The Price of War - Chapter Fourteen

[morethanhonour]

More Than Honour
Book One: The Price of War
Chapter Fourteen

The corner table of the tavern provided some modicum of privacy for the two officers. Until an advance could be issued by a prize agent, they had to live conservatively. Craig, while obviously from a wealthy family, made no show of it. He ate the same as Edward, and they drank beer rather than wine. The food was perhaps not the finest London had to offer, but Edward was not in a position to complain. Craig, too, seemed given to eat heartily and without any hesitation. Someone in a different part of the tavern had begun to sing, words slurring together from the influence of their liquor. The sound was welcome, a good lift from the darker spirits that had set in following the anchoring of the Coeur de Lion.

Edward had felt a keen grip on his chest when he had given over control of the corvette and her prisoners. Lieutenant Gerard conducted himself as a proper officer ought. He took command of the other prisoners and saw them safely off the ship. Edward and Craig had spoken to the representative of the Admiralty on Gerard’s behalf, recounting his assistance in pulling St Henri off Edward. Gerard left their company with warm words and announcements of friendship. Edward made himself force out a simple, too-little goodbye in French, and Gerard smiled with genuine kindness and said a more eloquent one, which Edward found himself mostly able to understand. Craig, too, seemed greatly moved by the parting.

The food, drink, company, and atmosphere helped chase away the gloom that settled after Gerard was taken into the custody of the Admiralty. There was nothing more either of them could do for him now, so they set about losing themselves in their present circumstances. Conversation set in, easy and good-spirited now. Edward learned forward with a smile, regarding the young midshipman.

“Where does your family live, Mister Craig?”

“Belfast,” Craig replied with a smile. He laughed at the stare Edward gave him; it was not intentional, and Edward duck his head apologetically when he realised he was staring. “My mother’s English, but my father’s Irish, through and through.”

Edward raised his glass. “Nothing wrong with that, Craig.” His formal tone fell away off the ship, away from the responsibilities of their usual life. “Have you a place to stay? We may be here a few weeks. Depends, really, on what Captain Orr has to do in Gibraltar and the weather when he leaves for England.”

“I can take a room,” Craig replied. “I’ve enough from my pay to manage.”

“My mother keeps a home in London. It isn’t far from here. She would be glad for an extra body about the place while we are here. She won’t charge you unfairly, just enough for food.” Edward beamed at the idea. Not only could he see his mother for at least a short while, but he could also provide her with a small income and see Craig well housed and fed. His room might not be as large as he might find elsewhere, but it would be a welcoming reception. Edward smiled wider when he saw Craig’s lips part into a grin of his own.

“It wouldn’t put her out?”

“I swear to you, she would be overjoyed,” Edward replied quickly. He took another drink of beer. “We’ll go presently. As soon as we finish our meal.”

Craig’s smile was enough to warm Edward further, to make him even more eager to finish the meal and venture out. “I’d like that, sir,” he answered. Edward laughed at the address, correct though it was. He was too used to Ben, with whom shore leave meant a drop of rank and the formalities of even surnames dropped.

An hour later, the two men walked up tot he rooms. His mother lived above a bookshop, the space rented cheap by the shop’s owner. He had lived there himself for several years, but then he had married. His wife had wanted a proper house, large enough to raise children. To leave the rooms empty would be a waste, and the man had remembered Molly Burr and her young son. He let the rooms to her and had even employed Edward in his youth to run the ladders when his aging knees gave him trouble. Edward took the stairs two at a time while Craig followed him with some hesitation. Edward knocked twice.

The door opened. The movement was slow at first, but once Edward could be seen, the woman flung open the door. She was built to be very small, and her frame was too thin Edward always thought, and by now her light hair was almost entirely grey. He bent down to let her throw her arms about his neck. As she kissed his cheeks again and again, a few tears fell. Her son hugged her tight and kissed her warmly.

“Eddie.” She kissed each of his cheeks again. “My Eddie. You didn’t tell me you were coming.”

“I was only sent two weeks ago,” he explained. “I came with a prize ship, so I couldn’t send a letter.”

“Awful boy, surprising me like this!” Again, she hugged him. Her eyes landed on Craig, who had hung back, unsure of what he should do in the face of this reunion. “Company too, Eddie?” Her tone played at being cross, but her lips pulled into a smile, and her eyes danced. “What’s your name, my boy?”

“Jonathan Craig, ma’am.” Craig removed his hat and bowed at the waist, which made Edward’s mother laugh. “Your servant, ma’am. Lieutenant Burr said I might be able to let a room from you, ma’am. Until Spitfire comes to port, ma’am. I don’t want to impose, though, or anything of the kind, ma’am.”

“Such a polite lad,” Edward’s mother cooed, chuckling again. “You’re welcome to stay here, Jon. Or ought I call you more formally?”

“That’s fine, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.”

“None of that, Jon dear. It’s ‘Molly’ to you. Now, you two come right in. I want to hear all about this prize of yours.” She beamed at Edward again. “Lieutenant. I knew you’d do it, Eddie. My dear, dear Eddie. Lieutenant!” She ushered both young men in with wide, sweeping gestures and a broad smile.

