The Launching of Roger Brook (5 page)

It was from this western end that Roger entered the little town and on reaching the church he turned seaward, down Church Lane, a few hundred yards along which lay his home. The house was situated on a gentle slope to the south of the High Street and separated from it by gardens, a strip of woodland and a large meadow.

From time immemorial there had been a dwelling there and part of the last remained; a low-roofed building faced with old red tiles which was now used as the kitchen quarters. Roger’s grandfather had bought the property, demolished most of the earlier structure and built the main portion of the present house. It formed a solid square block with tall, white-painted windows most of which faced south and had a fine view of the Island. There were two storeys only but the rooms were spacious and on both floors twelve feet in height. It was not a mansion according to the times, but if for sale would have been advertised as a commodious residence, suitable to persons of quality.

A small orchard lay to the west of it, an acre of walled kitchen garden to its north, stabling and outhouses to its east; along the south front of the house ran a long balustraded terrace, ornamented with carved stone vases and with two sets of steps leading down to a wide lawn beyond which a number of fine trees and shrubberies formed shady walks. The whole was enclosed by a high brick wall which, although the property was so close to the town, gave it as much seclusion as if it were a mile or more from its nearest neighbour.

Eager to greet his mother, Roger dismounted at the orchard gate, leaving Jim to take his mount round to the stables, and, running up the path burst into the house by its side entrance. As he had guessed would be the case, at such a time, she was in the kitchen superintending her maids in the preparation of a gala dinner for her returned hero.

Lady Marie Brook was then forty-six. The dark hair, partly hidden by her lace cap, was now turning grey, but in her deep blue eyes and fine profile, it was still easy to recapture the ravishing beauty that, eighteen years earlier, had caused the dashing Lieutenant Christopher Brook to declare that he must have her even if he died for it. And he very nearly had, since both her brothers had called him out and in the second duel he had been seriously wounded.

At the time of their meeting Jacobite plots had still been rife, and he had come upon her, white-faced and indignant, while he was leading a naval landing-party in the forced search of her home in Scotland for a concealed store of arms. She had been only seven when her father, the Earl of Kildonan, had joined Prince Charles Edward’s ill-fated rising and after the battle of Culloden been butchered by the Duke of Cumberland’s brutal Hanoverian horsemen; but had been old enough to remember the grief of her devastated clan at their losses in battle and the merciless hunting for fugitives that had succeeded it. The passing of twenty years had made no difference to the extreme hatred that she and her family bore to all who wore the uniform of the Hanoverian King; yet the very first sight of Christopher Brook had caused in her an overwhelming emotion. Her first love had been killed as a result of a shooting accident and she had felt the blow so deeply that she had rejected all other offers, but the dashing young Naval Lieutenant had dissipated her old loyalties as swiftly as mist is dispersed
by strong sunshine and, in spite of all arguments, entreaties and threats, she had broken with her family to run away with him.

Lady Marie was not only a beautiful, but also a very practical, woman; and her housekeeping was a model of industry and efficiency, even for those times. Not a fruit, herb or vegetable in her garden was ever allowed to go to waste and the shelves of her storeroom groaned under their loads of conserves, pickles, spices and syrups.

In the old kitchen where she now stood, making pastry herself while she kept a watchful eye on her ample-bosomed cook and her two maids, Polly and Nell, the time-blackened beams overhead were festooned with hams, tongues, and flitches of bacon, while the tables could hardly be seen for joints, game, pudding-basins and vegetables.

As Roger ran in she swiftly dusted the flour from her hands and, laughingly submitting to his wild embrace, kissed him on both cheeks; then she held him from her and exclaimed:

‘My darling boy, you’re looking wondrous well, and I can see that you’re much excited by the great news. Your father is out on the terrace with some other gentlemen. He’s just mad to see you, so run to him now and leave me to my cooking.’

After kissing her again Roger did as he was bid, and slipping from the old to the new part of the house, he came out through the pillared portico that gave on to the terrace.

His father was there, a big, brown-faced, jovial-looking man of fifty-two, surrounded by a group of neighbours who had called to welcome him home. Roger knew most of them: old Sir Harry Burrard, the richest man in the district, who lived across the river at Walhampton; General Cleveland of Vicar’s Hill; John Bond of Buckland Manor; Mr. Eddie of Priestlands and Mr. Robbins of Pylewell. Captain Burrard was there, too, talking to Harry Darby, the Mayor of Lymington whom he hoped to succeed, in that ancient and honourable office which had been held by no less a person than the Duke of Bolton only ten years earlier; and Sam Oviatt, the local wine-merchant, present by virtue of his calling, which was considered of such importance at that date that wine-merchants were freely admitted to country society, which rigorously excluded all other tradesmen.

