MAES 9: Fathers and Brothers
Fathers and Brothers
The announcement, ‘at Woolhampton, on the 19th instant, to the lady of General Aubrey, a son’ merely rounded out the anecdote.
-Post Captain, pg. 79, Norton Press paperback edition
...and there he had been, prancing about the town, dressed like the King’s birthday for every sneaking attorney to behold. The thought made him feel cold and sick: he said something about ‘quite amazed - had posted up from Plymouth with not more than a couple of hours at his father’s place - had thought he had certainly outrun the news.’
-Post Captain, pg. 161, Norton Press paperback edition
--and since landing at Plymouth he and Jack had been living on the proceeds of one small bill, laboriously negotiated by General Aubrey while their horses waited…
Post Captian, pg. 166, Norton Press paperback edition
0~0
The borrowed horses stood hip-shot and bored in the drive, their reins held nervously by Mnason (he was not overly fond of horses) for the General had set off in his carriage, claiming there was ‘no need to go yourselves. My man knows me better, and shall give me a fair rate. I’ll not be long, so don’t bother putting yourselves up.’
They had not put themselves up, only going to the kitchens where Mrs. Pearce, on seeing their famine-time faces, had immediately laid out a hasty luncheon. Jack had eaten quickly and gone upstairs, muttering something about ‘seeing how things are going with him.’ By which Stephen supposed Jack meant to see his new brother.
He had not imposed himself. Jack had been an only child for so long, had likely long given up hopes of ever having a sibling when the announcement of his half-brother’s birth had appeared in the papers. His feelings about such an event must be mixed, and Stephen had no wish to intrude.
Besides, Mrs. Pearce was a jolly old soul, with a wealth of stories about Woolcombe house, the surrounding cottages and inhabitants of the village, and particularly about Jack when he had been a child.
On their previous visit, Stephen noted that Mrs. Pearce had seemed like something of an honorary aunt of sorts to Jack; she had fussed over him, urged him to eat third helpings of everything, pinched his cheek a few times and clucked over the state of his clothes.
Now, at Stephen’s request, she was telling him more about Jack’s childhood. The last time he had been here, Stephen had the strong impression that General Aubrey had never really been much of a father to Jack, and he had mentioned this to Mrs. Pearce, who had pursed her lips and looked as though she were about to agree, when Jack had entered the kitchen and asked if he might have some of the leftover pudding.
Stephen had not had a chance to pursue the topic afterward, for that was the day they had left. Now he had some time safe from interruptions, for the General was out of the house and Jack was well out of earshot.
“I never saw a woman more pleased or suited to be a mother than Mrs. Aubrey,” said Mrs. Pearce fondly. “Nor a man more unsuited to raise a child by himself than my master. He might have done better if she hadn’t died, but when Evelyn passed, he just left Jack to my care, and that of the other maids. But we all had our ordinary jobs to do and if it weren’t for Miss Queenie I don’t know what Jack would have been.”
“You raised him between you, then?”
“Oh no, most of it was Queenie. She was something like a mother and a sister to him. She played games with him and they went romping around the fields together, but she also slapped him for being rude and let him into her bed when he woke crying from nightmares. That’s another lady naturally suited to be a mother; I was glad to hear she had married.”
“Was General Aubrey concerned with his son’s welfare at all?”
Mrs. Pearce frowned. “He was when he remembered to be, which wasn’t often. I suppose he assumed that with Queenie to keep him happy and myself to keep him fed and clean, there was nothing his son needed that he could or should provide. What that man don’t realize is that children need far more from their parents than just to have their material needs met. In all the time Jack was here after his mother’s death, I never once saw the General embrace his son, nor heard him offer praise to Jack for any reason. Of course the General was gone a good deal of the time, but even when he was here, it weren’t for his son’s sake.”
Stephen considered this. “I suppose that explains much that I couldn’t quite make sense of before. But then how is it that Jack is so friendly to his father? Their greeting last time we were here was as cordial as any between a more affectionate parent and child.”