Together, Edward and Craig regaled their eager audience with the tale of the capture of Coeur de Lion and her journey to England. They played down the danger St Henri presented to Edward, and the fate of the French captain was modified to confinement until England was reached. They touched briefly on the voyage from Gibraltar to Portsmouth, and Edward spoke of passing Nymphe in the night. At her insistence, Edward recounted his examination. Charlotte was avoided all together, and talk of Captain Caldwell’s fate was deftly evaded.

The conversation changed tones when Craig grew tired and asked to be shown to his room. Edward’s mother led him to a small bedroom, barely large enough for the bed it contained. Edward knew the room well, having grown up sleeping there. When she returned, she smiled, but Edward knew that smile. It was a sad smile, one that suggested warmth and sorrow at the same time. Edward knew the conversation would come, and he braced himself. She settled onto the divan beside him. Her hand covered his, and she slipped her other under his. Edward squeezed his mother’s hand gently.

“I heard about Captain Caldwell.” She patted Edward’s hand with all tenderness. He heard a strain in her voice as she said, “I’m so sorry, dear.”

“He was a brave man, and he died in action.” The folly with the French girl did not, Edward decided, need to be talked about, particularly with his mother. Caldwell had been a family friend for as long as Edward could remember. When Edward had expression a desire to go to sea, Caldwell had promised him a place on Virtue. After every short leave Edward managed to London, Caldwell inquired about Edward’s mother. Once or twice, he called on her, when he was able to be in London on some business.

“I’m always so afraid,” she whispered, sitting up to kiss his forehead, “that you won’t come home one of these days.”

“I will always come home.” Edward, this time, kissed her. “Every second of every day I am away, I dream of being able to see you again.” It was a lie. He missed his mother when he was away from London, but he was never more at home than when he stood on the deck of a ship and saw nothing but the ocean all around him.

“Just like your father.” The words left her on a sigh. Edward looked at her, not daring to speak or breathe. He wondered if, should he remain perfectly silent and still and do nothing to disturb her, she would provide him with more information about that elusive man. She rested her hand on Edward’s cheek. “You look like him. So very much.” Then she sighed gently, patting his cheek once before pulling her hand back. “I expect you to get married, I hope you know. Grandchildren, too.”

“A hundred of them,” Edward replied with a warm laugh. “A lovely daughter-in-law and a whole pack of grandchildren. How does that sound?”

“Wonderful.” She kissed him again, squeezing his hand. “It sounds simply divine, Edward. When do I get to meet this girl?”

Edward thought for a moment. He saw Charlotte in his mind’s eye. Beautiful, gentle, loving Charlotte. Yet now he saw his own foolishness. She was lovely, but she would never make a wife of a lieutenant and especially not the wife of a captain. As much as he adored her, there was more than affection that needed to be considered before he could marry. He would see her again, for he could not bear to never be in her arms again, but he would not mention his rash proposal again. No one ever needed to know about that strange desire, the madness of grief and promotion that had driven him to speak so. He smiled warmly. “When I find her.”

One day turned into two, which became three. Before it seemed possible, a week had sped by. Captain Orr sent no word, but Edward knew not to expect any. A courier or shipmate would find them when Spitfire docked. Craig and Edward received their money from Coeur de Lion. She had not been bought by the Crown, but her powder, shot, and guns had, so they were paid according to rank. Try as Craig might, Edward’s mother would not accept even a shilling of his money. Finally, Edward took the money they both intended her to have-- Craig for his room and meals, Edward as a gift-- and merely sneaked it into the bag she carried her money in. The next night, presumably having discovered the funds, the young officers were treated to a more lavish meal than Edward, at least, could ever recall eating.

Wine flowed liberally, and they toasted well into the night. When Edward’s mother retired, the young men stayed awake, continuing to drink. Their heads, though, were clear enough to mind their voices so as not to disturb the lady of the house as she tried to sleep. Seeing the glasses empty, Edward filled both again. Craig proposed a toast to family, and Edward drank to it.

“Forgive me, sir.”

“What is it, Craig?”

“I may be too bold, asking such a thing. I have not had so much to drink in some time.”

“Speak, speak. If you overstep, my friend, then I swear to you that all shall be forgiven.”

“Is your mother-- forgive me for asking, sir.” Edward heard the familiar question on the tip of Craig’s tongue but, with a gesture, bade him to answer it. “Is your mother a widow?”

Edward raised his glass. “She is, God preserve her. My father, a saint of a man to hear her tell of him, died while I was a mere babe. He was at sea when I was born and was never able to see me in his lifetime.” Craig drank to his words, and Edward followed his example.

“I beg your pardon for having questioned you on the matter at all, sir. I was merely curious, as I have not heard him spoken of once.”

Craig was young and drunk, so Edward felt no offence or indignation. It was natural to wonder after such things, and alcohol could easily induce a man to ask things his sober mind would have disallowed. “She mourns him still. Loves him still, too. I should not be surprised if she had made some sacred vow to never marry again. There are times when she will tell me of him: how he courted her one winter and all through the spring until she agreed to marry him that summer. He was not a rich man, I understand, but he was a good man who loved her dearly.”

As they drank again to the man Edward’s words conjured in their minds. As they did, Edward wondered, in the part of his mind so private not even drink could reveal it, how truly like his father he was.