Chapter 5: Wooing Abigail

Plymouth, June 1800

Will had kept his word writing letters to Abigail Trent thrice, once before the convoy left, once from St. Helena, and then, two weeks ago from Plymouth, letting her know about his safe return and his new station in life. She too, had kept word, and when he had returned to Plymouth, he had found over seven letters from her, waiting for him.

Now, and with little to do on the next day, a Saturday, Will took the road to Tavistock, riding along on an almost empty copper ore wagon. The two sturdy horses pulled the unloaded wagon along at a steady clip and covered the fifteen miles in a little under four hours. It was still early therefore when they arrived, and Will sought out the small cloth shop owned by Albert Trent.

There, behind the small counter, stood Abigail, even prettier than he remembered her. She was a year older, and that showed in her face, but even more so, in her body. She was taller, and even the modest dress could not hide her blossoming female forms. A small smile began to tug at the corners of her small mouth.

“Will!” she exclaimed, and the smile grew.

“Abby!”

Her smile intensified and the blush on her cheeks showed him that she liked being called that.

“You came,” she stated happily.

“I had to come,” Will answered solemnly. “You’ve been in my head for nigh on a year. So much happened to me, but I’ve kept thinking of you.”

She nodded, still smiling. “I kept thinking of you, too, Will Potter. Have you been lucky in your travels?”

“It’s been a mixed bag,” Will said. “Mister Evans died on the outward journey, the poor man. I wrote to you of him, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did. He was the purser and the man who taught you and guided you.”

“That he was. He was the closest thing to a father I ever had, and he proved it even after his death. He bequeathed the bigger part of his possessions to me, more than I knew he owned. I inherited one of his houses, the surety he left with the victualling board, and all his trading goods. They’ll make me the purser in his stead, too.”

Abigail listened with an open mouth first, but then she grasped the impact of his words.

“Oh!” she said, and her smile vanished.

Will was alarmed seeing her deflate.

“Are you not happy for my good fortune?”

She rallied and gave him a sad smile. “I am happy for you, Will, but it also means that I have hoped in vain.”

“I don’t understand, Abby!”

“Will, you’re a warrant officer now, and a man of means. You own a house — in Plymouth, right? — and trade goods. A large surety is yours as well. Surely you’ll be looking for a girl with a matching dowry now.”

“Oh, that,” Will said. “I should, shouldn’t I? Still, I came here to see you, because girls with matching dowries are bound to scoff at me. I’m an orphan born out of wedlock; I don’t even know who my father is or was, and I never got to know my mother. Meeting you scared me last year, but you were so kind and nice, and now you don’t scare me anymore for I have come to know your kind heart and soul.”

All this poured from his mouth and when he stopped, Abigail looked st him with shining eyes.

“I do have my linen chest, and my mother’s tinwares, and a few other things. There’s even Horace’s money. Uncle wouldn’t touch it.”

“See! That’s far more than what I could call my own just a year ago. Yet, what will your uncle think of me?”

A shadow fell over her face. “Uncle is not well. He was given to melancholy before, but since the news of Horace’s death, he’s been sinking deeper into despair. For all purposes, I am running this shop now, but once we run out of wares, there will be problems.”

“Is he drinking overly much?” Will asked under his breath.

“No, not that, thank God! He just sits there, staring at the wall for the whole day. Once in a while, he wakes from his brooding and takes an interest in the shop, or we would have foundered months ago.”

“And you shouldered all those problems on your own, Abby. That is something to admire. Tell me then, Abigail Trent: shall I speak for you with your uncle?”

“I should like to say yes, Will, but we’ve only known each other for but a few hours. How long can you stay?”

Will shrugged. “I had better be back in Plymouth by Sunday evening, and a week from now I’ll start working at the victualling yard, leaving me only the Sundays.”

“I thought you are the purser now?”

