Chapter 1: Mirabel (Autumn, 1805)

The girl was skinny and looking down at her shoes timidly. Her dress was too small and not too clean and her shoes showed a lot of wear. She was standing there in the entrance hall with a solemn looking man who was wearing a black coat.

Thomas did not know what to make of the two strangers. He had been summoned from his room upstairs by his father who stood there with his arms crossed over his chest. His mother also stood and watched the scene.

“Father, you called for me?” Thomas asked.

“Yes. This is Mr. Elias Wright. He is a barrister from London.”

“Your servant, Sir,” fifteen year-old Thomas said automatically, his schooling helping him.

“And yours, Master Grey,” the barrister said evenly.

“Perhaps now, that my family is in presence, you can explain the reasons of your visit?” Thomas’s father spoke.

“Indeed, Mr. Grey, indeed. Madam, do you remember your late sister’s husband, Mr. John Goodwin?”

“I certainly do, not that I am in any way fond of the memory. I still blame him for my poor sister’s death,” Margaret Grey said icily.

“My apologies then, Madam. Did you know that he married again?”

“I heard about it. Some girl he brought home from Jamaica or some other place.”

“Barbados, to be precise,” Mr. Wright nodded. “The second Mrs. Goodwin gave birth to a girl who was baptised Mirabel Goodwin. Five weeks ago, on the evening of March 30, Mr. Goodwin returned home from a tavern, having lost heavily at cards. Apparently, Mrs. Goodwin complained about his gambling habits, and in a fit of drunk rage, Mr. Goodwin beat her to death with an iron poker.”

“The foul ruffian!” Thomas’s mother cried. “He claimed my sister fell down the stairs, but I never believed him!”

“Well, this time he could not claim that an accident had befallen his wife. The neighbours found him with the bloody poker in his hand. To make a long story short, he was arrested, tried for murder, convicted and hanged last week. As his barrister, it fell to me to identify living relatives for his only child, Mirabel. This is the reason for my visit.”

The Greys, realising the significance of the little girl, looked at her as one.

“Why, she’s part Negro!” Thomas’s father exclaimed.

Indeed she was, Thomas could now see. Her skin was not black, not like the Negro coachmen of the rich sugar planters he had seen in London. It was actually quite light, if a touch dusky. Her hair was of a dark brown and curly, and her prominent forehead and small nose confirmed her mixed ancestry.

“Yes, indeed,” Mr. Wright confirmed. “For those concerned with these things, her mother was a quadroon.”

“You want us to take in that scoundrel’s offspring?” Thomas’s mother exclaimed.

“Madam, you’re the only relatives I could identify in my search. Mr. Goodwin did not leave many worldly possessions, and what he owned was confiscated by the court. If I leave her at one of the orphanages, she’ll end up in those places that Mr. Goodwin frequented. Perhaps you could find it in yourself to give her employment?”

“What do I care where that man’s daughter...” Thomas’s mother started, but something made her stop. Two fat tears had dropped on the girl’s shoes as she stood there with her head bowed and her shoulders hunched.

She was not the only one to see it. Before he knew it, Thomas stood before the girl and offered his handkerchief. She did not see it it seemed, but now his mother was kneeling at his side. She lifted the girl’s face and using Thomas’s handkerchief, dabbed her eyes.

“What’s your name, girl?” she asked in a much gentler tone.

“M-Mirabel, Madam,” came the almost whispered answer.

Then she raised her head and looked at Thomas and his mother. He knew his mother to be a good hearted woman and he could see her struggle with conflicting emotions. She looked at her husband for guidance.

Theodore Grey shrugged. “It’s not the girl’s fault who her parents were. She can help around the house if you want that.”

“Oh, dear! Mirabel, did you learn something? What did you do when you were still at home?”

“I ... I went to school with the Widow Plimpton. I can read and write, and I know numbers too. I learned to stitch and to knit, and a little bit of cooking too.”

Thomas was astonished. As soon as he’d heard she was part Negro, he had assumed that she would be illiterate and lacking any advanced skills.

“How old are you, Mirabel,” his mother asked next.

“Almost twelve, Madam.”

Margaret Grey came to a decision. She stood and faced the barrister.

“Mr. Wright, we can take the girl in. Has she any possessions worth keeping?”

“Only a small valise in the coach with a change of clothes and a nightgown. The rest, including her better clothes, went for sale to cover the expenses incurred during the trial.”

Theodore Grey shook his head. “Well, we can find something for her. Will there be any documents to sign?”

The barrister nodded his head. “If you were so kind as to sign this transfer document,” he produced a paper from his breast pocket, “then the Council will reimburse me for the travel.”

Theodore Grey carefully read the document before he went over to a small desk where he opened an inkwell and selected a quill. Then he signed the paper and waved it to let the signature dry.

