Edward Burr (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
morethanhonour) wrote2013-03-22 06:02 pm
morethanhonour) wrote2013-03-22 06:02 pm
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The Price of Peace - Chapter Fifteen
The Price of Peace
Book Three
Chapter Fifteen
Little Lucy, named for her captain’s daughter claimed years ago by scarlet fever, was a trim, small cutter. She was more suited to running letters than transporting people, but she could carry five passengers easily enough. David and his wife were remaining in Ireland for a few more days, as Abigail was still too shy of the open water to attempt the passage home so soon. Edward had offered to wait with them, but David had encouraged him to continue on. None of their party could pretend to think he was not all too eager to return to Crawford Manor.
Edward could see the coast of England on the horizon. He wasn’t eager to take the carriage ride once he landed in Liverpool, but he knew it meant he was that much closer to seeing Remy again. His conversation with Joseph after the wedding had unsettled him, made him keenly aware that time kept ebbing away, and it would run out eventually. What would happen then? He didn’t know. It seemed impossible that they would not part, but he could not imagine losing Remy either. What was he to do then? He had no heard gossip about himself, had not received any threatening letters from the admiral. At the very least, he could know he still had a place in the navy. Whether he was ever to see command again, he couldn’t say, though.
Perhaps that would be for the best, though. If he was nothing more than a lieutenant, any conflict he was brought into with Remy be beyond his control. He would follow a captain into battle and be as little to blame as possible. He had gone most of the war without crossing paths with the other man, so he assured himself that a return to war need not be any different. Still, he did not relish the idea of parting from him at all.
‡ ‡ ‡
February 18th, 1803
To my dearest heart with all my affection,
I send this letter ahead of me as I board a boat called Little Lucy in Dublin. If all goes as it should, I will be back by your side before the week’s end. As we both well know, though, travel is subject to all manner of disturbances. I shall do my best, however, to keep you well informed to anything that might arise.
When I arrive, I shall need an audience with your father as soon as I arrive. There are rumours I fear are well based on fact, and I would have his advice before I commit myself to any one course. Too many threads have become knotted, and I fear that to begin cutting even those which seem frivolous without consulting someone else will lead to the breaking or unravelling of innocent and entirely undeserving lives. I would have you know, as I’ve no doubt you will smile at the thought, that this sudden consideration and mercy is your fault nurtured by your love for me and mine for you.
As soon as I am able, I shall be back by your side. Every day that passes until then, I swear to you, does so only because it absolutely must. I do not relish being away from you, but life will do as it demands. Know that if I am delayed, I shall hurry that much more once free of it. Be well, see to your family. I will return swiftly, my love. Know that I dream of you every night and long for your arms again. Someday, I will come home never to leave again.
Until that day, know you have all my love, without any exception, and I shall ever remain your devoted, faithful, adoring
Joseph
‡ ‡ ‡
Joseph pretended not to notice the priest who joined him on the deck of Little Lucy. The man was both Spanish and Catholic; neither made good company for him, and he was a poor associate for the other. Their slight disdain for each other had been well noted by everyone on board. The priest prayed to Mary and the saints before every meal, and Joseph had walked away more than once, refusing to break bread with a Papist.
Everyone else was now below, save a hand at the wheel. Joseph saw the indiscreet amusement on his face when he thought he was unobserved. Something of an idiot, he surmised, to take pleasure in friction between two such opposing forces. The two men blissfully ignored one another for several moments. Then, the priest tried his companion’s patience by revealing his Bible. He opened it and offered it across the way. Smiling, he said, “The beatitudes, good sir.”
“I know them,” Joseph snapped, pushing the book back at the man with considerable force. He clenched a first and drew himself up. “Leave me in peace, sir. I am a true Christian, a man of the Church of England. I will not stand to be preached at by a man who falls before idols and exalts the Virgin as the Queen of Heaven, making her seem more pagan goddess than the mother of the Christ.”
The man muttered his apologies, Spanish mixing with English, and his shoulder slipped Joseph’s as he passed, a clear attempt to provoke him further. Joseph heard the man at the wheel chuckle, and he stormed below to the small cabin made from thin partitions. Once alone, he unclenched his fist and spread out the paper secreted in the Bible.
