How Dark the Night (17 page)

“Nor should he,” Agreen put in. “How long d'you think King George would tolerate havin'
his
ships and sailors seized? I'd wager about as much time as a half-cocked rooster would last in a sex-starved hen house.”

“I agree with you,” Hugh said, “although I would not have put it quite that way. It
is
an abominable practice, however much the Royal Navy may require additional hands to man its ships. Precious few Englishmen are volunteering these days in spite of the French threat. However poorly that fact may speak to English patriotism, the question on the table is what your president intends to do now. Without a treaty of sorts, we're back to sailing in stormy waters. So . . . what do
you
think Jefferson will do, Richard? What
can
he do?”

The voice was his brother-in-law's, but the words were those of Jean Lafitte, and Richard still had no idea how to answer. “I don't know,” he said, “but he'll have to do something. Congress and the American public will demand action. As will the president's own conscience. Nevertheless, I fear that whatever he does decide to do will have grave consequences.”

“Count on it,” Agreen said.

T
HAT SAME
evening, for a reason he could not explain even to himself, Richard cast aside his resolution to wait and read the dispatch from the Navy Department aloud to his wife. They were sitting side by side on a sofa before a crackling fire in the parlor of their home on South Street, in what had become a nightly ritual for them, whatever the weather. This was their time together, their sanctuary from the cares and concerns of
the outside world. A glass or two of red Bordeaux helped to keep those cares and concerns in proper perspective.

“You resigned your commission?” Katherine asked incredulously. “Why would you do such a thing?
When
did you do such a thing?”

“During our layover in Portsmouth. I included a personal letter to Secretary Smith in the dispatch I sent to the Navy Department. I had hoped Mr. Smith might be in Portsmouth—he often is—but it turned out he was in Washington. I wanted to tell you at the time, but I feared you would try to dissuade me.”

“I would most certainly have tried to dissuade you, Richard. The Navy is your life. You love the Navy. Why did you do it?”

He stared into the fire. “I'm getting on, Katherine. I'm not the young man I used to be. Command is best given to younger sea officers, and our Navy is fortunate to have a boatload of them who have been battle-tested in the Mediterranean. ‘Preble's boys' are the Navy's future. Jamie is one of them, I'm happy to say. You've heard me speak of some of the others: Stephen Decatur and James Lawrence, for example. And of course Eric Meyers.”

“I have heard you speak of them often, and indeed they sound like exemplary officers. Now tell me the
real
reason you resigned your commission.”

Her inquiring eyes seemed always to see through to his very core. “You're right about one thing, Katherine,” he said. “I
do
love the Navy. I am honored to have been given the opportunity to serve my country in the way I have. But you're wrong when you say that the Navy is my life.
You
are my life. Our children, our family:
this
is my life. The whole truth is that I no longer have either the ability or the desire to sail away from you for months or years on end. That part of my life I have cherished, but that part of my life is now over, as it should be. There is plenty for me to do right here in Hingham and Boston. It's where I want to be and where I
need
to be.”

“You are doing this for me, then,” she said softly.

“No,” he said, “I'm doing it for myself. I love you, Katherine. Neither of us knows what the future holds for us. But whatever it holds, we will face it together. Not separated by thousands of miles, but here, together, where we have lived and loved for so many years.”

Katherine said nothing further. She rested her head on Richard's shoulder and felt his arm adjusting to make her more comfortable. She stared blankly into the dying flames in the hearth until she heard her husband
drift off to sleep. Then, finally, she too succumbed to the blissful dark, safe for the moment within the tender embrace of her husband. Safe, too, for yet another day, from the terrible secret she was carrying silently within her, and that she dared not speak of, whatever the consequences, until the inevitable day of reckoning.

Seven

Hingham, Massachusetts

Fall 1806

T
HE CEREMONY
uniting Peter Sprague and Diana Cutler was mostly a South Shore affair. Relatives and close friends from away were invited, of course, and those able to attend filled First Parish Church to beyond capacity, forcing many of the male attendees to stand in the back of the church and in the narthex. But there was little of the pomp and ceremony that had marked the wedding of Will Cutler and Adele Endicott in this same church four years earlier. Today, the cream of Boston society remained in Boston—with one notable exception. As Jack and Anne-Marie Endicott, in company with their daughter Frances and Frances' fiancé, Robert Pepperell, approached the center of town along North Street, they caused many heads to turn and tongues to wag. Many, perhaps most, citizens of Hingham had never before seen a coach-and-eight replete with English-style coachman, footman, and postilion dressed in full livery.

After the Reverend Henry Ware conferred God's blessings on yet another Cutler wedding, the entourage and invited guests—who included most of the population of Hingham—repaired to Caleb and Joan Cutler's home on Main Street for the traditional post-ceremony fun, fiddling, and feasting. The air was crisp, and thick, leaden clouds covered the sky. When shards of sunshine managed to break through, a golden brilliance highlighted the nascent splendor of autumn colors against the backdrop of dark, brooding pewter. The clash of seasons posed a constant threat of quick-soaking squalls, and the more devout among the guests cast their
eyes skyward and prayed that the rain would hold off for several more hours.

Diana Cutler Sprague was not among those who did. She paid scant attention to the weather as she, arm-in-arm with Peter, made the rounds outside and inside the house. Tradition suggested that the bride and groom need not linger long at such an event, and the newlyweds wished to pay their respects to as many people as possible before departing for Stockbridge. That picturesque village, nestled at the foot of the Berkshire Mountains of western Massachusetts, was renowned for its English missionary roots, its magnificent scenery, and the Red Lion Inn, a hostelry with a well-established reputation for hospitality, fine cuisine, and discretion. The honeymooners would be gone for ten days, giving them a solid week together in Stockbridge to explore the wonders of Man and Nature.

