St. Vincent - 25. Chapter 25

January 24, 1797

Sir George Granger hauled himself through the entry port of his ship to the familiar twittering of bosun’s pipes. A harried Lieutenant Clifton was there to greet him. “Welcome back, sir. I trust you had a calm night ashore?”

“It was anything but calm, Mr. Clifton,” Granger said mysteriously. He had to bite his lower lip to keep from smiling at the thought of his sexual extravaganza with Kerry. “Still, there is nothing quite as restorative as a warm soft bed ashore.”

“Yes, sir,” Clifton agreed, “although I find that I miss the movement of the ship when I try to sleep.”

“Quite so,” Granger said. “And we are prepared for our competition?”

“I am hoping that you can find that out, sir. Monsieur Lefavre is not the easiest person to pin down.”

Granger chuckled at that. Lefavre was known for his good cooking and his irascible temper. “That may be a bigger challenge than fighting pirates. I will be below in my cabin. Pass the word for him to join me there.”

“Aye aye sir,” he said.

“We are to be getting some new additions to our crew,” Granger added. Clifton looked nervous, and Granger knew why. He had done very well as first lieutenant, but it was a job that was beyond his seniority and experience. It was inevitable that he would be supplanted, if not by Roberts, then by another officer. “Two midshipmen and a new clerk for me.”

Clifton looked relieved. “We’ll break them in, sir. I hope this clerk turns out to be a better chap than Ramsey.”

“As do I, Mr. Clifton,” Granger said, and used that as his exit line as he made his way below. These constant reminders of Ramsey were grating on his psyche. He had just settled into his desk chair when Lefavre arrived.

“You wanted to see me sir?”

“I just wanted to make sure that you had everything you needed for our contest today.”

“Contest? Bah. Unless the diners have no taste, I will win without much effort, sir.” Granger smiled, knowing that Lefavre was working diligently to make sure he won, and that his casual air was just an act.

“Then I will leave you to it. Just alert me if you require something. The honor and reputation of our ship is in your hands.”

“Then it is in good hands, sir,” he said, with as much surliness as he dared, and almost charged out of Granger’s cabin to get back to work on his menu. Granger strode out of his office and into his main cabin, pausing to gaze out of the stern windows at the rough seas beyond the port. It was good to be in sheltered waters in weather like this.

He pondered how that was analogous to his situation. Here he was, thousands of miles from London, in relatively calm seas, while his wife and her allies fought for his interests back in the capital. A more turbulent environment than that was hard to visualize. Granger tried not to let the whole situation weigh him down, but it was impossible. He wasn’t surprised at his sister-in-law, as he had already written her off as someone who was patently evil. He was surprised by Freddie. Freddie had always done what he was supposed to do, had always stood upright and been proper, if not a little boring. This scheming, these dishonorable plots were things that were completely incongruent with the person he had been. No wonder Bertie had gone as far as he had with this deal; he’d probably relied on Freddie’s honor to carry him through. It was indicative of how deeply his wife had her hooks into Freddie that he had become someone Granger couldn’t trust.

Without question, though, the person Granger was most disappointed in was his father. The Earl should have seen these things for what they were. Granger suspected that he had, but that he’d been so focused on his goal, he’d been willing to tolerate just about any compromise to get there. It was easy to write that off as sheer ambition until Granger thought about what that meant for their relationship. He had always thought that his father loved him, and was proud of him. He had been sure that his father would be one of the few people who would always look out for his interests, and guide him and Caroline through the morass that was life at court. Yet here he was, willing to sell his two younger sons down the river. It seemed like a trivial thing, but to George Granger, who built his whole essence on who he was, and the obligations and privileges that came with it, it was a hurricane tearing through his life. A piece of his foundation had been removed, a relationship had been damaged, one that would be difficult to repair, and almost impossible to restore. Granger touched his breast pocket and felt the crinkling of paper. They were the letters he hadn’t opened and read yet, the letters Kerry had brought him from home. There was one from his father in there, but Granger wasn’t ready to open that one just yet.

