Blaine shook his head. ‘Will you not walk in and take at least a glass of sherry before your puss in the corner? Some added fortitude, Dutch courage, is essentially called for, where the ceaseless din of children is concerned.’
‘I will not,’ said Stephen, ‘though I thank you kindly. It is already late for girls of that age, and we must be up early for the journey into the west.’
‘Are you away so soon?’
‘A little before the dawn itself.’
14’Shall I not see you again?’
‘Oh surely. I come up next week for the meeting of the Royal and to see about the lease of our house in Half Moon Street. In the present state of affairs we cannot possibly afford to keep it up: but just now we mean to go down to the Aubreys and stay with them until a suitable little place can be found in the country: and of course I must rejoin my ship. We are selling or trying to sell that gaunt cold ili-omened Barham, which will put us in funds again; and in the meantime I shall borrow a few thousand from Jack Aubrey.’
Blaine gave him a quick look; and a few paces on, when they were almost at the door of the club, with members going in and out like bees, he took Stephen’s elbow, halted him by the railings and in a low voice he said, ‘Do beg your friend to be quiet in the House, Stephen. On naval estimates he addressed the Ministry as though they were a parcel of defaulters, and now that he has most unhappily overcome his diffidence as a new member he does so in a voice calculated to reach the main topmast-head in a hurricane. His friends do so wish he were not in Parliament; or if he feels he has to be a member (and indeed there are great potential advantages) that he would rarely attend and then sit mute, voting as he is told. I dread the moment he gives his voice against the Ministry, in his dashing, headstrong way. He is very often in town, with a jobbing captain aboard his ship, doing her no good, nor her reputation. Stephen, do take him to sea and keep him there.’
They were now at the steps leading into Black’s. Down them hurried a tall thin member, pursued by the cry of ‘Your Grace, your Grace.’
His Grace turned, and with an anxious look he asked, ‘Have I done something wrong?’
‘Your Grace has taken Mr Wilson’s umbrella,’ said the head-porter, walking down to recover it; and now a positive company of members came streaming in from a cockpit over the way, making conversation impossible.
‘Until next week,’ cried Stephen.
15
‘A safe and prosperous journey, and my dear love to the ladies,’ replied Sir Joseph, kissing his hand.
Captain Aubrey (Commodore no longer, since the appointment lapsed with the dissolution of his squadron, and the temporary title with it) and his wife sat at the breakfast-table, looking out over the broad grey courtyard of Woolcombe House to the veiled woods and the sky, a somewhat lighter grey but quite as melancholy.
They sat in silence, waiting for the newspaper and the post, but a companionable silence; and as Jack’s gaze moved indoors it paused on Sophie before travelling on to the coffee-pot. She was a tall, gentle, particularly sweet-looking woman, thirty-odd, and Jack’s rather stern face softened. ‘How well she is bearing up under all this,’ he reflected. ‘She may not have quite Diana’s dash, but she has plenty of bottom. Plenty of bottom: a rare plucked
‘un.’
‘All this’ was a spate of litigation arising from Jack’s cruise against slave-traders in the Gulf of Guinea. When he and his captains were confronted with a stinking vessel crammed with black men and women chained on a low slave-deck in that tropical heat they did not always pay the very closest attention to the papers that were produced, above all since the first ten alleged protections had proved to be forgeries. Yet genuine protection did exist: Portuguese slavers for example could still legally trade south of the Line, and if one was found in the northern hemisphere, obviously heading for Cuba, it was difficult to prove that the ship’s master had not been compelled by stress of weather to put his nose over the equator, or that he did not intend to steer for Brazil tomorrow, particularly as a cloud of witnesses would swear to the fact. Navigational error, shortage of stores, and the like, could always be brought forward with a fair appearance of truth. Then again there were all sorts of legal devices by which the true ownership of the vessel could be disguised or concealed – companies holding on behalf of other companies and so on four deep, with the true responsibility for the cargo growing more dubious at each remove: nor was there any shortage of legal talent to make the most of a wealthy ship-owner’s case.
The day was as still as a day could well be, extremely damp and so silent that the dew could be heard dripping right along the front of the house, which an earlier Jack Aubrey, in the fashion of his day, had built facing north:
right along the front and on either of the somewhat later wings, even to the very end of that on the east, whose ultimate drip fell on a cistern whose leaden voice was part of the Captain’s very earliest memories.
To these, in time, was added the sound of hoofs, the high-pitched hoofs of a mule approaching: then an old man’s creaking voice and a boy’s shrill pipe. This was George Aubrey, the Captain’s son; and presently he appeared outside the window, smiling a little cheerful fat boy with his father’s bright yellow hair, blue eyes and high colour.
Although he did not encourage them to breakfast with him when he was on shore, Jack was fond of his children and with an answering smile he walked over to the window. ‘Good morning, sir,’ cried George, handing in The Times, ‘Harding showed me a wariangle in the hedge by Simmon’s Lea.’
‘Good morning to you, George,’ said Jack, taking the paper. ‘I am amazingly glad about the wariangle. He showed me one too, just before I went to sea. Remember all the details you can manage, and tell me at dinner.’
Back in his chair he opened the pages eagerly, for this was the day when the flag-promotion would be announced, and he turned straight to the Gazette. There were the familiar names, the whole list of admirals (that glorious rank) from the most junior rear-admirals of the blue, just promoted from the most senior names on the post-captains’ list, onwards: all of them moving steadily up through the ranks and squadrons – rear-admirals of the blue, then of the white, then of the red; vice-admirals and then full admirals of the same, and finally the sailor’s apotheosis, admiral of the fleet. The last nine stages of increasing splendour were devoid of suspense, progress being wholly automatic, depending on
17seniority – no merit, no royal favour even, could advance a man a shadow of an inch, and Nelson died a vice-admiral of the white – yet Jack read out many of the admirals they knew or liked or admired.
‘Sir Joe will hoist the red at his mizen. He will like that:
I shall drink him joy of it at dinner. I should like it too. Lord, if I were ever to hoist my own flag, I should keep it to be buried in.’ He carried on, picking out friends in the squadrons red white and blue; but just before he reached the really interesting part, the dividing-line, the crucial boundary between the top of the post-captains’ list and the rear-admirals of the blue, Sophie, still much put out by that unfortunate reference to a shroud, said, ‘I am glad about dear Sir Joe, and Lady Le Poer will be delighted: yet after all, surely it is no surprise, any more than moving up the dance? And what do you mean, if you were ever to hoist your flag? You are quite near the top of the list, and no one can deny you the right to one.’
She spoke with the particular emphasis, even vehemence, of those who wish to establish the truth of their words; although as a sailor’s wife she knew perfectly well that the Navy List contained twenty-eight superannuated rear-admirals and (even worse) thirty-two superannuated post-captains.
‘Of course,’ said Jack. ‘That is the usual way: you go up and up, like Jacob on his ladder.
But with something so important it would be courting ill-luck to speak of any certainty about it. You must not tempt fate. If I were Stephen, I should cross myself whenever I had to mention flag-rank. God bless us all. No. They do not usually superannuate post-captains unless they are very old and sick, or very mad and froward, or unless they have often refused service: