Northern Exposure - 81. Chapter 81: Final Chapter

July 14, 1801

Brentwood, UK

Granger pulled his horse from a trot to a walk, a move that his mother mirrored, as they slowly meandered down the road leading to the village where his tenants lived. The Duchess of Suffolk had suggested this outing to try to distract her son, because while Granger had tried to remain impassive when he’d told her about Calvert, she was perceptive enough to know his anxiety was expansive.

They slowly walked their horses through the village, the sight of which made Granger smile. He admired the solid cottages that housed his retainers, marveling at what an improvement they were over the hovels that had been there when this had been Caroline’s father’s estate. The villagers doffed their hats to Granger and the duchess in a respectful way, while they in turn paused to exchange greetings with these people who farmed the rolling acres of farmland for themselves and for Granger. When they had passed the village, they maintained their leisurely pace, engaging in a pleasant conversation.

“I am so proud of what you have achieved here, George,” the duchess said. “It is a model of what pastoral life should be in Essex.”

“Thank you, Mother,” Granger said. “It has been rewarding to see the people thrive here, and to know that we can accomplish that and still get remarkably good yields from the land.”

“It is a lesson I had to teach your father,” she said ruefully.

“He was not concerned about the welfare of his tenants?” Granger asked.

“I suspect that his father was not unlike Caroline’s father in his attitude towards those who lived and worked on his land,” she said. “Your father was raised to believe that was how one made the most out of one’s acreage.”

“It is hard to see that,” Granger said thoughtfully. “I remember that at Bridgemont, things were more like this.”

“I do not like to crow about my achievements, but that is one I am willing to take credit for,” she said, then started laughing. “After we were married and went to Bridgemont, and I saw the condition of our people, I was adamant that things had to change.”

Granger chuckled with her. “I am hard-pressed to see how that was a laughable event.”

“It was not,” she said. “It was our first marital argument. I explained to him that if I was complaining about the living conditions of our retainers, then they must truly be horrific, considering that my father made his wealth by owning plantations in the Caribbean.”

“That is a hard measure to exceed,” Granger said, even as he cringed. The whole institution of slavery was anathema to him, and the thought that it had significantly enriched his family was enough to make him nauseous.

“I think it is a good thing that I only visited the Indies once,” she said, implicitly agreeing with her son. “Your father was initially annoyed that my reforms did not dramatically increase the income Bridgemont produced, but when I took him on a ride just like this, he began to see how much better off the people were, and how much happier they were. I think that converted him to my point of view.”

“I shouldn’t wonder,” Granger agreed.

“There have been some dreadful riots these past few years, and those were not unknown in prior times,” she said sadly. “There had been similar unrest at Bridgemont shortly before we were married, and it had gotten so out of control that the main house was almost ransacked.”

“Surely not!” Granger exclaimed. He conjured up visions of the lush fields of Bridgemont and the stately country manor his parents occupied, and pictured angry peasants with pitchforks charging at the front door as if they were a siege army. It had probably not happened that way, but that was how Granger visualized the event.

“People who are starving, who have no hope, can become so desperate that they do not care about the consequences of their actions,” she said. “That is what I tried to explain to your father. His tight-fisted approach would have been for naught if the peasants had burned Bridgemont to the ground.”

“I suspect there are a number of French aristocrats who experienced just that,” Granger said, thinking of his journey through France.

“Indeed,” she agreed.

“How do you balance that philosophy against the slaves that your father owns?” Granger asked. He got an initial dirty look from his mother for that question, but her expression softened when she realized that her son was not judging her; he was merely curious.

“I have a good relationship with my father, but it is clouded by just that issue,” she said. “He is very vexed at me.”

“Why?” Granger asked.

“Because I told him that when he dies, I will free his slaves,” she said. Granger stared at her in shock. “The way the plantations are run, I am not convinced it will be that big of a relief to those poor people, but it is the least I can do.” Granger could understand her point, because people who had been ground down by oppressive slavery were unlikely to suddenly spring out of that situation unscathed, especially if they had no money or opportunities to rebuild a better life.

“I take it he did not appreciate your emancipating tendencies?” Granger asked with a smile.

“He told me that my actions, were I allowed to put them into action, would most likely lead to a massive slave revolt when other owners did not follow suit,” she said.

