Troubled Waters

Hugh, his middle child and ever-rambunctious imp, was now ten, and more flambouyant, dressed in a blue coat and buff waist-coat and new-fangled trousers, booted not shod, and though Caroline had spent a fair amount of time getting them spruced up, and warning them both to behave, Hugh already looked mussed, with his blonder hair in his eyes and his neck-stock come halfway undone.

Little Charlotte, well… at seven, she was definitely made in her mother's spitting image, her long light brown hair controlled by a pale blue bonnet and ribbons, dressed adult-like in a pale blue gown very much like Caroline's. Her amber eyes glowed as her gaze devoured every detail of Sophie's ensemble, mesmerised by a real-life bride.

Lewrie shook hands with the boys, knelt to give Charlotte a hug, and gave them all a congratulating jape or compliment. Naval service had spaced their births so far apart… that, and the use of cundums.

After Sewallis's birth in the Bahamas in '87, he'd been off on patrol duties for the most part, as far south as the Turks amp; Caicos, for months on end, so Hugh had not been quickened 'til the early months of '89 (in Alacrity's great-cabins and hanging-cot, to be truthful) and born just after he'd paid off, taken half-pay, and rented their house and lands from Caroline's uncle, Phineas Chiswick, in Anglesgreen. Where he had spent the most miserable years of his life as a know-nothing gentleman-farmer, of whom it was said that he knew how to 'raise his hat, but little else,' a useless drone and hanger-on to his much cleverer wife, who had grown up with a bountiful knowledge of agriculture from her childhood in the Cape Fear region of North Carolina.

It was a wonder to Lewrie, so bored had he been in those days, that, for want of anything better to do, there weren't more children, but… after Charlotte's birth, and Caroline had survived the perils of childbed fever, she had suggested that three was enough, and wished him to obtain cundums; so much to do on the farm, in the still-room and truck gardens, the flower beds and decorative plantings, care for the children already born, their mutual joy of horseback riding…

The annual Bills of Mortality listed most deaths for young women as childbed fever, which usually took the infant, too. They had already birthed Sewallis as heir, Hugh to go Army, Navy, or take Holy Orders, and a lovely daughter, and they seemed to thrive, thank God, and might live to adulthood and have children of their own someday, so, why take the risk? And, Lewrie had been so much in love with Caroline in those days and so loath to risk her life, so selfish to keep him with her for all the years the Lord gave them (and, selfish to keep her the slim, tempting lass who'd come to their marriage bed, too) that he had been more than willing to go along with her wishes… his only worry had been how he could portray ignorance of what cundums did, and where they might be obtained!

Charlotte, Lewrie supposed, was a happy accident, the result of an unguarded night as the stormclouds of the French Revolution and the Terror loomed. The Nootka Sound Incident 'twixt Spain and England in far-off northwestern North America in 1790, his temporary recall to the colours, then the sureness of war coming with France, too, after the revolutionaries had beheaded King Louis and Queen Marie Antoinette. After the war did erupt in February of '93, Lewrie doubted if he had been home with Caroline more than five months, altogether, in the past seven years!

He could step back and admire his well-groomed (well, there was Hugh!) and well- behaved, properly educated children (well, there also was Hugh's boisterousness, and Charlotte's penchant for blurting out whatever thought crossed her wee mind, usually at the worst possible moment!) and call himself fortunate.

He could take pride and visual pleasure in Caroline, too, for she had not battened or thickened into the typical country housewife and matron. Were the lines on her face more noticeable, they were not as prominent as those of women her age, and they were, mostly, laugh lines and crow's-feet 'round her usually merry eyes. Her hair was yet glossy, her amber brown eyes bright, her form straight and slim…

I'm judgin' her like a fox hound! Lewrie chid himself; ready to see how even she trots! Thirty-seven's not that old, after all; me or her. Why can't we…?

'I pray one of you gentlemen has confirmed that the coaches we contracted are arrived?' she rather vexedly enquired, more than ready to believe that her husband or father-in-law had forgotten that detail.

'Waiting at the kerb as I came up, dear,' Lewrie was glad to be able to tell her.

'Saw to it,' Sir Hugo drawled as he tossed back the last dregs of his fortifying brandy and tucked his ornate cocked hat under his arm. That worthy looked as if he needed fortifying, for with Lewrie slaving away like a Trojan to fit out his new frigate, it had fallen to him to be the go-between, the hewer of wood and the drawer of water to supply what the women needed from London, the fetcher and carrier, and guide to the better shops when Caroline and Sophie came up to the city.

And, there'd been little love lost 'twixt Caroline and Sir Hugo since he'd come back from India, and just popped up as a land owner and immediate neighbour to their rented lands. To Caroline, Sir Hugo was, if not Satan himself, then one of his unsavoury minions, and ever the slightly shameful burden to be borne!

'Grand-pere?' Sophie prompted, with a twinkle.'

'Of course, ma cherie,' Sir Hugo replied with a wide smile, and offered his free arm to her to escort her downstairs to the coaches.

'Children, next,' Lewrie ordered. 'Sewallis, see to your sister. Caroline and me, last. We'll debark at the church in the reverse order. First in, last out, like an Admiral, hey? You're to give her away, father?' He got a firm nod from both Sophie and Sir Hugo.

He could understand that; his father had ever been charming and delightfully droll, erudite and surprisingly patient with Sophie as she made her adjustments to English country living. Besides, his father's French was infinitely better than Caroline's. He'd played the 'Dutch Uncle' to the girl ever since his arrival, and had kept her chastely amused. Of all Lewrie's household, Sophie, surprisingly, had adored the old rogue the very fondest.

Lewrie offered his own arm to Caroline, and she laid hers atop it… lightly, so very lightly, as if averse. Buggery, buggery, and buggery! Lewrie thought, irked; what's the bloody trouble now?

'You did not ask of Mother, nor Uncle Phineas,' Caroline said in a whisper as they trooped in rough order towards the door. 'Nor did you ask why Governour and Millicent are not here.'

'Well, in the excitement of the occasion, I s'pose I didn't,' he whispered back. 'Governour, I may assume, thinks me a traitor for spiriting away my Black sailors, undermining slavery worldwide…'

'Mother Charlotte will not see Midsummer's Day,' Caroline told him, her whisper turning harsher, 'and cannot travel. Yes, Governour will not attend any event where you are also present, and forbade Millicent to come, as well. I know you have no love for Uncle Phineas, nor he for you. Burgess…'

'In London, last I heard,' Lewrie responded. Carefully.

'Beguiled by you to purchase Colours in a British regiment, and risk his life all over again, no matter the perils he faced in India,' she accused. 'He's done enough, God save us, he's done his duty…'

'Entirely his desire, Caroline, I did not… beguile him. He also wishes to wed. I'd think you'd be happy for him,' Lewrie said.

'Wed some trull of your acquaintance, pah!' Caroline spat as vehemently as she could get away with as they descended the stairs to the entry hall, to the smiles and bows of the servitors and innkeeper. For them, at least, his wife plastered on a serene and happy smile.

Family! Lewrie scoffed to himself; ain't they so much fun?

CHAPTER TEN

Very few people stopped to ogle as the parade of coaches drew up to the entry of Saint Thomas A'Becket's, for in these wartime days, one more naval wedding was two-a-penny. Perhaps a few wives whose husbands were away overseas paused, and smiled in reverie or bitterness. Maybe a bachelor officer or