St. Vincent - 39. Chapter 39

March 12, 1797

“What’s your name?” Granger asked the young man.

“Phillips, sir,” he said.

“I will see that you are taken care of,” Granger promised.

The man merely said, “Follow me, sir,” accepting Granger’s words at face value. He led Granger to a door and opened it up, revealing a flight of stairs heading up to another closed door. They were in the cellar; Granger hadn’t realized that until now. He led Granger up the stairs and gestured toward the room he was supposed to go into, and then slunk out the back way, hopefully to go get help. Granger was of a mind to walk straight out of the house, but he figured there were probably footmen there to stop him. Besides, he wanted to find out what was going on with his brother and sister-in-law, and even more importantly, he needed to find Chartley.

As if to forestall his potential impulse to flee, a large footman walked in front of the front door, saying nothing, but clearly blocking his way. Granger noticed that Davina seemed to have a large household of these men, thugs who would gladly do her bidding. Footmen were quite the luxury, and the more one had, the more status one projected. Footmen were supposed to be tall, large, and handsome, and Davina’s met all of these requirements. Whether they were there to bed her, raise mischief wherever she directed them, or to merely serve as security, they were clearly a menace. He strode into the drawing room to find Davina sitting with Freddie, looking as if nothing had happened. “Welcome George,” she said, giving him a self-satisfied smirk.

“Where is Lord Chartley?”

“How should we know?” Freddie asked. “You’re quite late as it is.” Granger stared at him, stunned. Was he truly this oblivious?

He looked over at the clock. “I have spent the last five hours chained in your basement.”

Freddie looked at Granger with disdain. “Have you lost your mind?”

Granger strode up to him aggressively and saw him flinch slightly, something that made Granger lose even more respect for him. He held his wrists up, wrists that were raw from being scraped by the rope. “Have you lost your vision? Can you see nothing around you? Wake up, God damn you,” Granger said, and slapped Freddie as hard as he could across the face.

“You struck me!” Freddie cried, rubbing his face angrily.

“I should run you through with my sword,” Granger told him, even more bitterly. “You are worthless anyway.”

“How dare you come into my house and insult me!”

“I came to your house at your invitation, but on my arrival, I was struck over the head,” Granger said. Before he could go any further, Chartley came walking in, rubbing his head as he did. Another large footman closed the doors behind him. Granger strode over to him. “Are you alright?”

“My head hurts.”

“What did they do to you?” Granger demanded.

“Are you alright?” Chartley asked, worried.

“What did they do to you?” Granger demanded again, but more forcefully.

“They hit me over the head and dragged me off, then kept me locked up in the attic.” He looked over angrily at Davina and Freddie.

“What is going on?” Freddie demanded, completely frustrated.

“Your bitch of a wife had us assaulted when we arrived at your house,” Granger spat, walking toward him menacingly. “I was knocked out, that’s why I have a bump on my head,” Granger said, pulling off his hat and gesturing at the spot that was swollen, even though Freddie wouldn’t have been able to tell that from looking at it. “Then she had me tied up downstairs, stripped completely naked, and raped me.”

“She raped you?” Freddie asked, and then laughed. Granger felt all of his famed reserves snapping, felt his anger overwhelming him. He hadn’t felt this mad, not ever, not even at the pirates when they assaulted his ship. He lunged at his brother and pummeled him with his fists in a most ungentlemanly way. Davina shrieked in alarm, while Chartley stood by and watched Granger fight his brother. There really was no contest. Granger lived a life of action, and was fit and muscular as a result. Freddie was more of a dilettante. He wasn’t putting up much of a fight. Finally Chartley’s sense of duty kicked in and he jumped in, pulling Granger off of his brother. Freddie wisely chose to just back away.

“You have no honor!” Granger spat at him. “You are not a gentleman!”

“Calm down, George,” Chartley murmured into his ear.

