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

  “No.” Wentworth pounded the table and made the glass of brandy splash. “It was not like that James.” He rose to his feet and glared. “And I will not allow you to make me out—” Benwick’s face was nothing but anger and bitterness. It was clear the recriminations were rabid bile flowing out of shock and grief and deep hurt. There was no sanity in the room on either of their parts. To be offended by the agony of his friend was to be without compassion; to be wounded by James’s accusations was ridiculous. There would be time enough to mend this breech and, at present, to be the target and whipping boy was as much a part of the burden as had been the task of giving the evil news.

  “I am sorry. This is a task that I am little familiar with. It was my intention to deliver the news with as little torment as possible. I swear, I did not play you. I intended to row straight out here last night, but you were at the Crown and…indisposed. When I arrived onboard this afternoon, you offered so many diversions, and I was reluctant to ruin the day by delivering such wretched news.” He leant on the back of the chair for support. “To be honest, my friend, I am a coward. You offered me so many ways out, and a coward always runs and hides when given the chance.” There was only the rocking of the ship as they looked at one another. “Please forgive me if, in any way, I have made this worse on you.”

  Benwick did not reply to this. “As we were returning home, I could feel the miles churning beneath us. I would stand here at night and look at the water. It is as if the sea were black silk.” His face brightened. “I have heard tell of rich men who sleep on silk sheets. Imagine that! Such luxury. Decadence, some would say.” He turned to the window. “There were nights I could do nothing but think of Fanny. I wanted nothing but to have her here. I craved her and wanted her in every way.” He leant against the frame of the window. “To have her here, in my room where I am the master of everything… I suppose God would not abide my corrupt thoughts.”

  “She was to be your wife. You loved her. It was natural to desire her.”

  Benwick glanced at him and then back to the water. “It would be wonderful to lie on that silken sea. To rest one’s head and just sink slowly away.”

  His voice was undisturbed, as if he’d just made an observation about the freshening breeze or the need for another drink. Benwick was calm, and the comment contained nothing that should cause the Captain’s stomach to tighten. But it did. It would be a frighteningly simple matter for James to slip out one of the windows and never be seen again. Only a fool would engage him with such a suspicion, if it was not there already. To speak of it would be to plant the idea. There was nothing to be said, only things to do.

  He walked quietly to the door. To the marine on watch he said, “Send word for Mr. Furlong.” He closed the door and studied James. In an instant, he was back on the Asp, his first night of his first command. He, too, had been standing in his shirtsleeves, looking out the stern windows. His thoughts then had not been of self-murder but of white-hot rage from his recent rejection. An army could not have forced him out the stern windows. It was that night he vowed to make himself rich. Money would open every door that birth and lack of connections held shut. Yes, he could well understand the grievous loss Benwick felt, but he could not for the life of him comprehend the desire to die. If for no other reason, James should live so as not to bring shame on his family.

  A knock at the door brought him out of his abstraction. “Come,” he called.

  “Sir, you sent for me?” The young man was bleary eyed and his coat buttoned crookedly.

  “Yes, Furlong. Send down your carpenter and have him place a couple of hooks, then find a hammock and have it slung for me. I shall be sleeping in here tonight.”

  He looked surprised and Wentworth could see he ached to ask any number of questions. He had the presence of mind to ask only one: “The Commander is here,” he said, “shall I tell Chips to put you over there?” He pointed at the far wall.

  “No, place me before the stern windows.”

  Again, Furlong looked surprised. “Directly in front of the windows, sir?”

  “Yes. I want to be in the way of anything that might make use of them.” He looked closely at the lieutenant. Furlong looked over at his captain. “Such as a breeze,” Wentworth said in conclusion.

  “Aye, sir. I’ll see that you’re in the way of anything that moves.”

  Wentworth felt something of a traitor to his friend, but he needed to enlist an ally in keeping Benwick safe. Betrayal aside, it was time the young man learnt that loyalty to one’s superiors, at times, required nothing more than silent obedience.

