possible. In all likelihood she was the relict of some other officer, and due respect.

“Let us know if there is anything we can do to help, ma’am,” William said, politely. Her eyes filled with tears.

“So kind,” she said.  “I’m going to be with my married sister. I can be the unpaid governess, to pay my way, and I do not regret marrying my Thomas, even if the sea isn’t any great living.”

“Oh dear, did your sister marry for money and her jealousy of your love makes her rub it in?” said William, and then wondered if he should have stayed silent, for she was staring at him.

“Oh!” she said. “Jealous! Why ... it had not occurred to me, but you know, I think you might be correct.  I think Joshua has mistresses, and Eliza has always been sharp tongued to cover regrets.  Thank you, sir; I was dreading it, but now I will manage with fortitude, knowing that I have been happy, even if for such a short time.”

“And you can subvert all her sons to want to go to sea,” said William, his unruly tongue misbehaving again.

She managed a slightly hysterical giggle.

“Now that would be unkind, but I will tell them tales of their uncle,” she said.  “Thank you. I prayed for strength, and my prayers have been answered by your kindness, Captain?”

“Price, ma’am.”

She nodded. 

Her whole demeanour had changed, with a firmness of purpose.

“I will live, and keep Thomas’s memory alive,” she said.

William wondered how often a few words could make a difference to other people, one way or another.  Colin’s words about Mr. Stackfield had won him an excellent schoolmaster, rather than seeing a man hanged for thoughtlessness. His irritable words to the erstwhile midshipman, Cornelius Coare, had seen that youth resigning his warrant, to enter university under his own recognisances, and not at the behest of his father, having a legacy from an uncle which permitted it. 

How many lives might a man change, just for a few words?

William was still pondering this when he was startled out of his reverie by the sound of a shot, and the coach pulled to a halt.

3 William, the bothersome brothers chapter 1

Good morning all!  I am not going to promise to deliver daily but I am on chapter 5 having taken yesterday off DIY and managing two chapters.   However that gives me a chance to catch up with myself. 
William returns to Portsmouth to complete the refitting of the 'Thetis'.  He will need extra men and officers [I count Petty Officers in this]  and has an ...interesting ... task finding some of them.  Add to this a dockyard thief and rambunctious Price boys and William would rather face roundshot in battle.

I will be having an unpleasant character use the N word for Amelia, which I have put n***** because I would rather not type it. When it comes in - chapter 4 I think - I would like input over whether this is acceptable as it is intended as an insult, or indeed whether I should bite the bullet and use it in full. It's a truly filthy epithet when used as an epithet.

Chapter 1

Mrs. Price was taken aback by her visitor.  He was a well-set man in his middle years, plainly used to the best, and definitely a gentleman.  He raised his hat.

“Ma’am, my name is Finch, Amos Finch, and as my little girl has married your son, I’m deputing for young William while he is tied up in some mission the government has sent him off on.”

“But he said she was ...” Mrs. Price tailed off.  William had told her in his last letter that his bride was dark of skin and that she was not to say anything untoward about it.

“Mulatto?  My late wife, G-d rest her soul, was a woman of colour, the daughter of a British plantation owner and a slave, and she was a free woman, Mrs. Price, and I will hear nothing against her, or my lovely daughter.  William was nervous of introducing Amelia to you, and I hope his fears will be unjustified.”

“I ... er ... well, of course it is up to him to choose a wife,” said Mrs. Price, covertly assessing what Amos Finch was worth.

“Good, I hoped you’d see it that way,” said Finch.  “Now as his deputy in this, I’ve come to help you all move to a nicer, bigger house.”

“I ... I beg your pardon?”

“Waal, Mrs. Price, William thought you might like a nice house on High Street, and a couple of extra servants, and a subscription to the Assemblies at the Crown,” said Amos.  Mrs. Price gasped.  The High Street had fine, tall, modern buildings, four stories and a garret, built in the Corinthian style.  The best houses in the town!

“Why, how kind of William, and of you to deputise for him,” she said, achieving a simper. “Why, there will be room for William and dear Amelia to live in so fine a house.”