“Here you are, Mr. Wright. I believe that this concludes our business?”

“Yes, indeed. I thank you for the consideration you showed for this poor girl,” Mr. Wright smiled. Without looking at his charge, he then bade his farewells. Thomas went to the coach with the man to retrieve the pitiful, small bag containing the girl’s possessions and saw the barrister off.

Returning to the house, his father looked at him.

“I’ll wager a guinea that this was a good business for the fellow. The Council is likely to give him a premium for getting rid of an orphan they’d otherwise would have to care for. Well, it would seem that we have a new household member.”

For reasons only known to herself, Margaret Grey decided to employ Mirabel Goodwin as her personal maidservant. Over the next days and weeks, the Greys grew accustomed to the girl as she went about her tasks with great willingness and open gratitude to her mistress.

Thomas did not see very much of her. He had attended the Royal Navy Academy in Portsmouth for the last three years, and he was expecting his posting to a man o’war. His father had reached the rank of commander before he retired to his family possessions, and from age 9 to 12, Thomas had been registered as a captain’s servant on board his father’s ship, the sloop Cormorant of 18 guns. Those prior 3 years of sea service, together with the two years of sea service credited from the academy, made Thomas eligible for an immediate posting as a midshipman, whilst other graduates of the academy, who were referred to as midshipmen ordinary, needed two years of sea service to attain regular midshipman’s rank.

He was also impatient to get an appointment, for the news of the victorious Battle of Trafalgar had galvanised the young cadets of the academy, and they all wanted to be part of the glory.

He frequently rode into the nearest town, Guildford, where a fencing master was teaching youngsters the rudiments of sword play. Theodore Grey wanted his son to be prepared not only for possible ship board melees but also for the still frequent duels. Consequently, young Thomas was also schooled in marksmanship with the pistol.

His less pleasant tasks were to assist his father in keeping the books of the estate. The Greys owned 2,600 acres of which more than 1,000 were tillable. The woods on the property produced timber but also the pulp needed by the paper makers in Guildford. Lastly, cattle and sheep could be raised where the plough would not work. Almost 30 tenants worked the lands and paid their lease to the Greys, yielding a substantial income for the family. Theodore Grey had no caretaker, but he administered the lands himself and was adamant that his son should learn this part of being a landowner too.

This moderately busy life came to an end some three months after Mirabel Goodwin’s arrival, when a letter arrived from the Admiralty in London, ordering Midshipman Thomas Grey to Portsmouth where he was to report for duty on board His Majesty’s sloop of war Wolverine (18). A posting! And to a sloop of war! This meant only a small number of fellow midshipmen or master’s mates and certainly a better chance to distinguish himself than in one of the 74-gun behemoths. Those sloops were also kept busy and spent little time in harbour.

In a whirlwind, Thomas’s sea chest was packed. A farewell dinner was arranged for the same evening with a few friends who lived nearby, and the maids were in frantic activity to clean and press the last items of his uniform. Little Mirabel, as she was being called by then, participated with great eagerness, and when he thanked her for her efforts she blushed and curtsied.

“Master Grey, I wish you the best of fortune!” she said with a firm voice. “You were very kind to me when I arrived. Here, this is from me!”

With this she handed him a set of brand new handkerchiefs embroidered with his name and fled the room, leaving behind a confused young man. Nevertheless, he carefully packed all but one of the handkerchiefs into his sea chest.

On the next morning, Thomas Grey left home after a brief and early breakfast with his parents. He was dressed in his new midshipman’s uniform, a cocked hat on his neatly queued blonde hair. In his coat he carried a stack of pound notes and a bank draft, and at his side he wore a midshipman’s dirk. One of Little Mirabel’s handkerchiefs graced his coat sleeve, and the girl, standing in the line of the servants, noticed and gave him a tearful smile.

Then he was off to Guildford in the family’s coach where he was to catch the post chaise from London to Portsmouth. He spent an hour in the Red Lion Inn until the post chaise arrived and then wedged himself into the already crowded coach. There were four naval officers traveling with him, one of them a junior captain, and Thomas was decidedly the youngest. He kept his mouth shut and contributed nothing to the sparse conversation between the more senior officers who in turn ignored him entirely.

By afternoon, the coach arrived in Portsmouth. Thomas was the last to alight from the coach and to retrieve his chest. A porter offered his service and Thomas retained the man directing him to the port admiral’s office. Having attended the academy in Portsmouth, he knew his way. In the port admiral’s office he inquired about the Wolverine and was given directions to where she was anchored in Spithead, the sheltered waters in lee of the Isle of Wight. He had to rent a four-oar jolly boat to reach his ship costing him a half sovereign, but at least he reached his ship before dusk and in the shortest possible time.