“Yes, and I’ll stay that, but my ship, the Serpent, needs repairs. She was pulled up on the skids for a long revision. There’s not much to do for me, and little money to earn, so I accepted the offer to work as a clerk at the victualling yard. It’ll mean decent pay and a chance to learn how to be a good purser. It may also serve me to get appointed to a bigger ship with time, you know, making myself useful for the commissioner.”

“You have ambition, Will Potter, that’s clear. Oh, dear! This is quick. Yes, Will, speak to my uncle! If he allows it and you will have me, I shall be your bride. I shall also come to Plymouth to visit you and see your house and your ship. Mistress Williams next door visits her daughter in Plymouth once a week, and I can make the journey with her, so all will be proper.”

“Would you? I’d love to show you the house and introduce you to Brewer, my housekeeper, and to my boarders.”

“You have boarders? Oh, dear! There is truly a lot to learn about you! Let me go back and talk to Uncle Albert. Don’t go away!”

With that, she disappeared through a door in the rear of the shop, leaving Will to study the small cloth shop. His knowledge of cloths was very limited, but to his mind, Mister Trent had a good selection in his shop. It took some time for the older man to emerge from his rooms in the back, but then he greeted Will with friendliness, thanking him for keeping his promises, and for “keeping up Abigail’s spirits”.

Then, without ado, he began questioning Will about his circumstances and about his intentions. Abigail was not with them, and Trent seemed to have forced himself out of his lethargy, asking pointed questions to which he received frank answers from Will. It was clear to Will that as a purser’s steward with perhaps £65 to his name, he would have been shown the door at this time, but as a freshly minted purser, a warrant officer and owner of property, he was an eminently acceptable suitor.

In the end, when Trent had no further questions, Will asked the question that was expected of him.

“Can you give me an idea of what Abigail will bring into a marriage?”

“Yes,” Trent sighed. “It’s not overly much which the siblings inherited from their poor parents and much of it was spent on Horace’s schooling. Yet, there is some left over. Of course, Abigail has her linen chest, her mother’s silver and tin and some dresses into which she’ll grow with time. The monies you returned from poor Horace will also add to her dowry, plus a little something left from their parents, £93 in all, if my memory serves me. I shall double that from my own coffers, seeing how well Abigail kept my household and tended my shop those last years. It’s not quite a match for what you can claim as your possessions, yet it’s all there is. I can also promise that Abigail will be my sole heir once my path on this earth comes to an end.”

Will nodded to that. It was far more than he had expected, and it would allow them to settle into their life together with some comfort.

“I believe this to be generous of you, Master Trent,” he therefore said.

The older man shrugged. “Abigail is all that is left of the Trents, and I want her to be happy You’ll make her a good husband, that I’ll wager.”

“I shall do my best, Master Trent. We have known each other but for a few hours, yet we already care for each other in no small way.”

“You’ll accept then, Mister Potter?”

Will swallowed. This was quick, but it was what he wanted.

“Yes, I do.”

“Then I’ll have the banns read on Sunday, and you can have the wedding four weeks hence. You can stay until Sunday, can you?”

“Yes, of course. Shall we have the celebrations here in Tavistock?”

“Certainly, Mister Potter. My niece will have a fine wedding. How many guests will you have?”

Will did a mental count. “I shall ask a few fellow officers to attend, such as our surgeon, the master, possibly Mister Barker, the 1st lieutenant, if he’s still around then. I’d also like to invite my old Master Warren, ship chandler of Shaldon, who apprenticed and raised me.”

“There’ll be few from our side, mostly neighbours. I’ll see to it. Well, this settles things save for the handshake. Here’s my hand!”

“And mine,” Will replied, gripping the offered hand and shaking it. “Thank you, Uncle.”

The older man even smiled at that. “Welcome, Nephew!”

Abigail was then summoned and told of the decision made. She smiled and stepped up to Will.

“I believe that I owe you a first kiss, my betrothed?”

Will looked into her eyes and smiled before he swept her up into his arms for a long kiss. Her lips were soft and yielding and tasted fresh.

“I’ll do my best to make you as happy as you deserve,” he promised once the kiss had ended.