Granger turned to look at him, crazed, but it was Chartley’s return gaze, one of calmness and severity, that reminded Granger that he needed to get a grip on himself. He took two deep breaths. “Quite so.” He turned back to face his brother.

Freddie looked at him, enraged at his conduct. Gentlemen simply did not engage in this type of fisticuffs. It was thuggish behavior in the extreme, and to be subjected to it by one’s own brother was simply outrageous. Freddie’s opinion of his youngest brother was generally one of disdain, primarily because of his brother’s naivety and because of Freddie’s own extreme jealousy at George’s extraordinary luck. But despite those somewhat negative thoughts, Freddie also knew that George was an honorable and an honest man. It was as if he got the morals that Bertie was clearly deprived of at birth, and the charm that Freddie seemed to lack as well. His wife had a moral compass that was more in line with Bertie’s. He looked at her, wondering what scheme she’d dreamed up this time. “Davina, what is going on?” Freddie demanded of his wife most severely. She looked at him scathingly, with complete contempt.

“I am going to do my duty, even if you will not.” None of them were surprised by her attitude, the attitude of someone who was in complete control.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Granger demanded.

“What is the purpose of marriage, George?” she asked in a nasty way. “To love your partner? Hardly. To be the perfect, adorable couple like you and Caroline?” She got up and walked to the side table and poured herself a glass of claret. “I think not,” she said with a sneer.

“Pray enlighten us,” Granger said, with blatant sarcasm.

“The purpose of marriage is to perpetuate the family. To have babies, you nit.” She all but spat those words at him.

“I know that,” Granger said, squaring away with her. “I’ve got three children, you horrible shrew.”

“And if I’m lucky, you’ll have a fourth one soon.”

“What?” Freddie asked, stunned. “He was telling the truth? You raped him?” His expression showed he was fast transforming back to outrage.

“He enjoyed it, every minute,” she said coquettishly.

“That’s why I vomited on you as soon as I discovered it was you,” Granger said. Chartley let out a small chuckle at that, a sarcastic gesture to taunt Davina.

She gave both Granger and Chartley a very evil look, then replaced it with that same air of smugness she’d had before. “And now your seed is in me. As God is my witness, I will have a baby, and it will have Granger blood.” She glowed with self-satisfaction, at having one of her schemes actually pan out. Granger wondered briefly at the chances that she’d actually ended up pregnant from their encounter, and decided that the way his luck had been going, the chances were indeed very good.

“You find sex with your husband that repulsive?” Chartley asked.

“I don’t have sex with my husband,” she said to Chartley, then turned to Freddie. “Even if you won’t do your duty,” she said with contempt, “I have found a way to have an heir.”

“But he will be George’s son, not mine,” Freddie asserted.

“He has the same blood, and maybe we’ll be fortunate and he’ll have George’s traits, not yours.” Granger was mildly flummoxed by that backhanded compliment.

“Why can’t you get your own wife pregnant?” Chartley asked Freddie. Granger was grateful to him for remaining so calm and so practical in the midst of this strange situation, something that Granger was having a difficult time doing.

Freddie looked at Chartley curiously before answering, as if he’d forgotten that Chartley was even in the room. He opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it. “I think I have earned the right to know what your issue is,” Granger said to him.

“You have physically assaulted me,” Freddie spat. “You have insulted me. You have no rights here at all.”

“Shall I have them do to you what was done to me?” Granger demanded. “Shall I have the same footman come in and sodomize you, then make you fuck some whore?” Davina threw her crystal glass at him for that insult. Granger dodged it and the glass crashed into the wall, shattering loudly into several pieces.

Freddie stared at him, dumbfounded, and then glared at his wife. “You are an evil woman.”

“I am doing what I have to do, when you will not do it for me.” Granger had never seen his sister-in-law show Freddie any tenderness at all, but her expression actually seemed to convey a concern for him.

“What is your problem?” Granger demanded of his brother again.

“I, uh, I...” he stammered, and then looked to the door, as if pondering an escape. “Sex is very painful for me.”