Then there was Caroline. He smiled as he thought of her, and what a spitfire she was. She’d done everything he’d asked of her and more. What more could a man want in a wife than what he had with Caroline? She was a good mother, a good steward of their families’ interests, and a true banshee when it came to defending those she loved. And in bed, she was an extraordinarily passionate lover. How many wives would understand his predilection for other men? How many wives would so willingly and politely befriend his male lovers? She truly was amazing.

He sat on the bench seat under the stern windows and felt a twinge of pain from his well-worked-over ass. That made him think of Kerry, the man responsible for said pain. Kerry had professed his love for Granger, an emotion Granger wasn’t able or willing to return. At least not yet. He thought of Kerry, and his stellar qualities; it was certainly possible that he could fall for the handsome army officer. It dawned on Granger that he had indeed matured from the young, starry-eyed midshipman who had fallen head-over-heels in love with his mentor. And now Travers was dead, and he’d taken a piece of Granger with him, a piece of his heart. Maybe that was the thing that changed him? Maybe Travers’ death had made him more of a man, and less of a boy. His ruminations were interrupted by a knock on the cabin door.

“Begging your pardon, sir, but there are some men here to see you,” the marine guard said.

“Show them in,” Granger ordered. Three very different men strode into the great cabin, all of them duly impressed and awed by their surroundings, as they should be. “And who are you?”

The oldest man, who must have been all of 18 years old, eyed the other two with disdain before he spoke. “We’re reporting for duty, sir. I have my orders, here. My name is Patton, and I’ve been posted as your clerk.”

“Welcome aboard, Mr. Patton,” Granger said in a friendly way, more to reward him for speaking up than for any enthusiasm over having a new clerk. The man looked down shyly, and spoke quite softly. Granger shook his hand until the man looked up, and then he was taken aback by his eyes. His whole appearance had a dowdy, almost professorial flavor to it. From the not-too-fashionable cut of his uniform, to his less than impressive shoes, to his mousy brown hair and thin, stringy build, he looked nothing if not bookish. But those eyes told a different story. A beautiful bluish-purple color, they sparkled intensely, as if they were working hard to hold back the power of the man’s brain.

Granger was distracted by one of the other men, or boys, one should say. He was moving around like a restless colt. “And you are?” Granger demanded. That seemed to settle him down.

“I’m Llewellyn, sir,” he said nervously. He had an interesting accent, that Welsh brogue that was tuned down, presumably by the society with which he’d been associating. His eyes weren’t unique, but the rest of him was. He had jet-black hair, and skin that was almost milky white. The sharp contrast between them made him seem almost other-worldly. His eyebrows angled downward as they approached his nose, which gave him a slightly demonic appearance, a look that was accentuated by his inability to stand still.

“Pass the word for Mr. Gatling!” Granger shouted to the guard. “And you?” He asked this of the final young man, a young man who seemed to be unique in that there was nothing terribly unique about him at all. He had a normal build, normal features, blondish brown hair, and hazel colored eyes. He was the epitome of normalcy. Granger thought that was incredibly boring, but forced himself to be polite.

“I’m Penhurst, sir.” His voice was even and non-descript: normal. “My uncle sends you his regards.”

“Sir Evelyn was my first captain, and is one of the best officers in the fleet,” Granger said sincerely. “If you have half of his qualities, you will make a fine officer.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir,” he said. Gatling appeared just in time, before things got awkward and Granger would have to make polite conversation with these men.

“You sent for me, sir?” he asked. There was a sadness in his eyes, the sadness of one who had lost his lover. Granger felt guilty for not spending time with him, but after their initial trysts, he’d felt slightly guilty, as if he were cheating on Roberts. That and he’d simply been too exhausted for much activity when he wasn’t on deck.

“I did,” Granger said, forcing his mind to stay on track. “This is Mr. Penhurst, and Mr. Llewellyn. They’ll be joining you in the Midshipman’s berth. I’m sure you’ll acquaint them with my ways, and expectations.”

