St. Vincent - 14. Chapter 14

December 11, 1796

His Britannic Majesty’s frigate Belvidera lay at anchor, sheltered by the Rock of Gibraltar. The shelter was not just from the waves, which were choppy even here in port, but from the cold wind, which was brisk, and would be positively frigid if they weren’t in harbor. Captain Sir George Granger bundled his cloak around him and paced his quarterdeck, much as he would if he were at sea.

Granger’s eyes scanned the ship as he paced, looking for any detail they’d missed, but her material condition was excellent. With the help of the dockyard, they’d finished repairing the ship, erasing any signs of their engagement with the pirates. Roberts had been in heaven, dispatching work parties to complete his list of maintenance items. The biggest chore of all had been to re-paint those parts of the ship that had been damaged, and the spots where the paint had been simply wiped away by the saltwater.

More importantly, he looked at her human content, at his crew and their demeanor. They seemed gloriously happy. There had been hard work, completing Roberts’ tasks, but they were used to that. There had also been fun, as Granger had allowed groups of the men to go ashore for leave. There had been the typical problems ashore, but even those issues had been minor. In fact, there were only two people on board who seemed to be unhappy. One was Doctor Jackson, who fretted over the damage these men did to their bodies in port. To Jackson, it seemed as if all of his work to keep them healthy was squandered away when they gave themselves up to the taverns and brothels of Gibraltar.

The other unhappy individual was Granger himself. He’d spent hours of introspection trying to deduce why he was discontented, and the hours continued as he paced his deck. He had achieved his mission of getting Chartley to Gibraltar as quickly as possible, he’d fought off a concerted attack by pirates, and he’d put his all into healing Chartley’s wound. He’d gotten to see Calvert, and that thought made him smile. He’d done his best to avert a major family dispute. All should be well and good inside George Granger’s mind.

But it wasn’t. He methodically evaluated the happy thoughts he’d just delineated to himself. He’d fought off the pirate attack, but he wondered if his rampages against the Barbary States had put a target on him and his men. Would the xebecs have passed them peacefully had he not done that? Would he always be vulnerable to their vengeance? Would they find him at a weak moment, as they almost had, and finally kill him, or worse, capture him? Granger ruminated on that, and then shook those thoughts aside. The pirates were mercenaries, dogs with no loyalty or code of conduct, and they’d prey on any ship where there was a reasonable chance of capturing her. They may be more aggressive with his ship, but that just gave him additional opportunities to clear the sea of their worthless presence.

Then there was Chartley. They had become close on the voyage, although only now, when Chartley was gone, did he realize how close. He’d started off by hating the man, and ended up loving him. At first Granger thought it had been the nursing effect, as sometimes happens when the care that one puts into healing a wounded man becomes mistaken for romantic feelings. He’d felt that way even as Chartley had been loaded into Intrepid. Yet now that he was gone, and Granger was here alone to contemplate things, he realized that it was more than that. He remembered their kiss, when Chartley had pulled Granger to him and merged their mouths together so perfectly, so fluidly, Granger could still feel and taste him. Granger allowed himself to think about the rest of that encounter, and how good Chartley had tasted when he’d blown him. So deep in thought was Granger that he almost forgot he was on deck, and hurriedly put those thoughts away lest his tenting trousers be noticed by the others.

Chartley had laid another dilemma on him as well, the issues involving Bertie’s money and his father’s elevation in the peerage. Granger was not naïve enough to think that a prize like that would be easy; to his mind, any elevation was bound to be a messy affair. What plagued him were Freddie’s actions, and how he’d all but swindled Bertie out of a huge amount of money. Freddie had always been the steadfast and reliable brother. While he wasn’t likeable, Granger had never questioned his honor or integrity. He’d been able to just rely on Freddie to display those traits. Yet now, their roles appeared to be reversed. Now Bertie was working to try and advance the family, the family that had basically disowned him, while Freddie was using that fundamentally good and pure motive to defraud him.

Was his father involved? Did he approve of this duplicitous scheme? That really plagued Granger’s mind. If Freddie was a stable force in Granger’s life, his father was a rock, a rock as imposing as the one he saw every time he turned and looked at Gibraltar. Were junior members of the family like pieces of coal to be sacrificed to the fire for the greater good of the family? That’s not what being an aristocrat was about. You weren’t supposed to eat your own young.