For all its brevity, the note assured him that he had been to urge Edward to look to the future. Miles would, naturally, disclose very little in something that might go awry. There were no names or dates or places or addresses, only familiar writing and mention of the usual methods. It was the hand that always called Joseph’s close attention, as it was not the one Miles used. It was smaller than tighter with taller loops than the man wrote and not nearly as wide with its letters. Which was not to say he felt certain Miles could not alter his script, but it seemed, to him, to serve little purpose, particularly regarding matters such as this.
Joseph folded the note twice and held it over a candle until it caught fire, and he dropped it onto his dinner plate to watch it become ash. Once that was done, he spent a few moments thinking. It was a delicate matter, of course; it would require urgent attention. There could be no delay. At its best, it was a warning as to a storm brewing. At worst, the squall was bearing down upon them. It he wanted to be true to his words to Nathaniel about love and mercy—and he yearned to be the man his lover deserved, a good and compassionate man at least for his friends—then immediate action would likely need to follow. He could waste no time in transit or risk word being intercepted.
He left his cabin with haste. The soft rise and fall of a mother and daughter laughing told him where to find Edward. He was decided. No matter the protests or pleas, that man could not return to Crawford Manor. Long and everything else could be handled later; he would see to all of that. Only one thing mattered now: Edward must come with him to London.
‡ ‡ ‡
The ninth of February, 1803
My dear David,
Mother and Father are quarrelling. When I am near, they smile and speak very prettily to one another, and it makes me so angry. Do they suppose me deaf if they are out of sight? Is it so surprising I still hear when Father shouts in the parlour or Mother sobs in her sitting room? I am not a child any longer; I can bear to know they are not always given to harmony. I am, miraculously, even able to sort out the cause of their strife.
War is coming, isn’t it?
Please, brother, I beg of you: answer me honestly. I am not a little girl who needs be sheltered from the world. I know of war and loss. I know of death and pain. You will not tell me what you would Mister Burr, for example, but I know you tell Abigail more than you will share with me. I ask you now to speak to me as you would her. Tell me what I may expect in the days to come of you and of Father.
If you will not tell me, I shall seek out other sources. They might not be so kind as you, might tell me of all the horrors you have long sought to keep from me.
I confess, David: I am afraid. War means that I shall once again fear that you or father might never return. Still, dearest brother, my constant childhood companion, I need you to tell me honestly. Despite my fears, I must know the truth. In any instance, I would rather worry over facts than have rumours and doubts cause my nightmares. Write back to me with due swiftness, please.
I shall await your reply and am ever your loving sister,
Faith
‡ ‡ ‡
Edward looked straight at Joseph, studying his pale eyes. He was not an intelligence officer, no, but he was not a complete fool either. He knew what that look— so stern and solemn and overlaid on a deep-seated concern and pressing— meant. It meant trouble. When Miles was discreetly mentioned, far too much of his hope drained, but he knew Joseph’s demand was to his benefit, even if he was not sure how yet.
“Of course,” he said softly. The surgeon and spy looked faintly surprised. Edward wondered what Joseph had expected. Did he think him so far lost to love as to have all his sense vanished? He supposed he could not truly blame him. Under other circumstances, he would have pushed on, refused to be kept from his heart’s desire. This, though, was too important. “I only ask you to allow me to send word to Liverpool regarding this change of plans.”
Joseph nodded. “We can delay only a few hours at most, but that will be time enough for a letter or two to be posted.” He had his own sweetheart, after all, Edward remembered. Joseph had someone eagerly awaiting his return, too.
A new kind of anxiety filled him at the thought of a carriage ride. It was longer to travel, yes, but far more weighed on him than that. He knew this meeting was the end of one thing and the beginning of another. It was not only his world, his personal happiness, that hung in the balance of whatever news Miles would pass to Joseph. All at once, the world was much larger than it had been only a month ago. It might not be the start of war, he knew, it might well— almost certainly was— be the preparations for it.
“I do not know what I will be able to tell you,” Joseph said. “Much of what Miles tells me will be in a confidence I cannot break, but I swear I will stretch my allowances as far as I am able to keep you informed.” Edward saw the war within Joseph as he gave his oath, and he reached out to clutch the man’s hand tightly, holding his gaze.
