Patrick O'Brian - Post captain

‘I am infinitely concerned, sir, that both the First Lord and Sir Joseph should be at Windsor, but I will send a messenger at once, if you are quite sure that Admiral Knowles will not do.’

‘This is essentially a political decision, as I take it. It would be better to wait until tomorrow, though by God the matter presses.’

‘They should have started back tonight, I know: and from the orders Sir Joseph left with me, I am sure I should not do wrong to invite you to breakfast with him - to come to his official apartment as early as you think fit.’

The Grapes were fast asleep, shuttered, dark, and so unwilling to reply that they might all have died of the plague. He had a despairing vision of never being fed again, of passing the night in the hackney-​coach or a bagnio. ‘Perhaps we had better try the Hummums,’ he said wearily.

‘I’ll just give ‘em one more knock,’ said the coachman, ‘the stiff-​necked bloody set of dormice.’ He rattled his whip against the shutters with righteous venom, and at last life spoke in the dripping void, asking ‘who it was?’

‘It’s a gent as wants to come in out of the rain,’ said the coachman. ‘He ain’t no bleeding mermaid, he says.’

‘Why, it’s you, Dr Maturin,’ cried Mrs Broad, opening the door with many a creak and gasp ‘Come in There’s been a fire in your room since Tuesday God preserve you, sir, how wet you are. Let me take your cloak - it weighs a ton’.

‘Mrs Broad,’ said Stephen, yielding it with a sigh, ‘pray be so kind as to give me an egg and a glass of wine. I am faint with hunger.’

Enveloped in a flannel garment, the property of the late Mr Broad, he gazed at his skin: it was thick, pale, sodden, lifeless; where it had had his shirt or drawers about it, as upon his belly, it showed a greyish-​blue tinge, elsewhere the indigo of his stockings and the snuff-​coloured dye of his coat had soaked so deep that his penknife reached blood before the end of it.

‘Here’s your egg, sir,’ said Mrs Broad, ‘with a nice piece of gammon. And here are some letters come for you.’

He sat by the fire, devouring his food, with the letters balanced on his knee. Jack’s strong hand, remarkably neat. Sophie’s round, disconnected script: yet the down-​strokes had determination in them.

‘This will be all blotted with tears,’ ran Sophie’s, ‘for although I shall try to make them fall to one side of my writing-​desk, I am afraid some will drop on the paper, there are so many of them.’ They had, indeed; the surface of the letter was mottled and uneven. ‘Most of them are tears of pure undiluted happiness, for Captain Aubrey and I have come to an understanding - we are never to marry anyone else, ever! It is not a secret engagement, which would be very wrong; but it is so like one, that I fear my conscience must have grown sadly elastic. I am sure you can see the difference, even if no one else can. low happy I am! And how very, very kind you have been to me. . . ”Yes yes, my dear,’ said Stephen, skipping some prettily-​detailed expressions of gratitude, some particularly obliging remarks, and a highly-​detailed account of the interesting occasion when, becalmed off the Isle of Wight on a Saturday evening ’so warm and balmy, with the dear sailors singing on the forecastle and dancing to the squeaky fiddle, and Cecilia being shown the stars by Mr Dredge of the Marines’, they came to their understanding in the cabin, ‘yes, yes. Come to the point, I beg. Let us hear about these other tears.’

The point came on the back of page three. Mrs Williams had flown into a horrid passion on their return - had wondered what Admiral Haddock could possibly have been thinking about - was amazed that her daughter could so have exposed herself with a man known to be in difficulties - a fortune-​hunter, no doubt - had Sophia no conception of her sacred duty to her mother - to a mother who had made such endless sacrifices? - Had she no idea of religion? Mrs Williams insisted upon an instant cessation of intercourse; and if that man had the impudence to call, he should be shown the door - not that Mrs Williams imagined he dared show his face on land. It was very well to go and capture this little French ship and get his name in the newspapers, but a man’s first duty was to his creditors and his bank-​account. Mrs Williams’s head was not to be turned by these tales: none of her family had ever had their names in the newspapers, she thanked God, except for the announcement of their marriage in The Times. What kind of a husband would such a man make, always wandering off into foreign parts whenever the whim took him, and attacking people in that rash way? Some folk might cry up her precious Lord Nelson, but did Sophie wish to share poor Lady Nelson’s fate? Did she know what a mistress meant? In any case, what did they know of Captain Aubrey? He might very well have liaisons in every port, and a large quantity of natural children. Mrs Williams was very far from well.

The tears had fallen thicker here by far: spelling and syntax had gone astray: two lines were blotted out. ‘But I shall wait for ever, if need be,’ was legible, and so was ‘and I am sure, quite sure, that he will too.’ Stephen sniffed, glanced at the lines that said ’she must hurry now, to catch the post,’ smiled at the ‘yours, very affectionately, Sophie,’ and picked up Jack’s letter. With an overwhelming yawn he opened it, lay down on the bed with the candle near the pillow, and focused his drooping eyes on the paper, ‘Lively, at sea. September 12, ‘04. My dear Stephen. .

September 12: the day Mendoza was in El Ferrol. He forced his eyes wide open. The lines seemed to crackle with life and happiness, but still they swam. ‘Wish me joy!’ Well, so I do, too. ‘You will never guess the news I have to tell you!’ Oh yes I shall, brother: pray do not use so many points of admiration. ‘I have the best part of a wife!! viz, her heart!! Stephen sniffed again. An intolerably tedious description of Miss Williams, whom Stephen knew a good deal better than Captain Aubrey - her appearance, virtues. ‘So direct

-straightforward - nothing hole in the corner, if you understand me -no damned purser’s tricks - must not swear, however, - like a 32 Iber.’ Could he really have likened Sophie to a thirty-​two pounder? It was quite possible. How the lines did swim. ‘He must not speak disrespectfully of his putative mother-​in-​law, but . . . ‘What did Jack imagine putative to mean? ‘Would be perfectly happy if only..ship:. . join me at Falmouth. . . Portsmouth. . . convoy Madeira, the Cape Verdes! Coconut-​trees! . . . must hurry not to miss the post.’ Coconut-​trees, immeasurably tall palms waving, waving. . . Deus ex machina.

He awoke in daylight from a deep uninterrupted sleep, feeling happy, called for coffee, buns and a dram of whisky, read their letters again, smiling and nodding his head, as he breakfasted, drank to their happiness, and took his papers from their oiled-​silk roll. He sat at the table, decoding, drawing up his summary. In his diary he wrote, ‘All happiness is a good: but if theirs is to be bought by years of waiting and perhaps disgrace, then even this may come too dear. JA is older than he was by far, perhaps as mature as it is in his nature to be; but he is only a man, and celibacy will never do for him. Ld Nelson said, Once past Gibraltar, every man is a bachelor. What will tropical warmth, unscrupulous young women, a fixed habit of eating too much, and high animal spirits accomplish? What a renewed fire, a renewed challenge from Diana? No, no. If no deus ex machina appears at this interesting juncture, the whole turns into a sad, sad, long-​drawn-​out, ultimately squalid tragedy. I have seen a long engagement, the dear knows. Yet as I understand it, Ld Melville is nearly down: in this trade there are facts he cannot reveal - he cannot defend himself, nor, consequently, his friends. NB I slept upwards of nine hours this night, without a single drop. This morning I saw my bottle on the chimneypiece, untouched: this is unparalleled.’