He sighed aloud, and hoped that no one on deck noticed. The one good thing was that he’d been able to mentally rule out Caroline’s involvement in this despite the fact that his wife wasn’t as hung up on the honor of the thing; she was too good at politics for that. Actually, that was the primary reason he had discounted any thoughts of her involvement. Chartley had said it best: there was no motive for her to be involved. If anything, her total distaste for Freddie’s wife would have put her in Bertie’s camp automatically. He fancied that when she got all the information he sent her, she’d read through the papers and, since he wasn’t there, she’d shake her head and smile, enjoying the drama. Even if his father succeeded, there would be no great change in status for her. She was already the wife of a younger son of the Earl; now she’d merely be the wife of a younger son of the Marquess.

He sighed again, but this time to himself, and thought about Calvert. How typical of their relationship that thoughts of him could bring a smile and a frown within seconds of each other. He remembered their encounter, how passionate and fulfilling it had been, and the smile returned, along with his erection. Calvert played his body like a flute, and Granger did the same for him. It was hard to visualize two lovers that are more compatible. And when they weren’t making love, Calvert’s playfulness made Granger feel young and alive, as if he were invincible. He loved Francis Calvert, and he probably always would. Their encounter had actually removed his irritation at meeting Estabrook. Their bond, their love, was solid, and on an entirely different plane than other dalliances, or at least it was for now. Granger knew it was possible for either one of them to find other men or women to fall in love with; he had other loves in his life now. He also recognized that there were those relationships in his life that had achieved a special status, as if they were so intense they entered the Pantheon of his emotional being, and were permanently enshrined there.

That wasn’t what brought the frown. What brought the frown was the fear that Calvert’s lack of discipline and self-control over his emotions would expose him for what he was: a man who loved other men. Granger knew that he could never entirely desert Calvert, but he also knew that if Calvert did that, he would be limited in how he could help him, and limited in how much time he could spend with Calvert. With Francis Calvert, that was his fear, his biggest fear: that he’d lose him to scandal. He’d already lost Travers, and that had been more painful than Granger could even admit now. But with Travers’ death, there was the knowledge that he had died honorably and bravely, and that he would be honored in memoriam; if Calvert were scandalized, there would be no such balm. Granger had to admit that those fears weren’t tied only to the consequences that would be heaped onto Calvert, but the inevitable insinuations that would reverberate back to him. They’d been within a hair’s breadth of being identified as lovers, so close that Granger’s friends and family had interceded to separate them. Those rumors would resurface, and while he might not be destroyed, his reputation would be damaged.

Granger was pulled physically from his thoughts when he literally ran into someone. He stood there, glaring and enraged, at a terrified Midshipman Brookstone. “I’m sorry sir,” he stammered.

Granger pondered the young man, and realized that he was wrong; there was a third unhappy person aboard. Brookstone had bonded with Chartley in his own way. The man had saved his life, and had become something of a father figure to him. Having him leave had left a large void in his daily life. Granger looked at him more closely and saw sheer terror, and realized that he’d been just gawking at Brookstone. Brookstone must think he was conjuring up evil consequences for having the gall to block his captain’s path and to allow himself to be run into. That almost made Granger laugh. “And why have you decided to ram me as if you were a Greek galley, Mr. Brookstone?”

Brookstone smiled, relieved that he would not have to kiss the gunner’s daughter. “I’m sorry sir; I couldn’t get your attention. Signal from the peak. Ships in sight.”

“That’s quite alright Mr. Brookstone,” Granger said soothingly. “And what might these ships be?”

“They think it’s the fleet, sir,” Brookstone replied.

“They think?”

“Yes, sir,” he replied, irritated. Brookstone was good with signals, and took reporting such things very seriously. Vague reports like this must be maddening to him. Granger looked around, his mind frantically trying to think of things he needed to do to prepare for the arrival of Jervis, but there really was nothing beyond finishing his report.

“Very well. Thank you. Please alert me when you have confirmation of exactly whose fleet is about to descend upon us,” Granger said comically.

“Aye aye sir,” Brookstone said. Granger descended to his cabin and passed the word for Ramsey.

Ramsey came in promptly enough, but looked mildly disheveled, as if he had been sleeping. “I am sorry I interrupted your beauty sleep,” Granger teased.

