Returning with the parcel, he found Martin now divided between two pewter freezing-pots of slightly different size and quality and said ‘I beg you and your bride will accept these, with my love.’
‘Oh,’ said Martin, astonished. ‘Oh, thank you very much. May I look?’
‘You will never be able to do it up again pretty,’ said Stephen.
‘I will wrap it up for the gentleman,’ said the ironmonger’s wife eagerly.
‘Upon my word, Maturin,’ cried Martin, holding up the pot, ‘this is extremely handsome in you – I take it very, very kindly – Polly will be so delighted. Bless you.’
‘Now, sir, what are you thinking of?’ said the silversmith angrily, running into the shop. ‘If Bob had not seen you step into Mrs Westby’s, what should I have looked like? Jack Pudding, that is what. Now, sir, just you count with me,’ he went on emphatically, putting down the notes and coins he was carrying, one by one. ‘And five is seventeen, which makes seventeen pound four and threepence
change, sir, at your service,’ he ended quite sharply, with a meaning look at Mrs Westby, who pursed her lips and shook her head.
Stephen put what face he could upon it, but this was not his day. The re-wrapping of the pot and the packing of the ironmongery took so long that they had to run furiously for the Salisbury coach, hallooing to make it pause; it did take Martin up, but as it bowed fast and
faster still away, already somewhat late, Stephen noticed that the hand he was waving still held the medium-sized jelly-bag.
Slowly he and Moses made their way back to Ashgrove Cottage, and the evening light showed it even more ravaged than before, because by now the entire hail, kitchen, and all that lay beyond on the ground floor had been eviscerated. Where neat stone had been, the startled eye now saw dank malodorous earth, like a battle-field, with pools of water traversed by planks. The flags themselves were being ground on the staging in groups of six, with four powerful seamen heaving the double-weighted bear to and fro with a fifth standing on it, laughing, sprinkling Purbeck grit and directing the jet of water while two hundred years of patina ran away down a neat channel into Jack’s asparagus bed. The whole garden was criss-crossed with planks over wet sailcloth, and great amorphous objects stood here and there in the twilight, veiled by still more sailcloth, this time dry.
‘Oh Stephen,’ cried Jack on seeing his disconsolate face, ‘I cannot tell you how pleased I am with the flags. They have taken a little longer than I thought and I am afraid they may not all be finished tonight, but we have already floored part of the back scullery – come and see. There. Ain’t that prime?’
‘It is as neat as a chess-board,’ said Stephen, raising his voice over the thunder of swabs flogging the boards dry overhead.
‘Sophie will be amazed,’ said Jack. ‘Come and see the grinding-stage.’
Work on the grinding-stage had stopped, however: the four heavers stood with their ropes slack, the fifth man was fixed in mid-caper and his water dribbled idly as he too gaped at the post-chaise. Jack followed their gaze and his stern, impatient eye looked straight into Sophie’s face. Her expression, incredulous, appalled, instantly changed to open delight.
He plucked her out, kissed her most heartily, and began to explain what they were at –
everything shipshape tomorrow – paint dry – flags laid – they had found a disused well in the passage – how were the children? while at the same time in a rapid voice, the words bubbling over one another, she told him of her excellent crossing – nothing at all: slept all the way – obliging, civil people at the inns
– kind postboys – children and Mama all well – Frankie and her baby too – a boy – Mr Clotworthy delighted -how lovely to be home. She then recovered her wits and averting her eyes from the wreck of her house she shook Babbington’s hand, embraced Stephen tenderly, greeted all the officers, young gentlemen and seamen she knew, and said she would not get in their way – would go and sort her baggage and draw breath in one of the loose-boxes:
there was nothing she preferred to a really commodious loose-box.
It was in this loose-box, which had once sheltered Jezebel, Jack’s candidate for the Oaks, that they ate their supper, lit by a stable-lantern. They had, if not a vast stretch of time, then at least a very great number of events to communicate, and they were rarely silent.
One of the difficulties was to know just how much had already been told by letter – which letters had arrived and which had miscarried.
‘The very last I had from you,’ said Jack, and as he spoke he realized that he was running fast into uncharted shoaling water. However, there was no help for it now,
and in a somewhat constrained voice he went on, looking at his plate, ‘was in Barbados. A copy of one you sent to Jamaica too, I believe.’
‘Oh yes,’ cried Sophie. ‘The one that kind, attentive young man offered to carry. And so he found you, then? I am so glad, my dear.’ She looked at him, hesitated, and then flushing a little she went on, ‘I thought him so particularly amiable, all one could wish in a young man, and very much hope he will give us a long visit as soon as ever his duties allow. I should very much like the children to know him.’
By eleven o’clock on Monday morning the last pieces of the disrupted pattern fell into place, and Ashgrove Cottage, new-painted, new-floored, its brass, glass, pump-handles and all metalwork gleaming with a somewhat aggressive naval cleanliness, looked very much as Jack had wished Sophie to see it when she arrived.
At noon Babbington’s men were regaled with roast beef and plum duff, and then packed, reasonably sober, into
two waggons to take the Tartarus to sea on the evening tide; and now Jack was leading Sophie about the wood beyond the shrubbery to show her the improvements he had in mind.
‘This is the path that Stephen calls the boreen,’ he observed. He has some very strange expressions, poor dear fellow. How I hope I did not offend him, by taking notice of his way of saying Cato: sometimes he is a little touchy.’
Stephen had driven in to Portsmouth on Sunday to hear Mass in a Romish chapel there, and he had not reappeared, only sending Padeen back with a message to the effect that he found himself obliged to go to London and begged to be excused.
‘I am sure you did not, my dear,’ said Sophie. She was morally certain that Stephen found her deeply affectionate sympathy more painful than any other, and she was wondering how this could be phrased or indeed
whether it could be said at all when they saw Killick hurrying towards them from the house.
Killick was perfectly used to having the Captain pursued for debt and to foiling the bums, and there was a concerned, intelligent, knowing look on his face that instantly brought some of these episodes to mind.
‘Is it the bailiffs?’ asked Jack.
‘It is a rum cully, sir,’ said Killick, ‘more like a gent. And sir,’ he said in a low, anxious voice behind his hand, ‘it’s no good tipping them the go-by. There’s a party of heavyweight coves each end of the lane and behind, and they look precious like Bow Street runners.’
‘I will deal with him,’ said Jack, smiling, and he walked into the house. There he found a calm, self-possessed man with a folded paper in his hand. ‘Good day, sir,’ he said. ‘I am Captain Aubrey. What may I do for you?’
‘Good day to you, sir,’ replied the man. ‘Might we step into a private room? I have been sent from London on a matter that affects you most particularly.’
‘Very well,’ said Jack, opening a door. ‘Please to mind the paint-work. Now, sir, what is this matter you are speaking about?’
‘I am concerned to say that it is a warrant for your arrest.’
‘The Devil it is! At whose suit?’
‘It is not an arrest for debt, sir. It is an arrest by warrant.’
‘On what charge?’ asked Jack, amazed.
‘Conspiracy to defraud the Stock Exchange.’
‘Oh, is that all?’ said Jack with great relief. ‘Good Lord, I can very easily explain my dealings with them.’
‘I am sure you can, sir. But in the meanwhile I must ask you to come with me. I trust you will not make my duty more unpleasant than it has to be – I trust you will not oblige me to place a gentleman of your quality under restraint. If you will give me your word not to attempt an escape, I will delay the execution of this warrant for half an hour so that you may make your arrangements. But then we must set off for London: I have a carriage waiting at the door.’