39Disclaimer- I own none of Patrick O'Brien's characters or objects mentioned in this story. However, I do own Harriet Neville, her family, and any other character in this story that has never been mentioned in the Aubrey/Maturin series.
Roaring Silent Sea
Full Summary- Harriet Neville and Peter Calamy have been friends since their childhood years. But when Harriet must go to finishing school and Peter enlists as a midshipman in His Majesty's Navy, the friendship they have is gradually forgotten. Years later, they meet again, only to discover that the past is too strong to defeat and too precious to let go.
Chapter One
Ships and broken dolls
As children we would play
Red roses and a promise
To come find me and take me away…
There was a gentle knock on the doors, narrowly being heard by the doorman sitting at a table nearby. As his duty called, he abandoned the book he was rather absorbed in and promptly walked to the entrance of his master's home, a bony hand extended to pry the door open.
From outside those same doors, stood a woman of middle age, dressed elegantly in a dark red redingote, with frills spilling around her throat.
Her head turned sharply around, her eyes meeting the gaze of her young son, who stood beside her, gripping a few of her fingers in his small hand. The hat she had placed on his head had become lop-sided on the carriage ride to the Neville residence, and she bent down in the meantime, straightening the hat and tidying a few stray locks of brown hair behind the boy's ear.
"There, Peter," she smiled, looking at her son's face, her countenance being mirrored in his crystalline blue eyes; eyes that they had shared. "Missus Neville and her daughter will find you a fine growing boy."
"Yes, Ma'am," answered Peter, looking down at his shoes. His mother placed a kiss on his forehead before her name was called by the doorman. The doors had opened and their welcome was waiting.
But Peter had something to say on his mind, and while his mother was greeted by the doorman of the Neville home, he quietly tugged on her sleeve, pulling a bit harder with every unresponsive second that passed.
"Yes, Peter?" she said at last, letting out a sigh. "What is it, my dear?"
"May Hattie come back with us? I want to show her the miniature ship Father gave me." Missus Calamy pressed her lips together, trying to think of a reply that would not hurt the boy, but would manage the same direct understanding as 'no.'
"If her mother allows it, Peter. And you address her as 'Miss Neville,' Peter. Not Hattie," she mildly scolded.
She heard him murmur his usual, 'Yes, Ma'am," and his dull voice told her he was not sincerely sorry, but such was a way with children. She could tell he still wanted a definite answer to his question. "If Missus Neville says that Harriet cannot come, then she will not come, Peter. Am I understood?"
His lips had curved down a bit, faintly showing his disappointment to his mother, but she would not grant every wish that her son conjured. The boy had to learn his limits, but his eyes had the unfortunate ability to contain a great sense of innocence, which fooled many of the adults who did not know him very well.
"Missus Calamy," began the doorman, stepping aside from the main entryway. "You and your son may come in. Missus Neville shall be with you shortly."
With a nod and a few grateful words of appreciation, Missus Calamy stepped into the Neville home, Peter obediently following her example. His eyes wandered briefly over the portraits and other furnishings brightening the foyer. The view was familiar to him, having entered the house several times before, and the only reason he took the time to re-examine the place was to see if the Neville's had added a new painting or other item to their vast collection. Though, he knew well to keep his observations short, or his mother would chastise him for staring.
As the doorman directed them to a small table where they could sit until the arrival of their company, a shrill sound echoed distantly from the floor above. The Calamys' heads bolted upwards, tracing the staircase to the dim hallway where the sound appeared to have reverberated from. "That sounded like Hatt—Miss Neville, Mother," gasped Peter, leaping from his seat. Missus Calamy instantly grabbed his arm and pulled him back into his chair.
"Relax, my son. Miss Neville is all right, I assure you. She has many servants up there who may attend to all her needs." Her eyes looked up again, expecting to hear the crying continuing, but the sound had been subdued and she returned her stare to Peter, who still looked worried over the wail. "You see? She is doing fine. Why, look, here she comes with her mother now," she noted, standing up and motioning Peter to do the same.
"Ah, Missus Calamy!" exclaimed Missus Neville, as quickened her pace down the stairs to greet them. Her daughter sauntered after her, sniffing and with pink-rimmed eyes. She had been weeping, and was too crestfallen to look up and welcome her guests.
The ebullient Missus Neville rushed to visitors welcoming Missus Calamy in the usual custom before laying her brown eyes on the small, but solid figure of Peter. "And you have brought young Mister Calamy with you once again. I am sure you will be able to lighten Harriet's gloomy spirit at the moment."
