ylla
in
perfect_duet
Day 9
Set just after the end of The Mauritius Command, on the journey home.
Mild warnings more or less as for the original book - drug use and not-exactly-happy endings - plus an irresistible double entendre
Quotations from TMC.
1119 words (Hooray!)
Still nameless, until inspiration strikes.
This is really only the end part of the story I wanted to write - I think the week lost to flu was too much for me - so I hope it still works.
There's also a bonus drabble here
---------------
"Let us all fill up to the brim, gunwales under, and drink to England, home and beauty, and may Lucky Jack Aubrey reach 'em with fair winds and flowing sheets every mile of the way."
The beginning of the journey home was everything the Admiral's toast had wished them, and from where he sat in the great cabin Stephen could hear Jack's and Seymour's voices drifting down through the open skylight, raised to order some adjustment of the sails in the hope of further increasing their speed. He looked up, considering, then continued to write in his diary, where he had been making desultory notes on their last days on Mauritius.
"So Jack Aubrey has a son. I hope that he may not once again hope for too much - a child can never be an unmixed blessing in this overcrowded world - but it is touching to see how the rejuvenated boy blends with the responsible father - how he glows with delight as he makes his plans; extensions to the house, an oak plantation, new stables, land to be bought and developed. The disappointment of losing the command of the final attack is forgotten, and he urges his ship homewards at the greatest speed possible not for the glory of spreading the news and gaining his prize money, although that is certainly essential to his plans, but for the joy of seeing his extended family."
The sound of feet on the companionway and the Marine sentry at the door coming to attention heralded Jack's arrival in the cabin, and Stephen dusted and closed his book and turned to meet him.
"I am sorry to have kept you waiting so long, brother," Jack said, "but it would be a shame to lose the least bit of this wind; I am not the only one eager to be home, carrying the news of a victory, and with prize money waiting, although they have not all had my news."
He called to Killick for coffee and walked to the stern window, smiling to himself and looking out at the sunlit wake, back towards the vanished coast of Africa, some days behind.
"I do hope they will not have had him christened before we reach home. It is not that I do not trust Sophie to pick a name - I would not like him to be still nameless - but I should like to be there. And she could not object, surely, were I to ask Tom to be godfather. He has been a great support to me, and I will always be grateful to him for bringing the news. But she might feel it should be a relative; I will not say anything until I have seen her. It is a pity..."
Jack bit back what might have been seen as a reflection on Stephen's religion, and after a pause said "I hope that you will look on him as a nephew, Stephen, if you have ever felt the need of such a thing.
"I will buy him a suitable baptism gift, sure, but I have little experience of the duties of uncles. And have your daughters no need of an uncle, for shame?"
"Oh, but they have aunts." Jack shot a surreptitious glance at his friend, aware of something wrong which he did not fully understand, had not been fully conscious of until now - some sense of a barrier between them, perhaps, or a shadow passing over. There were books on the table where Stephen was sitting, but Jack did not believe he had been reading with any real interest; his Rodrigues specimens remained untouched in their boxes, his cello in its case. He had admitted to taking no joy in their victory; he did not now seem to be taking any joy in their perfect homeward journey.
Killick's arrival with the coffee claimed Jack's attention, and he filled their cups and watched Killick leave before saying "Will you come home with me when we reach England, Stephen? You will be very welcome."
Stephen roused himself from his thoughts and looked up slowly.
"I must visit Sophie, of course, but in general I expect I will have to remain in London for some time. Many things must have changed while we have been away, and there will be a great deal of work for me, I hope. Besides, you would find it difficult to fit me into the cottage."
This was undeniable, the cottage having been cramped even before the arrival of one more, and Jack had to admit that Stephen would not to enjoy the crowded, noisy family life, however fond of them he may be. In spite of this, he felt oddly reluctant to watch Stephen go off alone, although this would be London, not an enemy shore.
"We would always make room for you. But you must come as soon as you can, and stay as long as you can, and when the new wing is ready there will be all the space you could wish. And I must go to London myself at first, although I hope I will not have to stay long."
He looked down at his cup, still with the traces of that private look of happiness, imagining their triumphant return, than looked up at Stephen again, more gravely.
"Well, that is all a long way ahead, and the ship is sailing well, so what do you say to some music, when the coffee is finished?"
---------------
"You mean he may remain capable of love?"
"As between men and women I use the term lust: but call it what you like: desire, a burning desire for some slut may answer, if only he burns hard enough.
Later that night, with the quiet pleasure of the music fading, Stephen returned thoughtfully to his own small cabin by candlelight, poured and drank off a dose of laudanum, lay down in his cot, and returned to his diary.
"As for myself, the future is less clear. I am unsure how seriously I should take McAdam's advice, but it is certainly true that I find it more and more difficult to burn for anything or anyone. Even hatred no longer has the effect it once had, and although I can certainly warm myself to some extent at Jack's fire, how long can that last without the daily intercourse of shipboard life? He will return to Ashgrove and his family, I to London, where I will certainly find useful work waiting for me - much must have changed in the situation in Spain - but I admit I do not feel any great eagerness towards it, or any great pleasure in the success of our current mission.
But even with Admiral Bertie's assumption of the final attack, this success must assure Jack's future - a few months on land, perhaps, to enjoy life with his family and set his plans in motion, and then another posting, probably with some further chance of glory. I am glad of this, and the part I played in his current happiness, small though it may have been. Long may his luck and happiness continue."
