Chapter 6: A Long Winter

In the next afternoon, Thomas dropped off Mirabel at the d’Osmond’s residence for her tea with Madame d’Osmond and then continued to the St. Croix where he was able to enlist his host, the Marquis, for a critical reading of Mr. Tessier’s translation. The Marquis was a highly educated gentleman who mastered both English and French. The Marquis even confessed to owning a copy of Thomas’s book and promised to be available.

Mr. Tessier showed up right on time, and the two men and the Marquis settled into comfortable chairs in the newspaper room where St. Croix began to read the handwritten pages of the translation with his own copy of the book open on his lap. When he was finished, he started from the top, using a pencil to write a few remarks into the margin. Then he looked up at the two younger men.

“This is, at least in my humble opinion, a rather good translation. I have added a few comments where you, Monsieur, were misled by certain colloquialisms that divert from standard usage. On the whole, however, you captured the meaning of Sir Thomas’s arguments quite faithfully.”

“Thank you, Marquis,” Thomas smiled back. “Once again, I am very grateful for your help and insight.”

“Yes, thank you,” Tessier agreed. “You have been very helpful, Monsieur le Marquis, and to be allowed in this fine establishment is a true privilege.”

“I see this club as a celebration of French savoir vivre without the murderous revolutionaries, militaristic upstarts, or reactionary seigneurs who have plagued poor France for over twenty years.”

Tessier’s eyes went wide. “Which France would you prefer then?”

The Marquis gave the young writer a benevolent smile.

“I do not know. Anyway, I decided to stay here in London where my club and my friends are.”

Tessier acknowledged that viewpoint with a nod and turned his attention back to Thomas.

“Would you allow me to translate your work into French?”

Thomas nodded judiciously. “I would insist on seeing the final manuscript of course. We should also agree on the sharing of the profits.”

“The former is understood, Sir Thomas. As for the profits, I am not doing this for personal gain.”

“Neither am I, Monsieur Tessier. The profits I make go into charitable causes, such as the anti-slavery movement, but also kitchens to feed the destitute, of which there are so many after decades of war and now of failed harvests. I would propose a similar distribution then for a French translation. Surely there must be groups in France that oppose the slave trade?”

Tessier smiled. “Indeed, Sir Thomas, there are! I agree wholeheartedly. There is also the question of a publisher. I happen to know a publishing house in Rouen, my hometown, owned by Monsieur André Belsac. He is an excellent editor and known for his liberal opinions. I am rather certain that he would publish your book.”

“That sounds promising. I propose that you proceed with the translation and also make contact with your preferred publisher. I own the publishing rights for my book, and I will not part with them. Therefore, the publishing house can charge me for editing, typesetting and printing as well as for distribution. In return, we shall receive the proceeds from the sale. For that, we would need quotes for the charges.”

“Certainly. I can raise my part of the costs for publication. Would you agree to a one-third ownership of the French publication rights for me?”

Thomas considered this and nodded. “That appears to be fair, given the amount of work you will have to invest. I shall have my solicitor, Mr. Clarke, draw up a contract along the lines we just discussed. I shall mail that contract to you for your perusal and signing after the Christmas holidays. Would that be satisfactory?”

“Certainly, Sir Thomas. In the meantime, I shall start with the translation.”

“We are agreed then? Splendid! Perhaps, my dear Marquis, one of your waiters can breach a bottle of your fine brandy for us to toast our agreement?”

St. Croix smiled and signalled an attendant, giving him the order, and ten minutes later, they toasted each other and their partnership. Tessier took his leave then, after which Thomas and the Marquis had another glass of the fine brandy.

Slightly inebriated, Thomas then returned to Stanhope Gate. Mirabel was already there and in the middle of preparations for an evening at the theatre, with Angela helping her. Therefore, Thomas sat with Elias to recount the meeting with Mr. Tessier.

“It’ll be interesting to see how your work will be received by the Frogs,” Elias smiled.

“We shall see indeed,” Thomas shrugged. “This is not how I envisioned my life after the war.”

“I can imagine. Then again, you would have been propelled into prominence anyway. Face it, Thomas — you are barely seven-and-twenty years old, a senior captain already, and you were just bestowed your third knighthood. You are bound to get noticed, and what you say and write has an impact on public opinion.”

“You mean to say?”

“Accept it and make the best of it. Further the causes you favour.” Elias smiled then. “You must also decide whether you want to stand for a seat in the Commons.”