At the mentioning of 'Mister Calamy,' Harriet stopped dragging her feet down the stairs and raised her sniveling head. Her dark eyes locked immediately on Peter's and her cries of sadness were instantly replaced with a shout of utter joy.
"Peter!" she screamed, running down the stairs with her skinny arms held up in the air.
"Harriet," said her mother, a warning on the tip of her tongue. "Young lady," she yelled, reaching out to grab her daughter before she could latch herself to Peter. "You divest yourself of this unacceptable behavior and act like the lady you have been taught to be."
Harriet ignored the order for a fleeting moment, in the futile hope of getting to Peter before her mother's reproofs pounded on her ears again, but she was caught from behind when she was within an arms reach of him and carried back to a chair, which her mother dropped her in.
She timidly met her mother's glare, her brown eyes looking into the same dark orbs of her mother. Tucking her foot behind the other, she pursed her lips and tried her best to convince her mother that her actions were an honest mistake, although they weren't.
Missus Neville narrowed her eyes harshly on her daughter's curly brown head. Little Harriet had been in a similar position many times before, and yet she had not learned anything from her mother's lectures. "Miss Harriet Abigail Neville," she said sternly through a stiff mouth. "You know better than to behave like that in front of guests. You address Peter as Mister Calamy, and you will calmly approach both he and his mother, curtsy and receive their greetings with a smile and nod. Do I make myself clear, Harriet?"
The young girl bowed her head low and uttered a barely discernable phrase of agreement. She stole a glance at Peter though, who seemed to share her embarrassment with a lightly glowing face. Already the eight-year-old had some plot assembling in her head.
She did well to conceal her evident plan of mischief and completed her mother's orders with the propriety she had so often overlooked. She was never one to disrespect her loving mother and father, or any of her older siblings. Unbecoming conduct, however, always succeeded in coming from her frequent, impromptu ideas. And any improvement in her manners was detected by her mother in disgraceful scanty amounts.
"You have grown into quite a young lady," praised Missus Calamy, causing Harriet to grin broadly. Missus Neville found it necessary to intervene, for her daughter was far from the refined young lady she was expected to be.
"She still has quite a lot of work to finish before she shall ever be considered one in the court's eyes," said Missus Neville, looking at her daughter with her an omnipotent look about her visage. "Young Mister Calamy, on the other hand, contains far more decorum than my daughter does. Perhaps you would be so kind as to teach her the importance of manners while you are here." From the corner of her eye, she saw Harriet's shoulders hunch and her back slouch at the flippant remark, and a smile surfaced her face.
"She broke another one of her dolls this morning, which explains the howls you must have heard when you entered," added Missus Neville, adding to her daughter's humiliation.
Her mother knew well though, to forbid her daughter from being exempt from degradation. She had made the mistake with her firstborn daughter, and now had to suffer the consequences of constant demands and pleas. Her eldest child even had been given the horrible pet name of "the Queen," for her haughty way of displaying herself. Even at home, she executed her reign as eldest sibling, resulting in many bickers amongst the Neville children.
"Not only did she break her doll, Mother," said a voice moving down the stairs. "I caught her in my quarters, looking once again through my journal."
The complaint came from none other than "the Queen" herself, Bridget Claribel Neville.
Upon seeing the Calamys, she curtsied at once and greeted them both with the same grace and style that her youngest sister very much lacked. But her forced introduction into business that was really not of her own moved young Harriet to open her mouth.
"I broke my doll on purpose, your Highness," she stated bitterly. "Her name was Bridget, and I just couldn't see Bridget whole. I had to break her."
"You enjoy making sport of me, don't you, Sister?" hissed a furious Bridget.
"Enough, daughters," commanded Missus Neville. "You are in front of guests, and I believe this has not been the first time they have witnessed an argument between you two. Bridget, you retire to your embroidery for the time being, and Harriet, I am compelled to have you stay in your room until further notice."
Harriet's eyes widened with disbelief. "But Mother—"
"Do not protest, young lady, or your punishment shall be all the more severe. You are dismissed. I have suffered enough embarrassment through both of your discourteous conducts."
Reluctantly, both the girls obeyed and left the company of their mother and guests. Harriet snorted on her way up to her room and she was certain her mother sent another warning look at her. She passed by her brother, Nicholas, along the way and he placed something in her hands. It was the doll she had broken. "I fixed Bridget for you. Although, I can do nothing about Bridget, our sister." That earned a dying giggle from Harriet and she thanked her brother before locking herself in her room.