As Roger’s father caught sight of him, he cried: ‘Why, Roger, boy, thou hast become a man! Stand not on ceremony but come hither, lad.’

Roger had been about to make a bow but instead he ran down the steps and his father kissed him heartily.

‘What a surprise you gave us,’ he laughed up at the bronzed, heavy jowled face just above his own. ‘Where is the
Bellerophon
? Did you dock at Plymouth or is she in Portsmouth Roads?’

‘Nay, I left her in the Indies, and came home as a passenger in the frigate
Amazon
. I carried dispatches, and having a fair wind behind us we made all sail up channel to anchor at the Nore. ’Twas half a day saved, though it meant my jolting all the way from London in a plaguey post-chaise yesterday. But you know the company, Roger?’

Recalling himself, Roger made a deep sweeping bow which, beginning with Sir Harry Burrard, included all those present.

‘Your servant, gentlemen.’

As they returned his bow, he noticed for the first time that there was a stranger among them. He was a paunchy little man with a fat face, double chin, small pursed-up mouth and snub nose, but he had large, luminous eyes. Many of the older men were wearing wigs, but evidently he preferred the newer fashion, as his own brown hair was curled in two rolls above his ears and tied with a black bow at the back of his neck.

At that moment he stepped forward and spoke in a sonorous, rather pompous voice.

‘Captain, pray do me the honour to present me to your son.’

‘On the contrary, Sir, I am flattered that you should take notice of him. Roger, make your service to Mr. Edward Gibbon, who has recently become our Member of Parliament on the retirement of Sir Harry, here. But keep your schoolboy Latin tags for other company, since that is his second tongue, and his learning upon ancient times puts us all to the blush.’

Roger’s eyes opened wide as he bowed again. ‘Indeed, I’m honoured, Sir. My House-master at Sherborne lent me the first volume of your
Decline and Fall
but I had not thought to have the happiness of meeting its distinguished author.’

Gibbon’s fat face broke into a smile. ‘Nor I, young Sir,
that my cherished labours should already have reached so youthful a public.’

‘Strap me, Roger!’ beamed his father, ‘you have the laugh of us, for I’ll vow that few others of us here have as yet had the courage to tackle so weighty a work, much as we may admire Mr. Gibbon’s industry. For that you deserve a glass of wine. What shall it be—Madeira, Malaga or Sack? But I forget, you’re old enough now to drink as and when you please.’

‘Thank you, Sir.’ Roger turned away to a table that old Ben, the house-man, now elevated by the wearing of his best black to the rank of butler, had carried out on to the terrace. On it were three decanters and a tray of tall, slender, trumpet-shaped glasses. Choosing the Madeira, as the sweetest wine, he was pouring himself a glass when Mr. Bond cried:

‘I take you up on that, Chris! I’ve read all three volumes that Mr. Gibbon has so far published, and am a-thirst for more.’

‘Ah, John, your nose was ever in some book while the foxes at Buckland made a Roman holiday in your hen roosts,’ responded the captain, and his sally raised a hearty laugh among the fox-hunting squires of which the company mainly consisted.

‘I, too, am happy to say that I have read Mr. Gibbon,’ declared Sam Oviatt.

‘I’ll not gainsay you,’ said his host, with a broad wink at the others. ‘With no lands to look to and the scandalous profits you make on your smuggled liquor, you must be the richest man among us and the one with most leisure.’

Another gust of laughter followed, then Mr. Gibbon held up a plump hand. ‘Come, come, gentlemen! No more disputing over the rival claims of my poor work and other pursuits, I beg. Three readers among ten of you is so handsome a proportion that could I boast the same of the population of England I should be so well endowed that I could afford to found a free library for the enlightenment of poor sailors returned from the wars.’

The laugh this time was against Captain Brook but it was interrupted by the arrival of two newcomers, the Vicar and Mr. Sutherland, who lived at Grosvenor House in the High Street, the meadow behind which ran down to abut on the Captain’s orchard. After greetings had been exchanged and
they had been furnished with drinks, the gay, inconsequent talk went on.