“I suppose if he were dead, there would be little enough for him to worry about, as it would no longer affect him,” Granger joked.

“He does not see it that way,” she said. “In his will, he has directed that his plantations be sold and the proceeds be distributed to his family, but the estates are not bequeathed directly to his heirs.”

“In that way, he can prevent us from causing a societal shift and subsequent unrest in Jamaica and Antigua,” Granger said, unable to hide his disgust.

“I have undoubtedly helped your father be a better person, and in this matter, so he has helped me,” she said.

“I don’t understand,” Granger said, expressing his confusion.

“My tendency to be stubborn and fight a protracted battle over this would have done nothing but sour my relationship with my father,” she said. “Your father made me see that sometimes there are things that I cannot change, and that I must just accept.”

“I can see where being a zealot would alienate people,” Granger agreed.

“He tempers my sense of righteous indignation,” she said, and with her tone exposed the great love she had for the Duke of Suffolk. “Sometimes it is over affairs at Court, and sometimes it is over family issues such as this one.”

“Yet there are things worth fighting over,” Granger insisted, exposing that he had a lot of his mother in his personality.

“And that is his flaw,” she said. “Sometimes, he lets events dominate him and neglects to look at the bigger picture, and thus fails to see the moral issues involved.”

“I have experienced that a few times,” Granger said bitterly.

“You have,” she agreed. “You may have to deal with it again, but you have a choice. You can be like me and nurture the wrong that has been done to you, and let it fester, or you can be like him and allow it to fade until it no longer vexes you.”

“I am trying to do just that, to treat it as he does,” Granger said.

“You are, and I am very proud of you for how you are handling your issues with him,” she said. “And knowing that, inside, you are a bit like me, I appreciate your efforts even more.” That made both of them laugh.

“I have a question for you,” he said.

“I am listening,” she said, even as they guided their horses down a different country lane.

“Why did father’s sisters hate him so much?”

“Allow me to remind you that your father was the oldest of the three of them, with Lady Kendal one year younger than your father, and Lady Gatwick only one year younger than her,” she said. “My predecessor as Countess of Bridgemont, your grandmother, did not give birth to her first child until she and your grandfather had been wed for 10 years.”

“It is so unfortunate that she died giving birth to Lady Gatwick,” Granger said. To finally have children, only to then die from the effort.

“It was indeed,” The Duchess agreed sadly. They meandered on for a bit, generating a bit of a moment of silent remembrance for Granger’s poor grandmother, until the Duchess opted to continue the conversation. “Your grandfather had been most frustrated that it took them so long to have offspring. As Bridgemont is one of the oldest and grandest earldoms in England, not having an heir was a situation that caused him much grief.”

“I shouldn’t wonder,” Granger said.

“Your father was the son he had longed for, but he died when your father was only eighteen years old,” she explained.

“That would have been a lot of responsibility to fall on Father,” Granger said thoughtfully. She nodded in agreement.

“Things had not gone well for the family, and they did not really have the resources to maintain themselves at Court in the way that they wanted,” she said.

“So what did they do?”

“They did what many families like ours do,” she said. “They borrowed and accrued huge debts.”

“That is often the scourge of the nobility,” Granger noted.

“So your father found himself as the heir to an earldom that was old and venerated, and also impoverished. On top of that, he had two sisters who were about to make their entry into society.”

“Was there no one to help him navigate the marriage market, such as it was?” Granger asked, horrified. The entire debutante process, and the Season that evolved around it, was like a huge minuet, choreographed perfectly so everyone knew their place, their role, and what the next steps would be. He tried to imagine how he would have handled guiding two sisters through that when he was eighteen, and found even the concept daunting beyond belief.

“He had an older aunt who was all but useless,” the Duchess said. “So just as he was dealing with staving off creditors and trying to get his head around what it meant to run his estate, he also had to try to find a husband for his oldest sister.”

“I cannot see Lady Kendal as being very patient and helpful during that process,” Granger said, thinking of his frosty aunt.

“That is putting things mildly,” the Duchess said. “She had set her cap after the Duke of Norfolk: the senior peer of Britain, the hereditary Earl Marshal, and the most eligible bachelor during that season.”

