Chapter Four

March 1792

Randolph Chadd was rather surprisingly in his element at Lydia Trent’s dinner party.  Without hesitation, he had pronounced himself glad to come along and make up a table of ten.  In fact, he had mined more than one memorable liaison from such opportunities in the past.  Being at loose ends, however, he was happy enough to attend even without that sort of prospect.   His attendance was obviously desired to provide a balance for Mrs. Trent’s stepdaughter Cornelia, but on the evening he took care to pay a flattering, though not untoward, amount of courtly attention to each lady present.

A close run thing, perhaps, where Mrs. Sophie Trent was concerned.  That lady’s low cut gown and heaving bosom had a certain attraction, Chadd noted as he made a leg in her direction.

“Lieutenant Chadd,” she purred in acknowledgment.  He repressed a shiver.  Mrs. Sophie’s flirtatious manner may have been perfectly comme il faut in London society, but her husband’s silent yet unmistakable reaction put paid to any notion of pursuit in that direction.

Mr. Jeremy Trent, the dreaded stepson, was of a peculiarly pasty and rather dissolute aspect but with it had a haughty bearing that struck Chadd as being out of all proportion to his status or gifts.  Of the latter, Trent apparently had none.  It seemed that Mr. Jeremy was devoted to his estate, his horses, his dogs, and his wife in that order.  

He knew the type -- a fellow who lavished attention on his dogs while snapping at his wife to heel -- and thus could not help but feel a fleeting sympathy for poor Mrs. Sophie.  Ordinarily one might be tempted to offer consolation in such circumstances, but of course it would be unsporting to risk Trent’s umbrage when to do so might complicate Eccleston’s love life.

With respect to that subject, meeting Lydia had been something of a revelation.  She was, admittedly, a delightful creature and undoubtedly was as taken with his first lieutenant as he with her.  Chadd bowed to her deeply, vaguely aware that Eccleston was hovering behind him, beaming with love and pride.  

“Good evening, sir,” she said, returning his courtesy in what had to be acknowledged was a truly melodious voice.  “I am so pleased to meet a friend of Mr. Eccleston’s.”  

“As am I,” he returned with a smile.  He liked her at once.  There was nothing coy about her, as he had feared.  Instead, she met his eyes with a happy and welcoming expression before turning to introduce him to her stepdaughter.

“Cornelia, dear, may I present Mr. Eccleston’s fellow officer, Lieutenant Randolph Chadd?  Mr. Chadd, this is my stepdaughter, Miss Cornelia Trent.”

He bowed again and rose to meet yet another pair of candid, laughing eyes, green as a cat’s, set in a merry face that was far from beautiful and at the same time extraordinarily attractive.  He had not been in a such a room full of beguiling females in quite some time.

“A pleasure, sir,” said Miss Cornelia as she inclined her head.  Chadd just had time to take in masses of strawberry blonde hair and an intriguing bosom above a deep aquamarine gown before being whisked away to meet the Rutledges and the Symingtons.

Lydia took his arm to steer him toward her other guests and presented him as solicitously an old friend, even though she was introducing him to her friends.  She used the opportunity to establish a general conversation in the drawing room, including both himself and Eccleston.  Beyond beauty, there was a kindness in Lydia, he realized, and a mutual regard between her and Eccleston that explained why his colleague’s current state was nothing short of exalted.

Chadd also warmed at once to Lord and Lady Rutledge, a handsome middle-aged couple, much alike in their unaffected good manners, their open affection for Lydia, and an unexpected amiability toward Eccleston as the object of her regard.

At Mrs. Trent’s request, he took the elderly Mrs. Symington down to dinner and found himself seated next to her with Miss Cornelia on his other side.  Jeremy Trent sat at one end of the table and Lydia at the other, though Chadd wondered idly why Eccleston had not been asked to stand host.  He would no doubt have made a better job of it, but perhaps it would be presuming too much. No need to put Trent’s back up over a triviality, a thing no doubt rather easily done.

It was very nearly a family party.  The Rutledges were on intimate terms with all of the Trents, and Mr. and Mrs.  Symington were clearly old family friends as well.  Emphasis on the old, Chadd thought wryly.  Mrs. Symington, who was seated on his right, was deaf as an adder, relieving him of any obligation other than to smile at her occasionally and help her to the ragoo of celery, of which she seemed inordinately fond.

He was a little flattered that Cornelia Trent paid him more attention than she did Lord Rutledge on her left.  She professed complete ignorance of naval matters, but asked surprisingly perspicacious questions.  He was quite used to ladies’ inquiries about uniforms and rank, but Miss Trent appeared far more interested in weightier matters, such as gunnery and impressment.  He could not help being rather impressed himself.

