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

  “I see no need for you to apologise for anything.” Apologies were due him but from quite another quarter. He knew that ice would dam the River Styx before Sir Walter Elliot apologized for his contemptuous behaviour. The same was true for his eldest daughter. Wentworth would not allow this lovely girl to make amends for their lack of manners.

  “You are very kind, but I heard my father.”

  He did not remember seeing her anywhere nearby when the introductions to Sir Walter and Miss Elliot were accomplished. Trying not to think how many others might have heard the man’s deprecating remarks, he said, “From his comments, I fear your father is not an admirer of the Royal Navy.”

  “Well, from his comments, I would say you are correct. I cannot explain them. My father can be…capricious. I have never known him to be unsympathetic to the Navy, but, then, I have not lived long enough to hear his views on every subject.”

  “You needn’t worry, Miss Anne, your father’s remarks were not sharp enough to cut deeply. This is a very thick hide I wear.” He regretted his frankness and could not decide whether she coloured on account of the thoughtless comment concerning his person or because the room’s temperature was rising markedly.

  She smiled. “Might we walk and talk? I would not want the gossips having us in a tête-à-tête. Perhaps, if we keep moving, we will escape their notice.”

  They began a circuit around the room. She pronounced the musicians to be quite good, and he countered with the opinion that the dancing was quite fine. She spoke of the lovely, though warm, weather, and he remarked on the splendid countryside. After exhausting all topics of conversation suitable for strangers, they walked in silence.

  Eventually, the quiet annoyed him more than the idea of another discomfiting remark and he said, “Again, I’m sure my brother exaggerated my part in San Domingo.” They travelled only a little way before she spoke. “Actually, your brother has been very lavish with his praise of you and your great courage, but when I heard a genuine hero of the Crown was coming to our part of the world, I took it upon myself to learn more about the battle. Our neighbour, Lady Russell, subscribes to the Times and I borrowed her copies until I learnt all I could.”

  The embarrassment he felt at her revelation was surprising. Suddenly, the room grew warmer and smaller, the music grew quite loud, and the rest of the country party faded away. He looked around the room and then at Anne. Her expression was serious; the light, easy manner was gone.

  “Is there something wrong?” he asked.

  “Commander,” she said, turning to smile at him. “I’m sorry. I can see that either I have put you off with my unrestrained praise, or I have merely bored you silly. For either one, I apologize.”

  She began to move away, but he reached out and touched her arm. She had no choice but to stop. “No, I am sorry. Now, I owe the apology. I allowed myself to be caught up in memories of the day. I’ve been at sea far too long, away from the civilizing effect of ladies.” He bowed. “Can you forgive this poor old salt?”

  She nodded prettily. “All is forgiven, Commander. I am too sensitive. My rattling on tends to bore the family.”

