Edward Burr (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
morethanhonour) wrote2012-12-02 05:25 pm
morethanhonour) wrote2012-12-02 05:25 pm
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The Price of Glory - Chapter Nine
More than Honour
Book Two: The Price of Glory
Chapter Nine
The wine of the previous night and the unsigned note that he would be called upon at nine o’clock tomorrow morning on urgent matters meant nothing to Edward as he stole through the backstreets of London, many of which he’d learned much about life and survival on as a boy. He had no fear of them despite the late hour. What mattered to him was the other communication he had received, a small something from Anne, delivered by a blushing girl, pleading with him to call upon her at ten that evening. Her husband was in Bath for a week, and she could bear to waste no time in seeing the man who owned her heart. The servant her husband had left her with was faithful to her and would keep their secret, thus why she had been entrusted with her mistress’s letter to him.
Edward gained entry by the back door, and the same maid showed him up the stairs, into Anne’s boudoir. He barely saw the girl, too enraptured by the lady of house. If he had to guess, Edward would say Anne was threefold more striking. Melancholy, perhaps, made her that much more striking. When the world was so set upon beating her down and robbing her of her joys, perhaps she had little choice but to rally further, to appear that much more vibrant.
“My love,” she greeted him with those words, warm and aching. At once, she was in his arms, and he held her close. “Oh, Edward, my darling, how happy it has made me to see you. I feel as though my heart shall burst from joy, just as I was certain it would break from misery a moment ago.”
“Hush, darling. Please, please, my lovely dearest, do not weep.” He kissed under her eyes, framing her face in his hands. “I am here now, and I shall depart only when you send me away. Even then, my heart will be with you. So, please, my beautiful Anne, I beg you, do not distress yourself. If not for your sake, then for mine, for my heart breaks to see you suffer so. Will you smile for me, my love?”
She managed to do so. “I am a wretched, wicked creature,” she whispered tortured by her words. “If I am to be pious, I must kill my heart, yet I cannot be happy without committing to this sin.”
Edward touched her cheek. “It is no sin to love.”
Anne looked up at him, her chest rising and falling with her laboured breaths. Tears stood in her eyes, but she smiled. It was such a sorrowful expression that Edward thought he might find himself weeping soon. “No,” she agreed. “Love is not a sin.” She took his hands in his. “But I must sin now, or I shall die of sorrow.”
She kissed him before he could say another word. Her lips were warm, and Edward kissed her back. She loosed herself from his arms but kept tight hold on his hand. With a look to Edward that he understood as a plea to say nothing lest he make her lose her courage, she led him to her bedroom. He thought of protesting, even to be sure she would not resent him for this, for perhaps taking advantage of her loneliness, and she perhaps saw it in his eyes. She kissed him again and led his hand to her chest, pressing it closed against her covered breast.
‡ ‡ ‡
Anne Bell admired the man asleep in her bed. He was a very handsome man, this youthful passion of hers. An eager lover, to be sure; so much more enthusiastic than her husband had ever been. She traced her fingers over the scars of Edward’s back, admiring how they had twisted the skin of her former playmate. He was as sweet as he had ever been, certainly willingness to come to the aid of someone in need. Full of warm words she thought he might actually mean. How wonderful it was too, to have her bed occupied by someone who saw it as more than obligation.
She would have to bed his company again. Before her husband returned, certainly, but also if his departure ever happened to coincide with Edward’s return to London later. So long as Edward never thought to call without invitation. That would be important. He was enough of a romantic to possibly assume such a thing would be welcome, and it would be too cruel to let him chance finding her with Thomas or Aaron. They would understand, but part of Edward’s charm was how he seemed to lack their practicality.
Her lieutenant lover stirred, and Anne laid back down, as if she had been asleep all the while.