“You do not think I am beautiful enough, sir?” Ramsey asked. The man had proven himself to be quite witty.

“Yes, Mr. Ramsey, you are quite beautiful. In fact, I think you are the most beautiful spy I have yet encountered,” Granger said.

“Why thank you, Sir George.”

“In any event, I have summoned you here for more practical concerns. The fleet is in sight, and I must complete my report for Sir John.”

“And you are in need of my gift with prose, sir?”

“I am,” Granger said. “Perhaps you would care to dine with me and help me craft a masterpiece.”

“It would be my pleasure, sir,” Ramsey said, which was really his only possible response. Granger ordered Winkler to get dinner prepared, while he and Ramsey sat in his office, working through the report he’d drafted to make it more ‘readable’, as Spencer had seemed to want. The thing was finished at the same time dinner was ready.

“So how do you like life at sea?” Granger asked.

“I like it main well, sir,” Ramsey said, in between mouthfuls.

“Not everyone can stand to be cooped up behind wooden walls for a long period of time,” Granger observed, making idle conversation.

“That doesn’t bother me, sir, but I think being in a ship as small as Intrepid, and braving the waves in her, would give me cause to pause.”

Granger chuckled. “She is a remarkably handy ship, and quite seaworthy, but I understand your concern. It is not a coincidence that I did not bring my wife to visit my ship until I took command of Belvidera.”

Ramsey chuckled with him. “Commander Calvert is quite a dashing man.”

Granger eyed him carefully. “He is.”

“It is no wonder there were rumors flying around about you when the two of you were aboard Intrepid, sir,” he said.

“And what rumors were those, Mr. Ramsey?” Granger asked, trying not to sound as irritated as he was.

“I’m sorry sir,” he said. “I didn’t mean to tread on a touchy topic.”

“Well, since you have indeed treaded there, please explain what you mean.”

“The rumors that your relationship was more than professional, sir,” Ramsey said boldly. “I can see why they’d think that. Both of you are so handsome; it would seem easy to believe that you could embark down a different path, so to speak.”

“You mean that because Francis Calvert is so handsome, I would put my preference for women aside?” Granger asked, chuckling.

“Commander Calvert is not as handsome as you are, sir,” Ramsey said.

“Well thank you for that compliment, Mr. Ramsey. You are no slacker in the appearance category either.” Ramsey beamed at the compliment. “That’s the thing about rumors, though. They can be very damaging.”

“They do not appear to have damaged your career, sir.”

“Nor Commander Calvert’s,” Granger observed. “But there was some damage control required.”

“I can understand that, sir.” They ate in silence after that. “There was talk among some of the members of his crew, begging your pardon sir, about his relationship with Lieutenant Estabrook.”

Ramsey clearly wanted to convey this to Granger, this snippet of information, and was being very daring to approach Granger with it. It occurred to Granger that Ramsey was alerting and warning him at the same time. “Please tell me what you heard.”

“Just the scuttlebutt that comes when two ships’ crews interact. They said he spends a lot of time alone in his cabin with Mr. Estabrook, and that the two exchanged glances and gestures that were more appropriate for a man and a woman to share,” Ramsey said casually.

“My experience with Commander Calvert is that he has a very playful personality, and that his flirtatious nature often makes it seem that he is more involved in someone than he is,” Granger said carefully.

“That is certainly understandable, sir. But how, then, would you explain all the time he spends alone with Mr. Estabrook?”

“I myself have done that, on occasion. A captain’s lot can be lonely, and it is refreshing to find someone from a similar background, or with similar interests, to share some time yarning about them.”

“Like you did with Mr. Cavendish, sir?” Ramsey asked. Granger studied him to detect whether there was a hint of impropriety in those words, but he got none.

“Like Mr. Cavendish and I,” Granger agreed.

“Only that’s the thing, sir,” Ramsey persisted. “Mr. Estabrook and Commander Calvert do not appear to have anything in common. Mr. Calvert comes from a gentry background, while Mr. Estabrook’s family are Scottish merchants.”

“I am not familiar enough with Lieutenant Estabrook to make those comparisons,” Granger said. “Are you trying to tell me something, Mr. Ramsey?”

Ramsey swallowed hard. “Sir, may I speak candidly?”

“By all means,” a frustrated George Granger allowed.

