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A beautiful evening has taken a tragic turn, leaving Althia and Nicholas separated-possibly forever.
Sometime during the ride home, Althia's tears ceased and her breathing became less labored. The carriage continued its rocking motion, causing her to close her eyes in an attempt to sleep. But each time she shut them, she could see Nicholas' face and she would immediately reopen them. Damn men. Damn the whole bloody lot of them. We would all be better off if they could learn to just keep their pants on. But, she knew in her heart that she was just as much to blame for what happened. She couldn't keep up her defenses against him. He somehow knew the right words to say or the right things to do to make her fall for him. Surely it was just a game to him. His feelings weren't genuine, were they? Althia couldn't be sure and maybe she didn't want to be. It would be easier to heal if she believed he used her in jest. The walls of protection around her heart were being quickly rebuilt, stronger and more impenetrable than ever.
The ride home seemed to take days, giving her too much time to dwell on Nicholas--his smile, his voice, his touch. Even Hindrake no longer seemed a place of respite, for his memory would be everywhere. Damn him! she cursed as hot, bitter tears reappeared on her face. She couldn't remember ever being so emotional. At least when her father died, she busied herself with learning how to manage the household. There were no such welcomed distractions now. His presence in her home and life now tarnished them. She stopped short of wishing that he had died that first night in her guestroom. But, how was she supposed to go on living?
Finally the carriage pulled up to the front door, and, to Althia's surprise, Humphrey came out to greet her.
"Humphrey, when did you return?"
"Right after you and the Captain left, miss." He helped her out of the carriage and into the house. Removing her shawl, bonnet, and gloves, Althia allowed him to escort her into the parlor.
"The Captain, miss..."
Althia interrupted. "Stop! I never want to hear his name mentioned again. Is that understood?"
"Miss, I realize that all of this must have been as a shock to you, but Captain Metcalf..."
"I said," Althia ordered, her voice rising in volume, "That his name is not to be mentioned in this house again." She turned toward the fireplace. "He has caused enough trouble and I will not have people carrying on about him." The tears reappeared and her voice began to crack. "As far as I am concerned, he is as good as dead." Her eyes began to well up again as Humphrey came over and put his arms around her. She broke down in the security of his embrace.
"Captain Metcalf," began the naval tribunal's chief officer. Nicholas stood at full attention in front of the three elder officers.
"We cannot deny your impeccable naval record and recommendations from fellow officers and superiors. It seems that you do not have an enemy in the entire Royal Navy." He smiled at Nicholas, but Nicholas made no acknowledgement. In fact, he did not look at the tribunal at all. He looked past them, picturing Althia dancing in his arms. Her face captured his thoughts during the day and visions of her haunted his dreams at night. It had been a little more than a week since he last saw her and he couldn't eat, drink, or breathe without picturing her; especially her crushed face that last evening they were together. He would gladly serve whatever punishment the navy could dole out if only they could remove that look from his heart's memory.
"We cannot, however, have even our best men leaving their assigned positions or posts without permission. Despite your incapacitated state and physical ailments, you were not granted permission to leave the hospital and certainly not to go traipsing off to neighborhood balls where the guards apprehended you. Therefore," the officer continued, "It is this council's recommendation that you be demoted to rank of Lieutenant and required to serve six months of hard labor at Mill Prison here in Plymouth. This injunction is now closed." The gavel rapped against the table but, to Nicholas, it sounded like the banging of nails against his coffin. Guards approached him, quickly hauling him off to start his sentence, but Nicholas felt no matter how much time he served, his punishment would never end.
"I'm worried about her, Humphrey," Jane mentioned to her father-in-law one evening a few weeks later. "She doesn't eat; she doesn't go down to the water to draw; she snaps at all of us--even Randolph is afraid of her. All she does do is walk around here like Hamlet's ghost, looking more and more like a ghost herself everyday."
"I agree, Dad," John remarked. "She doesn't even go riding anymore."
"Hush, now, children. I know you're worried about miss. I am too. But you don't remember what she was like after her father died."
John interrupted. "I do remember, Dad. She got so involved in the house and stables, we couldn't keep her away. Mom kept trying to shoo her out of the kitchen because miss kept trying to talk to her about supplies and cleaning."
"But," Humphrey reminded, "She would spend many evenings alone in the library; just sitting with an open book on her lap, her eyes staring off into the distance. The Captain has broken miss' heart. She will need time to recover. We just need to be patient."
"Have you talked to her at all about the Captain being arrested?" John inquired.
"No, and I do not think I should," explained Humphrey. "She's made it very clear that she does not wish anyone to speak about the Captain and we need to respect her wishes."