“Aye aye sir,” Gatling said crisply.

“And this is Mr. Patton. He is my new clerk. Would you show him to his quarters?”

“Yes, sir,” Gatling said. “Come with me,” he said to the others, and they followed him from the cabin like ducklings following their mother.

“Interesting lot they saddled you with, sir,” Winkler said as he entered the cabin.

“We’ll see what we can make of them,” Granger said dubiously.

“That Welshman is like a warlock,” Winkler observed.

“Perhaps he has a magic wand?” Granger joked, and watched Winkler blush at his irreverent reference. “Pass the word for Mr. Villiers.”

Villiers arrived moments later. “You sent for me, sir?”

“I did. I have sad news from London. You are to be transferred to the Southampton.”

“Aye aye sir,” he said, as any good officer should. “Did I do something wrong, sir?”

“No, Mr. Villiers. You have performed quite well, and I have and shall say so in my reports. I fear that we have seen a bit too much action, and that has troubled your dear mother.”

“So she has meddled in my life once again,” he said bitterly. “I’m sorry sir.”

“As am I, Mr. Villiers. I have enjoyed having you aboard, and certainly would not have asked for your transfer. But we must follow orders.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. For everything.”

“It truly has been my pleasure. I am confident that our paths will cross again. I will look forward to it.”

“As will I, sir,” he said, stiffening his back. He shook Granger’s hand, and then left the cabin to go pack his things and leave the ship. Granger summoned Clifton and informed him of Villier’s transfer, then pored over the various reports he was fed by Belvidera’s department heads. Finally, he had delayed the inevitable long enough. He took out the letters that Kerry had brought him.

He read Caroline’s letter first. It did nothing but mirror what Kerry had already told him. She apologized profusely for meddling with his ship, and for transferring Villiers. Evidently there was a new outbreak in the feud between Granger’s mother and Lady Jersey, such that they all felt it better if a potential spy was removed from his midst. Granger didn’t see the intellect or courage of a spy in the young boy he’d just transferred to the Southampton, but he understood Caroline’s motives. He was satisfied that she was not falling into the same pattern that had resulted in the transfer of Calvert all those months ago.

It was with much trepidation that he opened the letter from his father. He wondered, as he did, if he’d end up hating the man, or putting his animosity to rest.

Dear George,

I hope you will forgive me if parts of this letter are illegible. It is well into the night, and I have had no sleep since meeting with your wife, Lord Chartley, Sir Phillip Kerry, Freddie, Davina, and your mother. Sir Phillip was kind enough to alert me that he was to be engaged as a messenger, and that he would be going to the Mediterranean. He indicated that it was inevitable that he would run into you, and that I should thus have an opportunity to draft a confidential letter to you.

I have labored over what to say, and I have parchment pages burning in the fire, a testament to the many drafts I have tried to write, but hopefully this one will be successful.

My entire life has been devoted to aggrandizing our family. To that end, I think I have done well. When I inherited Bridgemont, it was an impoverished earldom, with much of it mortgaged to pay off my father’s considerable debts. It took shrewd management of the estate, your mother’s dowry, good political connections, and good investments to restore it to one of the most prestigious earldoms in the realm. That has been my life’s work, and I believe I have achieved notable successes in this regard.

You are familiar with the attempts to acquire a rise in the peerage, and the utter chaos that attempt has caused. To me, that would have been the crowning achievement of my life, to have done what many Grangers before me have been unable to do. To turn Bridgemont into a marquisate, or, dare I hope, a dukedom, has always been my wildest fantasy. I have assiduously worked toward that end, never imagining it would be possible, yet suddenly it seemed quite real. The fates began to line everything up perfectly. I have a good relationship with His Majesty, one that would allow me to approach him on the topic. I have sons who have brought honor and wealth to our family, and to the realm. And with the additional lands Bertie’s money would have bought, I would have had almost an unassailable argument for the promotion of the peerage. My life’s goal was within reach, and the accession of our family to an even more exalted position in society seemed assured.