Directly across the table, Eccleston’s bright head was partially obscured by a fruit-laden epergne and a battery of large silver candlesticks, but it appeared that he had engaged Lady Rutledge’s full attention.  Thus Jeremy Trent sat as a marooned desert island between the two older ladies, eating and drinking to some excess and pausing occasionally only to call for more claret.

* * *

Chadd was not opposed in principle to the civilized postprandial interlude that left gentlemen to their drinking, smoking, and desultory conversation; the dining room was warm, however, and he soon excused himself and went in search of the ladies.

Pausing at the head of the staircase to straighten his uniform jacket, he heard a soft rustling behind him and turned just in time to see the bright hem of Miss Trent’s gown disappearing into a softly lit room at the end of the dark hall.  Curiosity took him to the doorway of what was revealed as a small conservatory, but as soon as she spoke he wondered if he had not been meant to follow.

“This room is cool in the evenings, Mr. Chadd, if that is the relief you seek,” said Miss Trent’s disembodied voice.  It took him a moment to locate her since she was seated nearly within the fronds of an enormous fern.  He was astonished to realize that she was smoking a small cigar and must have reacted quite visibly because she burst out laughing.

“Do come and sit down,” she invited with a smile.  Miss Trent indicated an elegant wicker chair quite close beside her.  

“You are shocked,” she ventured after a moment.  Though little alike in looks, she and her stepmother apparently shared a singularly forthright manner.

“I assure you I am not, madam,” he replied, although he was a bit.  Actresses and courtesans might partake of tobacco but it was impossible to imagine his sisters, for example, doing such a thing, albeit they were much of an age and of a similar background to Miss Trent.  Or perhaps not so similar, since his two spinster sisters subsisted quietly at home in Suffolk while the married ones lived, as far as he was aware, equally circumscribed lives in homes of their own.

Miss Trent, he had been given to understand, lived apart from her family in rooms and spent her time assisting serious writers with their manuscripts and attending a variety of improving salons.  From the description, he had expected a fearsome bluestocking but her person and demeanor were unexpectedly charming.

She was quite at her ease now, fixing him with a steady gaze, and he took the opportunity to study her more closely.  In his experience, ladies over twenty-five were invariably assiduous in their use of powder and such, but Miss Trent was not so inclined.  Yet, in conjunction with her lively eyes, her mirthful expression seemed to make her sparkle.

“Lovely room, this.” Chadd craned his neck around and upward to the glass roof.  “Very . . . restful.” Candles glimmered  from the wall sconces and from great wrought iron stands, their reflections mirrored in a multitude of glass panes.  Among the green palms and darker green ferns, wavering shadows created more than one likely spot for secluded conversation.

“It’s more or less a glorified green-house during the day,” said Miss Trent, “but Lydia favors keeping this little retreat open during parties.  Papa’s political friends were always jogging along here for a private natter about one earth-shattering crisis or another.”

“I really know nothing of politics,” he answered disingenuously.

“Oh, I imagine you do,” she said with wave of her hand, “but that is not why you are here.”

Chadd gave a courtly little bow from his seat. “Pray tell me then why I am here, madam.”  

“Conversation, you simpleton, on a matter that interests us both,” was her rejoinder, the impudence of her words softened considerably by her warm tone and ready smile.  “Let us get down to cases, shall we?  

“Your friend Eccleston,” she went on, “has made my stepmama very happy, do you not agree?”  He did agree and obligingly told her so.

“And Mr. Eccleston seems equally content, would you not say so?”  He did say so.  It was indisputable.

“It is a pity, then,” Miss Trent continued, “a very great pity -- no, it is more than that, it is a hard thing indeed, that Mr. Eccleston does not seem to bring himself to propose marriage to her.”

Ah, she was one of those ladies, Chadd realized.  One who took it upon herself to set to rights every aspect of the lives of those whom she loved -- or more likely the lives of nearly everyone with whom she was acquainted, for she did seem to have a rather practiced facility for such undertakings.  In spite of this, he felt he could trust her.

Eccleston liked her, he knew. Cornelia had not only welcomed Eccleston into Lydia’s life, she had gone out of her way to become friends with him.  They were both demon chess players, for instance, and Lydia left them to it, for she said she had never had the requisite concentration, such that her husband had despaired of her.  Chadd could well believe that Miss Trent excelled at chess.  For all her straightforward manner, she was clearly a woman who thought things through.  He could hear the wheels whirring in her brain even now.