Mild warnings more or less as for the original book - drug use and not-exactly-happy endings - plus an irresistible double entendre
Quotations from TMC.
1119 words (Hooray!)
Still nameless, until inspiration strikes.
This is really only the end part of the story I wanted to write - I think the week lost to flu was too much for me - so I hope it still works.
There's also a bonus drabble here
---------------
"Let us all fill up to the brim, gunwales under, and drink to England, home and beauty, and may Lucky Jack Aubrey reach 'em with fair winds and flowing sheets every mile of the way."
The beginning of the journey home was everything the Admiral's toast had wished them, and from where he sat in the great cabin Stephen could hear Jack's and Seymour's voices drifting down through the open skylight, raised to order some adjustment of the sails in the hope of further increasing their speed. He looked up, considering, then continued to write in his diary, where he had been making desultory notes on their last days on Mauritius.
"So Jack Aubrey has a son. I hope that he may not once again hope for too much - a child can never be an unmixed blessing in this overcrowded world - but it is touching to see how the rejuvenated boy blends with the responsible father - how he glows with delight as he makes his plans; extensions to the house, an oak plantation, new stables, land to be bought and developed. The disappointment of losing the command of the final attack is forgotten, and he urges his ship homewards at the greatest speed possible not for the glory of spreading the news and gaining his prize money, although that is certainly essential to his plans, but for the joy of seeing his extended family."
The sound of feet on the companionway and the Marine sentry at the door coming to attention heralded Jack's arrival in the cabin, and Stephen dusted and closed his book and turned to meet him.
"I am sorry to have kept you waiting so long, brother," Jack said, "but it would be a shame to lose the least bit of this wind; I am not the only one eager to be home, carrying the news of a victory, and with prize money waiting, although they have not all had my news."
He called to Killick for coffee and walked to the stern window, smiling to himself and looking out at the sunlit wake, back towards the vanished coast of Africa, some days behind.
"I do hope they will not have had him christened before we reach home. It is not that I do not trust Sophie to pick a name - I would not like him to be still nameless - but I should like to be there. And she could not object, surely, were I to ask Tom to be godfather. He has been a great support to me, and I will always be grateful to him for bringing the news. But she might feel it should be a relative; I will not say anything until I have seen her. It is a pity..."
Jack bit back what might have been seen as a reflection on Stephen's religion, and after a pause said "I hope that you will look on him as a nephew, Stephen, if you have ever felt the need of such a thing.
"I will buy him a suitable baptism gift, sure, but I have little experience of the duties of uncles. And have your daughters no need of an uncle, for shame?"
"Oh, but they have aunts." Jack shot a surreptitious glance at his friend, aware of something wrong which he did not fully understand, had not been fully conscious of until now - some sense of a barrier between them, perhaps, or a shadow passing over. There were books on the table where Stephen was sitting, but Jack did not believe he had been reading with any real interest; his Rodrigues specimens remained untouched in their boxes, his cello in its case. He had admitted to taking no joy in their victory; he did not now seem to be taking any joy in their perfect homeward journey.
Killick's arrival with the coffee claimed Jack's attention, and he filled their cups and watched Killick leave before saying "Will you come home with me when we reach England, Stephen? You will be very welcome."
Stephen roused himself from his thoughts and looked up slowly.
"I must visit Sophie, of course, but in general I expect I will have to remain in London for some time. Many things must have changed while we have been away, and there will be a great deal of work for me, I hope. Besides, you would find it difficult to fit me into the cottage."
This was undeniable, the cottage having been cramped even before the arrival of one more, and Jack had to admit that Stephen would not to enjoy the crowded, noisy family life, however fond of them he may be. In spite of this, he felt oddly reluctant to watch Stephen go off alone, although this would be London, not an enemy shore.
"We would always make room for you. But you must come as soon as you can, and stay as long as you can, and when the new wing is ready there will be all the space you could wish. And I must go to London myself at first, although I hope I will not have to stay long."
He looked down at his cup, still with the traces of that private look of happiness, imagining their triumphant return, than looked up at Stephen again, more gravely.
"Well, that is all a long way ahead, and the ship is sailing well, so what do you say to some music, when the coffee is finished?"
---------------
"You mean he may remain capable of love?"
"As between men and women I use the term lust: but call it what you like: desire, a burning desire for some slut may answer, if only he burns hard enough.
Later that night, with the quiet pleasure of the music fading, Stephen returned thoughtfully to his own small cabin by candlelight, poured and drank off a dose of laudanum, lay down in his cot, and returned to his diary.
"As for myself, the future is less clear. I am unsure how seriously I should take McAdam's advice, but it is certainly true that I find it more and more difficult to burn for anything or anyone. Even hatred no longer has the effect it once had, and although I can certainly warm myself to some extent at Jack's fire, how long can that last without the daily intercourse of shipboard life? He will return to Ashgrove and his family, I to London, where I will certainly find useful work waiting for me - much must have changed in the situation in Spain - but I admit I do not feel any great eagerness towards it, or any great pleasure in the success of our current mission.
But even with Admiral Bertie's assumption of the final attack, this success must assure Jack's future - a few months on land, perhaps, to enjoy life with his family and set his plans in motion, and then another posting, probably with some further chance of glory. I am glad of this, and the part I played in his current happiness, small though it may have been. Long may his luck and happiness continue."