He replied, “Thank you, my friend. In return, I will repeat my vow: I will not commit treason for his sake. I do not know what this will bring nor what I may do if the worst comes too soon, but I will do all I can not to betray you or my county.”
Joseph laughed. It was an unsteady, almost sorrowful sound. “You’ll get yourself in trouble if you continue to speak so.” Yet, he held to Edward’s hand tightly. “Your personal loyalties,” he whispered, “put me to shame. They outstrip your patriotism, I see that now. That ought to worry me, I suppose, yet I find myself more moved than concerned. I cannot promise you I can return such a thing, but I shall try.”
Edward was silent, simply watching the other man. He did not fear or doubt, though he knew he should. Joseph had stressed, all too often, how much value he placed on king and country and loyalty to the same. Edward had always considered himself true to those things, yet he found himself now wondering. Could he help Remy, should war have been declared, without being a traitor? Would Joseph hunt him down if he did anything, despite his words now? Edward found, though, that he was willing to put his faith in his friend. As the calls came from above with orders for docking, the two loosed their hands and parted.
‡ ‡ ‡
Fevrier 13, 1803
Edward,
I shall not say even half of what I should like, as I cannot be sure when you will receive this, whose company you may be in, nor through what hands it may pass.
I do not know how long it will take you to return, but I pray you will be swift. Two days before I set my pen to this paper, I received communication which I am most anxious to discuss with you. It pertains to your future as well as mine.
I hope you shall return bearing news of a joyous wedding and high spirits between the newlyweds. I also hope our host, who has written me about his delay, has not suffered over much. I was sorry to hear of the difficulties which now prey on the mind of our dear hostess but glad no worse harm than passing fear came to her.
Be safe, my dear friend. We are men used to the sea, and I do not doubt we both know that these growing waves mean. Whether we loosen sail to outrun or reef to bide, we shall decide together. It is not a choice I may make for you or you for me, so we shall consult face-to-face and decide then what we must do. No doubt this letter will pass one from you, making this much unnecessary and inaccurate, but I will say it all the same: I hope to receive some small communication from you soon.
Until you are in my presence again, allow me to assure you I am your dear friend and ever concerned fellow lodger,
Remington
Book Three
Chapter Fifteen
Little Lucy, named for her captain’s daughter claimed years ago by scarlet fever, was a trim, small cutter. She was more suited to running letters than transporting people, but she could carry five passengers easily enough. David and his wife were remaining in Ireland for a few more days, as Abigail was still too shy of the open water to attempt the passage home so soon. Edward had offered to wait with them, but David had encouraged him to continue on. None of their party could pretend to think he was not all too eager to return to Crawford Manor.
Edward could see the coast of England on the horizon. He wasn’t eager to take the carriage ride once he landed in Liverpool, but he knew it meant he was that much closer to seeing Remy again. His conversation with Joseph after the wedding had unsettled him, made him keenly aware that time kept ebbing away, and it would run out eventually. What would happen then? He didn’t know. It seemed impossible that they would not part, but he could not imagine losing Remy either. What was he to do then? He had no heard gossip about himself, had not received any threatening letters from the admiral. At the very least, he could know he still had a place in the navy. Whether he was ever to see command again, he couldn’t say, though.
Perhaps that would be for the best, though. If he was nothing more than a lieutenant, any conflict he was brought into with Remy be beyond his control. He would follow a captain into battle and be as little to blame as possible. He had gone most of the war without crossing paths with the other man, so he assured himself that a return to war need not be any different. Still, he did not relish the idea of parting from him at all.
‡ ‡ ‡
February 18th, 1803
To my dearest heart with all my affection,
I send this letter ahead of me as I board a boat called Little Lucy in Dublin. If all goes as it should, I will be back by your side before the week’s end. As we both well know, though, travel is subject to all manner of disturbances. I shall do my best, however, to keep you well informed to anything that might arise.
When I arrive, I shall need an audience with your father as soon as I arrive. There are rumours I fear are well based on fact, and I would have his advice before I commit myself to any one course. Too many threads have become knotted, and I fear that to begin cutting even those which seem frivolous without consulting someone else will lead to the breaking or unravelling of innocent and entirely undeserving lives. I would have you know, as I’ve no doubt you will smile at the thought, that this sudden consideration and mercy is your fault nurtured by your love for me and mine for you.