  It was no surprise that her blockheaded father and crushingly cold sister would be bored by an intelligent and refined mind. All he could say was, “I am not bored in the least.”

  ~~~~~~~&~~~~~~~

  “Captain,” came an insistent hiss.

  He turned to see Benwick offering him his glass. “The toast, sir.”

  “Ah.” He rose and hoisted his glass along with the rest.

  “To the King.”

  “To the King,” they cried in unison. They touched glasses, the sound like that of small birds in a tree. They drank the bumpers down and cried their “Huzzahs.”

  He hesitated, fearing he could not continue with the toast. And yet he must.

  Chapter Four

  “To wives and sweethearts.”

  Wentworth heard his own voice as he spoke. It never quavered, never faltered in saying the damning words. He raised his glass, knowing Benwick would follow, and forced his friend to toast a dead woman. His eyes fixed on a sconce across the tiny cabin as he raised the glass to his lips.

  The laughter oppressed him and his greatest desire was to be free of his burden, but it would have to wait a few moments more. The men crowded up the gangway to a deck alive with activity. Those on watch were preparing to drop the anchor, while those not occupied in the business of the ship were chatting and smoking or playing a few simple instruments. The eventful day was winding down to its natural conclusion.

  The officer of the watch reported, “We’ve arrived at our position, sir. Permission to haul in the boats.”

  “Yes, Mr. Fields. By all means, haul away.”

  The Great Cabin party was melting into the crew, and Benwick was speaking with the men at the wheel. The moment had come. He would do it now.

  “Benwick, might I have a word.” He nodded towards the gangway.

  “Certainly, Captain.” Out of the hearing of the deck, he said, “I know they are not in fighting form yet, but I have my plans…”

  When they were below, Benwick poured them each a glass of brandy. Handing it to Wentworth, he said, “I hope this is to your liking. At the price, it should be to the liking of everyone.” The Captain swirled the glass, then took a sip of the amber liquid. He took no pleasure in it.

  “There has not been time for news of my promotion to be published. I imagine you heard of my step from Timothy.” He took a seat at the table. “And you have seen Fanny, of course.” His smile at her name was eager and wistful.

  “I have seen Harville. He came to call on me just a few days ago.” Wentworth took another drink and walked closer to the window.

  “Did he say anything concerning Fanny?” Without allowing an answer, he continued, “When I arrived, there was a large packet of mail and, in its midst, were several letters from her. I just sent off an answer yesterday. I must admit to a great deal of pride in telling her I have enough to feel comfortable in performing the ceremony. I am in great anticipation of her response. She had said once she would like a summer wedding above all things. No worry of rain and grim weather, I suppose. And that way, if there was to be a shift of location, it could be done with little or no trouble. Again, the weather. I have to agree. Bringing her to Portsmouth will be no trouble. That way, whatever happens with the peace, she and I will be together here. So, how is Harville?”

  “He is not well to tell the truth. His leg. James…” The moment had come and he still had no notion of what he would say. “James, Timothy came to see me to tell me…it was early in June when Miss Harville…Fanny…took fever. It was very quick and she did not suffer.”

  Though red-faced from the wine and the heat, James lost all colour. He stopped mid-sip. His eyes were large and staring. They had the same questioning look as Harville’s. Wentworth felt as though he had been kicked in the stomach. The room grew close and hot. It was as if a weight were pressing on him, keeping him from moving. Suddenly, Benwick was up and threw himself into a tiny, curtained privy. The sound of retching was all Wentworth could hear.

  He took a drink and then slowly, carefully placed the glass on the small table nearby. Perhaps, if he did not move too much, the situation would not be aggravated. He examined his hand and noticed a splinter he picked up somewhere. He worried it with his thumb, grateful for the sharp pain.

  The retching ceased and there was silence. He wondered if he should go to his friend. He moved in that direction when there was an explosion of noise from behind the curtain. A sound like the pounding of fists or feet or worse was punctuated by a low moan, strengthening to a scream.

  Wentworth’s vision narrowed into a tunnel, and all he could see was the curtain jumping and flapping. A pounding at the door distracted him. He turned to see the terrified face of Lieutenant Furlong. Behind him, other faces appeared. The Lieutenant started into the room, but Wentworth stood firm to block him.

  “Sir?” Furl
ong questioned.

  “Everything is all right, Lieutenant. Do you understand?” He said it loudly enough that the others behind Furlong faded away.