“That was quite the target for her to choose,” Granger observed dubiously.

“Yet it was not unreasonable, and it was not impossible. Lady Kendal, or Lady Catherine Granger as she was then known, was quite the beauty, sporting those same family looks that have made you so handsome,” she said.

“So you say,” Granger muttered modestly, making her smile.

“In addition to her looks and her figure, she had enough charm to attract the Duke, and her pedigree was certainly acceptable,” she said.

“But her dowry wasn’t sufficient,” Granger concluded, as the pieces all came together.

“In order to make that match work, your father would have had to divest himself of at least half of Bridgemont,” she said. “That would have left him with an estate that could never sustain the debts that would still encumber it, much less provide any money for Lady Gatwick’s dowry, or Lady Anne Granger as she was then. He would never have had the resources to start and maintain his own family.”

“I take it that Lady Catherine did not see things that way,” Granger said.

“She did not,” the Duchess said. “In her mind, he could have rectified things with his own marriage, which he ultimately did, but I was not yet in the picture. For him to spend that much on her dowry would have put everyone but Lady Catherine at extreme risk. And what she did not understand was that what she wanted him to do was not even possible.”

“I do not understand,” Granger said.

“If he had reduced Bridgemont to the point that he enabled her marriage to Norfolk, it would not have then been attractive enough to lure a wealthy bride like me,” she said. “And the risk to Lady Anne would have been even more extreme.”

“I did not realize she was so self-centered,” Granger said.

The Duchess laughed. “That is an understatement, but I think that in reality she did not understand the true state of things. Your grandfather did not think that women were capable of comprehending money and estates, so he’d sheltered his daughters from such concerns. While he had educated your father, he considered him too young to learn about the management of Bridgemont; nor did he take your father into his confidence regarding the state of the family's finances. When he died, your father was stunned to find that he was lucky to scrape together the funds to bury your grandfather adequately, while his sisters had no concept of the challenges he faced.”

“I guess in that I was lucky, because Caroline is nothing if not a shrewd businesswoman,” Granger said, trying to hide the bitterness he felt towards his wife.

“Possibly,” the Duchess said. “The best that your father could do for his sister was to marry her to Lord Kendal. He was much older than her, but he was rich, and he adored her. She was never really happy, though, because he was not the Duke of Norfolk.”

“I can understand her animosity, even though that is irrational, but that does not explain why Lady Anne hates everyone,” Granger noted.

“Ah, but there is a good explanation for that,” the Duchess said, delighted to be spinning this gossipy tale to her son. “Lady Anne had wanted to marry Lord Kendal.”

“Indeed?” Granger asked and stopped his horse to stare in amazement at his mother.

“Indeed,” she confirmed. “But Lady Catherine was much more attractive, and Lord Kendal determined that he was to have her, or no one.”

“I can see where that would have made Lady Anne bitter,” Granger said. “She would be furious that the husband she’d wanted was married to her much prettier sister instead, and she would be humiliated that Lord Kendal had picked her sister over her.”

“That would be a tough blow to anyone’s self-esteem,” the Duchess confirmed. “Lord Gatwick was a man who had a newer title. His mother was the heiress of a banker, so he had no need of money, but he wanted someone from an older and more established family to lend luster to his house.”

“A not unusual situation,” Granger said. It was actually not unlike his marriage to Caroline.

“It is not,” she agreed. “He was young, handsome, and a total rake. So while Lady Kendal had a husband who took care of her and loved her, even though she made it almost a mission not to love him back, Lady Gatwick was married to a man who was rarely at home, was always drunk, and spent most of his time gambling and whoring.”

“Didn’t he die in a duel?” Granger asked, searching his memory.

“He did,” she said. “And after that, Lady Gatwick opted to hoard what wealth she had left and become a recluse, relying on animals for love since people had failed her so badly.”

“That is so tragic,” Granger said. “It is a shame they all could not heal these family wounds.”

“Your father and I were married, and I brought enough money to the marriage to restore Bridgemont and guarantee that we could take our place in society,” the Duchess said. “Lady Kendal saw that and decided that your father’s claims of poverty when she’d wanted to marry Norfolk were just so many lies.”

“She did not understand the sequence,” Granger concluded.