  Furlong touched his forehead and disappeared.

  Wentworth also called for James’s steward. The room was crowded as the hammock went up and the Commander dressed for bed. He watched carefully, seeing that the crush did not set Benwick off again. When everyone was gone and Benwick tucked in, he finally relaxed a bit.

  Settling into the hammock, he rested his arm over his eyes. All in all it was a horrific day. He had managed to destroy all hope for his close friend’s future. He had demolished his own peace concerning his past. And now, it looked as though the last casualty of the day would be another good night’s sleep.

  Chapter Five

  The Captain leant against the mast and watched his friend from the sloop’s small fighting top. Benwick did little but stand in the stern and study the water. The crew went out of their way to work around him as they painted, scraped, polished and titivated. Benwick did no more than acknowledge their obediences as they went about their duties. Occasionally an officer would approach, but all conversation looked to be on the other’s side. Wentworth reckoned getting Benwick above deck was the best for which he could hope. The shock over Fanny’s death was still fresh and the grief was settling securely about James’s shoulders. Other than forcing an appearance for the sake of the crew, they did little but sit in the Great Cabin. Benwick pretended to read one of his books while the Captain read dated copies of The Naval Chronicle and lost himself in The Naval Gazetteer, or Seaman’s Complete Guide Containing a Full and Accurate Account, Alphabetically Arranged, of the Several Coasts of All the Countries in the Known World. Reading the name alone occupied a goodly amount of time, for which Wentworth was grateful.

  The daily climb to the tops was his only exercise. Even here, he was little more than a gaoler. Though he carried his glass with him, and opened it, most of his time was spent watching James. When Benwick would occasionally glance up his way, he hurriedly raised the glass and began a feigned study of something in another direction, hoping James would not realize he was being observed. Perhaps he was wrong, thinking Benwick so wickedly vulnerable to grief, but he could neither risk personally losing a good friend, nor a valuable colleague. He knew not when, but he would know when James was on the road to recovery.

  Turning to look over the sound, he decided to stop fretting and enjoy what little privacy the tops afforded him. The Isle of Wight looked further away than usual through the heat-induced haze. The sound was so jammed with ships that hardly anything moved. Now and then, a mail packet made its way out, but the only other traffic was small boats going from ship to ship buying slush from the cooks or selling fresh vegetables, fish, or women. It was his wish that if so many were to be thrown ashore it would be done soon. These crowded conditions would accomplish nothing but breed boredom and discontent and cause tempers to flare in the heat. He shut out thoughts of his own Laconia in the same condition under the hand of the relatively green Lieutenant Cranmer.

  “It is a scandal,” he breathed. During the war, most men longed for peace. Now that it was here, all he could feel was dread.

  Earlier in the day, he cajoled Benwick into accepting an invitation to dine onshore that afternoon. Though it would be a struggle for James, he looked forward to leaving the tight confinement of the ship. Beating back Benwick’s objections had taken a great deal of patience and skill. Nevertheless, it was Wentworth’s hope that, in the company of others, the Commander mi
ght have a respite from his vigil of mourning. He also hoped for news—truth or rumour, he cared not which. Either would give him a more hopeful outlook for the future. Reluctantly, he ground out the cheroot he smoked and put the butt end in his pocket. His few moments of freedom were over and it was time to go down.

  Taking one last look over the sound, he saw a small boat making its way through the traffic. The figure in the stern looked familiar. He closed his glass and said, “Well, I’ll be…Mr. Eyerly. You are a sight for these sore, sore eyes.” His first feelings were joy at seeing his own coxswain. His second was trepidation at the news the man might bear. Carefully securing the glass in his pocket, he went down the shrouds.

  Eyerly haloo’d, acknowledged the Officer of the Watch and requested permission to come aboard.

  “Ahoy, Captain.”

  “Mr. Eyerly. I hope your presence is a harbinger of good news and not ill.”