She made the doll, Bridget, stand upright and then reached over to a basket in her closet and pulled out another doll, one of a young man. "Good day, Miss Bridget Neville," she said in a low voice, moving the male doll closer to the other.
Inside, she laughed and took her voice pitch a bit higher as she mimicked her sister. "Why, hello, Mister Drake. Isn't it a beautiful day?"
"Yes, it is, Miss Neville. But I want to talk to you about some strange news I have heard." Harriet's pleasure could no longer remain within and she bubbled out a laugh.
"Oh, what?" She recalled how she had indeed read the latest entry in her sister's journal and was using that bit of knowledge to create a scene which she was certain would happen if the truth in her sister's book reached the young man she admired so greatly.
"I've been told that you have the deepest of love for me, Bridget and I must tell you…"
"You admire me also!"
"… Actually, I do not. In fact, I could not hate you more. Good bye!"
Harriet dropped the dolls, her contentment clearly displayed on her grinning face. "Now, if only something like that would happen. And if anything like that did happen, well, Queen Bridget would finally be…" She let her voice trail off as she reached for her Bridget doll again, noticing the crack that Nicholas had inexpertly pasted back together. With a tug, the doll fell apart again and Harriet leaned back and examined the pieces. "… broken."
Harriet, or Hattie, as she was known informally to her closest family and friends, was freed from the hackneyed environment of her bedroom after a half hour of thoughts to herself, which was not at all what she did. Her method of releasing any anger or disappointment in her was done through more silly acts involving her dolls, many of which included the awful Queen.
But as soon as her maid opened the door and informed her of her release, the girl dropped all toys in her hands and flew through the door like a crazed bird. "Is Mister Calamy still here?" she asked, although she was already well down the hallway.
"Yes, Miss, he is. He is in—" The maid halted her words, seeing the thin frame of Miss Neville whirling down the staircase and out of ears reach.
Blinded with sheer excitement, she turned swiftly around at the end of the stairs and rammed directly into someone else, causing her to fall backwards, while also making the person she had run into tumble to the ground with an 'oof!.'
Sitting up and placing a hand on her dark curly hair, she peered at the one she had collided into, and his rather small size took him to be no other than her dear comrade. "Peter!" she squealed, grabbing his hand and pulling him up on his feet before he regained his bearings. "Come on! Let's go play in the gardens," she suggested, the fervor in her voice making her words sound more like an order.
"Harriet," began Peter, keeping up with her as she ran down the main hallway to the glass doors leading out onto her family's terrace.
He heard Harriet scowl.
"Oh, Peter," she said. "You call me Hattie. I hate being called Harriet. Now, come on! I want to show you something!"
She stopped her feet and looked back at him, taking hold of his arm and giving him a faint tug. But he kindly separated his arm from hers and nodded to her. "I'll follow," he said simply. She shrugged and skipped the rest of the way to her destination, opening the doors to their veranda and leaving them open for Peter.
As he steadily trailed her lead, he stepped foot onto the gleaming whitewashed floor of their patio and stared out into the gardens, catching a glimpse of Hattie's stockinged leg vanish behind a few bushes. He knew what she was up to then. She expected him to find her, believing that he had not seen where she had run off to.
It was common for her to start out any game with him having to find her. Rarely at times would she be the one to find him, but he was quite fond of the searches she put him through. Only, this time he was not required to search long, because he already knew where her covert spot was.
The boy grinned as he circled the gardens with even steps, not in the least bit in a hurry to find the lost girl. His shoes rustled in the grass as he casually made a turn here and there in what appeared to be a false hope of finding Hattie. His blue eyes though, would regularly glance over at the ring of rose bushes where he saw little Miss Neville dive into, waiting for the perfect and most unexpected moment to jump in there and startle her.
A good space of time had elapsed since he began his search and he was certain that Hattie was now restless and bored in her hiding place, making her entirely unawares to anything that might happen. With the sun beating down on his face, he furtively approached the flowering shrubbery, his lips growing into a wider smile with each step he took.
Then he heard what he thought to be singing. Little Hattie was singing a song while she waited for him, but kept her voice soft in the spacious gardens, knowing that her tiny voice would be blown away by the wind.
She appeared to be singing a traditional song so conveniently appropriate for their game.
How many kinds of sweet flowers grow,
In an English country garden?