“His behavior could damage you. You two barely escaped a scandal because he acted toward you as he does with Estabrook. If he isn’t careful, and that becomes public knowledge, it could reflect back on you, sir.” Ramsey eyed him intently. “I’m not saying this to be obnoxious, sir. I’m saying it because I respect you, and I care about you.”

Granger thought about Ramsey’s statement, and took it at face value. The man had shown himself to be loyal to Granger, and to be a friend. In his capacity as captain’s clerk, he’d been efficient and trustworthy. That his thoughts echoed Granger’s own were further validation of that, and of Granger’s previous conclusions. “I appreciate your concerns. I’m not sure what I can or should do about them, or if they will become an issue.”

“I understand, sir,” Ramsey said. “Now mind you, there are some of us who were hoping those rumors were true.” Now he was flirting again.

“I suspect your fantasies are more powerful than the reality would be,” Granger joked back.

“That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t like to find out sometime, sir,” Ramsey said. He leaned in to Granger almost imperceptibly, and Granger found himself leaning in as well, despite his better judgment. In a moment, he thought, their lips would be close enough to meet. Just as they both seemed to realize that, a knock at the door broke the mood.

“Enter!” Granger called. He chided himself for sounding irritated, but that was nothing compared to the frustration on Ramsey’s face. Gatling came in, looking around in awe at this place of power, the captain’s cabin. “And what can I do for you, Mr. Gatling?”

“Sir, Mr. Roberts sent me to inform you that Victory is rounding the point and about to enter harbor,” he said.

“Thank you,” Granger said smoothly. “Please inform Mr. Roberts that I will be up shortly, and have my gig swayed out and manned.”

“Aye aye, sir,” Gatling said, and then strode confidently from his cabin. Granger had broken him of the habit of running about.

“It appears that Sir John has interrupted our dinner,” Granger observed.

“I hope we can continue this sometime, sir,” Ramsey observed wistfully.

“One can never tell,” Granger said, and winked at him. “And now if you will excuse me, I must get ready to see the admiral.” Before Ramsey could say anything, Granger bellowed for Winkler. “Thank you for your assistance.”

“It is always my pleasure, sir,” Ramsey said gamely, then left Granger alone to prepare for Jervis’ arrival.

With Winkler’s help, Granger put on his best uniform, then Granger organized his reports in his document case before going up on deck. He arrived just in time to see the Mediterranean Fleet enter harbor. Granger pondered the significance of that. For the first time since the war began, Britain was now without a single ship of the line in the Mediterranean Sea. It was a somber event, and a sad day for British naval power.

“It’s a good thing we topped off our stores, sir,” Roberts observed in a friendly manner. “I’ll bet the prices of goods in the market soared as soon as the fleet was sighted.”

“I suspect you’re right,” Granger agreed. “We will have to endeavor to hang on to our livestock. There will be a few admirals and captains who will be eying that fat sow the wardroom acquired.”

“We should probably eat her soon, sir,” Roberts agreed.

“I will endeavor to protect your pig, Mr. Roberts,” Granger said, grinning.

“The wardroom appreciates your efforts, sir,” Roberts responded, smiling.

“Sir, Flag to Belvidera,” Brookstone said. “Captain to repair aboard immediately.”

“Acknowledge, Mr. Brookstone,” Granger said. He turned to Roberts. “I will be aboard the flagship.”

“Aye aye sir,” Roberts said. Granger lowered himself into his gig with agility, and nodded to Jeffers, who conned the boat over to the Victory. He’d arrived just as she anchored, so the ship was still in a state of chaos. Still, they turned out the honors for him, just as they should.

“Welcome aboard, Captain,” a familiar voice said formally.

“Mr. Darby!” Granger said cheerfully. “It is good to see you. And how have you been?”

“I’ve been fine, sir,” Darby said, but seemed sad. He turned to lead Granger aft.

“You do not sound fine,” Granger observed.

“It’s not easy to fit into the world of a flagship, sir,” he said.

“I understand,” Granger said sympathetically. “I faced that challenge myself, on this very ship.”

“Yes sir,” Darby said. “And people still talk about that quite a bit.”

“Well, let’s hope they put it in a positive way,” Granger said, trying to cheer the young man up. He felt himself overwhelmed with guilt for dumping Darby into this environment, yet still relieved that he was not aboard Belvidera.

“Might I come visit you aboard Belvidera, sir?” he asked as they reached Jervis’ cabin.