Thomas had to sigh heavily. “I know. Yet this is not only about me. Mirabel will also be affected by that decision.”

“You know, Thomas, I would not worry about her. So far, everybody seems to like her and welcome her. Angela is amazed at the ease with which she relates to society, be it on the Rock or here in London. You found a gem of a woman, Thomas!”

“I could say the same about you. We owe Angela and you so much!”

“It goes both ways. When I first met Angela, she asked me about you, and that is how we came to talk. I was given Andromeda because of your daring off Oman, and suddenly I was a post-captain and eligible for a lady such as Angela. It all combined into making me the happy man I am. Looking back, it was my lucky day when you joined Wolverine in ‘06. I had expected one of those ne’er-do-well midshipmen ordinary, and instead I got an outstanding warrant officer. You were eager to learn, you recognised the master’s mates’ seniority, and you never once complained about the dull convoy duty. When push came to shove though, you showed your mettle.”

“You were always fair and never aloof,” Thomas reminisced. “I could never have moved up the ladder so fast in another ship.”

“A small ship is always better, but the risks and the wear on people is higher. It can also be a dead end. I have known many commanders who were never posted, especially those in convoy duty. Then again, did you know that Eccleson was finally posted last year? I missed the entry in the Gazette, but I saw a report over his name. He was given a sixth-rate in the Mediterranean shortly after Napoleon’s return, and it was confirmed before the Hundred Days were over.”

“That is good to hear. I owe him a lot, too. I dined with him when Wolverine delivered the mail to Fanning off Toulon, and at first I feared that he must resent me, especially after the months I spent under Masters’ command.”

“Yes, I recall you telling me. Were things ... comfortable between you?”

“Very much so! He and Harvey had been shipmates. It turned out to be a very nice evening.”

“I’ll find out where he is now. Maybe, we can have a reunion of the Wolverines one day, perhaps without Pons.”

“Whatever happened to Brown and Bingham?”

“Brown and his Gallant were lost east of Sunderland in an autumn gale in ‘09. They found one of their boats, but it was empty.”

“Damn!”

“Your friend Bingham lives in Leeds with his wife. He was in the Sea Fencibles for two years, but then the father of his bride died. She was the only child and sole heiress. They married, and now he’s in the wool business. He sent me a wedding invitation, it must have been 1810, but of course I was busy then, becoming rich in the Mediterranean. We should invite him, too. He’s a good man.”

“Amen to that! He was a good friend. It is sad how we often lose contact with good friends. That reminds me — did I tell you who my steward was during the Hundred Days?”

“No. Somebody I know?”

“Pillard. He was all grown up and groomed, and he volunteered the day I resumed command. He’s become a good steward, too.”

“That scrawny urchin? Well, wonders happen, don’t they?” Elias looked at the grand wall clock. “Much as I enjoy our talk, you should really get ready for the evening, Thomas.”

“I suppose I should. Mirabel is anxious to see first hand what Lady Anson made out of her.”

An hour later, dressed in his dark civilian coat and long trousers, Thomas helped his lady into the coach for the ride to the theatre. Mirabel was very excited he could tell, and he did his best to distract her.

Arriving at the theatre, they entered the foyer where they presented their tickets to an usher who, after a short look, called for a more senior usher who showed them to the coat check before showing them to a table close to the stage where the Ansons were waiting for them.

“Sir Thomas!” Anson exclaimed, rising to shake Thomas’s hand.

Thomas shook the offered hand. “Sir Jonathan!”

“Lady Grey, your servant!”

Mirabel smiled at Anson and offered her hand, before she exchanged a friendly hug with Lady Anson.

“Hullo, my dear,” Lady Anson beamed.

“Thank you for making this possible,” Mirabel returned. “We met Miss Dumoulin yesterday. I am looking forward to her performance.”

“You should, my dear. She is formidable. Please, be seated, my dears!”

Thomas helped Mirabel into a chair facing the stage and then sat down opposite her.

“We are having sparkling wine from the Champagne,” Anson announced. “Will you join us?”

“Yes, thank you,” Thomas replied. “Mirabel, dear, you too?”

“Yes, I can use something to soothe my nerves,” Mirabel answered with a wry smile.