Granger knew that his brother was stuffy and prudish, and realized that talk of sex would be very difficult for him. Talk of sex that involved him would probably be as difficult as the torture session Granger had just endured. He walked over to the side table and poured glasses of wine for himself, Chartley, and Freddie, then delivered them, all of them using this time to remain silent and reflect on what had happened. Granger gestured for them all to sit down, which they did. “Sex is painful for you?” Granger asked, keeping his tone sympathetic.

Freddie swallowed hard, preparing himself to speak, and then looked down. “If I try to have sex, the pain deflates my erection.”

“Have you not seen a doctor for this?” The concern in Granger’s voice was clear, the feelings he had for his elder brother showing through despite the turmoil. Freddie flashed a wry grin of appreciation, and then looked down again.

“What can they do?” he asked. “There is no cure for this.”

“How do you know, unless you try?” Granger didn’t understand how Freddie could let something like this destroy all of their lives. Then again, Granger had never been very shy about his body, while Freddie always had been. He’d seen Bertie naked plenty of times, even after Bertie went through puberty, but he didn’t recall seeing Freddie naked at all since his body changed. This must have been going on for a long time, and it must have caused Freddie to loathe that part of his body.

“So you see, I had no choice,” Davina said to Granger, playing the wounded victim. Granger was trying to imagine a woman more difficult to deal with for a man with an erectile problem.

Granger turned on her. “You had a choice. You could have helped him with this, encouraged him to see a doctor. You did nothing.”

“I did what I could. He will not listen to you, and you are a man. What makes you think he would listen to me? You give me no credit for enduring sex the few times we have done it, where he shrieks and then goes limp inside me. Tell me you could endure that kind of treatment. Tell me how that would make you feel. It is so easy for you to sit there in judgment.”

Granger pondered her words, and actually felt rather sorry for her. That must have made her feel like she was less than a woman. How would he feel if Chartley started fucking him, then had that happen, winced in pain and then became flaccid. He would feel completely inadequate, and began to assume the problems were his. “I can see that this would not have been easy for you,” he allowed, finally.

“Thank you,” she said, as if she had won the battle.

“That does not explain your behavior, especially toward me. Why did you send spies after me? Why did you plot to have Ramsey on my ship?”

“You did not respond to my advances, so I calculated that if I had something to blackmail you with, you would give me what I wanted.” He blinked at her, amazed at her levels of determination. She went and got a fresh glass and poured herself more claret, then brought the decanter over to refill their glasses.

“Here’s a novel idea,” Granger said sarcastically. “Why not just ask me?”

“You may have said no,” she said to him. She sighed, a nonchalant gesture, not one of frustration. “Personally, I would have preferred Bertie. I’ve slept with him before. He is a good lover.”

“You slept with Bertie?” Freddie asked, surprised again.

“Everyone’s slept with Bertie,” she said to him dismissively. Chartley actually chuckled at that, until an irritated look from Granger reminded him that he’d slept with Bertie too.

“So you opted to try to prove me to be a sodomite?” he asked, digging to see what she really knew.

“George, you spend months at sea with no other company. I assumed you would become desperate. You have a friendship with Arthur Teasdale, who is stranger than any man I’ve ever met. He is a known bender. And you seemed quite intimate with Francis Calvert, although I can hardly blame you for that.” She leered at Chartley. “You surround yourself with handsome men. I figured there was a possibility of success.”

“Your actions cost him his life,” Granger said, reminding her of the human costs of her schemes.

She wasn’t bothered by that at all. “He was well-paid, and paid to do something he wanted to do anyway. He knew the risks.”

Their conversation was interrupted by loud noises in the foyer. There was shouting, and the sounds men make when they’re brawling, all of it muffled by the closed doors of the room they were in. The four of them sat there, listening, contemplating what to do. The sound of a musket discharging shook them out of their trances and brought them all out into the entry hall.

