Taking Liberties (39 page)

‘It's because of the hospital,' Diana said. ‘The King is angry with him.'

‘My dear,
something
had to be done about the place and the country should be grateful that you did it. The Admiral was happy to see you do so. In view of that, it seems unfair that the Admiralty is still tied to the whipping post as far as the Rockingham set is concerned. And of course their poodles in the press back them up so that Millbay is constantly before the public. Have you seen this?'

It was a newspaper calling itself
The Passenger
, a more lurid publication than both ladies were used to. The leading article, entitled ‘Our Shame', went on to say:

‘I didn't know,' Diana said.

‘Of course you did not. Nobody thinks you did. It is unfortunate that later on in the piece you are mentioned admiringly as protesting at the poor young man's incarceration. I'm afraid some of the more sober newspapers have picked it up, which will not please His Majesty.'

Nor Robert, the Dowager thought, wearily. It had been ominous that her son had not called on the Edgcumbes during his visit. As the virtual commander of naval Portsmouth, the Admiral was being blamed by the Court for the fuss her exertions had caused.

She said: ‘I am ruining everything I touch.'

‘Not so.' Lucy Edgcumbe hammered her little fist on the arm of her rattan chair. ‘The death rate at Millbay has fallen wonderfully under your aegis. John Howard will be proud of you. I am proud of you. Humanity should be proud of you. Once we've beaten them, I expect the French will give you a medal.' She put her head on one side. ‘I wonder what the Americans will give you. Something tasteless, I expect—such a vulgar country.'

Her eyes slid sideways, wondering whether it was too soon to deliver the next blow. ‘More coffee?'

‘No, I thank you.'

Lady Edgcumbe coughed and said casually: ‘Captain Luscombe will be replaced, of course.'

The Dowager raised her head. ‘Do you know that he will?'

‘I'm afraid I do. Poor man, back to active service for him. Though he may find firing cannonballs at the Americans a good deal more restful than imprisoning them.'

‘That's the end of me, then,' Diana said. ‘A new commander is unlikely to put up with me.'

Lady Edgcumbe's silence was confirmation that he would not. The cooing of wood pigeons floated through the long open windows of her sitting room from somewhere in the deer park, where the trees had turned into their autumn colours against a turquoise sea.

‘A good thing, too,' she said, suddenly impatient. ‘You have tired yourself out. Had we not been packing for Ireland, I should have insisted you come here for a rest but I suppose you will return to that crow's nest of yours.'

‘Eagle's nest,' said Diana, quietly. ‘A Frenchman I knew called it an eagle's nest.'

‘Did he? But there is one blessing. My good husband has sent for Bosun Tilley.'

‘Who is Bosun Tilley?'

‘My dear, he is the most wonderful man; the Admiral swears by him. They were together in the West Indies on the
Falcon
, no surgeon, nothing but flies and dysentery and the whole ship's company gone down with it including the Admiral—a lowly captain then, of course. Bosun Tilley was practically the only one on his feet and he not only ran the vessel, he physicked the crew so that merely two died, and they were cooks so it hardly mattered. A magician, my dear, better than a doctor, and the Admiral says that if the hospital must lose you it shall at least gain Bosun Tilley. Oh,
won't
he take a rope's end to those orderlies of yours and make them move!' Lucy Edgcumbe nodded with satisfaction. ‘He should be here in a week or two.'

‘Good.' A rope's end would undoubtedly profit the orderlies but could Bosun Tilley stand firm against the hospital's higher enemies?

They have beaten me, she thought, and I am almost too numb to care.

Lucy Edgcumbe accompanied the Dowager to the carriage that would take her back to the hospital and bade her good-bye, a recent conversation with her husband causing her much concern.

‘The Whigs have done for her, Lucy. They've taken her up to make the King look a monster which, to do him justice, he ain't. And he's sensitive to criticism just now. They say he called her a madwoman out of Bedlam.'

‘An unfortunate phrase from His Majesty at this moment. Diana isn't the one shaking hands with trees.'