“You are off to a good start,” she answered with a huge smile. “Let us have our noon meal then?”

Will spent the rest of the Friday and most of Saturday following Abigail around as she continued working in the household and in the shop, occasionally lending a hand where needed. All through this, the two young people talked. Will learned about Abigail’s sheltered early years, about the death of her parents and the years keeping her uncle’s household whilst her brother attended the Naval Academy in Portsmouth. She had only two girlfriends in Tavistock, and both would attend the planned wedding.

Will told her about his apprenticeship with Master Warren, of his innocent wooing of Eve Wicklow, of the fateful confrontation with the young Prentiss and of the trial which led to him volunteering. He also told her of his life in the Serpent and of the endless voyages around the world.

Whenever the two felt unobserved, they also eagerly exchanged kisses, with Will’s hands roaming over Abigails blossoming body. Yet, he kept them above her clothing, sensing that more would scare his intended. Yet, by Saturday evening, when Will fell asleep in the small chamber that had once been Horace’s, the two had grown to know each other well enough to be certain of their plans.

Come the next morning, and after a good breakfast prepared by Abigail, they all went to church together. The Reverend Mickelson gave Will a friendly smile when they sat in the Trents’ usual pew, and by the end of the mercifully short service, he duly read out the banns.

“I herewith announce the banns of marriage between William Potter, ship’s purser of Devonport, and Abigail Elisabeth Trent of Tavistock. This is the first time of asking. If any of you know cause or just impediment why these two persons should not be joined together in Holy Matrimony, ye are to declare it.”

Surprised as they were about the announcement, none of the parishioners voiced a complaint, but rather looked curiously at the tall young man in the blue Navy coat who would marry young Abigail.

Once in front of the church, neighbours and friends of the Trents surrounded the young couple, offering their best wishes. Abigail wore a permanent blush on her face, but she fervently held on to Will’s hand all through the introductions.

To celebrate, the young couple and Abigail’s uncle had Sunday dinner in The Market Inn, a small but well kept public house. It would also host their wedding dinner, Albert Trent told them.

The elder Trent also found Will transportation to Plymouth. There were a number of Tavistock residents who worked in Plymouth during the week and vice versa, and an enterprising young fellow, the son of a wagon master, earned himself some extra money by offering rides to Plymouth and back for sixpence a head on Friday, Saturday and Sunday afternoons, whilst his father enjoyed some leisure time. Will made certain to memorise the times and places of departure, for he planned on seeing his bride on the following weekends.

Arriving in Plymouth well before supper time, Will visited St. Andrew’s Church, figuring that he was now a member of that parish. The Reverend Atherton was available, a portly, cheerful man, who received the young sailor with a broad smile. Will explained how he had come into his inheritance and that he had a bride in Tavistock. The rules said that the banns had to be read on three Sundays before the wedding in both bride and groom’s home parish churches, and Mister Atherton agreed to read them the first time during the evening service, thus fulfilling the nominal condition, as it was clear that nobody in the congregation would know Will from Adam. It was a mere formality to observe.

Will returned to his house then and found Brewer preparing the supper.

“There you are, Master Potter,” she smiled. “I’ve put on a stew for you, the gentlemen and Miss Faversham.”

“Why, that is thoughtful of you, Brewer,” Will complimented her. “I’ll attend the evening service at St. Andrew’s tonight. Kindly see to it that we shall sup in time.”

“Oh, Mister Evans never attended church. Do you wish for me to go, too?”

“Oh, no. I’ll have to attend during the next Sundays. Reverend Atherton will read the banns for me and my bride.”

“Lord ‘a mercy! Your bride?”

“Yes, Brewer,” Will smiled. “Miss Abigail Trent, of Tavistock, heard my wooing with favour. The banns were read this morning in Tavistock, and you may want to keep the Sunday four weeks hence free to attend the wedding.”

“She’s the girl you’n Mister Evans talked of, the sister of your slain shipmate?”