‡ ‡ ‡
Edward felt as though there were nothing wrong in the world. The sun was warm. The people were friendly, and he felt like a king. This, he knew, was love. Surely no God would condemn beautiful, sweet Anne. Not with how gently she had embraced her as she woke and implored him to tarry a little longer, to give again the affection her husband spread so freely to other women but denied her. She had clung to him, bade him return again if he were able. Not tonight, for someone might see and betray them, but the next night, if he were not sent away. How strongly he had longed to lose himself again in her arms. She would have allowed it, but he recalled the curious note from the previous evening and knew he must keep the meeting.
He avoided her father as he bounded up the stairs behind the little bookstore. Edward admitted himself to his mother’s home, where he resided when able to stay. She kissed him in greeting, and he wondered what she would do when she received the letter from his prize agent revealing the sum of money now hers to claim. He would not spoil the surprise, certainly. Perhaps she would not even learn of her fortune until he was again at sea, bound away for however long it might be. How he would enjoy the letter she was sure to send, were that to pass.
“I hope you have been behaving yourself, my dear,” she said. Her look was doubtful when he promised he had. “A gentleman called for you. I showed him to your room, as he said it was a private matter.”
She would have a proper house, Edward promised himself. A front door, hall, kitchen, dining room, sitting room, and many more rooms for whatever use she chose. If she would not use her money so, he would do it for her. All his life, she had provided for him, sometimes starving herself to do it. Now, he could repay her in some small way.
Edward entered his bedroom and stopped in the doorway. The sharp-faced, fair-haired Mister Miles stood in the room, dressed in the clothes a gentleman and the black coat of a civilian. He gazed at Edward with a cool, estimating stare, and Edward tried to remember any cause he might have given for a member of the naval intelligence to call on him. He did not relish another secret interview, especially as it seemed he would be alone. At least last time, Martineau beside him had been something of a comfort. Even if only because he could worry for someone else.
“Good morning, Mister Burr. I trust you slept well last night.”
Miles knew. Edward had no idea how, but it was written in those pale eyes. Yet, what did it matter? It wasn’t as if Anne were a French or Spanish woman whom he might have confided navy secrets to. He knew no secrets to betray, even. Edward drew himself up. What cause did he have to fear Miles? None. It made him feel no better, though. He managed to keep his voice even, though as he replied, “I did, Mister Miles. Thank you.”
“Indeed.” Edward thought he heard the man give a soft snort. The next moment, he was wholly composed. “You take a position on Elegant today, third lieutenant.” It was no real surprise he knew that, though. “I have spoken to a few of your former shipmates, and I understand you are a very free with your recollections of Mister Martineau and Nymphe. Do you speak of other parts of that experience so carelessly, too?” His voice was hard, cold enough to make Edward check himself.
He realised a second later what Miles was asking and let himself breathe. “Only of the storm and the passing of Mister Martineau’s sword to me,” he said. “I have not told a soul about Mister Clay.”
Miles watched him closely, gauging his every word and glance and gesture. Edward could not imagine how any man could lie and get away with it under such inspection. At last, Miles seemed to decide in his favour. “I’m glad you are aware of the sensitive nature of that information, Mister Burr.” Did Miles know he was revealing that Clay was still an active agent? Why else would it matter if he spoke of it? He must know. He did, Edward decided, seeing his gaze. “I trust you will remain as discreet about those happenings in the future as you claim to have been?”
“Of course, Mister Miles,” Edward replied, ducking his head politely. He wondered if Miles truly thought so little of him as to suppose he would have revealed Clay to someone. He spoke of Martineau, but that was safe. He didn’t tell people about the secret court martial nor the details of Martineau’s fate. He could keep his secrets. Had Miles heard whispers about Clay? He had not been the cause of any of them, certainly. “Would you join us for breakfast?”
Thankfully, Miles declined. He gave no reason, and Edward did not press. He showed him out and watched from the landing as the man descended the stairs. It was, of course, his business to know secrets. Still, he felt nervous, having Miles so near Anne’s father. The man had always seemed fond of him, but that would likely turn to hate if he knew Anne had become guilty of adultery for his sake. It would be Anne who suffered most if it became known, and Edward would never forgive himself if she became disgraced.
