Twelve. The Moon and Sixpence
Twelve
The Moon and Sixpence
Portsdown Lodge, June 30, 1865
The old admiral lay dying in his bed.
The rumor of it hung over all of Portsmouth: he would not recover from the vandalism perpetrated within his house. It was said that the spinster daughter with the dried-up face, the one the local children made up rhymes about, had waited until her father was gone and the servants dismissed for the day, then rolled the desk out onto the lawn and set it afire surrounded by white sand and bricks. The blaze could be seen from the old city, but by the time the local fire brigade arrived, it was spent.
After a sleepless night, the visitors from America congregated at the George Hotel, where Sara-Beth had rooms, to decide how best to split up the party. The most pressing issue was Charlotte’s attendance in London for her audition at the New Adelphi in three days. When Denham received word from his bride that their reunion would be further delayed, he immediately telegrammed back to warn that Fawcett Robinson was due soon on the Continent.
“Charlie, you must get to London,” Henrietta urged her sister. They were all six of them gathered in the hotel lobby, sitting closely together on matching sofas and footstools, speaking more loudly than they would like over the noise of all the comings and goings.
“But Harry, Sir Francis may not be long for—”
“I shall stay behind. It’s fine. I will make Denham understand.”
“All that freedom to travel about,” Charlotte said with a sigh, “just from uttering words on a deck.”
There was a long, uncomfortable pause, which Henrietta did not rush to fill. She was testing someone, something she had learned from Sara-Beth in their short time together. She had watched lawyers in her father’s court do it, too. Let people show their hand sometimes. If only they had done that with Fanny Austen, instead of ignoring her altogether.
Nash finally spoke. “I suppose I could accompany Charlotte to London.”
“The chaperone will act after all!” Sara-Beth proclaimed, then turned to the Nelson brothers. “And what are you boys to do?”
“They say the admiral refuses all visitors.” Haz looked over at Nicholas as if for approval. “And I am eager for London, I must admit.”
Henrietta continued to stay quiet, letting the others do the talking. The group was rearranging itself even more neatly than she could have hoped. She just hoped she was doing the right thing when it came to her sister.
Nicholas cleared his throat. “As one who initiated relations with Sir Francis, I feel a compunction to pay my respects alongside Mrs. Scott.” He did not say what they were all thinking—that the reason they had traveled so far now lay in ashes on the lawn of Portsdown Lodge.
Henrietta had not foreseen the possibility of Nicholas remaining behind, and her first thought surprised and troubled her. But that was silly, she told herself. He could have no romantic intention with regard to her, a married woman. Henrietta found herself grateful again for the freedom that came with the wedding vows: to move about and pay visits, and not have one’s womanly virtue called into question by such simple acts.
“Well, I’ve decided to meet Lu at Dover and start for Bruges,” announced Sara-Beth, “and I’ll be taking my little coterie with me. I’ve been to London before and exhausted all its charms, although I’ve so enjoyed Hampshire and seeing the Nelsons here so full of enthusiasm.”
Charlotte turned to Haz. “Since Justice Nash is accompanying me to London, there should be nothing untoward in your joining us, too.”
Henrietta watched Nash’s handsome face harden ever so slightly at these words, Charlotte’s impishly light up, Haz’s warm with pleasure, and Sara-Beth’s stay as charmingly inscrutable as the gambler she was. As unromantic as Henrietta was, she found the intense jumble of emotions taking place in the lobby to be undeniably thrilling. Perhaps the persistent courtship by Denham and exchange of vows had freed something else. Suddenly she wanted everyone to be as happy as she was—to know of how happy one could actually be! She thought of the admiral alone in his study, watching for their ship with such anticipation in the knowledge that two sets of siblings, equally matched in age and temperament, were on board. From their time together, Henrietta had gleaned the romantic mischief that might have motivated him. How disappointed the admiral must have been at the failure of any coupling to ensue. Poor Sir Francis , she thought to herself with the saddest of smiles.
Standing before the Clarence carriage bound for the rail station, Henrietta pressed the newly silver-minted sixpence into her sister’s gloved hand. She was happy to now gift the “Young Head Victoria” coin away, not being remotely superstitious herself.
“But you actors are,” she reminded Charlotte as they embraced at length.
“Oh Harry, no!” Charlotte stepped back from her to exclaim. “You’re to keep this for the marriage, for prosperity!”
“We were only indulging the starry-eyed captain,” Henrietta assured her. “You know my feelings when it comes to such notions. Denham says we make our own luck in life.”
“How enterprising.”
“Charlie, you will love Denham one day as the brother you never had.”
“From a few encounters over a lifetime? Hardly.”
“Not a few, I promise.” Henrietta squeezed her sister’s hands, which still held the sixpence, as Charlotte teared up. “And besides, Fawcett Robinson will be bowled over by you—how could he not? We are all in your thrall, my dearest. You have such a gift for performing—I envy you that. I don’t have a talent.”
“You most certainly do. You have a gift for rhetoric.”
“But no forum for it. I can’t be a lawyer or politician or philosopher, and I’ve no interest in the stage like you or the Girl Orator.”
Charlotte pulled her hands away to tuck the sixpence in her reticule, then dried her eyes. “There may not be a profession for it, but you inspire the trust of others. You, my dear sister, will always do the right thing. No one who meets you, even for a second, could ever doubt that.”
Now they were both crying, and Nash and Haslett, who had been watching from a polite distance, came forward to separate them. “I am so sorry, but we will miss the train,” Nash gently said.
With some trouble, Charlotte’s large steamer trunk was lifted onto the driver’s seat of the Clarence. Henrietta had decided she no longer needed the trunk herself, being only days away from moving into the terrace flat on Hanbury Street and setting up house for her husband. Until then, a small valise from the ship’s general store would suit her fine.
The sisters quickly hugged and kissed again, and Nash helped Charlotte into the carriage with Haslett following behind. Henrietta stood in front of the Fountain Hotel, feeling profoundly emotional as she watched her sister leave, as if life was teetering on the edge of a spinning silver coin and it was hard to predict where it would land—but at least it was in motion. The Clarence lurched forward and Henrietta began to wave, but to her relief it was not like the painful vision of retreat from their father as the China had pulled away. Charlotte was moving forward, just as Henrietta had in marrying Denham, and in that moment, she felt only the greatest of excitement for them both.