“Sir! Are you alright?” Somers asked. His marines were there, squared off against the men in Davina’s household.

“It is good to see you, Captain,” Granger said to him. “Please have your men round up the staff here and assemble them. I would like you to send a courier to summon the press gang.”

“Aye aye sir,” Somers said, and turned to start giving orders. Davina’s men seemed to have accepted the inevitability of their situation, and faced as they were with a group of angry marines with fixed bayonets, they surrendered to the inevitable.

“What are you doing?” Davina demanded. Just then she saw a man lying on the floor, holding his side. “Alfred!” She ran over to his side and sat next to him.

“He raised a pistol to one of the men, so we fired on him, sir,” Somers said, worried that they’d done something wrong.

“Don’t worry, Captain,” Granger said. “You were doing your duty.” He noticed that Freddie hadn’t said a thing, had just stood there, watching events unfold.

“You killed him!” Davina shrieked.

Granger walked over and looked down at the man she was kneeling next to. The man saw him, recognized him, and then sneered up at him. “You sure were fun,” he said, and the voice, combined with the hairy face, confirmed Granger’s suspicions. This was the man who had violated him. Granger was of a mind to grab one of the marine’s muskets and bayonet this bastard through the heart, but he noticed the blood flowing through his chest, where the bullet had hit him. This man would not survive.

“And you will die,” Granger observed coldly.

“We have to get help! We have to save him!” Davina all but pleaded. Granger ignored her. There would be no help for this man.

“We’ve got them all rounded up, sir,” Somers said. Granger studied the group of servants who stood there sullenly. There were some 15 men in the household, all of them large, the kind that would be tough to subdue. Then again, 25 marines with bayonets fixed tended to get the job done.

“You may dismiss the women to return to their duties,” Granger instructed.

“Aye aye sir,” Somers said. Alfred began to make gurgling noises. His body spasmed, and then it went still, as a stream of blood flowed from his mouth. That vignette distracted Granger for only a moment.

“When the press gets here, you will have these men taken off to serve their King,” Granger said. “Anyone who resists will be shot!”

“You will not press my servants!” Davina screamed. She jumped up from Alfred’s side and got right in Granger’s face. “You have no right to do this. They are exempt! You have already murdered one of my men. You will commit no further crimes here.”

“That man assaulted a King’s officer,” he said to her simply. “Captain Somers, I need three men to take this woman up to her room and subdue her,” Granger ordered. She glared at him, as if daring him to actually follow through on his order. “They do not have to take undue care for her safety.”

Somers designated three of the toughest looking marines, who grabbed Davina roughly and dragged her off to her room. Freddie hadn’t done or said anything to that point, but at the sight of his wife being dragged off, he suddenly spurred himself to act, moving to intercede on her behalf. It was to no avail; the marines restrained him too. “George, you cannot violate my household like this!” Freddie asserted.

Granger ignored him, but spoke softly to Chartley so only he could hear. “Can you go make sure they don’t hurt her too badly?”

“Too badly?” he asked with a grin. Granger chuckled at that, and nodded.

“Your actions forfeit any rights you think you may have,” Granger said to Freddie. “When Father learns of this, and of your actions, you will be lucky if you are not disinherited entirely.”

“You can’t tell him!” Freddie begged.

There was a further bustle of activity outside as the press gang arrived. It had only taken them fifteen minutes to get there; Granger wondered if that were an indicator of how desperate the fleet was to man it’s ships. He knew that for most captains, manning their ships was the greatest challenge of command. It made Granger just that much sadder that he’d lose his well-trained and efficient crew when Belvidera paid off.

“I’m Lieutenant MacKenzie, sir,” the lieutenant in charge of the press gang said. They were well turned out, with a squad of marines and ten tough looking jacks.

“Sir George Granger.” He shook hands with the lieutenant.

“A pleasure to meet you, Sir George,” the lieutenant said, slightly in awe of this man who was one of the darlings of the mob.