‡ ‡ ‡
“She’s a fine vessel,” Admiral Long said He looked beside him, where his son stood. He had a great fondness for Grace of God, a sleep sloop of twenty guns. She was trim and freshly painted. She remained at dry dock, every inch perfected so she might soon weather the sea. For three months, he had endeavoured to delay the end of her construction, waiting for David to at last express interest in having command. Grace of God would be perfect for him.
David smiled. It was an expression he rarely saw, the admiral reflected. He had wanted David to know how to work hard, and the sea had taught him that. But, somehow, it had taken his lively, talkative boy and turned him into a quiet man sometimes prone to silent melancholy. Was it merely the course of age? The nature of the service? Or were there already the shadows every man found eventually? He was too young to have made those decisions and seen those things. That, he knew, was the father. The admiral knew a ship’s boy might see such horrors. Thank God David had been far from the action of the Nile. He had heard the reports of the corpses piled on the shore by the sea.
“Who do you intend to give her to?”
Admiral Long chuckled. “I should very much like to put her in your hands. You have the service to warrant it, David. Yours entirely with orders to wherever you might like to and with a full crew of your choosing.” He could offer no more, and he watched his son, seeking that one speak of temptation, some indication to tell him what point to elaborate on. He was disappointed.
“Mister Hawke has a longer and more notable service than I do,” David replied. His father checked his first impulse to swear. Would he never be free of that name? He understood admiration for a kind superior, valued it, but this only served to frustrate him.
“Mister Hawke is not my son.”
“He’s in love.” How odd David sounded when he said that, as if he were a hundred miles away. “He’s quite convinced he cannot provide on a lieutenant’s salary, so he refuses to even offer until he makes post.”
“I am not offering—”
“Make him a commander, sir,” how formal he sounded and so quiet, “and he will prove himself worth of a frigate before the year is out.”
The admiral sighed. What was the purpose of this plea? Why did his son insist so on advancing this other man? It was not simple charity. There must be more to it. David had spoken of love. Perhaps that was key. The boy might be inclined toward romantic ideals. A sweetheart would inspire him to greatness; he only needed to be patient. He could bide his time.
“Most young men would not be so generous.” He chuckled. “So many clamour for a ship for themselves, not to see another promoted.”
David smiled again, but it seemed to his father that he was distracted, still focused on something far away. Perhaps it was some dream, some vision of beauty he sought to possess before he claimed what could have been his long ago. “There are many who vie for rank and authority,” he murmured, his thin shoulders rising then falling. “What sort of state would the navy find itself in if there was no one content without command?”
The admiral shook his head. It was, perhaps, the modesty of youth or penance for some decision. Maybe he was seeking the love he needed to inspire him. Eventually, his son would come around.
‡ ‡ ‡
David listened as his father walked away. He was aware, too much so, how much of a disappoint he was. No wife, no desire for command, no remarkable exploits. He was not a son to be boasted about. Still, he could not bring himself to fully care. He owed Gregory a deep debt, one that he would feel was fully repaid when he had his heart’s desire: his own ship and Mona as his wife. Both were so close at hand, and he would allow neither to be denied the man, not now.
Grace of God would be the start. If it were at all in his power, he would grant Gregory that ship and the chance to prove himself. All he needed was one moment, one opportunity to show everyone. David knew he would do wonderfully. He would be capable of nothing else, of course.
A hand settled on his shoulder, and he froze. The sounds lasted like hours. He waited to feel the hand in his hair or it slide to his elbow, the sharp tug or gentle pull. He began to remind himself to breathe, to just relax and bide. The hand stayed, though, and gave a small squeeze.
“It’s me.” Gregory’s voice washed over him, and David felt himself come back to life. The older man sighed softly. “I was worried. I saw Moonlit and—”
“I’ve been with my father,” David said to cut him off. He knew what Gregory suspected, and he knew how near he was to being right. “Elegant will set sail the day after tomorrow. My father is dining with some officers tomorrow evening on board the flagship. I shall be in attendance, and I was instructed to invite you.” He had requested several times to be allowed to extend it, but that was near enough the same thing. “Captain Ross will also be present.” He did not dare look at Gregory, too set upon the horizon.