  The man nodded. He tried to look further into the room but could not see past the Captain’s shoulder. His expression was doubtful.

  “There is nothing here that should concern you or the crew. Do you understand?” The Captain moved a step closer to the door, forcing Furlong back into the gangway.

  The Lieutenant nodded. Wentworth could see questions in his eyes, but the young officer hadn’t the boldness to ask them.

  Nodding to the curtain, he said, “I shall see to him.” To buy them some time, he ordered, “Beat to quarters, Lieutenant.”

  Furlong nodded in acknowledgement and turned to go above.

  “Mr. Furlong,” Wentworth called. “I shall be conducting the inspection. Do you understand?”

  Again, the bob and the frightened look. The young lieutenant turned and hurried up the steps.

  Wentworth knew there was nothing to stop the chattering of the crew. A man would have to be deaf not to have heard the pounding and Benwick’s desperate cry. Threatening an inspection conducted by an unfamiliar Post Captain would not thwart the idle talk of more hardy gossips aboard, but he hoped it would distract those who feared a severe look and demanding voice.

  Slamming the door, Wentworth went to the curtain and threw it aside. Benwick knelt on the floor, slamming his fist into the front of the privy seat. His hand was a bloody mess.

  “Benwick,” Wentworth said, firmly but quietly. It was his aim to gain James’s attention but not startle him. It was not unheard of for men in the throes of extraordinary rage to turn on their fellows. Such anger, coupled with grief, was a particularly volatile mix. “Benwick, let me help you up.” He knelt slowly, his sword scraping the floor.

  The curtain fell back in place and darkened the pathetic scene. Benwick heaved one last grunt, gave the boards an impressive blow, and then slumped into the corner. In the dim light, all Wentworth could see was Benwick’s sweaty face and a tangle of hair. He was holding the wounded fist close to him.

  “Commander, we need to have this seen by the doctor.” The heat in the stall was oppressive and the smell of the privy overwhelming. He reached out and touched Benwick’s arm. The man did not move. The only sound was heavy breathing, punctuated with sobs. “James, please, let me help you.”

  As if just waking and realizing he was not alone, the sobbing stopped. A hand reached out of the putrid gloom and tugged on Wentworth’s arm.

  “Beat to quarters,” was the cry from above. Again, an explosion of sound filled the cabin. This time, the thundering was from overhead.

  Helping Benwick to a chair, he could not help but see the man’s hand was a shambles. Blood covered it and even tinged the cuff of his sleeve. Just a cursory look revealed splinters in and around the knuckles. He fleetingly thought of his own. “I think we should call your medico. That hand may be broken.”

  Benwick sucked in air through his teeth and said, “No, he’s little better than a butcher. See, it moves.” He slowly flexed his fingers to prove he needed no aid.

  “All right, then do you have something I may use to wrap it? You can’t allow the men to see you’re injured.”

  Without moving he said, “In the bottom drawer there’s a few odd things left from Halliwell. There’s a shirt that’s much too long for me.”

  Wentworth found the shirt and tore off the old-fashioned ruffle to use to bathe the wound. “No sense ruining a good towel,” he said, pouring water into the bowl that served for washing up. He carried the bowl to the table and began. “The man was hopelessly out of fashion.”

  James said nothing, and when Wentworth took his hand, he did not wince or cry out in pain. His expression was fixed in a stare, as if he hadn’t the energy to animate the muscles in his face.

  “I am no physician, so you will have to excuse my clumsiness.” He thought it best to just set the hand in the basin and dab at it with the ruff. Still, Benwick said nothing.

  Wentworth wrapped the hand in the sleeves of the shirt and then tore a longer piece from the body to cover and tie it up. “Not bad, if I do say so myself,” he said, tucking the ends under the wrapping.

  “You missed your calling, perhaps.”

  He took the remnant of the shirt and the basin of bloodied water to the chest. “No, I think not. Healing the sick is the providence of better souls than I.”

  The sound of bare feet running above them and a crash of chains made Wentworth check his watch. “I ordered Furlong to beat to quarters.” He snapped the lid closed and tucked the watch away. “I made it clear I would be giving Grappler a very scrupulous going-over.”

  “I have no wish to go above.”

  “Your wishes do not matter at present. Come.”

  “No, I shall stay here.” He was a pathetic sight. He sagged against the table, his hand bandaged, his hair Bedlam, his face red and swollen. There was no expression on his face or in his eyes.

  Wentworth was revolted. It was all he could do to check the growing anger in his breast. “You must come above and inspect the men.”

