Fourteen. A Heartbreaker, Charlatan, and Thief!
Fourteen
A Heartbreaker, Charlatan, and Thief!
Beacon Hill, September 17, 1865
“Runaway Bride Snared in Court!”
Little Bobbie Acheson skipped along Long Wharf, crying out the latest headline from London’s Pall Mall Gazette . No sooner had the Neptune arrived in Boston Harbor than Little Bobbie clambered atop the distribution truck, waiting for his stack. The front page of the Gazette was gleefully reporting the latest decision from Sir Cresswell’s court in favor of the petitioner husband in Scott v. Scott ; a writ of seizure of the respondent wife’s property, it was reported, would surely follow.
“Runaway Bride Snared in Court!”
Due to a seasonal shift in the Gulf Stream, the RMS Neptune had arrived from Liverpool with the news two days early—and the SS China from Portsmouth two days late. Due to the winds and a quicker-than-usual turnaround at the Custom House, a letter postmarked London arrived in Boston at the exact same time as Little Bobbie’s shouts.
Mrs. Henrietta Stevenson Scott
Beacon Hill, Boston, U.S.A.
September 5, 1865
Dearest Henrietta,
Sara-Beth and Haz sit by me as I write from our rooms at the Langham—we are all three in a state over Cresswell’s decision today. The old man runs a tight ship, and your lawyer Pankhurst was most impressive, but Denham nonetheless has prevailed in the matrimonial court.
We are exceedingly sorry to write you of this, but beg you not to panic just yet. There is still no divorce, which was the one thing you wanted and, I understand, sought yourself—and the writ is a piece of paper alone. Its power in the first instance is contained to England and Wales, which does Denham no good. Pankhurst assures us that the legal costs of enforcement abroad should dissuade Denham from further action. Who is paying his legal fees as it is? We suspect the Reynolds’s editor but have no proof. The only people to attend on him in court are his many brothers and sisters. A very tight bunch. I should like them, I think, should they not be supporting a heartbreaker, charlatan, and thief! They tried to approach us after the proceeding with talk of their brother’s confused spirits, but we would have none of it—although they did seem most eager for news of you. Pankhurst advises that, should Denham foolishly not relent, the matter will go back up to our state supreme court, and that a majority of five justices would be required, should your father and Nash recuse themselves, which they surely would.
Oh Harry, you should have seen Denham sitting there in Old Hall, slumped and full of loathing—and to think, I once almost thought him handsome enough for you!—although it’s a mighty good thing you didn’t, as I wanted to box his ears enough for us both. I never did trust a newspaperman. But you would have thought Denham had actually lost something of his, for all he despairs. Cresswell examined him at length on the object in dispute, but Denham never cracked. Did you know a Royal Opera box costs eight thousand quid? As someone not unfamiliar with poverty, I can comprehend what set Denham off in the first place—it would be like holding a firecracker in one’s hand. But it is his dang perseverance that is most unsettling. Can he not see that he drives everyone further and further away, most of all you?
At least he dropped those ridiculous charges against poor Nick. Haz tells us that Nick keeps shop in his prolonged absence and has started writing for The Saturday Press. Mr. Twain has something before them, and my father writes that Mr. Whitman has something coming up soon as well, a new poem in tribute to our fallen president called “O Captain! My Captain!” How I love it already on title alone.
We know you, Harry, our own stalwart captain. You will bear this better than anyone. So, on to Charlotte. Haz is convinced Nash is in love with her—can you believe it? He says he witnessed much in London to make him suspect it so. Sara-Beth, never one to miss a bet, wages it was not your father whom Nash jumped on board for. Yet Charlotte in her letter of August 1st, which only reached Sara-Beth and myself two weeks past, writes not a word of him. The silence, in fact, is most deafening, as I had distinctly asked your sister for news of him in my own letter last. I am afraid there may have been a breach of some kind between them. Tell her Louisa says she must be bold in life.
If only Louisa would follow her own advice!
And now, to write of much cheerier news, we are on our way to Scotland to… can you guess… conjoin Miss Gleason and Mr. Nelson in wedded bliss! No sooner did Haz arrive in Baden-Baden than he proposed! What is it about travel that makes everyone rush so headlong into love? Sara-Beth and I had been enjoying ourselves most daringly before he found us, flirting shamelessly with every itinerant musician or Neapolitan prince that came our way, and Haz was positively overcome by jealousy. Meanwhile, I have never seen Sara-Beth so superstitious. She has stopped gambling altogether—easy enough to do, for the minute she said yes to Haz, she started to lose! She very charmingly claims she has used up all her luck in winning him after all. She now banks everything on life with Haz, and has designs on his entering political life—all that kissing of babies, I must admit, would suit him well. Although I do consider it optimism of the highest kind, to marry abroad, just as two different countries’ courts fail to rule on the validity of marriage at sea, loss of citizenship, renvoi, and a host of other issues too complex for the likes of me.
Finally, and most importantly, we were all so saddened to read of the admiral’s passing on August 10th at his home in Portsdown. I so wish I had met him—Sara-Beth is full of talk of his fine qualities and mischievous manner, which she attributes less to a penchant for troublemaking than a sad and lonely heart. She calls him the great romantic, but, my dear friend, I save that particular accolade for you. I do not think someone with such a large heart as my dearest Harry could be destined for anything but a life full of love.
Your most admiring and forever friend,
Lu