Chapter 16: Bad tidings

October, 1812

After two weeks of cruising along the Spanish coast, Dido finally caught up with Commodore Clancy’s squadron near Tarragona. The squadron shortened sail to allow Dido to join, and before the night fell, Thomas had delivered the documents from the Gibraltar prize court to Clancy. Clancy had obviously overcome his consternation, and he employed Dido in a forward position as the frigates swept along the coast in a north-easterly direction.

It was Dido that cut off a French blockade runner from seeking shelter in Barcelona, allowing Circe to catch the brig after a brief chase. She was carrying supplies for Marshal Marmont’s army and was despatched to Gibraltar with a small prize crew.

The squadron sailed further north and attacked the anchorage at Llança once more. Three small ships were caught there whilst their crews escaped to the shore, another battery of nine-pounder field pieces was destroyed, and a landing party commanded by Lt. Muir destroyed a French depot. The small ships being of little value, Commodore Clancy ordered them sunk, and the squadron took course for Toulon to report to Sir Edward Pellew.

With a hot Scirocco wind blowing from the South, the four frigates flew across the Golfe du Lyon reaching the fleet off Toulon in a mere 14 hours.

Sir Edward Pellew was flying his flag in HMS Saint George, the former Brittannia, a 100-gun first-rate nick-named Old Ironsides. Commodore Clancy reported to the admiral whilst the frigates hove to near the flagship.

A half hour later, a signal was hoisted on the flagship, “Flag to Dido: report to flagship!” Lt. Muir ordered the gig ready whilst Thomas hurriedly collected his papers, his sword and hat, and rushed down into the gig. The crossing took some time, and Thomas tried to fathom the reasons for the summons. Had Clancy complained about him? If yes, for what reason? Did Pellew have another ship for him? He’d only had the Dido for seven months, and he was still one of the most junior captains.

Thomas was met at the port by the flag captain, Sir John Moorehead, and quickly led aft. Clancy was still in the admiral’s cabin and looked at Thomas with sympathy. Admiral Pellew stood when Thomas entered. He too looked grave.

“Captain Grey, it is my sad duty to inform you of the death of Commander Theodore Grey and his wife. It would seem that they were both killed when a tree branch fell on their coach during a thunderstorm. My deeply felt sympathies, Captain.”

“My condolences, Captain,” Clancy added.

“There are several letters for you that came in the last package, Sir,” the flag lieutenant added. “One of them is from a solicitor in Guildford.”

Thomas took the proffered envelopes automatically, his mind still whirling. His parents were dead. His father who had been his idol, the man after which he modeled his own conduct, the man who had always been supportive, was no more. His mother, caring and gentle, meddling and sometimes infuriating, yet always looking out for his best, was no more. He had no family left whatsoever. Then his look fell on the topmost envelope. The address was written in Mirabel’s hand. He still had Mirabel, his quasi cousin. He shook himself out of his numbness.

“Captain, not much will be happening here over the winter,” Pellew said comfortingly. “You should probably take a brief leave of absence. Take one of the supply ships to England, settle your affairs, and then return to your command. I take it that your 1st lieutenant is capable?”

Thomas nodded automatically. “He ... he has a reprimand in his papers, but I am certain that he was made a scapegoat for others, Sir. I have come to know him as loyal, conscientious and active. A perfect 1st lieutenant, as far as my limited experience tells me.”

“Well, your ship will be in good hands then. I shall have your orders ready in an hour.”

Thomas nodded. “Thank you for your understanding, Sir Edward.”

“We all have family back home,” Pellew sighed. “Settle your affairs, and then come back. I’ll send over one of my young gentlemen as acting lieutenant to fill the gap. Now you had better get your kit ready. We took the liberty to secure a cabin for you in the Abigail brig. She’ll be sailing for Plymouth tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Sir Edward. I had better leave now to arrange things.”

“Yes, Captain. I hope to see you again soon. We need all our good officers.”

Once back in Dido‘s after cabin, the numbness befell Thomas again. He shook it off with an effort and had the word passed for Lt. Muir. Muir appeared only a few moments after the summons.

“Mr. Muir, I have received bad news from home, and I need to take passage to England. With Admiral Pellew’s agreement, you will take command of Dido pro tempore until my return. The Admiral will send over an acting lieutenant to fill the gap.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Sir. The hands will be dismayed; they view you as our lucky charm.”

Thomas smiled weakly. “I plan to return. The one good thing coming out of this is that you can prove yourself. You’re an excellent 1st lieutenant, and now you can show that you are an excellent captain too.”

Muir smiled wryly. “Thank you, Sir. The bad news, can you speak about it?”

Thomas inhaled deeply. “My parents both perished when their coach was hit by a fallen branch. I have to return to take possession of our lands and to appoint a good caretaker. I must also make provisions for my father’s ward.”

“My deeply felt sympathies, Sir,” Muir said, shaking his head. “My father fell at The Saints; I never knew him.”

“Such is our life,” Thomas sighed. “Be that as it may, take advantage of the situation. You have earned this chance.”

“I will do my best, Sir, and I thank you from my heart for giving me this chance.”

“I’ll be leaving the ship before evening. Prepare for taking command, Mr. Muir. That’s all. I need to read these letters now.”

“Of course, Sir. Let me know if we can be of help, Sir!”