As soon as I am able, I shall be back by your side. Every day that passes until then, I swear to you, does so only because it absolutely must. I do not relish being away from you, but life will do as it demands. Know that if I am delayed, I shall hurry that much more once free of it. Be well, see to your family. I will return swiftly, my love. Know that I dream of you every night and long for your arms again. Someday, I will come home never to leave again.
Until that day, know you have all my love, without any exception, and I shall ever remain your devoted, faithful, adoring
Joseph
‡ ‡ ‡
Joseph pretended not to notice the priest who joined him on the deck of Little Lucy. The man was both Spanish and Catholic; neither made good company for him, and he was a poor associate for the other. Their slight disdain for each other had been well noted by everyone on board. The priest prayed to Mary and the saints before every meal, and Joseph had walked away more than once, refusing to break bread with a Papist.
Everyone else was now below, save a hand at the wheel. Joseph saw the indiscreet amusement on his face when he thought he was unobserved. Something of an idiot, he surmised, to take pleasure in friction between two such opposing forces. The two men blissfully ignored one another for several moments. Then, the priest tried his companion’s patience by revealing his Bible. He opened it and offered it across the way. Smiling, he said, “The beatitudes, good sir.”
“I know them,” Joseph snapped, pushing the book back at the man with considerable force. He clenched a first and drew himself up. “Leave me in peace, sir. I am a true Christian, a man of the Church of England. I will not stand to be preached at by a man who falls before idols and exalts the Virgin as the Queen of Heaven, making her seem more pagan goddess than the mother of the Christ.”
The man muttered his apologies, Spanish mixing with English, and his shoulder slipped Joseph’s as he passed, a clear attempt to provoke him further. Joseph heard the man at the wheel chuckle, and he stormed below to the small cabin made from thin partitions. Once alone, he unclenched his fist and spread out the paper secreted in the Bible.
For all its brevity, the note assured him that he had been to urge Edward to look to the future. Miles would, naturally, disclose very little in something that might go awry. There were no names or dates or places or addresses, only familiar writing and mention of the usual methods. It was the hand that always called Joseph’s close attention, as it was not the one Miles used. It was smaller than tighter with taller loops than the man wrote and not nearly as wide with its letters. Which was not to say he felt certain Miles could not alter his script, but it seemed, to him, to serve little purpose, particularly regarding matters such as this.
Joseph folded the note twice and held it over a candle until it caught fire, and he dropped it onto his dinner plate to watch it become ash. Once that was done, he spent a few moments thinking. It was a delicate matter, of course; it would require urgent attention. There could be no delay. At its best, it was a warning as to a storm brewing. At worst, the squall was bearing down upon them. It he wanted to be true to his words to Nathaniel about love and mercy—and he yearned to be the man his lover deserved, a good and compassionate man at least for his friends—then immediate action would likely need to follow. He could waste no time in transit or risk word being intercepted.
He left his cabin with haste. The soft rise and fall of a mother and daughter laughing told him where to find Edward. He was decided. No matter the protests or pleas, that man could not return to Crawford Manor. Long and everything else could be handled later; he would see to all of that. Only one thing mattered now: Edward must come with him to London.
‡ ‡ ‡
The ninth of February, 1803
My dear David,
Mother and Father are quarrelling. When I am near, they smile and speak very prettily to one another, and it makes me so angry. Do they suppose me deaf if they are out of sight? Is it so surprising I still hear when Father shouts in the parlour or Mother sobs in her sitting room? I am not a child any longer; I can bear to know they are not always given to harmony. I am, miraculously, even able to sort out the cause of their strife.
War is coming, isn’t it?
Please, brother, I beg of you: answer me honestly. I am not a little girl who needs be sheltered from the world. I know of war and loss. I know of death and pain. You will not tell me what you would Mister Burr, for example, but I know you tell Abigail more than you will share with me. I ask you now to speak to me as you would her. Tell me what I may expect in the days to come of you and of Father.
If you will not tell me, I shall seek out other sources. They might not be so kind as you, might tell me of all the horrors you have long sought to keep from me.