At the hospital, the Dowager held out a copy of
The Passenger
to Makepeace, who read it and paled. ‘Beasley.'

‘A friend of yours?'

‘Yes, I . . . well, yes, I wrote to him about what happened. I never intended he should publish it.'

‘He has. And with great effect. Admiral Edgcumbe is being removed to Ireland, Captain Luscombe removed to sea and I . . . well, I am just being removed.'

Makepeace looked up into a face of marble. ‘Diana, I'm awful sorry.'

‘Worse than all that,' the Dowager continued, evenly, ‘is that political rogues have felt free to use Lieutenant Grayle's death to chastise His Majesty and his government.'

Knowing there was no apology she could make, Makepeace began to bristle at the fact that one should be made at all. ‘It's the truth, ain't it? That boy would be alive today if he'd been treated better.'

‘You misunderstand me. This'—the Dowager tapped the newspaper with a fingertip—‘will be meat and drink to the American press. The manner of his death will be bruited about to blacken England's name. Martha Grayle will learn what her son suffered before he died. One had hoped to spare her that.'

Makepeace was silenced.

 
‘No, no, it isn't dismissal,' Captain Luscombe said, bravely. ‘Happily, I am to be transferred to the active list—though rather lower down it than I could have wished.'

‘And I am responsible for it,' Diana said. ‘Captain, I am so very sorry.'

Luscombe didn't pretend. ‘My fault,' he said, ‘I was remiss. Luxuriating in having the burden of the hospital lifted off my shoulders, I forgot what was due to your ladyship's position.' He smiled. ‘Yet so much has been achieved by your efforts that I cannot condemn myself too harshly, nor I think will God.'

‘I know He will not.'

Luscombe nodded. ‘You understand, of course, my successor has orders to refuse your ladyship access to the hospital.'

‘I understand. Do the women remain?'

‘For the time being.'

As the Dowager tidied her papers in the loft at the end of that day, only Makepeace, Philippa and Tobias knew it would be for the last time and waited for her to say good-bye to the men.

She didn't. For the orderlies her departure was a triumph and she would not give them the satisfaction of knowing it until she had gone.

To the patients, she knew, she was merely a presence that came and went on business that seemed to have little to do with alleviating their pain. Makepeace, little Philippa, Dell, Tobias, now the twins and Mrs Nicholls: these were the people who cared for them. She would not embarrass the men or herself with acknowledgement of a defeat of which they knew nothing.

At the door, she said her usual, ‘Good night, gentlemen,' and waited outside while the nurses went down the aisle, doing what they could for the men before they left for the night.

She turned to look at the great shape of the warehouse in the evening sunlight and thought: I have achieved nothing. Within a week, unless Makepeace prevents it, men will be dying as they died before. And nobody will care. They are only the enemy.

Only two days ago, a woman outside the prison gates had screamed at her: ‘Them cruel Yankees have got my man prisoner. What for are you comforting them in there?'

‘In the hope that some Americans will comfort ours.' But the woman had continued to shout at her, as if the suffering of men she didn't know would ease her husband's.

The four of them rode in silence towards the eastward cliffs and the track back to Babbs Cove.

The weather was still duplicitous, pretending it was summer when, in fact, it was autumn. Blackthorn was covered with fat, blue-bloomed sloes that women were already picking to put in gin for Christmas.

‘Evening, Mrs Letty. Not waiting for the first frost?'

‘They'm ripe now, Mrs Hedley. Good evening, your ladyship, Miss Philippa. Never seen such a crop. 'Twill be a hard winter, look at the holly berries. Iss fay, a hard old winter be coming.'

As they rode on, Makepeace said: ‘I hope the weather holds. My sister-in-law will be here tomorrow with Jenny and Sally. Sanders sent a note to the prison by the mail coach to say they'd reached Exeter.'

‘You will be crowded at the inn,' the Dowager said. ‘We had better change places.' T'Gallants is hers, after all, although so far she's charged no rent.