“I’ll be there, David. I promise.”
Book Two: The Price of Glory
Chapter Nine
The wine of the previous night and the unsigned note that he would be called upon at nine o’clock tomorrow morning on urgent matters meant nothing to Edward as he stole through the backstreets of London, many of which he’d learned much about life and survival on as a boy. He had no fear of them despite the late hour. What mattered to him was the other communication he had received, a small something from Anne, delivered by a blushing girl, pleading with him to call upon her at ten that evening. Her husband was in Bath for a week, and she could bear to waste no time in seeing the man who owned her heart. The servant her husband had left her with was faithful to her and would keep their secret, thus why she had been entrusted with her mistress’s letter to him.
Edward gained entry by the back door, and the same maid showed him up the stairs, into Anne’s boudoir. He barely saw the girl, too enraptured by the lady of house. If he had to guess, Edward would say Anne was threefold more striking. Melancholy, perhaps, made her that much more striking. When the world was so set upon beating her down and robbing her of her joys, perhaps she had little choice but to rally further, to appear that much more vibrant.
“My love,” she greeted him with those words, warm and aching. At once, she was in his arms, and he held her close. “Oh, Edward, my darling, how happy it has made me to see you. I feel as though my heart shall burst from joy, just as I was certain it would break from misery a moment ago.”
“Hush, darling. Please, please, my lovely dearest, do not weep.” He kissed under her eyes, framing her face in his hands. “I am here now, and I shall depart only when you send me away. Even then, my heart will be with you. So, please, my beautiful Anne, I beg you, do not distress yourself. If not for your sake, then for mine, for my heart breaks to see you suffer so. Will you smile for me, my love?”
She managed to do so. “I am a wretched, wicked creature,” she whispered tortured by her words. “If I am to be pious, I must kill my heart, yet I cannot be happy without committing to this sin.”
Edward touched her cheek. “It is no sin to love.”
Anne looked up at him, her chest rising and falling with her laboured breaths. Tears stood in her eyes, but she smiled. It was such a sorrowful expression that Edward thought he might find himself weeping soon. “No,” she agreed. “Love is not a sin.” She took his hands in his. “But I must sin now, or I shall die of sorrow.”
She kissed him before he could say another word. Her lips were warm, and Edward kissed her back. She loosed herself from his arms but kept tight hold on his hand. With a look to Edward that he understood as a plea to say nothing lest he make her lose her courage, she led him to her bedroom. He thought of protesting, even to be sure she would not resent him for this, for perhaps taking advantage of her loneliness, and she perhaps saw it in his eyes. She kissed him again and led his hand to her chest, pressing it closed against her covered breast.
‡ ‡ ‡
Anne Bell admired the man asleep in her bed. He was a very handsome man, this youthful passion of hers. An eager lover, to be sure; so much more enthusiastic than her husband had ever been. She traced her fingers over the scars of Edward’s back, admiring how they had twisted the skin of her former playmate. He was as sweet as he had ever been, certainly willingness to come to the aid of someone in need. Full of warm words she thought he might actually mean. How wonderful it was too, to have her bed occupied by someone who saw it as more than obligation.
She would have to bed his company again. Before her husband returned, certainly, but also if his departure ever happened to coincide with Edward’s return to London later. So long as Edward never thought to call without invitation. That would be important. He was enough of a romantic to possibly assume such a thing would be welcome, and it would be too cruel to let him chance finding her with Thomas or Aaron. They would understand, but part of Edward’s charm was how he seemed to lack their practicality.
Her lieutenant lover stirred, and Anne laid back down, as if she had been asleep all the while.
‡ ‡ ‡
Edward felt as though there were nothing wrong in the world. The sun was warm. The people were friendly, and he felt like a king. This, he knew, was love. Surely no God would condemn beautiful, sweet Anne. Not with how gently she had embraced her as she woke and implored him to tarry a little longer, to give again the affection her husband spread so freely to other women but denied her. She had clung to him, bade him return again if he were able. Not tonight, for someone might see and betray them, but the next night, if he were not sent away. How strongly he had longed to lose himself again in her arms. She would have allowed it, but he recalled the curious note from the previous evening and knew he must keep the meeting.
