with domestic incursions. Since then, mere newspapers, gazettes, periodical publications, all light frothy fare apart from the Proceedings, have imperceptibly drunk the whole of my time and energy. Now, Jack, pray tell me about this Admiral Lord Stranraer, whom you have mentioned so often.’
‘Well, as you know, he commands the squadron on the Brest blockade, our squadron. He is an agricultural sailor, like his nephew Griffiths: there are a good many of them, stuffed with high-farming theory, and sometimes owning large estates: but unlike Griffiths he is a pretty good seaman. A taut commander, with a rough side to his tongue. He is a little man, apt to bark and indeed to bite on occasion.’
‘A Scotch title, would it be?’
‘No, English; from Dutch William’s time. The family name is Koop. He is a Whig, but a moderate Whig, voting sometimes against the ministry, but sometimes – and on important divisions with – which means that he is much courted. Yet he is still enough of a Whig to dislike me for my father’s sake. You may remember that before he took to Radical ways, my father was a passionate Tory, and at one election he flogged the man who stood for Hinton in the Whig interest. It made a great noise at the time. Yet on the other hand he does not object to Griffiths’ way of always voting with Government on those rare occasions he attends the House: he is member for Carton, a pocket-borough like mine, though with even fewer electors. The Admiral also dislikes me for taking parliamentary leave, which means a jobbing captain has to take my place; and he will dislike me even more, when he learns that I mean to upset this inclosure scheme, which he very strongly advised in the first place, coming down quite often and predicting vast capabilities for the common. He is very much in favour of throwing farms together, doing away with the fifty or a hundred acre men entirely and having huge great places with good roads, modern buildings and prodigious yields – God knows how many bushels to the acre.’
‘There seem to be many of these as it were clans in the
service, quite apart from the obvious political divisions. There are men like you, who are devoted to celestial navigation and who favour others of their kind; and those who delight in surveying anything that can be surveyed however wet, remote and uncomfortable; but I believe this is the first time I have encountered a band of sea-going farmers. I look forward to meeting the Admiral.’
‘Yes, and there are chains of kindness and connection. Lord Keith was very good to me, for example, when I was young, and I will do anything I can for his mids or his officers’
sons. It runs clean through the service, particularly with the old naval families, like the Herveys. The same applies to particular regions. You find ships where the whole quarterdeck is Scotch, and many of the people. I knew one sioop whose captain hailed from the Isle of Man, and close on every hand had three legs. But as for the Admiral, you will see him soon enough: we must be aboard within the fortnight. I shall just have time to run up to the House for the committee meeting, deliver my thunderbolt, and then post down to Torbay, where Heneage Dundas will touch before the change of the moon, landing Jenkins -,
‘Who him?’
‘My jobbing captain, my temporary replacement,’ said Jack, and from his tone and the set of his face Stephen gathered that he did not think highly of the man. ‘With the wind in the south and even south-south-east I have been expecting a signal these last three days.’
Once again Lalla brought her ears to bear on the bushes to the left, within sight of the house but well this side of the park. From them burst a little boy, George, closely pursued by a little girl, Brigid.
‘Oh sir,’ cried George, ‘there is an express from Plymouth. And Cousin Diana is coming.’
‘Oh Papa,’ cried Brigid, ‘there is a man on a steaming horse, and he destroyed with the thirst, bearing a letter so he is, an express letter. Mama carries it in her hand itself, driving the great coach. We came through the shrubbery and then through the whins.’ By this time she was with
I
them, and moderating her voice a little, she held up her face to be kissed.
‘We saw you through the spy-glass,’ said George, ‘and since Cousin Diana already had the horses to, she said she should come by the drift: it would save your poor legs.’
‘I can hear them, I can hear them. Mother of God, I can hear them. Oh Papa dear, and may I go up on top with Padeen?’ She plucked urgently at his coat, distracting him from a remote and broad-winged bird, conceivably an osprey, right in the sun’s eye. ‘If Mama agrees,’ he said. ‘She is the master and commander of the coach.’
Lalla was a somewhat nervous, touchy creature, but now she offered an example of that wonderful patience that even the most unpromising animals will often show to the young.
George, whom she knew perfectly well, had heaved himself on to her back by halter and mane, with a hand from his father, and now Brigid, who had only met her yesterday, did much the same, but less skilfully. Lalla gazed at her, standing firm until she was more or less seated, and then paced gently along.
The lane marking the edge of the pasture came out on a much broader affair called the drift, along which all Woolhampton’s cattle travelled to be marked and registered on the second Wednesday after Michaelmas: here stood the elegant coach with its four matching bays, the leader’s head held by Padeen, Diana on the box.
‘I have a letter for you, Jack,’ she cried, waving it. ‘An express from Plymouth.’
‘Thank you, Diana,’ he replied. ‘Should you like me to help you wheel the coach?’
‘Lord, no,’ said Diana. ‘But take care of Lalla. She is apt to lose her head with horses about, even geldings.’ Then to Brigid, ‘Child, come and take this letter to your cousin.’
‘Are you my cousin, sir?’ asked the child as Diana turned the horses in her usual brilliant manner. ‘I am so glad.’
The coach spilled its cargo in the forecourt, and Jack called to Sophie, standing there on the steps, ‘It is from
Heneage, my dear. He has lost his bowsprit, foretopmast and I dare say a good many headrails. He is leaving Berenice at Dock and coaching up here with Philip and perhaps a couple of hands: they will reach us on Thursday, God willing. It was handsome to give so much notice.’
‘Oh, very handsome indeed,’ cried Sophie faintly.
‘Do you know Heneage Dundas?’ he asked Diana, as he handed her down.
‘A sailor? Lord Melville’s son? I have met him. Was not his father in charge of the Navy?’
‘He was, and a very fine First Lord too. But now it is Heneage’s elder brother who has succeeded and who is also First Lord.’
‘Sophie, Clarissa,’ called Diana, ‘should you not like to take an airing? I am going to stretch the horses for a couple of hours: they are in great need of exercise. We might go as far as Lyme.’
‘My dear,’ cried Sophie with great conviction, ‘I really cannot.’
‘Are you taking Brigid?’ asked Clarissa.
‘Oh yes: of course. And George, if he would like it.’
‘Then I will come too, if I may have five minutes.’
The Thursday that brought Captain Dundas and Philip and that was also expected to bring Mr Cholmondeley’s coachman to deprive Diana of her supreme delight, in fact brought the owner himself with two friends, in a post-chaise. He arrived shortly after the others while the drawing-room was still in something of a turmoil with introductions, enquiries after the journey, the health of friends, the likelihood of a French sortie from Brest (most improbable), and Stephen noticed how well Sophie, a retiring provincial lady, coped with the situation – better, indeed, than Cholmondeley, a wealthy and obviously fashionable man. He apologized profusely for this intrusion and protested that he should not stay five minutes; his only errand was to beg Mrs Maturin to keep his coach and horses for a while, if she could bear it. He was on his way to Bristol, there to take ship for Ireland on an urgent piece of legal business that had been delayed too long and that could be delayed no longer lest it go by default; and he was most unwilling that the team should be left idle in their indifferent London stable
* no air, no light. He then had the exceedingly awkward task of asking Jack whether he might see Woolcombe’s head groom, to arrange for the feeding and the care of his cattle: this having been civilly but very firmly declined, he turned to his not inconsiderable social powers, cheerful, fairly amusing and not small enough to be mere prattle. He and his friends had many acquaintances in common with Captain Dundas and Diana and news of them filled the dangerous gaps that threatened to appear before he stood up and with eloquent gratitude took his leave of Sophie and all the company – a particularly civil farewell to Dr Maturin.