Chapter 1: The Scholar (August 1815)

“Permission to leave ship, Captain?” Sir Thomas Grey asked. Captain James Edward Conroy had just read himself in as HMS Clyde‘s new captain, and Thomas was now on half pay.

“Permission granted, Sir Thomas,” Conroy replied formally.

Thomas saluted the quarterdeck and turned, leaving the ship through the port and climbing down into the rented barge that already held his personal items, his servant Broderick, and Mr. Midshipman Leeds for whom his father, a powerful director in the East India Company, had arranged a shore posting. The freshly replenished cabin stores and the furniture left behind by his predecessor remained with the ship, as did Pillard, the captain’s steward. Conroy had happily reimbursed Thomas for the cabin stores, and the £ 54 in his pocket would serve Thomas much better than the bulky provisions, which he would not need in the foreseeable future.

As the boat shoved off, Thomas settled in the stern sheets, planning his next moves. Mirabel, his wife, was staying at their manor house near Guildford where she had given birth to their first own child, a girl named Margaret, which Thomas had yet to see, as he had spent the spring and summer patrolling and blockading the French coast in the Clyde frigate during the former Emperor Napoleon’s Reign of the Hundred Days.

One of the last activities had been the capture of a French brigantine with a number of imperial officers, who after Napoleon’s surrender had attempted to flee from France to Martinique, likely planning to continue the fight for the imperial cause from there. In the event, Thomas had personally rescued the paramour of the ringleader from drowning, after the ruthless man had dropped her overboard in the vain hope of delaying the British frigate sufficiently to make his escape. Now the young woman, Jeanne Dumoulin by name and an aspiring actress, had proven to be an important witness against the man, forcing him to reveal his plot and his co-conspirators. For this, Thomas was told to expect recognition and awards.

His plan for now was to return to Guildford and to his family, reversing the plans for Mirabel and their daughters — they had an adopted daughter of 13 years named Teresa — to come to London. His presence in London was not required anymore, and Mirabel had answered his letter, asking him to be patient as young Teresa had fallen from a tree, badly spraining her ankle, and requiring her to rest her leg for a fortnight. It was easier for him to take the post chaise to Portsmouth and alight at Guildford, and he had written another letter to Mirabel urging her to stay at their home.

For the coming two nights, he would make use of his membership in the St. Croix gentleman’s club where he had secured one of the guest rooms, whilst his dunnage would be entrusted to one of the barges plying the trade along the Wey Navigation canal, likely to arrive in Guildford on the same day as he.

At the landing, he bid his farewell to young Owen Leeds.

“Here is where our ways must part, Mr. Leeds. Please give my regards to your parents, but also to the lovely Miss Curry!”

“Thank you, Sir Thomas, for all the example and guidance you gave me,” Leeds answered nicely. “Please convey my fondest greetings to my sister.”

His sister, Daisy Leeds, was visiting Grey Manor over the summer, together with Angela Benning, Thomas and Mirabel’s honourary aunt, and both were still living there as far as Thomas knew.

“I shall convey your greetings. I trust that your wedding plans will now move forward?”

Leeds was engaged to the young daughter of an American captain and shipowner. The girl had been a passenger in the Clyde frigate after they had captured her father’s ship, back in the summer of 1814. Now, with peace established between the British and the Americans, his future father in law was free again.

“Oh, yes, Sir Thomas. Miss Curry left no doubt that she expects me to remain in London for the months to come.”

“Only a fool would act against her wishes, Mr. Leeds,” Thomas laughed, remembering Leeds’s fiancée fondly. “You are to be counted lucky.”

“Thank you, Sir Thomas, but I know this already. I also ask you to convey my respectful greetings to Lady Grey.”

On that note they parted company. Thomas secured the services of a porter, to bring his sea chest to the St. Croix gentlemen’s club, whilst Broderick hired another porter to transport his other possessions to a barge headed for Guildford. Thomas reached the club just before noon, in time to freshen up in his room and join the other members in presence for the noon meal.

In the dining room, he saw a group of Navy officers assembling at a table, and seeing his uniform, they invited him to join them. Of course, he accepted and introduced himself.

“Sir Thomas Grey, late of the Clyde frigate.”

“John Fitzgerald Seymour, White Squadron,” the rear admiral presiding over the group answered. “Didn’t you capture that bullion ship on the Andalusian coast, back in ‘12?”