Jane vigorously nodded her head. "You are right about that! Her eyes shot daggers at me the last time I tried to mention him. If she had any ideas about one day getting married and settling down, they have surely gone by the wayside now."
"It still does not seem right," John mused. "When Mum died, we would sit around and talk about the good times and it was a healing balm to our hurting hearts. Miss just seems to get hardened and more callused every day. It's like her heart has turned to stone."
"Let us hope not." Humphrey comforted his son by patting his shoulder. "For I think that if her heart became a stone, she most surely would drown."
"Faster, I said!" the guard shouted just before kicking the man in the midsection. "You miserable bums will learn to do as I say or pay for it."
Nicholas tried to help the man up, but his efforts were greeted with the slash of a whip across his bare back. He groaned out in pain.
"Nobody told you to help Taggart up. Or maybe you were going to ask him to be your dancin' partner?" the guard teased, tobacco running down his cheek and onto his dingy shirt. "Maybe you want we should hold a ball for you?" He stood on his tiptoes and twirled around to the amusement of the other guards. A few of the prisoners tried to hold back their laughter, lest they invite the teasing and punishment upon themselves.
"I'm...alright...Nicholas," Taggart hoarsely rasped. He slowly got up and picked up his pickaxe. They both resumed their work.
"I think Taggart would look mighty sweet in a ball gown, don't you think, Metcalf? Might have some competition for him from the nancies over there, though." The guard pointed to a group of men a few yards away.
"Yeah, maybe we could have a dancin' contest, huh George?" another guard wondered.
"Shutup, Roberts. You," turning his attention to someone behind Nicholas, "Do you think this is a hotel where you should be getting to sit around while everyone serves you? Get to work!" he grumbled and walked off in the other direction.
All day long, the sun, the guards, and the insults beat down on Nicholas. The men were ordered to break the rocks down into sizeable pieces loaded onto trailers and hauled off somewhere else by other prisoners. Often, he felt the men hauling the rocks simply circled around and dropped them back in the original place for Nicholas and his crew to break apart again the next morning. He couldn't believe that a single location could hold so many rocks. When he first arrived, the work made him think of Althia and Humphrey excavating the land of rocks to create their magnificent garden. Memories would flood his body with the sight of her and the fragrance of the flowers. He survived many days on such remembrances. Now, he could hardly find the strength to breathe, much less remember. He surmised that he had lost nearly twenty pounds, not counting the weight lost from his earlier injury and recovery. Each day consisted of horrible food, too little water, backbreaking work and abuse with each night accentuated by the chattering of rats, wheezing and coughing of dying men, and the sound of her voice echoing in the halls of his mind. He couldn't remember the last night he slept completely through without her voice calling out to him, begging him to come and rescue her. He could never find the accompanying body, just a voice--haunting, full of sadness, and always asking where he was and when would he return.
He had been allowed to notify his family of his current situation. He wrote a letter to his sister, telling her only that he was forced to stay in Plymouth for an extended period of time. He mentioned Althia briefly, knowing that his sister sympathized with him and felt guilty for Catherine's post-marital behavior. There was no way for him to know if the letter even reached Alice and he did not even try to send word to Althia. What could he possibly say? She would be better off not knowing where he was at present. He had already decided that when his sentence was completed, he would go to Catherine and ask for a divorce. There was no longer any reason for them to stay married and he knew that he could use the child's illegitimacy as a bargaining chip, forcing Catherine to comply with his wishes. He only hoped that the divorce would be granted quickly.
Nicholas could tell by the position of the sun in the sky that it was nearly noon. He set down his sledgehammer and drug himself over to where the lunch kettles were set up. A fellow prisoner handed him a small bowl with something resembling oatmeal in it, a slice of stale bread and a tin cup of water. He shuffled over to a spot and sat down, leaning against the wall for support. Exhausted, he closed his eyes for a moment while slowly sipping the water from the cup.
"Nicholas?" a voice called out, but it wasn't hers. He opened one eye and looked up as another inmate squatted down next to him.
"Nicholas," the man crouched low and whispered in his ear, "I heard from Harry who heard from Wilcott that Taggart's son died from the croop."
"How do you know?"
"Wilcott heard some of the guards talking about it, but they're not going to tell Taggart. Seems they don't want to kill him off just yet."
Nicholas closed his eyes again. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Cause a man has a right to know if his son is alive or dead. And, you seem to be close to him. It would sound better coming from a friend than from a guard who don't care two ways about you. So, will you?"
He opened his eyes again, but didn't say anything for a moment. "Yes, I'll tell him," he sighed and then attempted to eat his meal. The man slapped Nicholas on the back as he stood to leave. Nicholas scanned the crowd to find Taggart. He spotted Taggart sitting a few feet away on the other side. Nicholas forced himself to stand up and walk over to him.