“The pleasure is mine, lieutenant,” Granger responded, slipping into his normal, polite demeanor, but for only a moment. “These men are to be pressed into the King’s service.” Granger paused, and then pointed at Phillips. “All except that one. He’s with me.”

“Aye aye sir,” the lieutenant said. They took Davina’s male staff, most of them footmen, and hauled them off. She’d lost her muscle. She certainly could hire more men, but Granger decided that it may take her a bit to actually get them trained to connive with her, and after hearing that her servants had been pressed with impunity, other men may not be so willing to work for her.

One of the men tried to resist, and ended up with a musket butt in the head for his efforts. After that, the rest of them marched off. Chartley came down, grinning. “She is sedate.”

“That’s probably a rarity for that woman,” Granger said.

“George, you cannot tell Father about this! You cannot tell anyone!” Freddie implored.

Granger turned to Chartley. “My lord, I am convinced that our silence is worth some consideration on the part of my brother.”

“I certainly think you are correct, Sir George,” Chartley said, playing along.

“What do you want?” Freddie demanded suspiciously.

“You will come back to the ship with us, and there you will be examined by my ship’s doctor. If your condition is treatable, you will allow him to cure you.”

“A ship’s doctor? You would entrust me to a butcher? No, I will do as you say, but only when we are in London.”

Granger walked up to Freddie, using his physical presence to accentuate his words. “Dr. Jackson was one of London’s finest physicians until his own errors forced him to leave the City, errors that involved women and gambling. There is no better surgeon out there.” He noticed Freddie getting ready to argue, and made his voice sterner. “You are in no position to negotiate this. Those are my terms. Take them, or leave them.”

He hesitated so long, Granger thought he’d have to actually frog march him back to the ship and then force him to submit, but Freddie seemed to understand his dilemma in the end. “I agree to your terms.”

“Those terms are acceptable to you as well, my lord?” Granger asked Chartley. That was more for Freddie’s benefit, so he’d know that he was resolving the issue fully, and not just with his little brother.

“They are,” Chartley pronounced.

They walked out of the house and looked down the street toward the jetty. The press gang was well down toward the water’s edge, maneuvering their new unwilling recruits off at a good pace. “Captain Somers!”

“Sir?”

“We will return to the ship as soon as you are ready.”

“Aye aye sir!” The marines formed into two squads, one marching in front of Granger, Freddie, Somers, and Chartley, the other after them.

“Phillips!” Granger said. The man fell in step next to Granger.

“Sir?”

“Thank you for your help. You are free to go.” He pulled out his purse and handed the man two guineas as a reward.

“Thank you, sir,” he said, pocketing the coins. They walked on for a bit, but he still hadn’t left Granger’s side. “Begging your pardon, sir, but I’d rather go back with you.”

“I fear that Belvidera is to be paid off,” Granger informed him. “It will be a short tour of duty.”

“They’ll give you another ship, sir,” he said cheerfully. “They have to. The mob won’t stand for it if they don’t.”

Granger stared at him, not a little disoriented. He knew that he was popular, but he never thought that would have much of an impact on whether or not he got another ship. He’d relied on his connections for that. He was even more flustered when he realized that the public would not only play a part in deciding whether he got a ship, but on which ship he got. If he got some worm-eaten old frigate, there may very well be demonstrations in the street. He found the concept that the common people would rally for him to get a good command to be disturbing; it was an abrogation of the social order of things. He finally shook off his introspection. “We shall see, but in any event, you may accompany us.”

It was a very pleasant evening, and the weather was so mild Granger was glad they’d chosen to walk with the marines rather than hire a carriage. There was always the chance that they’d run into someone who would demand to know what they were about, but that someone would have to have more authority than he did. It was unlikely that they’d find any other King’s officers out at this time of night that outranked Chartley and Granger. In any event, their caution was unnecessary, as they were left alone. They arrived at the jetty to find the launch waiting for them. Granger sat in the back with Chartley in between him and Freddie, as if he had to be there to keep them from fighting.