“That’s Jack’s doing, that is. His mother had a forgiving nature, and Jack does too, for the most part. He’s not the sort of man to hold a grudge, and he’s perfectly willing to give people the benefit of the doubt, or even make excuses for them, except in cases of the most shabby treatment.”
Stephen winced at this. He had noticed this about Jack already; his own behavior toward his friend had not been of the best kind of late, yet Jack had never blamed him for it, or even seemed to notice that there was anything wrong at most times.
“Do you think the General will be a more conscientious parent to his second son? He is at the age where most men would be quite happy to settle down to a quiet life in the company of their grandchildren, or children in this case.”
Mrs. Pearce sighed. “I really doubt it. I don’t think the General ever planned on becoming a father again this late in life. And if that young hussy had not set his head in a whirl he likely would never have had to. You know their marriage was tolerably hasty?”
Stephen had inferred this. “I believe she is much younger than the General?”
Mrs. Pearce snorted. “I should say so. In fact she’s much younger than Jack, even. Did you know she set her bonnet at him first?”
“No, I didn’t know. Nothing came of it, though?”
“As for that,” said Mrs. Pearce with a sniff. “I don’t pretend to know of that which I shouldn’t, but I do know that vixen had designs to become Mrs. Aubrey by becoming Jack’s wife, for a time. Jack may not be the sharpest of men when it comes to seeing through - or indeed, resisting-the wiles of certain kinds of women, but he does know an unsuitable match for marriage when he sees one. He rarely came home, however, and when he did his visits were brief. I gather that during one of those visits he did manage to make it clear to her that she would never become mistress of Woolcombe house by passing the ring with him. It wasn’t too long after that she turned her melting sheep’s eyes to my master. He had been out of the courtship game so long by then that it never seemed to occur to him how unlikely it was that any girl young enough to be his daughter would be interested in a man of his age if she were not, in fact, ’interested’ in another sense entirely. He fell hard and fast, yet even he might never have made her an offer if his honor hadn’t required it. A country gentleman siring a bastard by a dairymaid is not a great scandal in itself, but when that country gentleman is involved in politics, he is willing to do much to avoid certain kinds of taint falling on his name.”
This was a line of reasoning that Stephen could follow perfectly. His own father had dealt with Stephen’s illegitimacy by giving him up for fostering, keeping him well out of the gaze of his legal wife. If his father had been unmarried at the time of Stephen’s birth, he might well have married Stephen’s mother, for they would not have been an unfit match, as far as station went, and even if his maternal grandparents might not have approved of their daughter marrying a foreign soldier, they would have allowed much to protect her from scandal. Yet scandal had been unavoidable, in that case.
If Jack ever did marry, what kind of a father would he be? His own naval duties might keep him away from his children for much of the time, but when he was home, how would he behave towards them? Would he show the same absentminded concern he had received from his own father, or would his own old neglect make him that much more determined to do better by his own offspring?
The distant sound of a fussing baby came through the door, and Stephen looked toward the stairs. Mrs. Pearce seemed to hear nothing, intent on kneading her bread dough, and Stephen recalled Jack telling him that the cook was a trifle deaf. Perhaps Jack had left the nursery, and the still-lazy Mrs. Aubrey was unable to hear her son’s cries, this being still some time before noon.
He excused himself, and rose to go upstairs.
0~0
Stephen had not been wrong in supposing that Jack wanted to be alone the first time he met his brother. He had mounted the staircase in a state of high tension, his mind spinning at the implications of having a sibling after all these years.
He was nearly thirty, and the sudden presence of a brother at this stage in his life left him quite at a loss. Had this happened twenty years earlier, he would have been delighted. Though he had playmates from the village, and dear Queenie of course, he had lacked the particular bond that exists between two young people who call the same place their home, the same people their parents. It was too late, far too late now, for any such bond to form between himself and Phillip.
If he had any luck in his commands and appointments, he would be away for most of Phillip’s life. And even if he was here, what sort of brotherly bond could exist between two people that, though they had the same father, were nearly three decades apart in age?