‘We'll stay as we are.' That house is enough to frighten children into fits, don't know how she stands it.

As Mr Mattock, the ferryman, poled them and their ponies across the Erme, a cloud of sandpipers flew over their heads on their way south, giving reedy calls to one another. A deposit splashed onto the Dowager's shoulder.

‘That's lucky, ladyship,' Mr Mattock said. ‘Leave 'un to dry and that'll bring ee luck.'

She brushed it off, not hearing him.

I have done more harm than good. The Edgcumbes and Luscombe have paid the price of my attempts. Robert has been distressed. And what have I gained except laceration of the heart at the death of a young man I hardly knew?

It was getting dark by the time they rode up the hill to where the track made a wide half-circle around the rear of T'Gallants.

‘I am sorry to prevail on you when you are tired, Mrs Hedley,' the Dowager said, ‘but as you will have other concerns tomorrow, there are matters connected to the hospital which should be discussed tonight.'

Makepeace nodded to Philippa to go on down. The nights were becoming chilly and from up here the inn's lights gave it the look of a welcoming fireplace. T'Gallants was in darkness.

They'll have supper ready for me down there, she thought. What's this poor female got to come home to?

Tobias took the ponies and followed Philippa down to bed them in the Pomeroy stable. Makepeace stumbled through the unlit courtyard after the Dowager. ‘Come and eat with us,' she said. ‘Dell makes a good Irish stew, I'll say that for her.'

‘Thank you, no. Mrs Green usually prepares a collation.'

She's still punishing me. Well, I'm ready for her now.

There was a single candle burning in a holder on a table in the screen passage. The Dowager took it up and led the way into the Great Hall where she used it to light a candelabrum. With the onset of the night's chill, the room's air was damp, its corners full of shadows. Chairs and a table were clustered around the huge empty grate but she noticed that the first thing the Dowager did was to cross to the front window and peer out of it, before returning and inviting Makepeace to sit down.

She looks for him every night. Same as I do for Andra.

The Dowager opened a drawer in the tiny occasional table and brought out a notebook on which was jotted a list.

‘The food. I have stopped the cooks selling half the hospital's allotment of beef to the meat pie shop on the Parade but you must watch out for them. Weigh the loaves before they leave the bakery or they will give you short measure. The patients may ask for white bread but it is not good for them; however, rye is too harsh for their stomachs. Something in between.'

‘Yes'm.'

‘The cook's wife has the concession for cider and you should ensure she doesn't water it. The quartermaster . . . you have dealt with him, it seems, which is good. However, the laundry will revert to slackness if it is not bullied. See that the clothing of new arrivals is stripped off them and properly burned. The dispensary may refuse laudanum because it is too expensive and I pay them extra for it—I shall write you a letter for my bank; there is still some money from the subscription. Remember to keep fever patients away from those only wounded. One had hoped to have the cottage done up for them . . .'

The Dowager stopped. Her mouth was moving but her eyes had gone blank, one finger was paused over the list.

‘Stay there,' Makepeace said. She took up the candle and made her way to the kitchen. Mrs Green, it appeared, had retired for the night. The place had the empty cleanliness to be seen in the houses of the respectable poor. A plate on the vast table contained a small wedge of cheese, the end of a loaf and some plums.

Of an evening, Tobias had taken to eating one of Mrs Hallewell's pasties with Zack and Simeon at the Pomeroy. And no wonder.

There was no fire on which to boil a kettle but Makepeace searched until she found some cooking brandy and a jug of milk kept fresh by standing in a bowl of water. ‘
Collation,
' she scoffed, gathering everything together and carrying it through to the hall.

The Dowager had slumped in her chair. Makepeace poured some of the milk into a beaker, added a good dose of brandy, curved the woman's hands round it and eased it towards her mouth. When it was empty, she poured some more. ‘Open.' She popped a piece of cheese into the Dowager's mouth. ‘Open again.'

The Dowager smiled; some colour had come back to her face. ‘I can feed myself, thank you.'