Amos beamed.

“Indeed, but I bought a block of four houses as their wedding gift; two of them have sitting tenants, whose rent will help the upkeep of the other two houses, I made that right and tight with the attorneys, I can tell you!  And the choice of one of the empty ones up to you, and the newlyweds in the other.”

“Why, how delightful!” said Mrs. Price, faintly.  “I am sure the children will love it.”

“Yes, and William determined to see that any of them who do not wish to go to sea given a chance to go to school, and of course the littlest girl offered schooling too,” said Amos.

“Oh! I cannot bear to have my Betsey parted from me,” cried Mrs. Price.

“No?  Then we shall have to see about a governess,” said Amos. “A man like William Price, mentioned in despatches, needs to know all his siblings have been well educated to take their place in society.”

“It’s not exactly the society of the Bertrams,” said Mrs. Price, with a touch of spiteful asperity towards her sister.

“No, ma’am, but then you’ve raised children to make your sister hang her head in shame at how she has done less well by her children, so Amelia says,” said Amos. “She has, after all, been staying with Mrs. Fanny Bertam, so she has seen for herself.”

“My poor Fanny, she could have done better for herself than a second son, and a vicar at that,” mourned Mrs. Price.  “But she says she loves him, so I suppose I must be content. Perhaps Susan will make a better match.”

“I believe Mrs. Bertram is happy,” said Amos.

Mrs. Price sighed.

“It can make up for a lot while it lasts,” she said.

William arrived in Peacock Lane to see all his family’s possessions being loaded onto a cart, and for a moment he was shaken with fury that they may have been evicted.  Then he saw his father-in-law’s figure.

“Pa?” William went up to Amos.

“Now you just play along, my boy; I knew you’d like your ma in a better house,” said Amos.

“Well, yes,” said William.  “I wasn’t sure how to put it to her, though, or to arrange it.”

“Well, I put it to her, and I arranged it,” said Amos. “I hope you don’t think it interfering?”

“Pa, I might have some disagreements with my mother, but I do love her,” said William.

“I interfered more than that,” said Amos.  “I set John up as a clerk to my factor here, to learn the ropes so to speak, and Richard was keen for the army – the real army, he said, not the marines – so I bought him a pair of colours.  Because I’d do most anything to keep my family happy, and that means you, son, as well as Amelia.  Only I’ve been wondering’ if I was heavy handed.”

“I ... well, I’m taken aback,” said William.  “And my brothers, all of them, do worry me.  I ... I don’t know how to thank you.”

“You’ll run my business for me when I want to retire to thank me,” said Amos. “And with luck, your brother John a real help to you by then.  The other three want to join you at sea; I said that was up to you.”

“I’ll not have them all,” said William.  “But if it’s sea they want, I will call on Captain Mornington to take one or two of them. I planned to take Tom, but I won’t split him from Charley.  And Sam is ...”

“Pugnacious?” said Amos.  “You send Tom and Charley to Captain Mornington, who won’t lick your brother Sam as hard as he should be licked if he makes a nuisance of himself, and you put Sam in his place yourself.”

William nodded.

“Your words have wisdom, Pa,” he said. He saw his mother come out, with Betsey by the hand. “Ma!” he said, coming over to kiss her on the cheek.  “So, we’re to be neighbours now; you look much happier and healthier than when I last saw you.”

“Oh, it is so nice to get out of that nasty little house,” said Mrs. Price.  “Thank you, William, and for asking dear Amelia’s father to organise it.  I thought we might throw a house-warming tea when we were quite moved in; you will come, won’t you?”

“Certainly,” said William.  “May I bring my friend John? He’s a lieutenant I serve with, and also Colin, if I may, a midshipman.  I’d like him to get to know my brothers. Dear me, and I should also bring Michael Ashe, who is my ward, and plans to be a Marine, and little Miss Greene, who is also a ward.”

“Oh, William, Sam wants to go to sea as well, and Charley doesn’t want to leave Tom, can you take all three? And how do you come to have wards?”

