‘And did you see any of the great military men?’
‘It was impossible not to. Blücher was there. He was unable to move without people congratulating him, in fact, he was so surrounded by well-wishers in Hyde Park that he had to stand with his back against a tree! Wellington was there, too, but refused any pomp and circumstance, and rode round with a single groom. There were celebrations everywhere, and still are, with the Regent giving dinner-parties at Carlton House—a fairyland, by all accounts—and making plans for the Jubilee.’
‘London seems awash with news!’
‘It is. If you can get a leave of absence, you must go and see the Jubilee celebrations next week. They promise to be spectacular. There are coloured lanterns in St James’s Park, and there is a Chinese bridge across the canal. There is to be a balloon ascent, and a re-enactment of the storm of Badajoz. And there is something that will interest you, as a naval man, for there is to be a mock Battle of the Nile on the Serpentine.’
‘And how are they to manage that?’ I asked, astonished at the idea of staging a battle in London!
‘With ship’s barges, fitted out with miniature cannon.’
‘It is a good thing we had more than barges at our disposal, or we would never have won anything!’ I remarked. ‘But I will go if I can.’
He took his leave, and I found myself looking forward to the coming weeks: a trip to London, a sojourn with Sophia, and, at last, a chance to visit Edward and meet his new wife.
Friday 29 July
I saw Jenson this afternoon. His ship had just come in, and we exchanged news. He told me that Lencet had been killed in action in January, and he asked about Harville, whom he had not seen since we all served together in the year nine. I told him of Harville’s wound two years ago, but that otherwise Harville, Harriet and their children were well. I told him, too, that Harville’s sister, Fanny, was engaged to Benwick, and he was pleased to hear it.
We talked of our plans now that the war was over. Jenson told me he had decided to go into his family’s business in the wine trade, and was planning to expand it by buying a fleet of ships, so that they could transport the wine as well as buying and selling it.
‘And I suppose you will captain the flagship?’ I asked.
‘Of course!’
I told him about the celebrations in London and we decided to go there. He agreed to join me for breakfast, so that we may set out tomorrow together.
Saturday 30 July
Jenson and I were in the middle of breakfast, making the final plans for our trip to London, when a note arrived for me.
‘I will take a turn on deck,’ said he, preparing to rise.
‘No need,’ I said. ‘It is from Harville. Stay. You will like to hear what he says.’ I unfolded the letter and began to read it aloud. ‘He is in Plymouth ... is glad I am put in to shore ... Oh, no!’ I said, as I saw unhappy news, ‘Oh, no!’
‘What is it?’ Jenson asked.
I shook my head in disbelief. I could barely bring myself to say the words.
‘It is Fanny, Harville’s sister. She is dead.’
‘Dead?’ he asked in horror.
I could do no more than nod my head.
‘All the beauty ... such a superior mind ... this is terrible news,’ he said. ‘She had all her life before her.’
I read on, my eyes quickly scanning the page, and letting out a groan when I saw what Harville had asked of me.
‘No! Oh, no, I cannot!’ I cried aloud, shrinking from it. And yet, even as I did so, I knew it must be done, and that there was no one better than me to do it.
‘What? What is it?’ asked Jenson.
‘Benwick,’ I said. ‘James. He does not know.’
Jenson’s face fell.
‘He has just come back from the Cape, and is under orders for Portsmouth. Harville cannot bring himself to break the news. He asks me to do it for him.’
‘Frederick ...’ he said, with the deepest sympathy, for it was a task no man would envy.
And yet it could not be avoided. I folded the letter resolutely.
‘I must do it at once. I must write for a leave of absence.’
‘I will take the letter for you.’
‘Thank you, Jenson, from the bottom of my heart. And I must hope it is granted, for I cannot wait for the answer.’
I wrote my letter and then stood up.
‘I must go at once. Poor Benwick. How will he bear it? To lose her just when his hopes were to be realized, when his long engagement was to come to an end, and when he was to take Fanny to wife. He has waited for this moment for years, and now for it to be snatched away from him, and in such a way. It is too cruel.’
He nodded in mute agreement.
And then I left the ship, and set out on my dreadful errand.
AUGUST
Monday 1 August
A terrible day. A terrible, terrible day.
I arrived in Portsmouth in the early hours, having travelled night and day from Plymouth, and rowed out to the Grappler. Benwick was delighted to see me. He was all smiles as he congratulated me on my success, telling me it could not have happened to a more deserving fellow, then demanded my congratulations on his promotion and on his wealth. He was so full of good spirits that he did not notice my dejection, and he broke my heart by saying, ‘At last I will see Fanny. I cannot wait! That was the hardest part of being at sea, Wentworth, having to leave her behind. I have kept her waiting for two years whilst I made my fortune and earned my promotion, but now our engagement can come to an end and we will be married as soon as the banns can be read.’
I could have wept. I did not know how to tell him, I could not find the words. But at last my mood communicated itself to him and he looked at me uncertainly. I told him I had bad news and bade him lead me down below. Once in his cabin, I told him, and he crumpled. I have never seen a man brought so low. He sank down, for his legs would no longer support him, and he was like a man stunned. He neither moved nor spoke. And then, at last, it washed over him, in waves of despair, and I thought he would go mad. I never left his side, but sat with him all day and all night, and as I did so, I hoped I never had to live through such a terrible day, ever again.
Thursday 11 August
At last, Benwick is over the worst. He no longer raves, though I find his quietness sad almost beyond bearing. He is like a hollow man.
I cannot help thinking of him as he was at twelve years old, walking hesitantly into the Academy, looking around him nervously, a small lad for his age, but soon impressing us with his intelligence and his courage. I can see his confident step when he graduated from the Academy, and his interest when he first noticed Fanny at Harville’s wedding. I can remember him smiling when he told me that she had accepted his hand; his regret that he could not marry her until he had won his promotion; and his determination to succeed, for her sake.
And now the life has gone out of him, as though his heart died with Fanny.
Friday 12 August