Charlotte: The Practical Education of a Distressed Gentlewoman (26 page)

“
Enough!”, General Howe shouted,
“Cease fire!”

Colonel Hughes, the squire and
justice of the peace who raised the regiment and had done his best
to train it, stood near him - white with embarrassment and
trembling with shame.

“
God help us if the French
invade,” the General muttered, and then to the Colonel, “Your men
marched well enough, but clearly they are not ready for the
French.”

The Colonel could only nod
agreement. The review had been going so well and then suddenly it
wasn't.

“
There are other regiments that
are far worse, but -”

“
I can tender my resignation, if
you wish.”

“
Lord no, what good would that do?
You've done well to get this far, just need leavening with a few
regulars – it will soon fix these men up.”

Jane Wilson and her younger sisters
Alice and Mary were excited about the ball. It was only at the
local assembly rooms, and for the volunteer officers at that, but
they were men – men in dashing red coats. It was certainly a truism
that single woman were all in search of husband – the alternatives
were either essentially indefinite indentured servitude to the
family, being a governess, or an unthinkable descent into disgrace
as a woman of the streets. The volunteer officers might be
tradesman's sons or maybe the younger son of a country squire but
they were a much better catch than a
carte blanche
that
would be the most offered by a real nobleman.

Jane especially took care of her
toilette – like most English maidens of the period she wore a high
waisted muslin dress, a bodice covering her shoulders – this one
was green, chosen to emphasize her deep blue eyes, a laced cuff and
a simple pearl necklace. She carefully brushed her hair. That naval
commander should be there. It would be nice to pursue a flirtation
with him – if not more.

The ball had already begun by the
time Commander Clarke returned to the town in Whitstable and
changed into formal dress. Unlike the soldiers, naval tradition had
it that the uniform could only be worn on duty – recruiting sailors
counting as duty – and not balls. He hurried to the assembly rooms
where the tones of dance music could be heard streaming out over
the streets.

He thought “I hope Jane still has
some dances free,” as he entered the hall.

Jane was over in a corner, talking
intently with a nondescript looking officer, clearly someone in the
army - judging by his red coat, but definitely not someone he'd
like her to be talking with.

“
Jane!” He burst in loudly, “I'm
late but I've made it – do you have?”

“
Oh,” she was a little
embarrassed, “George, this is Captain James Wolfe, have you
met?”

A rival? George glared at him with
the practiced intensity of man used to command and instant
obedience, but the man seemed nonplussed.

“
I don't think we've been
introduced, yet, George?”

“
Commander George Clarke to you,
sir.”

Captain Wolfe executed a neat
little bow.

“
Delighted to meet you Captain,
Miss Wilson it has been a pleasure, but I must release you to this
charming gentleman.”

With that he left to pursue other
quarry.

“
What was that about?”

“
Don't be silly, we're just
talking – I've saved you the next couple of dances.”

The first dance set were a country
dances. They were able to snatch bits of conversation as the moved
through the figures. They stood in opposing lines on the floor and
walked together for a quick touch while having the chance to
exchange words in the intervals.

“
Jane, you know how I feel about
you.”

“
Yes, but mother has her doubts
about a mere commander.”

“
I've made plenty of prize money.
The French privateers are easy prey. I'll make even more as
commander and then as captain.”

“
I know – if it were just me, it
would be an easy question to answer, but I have to marry well for
Alice and Mary's sakes.”

She made sure to brush up against
him on the next exchange of sides which only increased depth of his
passion about her.

“
What were you talking about with
that army officer, a Captain?”

“
Captain Wolfe,
nothing.”

“
Really?, you were quietly and
closely conversing when I came in.”

“
I can't talk about
it.”

“
I see, well if that's the
case.”

George simply stopped, turned on
his heal and very rudely left the dance line.

“
George!”

A young army ensign who'd been
waiting his chance quickly stepped in.

“
Miss Wilson, may I take his
place?”

“
Oh, yes, I guess,” Jane craned
her neck to see where George went, but lost him in the
crowds.

The dance over, Jane went in search
of George. He was lost in the crush, somewhere. She bumped into
Lieutenant Grant.

“
Miss Wilson?”

“
Lieutenant Grant, have you seen
Captain Clarke?”

“
No Miss, but could you introduce
me to one of those charming young women?”, he pointed at her
sisters, sitting at the side and waiting for their turn on the
floor.

“
Yes, but first – did you see
where did Captain Clarke went?”

“
He said for a walk – by the
shore, needed some fresh air.”

Jane escorted the lieutenant to her
sisters.

“
Alice, Mary – this is Lieutenant
John Grant – Mr. Grant was interested if you would be willing to do
him the honor of a dance.”

Alice replied “I've promised the
next set to Mr. Anselm”, but Mary asked artlessly, “Lieutenant –
you're not in a red coat – a man is nothing without a red
coat.”

“
I'm a naval officer, a
lieutenant, – we don't wear red.”

“
Oh, well, then,” she paused and
stood up, “I'd be pleased to accept your offer, Mr.
Grant.”

Her social responsibilities over,
Jane rushed for the door and out into the night to find George. She
thought, “If only I can talk with him, It's just a silly
misunderstanding.” Lieutenant Grant said George had gone to the
shore, for some air, so she headed to the sea wall, the
promenade.

She called, “George!” and received
only the crashing of the surf in response. Walking further along
the promenade and repeating her call gave the same results. She
started to shamble back to the ball, her dejection evident in her
gait. Her mother would notice her absence soon and could make
things awkward if she were away too long. Passing the pub, 'the
Ship', she couldn't help noticing the sounds of boisterous
celebration, the result of free-flowing libations, coming from the
inside. One voice, in particular, seemed very familiar to
her.