“She did not, and she did not understand that the Duke of Norfolk was not going to remain unmarried while your father attempted to repair his own fortunes through marriage,” she agreed. “He would have accepted Lady Catherine as his wife, but he was not completely enamored of her. For him, she was just one of his prime candidates. To her, he was her dream.”

“Her bitterness seems strangely reasonable but grossly unfair,” Granger said.

“Worse, it made her hate her life and she made her family and her husband miserable almost as if to spite the world,” the Duchess said.

“Perhaps there are lessons to be learned from these cantankerous relatives of ours,” Granger said, shaking his head at the entire situation.

“Undoubtedly,” the Duchess agreed. “I think that as much as she was capable of it, Lady Kendal was fond of you.”

“That would seem to be a remarkable achievement on my part,” Granger joked, and they laughed together at that.

“If you think about things a bit more deeply, though, by leaving her estate to you, she ensured that your daughters will not endure what she did,” the Duchess said.

Granger stared at her in shock, even as that reality became clear. “I will be able to provide substantial dowries for Charlotte and Elizabeth so they can marry their own Dukes of Norfolk.”

The Duchess really laughed at that. “Quite possibly.”

They arrived back at the house and handed their horses off to the groom. “That was one of the most enjoyable rides I have ever had,” Granger said to his mother, with genuine love in his voice.

“I think it was the most enjoyable ride I have experienced,” she said, and put her arm through Granger’s as he escorted her up the steps and into the house.

“Welcome back, my lord, your grace,” Hudson said. “My lord, we just received some correspondence for you. I put it on your desk in the library.”

“Thank you, Hudson,” Granger said. “I will see you at dinner,” he said to his mother, his way of excusing himself, then went directly to the library where there was a considerable amount of correspondence. He sorted the letters into stacks based on where they had come from, and since he was most worried about Calvert, he addressed that group first, starting with a letter from his grandfather.

Dear George,

The last I heard, you were the captive of Tsar Paul and stuck in Russia, but as I write this to you, I do so confident that you will have extricated yourself from that situation and are now back in England. I have heard rumors of what awaits you there, but once again I have complete faith in your ability to manage any challenges that are thrown at you.

There was a battle between HM ship Cleopatre and the French Frigate Rhone outside of Fort Royal, Martinique. It was to all accounts an epic encounter. The Rhone is one of the larger French frigates, rated for 40 guns I am told, but more importantly than that, she has a reputation for being a crack ship. Her captain, Gilles d’Allembert, was the same man who engineered the capture of a small convoy last year, having first disabled the escort, which consisted of a 32-pound frigate and a sloop of war. In the brief report that Calvert completed after the victory, he neglected to mention that Rhone had actually struck her colors, but when a corvette emerged from Fort Royal to join the fight, she re-hoisted her ensign. Calvert’s victory against such a foe with a smaller ship has garnered him a good bit of fame and admiration in these seas, but I think that it would be good for those of us who are his friends to ensure the public in Britain is aware of his achievement.

Knowing how close your friendship is with Captain Calvert, I know you will be anxious about his health, so I am sending you what news I have. During the action, a round of grapeshot hit Calvert’s left arm betwixt his shoulder and his elbow. It carved away a goodly amount of skin and the doctors tell me that it cracked the bone in the process. Cleopatre limped back to Antigua under jury rig, and I immediately had him transferred ashore to my home where Mr. Pierce and I can keep an eye on him and see that he receives the best care possible.

I will be candid with you about his condition. The surgeon aboard his ship did a good job of bandaging up his wound and immobilizing his arm, but he has been most pessimistic about whether Calvert will be able to keep it. My doctor is more optimistic, but they are both concerned that while the wound does not appear to be gangrenous, it does seem to be plagued by ill humors. Cleopatre’s surgeon had planned to amputate the limb as soon as the ship was in port, but we have decided that at this point, it is worth waiting to see if it will heal before removing it.

Under normal circumstances, I would not have written to you until I was sure of Calvert’s health, but the Zephyr sails for England at sunrise and she is a fast ship. I fear that I will deliver this to you and leave you with nothing but uncertainty, but I also know that you will have heard of the battle and will be desperate for information, even if it is incomplete.