I confess, David: I am afraid. War means that I shall once again fear that you or father might never return. Still, dearest brother, my constant childhood companion, I need you to tell me honestly. Despite my fears, I must know the truth. In any instance, I would rather worry over facts than have rumours and doubts cause my nightmares. Write back to me with due swiftness, please.
I shall await your reply and am ever your loving sister,
Faith
‡ ‡ ‡
Edward looked straight at Joseph, studying his pale eyes. He was not an intelligence officer, no, but he was not a complete fool either. He knew what that look— so stern and solemn and overlaid on a deep-seated concern and pressing— meant. It meant trouble. When Miles was discreetly mentioned, far too much of his hope drained, but he knew Joseph’s demand was to his benefit, even if he was not sure how yet.
“Of course,” he said softly. The surgeon and spy looked faintly surprised. Edward wondered what Joseph had expected. Did he think him so far lost to love as to have all his sense vanished? He supposed he could not truly blame him. Under other circumstances, he would have pushed on, refused to be kept from his heart’s desire. This, though, was too important. “I only ask you to allow me to send word to Liverpool regarding this change of plans.”
Joseph nodded. “We can delay only a few hours at most, but that will be time enough for a letter or two to be posted.” He had his own sweetheart, after all, Edward remembered. Joseph had someone eagerly awaiting his return, too.
A new kind of anxiety filled him at the thought of a carriage ride. It was longer to travel, yes, but far more weighed on him than that. He knew this meeting was the end of one thing and the beginning of another. It was not only his world, his personal happiness, that hung in the balance of whatever news Miles would pass to Joseph. All at once, the world was much larger than it had been only a month ago. It might not be the start of war, he knew, it might well— almost certainly was— be the preparations for it.
“I do not know what I will be able to tell you,” Joseph said. “Much of what Miles tells me will be in a confidence I cannot break, but I swear I will stretch my allowances as far as I am able to keep you informed.” Edward saw the war within Joseph as he gave his oath, and he reached out to clutch the man’s hand tightly, holding his gaze.
He replied, “Thank you, my friend. In return, I will repeat my vow: I will not commit treason for his sake. I do not know what this will bring nor what I may do if the worst comes too soon, but I will do all I can not to betray you or my county.”
Joseph laughed. It was an unsteady, almost sorrowful sound. “You’ll get yourself in trouble if you continue to speak so.” Yet, he held to Edward’s hand tightly. “Your personal loyalties,” he whispered, “put me to shame. They outstrip your patriotism, I see that now. That ought to worry me, I suppose, yet I find myself more moved than concerned. I cannot promise you I can return such a thing, but I shall try.”
Edward was silent, simply watching the other man. He did not fear or doubt, though he knew he should. Joseph had stressed, all too often, how much value he placed on king and country and loyalty to the same. Edward had always considered himself true to those things, yet he found himself now wondering. Could he help Remy, should war have been declared, without being a traitor? Would Joseph hunt him down if he did anything, despite his words now? Edward found, though, that he was willing to put his faith in his friend. As the calls came from above with orders for docking, the two loosed their hands and parted.
‡ ‡ ‡
Fevrier 13, 1803
Edward,
I shall not say even half of what I should like, as I cannot be sure when you will receive this, whose company you may be in, nor through what hands it may pass.
I do not know how long it will take you to return, but I pray you will be swift. Two days before I set my pen to this paper, I received communication which I am most anxious to discuss with you. It pertains to your future as well as mine.
I hope you shall return bearing news of a joyous wedding and high spirits between the newlyweds. I also hope our host, who has written me about his delay, has not suffered over much. I was sorry to hear of the difficulties which now prey on the mind of our dear hostess but glad no worse harm than passing fear came to her.
Be safe, my dear friend. We are men used to the sea, and I do not doubt we both know that these growing waves mean. Whether we loosen sail to outrun or reef to bide, we shall decide together. It is not a choice I may make for you or you for me, so we shall consult face-to-face and decide then what we must do. No doubt this letter will pass one from you, making this much unnecessary and inaccurate, but I will say it all the same: I hope to receive some small communication from you soon.
Until you are in my presence again, allow me to assure you I am your dear friend and ever concerned fellow lodger,
Remington