“My dears,” Katherine Cutler said as she bade them good-bye near the stage and hired driver waiting on Main Street. “You have given me one of the happiest days of my life. Thank you for that gift.” She embraced first Peter and then her only daughter.

As she withdrew from their embrace, Diana looked deep into her mother's hazel eyes, mirror images of her own. “Thank you for all you have done for me, Mother—every day of my life.” She clasped her mother to her again, harder this time.

“Go now, my darling,” Katherine whispered to her. “Go with God; go with your husband; and go with my love forever.”

Diana, swiping at tears, embraced her father and Peter's parents in turn and then let Peter hand her up into the stage. At the crack of the driver's whip the coach lurched forward, clattering down Main Street and across South Street before taking a sharp left on North Street at Albert Fearing's house.

After the stage had disappeared, Richard gently pulled his wife against his side. “Will you come back into the house with me, Katherine?”

“You go along,” Katherine said, still staring at the spot where the carriage had disappeared. “I'll join you in a minute.”

“Very well,” Richard said reluctantly. “I'll have a glass of Madeira waiting for you in the parlor. We could both use a glass of that, I think.”

Katherine gave him the inkling of a smile. “I think we could both use a
lot
of that.”

As he made his way back across the fairground-like lawn, where merriment was backsliding into raucous and rowdy behavior, Richard noticed Anne-Marie Endicott approaching him. She was elegantly attired, as was her wont in public, and the sight of her took his breath away, as it had
every time he had seen her since he had spirited her out of Paris on the eve of the French Revolution. Her husband at the time, Marquis Bernard-René de Launay, the last royal governor of the Bastille, had been seized when that bastion fell and was summarily decapitated by a mob hell-bent on revenge for the marquis' stoic defense of King Louis and the
ancien régime
. Richard had first met Anne-Marie Helvétian a decade earlier in Paris, during the high noon of the American Revolution, when she, an alluring young woman of savoir faire and Swiss heritage, had been a protégé of Benjamin Franklin, and he, a young, sexually naïve midshipman, had served as aide-de-camp to Capt. John Paul Jones. They had danced the minuet together at Versailles; they had attended a performance of
The Barber of Seville
together at the Tuilleries Palace; and they had fallen head over heels into bed together at the Helvétian residence in Passy. The memories of those few idyllic days had continued to tantalize them both, long after Richard had risked all in 1789 to snatch the beautiful marquise and her two young daughters from the holocaust consuming Paris and spirit them away to America in his sloop
Falcon
. Since arriving in Boston, Anne-Marie Helvétian de Launay had regained her former wealth and social status by marrying Jack Endicott.

She came up to him and said in a concerned voice, “Is Katherine all right?”

“I think so,” Richard replied. “I suspect she's feeling as I do: a little down despite the joy of the day.”

Anne-Marie nodded knowingly. “Let me talk to her.”

Anne-Marie joined Katherine on Main Street and followed her longing gaze. “Four years ago,” she said softly, “I watched from this very spot as a carriage took Adele and Will to the Hingham docks. I was so very happy for her, to have married such a fine young man as your son. And yet, do you know what I remember most about that moment? It was the pain of loss. My beloved daughter had left my home and my side to live with someone else; and in truth, at that moment, it didn't matter to me who that someone else was or how right he might be for her. She was with him, not me, and I knew that would never change. One of the hardest things for a mother to do is watch a daughter ride off with her prince, especially a daughter with whom you have been so close. I never bore a son; but I imagine it is easier for a mother to watch a son ride off than a daughter.”

“Perhaps a little easier,” Katherine acknowledged.

“Trust me, my dear,” Anne-Marie went on, “your heartache will ease. You won't see Diana as often as you once did, but when you do see her,
a new relationship will open up to you and the ties will be stronger than ever, in ways you cannot appreciate today.

“And,” she added conclusively, “you have the great comfort of having Richard at your side. He knows your heart, and he loves you very much. My Jack, bless him, is a wonderful provider, but he does
not
understand much about personal feelings. Nor does he understand what it means to truly love someone else. He loves his business, but if a matter has no bearing on making money, he is likely to pay it scant attention. When my dear Frances marries in June, I will be left quite alone for much of the time. I will still have Jack, of course; but I'll be alone nonetheless.”

J
AMIE
C
UTLER
was standing in the parlor when he noticed his father in the front hall conversing with a couple he did not recognize. But then again, he had been away at sea for three and a half years, and there were many people in attendance who were either unfamiliar to him or whose names he could not recall. He was turning his attention back to his conversation with his cousin Joseph and Frances Endicott when a tall, svelte figure across the room caught his eye. Although her back was to him, he had no trouble recognizing the blond curls flowing fetchingly across her shoulders and down the back of her elegant white empire gown. Jamie had known Melinda Conner since both were children. She had been his sister's closest friend since their earliest recollections, and as such she had been an attendant to the bride, as he and Will had been to the groom. During the ceremony, as Reverend Ware cited Scripture and conferred the blessings of God, the Son, and the Holy Ghost upon this most sacred union and sanctuary, she and Jamie had cast furtive glances at one another. After the ceremony Jamie had been so besieged by friends and well-wishers that he had lost sight of her until this moment.

“You were
saying
, Jamie,” Frances said brightly when it became clear that Jamie's attention had not returned to her.

“Sorry,” Jamie said, returning his eyes front and center. To his surprise, he felt himself blushing. “Forgive me, Frances, but I just saw an old friend whom I need to greet. Will you two please excuse me?”

“Of course,” Frances said, her disappointment evident. “As I must soon return to Boston, perhaps I won't see you again until June, at my own wedding. Assuming, of course, that all the forces of good on this earth can persuade you to attend.”