I'll tell you now of some that I know,
Those I miss you'll surely pardon.
Daffodils, heart's ease and flox,
Meadowsweet and lady smocks,
Gentian, lupine and tall hollyhocks,
Roses, foxgloves, snowdrops, blue forget-me-nots,
In an English country garden.
He paused for a moment, waiting for her to complete her song before surprising her and as soon as her voice had died away, he leaned over the bush covering her and shouted, "I've found you!"
Hattie swerved her head around, shrieking with a mix of astonishment and fear. But as soon as she saw Peter leaning over the bush, his eyes smiling for him, she shut her mouth and pouted at him. "Peter!" she growled, standing up and pointing a finger at him. "You mustn't scare me like that."
He laughed and pushed his way through the bristly shrubs and sat on the ground with her. "I knew you were here for a long time. I just waited a while before I let you know." She exhaled noisily at the comment, twitching her small nose in blatant irritation.
"Well, I guess I shouldn't blame you. I would've done the same. Now, look around you," she ordered, shifting in position and tucking her legs beneath her while she sat.
Peter furrowed his thick eyebrows a bit, nonetheless moving his eyes to gaze at the scenery around them. He saw a few flower buds, some pink and red, and also a few fully blossomed roses, their soft petals glowing crimson in the light.
"I planted these," said Hattie proudly.
"They're flowers, Hattie," replied Peter, perhaps not showing the enthusiasm Hattie was demanding from him.
"Yes, they are flowers, Peter," she snorted. "Roses."
"I noticed that too. What about them?"
"I planted them. My mother said I needed to do something else other than playing with my dolls so she helped me plant my own little garden. She told me roses are like Bridget though I don't really see the likeness. Bridget doesn't have red hair, nor does she have a velvety touch like the petals, she—"
"Wait, Hattie," Peter mildly interrupted. "You're not looking at it in the way I think your mother did. Bridget is very much like a rose."
"Why? Is it because she's pretty? Because I know roses are very pretty, Peter." Her brown eyes looked at him, confusion beginning to invade her face as her eyebrows wrinkled and her bottom lip began to jut out.
"No, well… yes, I suppose she's pretty, but—"
"How can you say she's pretty, Peter!" yelled a fuming Hattie. Her confusion had now separated into a weak form of jealousy and elevating indignation.
"That's not what I meant," stuttered Peter quickly in reply. "She may be that, but she's also mean, making her a pain, such as those thorns make a rose difficult to handle."
"Oh," was Hattie's meek response, having realized the stupidity of her accusations. "Sorry. But, Mother says I am also a handful. But she said I was a wildflower instead."
"You don't have thorns, Hattie," chuckled Peter.
"No, I don't, but I have plenty of them stuck to me from the Queen."
Silence followed in the respite between them and Peter observed Hattie begin to tear away a rose from the bush. "Peter," she said softly, "My parents have said they might send me to a school to become a lady. I don't want to go if they send me, Peter." Her fingers proceeded to rotate the rose in her hand, while her dark eyes focused on the red petals while she tried to find her words.
"I'm sure you'll be happy there, Hattie," said Peter, trying his best to keep her optimistic about the matter, just in case she really did get sent off to a finishing school.
"No, I won't, Peter. I don't want to leave my home, Peter. Will you—" She cut off, frowning again before holding out the rose to him, smiling. "If I have to leave, Peter, will you come find me? Will you come get me, Peter?"
He sat dumb at the question, his hand reaching for the rose, but never getting to it, for the question had struck him midway. He was eight. He didn't know what she was talking about. What could possibly be so horrible about school? He himself was taking classes at a boys' school in London for a time, and he enjoyed his hours spent there. But Hattie was not like him in every way.
"If I can, Hattie," he managed to say, though the words came out feebly.
"Promise me, Peter," she pleaded. "Promise me you'll come get me and then take me to some far off place where I won't ever have to go back to school again, understand? Then we can play forever and no one will tell us to act like good boys and girls."
He thought for a moment, finding the agreements in the promise very enticing to his boyish mind. But unlike Hattie, he knew when it was right to play and right to behave, but he didn't want to hurt her either.
"All right," he said, avoiding the phrase of, 'I promise,' as it would make the pact more official. Instead, he nodded to her and she took that as an equivalent to the words.
She let out a sigh of relief and got up on her feet. Placing her hands on her hips, she turned her face up towards the sky and let out a laugh before rushing through the bushes once again and into the freedom of the gardens, with Peter going after her.