  “That must be for you to decide, sir.” He tossed up the rope to the boat and in no time was up the accommodation ladder. Taking a brown paper packet from beneath his shirt, he handed it to the Captain and said, “Your mail, sir.”

  Turning the packet in his hand, Wentworth said, “There’s not so much to justify a trip from Plymouth to Portsmouth.”

  “No, sir, but Lieutenant Cranmer was a bit itchy about a couple of them.”

  He broke the seal and pulled out four letters. The smallest was from his prize agent in Plymouth. By his calculations, there should only be three captures making their way through the prize courts. The number was small, but they were substantial in what they would bring him in capital. After those were sold and the proceeds dispersed, there would be no more prize money coming to him. With Laconia in ordinary, even his monthly pay would be reduced by half.

  His stomach tightened. Being thrown ashore was expensive and though he was more than solvent now, he knew from bitter experience that it did not take long to whittle down a decently sized pile to nearly nothing. He had done it in the past, but age and caution had done their work; and he was far less prone to squander the fruits of his difficult labours. However, there was another difference between the present and the past: when coming ashore in the year ’06, he had known without a doubt that he would soon command a ship. Even as the Asp was giving up the ghost in Plymouth Sound, he knew he would have a better ship and even greater reward. It was a feeling in his gut, an absolute conviction. There was no such feeling now.

  Folding the first letter, he shuffled to the second. It was a letter from his brother, Edward. It was only one sheet, and for this he was grateful. One sheet describing the daily life of a country rector was more than adequate. The third letter was from Sophia. At first blush, one would think it was an official communiqué from her husband, Admiral Croft. The name on the Taunton address was his, as was the seal. However, to Wentworth’s knowledge, Croft had not written a personal letter in all his married life. An officer of the Navy wrote reports, dispatches, and the occasional set of orders. Letters were a woman’s province in the Admiral’s opinion, and any communications with the Crofts came from the hand of his sister.

  The last letter was from the Admiral of the Port of Plymouth. He wondered if this might be the written confirmation of the end.

  “A notice went up several days ago they’s convening for Courts Martial in a fortnight or so,” Eyerly said. “They figure that as long as they got so many captains kicking their heels, they’ll empty out the brigs and give the sods some justice. That’s most likely what this is about, sir.”

  “Ah, a judicious use of time.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  He filed through the letters again.

  “By the way, the lieutenant was pretty concerned about the letter from Admiral Croft. I didn’t bother tellin’ it probably weren’t urgent. I figure it’s most likely Mrs. Croft usin’ the Admiral’s seal to keep it from goin’ astray when they’ve gotten in country.”

  Eyerly’s presence was a comfort. However, his statement led to an interesting notion. “It occurs to me Mr. Eyerly, that you and I have been together so long that perhaps you are a bit more familiar with my family and their…practices than is proper.”

  Without hesitation, Eyerly said, “Undoubtedly, Captain. Too familiar by half.” The man nodded at Wentworth as he spoke. His face was a picture in studied openness.

  He hated to think how long Eyerly had been with him, going from being a waister on the Asp to his coxswain on the Laconia. As men, they had seen one another through the best and the worst that life on the sea could offer. For the first time since receiving the news of Laconia’s fate, he was beginning to see the future without his ship, his crew, and his purpose in life.

  “So, is there any news concerning our girl? Any word about a date for her to go down?”

  “No sir. You know how those brutes are, all sixes and sevens. One day it’s one thing, and another day it’s somethin’ else. Then it’s nothin’ at all. We’re back at nothin’. So, we wait and watch all the traffic comin’ in the Sound, but little goin’ out.”

  “Same here. The Solent looks like High Street on market day.

  Eyerly looked around Grappler. “She’s a right nice little ship. Though she’s no frigate, mind you.”

  “No, she’s not, but she is a sweet little sailer.”

  “Not like poor ol’ Asp.”