“I can’t; but I will put Tom and Charley with my former captain, who will be kindly to them for my sake,” said William.  “I am sure Sam will settle down.” He avoided answering the question about wards.

“I ... I cannot control him,” confessed Mrs. Price, who was more concerned with Sam.

“I can,” said William.  “Papa never gave you an easy life, did he?”

“Oh Will, he was a good husband until ... until he was cashiered for drinking, and then he could not seem to stop,” said Mrs. Price.

William nodded.

“I know it wasn’t easy, and having all us boys to try to discipline must have made it harder,” he said.

“You were never any trouble, though having you and Fanny being fed by someone else was a relief,” said Mrs. Price.  “And your earnings were helpful too, I have to say; thank you.”

“Well, mother, you won’t ever have to worry again,” said William. “Amelia is a generous girl.”

“Who is this Miss Greene?” asked Mrs. Price.

“She’s a little girl the same age as Colin, a year younger than Sam,” said William. “She’s going to learn medicine from Amelia, along with Molly, the daughter of one of my former shipmates.  Amelia likes children,” he added. “Colin rescued young Emma Greene, and I rather fancy he likes her more than a little.  Of course that may change in the coming years, but we shall see.  Michael Ashe is another orphan in need of a future; and I have thanked my Maker that we had you, and even as ... distracted ... as he was, Papa was there at times.  Gentlemen’s children who are orphans but impoverished are in poor case, not being suited by their upbringing to many jobs, and mostly what they have trained towards expecting them to have a degree.  Which if they outran the constable ain’t feasible. Curate’s children and the like,” he added.

Mrs. Price shuddered.

“At least the Bertrams won’t let any of Fanny’s children starve if anything happens to Edmund,” she said.

“And nor would we,” said William.  “Amelia is fond of Fanny.”

“I suppose she is suited to a vicar,” sighed Mrs. Price.  “Such a funny, serious little thing.”

“That is much what Amelia has said,” laughed William. “I fancy you will warm more to Amelia than you realise; she isn’t solemn! And she is not afraid to speak her mind.  I do hope Sam will not disrespect her; for I will thrash him if he does.”

“I expect he will soon learn,” said Mrs. Price.  “Someone needs to do something; he is quite out of my control.”

William nodded.

“Sam! Tom! Charley!” he called.

The three boys ran over.

“Can you really take us all to sea, Will?” asked Sam.

“I can arrange for all of you to go to sea,” said William, “But I can’t have you all.  I had a mind to send Tom and Charley to my old Captain, Captain Mornington, who owes me a favour or two and would be kind to you both.  Sam, I hear you are a bit of a hellion and need a bit more discipline; and I wouldn’t wish that onto Captain Mornington, for I am fond of him.”

Sam flushed.

“I’m not a baby any more, and Ma expects me to let her know where I am all the time!”

“If you want to be an officer and a gentleman, not a boor, you would do that anyway out of common courtesy,” said William. “When you are under orders aboard ship, you will be where you will be supposed to be, or you will be flogged.  The lives of other people will depend on you doing your duty as much as them doing yours.”

“You wouldn’t really flog me, would you, Will?” Sam was shocked.

“As a midshipman, the discipline would be up to the gunner, who would cane you.  It wouldn’t even come to my ears, as it would be part of the discipline of the gun room.  And as a new boy, you would be below those who have had more time at sea even if they are younger than you.  If you are man enough to live up to that, I will take you; if you think you are going to be a baby and run to me every time you get into trouble, and expect to be treated like a precious little girl and let off duty, then I would rather you stayed on shore and I’ll arrange to have you sent away to school so you don’t plague Mother. If I do you an injustice, then I apologise, but I have the feeling you might be the sort of brat who would play with his dirk and use it to threaten his sisters or younger Middies.”

Sam flushed.

“I need to practise with it.”

“Yes, but that does not include pricking little ones to make them cry – you were acting the bully when I was last home, Sam!  I saw you push Betsey.”

“Well, she’s spoilt.”