Doing something that her mother
would definitely forbid her, had she known, Jane pushed her way
through the half drunk crowd of sailors, fishermen and navies into
the main lounge. There, seated by the bar, with a pint, obviously
not his first of the evening, singing with the rest of the crowd,
and -worst of all- hosting a buxom, blond doxy on his lap was
George. He hadn't let his disappointment and anger spoil his
evening.

“
George!” Jane shouted loudly
enough to cut through the noise. The room went silent and he turned
to her. “Jane!” George rose to his feet and unceremoniously dumped
the bar maid on the floor.

“
Here mate, watch
yourself!”

“
Jane! What are you doing
here?”

Jane furiously stared at him. A
swarm of things to say circled in her head, most too unladylike for
her to utter and the rest too tame to be worth uttering. Nothing
that was both cutting enough and polite enough came to mind.
Finally she controlled herself and replied, simply. “George, you've
opened my eyes, Mother was right about you. Good bye!”

General Howe and Colonel Hughes
talked as the dancers performed the intricate figures of the
quadrille on the dance floor. The Colonel was intensely worried
about what would the General do about his regiment's sorry
performance.

“
So what are you going to
do?”

“
Do about what?”

“
The regiment.”

“
I've done it.”

“
What?”

“
I've sent a dispatch to one of
the better junior officers I've known.”

“
And?”

“
He was badly wounded in our
retreat from Ostend last year. His division stood against the
French until we'd all boarded.”

“
So?”

“
If he's fit for duty, he's the
man you need – knows his business. Be a colonel by now, but for his
wounds.”

The French
Orphan

The seagulls were having a feast on
the fishermen's scraps and calling raucously as they wheeled out to
sea in the harbor of Boulogne-sur-mer. Commerce with England had
restarted with the signing of the treaty of Paris and the
cross-channel ferry had just landed in the harbor. Its cargo of
English gentry were anxious to see the sights of the continent.
Sights that were so long denied them by the wars of the revolution
and the French empire. That evil Corsican bandit was constrained to
Elba, good King Louis XVIII reigned and all was right in the
world.

A spry, just into middle-aged,
English gentleman who walked with a limp and his slightly younger
wife debarked from the ship and sauntered over to customs. “Simon,”
the woman asked her husband, “Are you sure you want to do this? We
could just use the diplomatic passports.”

“
Katherine,” he replied, “It will
be fine, I'm just using an old cover name. We were married during
the war and I never did take you on a honeymoon, just us, alone. It
will be easier if we travel as private citizens. We won't have the
mayor wanting to talk to us as representatives His Majesty and all
that.”

Time had treated Katherine very
well. Despite her extensive adventures she was still a beautiful
woman. Time had only added a patina of distinction to her. She'd
married Lieutenant Simon Bates, now Colonel Sir Simon Bates
attached to the foreign office in some mysterious manner. They were
married shortly before he was posted as a military attache to
Vienna. Vienna was an exciting posting where their first child,
David, now at Eton, was born. They managed to hear Beethoven
conduct the premier of his fourth symphony before things became
undone. After the ignominious surrender of Vienna to Napoleon, they
fled with their new child across the wastes of Poland and the
Ukraine to Russia. A long sequence of diplomatic postings, Moscow,
St. Petersburg, Stockholm and Lisbon finally ended with a return to
England. Simon's parents had insisted on having a chance of getting
to know their grandchildren, and giving them the time to learn to
be English. Both Simon and Katherine found the peace and consequent
idleness profoundly boring. Life in the tiny Essex coastal village
of St. Osyth was even more boring, if that were possible. Much to
the distress of their families they leaped at the chance to be
posted to Bruxelles. They'd left their brood with their
grandfather, the Reverend Gregory Bates, in St. Osyth and gone to
find quarters in Brussels.

The French customs agent asked,
“Passports and names?”

Simon replied, in the Norman French
accent he had mastered ten years ago, “
Je m'appelle Henri Simon
Beaufort
and this is my wife Katherine Beaufort.”

The customs officer checked his
papers, then loudly whistled and called up a pair of gendarme's.
“You sir, are under arrest. There is a warrant for your
detention.”

“
Simon!”, Katherine interrupted in
a testy voice, “give them your real name. I'm tired, it's been a
very long day and we need to get to the inn.”

“
Yes dear, as you say, my name is
Simon Bates and this is”

The customs officer stopped him
abruptly, “There is a warrant for him as well, with a large reward,
1000 francs, it's an old warrant but it's still valid.” With the
hyperinflation at the end of Napoleon's rule, the reward was only
worth about a shilling, but still a shilling saved was a shilling
earned. The gendarme's stepped forward and grabbed Simon by the
arms and escorted him away. “This way, Sir.”

Magistrate Pigne had a problem. The
prisoner was clearly one Henri Simon Beaufort also known as Simon
Bates. He remembered interviewing the prisoner himself when he'd
been a mere sergeant in the gendarmes eleven years ago. There was
not much of a question about his identity nor, for that matter,
about his guilt. He'd been a British spy eleven years ago, fooled
the lot of them, assaulted a colonel in the intelligence division
of the
Grande Armee
, stolen a boat at gunpoint and
disappeared into the channel. A month later, a long requested
report from Paris had finally arrived. It stated unequivocally that
there had never been a 'Henri Simon Beaufort' in the
Grande
Armee
, and certainly not one who had been honorably discharged
with a wounded leg. To make things worse, he was here. Now he had a
diplomatic passport and a wife who was insisting that he used it to
leave, this minute. The situation was fraught with
difficulties.