“We’ll need a bosun’s chair,” Granger told the coxswain.

“Aye aye sir,” he said, and signaled the ship right after he answered their hail. As they hooked on to the side, the chair was lowered for Freddie. Granger stared at the chains dubiously, but he was determined to climb up the side, even though his arms were so sore he could barely lift them to pull himself up. He leapt for the chains and managed to grab on to them, and fortunately kept his footing. He used his feet to propel himself up and over the side.

“Welcome back, sir,” Clifton said dutifully.

“Thank you, Mr. Clifton.”

“It is good to see you again as well, my lord,” he said to Chartley. “And you as well, Lord Blankford,” he said to Freddie, once he was released from the bosun’s chair. The other men uttered the appropriate response.

“We will be in my cabin,” Granger said sharply, cutting off further conversation. “Pass the word for Dr. Jackson.”

He led Freddie and Chartley down to his cabin, then, realizing he hadn’t had any dinner yet, he passed the word to have the wardroom chef make something for him and Chartley, as Lefavre was still in London.

“This is a lovely cabin, George,” Freddie said as he looked at the paintings on the bulkheads. He paused in front of one of their father, his stern eyes looking out at all of them, and that seemed to disturb him. “It’s nice to know that you’re not roughing it too badly when you’re away.”

“It is difficult to visualize this with soaked carpets and frigid winds, heaving frantically in rough seas,” Granger responded pleasantly, trying to give Freddie a more realistic vision. “But they are nice accommodations.”

Before Freddie could respond, Dr. Jackson arrived. “You sent for me, sir?”

“Yes, Doctor. My brother seems to have a medical problem, such that when he has sexual intercourse, it is extremely painful. I would like you to see what can be done.”

“Certainly sir,” Jackson said. “May we use your office?”

“Of course,” Granger said.

Jackson turned to Freddie, who looked petrified. “My lord, if you will follow me, I will see what can be done to help you.”

“There is no help for it,” Freddie said fatalistically. Granger found his attitude annoying in the extreme.

“I have seen and treated such problems before, my lord. It won’t take much time to find out if I can assist you, and the examination should be painless.” Jackson’s voice was so soothing, and his manner so confident, that Freddie followed him off with no further objections.

Granger and Chartley focused on eating their dinner. “This is certainly not how I had planned my evening out,” Chartley observed.

Granger chuckled. “Nor is it my choice. Still, it is satisfying in its own way. I have been wondering at what has possessed that woman,” he said, referring to Davina. “Now I have an idea. She must have been very frustrated.”

“I’m not sure that having endured violation by that man,” he said, referring to Alfred, “is worth the answer to that question.”

“If it results in a solution to my brother’s problem, and results in some relative happiness in their marriage, then I would suggest that it is indeed worth it. I will live through the memory of it.”

Jackson’s loblolly boys were summoned, and while they were prepping Freddie, Jackson came out to speak with Granger. “Sir, your brother has phimosis.”

“Phimosis?” Chartley asked.

“Yes, my lord. It is a problem where the foreskin of the penis cannot retract over the head. When he gets an erection, it tugs at the skin, and that becomes painful. When he attempts to have intercourse, it pulls at the skin and forces it to put pressure on the head of the penis. It is most painful, I am told.”

“Can you help him?” Granger asked.

“I can, sir. It requires a circumcision of sorts. I will spare you the details,” Jackson said with a grin, noting that they were eating. “It will not be the most pleasant thing he endures, but once he recovers, I am confident he will think it was worth it.”

“You may proceed,” Granger told him. They ate dinner, listening for cries of pain, but there weren’t any. Maybe it was the laudanum, or maybe Freddie was finally displaying his aristocratic demeanor and eschewing the pain, but Granger hoped that on this night, they would solve at least some of Freddie’s problems with his wife, and some of Granger’s problems with her as well.