The problem was that this promotion was not built on a solid and honorable foundation; it was built on the schemes of a lying bitch. I allowed these things, these dreams and desires, to cloud my judgment. I let my own blind lust for power and glory eclipse the visible signs that I might otherwise have questioned.

Your dear wife has pointed out much of this to me tonight, and has put me in a mood and a position where I must evaluate what is important, and what is not. I have come to the conclusion that when one gets older and thinks of what he has accomplished, it is not trappings and titles that come to mind. Rather, it is the legacy he leaves behind, and the heirs he leaves to carry on after he is gone. My legacy will not be measured by Bridgemont’s status or by the title I ultimately hold, it will be measured by the actions and achievements of my sons. And that has led me to a raw assessment of the three of you, and a re-evaluation of what is right and proper.

It is no secret to anyone but you that you are my favorite son. You have always done your duty with honor, and you are a constant source of pride for me when I am at Court. Others turn green with envy when the King specifically asks after you, or when he displays the Ruby of Oran and reminds everyone that it is you who brought it to him. Even our enemies are cautious about criticizing you, so much honor have you brought to our family. I have failed miserably in the marriage I arranged for Freddie, but as bad as that one has turned out, so yours has been successful. Caroline is a dear woman, and although she has sorely vexed me at times, I have learned that it is usually because she is right, although I pray you will not tell her I said that. You have two handsome and intelligent sons, and a beautiful daughter, all with unlimited potential to enhance our family.

Bertie caused me much anxiety, as you well know. His moral compass is often a bit wide of the mark, and he has an affinity for women of questionable virtue, the gambling tables, and for drink. Yet he has surprised me with his adventure to the East Indies, where he has established himself as a power to be reckoned with, and has built a fortune to parallel those of some of the richest magnates in London. I have done what I can here to help further his causes, and I am only saddened that fate will probably keep us separated for the rest of our days on this earth.

Freddie was always so staid and solid. I often worried about turning Bridgemont over to him, because he does not share the concern for our tenantry that you have, and that your mother has taught me to have, but I felt that he would be a good steward of the title and the lands. This latest development has shaken that belief to the core. I fear that with Davina at his side, all that Bridgemont is will be reduced to nothing. I worry, George, that once I am gone she will squander all that generations have worked to achieve.

This internal inventory has caused me to make some rather decided changes. I have neglected you and Bertie, and left you mostly to your own devices. Caroline has done such a superb job of looking after your interests, I largely left it to her. Bertie is able to buy influence when he needs it. But my negligence has inadvertently led me to betray both of you, and I have vowed to myself that I will make it up to both of you. I have decided that I will focus my efforts on you and Bertie, and let Freddie fend for himself.

To that end, I have reviewed a list of those parcels of land and other assets that make up the sizeable estate of Bridgemont, and I have segregated those which are not linked to the title. It is my intention to designate that those lands should be left to you and Bertie upon my death.

I’m also going to make it my responsibility to rein in Davina and Freddie, and endeavor to ensure they cause neither your family nor Bertie any harm.

I am hoping, George, that I can atone for what has happened under my watch. While you have been off dutifully serving His Majesty, I have allowed your older brother and his scheming wife to hatch a plan to harm you and Bertie. It is with a heavy heart that I write this letter to you, to not only beg for your forgiveness, but to promise that I will do better in watching out for the younger branches of our family, for I think they will bring future wealth, honor, and glory to our family, whereas the senior branch will most likely not.

Bridgemont.

Granger stared at the letter, then re-read it, then re-read it again. His father had never poured his heart out as he had just done, and he had never voiced such feelings and emotions. Granger should have found the letter reassuring, and heartwarming, but instead he found it disturbing. It was so out of character for his father that he could sense the level of stress this situation had placed upon him. He felt guilty that he could not be there to support his father, to back him up, to give him some solace in this time of crisis. Then he reminded himself that not more than a few hours earlier, he had already damned his father as a deceitful human being, and had questioned whether he would be capable of forgiving him.