  “No.”

  He leant on the table and spoke into James’s ear. “You must, Commander. The men have heard a great ruction, and even now, the rumours are spreading like gangrene. You must go above so they may see you are alive and well.”

  He didn’t move, but replied, “I am not well.” Benwick leant back and looked him in the eye. “The only reason to go on has been taken from me.” There was blame in his eyes. Wentworth swallowed back his desire to refute his part in the ordeal.

  “Regardless, James, your crew needs to see you upright.” He couldn’t keep the tinge of anger from his voice.

  “You do not understand. There is no reason to continue.”

  Wentworth leant closer and spoke quietly. “I do understand very well. I know it is painful, but you must allow Grappler to become your new love. She will save you now, when no others can.” His full faith in this sentiment was unmistakable.

  “I cannot.” The words were barely a whisper.

  “You must,” was the equally quiet reply.

  They looked at one another for what seemed to be ages, each man measuring the devastation of his own heart. Commander Benwick rose of his own accord. Wentworth dipped a cloth in the pitcher of drinking water, wrung it, and tossed it to James. “Wipe your face,” he ordered. Finding their hats, he handed Benwick his and said, “You needn’t speak. I shall put the fear of God in them, and no one will dare examine either of us too closely. Just stay behind me.”

  A knock at the door startled them. “That will be your excellent Mr. Furlong, telling me the men are ready.” He looked at Benwick. He’d gotten his hat on straight and was examining his bandaged hand. Pulling his coat and cuffs straight, Wentworth reseated his own hat and said, “Let us go up, Commander Benwick,” and walked to the door.

  The inspection was indeed scrupulous and one which the crew would not soon forget. Afterwards, the Captain dismissed all those not on watch to their hammocks. The ship was nearly silent as they returned to the Great Cabin.

  Benwick shed his hat and coat immediately and took up a post at the stern windows. Wentworth poured each a glass of brandy. James made no effort to take the glass. Balancing it on the ledge before him, the Captain took a seat at the now cleared table. It was his intention to sit with his friend for a short time and then row back to shore.

  He closed his eyes and thanked God for a bit of cool breeze just freshening when Benwick said, “If she took ill in early June, why did Timothy not come to tell me himself? Or at least write?” He turned to Wentworth. “I was to be his brother! At the very least, our friendship would dictate he break the news himself.” Grief was all over Benwick’s swollen face.

  Remembering Harville’s wretched expression, the Captain could not allow James to be angry with their good friend who was equally grieved. “He came and told me just a few days
ago, but he is not well. His leg refuses to heal, and if you could see him, you would know that Fanny’s death has struck him a terrible blow as well.”

  Benwick’s look immediately changed from the passive, blank stare to anger. “He was struck a blow! She was his sister! And not all that close until recently, as I have been told. Elsa is not dead. His life and future are in her and their children. He will go on through them. But I have lost everything!”

  He had taken the wrong tack. Wentworth could see that now. The waters of grief were treacherous and singular for each sailing them. Charting a course with Benwick would take much care.

  “You are quite right; your loss is by far the greater.

  “So why you? Why should he ask you to bear the news?”

  “As I said, he came and told me of Fanny. I saw his health was bad and insisted that I be allowed to come.” He would never tell of Harville’s immense relief at being so unburdened. “I knew it would destroy him and could not allow that to happen.”

  “Ah, yes. Of course you would know this. The Captain always knows everything that is best for those beneath him.” Benwick turned away towards the window. This bitter wind was beginning to blow in a direction Wentworth did not like. It did not matter; he had done his duty by both his friends.

  “At all costs, Harville must be protected. Was that what you were thinking when you came aboard today and allowed me to go on like a fool, prating and preening over my vessel of war? Did I put on a good enough show, firing off my trifling sixteen guns?”

  “I never thought that—”

  Benwick ignored him and continued. “And what of the dinner, Captain? Grand enough for you? I am sorry my table is not nearly as fine as yours. No silver plate awarded for bravery and devoted service to King and Country. No fine crystal or fine, gilt-edged china. Perhaps, if we are very diligent, my little crew of boys and old men will one day sacrifice themselves and get my name in the Chronicles.” He turned a half-turn. “It must have been quite amusing for you to sit and watch me make an ass of myself, knowing all the while that you would—”