Thomas admitted that he did, accepting by now that his capture of a French general’s war booty would forever be seen as his most prominent achievement.

“Reginald Brewster, late of Superb,” another captain announced himself, and Thomas assured him of the honour he felt.

“Duncan MacRae, late of Andromeda, Sir Thomas,” the youngest of the trio, still a junior captain, proclaimed. “I believe you commanded Andromeda once?”

Thomas sat down before he answered. “Indeed. I was 3rd lieutenant in her, and when she was crippled by lightning, I had to sail her en flute to Bristol for repairs.”

“And a damn shame ‘twas that they wasted time and good money on a wreck,” MacRae opined, not mincing words at all.

“Yes, I heard that they performed a shoddy job on her,” Thomas agreed. “She’s laid up now?”

MacRae shook his head. “She’s being broken up at Sheerness.”

Seymour joined the conversation then. “Clyde was one of the ships blockading the French coast, wasn’t she?”

“Yes, Sir. We were present when Napoloen surrendered to Captain Maitland.”

“That must’ve been a sight,” Brewster exclaimed. “So, Clyde is laid up in ordinary?”

“No, I was relieved by Captain Conroy this morning. She’ll be patrolling Saint Helena to watch over Boney. I shall return to my Surrey home in the next days. There is a little girl who was born in May, and I am anxious to see her for the first time.”

Talk then turned to the fate of the late emperor Napoleon and to the latest developments on the Continent whilst the foursome enjoyed a three-course meal and two bottles of a fine Bordeaux vintage. The proprietor, the Marquis de Saint-Croix, allowed no Madeira wines, nor sherries or port wines in his club, rather paying and charging outrageous prices for French wines and brandies. With Seymour paying, Thomas had no objections.

After the dessert, the four gentlemen retired to the smoking room where Admiral Seymour acquainted them with an old brandy wine from the Marquis’s own ancestral dominions in the French Cognac region. It was indeed a heavenly treat, and an illuminating conversation.

Thomas had to recount the battle against the Algerian two-decker An-Nasr for the benefit of his fellow officers, following which he received an interesting news.

“Yon fellow, Haji Ali, the Dey, he was murdered by his own soldiery this spring,” Captain Brewster supplied. “His successor did not even survive his first month on the throne before he, too, was strangled by his Janissaries. Personally, I’d rather patrol Saint Helena than be the Dey of Algiers.”

“Haji Ali is dead, Sir? You have to know that the man held a deep grudge against me and even plotted against my wife. I deem this good news.”

When the company broke up, Thomas bid a cordial farewell to his fellow captains and a respectful one to Admiral Seymour, before he retired to his room for a brief nap.

He woke up, an hour later, feeling refreshed. Outside, the afternoon sun was shining and the air was balmy. Thomas quickly dressed and left the club for a stroll, enjoying the exercise and the sights. He walked as far as Temple Gardens and then returned walking along the river till Whitehall. From there it was just a short walk back to the St. Croix, but he found a public house where he had ale and a sandwich made of delicious, soft bread. For a man used to eating hardtack, fresh bread was close to heaven.

He had a light supper at the club after which he settled in the study where he perused the available newspapers, whilst enjoying a pint of French cider and a soft cheese the waiter called Camembert. It was indeed a wonderful combination and a welcome change from the time-honoured Port wine and Caerphilly cheese. At the suggestion of the waiter, he then closed the evening with a glass of apple brandy from Normandy, after which he retired to his room, sated and pleasantly tired.

He slept a deep, dreamless sleep and only woke up when the rays of the morning sun illuminated his room. He worked the bell pull, which connected to the upstairs servants’ quarters, and apparently alerted Broderick, for he responded within less than five minutes. One of the house servants brought warm water, giving Thomas the rare pleasure of a fresh water shave administered by Broderick.

A pot of steaming hot coffee was delivered next, along with fried eggs (fresh!) and fried bacon. It was a breakfast fit for a king, and Thomas took his time to enjoy it. Feeling magnanimous, Thomas gave Broderick the rest of the day off, but also a four-guineas premium for his excellent services, allowing the man to enjoy the amenities of the huge city. Broderick thanked him profusely and would not leave before having laid out Thomas’s shirt, breeches, stockings and cravat, and brushing out his uniform coat and cocked hat.