A knock at the cabin door interrupted his disturbed train of thought. “Sir, you’re slated to leave soon. We’d best get you ready,” Winkler said. Granger shook himself from his internal ruminations.

“Very well. Alert Mr. Brookstone that he’ll be accompanying me. Have him select a midshipman to go with us.”

“Aye aye sir,” Winkler said, and vanished to do his bidding. Granger smiled as he pictured Brookstone scrambling to get ready, and almost laughed out loud as he then pictured the selected midshipman doing the same.

Winkler fussed over Granger’s appearance until he was satisfied, and ushered his captain over to a mirror. “You look right handsome, sir,” he said. Granger eyed the image in the mirror, his own reflection, and as much as someone who was not vain could do, he thought he cut a nice figure. His blond hair was clean and pomaded back except for a lock that sloped across his forehead. The whole look accentuated his bright blue eyes and straight, solid nose. Granger marveled that with his blue eyes and blond hair, he largely mirrored his uniform, with its dark blue coat and gold lace. He remembered when he’d first put on his uniform as a midshipman. He was well beyond that now, and well beyond adolescence. His shoulders had broadened, and he’d even gotten a little taller, so he was above average in height, but not decidedly so. He was well turned out, and cut a handsome and imposing figure.

“Thank you Winkler. Let us hope that the others have been as successful, despite being deprived of your assistance,” Granger said with a smile.

“We can hope, sir.” Granger strode up to the quarterdeck and took a moment to speak with Clifton.

“I will be ashore if I am needed. I may stay there if the situation requires it.” Granger tried hard not to blush when he said that.

“Aye aye sir,” Clifton said stoically.

“It is a shame that we are short a lieutenant, otherwise I would have taken you.” Granger had usually drafted Clifton to accompany him on events such as this.

“That’s quite alright, sir,” Clifton said gamely. “I have much to do if we are to host the commodore again.”

“We do indeed. You have the ship.”

“Aye aye sir,” he said automatically.

He found Brookstone, looking quite handsome in his freshly pressed uniform, accompanied by Llewellyn. “You chose to bring Mr. Llewellyn?” Granger asked as he eyed the young midshipman severely. The young man was clearly terrified. Either he didn’t know Granger well enough to see it, or he was too scared to notice the twinkle in his captain’s eye.

“Yes, sir,” Brookstone said. He had picked up on Granger’s mood. “I had the three of them parade in their best uniforms, and Mr. Llewellyn was the best turned out of the three.”

“It appears we have some work to do with our young gentlemen,” Granger observed dourly. Llewellyn looked as if he just might soil himself, he was so nervous. He had tortured the young man enough. He hit Llewellyn with his smile, a forceful tool that transmitted the full scope of Granger’s charisma. “You look just fine, Mr. Llewellyn.”

Brookstone laughed, while Llewellyn took a few moments to gather his wits about himself. “Thank you, sir.”

“Now into the boat with you,” Brookstone snarled, like you were supposed to do to midshipmen, and then followed him down into the craft. Granger went last, as the senior officer, and nodded to Jeffers once he was situated.

Llewellyn shifted restlessly in his seat, jostling Granger as he did. “Mr. Llewellyn, I would like you to make it a priority to learn to sit still,” Granger said coldly, only this time he wasn’t teasing.

The lad was bright, and seemed to get that. “Yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir.” Granger looked at Brookstone, who just shook his head. When they arrived at the jetty, they found a carriage waiting for them. They rode up to Kerry’s rented house, nodding to the nervous inhabitants of Elba as they went. A number of footmen were there to hand them out of the carriage and guide them into the abode. Granger was somewhat surprised to see quite the panoply of blue uniforms. He nodded to Brookstone meaningfully, indicating that they were free to go socialize with the other junior officers there, and then strode over to greet Nelson.

“Ah, Sir George. I hope I have not inconvenienced your chef. I chose to invite the commanders of the other frigates in harbor. I believe you know Captain McNamara and Captain Hotham?”

