James Benwick stared at the blue-eyed beauty resting in his arms. Encouraging her to grasp his finger, they cooed at each other, both equally delighted in the other's company.
"You are spoiling that baby, James," observed Margaret as she bustled through the room, arms full of cloths and clothing belonging to the children. The scent of warm sunshine wafted through the doorway, indicating that she was treading a well worn path from the drying line in the rear courtyard to the nursery.
James cracked a small smile and raised an eyebrow at her remark but didn't feel the need to reply. Moving to the window he peered out onto the street, the glow of daylight pleasant on his skin. Glancing down at little Francis he was captured by the wonder on her face as she chased the dappled sun rays caused by the curtains catching a soft breeze.
Though the little wonder had been named for her Aunt, no one had the heart yet to call her Fanny. No doubt the moniker would be picked up in time but for now the wound was too fresh.
"Come on Harry, he's gonna beat us!" Hearing the voice of Little John, James glanced back out the window to see Harville careening down the path using his cane to vault his way home with his two sons trailing behind him, toy boats waving in the breeze.
Tumbling through the front door, the boys rushed up the stairs as Harville made his way into the room.
"Somehow I don't think that is what Dr _ envisioned for that cane when he offered it to assist your ability to move around," James dryly observed.
"Ha!" John laughed, "what the good doctor doesn't know my friend." And panting slightly, he hobbled over and reached for his daughter. "A message for you," Handing Benwick a letter bearing the mark of the Admiralty.
"Well." James stated, staring at the missive in his hand.
"Well, indeed."
Entering the room, Margaret questioned, "Well, what?"
Reaching for her, Harville planted a kiss on the side of her head and replied, "the Admiralty are calling."
"Oh," she glanced across at their friend, still staring at the letter. A comfortable familiarity had developed between James and Margaret, given their recent experiences. Having grown up with no siblings, she likened her feelings for Benwick to those she had had for dear Fanny. He had her loyalty and she was ready to see him prosper. However, concern for his grief made her heart clench in her chest at what this might mean.
Excusing himself, James retired to his room to read the note, squeezing Margaret's forearm on the way out the door and unaware of the concerned look on the face of his fellow sailor as he left the room.
The missive read as follows:
If it pleases Commander Benwick, his presence aboard HMS Sloop Grappler on the morning of _ is requested by the Office of Admirals.
Attending the dry docks at his earliest convenience will provide Commander Benwick with the requisite information.
Yrs & Co.
Benwick stared at the words on the page, waiting to feel something. He wasn't sure what he had expected of himself. There was a time not too long ago where he could not imagine himself leaving his room, let alone commanding another mission. And while that time had passed, he noted a distinct lack of excitement for what the future held. Still, this was a purpose, wasn't it? It was good to have purpose. So while he wondered whether that zest for adventure would ever return, he would fulfill his duty to the King.
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"Benwick, well met!"
"Ah, Wentworth, good to see you." The two friends greeted each other with a hearty handshake as they entered the office of the Portsmouth dockyards.
Making their way through to the rear meeting room, they compared the little information they had both recently received, concluding that something was most definitely afoot. Unsurprising, given the state of conflict with France. However, the prospect of working in partnership was a little surprising given the one sailor served in the warfare branch and the other in the mercantile arm of the force. Ultimately, none of their speculation could compare to the utter astonishment they felt from walking into a room that held Admiral Croft and Lord Admiral Nelson. Locking eyes quickly with Wentworth, the two men bowed in greeting, Benwick knew he was thinking the same. Definitely something afoot.
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Reflecting over our day at the Harville's dinner table has become something of a habit, James thought to himself as he packed his trunk in preparation for his departure. It came so naturally to them all, he was glad that the tradition had not stopped in light of the fact that Harville would not be sailing with them this time. Especially as his advice on the strategy for their mission was insightful, as one would expect from an officer of his experience.
The last few weeks he had noticed Harville become less boisterous and more watchful. Clearly, something was ticking over in that brain of his. Benwick had worried that Harville was struggling with being left ashore but had said nothing, it would be an insult to do so. As much as his friend came alive on the sea, his body was not healed enough for the rigors of ship life. Harville might play the fool but he would never risk his safety or the safety of others for the sake of chasing orders.
Always one to make the best of every situation, whatever it was that had been rattling around in John's head had come to the fore over the dinner table that evening.
Harville had been enterprising enough to propose an interesting concept to Admiral Baldwin the last time they had crossed paths and it seemed as though it was going to be trialed in short order. Harville had mentioned how difficult it was to maintain ship repairs while at sea, given the impressive amounts of inexperienced sailors that were going to war with limited training. He proposed that in between being given orders, young sailors should spend time on moored ships, learning the necessary practices of sea-life, such as repairs. Even more conveniently, the practice could be carried out on the frigates that needed to be docked longer for more extensive repairs. It was a win, win. Extra laborers for the navy, better training for the seamen.
Harville had buzzed at the dinner table that evening, eyes blazing with pride when he explained to his wife and friends that for the duration of the project, given that he was technically in charge of a ship, he was to be granted the title and pay of a post-captain. It hadn't taken long for the pleasure in such good news to overtake the astonishment. Harville would miss out on any prize money while stuck as a land-man, however the rank of post-captain would at least ensure him a pension of half pay. Any further boons would depend on the success of this new endeavour and James had little doubt of that occurring. He was beginning to refer to the phenomenon as the Harville determination factor. A little personal joke of his own.
Spying the book of poetry beside his bed, he thought of how Fanny had possessed this genetic component in bushels. Her determination to make him an enthusiast for Byron and Scott for example had been something to behold. He had taken to reading through her collection nightly. He found it cathartic as the words evoked the memory of her voice and hours would sweep by under that spell. Grabbing the book and more off the shelf, he placed them in the trunk and closed the lid.