Return to England #2
“The navy’s never in a hurry except when they want something,” Eyerly observed. “Then it’s all rush, and hurry, and not a moment to lose.”
“Indeed.” Wentworth felt the muscles in his mouth tighten into a humourless smile. “And what of you, Eyerly? Will you seek a new berth once the Sir Richard is officially decommissioned?”
The bosun shrugged. “I will go to my da.”
“Oh, man, do not do that.” Eyerly’s father was a drunkard, a gambler, and a man whose gift of gab picked his son’s pocket on every shore leave.
“I’ve not a choice, sir. All I had those months in Minorca was my half pay.
“You have my word, Michael, if I have a commission, you will be the first I call for.” Wentworth was uncomfortable making such a promise but felt a surge of gratitude for the man’s loyalty.
They drank in companionable silence for a time until Eyerly took his leave.
Left alone, Wentworth looked in on Anne and Edward before settling in the sitting room chair with a stack of papers he had brought from the ship.
The ritual of closing out the books and preparing other reports for submission must be attended.
The bureaucracy of the navy ground on, regardless of personal circumstances.
The following morning, the Plymouth Admiralty Office stood, imposing against the grey morning sky, its grand architecture designed to intimidate rather than welcome. Wentworth, dressed in his best uniform, passed through its doors with the confidence of a man who had earned his place in its halls.
Day after day brought only more frustration.
Each office and encounter with its occupant followed the same pattern: initial politeness giving way to administrative obstruction, with officials more concerned with procedures than with the man standing before them.
Forms must be submitted in the correct manner; appointments could only be made through proper channels; and no one possessed authorisation to provide a direct answer to even the simplest question.
The hours were filled with variations of the same phrases:
“I’m afraid I have no information regarding any future posting for you, Captain Wentworth.”
“Peacetime adjustments.”
“Unfortunately, you are only one of many officers returning from foreign stations that the navy must deal with.”
By the fourth day, when Wentworth returned to the Admiral’s Rest, his mood was dark enough that the innkeeper mouthed a few pleasantries and no more.
Stepping in the door of their rooms, Wentworth was heartened to find Anne, dressed and sitting up on the chaise, Edward sleeping quietly in her arms. She looked stronger than she had since before the birth, her colour returning, her eyes clear and alert.
“I see the day’s endeavours have not improved,” Anne observed as her husband jerked his coat off. Fortunately, the good, thick wool would stand the ordeal.
He poured a glass of claret and drank it down. He poured another. “The Admiralty is an institution designed not to wage war but to drive its own officers to madness through sheer incompetence.”
Another frustrating day of wasted time.
“So, no progress regarding an assignment.” She would not bother saying such things again. It would not do to make herself as frustrating as the circumstances.
“None whatsoever.” He took a long swallow.
“I have submitted three different forms to three different offices. Each clerk insists that they will take note of my request, but that they are only doing it as a courtesy. They insist it is the responsibility of some other office to actually process my inquiry. I have waited in three different antechambers only to be told that the person I need to see is meeting with one of the other fellows I was told an hour earlier was unavailable. I have been advised to wait patiently, to apply in writing to London, and to consider myself fortunate that I am not being placed on half-pay straightaway like so many others.”
Edward stretched and Anne waited for him to make his wishes known.
In an instant, he settled back to sleep.
She laid him in her lap to give Frederick her full attention.
“Perhaps it is simply a matter of time. The wheels of administration turn slowly, but they do turn. Put all that aside, and come see our boy.”
The baby cheered him, and that was what he needed just now.
“Time.” His glass clattered when he set it down. “That is what everyone counsels. Time and patience. As if we have an endless supply of both.”
“We do have some time.” She wanted to comfort him. Not treat him like a child. “Our situation is not desperate.”
Wentworth sighed. He studied her and Edward. His expression softened. “No, not desperate. But uncertain in a way I find difficult to accept.”
“You prefer action to waiting,” she said. “It has always been your nature.” With care, she pulled her feet close, so that Edward was on an incline and she could view his tiny face clearly. She waved her hand towards Frederick.
“Action yields results. Waiting yields only more waiting.” He moved to the window. “I am no different from poor old Richard out there. I feel... superfluous, Anne. For the first time in my naval career, I am without purpose.”
“Not without purpose,” she corrected softly, looking down at Edward. “Perhaps with a different purpose than before. Come and see Edward.”
Wentworth turned. “Yes, yes. The boy.”
A knock at the door brought them a messenger. “Captain Wentworth. A note for you, sir. Gentleman said it was important.”
Perhaps things were not so dire. Perhaps there was some movement in one of the offices.
Wentworth tipped the boy and closed the door, examining the seal. “McGillvary,” he said. Anne had responded to their earlier letter, but that had been a few days hence.
“Is the admiral here? Is Elizabeth with him?” She lifted Edward and tried to rise. It was still too soon.
Wentworth broke the seal and read the contents. “He arrived yesterday on business… heard of our return and invites us to dine this evening at his hotel. Alas, he is alone, unfortunately.”
Anne sighed. “His presence will be welcome.” She hoped that her brother-in-law’s vigorous nature could pull Frederick out of the doldrums.
Wentworth nodded. “He says, ‘My offer still stands, Freddy. Now perhaps more than ever, you might consider a different course”
“See? You have had practically the same thing said to you by two of the smartest people you know. Can we be wrong?” She put on her most beguiling smile.
“Perhaps not. The McGillvary clan is always the first to accept a business challenge. Paddy was the peculiar one, running off to join the navy. They are in iron working, gasworks, trains for heaven’s sake! What use could I be in any of them?”
“It would mean a life on shore. A home together without years of you across the world from us.”
“Three weeks ago, I would have scoffed at this. But now that half the pimply-faced clerks in Plymouth have put me off, I think I cannot dismiss it so easily.”
As Anne kissed Edward’s cheek, she revelled in its warmth and smelling rose from the lotion Llewellyn used on him. “Shall I send our acceptance?” Anne asked, listening, hoping to hear a change in his tone of voice.
“Are you feeling up to the ribald McGillvary?”
“I am. I think it would do both of us a world of good to see a friendly face.”
Wentworth decided. “I believe I should very much like to hear what Patrick has to say.”
As he penned a brief reply to McGillvary, Anne fussed with Edward. A fresh course was in order. The navy had been good to him for much of his life. However, times make many changes. The navy was changing. Perhaps the Wentworths should do likewise.