Soon after three o’clock old Sir Harry Burrard asked that his coach might be summoned, so that he could drive home to dinner; but Captain Brook would not hear of it, insisting that the whole company should remain to dine with him, and that his wife had prepared against them doing so. Heads were counted and Roger sent to tell his mother that, besides themselves, there would be eleven guests; and as she had already bidden her nearest and dearest neighbour, Mrs. Sutherland, to join them, to keep her in countenance with so many gentlemen, covers were prepared for fifteen.

Roger helped old Ben put the extra leaves in the dining-room table, but they had no need to use them all, as it was a good modern one made only a dozen years before in Mr. Chippendale’s London workshop and could, as Roger knew from their Boxing Night parties, seat twenty, when fully extended.

By four o’clock its highly polished mahogany mirrored a brave array of china, glass, gleaming silver, white napery, crystal bowls of fruit and filigree baskets holding bonbons, comfits and candied peel, while the side tables were filled to capacity with steaming dishes and rows of bottles.

Polly and Nell, now smart in their frilled aprons and mob caps, took their places on either side of the table; old Ben announced that his master was served, and the company went in to dine.

Lady Marie had Mr. Gibbon on her right and Sir Harry on her left; the Captain had Mrs. Sutherland on one side and old General Cleveland on the other; Roger sat between Sam Oviatt and Captain Burrard.

For a first course Lady Marie gave them a dish of perch and trout, another of lobster patties, three fowls broiled, a fore-quarter of lamb, and a fillet of veal roasted with Morella Cherries and truffles. And for a second course, sweetbreads, a green goose roasted and peas, a pigeon pie, apricot tart, cheesecakes, and a trifle.

Few ate of all these things, but many of most; everyone choosing what they preferred and often having their plates piled high with helpings from several different dishes at the same time. The meal was good, but by no means pretentious as nine dishes to each course were often served in larger houses and even when alone few of those present ever sat
down in their own homes to a dinner of less than a single course of five. All of them took unabashed enjoyment in their food and washed it down with copious draughts of Rhenish, Claret and Anjoy. Such heavy eating and drinking brought internal troubles to most people in middle life and was largely responsible for the early death rate but they lived too fully and violently to give a thought to that.

With the interval between courses this cheerful guzzling continued for the best part of three hours, then the port was put on the table and the ladies withdrew.

Behind a tall, brocaded screen in one corner of the room was a commode with two chamber pots, in order that the gentlemen might be spared the inconvenience of interrupting their conversation by leaving the room. Most of them now made use of these and, as they settled down again, the Captain told Roger to take his mother’s place at the foot of the table; the decanters were passed round and the jovial talk went on.

‘You have told us little yet, Sir, of the state in which you left the Indies,’ remarked Mr. Gibbon to his host, ‘and no small part of our prosperity hangs upon the Sugar Islands.’

Things are well enough there now, Sir,’ promptly replied his host. The enemy caused some destruction in the towns where our people put up a resistance to him; but in such islands as fell to his assault he burnt few of the plantations, thinking to profit from them himself in years to come.’

Captain Burrard laughed. ‘After the French recapture of St. Eustatius, and with only Jamaica, Barbados and Antigua left to us, he had some reason to count his chickens. Things there were in a parlous state until my Lord Rodney’s victory off the Saints restored the situation.’

‘Were you present at the fight, Chris?’ asked Mr. Sutherland.

‘Aye, Jack,’ nodded Captain Brook, ‘and a bloody business it was; the enemy’s ships being crammed to bursting with soldiers for his projected invasion of Jamaica. As you may have heard tell, my Lord Rodney made naval history by deliberately disrupting his own line of battle to break clean through the enemy centre. This new manœuvre enabled us to get to windward of the French and encircle five of their biggest ships, including the
Ville de Paris
, in which Admiral de Grasse was flying his flag. After a monstrous gruelling he hauled down the flag of France with his
own hands and surrendered himself to Hood on the
Barfleur
. Rodney then called off the fight, and although we took four prizes, in Hood’s view had we kept at them we might have taken many more. So, although a fine victory, ‘twas not so conclusive as Quiberon Bay, where I served as gunnery Lieutenant of the middle deck in
Augusta
. I count Lord Hawke’s action there in ‘fifty-nine as our greatest naval victory since the Armada; it gave us undisputed command of the seas for a decade.’