“A pleasure to see you again, Sir George,” McNamara said. He was an Irishman from a distinguished naval family, and although he was almost ten years older than Granger was, Granger was his senior in the Navy list by a matter of days. That would forever condemn McNamara to being Granger’s subordinate. McNamara commanded the Southampton, the ship they’d just transferred Villiers to.

“The pleasure is all mine,” Granger said, being genuinely friendly.

“I do not know if you remember me, Sir George,” Hotham said. “We met last year at one of Sir John Jervis’ gatherings.” Hotham was the nephew of Admiral Hotham, one of Nelson’s least favorite people. He was the same age as Granger, but also junior to him on the Captain’s list. Like Granger, his connections had shot him to post rank at an indecently young age. He commanded the Dido, of 28 guns, the smallest frigate in their little squadron.

He seemed nervous, which was to be expected with Nelson here. “Of course I remember,” Granger replied. “We sat next to each other and exchanged stories about exploring Gibraltar.” Hotham smiled, pleased that Granger remembered.

“Granger!” He heard Sir Phillip Kerry’s voice from behind him and turned to greet his host. Kerry really looked marvelous, with his best uniform and his hair styled back much like Granger’s was.

“I must thank you again for hosting our party,” Granger said.

“It truly is my pleasure,” he said. “May I steal you away for a moment?”

“With your permission?” Granger asked Nelson, who nodded his assent. He walked to an alcove with Kerry.

“I have sampled both main dishes. You have nothing to concern you,” he said.

“This is one battle I was not worried about winning,” Granger told him with a grin. “I am hoping we may have a chance to talk after dinner.”

“Talk? That is not what I was hoping for.”

“I did not say talking was the only thing,” Granger flirted, but carefully, so the others did not notice. “The letter you brought me from my father was most interesting, and a bit disturbing. I would like to share it with you and get your thoughts.”

Kerry seemed to grow in stature with that. “I’m flattered that you would want to share something so personal with me.”

“I think I have already shared about as much, personally, as one man can,” Granger joked, making them both laugh. “And now we must return to the party.”

They sat at separate tables, the senior officers, the lieutenants, and the midshipmen. Evidently Llewellyn was the most junior, as he was the one who toasted the King. Voting for the dishes was done by acclamation, and when the second helping of Lefavre truffle-laced beef came out, the accolades were overwhelming.

“It appears that the creator of that wonderfully flavored beefsteak has won the competition,” Nelson said. “And whose chef has prepared this fine dish?”

“The honor justifiably goes to Sir George Granger’s chef,” Captain Hope said gracefully.

“I fear the competition was quite close, Captain,” Granger said. “I am hoping you bear me no ill will?”

“None at all, Granger. This was all just a plot to wheedle some gold from your pocket for this fabulous meal.” That brought laughter from around the table. There was an unseemly ruckus from the midshipmen’s table, attracting the attention of everyone. Llewellyn was squaring off with one of Romulus’ midshipmen.

“It seems that your young gentlemen are not familiar with the proper manners required at such an occasion,” Nelson observed wryly.

“I suspect, sir, that by tomorrow, they will be,” Granger said, smiling at Hope. Everyone laughed. Granger saw Brookstone and Hope’s lieutenant speaking firmly to the young men, who now looked terrified.

“Captain Hope, there is a consolation prize,” Nelson said.

“Sir?”

“When we leave port, Dido and Southampton will escort the transports back to Gibraltar, while Belvidera and Romulus will close with the coast to look in at Toulon and Cartagena.”

General de Burgh had said almost nothing throughout the dinner. “You will leave us virtually unprotected!”

“Sir, I assure you that Dido and Southampton are quite capable of deterring a threat from anything but a ship-of-the-line. If the convoy intercepts a squadron of such battleships, two additional frigates will not make a whit of difference.” Nelson paused to dab his mouth with his napkin. “In any event, it is a naval matter, and that makes it my decision. It is most urgent that we know what our French and Spanish counterparts are up to.”

“You think they’re coming out, sir?” Hotham asked.

“I know they are,” Nelson said sagely.