In addition to his physical ailment, Captain Calvert has been most melancholy. I was able to gather from downstairs gossip that he was devastated by the loss of his crew members who were killed or wounded, and especially by the death of one of his lieutenants, Mr. Gatling. They were known to have had a close friendship, which is understandable when one considers that they had circumnavigated the globe together.

I hope that you were able to weather Caroline’s foolishness, and that Lady Kendal left you richer. Do write and tell me how that turned out.

Your loving grandfather,

Lammert.

Granger’s emotions ran rampant at this news. He was filled with pride for Calvert and his achievement, fearful for Calvert’s health, jealous over the bond he’d had with Gatling, and concerned about Calvert’s sadness at Gatling’s death. Granger let these feelings cascade back and forth, his mind reeling, until he was finally able to rein his emotions under control and tackle them individually.

Granger was not a little annoyed that St. Vincent hadn’t told him what an achievement this victory was for Calvert. Just as he was about to mentally castigate the old admiral, he remembered how brief St. Vincent’s report had been after the battle that had earned him his peerage. The only time Granger had seen him truly impressed and animated about a battle had been after Nelson’s victory at the Nile. Granger smiled, remembering that most epic of battles, and counted his ability to be present at it as one of the luckiest things that had happened to him. Granger resolved to do as his grandfather had asked and make sure to turn Calvert into a hero here in England, even though he doubted that Calvert would enjoy the fame any more than he, himself, had.

His mind grudgingly allowed him to think about Calvert’s health. Granger remembered the last time Calvert had been badly wounded, when he’d fished Calvert out of a small boat in the middle of the Atlantic, and found him almost dead with a gangrenous wound that had grotesquely marred his long, beautiful neck. Granger remembered the sheer hell he’d been through, watching Francis waste away until he was bereft of strength. Just as he had let himself dive deeply into a pit of sadness, so he pulled himself out of it by recalling how Dr. Jackson had saved Calvert’s life. Granger smiled to himself, thinking about how that wound had healed, and how Calvert was so attractive that he’d even managed to get a scar that made his neck look sexier. Maybe this wound would turn out the same way.

His mind followed a similar path when he considered Calvert’s relationship with Gatling, making him feel like he was fighting the waves he and Calvert had braved at Cape Horn. He thought of Calvert and Gatling together, of how they’d looked at each other and the very real love that had all but consumed them, and the bow of the ship that was his mind plummeted down the front of a huge wave and crashed into the trough, swirling about in a desperate attempt to right itself. Then Granger pondered how he had had other men in his life who had brought him great joy, not the least of whom was the Tsar of All the Russias, and chided himself for begrudging Calvert that kind of happiness. That pulled Granger’s bow out of that wave, only to make him feel awful for being so selfish about that situation, and plunging him back into the trough. Then Granger remembered his last meeting with Calvert, and how Calvert had shown him that his feelings toward Granger were stronger than his feelings for anyone else, and that pulled him out of the wave yet again.

He forced his mind back to a rational center and proceeded to read his other letters. There was one that gave no indication of who had sent it, and Granger did not recognize the handwriting, but he shrugged and opened it. Enclosed was a very short letter, and this handwriting he knew all too well.

Dear George,

I am fortunate that it is my left arm that is wounded, as my right hand is still in operating order, and I can thus use it to write to you.

My wound has sapped my energy, so this must be short. You will have heard news of our battle, and heard of my wound and the casualties we incurred. You will know that my wound is not just physical, but one that has deeply scarred my psyche.

At the same time, I hope you know that your friendship is the only salve that can heal me. I will fight the fever that has engulfed me and the wound that threatens to cost me my left arm; I will defeat them, and then I will return to England, where I know I will find my dearest friend, waiting to make things better.

Francis.

Calvert’s handwriting was erratic and shaky, a testament to how much pain he’d been in when he’d written it. Granger felt a tear fall from his eye and land on the letter, and paused to wipe his eyes. He smiled at the letter, at Calvert’s optimism, and at the love he’d expressed as fully as he could in a letter that was not sent via a trusted courier. Just as Calvert had told Granger that he was the only one who could truly help him heal, so Granger knew that Calvert served the same role for him. He smiled, folded the letter up and put it back in the envelope, then put it into his breast pocket, where it would remain next to his heart.