He avoided her father as he bounded up the stairs behind the little bookstore. Edward admitted himself to his mother’s home, where he resided when able to stay. She kissed him in greeting, and he wondered what she would do when she received the letter from his prize agent revealing the sum of money now hers to claim. He would not spoil the surprise, certainly. Perhaps she would not even learn of her fortune until he was again at sea, bound away for however long it might be. How he would enjoy the letter she was sure to send, were that to pass.
“I hope you have been behaving yourself, my dear,” she said. Her look was doubtful when he promised he had. “A gentleman called for you. I showed him to your room, as he said it was a private matter.”
She would have a proper house, Edward promised himself. A front door, hall, kitchen, dining room, sitting room, and many more rooms for whatever use she chose. If she would not use her money so, he would do it for her. All his life, she had provided for him, sometimes starving herself to do it. Now, he could repay her in some small way.
Edward entered his bedroom and stopped in the doorway. The sharp-faced, fair-haired Mister Miles stood in the room, dressed in the clothes a gentleman and the black coat of a civilian. He gazed at Edward with a cool, estimating stare, and Edward tried to remember any cause he might have given for a member of the naval intelligence to call on him. He did not relish another secret interview, especially as it seemed he would be alone. At least last time, Martineau beside him had been something of a comfort. Even if only because he could worry for someone else.
“Good morning, Mister Burr. I trust you slept well last night.”
Miles knew. Edward had no idea how, but it was written in those pale eyes. Yet, what did it matter? It wasn’t as if Anne were a French or Spanish woman whom he might have confided navy secrets to. He knew no secrets to betray, even. Edward drew himself up. What cause did he have to fear Miles? None. It made him feel no better, though. He managed to keep his voice even, though as he replied, “I did, Mister Miles. Thank you.”
“Indeed.” Edward thought he heard the man give a soft snort. The next moment, he was wholly composed. “You take a position on Elegant today, third lieutenant.” It was no real surprise he knew that, though. “I have spoken to a few of your former shipmates, and I understand you are a very free with your recollections of Mister Martineau and Nymphe. Do you speak of other parts of that experience so carelessly, too?” His voice was hard, cold enough to make Edward check himself.
He realised a second later what Miles was asking and let himself breathe. “Only of the storm and the passing of Mister Martineau’s sword to me,” he said. “I have not told a soul about Mister Clay.”
Miles watched him closely, gauging his every word and glance and gesture. Edward could not imagine how any man could lie and get away with it under such inspection. At last, Miles seemed to decide in his favour. “I’m glad you are aware of the sensitive nature of that information, Mister Burr.” Did Miles know he was revealing that Clay was still an active agent? Why else would it matter if he spoke of it? He must know. He did, Edward decided, seeing his gaze. “I trust you will remain as discreet about those happenings in the future as you claim to have been?”
“Of course, Mister Miles,” Edward replied, ducking his head politely. He wondered if Miles truly thought so little of him as to suppose he would have revealed Clay to someone. He spoke of Martineau, but that was safe. He didn’t tell people about the secret court martial nor the details of Martineau’s fate. He could keep his secrets. Had Miles heard whispers about Clay? He had not been the cause of any of them, certainly. “Would you join us for breakfast?”
Thankfully, Miles declined. He gave no reason, and Edward did not press. He showed him out and watched from the landing as the man descended the stairs. It was, of course, his business to know secrets. Still, he felt nervous, having Miles so near Anne’s father. The man had always seemed fond of him, but that would likely turn to hate if he knew Anne had become guilty of adultery for his sake. It would be Anne who suffered most if it became known, and Edward would never forgive himself if she became disgraced.