“That isn’t the point.  You’re almost twice her age.  For Charley to push her might be one thing but you should be above that by now.  And you won’t learn how to use a dirk by flourishing it about like paintings of generals. It isn’t a toy and I will personally thrash you if you use it inappropriately.  Which goes for all of you,” he added.  “It is a weapon for killing people with.  And more dangerous at sea, when a flourish of it, plus a wave knocking you off balance could be another middy killed for your carelessness, rather than nicked for what you see as ‘fun’ and then you’d be hanged.  I would have no choice in that.  You are not a child.  You will be under Mr. Midshipman Prescott, who is thirteen, and who has killed nigh on a dozen pirates.  Only he prefers a seaman’s cutlass to his dirk, which he uses after the Italian fashion as a main gauche, a parrying weapon in the left hand.  One of our French seaman taught him. You learn from Colin and you’ll do very well!  And after a year at sea, you won’t be a child.  But I listen to your protestations, and compare you to Colin, and to little Mr. Lord who is twelve, and I laugh because in comparison, yes you are a child.”

Sam flushed.

“I can do it,” he said. “I’m not afraid of hard work, if it means something.”

“So long as you recognise that you are not always going to be told what it means, then I will accept you,” said William.  “I have limited room for midshipmen, and I had meant to take Tom, but I will take you instead as Charley wants to be with Tom.  You two will be subordinate to at least three other midshipmen, Mr. Jenkins, Mr. Lord and Mr. Jethro, any one of whom can teach you a lot.  I will be taking Mr. Jethro’s brother who may only be your age, Charley, but I’d back him to know more than many lieutenants.  He is from a naval family.”

“I reckon we can manage,” said Tom. “Thank you for not splitting us, though we’d rather be with you.”

“I would have rather had a brother to start with myself,” said William.  “Try not to let anyone see you cry, but if you must blub, Mr. Lord went through some homesickness himself for a few weeks before he settled down, and he will sympathise.  Keep yourselves busy.  There’s a lot to learn and I will be buying you all not only your handbooks but an excellent book on sail-handling.  I had to save for my copy, but I will see you get a copy each. Do not be afraid to ask the sailors for advice.  They know you are learning, literally, the ropes.”

The two younger boys nodded.

“So what would I call you?” asked Sam.

“Captain,” said William.  “A captain is on first name terms with all his officers and that first name is ‘captain’.  My friend John would not use my first name aboard ship. It would be bad for discipline.  And neither will you.”

“What if I forget?”

“Well, unless it’s because you are dying I imagine you will be teased unmercifully by the others.  And I won’t answer,” said William.

It was an eye-opener for Sam.

excerpt

I am working on the next Jane and Caleb, and I thought you might enjoy this little snippet in the first chapter as a taster. 

Fowler was about to exit when Mostyn came in.

“Sir Caleb, there is a person who wishes to see you, to consult you professionally.  It is my estimation that he is a personal servant.  I have placed him in the red salon to intimidate him suitably.”

Caleb laughed.  He had suggested having one of the rooms at Daisy Hall made specifically to be intimidating, and Jane had thought it an excellent idea.  The wallpaper was dark red flock, and there were many gold-coloured papier-maché mouldings, and the chairs in front of the heavy desk were remarkably uncomfortable though suitably decorative and baroque in appearance. The chairs behind the desk were outwardly similar but were in fact comfortable chairs with carved features added by the local carpenter, who enjoyed carving when given an opportunity to do it, gilded like the spindly Louis Quatorze style chairs.  The dark wood of the true legs did not show in the shadows, an added curved leg being gilded to show up.  Caleb had taken the idea of the chairs from those in the library of Amberfield Abbey, the home of ‘Beau’ Popham, which felt as though they were about to slide anyone sitting on them off onto the floor. He had written to the Beau, who had in fact been happy to sell some of the chairs to Jane and Caleb for a reasonable price, and keep enough to use similarly. 

“Mostyn, you are top-lofty,” said Caleb.

“Thank you, Sir Caleb,” said Mostyn, inclining his head.