“You are always welcome, Mr. Darby,” Granger said as sincerely as he could. Then the door opened, and he had to put all of his concerns about Darby aside to face his irascible admiral.

“Well Granger, what have you been up to?” Jervis asked.

“Sir, I have my report here,” Granger offered. Jervis took it and set it aside, clearly indicating that he wanted the verbal version. “I was unable to pick up Lord Calverton. He had evidently decided to carry his dispatches to England by land. There was a Lord Chartley there, however, with duplicate papers and additional dispatches. Sir William Hamilton and Lord Chartley imposed upon me to take him instead, which seemed to be in the spirit of your original orders, sir, so I obliged them.”

“And where is this peer you brought to Gibraltar?” Jervis asked.

“Sir, the Intrepid was in port when we arrived, preparing to sail for England, so Lord Chartley and his dispatches went with her.”

“Humph,” Jervis said with a scowl. “Well, one less thing I have to worry about.”

“Yes sir,” Granger agreed. “We had an encounter with some xebecs on the way here.”

Jervis laughed. “You do seem to find action, Granger.”

“Yes, sir,” Granger said, smiling slightly. “They caught us becalmed. It was a near thing.”

Jervis nodded sagely. “Well, the corsairs bear you no love, but you’re here nonetheless, so all’s well that ends well.” He got up and poured both Granger and himself a glass of port. “You spun Hood’s evacuation of Toulon so well, Granger, how would you propose to do that for our departure from the Mediterranean?”

Granger frowned. “I’m sorry sir. I don’t think there’s a way to do that. I can honestly say, though, that it isn’t a development of your making.”

“Bah,” Jervis scowled. “Kind words, and true words, but not likely how they’ll see things in London.”

“I think, sir, that the government will have to back you up on this one, lest they look incompetent,” Granger observed. It made sense to him. The Admiralty had left him with such limited resources, Jervis was lucky to extract his fleet and the convoy to Gibraltar.

“My flag captain shares your optimism. I am more skeptical,” Jervis said. Then he changed the subject. “Are you ready for sea?”

“Yes, sir,” Granger said. “We’re fully victualed, we’ve repaired our damage, and we’ve just topped off our water. We can sail on the evening tide, if that is your wish.” He allowed himself to think that maybe Jervis would send him home.

“Excellent,” Jervis said. “I’m not sending you back to England.”

Granger hid his disappointment. “There’s more action out here, sir,” Granger said, being plucky.

“For you, anyway,” Jervis growled. He got up and walked to his stern windows, and Granger joined him. “We still have troops and a naval establishment at Elba. There’s no way we can support or sustain a presence there now. It has to be evacuated.”

Elba was just off the coast of France. With naval superiority, the French would not let much time lapse before they eradicated a British base so close to their shores. “I can see no other option myself, sir,” Granger said.

“Well it’s nice to know you agree with me,” Jervis said, being grumpy.

“I find that is usually the safest course of action, sir,” Granger joked.

Jervis rolled his eyes. They were interrupted by a knock on the cabin door, a knock that heralded the arrival of Captain Nelson. “Ah, Nelson, sorry to summon you so soon after we arrive in port.”

“That’s quite alright, Sir John,” he said. “It is good to see you again, Captain,” he said to Granger.

“It is good to see you again as well, sir,” Granger said to Nelson.

“You’ll be able to spend a lot of time seeing each other,” Jervis said. “I’m sending a small squadron to supervise the evacuation of Elba. It has to be fast and agile, and that calls for two frigates, all I can spare. Belvidera is to be one of them, and Blanche the other. Captain Nelson, you will be in charge of the squadron, resuming your rank as Commodore.”

“Aye aye sir,” Nelson said. “I hope that meets with your approval, Sir George?”

“On one condition, sir,” Granger said daringly. He saw Jervis eyes narrow.

“And that is?” Nelson asked.

“That you hoist your broad pennant in Belvidera, sir.” Granger smiled at both his senior officers. “As further inducement, in addition to my charming company, I have arrived here in Gibraltar before the fleet and managed to scour most of the delicacies from the local market.”

Nelson laughed, but Jervis did not. “You make a most credible case, Granger. I will transfer to Belvidera shortly.”

“When will we sail, sir?” Granger asked.

“As soon as Blanche is ready,” Nelson ordered.