‡ ‡ ‡
“She’s a fine vessel,” Admiral Long said He looked beside him, where his son stood. He had a great fondness for Grace of God, a sleep sloop of twenty guns. She was trim and freshly painted. She remained at dry dock, every inch perfected so she might soon weather the sea. For three months, he had endeavoured to delay the end of her construction, waiting for David to at last express interest in having command. Grace of God would be perfect for him.
David smiled. It was an expression he rarely saw, the admiral reflected. He had wanted David to know how to work hard, and the sea had taught him that. But, somehow, it had taken his lively, talkative boy and turned him into a quiet man sometimes prone to silent melancholy. Was it merely the course of age? The nature of the service? Or were there already the shadows every man found eventually? He was too young to have made those decisions and seen those things. That, he knew, was the father. The admiral knew a ship’s boy might see such horrors. Thank God David had been far from the action of the Nile. He had heard the reports of the corpses piled on the shore by the sea.
“Who do you intend to give her to?”
Admiral Long chuckled. “I should very much like to put her in your hands. You have the service to warrant it, David. Yours entirely with orders to wherever you might like to and with a full crew of your choosing.” He could offer no more, and he watched his son, seeking that one speak of temptation, some indication to tell him what point to elaborate on. He was disappointed.
“Mister Hawke has a longer and more notable service than I do,” David replied. His father checked his first impulse to swear. Would he never be free of that name? He understood admiration for a kind superior, valued it, but this only served to frustrate him.
“Mister Hawke is not my son.”
“He’s in love.” How odd David sounded when he said that, as if he were a hundred miles away. “He’s quite convinced he cannot provide on a lieutenant’s salary, so he refuses to even offer until he makes post.”
“I am not offering—”
“Make him a commander, sir,” how formal he sounded and so quiet, “and he will prove himself worth of a frigate before the year is out.”
The admiral sighed. What was the purpose of this plea? Why did his son insist so on advancing this other man? It was not simple charity. There must be more to it. David had spoken of love. Perhaps that was key. The boy might be inclined toward romantic ideals. A sweetheart would inspire him to greatness; he only needed to be patient. He could bide his time.
“Most young men would not be so generous.” He chuckled. “So many clamour for a ship for themselves, not to see another promoted.”
David smiled again, but it seemed to his father that he was distracted, still focused on something far away. Perhaps it was some dream, some vision of beauty he sought to possess before he claimed what could have been his long ago. “There are many who vie for rank and authority,” he murmured, his thin shoulders rising then falling. “What sort of state would the navy find itself in if there was no one content without command?”
The admiral shook his head. It was, perhaps, the modesty of youth or penance for some decision. Maybe he was seeking the love he needed to inspire him. Eventually, his son would come around.
‡ ‡ ‡
David listened as his father walked away. He was aware, too much so, how much of a disappoint he was. No wife, no desire for command, no remarkable exploits. He was not a son to be boasted about. Still, he could not bring himself to fully care. He owed Gregory a deep debt, one that he would feel was fully repaid when he had his heart’s desire: his own ship and Mona as his wife. Both were so close at hand, and he would allow neither to be denied the man, not now.
Grace of God would be the start. If it were at all in his power, he would grant Gregory that ship and the chance to prove himself. All he needed was one moment, one opportunity to show everyone. David knew he would do wonderfully. He would be capable of nothing else, of course.
A hand settled on his shoulder, and he froze. The sounds lasted like hours. He waited to feel the hand in his hair or it slide to his elbow, the sharp tug or gentle pull. He began to remind himself to breathe, to just relax and bide. The hand stayed, though, and gave a small squeeze.
“It’s me.” Gregory’s voice washed over him, and David felt himself come back to life. The older man sighed softly. “I was worried. I saw Moonlit and—”
“I’ve been with my father,” David said to cut him off. He knew what Gregory suspected, and he knew how near he was to being right. “Elegant will set sail the day after tomorrow. My father is dining with some officers tomorrow evening on board the flagship. I shall be in attendance, and I was instructed to invite you.” He had requested several times to be allowed to extend it, but that was near enough the same thing. “Captain Ross will also be present.” He did not dare look at Gregory, too set upon the horizon.
“I’ll be there, David. I promise.”