When the curtains rose for the first act, Mirabel had indeed calmed down. She became even calmer over the first act as it became clear how little the play’s plot resembled the real events. In the play, the heroine, Elvira, was the daughter of an invalided and widowed Army officer who shared her father’s modest living. Being of mixed race from her mother’s side, she was a thorn in the side of the curate, yet fiercely protected by her father, who, though not well off was respected. However, when the father succumbed to his ailments, she became the target of the curate’s ire, culminating in that bigot’s refusal to let her share in the Lord’s Supper. The squire’s son, Horace, home from Army service overseas, witnesses this and when the rejected girl leaves the chapel in tears, he runs after her to comfort her. This starts a friendship between them which grows into love, and the young major introduces Elvira to his father. Unbeknownst to the young people, the squire was a brother-in-arms of Elvira’s late father, and upon hearing of the ill treatment and scorn she suffered, he takes his carriage to town where he meets with the bishop and has the curate removed from the chapel on his lands. A new curate is appointed whose first duty is to wed Elvira and Horace whilst the former curate watches from the fringes in impotent rage, realising that his own ill-considered actions only served to start the romance.

Jeanne was adorable as Elvira, the actor playing Horace was upright and handsome, but the old actor who played the curate was simply phenomenal. Watching the play, Mirabel’s blush turned into the flush of excitement and delight, and when the curtain fell, she clapped harder than anybody else. With laughing eyes, she turned to Elizabeth Anson.

“This is so much better than the real events! You are a genius!”

This made Lady Anson blush, but she was clearly happy over Mirabel’s reaction. Her husband gazed at his wife with pride but also regarded Mirabel with appreciation.

“The message of the play is clearly soothing for any viewer who ever suffered from rejection and scorn,” he opined. “It is only to be hoped that the other half will also learn from it.”

Now the curtain opened again, and the members of the troupe bowed or curtseyed to their audience, inciting another long round of applause. A beaming Jeanne joined them at their table for a few minutes, accepting their praise for her performance, before she left for her wardrobe, no doubt anxious to meet Commander Wilson.

The Greys and Ansons left the theatre and found an eatery that was still serving a late dinner. They discussed the play, the actors, the reactions of the audience, and many other items. At some point, Mirabel and Elizabeth Anson began addressing each other by their first names and over a last glass of Port wine, Thomas and Jeremiah Anson also agreed to dispense with titles and last names. Thus, they parted as friends and agreed to stay in contact.

A day later, they boarded their coach for the ride back to Guildford. Daisy Leeds did not accompany them, but promised to visit again after the holidays. The girl wanted to spend the holidays with her family, but she was not eager to stay in London after that. Thus, it was Thomas, Mirabel and little Margaret on the forward facing bench, whilst Suzette and the nanny sat opposite them. They made stops at several roadside inns to procure hot beverages, but before the weak, wintry sun set, they arrived at Grey Manor.

Over the next days they settled back into their lives. Lisette, the cook, was starting to use the preserved foods that Thomas had stockpiled in the summer during the week days, but she had also reserved some delicacies from the dwindling supply for the Christmas holidays.

On Christmas morning, Thomas and Mirabel exchanged gifts following the family custom. Little Margaret had no concept of Christmas, but of course, she received the lion’s share of the gifts, toys, warm clothing, and her very first own soup bowl and spoon.

Later they met with their tenants for the Christmas service in the chapel. After mass, Thomas had food served for everybody in the large barn by the manor house. One of the tenants had sold Thomas a cow he could no longer feed. She certainly was not fattened, but she provided marrow bones for a large kettle of soup, beef and kidney for a variety of pies, and several pieces of roast. Lisette had set aside some of the choice beef for the family, but the food was plenty enough for the tenants, their families and dependents to eat their fill.

Thomas and Mirabel walked the rounds trying to sound out their tenants about how they were faring. Most of them made do with their meagre harvests and the preserved foods that Mr. Conway distributed weekly, but Thomas noticed that the farm hands and maids of one of his tenants, Jack Cowley, looked almost emaciated. Yet they stopped eating the offered foods early, obviously having stomach aches. Cowley himself was slim, too, but not as skinny as the men and women of his farm.

When he stopped at the table where George Hanson and his family were sitting, he brought up his concern. Hanson was reluctant to talk at first, but then his second son blurted out his explanation.

“He’s selling off the foods he gets from the estate down in Guildford, Sir!”

Hanson looked dismayed, but he nodded. “‘Tis true. I heard of it, and I saw it. Ever since Mr. Conway started doling out the provisions, Jack’s been trading salted pork, peas and flour in town, but not on market days. He must make a pretty penny, too, what with the prices for foods.”

Thomas felt how his face was heating up. “Is he now? Anybody else doing this?”

