Chapter 2: Rewards

Anson had dreaded the ride in the coach, but lying in a swaying hammock, he was sufficiently insulated from the movements of the coach to make the journey tolerable. Doctor Waingrove was an elderly, fussy man, but he was thorough enough. The ride took two days, mostly because Sir Robert insisted on frequent rest stops, during which food was served from a huge picnic basket. Sir Robert was rather partial to Madeira wines, as was the good Doctor, and they both insisted that Anson partook of the offerings. He became tired enough to sleep through most of the journey.

They arrived at Connington's estate in the late afternoon of the second day, after spending a night in a roadside inn. Anson looked at the grey stone buildings of Fernwick Hall with mixed feelings. It had been eleven years since he had been sent away from here to join the Navy but before that, he had been at home at the place. His family had lived in a cottage only two hundred yards down the chestnut alley from Fernwick Hall, and in the waning light of the winter afternoon he could see the low building. A new caretaker was living there now Anson knew. He would be a guest in the manor house instead, in an altogether different world.

Two footmen helped Anson to an upstairs bedroom where Doctor Waingrove inspected the stump and the slowly healing leg wound. Once that was done, the servants put him to bed. A soft, horse hair filled mattress provided him with a rare comfort, and within minutes he fell into an exhausted sleep.

When Anson awoke, the winter sun was lighting up the bedroom and a maidservant was waiting with breakfast. The doctor visited sometime after breakfast and afterwards, two manservants proceeded to give Anson a much-needed sponge bath after lifting him up from the bed and onto a wooden chair standing in a bath tub. His hair, matted and tangled after weeks of being bedridden, was washed and cut before another servant removed the four-week growth of beard. Shaved, groomed, and dressed in a fresh shirt and a heavy dressing gown, he attended dinner with Sir Robert and his family.

Lady Connington was no beauty and probably had never been considered one. Anson had seen her a few times after his father's death, and he found that she was ageing well, looking better with maturity than as a young woman. She'd had only one child, a daughter, and thus her figure was still trim and she looked healthy and energetic.

The daughter, Vanessa, was younger than Anson by two or three years. She was married to Mr. Colin Emerson, the second son of a Jamaican sugar baron and a Member of Parliament for one of the rotten boroughs owned by his father. As a member of the sugar faction in Parliament, he wielded considerable influence. They had two children, and as far as Anson could see, were quite happily married.

It slowly entered Anson's mind that the Christmas Holidays were only days away. Church holidays did not matter much on board a Navy ship, and the aftermath of the battle had efficiently blotted out any thoughts of Christmas from Anson's mind. The Emersons were visiting for the holidays, and Anson understood that they usually resided in London.

After dinner, the servants moved Anson to Sir Robert's study where Port wine and cigars were offered, while the ladies relocated to a tea room. For the first time of many, Anson relayed his view of Trafalgar in a social context. He was suitably flustered when Sir Robert and Mr. Emerson toasted him repeatedly and praised his conduct.

"Once you are recovered enough, we shall have to have a few of the neighbours over. They're quite anxious to meet you," Connington stated. "But that will have to wait until after the interview at the Admiralty, eh?"

He winked at his son-in-law who smiled at Anson benevolently.

"Leonard Polwheal-Adams is the man you must interview, my dear Anson. You will find him quite receptive to your aspirations."

Lieutenant Jeremiah Anson was sitting in an anteroom at the Admiralty in Whitehall waiting for his interview with Mr. Polwheal-Adams, an assistant Secretary to their Lordships. Thirteen other officers were in the room exceeding the number of chairs by far. This necessitated taking turns standing, but since Anson could only walk and stand with the help of a crutch strapped to his left arm, his fellow officers let him have a chair to himself.

This was Anson's third day in this room, and his stoicism was tried severely. Every evening, he returned to the Emerson's Knightsbridge house where he enjoyed their hospitality. Colin Emerson was a likeable chap, Anson found, with a sympathy for the Royal Navy due to the fact that he had been destined for a Navy career and had even served as a midshipman in his youth. Then his older brother had died, leaving Colin Emerson to represent the Jamaican faction in Parliament. Vanessa Emerson was more reserved, maintaining the distance he well remembered from their younger years, but she was caring and helpful nonetheless. The stays at Fernwick Hall and in London had boosted Anson's self-esteem by spades, for he was treated with distinct respect. Maybe, just maybe, he would be able to lead a dignified life even as a cripple.

Once again, a young officer left the office beyond the anteroom, a look of disappointment evident on his features.

"No luck, eh?" one of the other subalterns asked with sympathy.

The man shook his head. "Too many promotions due to Trafalgar," he explained with a reproachful look at Anson.

Before the questioning could continue, a one-legged Royal Marines corporal showed.

"Lt. Anson, sir!"

Anson scrambled to stand up with haste. He checked his cravat and his cuffs. Next he fitted his stump into the crutch under his left armpit before he limped after the one-legged man into the office. There he stood before an elderly, harried-looking man.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Anson!" the man offered. "Please, be seated, and my apologies for letting you wait for so long. As I'll admit freely, this was mostly due to our difficulties in finding an adequate placement for you."

"Yes, sir." Anson said feeling morose again. He was a cripple and seen as such.

"You are aware that your senior lieutenant, Mr. Carlin, was made commander?"

"Yes, sir," Anson replied swallowing heavily.

"Odin's case is a bit unusual inasmuch as you replaced your captain and commanded your ship through the decisive parts of the battle. Lt. Carlin's promotion is therefore to be seen as a compliment for your conduct." He made a face as if he'd bitten into a lemon. "That, and his uncle's influence at court. It remained for us to find a command for you that will justify your posting. That was difficult seeing how many officers were promoted after Trafalgar. They all need commands. You see?"

"I see, sir," Anson replied automatically while his mind grappled with the outrageous idea that he was to be made post captain, skipping the rank of commander entirely.

Polwheal-Adams took off his pince-nez and peered at Anson.

"We finally found a solution for the dilemma this morning when an opening presented itself. Have you heard of the Sea Fencibles, Mr. Anson?"

Anson had a mixed feeling. The Sea Fencibles had been established to ward off enemy landings along the coast. It was usually considered an appointment for invalided officers or for men too old for sea service. Yet, he would be posted as captain in the Naval Gazette and be employed. More importantly, his seniority, so all-important for all future aspirations, would be established immediately. He was young enough to reach flag rank once started on the captains' list, and even if left on the beach he would draw a captain's halfpay. There were worse fates for crippled officers.

"There is an opening for you as district commander at Salcombe on the Devon coast. You will be responsible for the coastal defences from Teignmouth to Rame Head. There will be three batteries under your command, but also two gunboats, and a schooner. Six lieutenants, and over two hundred crew. If you agree, you can be posted in the next Gazette."