"Jim, how are you holding up today?" Nicholas asked as he approached the man and sat down next to him.
"As well as I can be, Nicholas. I see you haven't eaten much of your lunch yet. Does it not agree with your palate?" he teased.
"This fine specimen of a meal? I am merely enjoying it in small, delectable bites; savoring each morsel. We may not get so fine a meal for dinner."
Jim smiled. "You mean, we may not get dinner. I do not know how you are able to keep a sense of humor in this place."
"My father taught me to always try to find the positive in any situation. 'There's always a rainbow, Nicholas,' he used to say. 'Just not everyone can see it.'" Nicholas scooped a bit of mush with his bread. "You've got a son, yourself, do you not?" he asked before taking a bite.
"Yes, Sebastian. Just turned seven in May. He's a fine boy, but he has always been a bit sickly. I do not know how much longer he will be with us." Jim looked down and ran his hands through the dirt beneath him.
"I bet he is an excellent sailor."
"Actually," Jim laughed and looked at Nicholas, "He is not fond of the sea at all. He wants to be an equestrian. You should see him on a horse, Nicholas. I remember one time--Sebastian could not have been more than four--he was angry at me about something and he ran out of the house and down to the stables. He was too small to carry the saddle, but he pulled the stepstool over, jumped on the back of that horse and took off, just holding onto the mane." Jim laughed again. "Well, man, you must know that I was scared out of my wits. I went running after him, finally catching up with them a few yards from our house, just standing next to the apple tree. I took him into my arms and, do you know what he said to me?"
Nicholas shook his head.
"He said, 'Dad, I wanted to run away, but the horse did not.'" Both men laughed. "Four years old, I tell you."
"Jim, Sebastian is dead."
Jim looked at Nicholas; his face still frozen in a smile. "What did you just say?"
"Sebastian is dead. Apparently he died from the croop. I am so sorry, Jim."
The smile fell from Jim's face as realization began to form in his mind. "How do you know?"
"A post was received today. The guards did not want to tell you because they feared for your life, but we felt you had a right to know."
"No...no...no," Jim scrambled to his feet. "It is a lie. I know it is."
Nicholas rose to his feet and held his arms out to the man. "Jim, you know in your heart it is not. If you do not believe me, you can ask Wilcott."
"All I know is that you are a liar!" Jim shouted, drawing attention to the pair, as he quickly moved away from Nicholas. Nicholas stood there as Jim fled his presence, the laughs and jeers falling on him alone. Dejectedly, Nicholas finished off his water and then tossed the rest of his lunch away.
The rest of the day, Jim stayed as far away from Nicholas as possible. The guards noticed and picked on Nicholas even more, but he didn't care. He felt sorry for Jim and wished there were some way to ease his pain. The afternoon slowly came to an end and eventually Nicholas was allowed to crawl to his mat in an attempt to sleep. Just as he closed his eyes, he heard a voice whisper his name. He opened his eyes again and rolled over to see Jim on all fours next to him.
"I went and talked to Wilcott," Jim whispered. "It is as you said. Thank you for caring enough to tell me. I apologize for the way I reacted."
"No father wishes to believe their son is dead. I think I would react the same if I were in your shoes. There was no harm done."
"Thank you, Nicholas." Jim crawled back to his mat as Nicholas once again closed his eyes, praying for rest.
A week later, at lunch, Nicholas saw Wilcott coming toward him. Soon he stopped in front of Nicholas and leaned down next to him.
"One of the guards mentioned that this was for you before he threw it in the fire. I quickly saved what I could, but don't let anyone see you with it," Wilcott insisted as he handed Nicholas a piece of bread on top of a charred piece of paper. Nicholas nodded as Wilcott walked away. He swiftly placed the piece of paper in his waistband and waited until evening.
All afternoon, Nicholas wondered anxiously what the note could say. Did something happen to one of the family members? To Catherine? Had Althia somehow learned where he was and wished to contact him? Could such a thing be possible?
Finally, evening fell and many of the men were asleep on the floor or on mats. Nicholas quietly rose from his spot and crept over to the window. He checked again to make sure that no one was watching, and then he removed the fragment and held it up to the moonlight.
"...is dead. I know how fond you once were of her and how this news must cause you pain. Indeed, I find it most difficult to even write the words, knowing how you cared for her. Know, dear brother, that she did love you, and the love that she felt for you did not die with her, but will continue on forever. Alth..."
Nicholas reread the letter countless times until the tears blurred his vision. It couldn't be true, but he held the proof in his hands. Silently, he wept until daybreak. Althia was dead.
©2003 StoriesByEmail.com
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