Properly dressed, Thomas then walked to the Admiralty once more, sending his visiting card to Admiral Barlow, who indeed received him with only a minimal delay. Thomas was brief, just asking whether Miss Jeanne Dumoulin would need the support he had promised. Barlow gave him a smile then and informed him that no, Miss Dumoulin had already found a sponsor, one with interest in two theatre companies, and that she would have her first stage appearance in two weeks’ time.

Thomas nodded, having expected nothing less from the enterprising young woman and bade his farewell, one concern less on his mind.

His next visit was to a bookseller where he purchased a number of books for Mirabel, but also for Teresa. He also found a globe there, with the newest additions and corrections. It would replace the old globe from 1764 in his study, which still had the American colonies as British territory. The bookseller promised to deliver his purchases to the St. Croix.

He stopped at a chocolate house for a light repast, and then continued his quest for gifts. A pair of gold earrings studded with small rubies caught his eye, and after some haggling with the jeweller, he made the purchase, believing that Mirabel would love them.

He also walked into Dollond of London, in Hatton Garden, to have his telescope disassembled, cleaned and reassembled. To his pleasant surprise, the work was performed free of charge, being part of their lifelong guarantee.

It was quite a busy day for him and it ended with him having dinner at the St. Croix. He returned to his room, only to find that Broderick had already laid out his clothes for the next morning and packed his sea chest. Thomas fell asleep in the comforting knowledge that he would see Mirabel again before another day would be over.

Thomas had arranged for seats in the London-Portsmouth post-chaise, and they made the thirty miles in less than six hours, including two changes of horses. It was cramped seating, even with Broderick riding with the driver, since there were three more passengers. Fortunately, being the senior officer, Thomas could claim the forward facing seat, but they were still tired and sweaty when they alighted from the coach in Guildford.

Good servant that he was, Broderick quickly found transport for them, and ere the vesper bell sounded, they arrived at Grey Manor in a rented coach. As they climbed down from the seats, Mirabel was already rushing down the front steps and into Thomas’s arms.

“You’re back, my love! You’re back!” she gushed, hugging him fiercely. Thomas revelled in the tight embrace, wrapping her into his arms and holding her tight.

“Yes, my love, I am,” he said into her hair. “I’ve missed you so much, Mirabel!”

Letting go of Mirabel, Thomas strode over to where Teresa was standing with a bundle on her arm and knelt before his two daughters.

“Hello, my little cabin mate. How are you faring as the older daughter?” he asked Teresa who giggled.

“I have so much to do now, father,” she complained with mock pathos. “Little Margaret needs my constant attention. Could you please hold her, so I may rest a little?”

Lovingly ruffling Teresa’s hair, Thomas took the little baby girl in his arms. He looked into a face that bore resemblance both to Mirabel and his own mother, but the curly dark hair had to come from Mirabel’s side.

“Hey, little one!” he crooned softly. “So you are my daughter? How pretty you are!”

There was Mirabel at his side, looking lovingly at her husband and her daughter, and Thomas leaned over to give her another kiss.

“We have a pretty daughter, my love,” he told her, making her smile even more. “In fact, we have two pretty daughters,” he added for Teresa’s benefit.

“Yes, we do,” Mirabel smiled. “Let’s go inside though before Maggie makes a mess on your arm.”

“Oh! How are you all coping?”

“Well, I hired a wet nurse and another girl for the laundry. So far, we are coping. Of course, all the mothers from within a 5-mile radius have already given me sound advice. In fact, Angela is very helpful and of course, Lisette has firsthand knowledge about little ones.”

“Where is Aunt Angela then?”

“Out, riding. She should be back soon. She enjoys the countryside very much.”

“It is good that you have so many friends here with you,” Thomas remarked.

“Isn’t it? They all kept me company in the final weeks and pampered me.”

“How did the birth go?” Thomas asked under bis breath.

“I shall get over the memory of it,” Mirabel quipped. “Over ten hours, if you must know. Yet, everything went fine according to the midwife, and I am recovering already.”

They had stepped inside, and now they were climbing the stairs whilst the servants were busy with his luggage. On the first floor landing, the wet nurse, an ample young woman named Millie, took over little Margaret, allowing Thomas to shed his coat and to undress. Using the washstand, soap and washcloth, he cleaned off the sweat and dust from the coach ride whilst Mirabel sat on the edge of their bed and watched him.