“He really does not feel that he can,” he said to her as gently as he could.  “Naval officers generally do not marry until they are posted captain, you know.  Not unless they have a private income, and Mr. Eccleston sadly lacks such means.  I believe he loves Mrs. Trent -- your stepmama -- very dearly. Dash it, I know he does, but . . . .”

“It is his pride then, is that it?  Oh, I see.”  She was quiet for a moment, except that her right foot was beating a swift tattoo on the flagstone floor.

“Got it in one; well done, ma’am.  But that is no small obstacle, I hope you understand.  Forgive my bluntness.  I can see that Mrs. Trent is well off, but I believe he would wish to provide for his wife and family himself.  I do not imagine he could bring himself to . . . .”

Miss Trent interrupted with some asperity. “Yes, yes, I quite take your point.  But matters are not always as they seem, are they, Mr. Chadd?  I will speak bluntly as well.  Lydia has no fortune worthy of the name.  The family estate is all entailed and she must rely on trustees for anything out of the ordinary at all.  Jeremy’s one of them, of course.”

She took a deep breath, thereby drawing Chadd’s eyes once again to the gently swelling mounds that rose above the neckline of her gown.  For the first time that evening, her expression was serious.  “I’ll speak to him, but you can see for yourself what a self-centered ass he is.  I don’t hold out much hope that he will be anxious to release funds to support a marriage.”

Chadd regarded her thoughtfully.  “You are very fond of your stepmother, I see.”

Though it was not a frivolous observation, this made her laugh again at once.  “She is not the cruel stepmother from the fairy tale, you will allow.  Indeed, I loved her as soon as I met her, for it was clear that she made my sad papa so happy.”  She leaned toward him, her voice grown earnest again.

“Lydia has a great capacity for happiness and she encourages it in others as well.  All her friends know this, even Sophie as silly as she is.  Only Jeremy is oblivious.  But I shall see what can be done.”

She straightened up, her hands on her knees in a posture of great resolve.  “And you must do the same in respect of Mr. Eccleston.”

His only reply was to raise an eyebrow, but she understood him at once.  “You must make him understand that it is no disgrace to marry the woman you love if the proper . . . arrangements can be made.  The source of those arrangements is beside the point.”

He was not at all sure that he agreed with her and was nearly certain that his fellow officer would not take kindly to interference of that nature.  Naturally, Eccleston would abhor the thought of taking Lydia Trent to live on his pay in some inferior rented house in Chatham or Portsmouth and then leaving her for months upon end.  Equally, and public perception aside, he would abhor living off of her means -- if she had means.

As though she sensed his reluctance, Miss Trent reached for his hand.
“Yes, yes, Mr. Chadd, I know -- subtlety is called for.  Rome was not built in a day and all that.  But promise me you will make a start; come let us shake hands on the bargain.”

He took her proffered hand in his own and pressed it lightly.  “I know when I am bested, Miss Trent.  I am not sure what can be accomplished, but you have convinced me to be your servant in this matter, so I shall try.”

* * *
It was inconvenient to say the least that the very next day, Chadd received orders to report back on board Justinian at the end of the following week.  Not surprisingly, his lovelorn first lieutenant had received the same orders.  Meeting by prior appointment at the chop house off St. James’s, they each spent nearly two and six on the best dinner on offer as well as an undetermined amount of claret.

Chadd might have dined better at his lodgings and Eccleston could eat as well as the King at Lydia’s table, but for the moment each craved the encouragement that only the other could provide.  They speculated that Captain Keene was calling back his officers in advance of recruiting a full crew and that many other captains were doing the same. The news from the Continent was disturbing, but to a naval officer anxious for promotion and prize money, no circumstance could be more desirable than what appeared to be an inevitable war with France.

Eccleston, though, was clearly torn between his hopes of honor, glory and prizes on the one hand and his reluctance on the other to leave the woman for whom he desired to win such accolades.  He was in a bad way by the end of the evening, hiccupping and nearly on the verge of tears. 

Chadd had begun to feel just a bit sorry for himself as well. Departing so soon, he would have to ask his tailor to send his new uniforms after him.   More to the point, however, he had got in hardly any carousing  since arriving in London and there was precious little prospect left of any roister worthy of the name.

He tipped his head to empty his glass and reached for the bottle to refill Eccleston’s glass as well as his own.  Both lieutenants sighed mightily as they resolved to leave for Portsmouth by post on Wednesday week.

* * *

On the Sunday afternoon, Cornelia Trent stretched gracefully and turned over, enjoying her post-coital languor. She pulled the pale quilted coverlet over her bare breasts, for the fire had died down. Though her lightly-sleeping bedfellow cast off a certain amount of heat, the room was not overly warm.