“Not us, Sir Thomas, and nobody else I know. We’re short of food even now, and we can barely keep our families fed. I should’ve spoken up, Sir Thomas, and I’m sorry. I didn’t feel like telling on a neighbour, but then I didn’t know how bad things were with his farmhands.”

“I understand, Mr. Hanson. You were in a bind. Rest assured that this theft will be stopped presently. No word to Cowley for now! Savvy that?”

“We’ll stay mum, Sir Thomas. Will! No word to that sweetheart of yours!”

The young man nodded. “Yes, father. May I still slip Bessie some food?”

Old Hanson nodded calmly, but Thomas understood now why the young man had spoken up so boldly. He was sweet on one of Cowley’s maids.

“But no trading food for kisses, young Will Hanson!” he said sternly.

“I wouldn’t do that, Sir Thomas! I just cannot see her starve.”

“I promise that things will be better for her soon. Now I better let Mr. Conway know of the theft.”

Mirabel had not said a word, but when they walked over to where Mr. Conway was standing, she pressed Thomas’s arm.

“What will you do with Cowley?”

“If he is selling the foods I’m having doled out to feed the families and farmhands, I’ll count that as theft. We’ll need a new and more honest tenant then.”

“Good!” Mirabel stated with emphasis.

They found Conway and Thomas motioned him to the side where they could talk in private. Then he told his overseer about what had just transpired. Conway nodded gravely.

“That’s theft then, Sir Thomas. I shall handle it if you want.”

“Find out whether it’s true. Best have the man watched after you make your rounds with the next batch of provisions. Once we know for sure, we’ll ask the justice for his bailiffs. The lease will be terminated for cause and I’ll demand restitution for the embezzled foods.”

“I shall task my nephew with watching Cowley, Sir Thomas. I’ll also get the bailiffs involved right away. That way, when he arrives in town with salted pork, they can act at once.”

“Good idea, Mr. Conway. Keep me informed of the progress, please.”

“Umh, Sir Thomas, I apologise. This is happening under my care taking, and I didn’t find out.”

“I didn’t think of the possibility either, Mr. Conway. Once we put an end to it, the other tenants will not dream of doing the same. Trust me!”

“Very well, Sir Thomas. I’ll make the next food rounds day after tomorrow. We’ll know for sure ere the year’s over.”

“Hopefully, Mr. Conway. I’ve had no dealings with Cowley so far and no complaints, but if proven true, those accusations paint a bleak picture of him.”

Mr. Conway made certain that Jack Cowley’s was the last tenant farm he visited to dole out provisions. It was late in the afternoon when he left, and from then on, the road to Guildford was watched by his nephew Albert and by the two bailiffs. They had not to wait for long. In the approaching dusk they heard the creaking of poorly greased wagon wheels long before the small mule-drawn cart passed them, heading for the town.

Covered by the approaching dark, they followed the cart until it stopped in front of one of the less reputable inns Guildford could boast. The cart driver knocked on a side door, and when it opened, another man joined the driver to inspect the cart load. Soon they shook hands over a deal, but before the innkeeper could carry any of the items inside, the bailiffs strode forward tipping both men with their staffs. Albert Conway joined them and identified the contents of the cart as the provisions left behind by his uncle.

Jack Cowley protested loudly, but he and the innkeeper were led to the small hoosegow where they were to spend a very cold night. The wagon with its load was securely locked into the Greys’ warehouse whilst the mule was given asylum in the Justice’s stable. Albert Conway then returned to Grey Manor where he reported to his uncle.

The Justice, Mr. Cobb, investigated the matter in the next morning. Thomas and Mr. Conway were there to state their grievance, Albert Conway and the two stout bailiffs reported their observations, and the two accused — Cowley and the innkeeper — had little to offer in their defence. Cowley’s cart was carrying a full week’s helping of salted pork, dried beans and flour for a family of three and four farmhands, the beans and flour still in the sacks in which Mr. Conway distributed the foods. A search of the inn by the bailiffs had detected the remnants of earlier illicit deliveries.

Mr. Cobb halted the proceedings over the noon hour to confer with Thomas and Mr. Conway over a frugal meal at his own house.

“Sir Thomas, it is abundantly clear that your tenant stole from you. The innkeeper Abbott is also guilty of receiving. I should deport them to New South Wales, I really should. The times are rough though. With food as scarce and expensive as it is now I hear that many convicts don’t live long enough in the prison hulks to see their deportation.”