Muir retreated, and Thomas took a deep breath. From the letters, he picked up Mirabel’s first. Breaking the seal, he unfolded the paper and began to read.

My dear Thomas,

I have the terrible duty to give you the worst of news: your dear parents were both mortally wounded three days ago when they returned from Guildford in the middle of a terrible thunderstorm. Nobody knows if it was the high winds or a lightning strike, but a large branch from an old oak tree on the wayside fell onto them as they were speeding along the lane. One of Mr. Ogilvie’s farmhands found them and alarmed the house. We all rushed along the lane in the pouring rain, but when we found them there was no way for us to move the huge branch. I sent Patterson for help whilst I did my best to comfort your dear mother, since she was in great pain. Your father was unconscious, but when help arrived and the men moved the tree branch, your poor mother passed away. We brought both to the house where your father woke briefly. He was in great pain, but he spoke clearly, asking me to send his fondest regards to you. Soon after, he felt a great headache and fell into unconsciousness from which he never woke again.

We had to hold the funeral today, and I took it upon myself to issue the invitations and to thank those who attended in your name. Your father’s solicitor, Mr. Chalk, has been a great help during the preparations. He is acting as the de facto caretaker whilst I try to keep the estate running by speaking to the tenants and the merchants. I learnt a few things during my time in Sir Robert Norton’s house, and they are of good use now.

Thomas sighed deeply when he put down the letter. The poor girl! She’d had to shoulder everything, in spite of the grief she was feeling. At least she had been there to take charge. And now the tenants were making a nuisance of themselves of all things, probably hoping to take advantage of the situation. Well, they would have a rough awakening!

He opened the letter from the solicitor, Chalk, next.

Thomas sighed deeply. He would have to find a good place for Mirabel to live. He would have to arrange for his own prize monies to be invested at interest, and to have funds available for his own use. He realised how much he had still relied on his father.

Next came a letter from Mr. Egerton who professed his shock and mourning over the loss of his good friends, and who assured Thomas of his further support and friendship.

There was a letter from Mrs. Paddington bemoaning the loss of Thomas’s mother, her lifelong friend, and also her daughter’s choice of a husband, for she apparently disliked her elderly son-in-law.

Harriet-Anne had also written. She had truly liked Margaret Grey, she wrote, and she offered any form of assistance and help to Thomas, but also to Mirabel.

The other five letters came from men who were unknown to Thomas, acquaintances of his father and business partners, who let him know of their sympathies and their hopes for future business with ‘our young hero’. They had probably heard of the prize monies he had won, Thomas thought cynically.

He collected all the letters in his wooden box and sounded his bell. When Bartleby showed, Thomas could see that the man had not heard the sad news yet.

“Bartleby, we shall return to England for a short stay. There has been a terrible accident, and my parents died. I have to return to settle my affairs. I would like for you to accompany me.”

“The commander? D-dead?” Bartleby choked. Then his eyes filled with tears. “He was such a good man, Sir! Such a gentleman! Never a bad word for me!”

He was sobbing now and Thomas stood to pat the man’s back.

“He never had a reason to speak harshly to you,” Thomas said gently. “You always gave him your best effort. Now let’s pack our sea chests. We’ll have to transfer this evening.”

Bartleby heaved a deep, sobbing sigh. “I’ll see to it, Sir. I’ll be at your side, Sir. That much I owe to the Commander.”

Three hours later, Thomas, Bartleby and their dunnage was rowed over to the Abigail brig in Dido‘s cutter. The captain, an elderly man named Polk, received him at the port and showed him to a small but comfortable cabin. Abigail often transported senior officers, and her quarters were not quite Spartan.

Early on the next morning, the convoy assembled. To Thomas surprise, they would be escorted by HMS Tempest, 18, Captain Everton. She was still a fine ship, and over the next two weeks she performed her escort duties in an exemplary fashion. The convoy made good time, with the Scirocco wind still blowing hot from the South. Once past the Strait, they picked up a westerly breeze that propelled them along towards the English Channel.

Whilst most of the convoy including their escort ended their journey in Plymouth, Abigail sailed on for Portsmouth where she dropped anchor late on October 28. Thomas, with Bartleby in tow, found rooms for the night, but on the next morning, they were on the post-chaise to London. What with frequent changes of the horses, the coach rolled into Guildford in the late afternoon where they alighted in front of the Boar’s Head inn. Bartleby then found them a coachman, and some time later, they were rattling along the tree-lined lane towards the Grey’s lands.

Thomas watched the road ahead, and when he saw a freshly built cross at the roadside, he ordered the coachman to halt. Taking off his hat, his head bowed, Thomas stood at the site where his parents had perished. After a while, he looked up. The oak tree from which the branch had fallen was old and partly hollow. It should have been cut down years ago. Thomas decided to have all the trees along the lane inspected.

After a few more moments, Thomas and Bartleby climbed into the coach again for the last mile. Soon, the sound of the wheels changed when they rolled on the cobbled courtyard, and the coach came to a halt amidst the squeaking of the brake shoes.

Thomas alighted and looked at his home. There was some light behind the kitchen windows to the left, but also in the hallway. Already, the front door flew open, and out came Mirabel, dressed all in black, but showing relief and even happiness as she flew down the front steps and into Thomas’s arms.