Mr. Chadd’s sunny lodgings occupied the second floor in a genteel house off Bedford Square, with windows that looked out now on bare branches.  Her own rooms were also in Bloomsbury, but she did not entertain gentlemen there.  If fact, she entertained few gentlemen at all, though Chadd -- she never thought of him as Randolph -- was not her first lover and certainly would not be her last. 

Oh, she liked him, had liked all of them well enough.  It was just that she reserved the right to give herself where and how she chose.  She did not necessarily object to marriage; only to the ensuing lack of independence and to the relentless marriage market for young women.  Her father had turned a blind eye and, giving in to Lydia’s entreaties on her behalf, had allowed her to live on her own, sharing premises with other ladies of the same literary bent and who were otherwise like-minded.

So she had embarked upon a life of books, discourse, manuscripts, ink-stained fingers, bread-and-cheese for dinner, and lots and lots of laughter, with an occasional dalliance thrown in for good measure.  She had never been in love, considering herself far too selfish a creature ever to be so, but the act of love, the physical connection, she had found was quite another matter.

Perhaps she was not entirely single-minded when she had first visited Chadd’s lodgings the previous Thursday afternoon, unannounced and with the supposed intention of plotting further toward a sanctioned union between her stepmama and Mr. Eccleston.  Chadd hardly batted an eye and offered her a glass of canary and a seat by the fire, balancing himself on a wobbly footstool and giving her his full attention. 

One thing, perhaps not surprisingly, had led to another.  When he took her hand to console her for her brother’s boneheaded recalcitrance, they both stood up at once and, from merely pressing her hand, he moved to embrace her.  From embracing her, he fell to kissing her forehead and from there to brushing her cheek with his lips and then, well, her head turned and his warm mouth was upon hers, tasting of canary and passion and then, and then . . . .

She sighed and snuggled closer to Chadd’s lean back as he dozed upon his side.  What he lacked in a lover’s refinement, he made up for in unbridled enthusiasm and even gratitude.  Not given to self-delusion, she was sure he would gladly have taken up with some artiste or light-skirt if left long to his own devices.  But this was better.

If she asked, she was sure he would write to her from Portsmouth, for her plans to unite Eccleston and Lydia were as strong as ever.  Jeremy was proving a tough nut to crack and she had in mind to recruit Lady Rutledge to the cause.  She did not see how anything definitive could be accomplished before Chadd and Eccleston departed in a few days, but did not care if she had to travel the length and breadth of England to achieve her purpose.  Any of the channel ports were withn easy enough reach to a woman with her resources and her resolve.

Her mind at peace for the moment, she reached out to her companion.  “Chadd,” she whispered, “wake up!  ‘Tis gone four o’clock and  I should so much like to have you again before I leave.”

He rose slowly up on his elbows and looked askance at her with one pale blue eye while the other remained closed in a pretence of reluctance.  “Cornelia, my love,” he growled. “I swear you are the most insatiable wench.  I cannot wait to be back aboard ship and in peace.”

Her bold hand began searching beneath the covers.  “So you say, Mr. Chadd, but what are we to do with this great big hard -- " His movements were unexpectedly quick and she yelped in response. 

“Oh, my goodness, I don’t mind if I do!” 

And with that, Cornelia stopped talking for quite some time.

* * *

Perhaps to take his mind off his own troubles, Eccleston had twitted Chadd relentlessly about Cornelia all the way to Portsmouth. “Just think, old man,” he said as the coach jolted out of Petersfield, “if everything were to work itself out, in time I could become your steppapa by marriage -- more  or less.  How would you like that?”

Chadd snorted in response.  “Since I must treat you with the greatest respect once we are aboard ship, sir, I will tell you now that you are an insufferable ass and be done with it.  Miss Trent and I are merely friends.”

“Right you are,” his superior answered.  “But you do realize that if she makes up her mind to be more, your goose will not only be cooked but stewed, sliced and served for dinner.”

“Good God,” said Chadd, swallowing hard.

They rejoined Justinian at Spithead, finding that she left the dockyard in rather better repair than might have been expected.  Eccleston’s cabin had even had a new coat of paint, though the pokey hole that Chadd would share with another lieutenant seemed much the same.

By June, the ship was to have brought on a full crew, so recruiting had begun in earnest in several of the south counties.  Both Eccleston and Chadd remained aboard to sign men on, get them settled and begin drilling them into some semblance of a functioning crew.  Their routine was relieved only by the mails.

Two weeks since leaving London, Eccleston now had the letter Lydia had given him when she left, several more besides, and a lock of her hair tied with a ribbon and placed reverently in his pocket book.  He read her letters each evening, folding them with care and storing them in his sea chest.