“You look skinny. Haven’t you eaten well?”

Thomas shrugged whilst he towelled himself dry.

“I believe I did. Maybe I ate too much in the first weeks in London, and now I am back to my normal appetite?”

“That’s possible. Thomas, will you be home for a while?”

“That is what Melville told me, and I trust him to keep his word.”

They found all their guests in the salon, including Angela, who gave Thomas a fierce hug.

“It is good to see you returned in good health, my dear Thomas. Elias is bound to return soon as well.”

Just then, an excited Lisette, their young cook, appeared and announced that supper was ready, and they relocated to the dinner hall. Teresa was already sitting at her place and looking longingly at the food. There was also Daisy Leeds, still pretty, and still a bit melancholic. As had been their custom before, Thomas and Mirabel sat on either side of their ward, whilst their guests found seating opposite of them.

The food was delicious after months of shipboard fare, and Thomas once more congratulated himself on hiring Lisette. The conversation flowed freely around the table, and of course, Thomas had to recount the surrender of Napoleon to Captain Maitland.

After supper, Thomas, Mirabel and Angela sat in the study, sipping some of the brandy wine, which Thomas had acquired from the helpful Captain Cremant out of Saint Gilles-Croix de Vie, and of which he had brought along a small case with six bottles.

The women filled him in on the lives of some of their acquaintances. Harriet-Anne had purchased the small manor house she had considered and had moved in with her own household a few weeks ago. She would visit in the next days.

Florence Darby had written that she and Commander Roger Darby had moved into their own little cottage in Maldon, on the Southeast Coast. Roger Darby’s sloop had been laid up, and he was currently on half pay, augmented by his accumulated prize monies and a stipend from his grandfather.

They had even heard from Catrina Duncan, or Mrs. Catrina Muir, as of May 1815. They lived in Dundee in a house purchased with Catrina’s dowry and James Muir’s prize monies. The bearer of these news was Mr. Midshipman Ordinary Michael Braithwaite, who had served in Muir’s fifth rate frigate until she was paid off after the Peace of Ghent. Now he was living with his only family, Mr. and Mrs. Egerton, the Greys’ neighbours, Mr. Egerton being the long-time Member of Parliament for Guildford.

“Well, the lad cannot be bad altogether if James Muir didn’t throw him overboard,” Thomas quipped.”

Mirabel giggled at that. “James Muir is a very good captain, and you can count on him to pass on many of your viewpoints as his own dogmata.”

Angela nodded to that. “The man adores you.”

“Well, he got many viewpoints from me that I passed on from Elias,” Thomas grinned, causing a blush of pride on Angela’s cheeks.

They left it at that, and soon after, Thomas and Mirabel retreated upstairs and to their bedroom. Mirabel then spent some time in the dressing room, but when she returned to the bedroom, where Thomas was already in his shirt and resting against the pillows, she was wearing a shy smile, but nothing else.

“I’m fully healed, my love, and anxious to feel you again.”

Thomas drank in the sight. There was still some extra padding around her belly and her hips, some stretch marks showed, but she was the woman for whom he had yearned those last months. A wide smile split his lips.

“My Mirabel, this is how I remembered you all those months.”

“I’m not quite the young woman I was.”

“No, but you are quite the woman,” Thomas quipped. “Come into my arms where you belong, my love!”

She joined him then on the bed, and for the next hours, they reacquainted themselves with each other, so much so, that Thomas overslept on the next morning, never waking up before the sun was high in the sky. It was good to be back.

The next days brought visits by almost all their neighbours. They all wanted to hear about Napoleon’s surrender, of course. There was also one peculiar caller, a Mr. Symes of the Surrey Herald, the local newspaper. He asked Thomas to write a report of Napoleon’s surrender from his viewpoint as a Navy captain who had fought the French emperor for all his adult life. It was an interesting proposal, and after discussing it with Mirabel and Angela, he accepted.

It took him almost a week to assemble a manuscript. He knew that the editor wanted more than a dry report, the likes of which Thomas had sent to his superiors for years. There had to be a personal note to his recounting of the events, but he also had to avoid self-aggrandisement, causing him to write several drafts. Mirabel and Angela helped him and gave him advice, and in the end, Mirabel, in her beautiful handwriting, produced the final manuscript which was then submitted to the Herald.