  “No, not like her at all. Speaking of the past, Commander Benwick is just over there, if you would care to pay your compliments.”

  “I think I will, sir.” He walked to the stern, touched his forelock and spoke to Benwick. Wentworth was heartened to see a slight smile come to Benwick’s lips. He even extended a hand to Eyerly. It was reasonable that he should make such an effort for someone whose only association was a distant past not connected to Fanny.

  Breaking the seal on Edward’s letter, Wentworth determined to start with the lightest fare and work his way to the weightier letter from the Port Admiral.

  Frederick, I hope this finds you in health. Things here are well. Spring is being coy this year, so we are enduring cold and snow even into April. However, that is not so interesting to you, I suppose. I do have a bit of news that might be more so. Because of this, I am hoping you will come to Shropshire when next you are ashore. Surely the Laconia and the war can be left for a time.

  “A new pew for the mayor or some such thing, no doubt,” Wentworth muttered. It was obvious the letter was written before the Peace. Edward had never been much for keeping up on the war. Moreover, being in the country, his disinterest put him even further behind the times. Glancing at Benwick and Eyerly, he noted they were still engaged in what seemed to be a friendly conversation. It struck him as odd that someone whom he knew only slightly could engage James. Since telling him the tragic news, they had barely exchanged ten words. Familiarity had bred a certain contempt, it would seem.

  Normally I would not be so anxious for you to come, but I have done something I never thought I would. I have taken a wife…

  “So much for pews,” Wentworth said quietly.

  Edward married! For himself, marriage was a forgone conclusion. Regardless of his previous failure, he knew he would have a wife one day, but never Edward. The man was nearly fifty and, as he possessed nothing even approaching a fortune, was hardly an attractive catch for any woman not completely destitute. Perhaps he was marrying for his old age. No one could blame him for taking a wife with a strong back to see him through to the end.

  Wentworth felt ashamed at the thought. His brother was not the sort of man who would use the vows of marriage as an indenture. After all, twenty years earlier, Edward had returned to England to care for Sophia and him. His brother, more than most men, understood the cost of freedom.

  Twenty years ago, in this very month of August, Frederick had been a boy of only twelve and so could not remember the details of Edward’s return. However, he would never forget waking to the presence of his older brother, returned from far away to rescue Sophia and him from the uncerta
inty left after the death of their mother.

  The Wentworth family had not been a happy one. His father was a man whose anger killed the delicate feelings of his wife and found an outlet in his oldest son. When he was older, Sophia told him about Edward’s leave-taking. It had come after a brutal thrashing over some work undone in the warehouse his father owned. At sixteen, Edward slipped aboard a ship, which was easy to do in Liverpool, and disappeared. This had lessened the old man’s tendency to brutalise the nearest person when things did not go his way, but it did nothing to slacken his vicious tongue. The abuse was decidedly aimed at his mother and occasionally at Sophia, but rarely at himself. His memories of his father were of indifference and the rare pat on the head or sitting on his lap. Nothing more.

  There had been no real constancy in his growing up until Edward returned. Though he was only under his brother’s direct care for a couple of years, he thought of Edward in a fatherly way. Distant, but fatherly.

  And it was in the way of sons and fathers that eight years previous, on one of the hottest August days in memory, he and Edward had quarrelled about his growing interest in Anne Elliot.

  Determined to banish thoughts of that summer and Anne, he folded his brother’s letter, putting off the details of newly married bliss in favour of his sister and the Admiral’s return to the country.

  “Dear Frederick, We have returned from the Indies and miss it already. The farewells were touching and the trip uneventful. We are now back in England and determined to look for property in the country. George is of the mind that we should lease until I am sure I like the more sedate way of country life. We Wentworths being city bred, he prefers to be cautious and not sink a great deal of money into a place I may grow to despise. I have assured him that I will like the country, but you know how he can be. We are in Taunton for the Quarter Sessions and have made inquiries about properties further south. Somerset is a beautiful place and I am certain…”