She wrote to him passionately and with a beautiful hand; he did not feel his letters to her came close to doing hers justice, though he did try.  He told her little of his daily life, fearful that it would sound dreary and not in the least heroic.  It was his responsibility to see to it that landsmen learned their business, that able seamen did not grow so restless that they maimed each other, that the ship was properly provisioned, that the purser did not cheat the captain.  Et cetera.  Dull.  Dull, dull, dull.

Early in the summer, the ship bulging with nearly a full complement, the officers began conducting gunnery practice in earnest, though a lack of powder and shot meant the drills would be of only marginal use when and if Justinian were ever truly put to the test.  Chadd was quite competent, as was the ship’s master, Mr. Bowles, but with the exception of Kennedy, who was young but showed promise, the midshipmen were mostly nincompoops.  Simpson was the other exception.  He appeared to be not so much an idiot as a bully, though it was hard to catch him out.

Summer stretched on into fall and then into winter.  Eccleston fell into his cot dead tired each night, with nothing to look forward to but an occasional visit to Portsmouth and the arrival of the post.  The dank weather and his separation from Lydia brought him very low. 

After Christmas, another midshipman arrived, a Mr. Hornblower.  Clever, if a bit sullen.  Finding him at the rails one day bearing unmistakable signs of having been in a fight (though he denied it), Eccleston sent him up the rigging on one of the most miserable days of the new year.  When the lad said nothing, he could only relent and bring him down.  Keene liked the boy, and unlike most of he others he studied hard and seemed actually to comprehend the principles of navigation.

The dreary winter continued on.  Then suddenly an event hundreds of miles away changed everything.

* * *

HMS Justinian
Spithead, Portsmouth
23 January, 1793

My Dear Lydia,

Forgive the haste of this letter.  I have but little time at present for reasons you will soon understand.  As you must have heard, the revolutionaries in France have executed King Louis.  Although this event will certainly have been hard on the old boy, I have to regard it as quite fortuitous. 

War is now clearly inevitable and thus a third of the officers and crew of Justinian are to be transferred at once to the frigate Indefatigable under Sir Edward Pellew.  Truly, Lydia, this is the best possible news.  It means not only prize money but the chance of promotion.  Even, if God were to smile on me, a chance to be posted captain.  If such a thing were to transpire, dear girl, I would find myself in a position to ask you a question I have long wished to ask.

Now, I ask only for your prayers for my success and safety, and for our Nation, which will assuredly prevail in this righteous and glorious fight. 

With all my love,

Francis

P.S.  I believe Indefatigable will remain at Portsmouth for about ten days while provisioning is completed, so I shall be able to post additional letters in that time and to receive yours as well.  After that, you must continue to write, as shall I, even though it will not be certain when any letter will be received.

Mrs. Trent
Golden Square
London

* * *

“Good Lord!” exclaimed Cornelia when she learned of Eccleston’s hurried letter.  “A frigate!  Mr. Eccleston must think he has died and gone to heaven.”  And Mr. Chadd as well, she thought privately.  Both were vital young men who would be leaping at a chance to make their fortunes and serve their Country at the same time.

“A frigate?” asked Sarah Rutledge, who was hopeless about such matters.  “Is that a very large vessel then?”

“No indeed, Lady Rutledge,” Cornelia answered as patiently as she could.  “A frigate is not a large ship, she is a fast ship, a dangerous ship -- a ship to capture French ships, kill Frenchmen, take prizes.”

Lady Rutledge shivered at Cornelia’s bloodthirsty exuberance even as she continued:  “Captain Pellew has an unequalled reputation in command of a frigate.  Mr. Eccleston is fortunate indeed.”  Cornelia, who was usually somewhat detached in manner, was fairly bouncing in her chair with excitement.  She all but spilled her tea onto Lady Rutledge’s fine turkey carpet as she turned to her stepmother.

“Lydia!  You do realize this means there’s not a moment to lose.  We must leave for Portsmouth at once.”

“What?”  Lydia, though she yearned to see Francis after nearly a year of separation, was scandalized.  “How could I possibly do such a thing?  It would be forward beyond belief.”

“Oh, I shall come with you and there is a very good reason why you should go.  Lady Rutledge and I have had our thinking caps on and at last we have come up with a plan.  Now that Mr. Eccleston is about to set sail, we must make haste.  You do want him to propose to you, do you not?”

Lydia shook her head.  “Cornelia, I despair of you . . . .”

“Despair of me if you like, my dear Stepmama,” said Cornelia fondly, “but it is settled.  Lady R shall have an interview with my brother this evening and you and I shall leave for Portsmouth in the morning.

“Come, come, let us take our leave.  I shall explain everything on the way home.”

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