Still, he did feel a sense of familial duty towards his brother, even before the boy was born, and when he had last been at Woolcombe, he had asked the General whether, in the event of his second child being another son, he should like Jack to enter his name on ship’s books, to gain him some sea time if he should wish to make the navy his career.
The General had said he would consider it, though he wondered why Jack was taking such an interest in his younger sibling. “It’s not as though you’ll ever be close friends, you know.” The General had pointed out fairly.
Jack had good reasons for being concerned for Phillip’s future, ones that would have been disloyal to explain to his father. In the first place, Jack knew just what sort of parent his father made, and he felt he must do anything possible to protect an innocent baby from the sort of neglect that had made the years after his mother’s death so miserable for him. The navy had answered admirably in Jack’s case, providing him with another sort of family; honorary fathers in the form of his sea-daddy and superior officers; brothers of a sort in the midshipman’s berths of those ships he had served in. If Phillip were to be raised at Woolcombe in much the same way Jack had, he was determined to get his brother out of such a life as soon as possible.
True, there was the second Mrs. Aubrey, but Jack, alas, knew her far too well to ever believe that she would be the sort of loving mother who could make up for the total lack of personal affection shown by her spouse.
He entered the nursery slowly, easing the door open with great care, so as not to make it squeak. He listened, and heard the soft, even breaths of a sleeping infant. Tiptoeing across to the cradle, he held his breath and peered over the edge.
Phillip Aubrey appeared much as most babies Jack had seen: soft, featureless, and unformed. His still-wispy hair seemed to be a medium brown, and straight. He lay on his stomach, one cheek resting against the blanket while a line of spittle dribbled from his lips. Jack smiled, and carefully reached out a finger to stroke the back of one tiny clenched fist.
Phillip stirred, and his eyes opened slightly. Jack froze, hoping the baby was not about to start wailing, but he only sighed and closed his eyes again, while his little fist opened to wrap securely around Jack’s little finger. Phillip’s hand was so small, and Jack’s so large, that the baby’s tiny digits did not wrap all the way around.
As Jack stared at this phenomenon, a strange emotion stirred his heart. Different entirely from the vaguely familial emotions he had felt toward certain close friends, or even Queenie.
Is this what being a father feels like? He wondered in amazement, smiling down at the tiny person he had always felt determined to protect, as much as he was able.
“You’re a good boy,” he whispered. “A strong little lad, and I believe you’ll do well here. Don’t let them get you down, and perhaps someday I’ll be able to take you to sea. Not with me at first, of course; it would never do to play favorites.”
He disengaged his finger and turned to leave. He had taken no more than a few steps towards the door when Phillip’s breathing hitched. He panted, and began a high, thin wail. Jack froze, wondering what to do. Should he run before anyone else came to tend to the babe? He knew he probably shouldn’t have been here in the first place, and disliked the thought of getting in trouble if Phillip’s mother should come in, demanding to know what he had done to upset her child.
Then he recollected himself: Mrs. Aubrey was still in bed, and likely would be for some time yet. Mrs. Pearce was almost certainly too far away to hear, and Stephen hardly seemed the sort who would take it upon himself to calm another’s child, if there was anyone else to do it.
And there was, in this case.
Jack returned to the cradle, and ever so carefully, slid one hand under the baby’s head, cradling the little skull in his palm, and his other hand under Phillip’s back, lifting him out of the cradle. He had never held a baby like this himself, but he had seen it done, and thought that unless the child was hungry, he could do a tolerable job of soothing his brother.
He settled Phillip against his left shoulder, keeping his hand securely against the back of his head. The other he shifted to form a support for his slight weight. He began walking slowly around the room, patting and stroking his brother’s back and head, humming a little. He knew few lullabies, and those he did know did not seem appropriate for a man, so he hummed a few of Mozart’s more restful bars, going from one to the other while Phillip’s tiny wails quickly dissolved into hiccups, then silence.
It was this scene that Stephen discovered upon entering the nursery. Jack noticed him as he turned, and smiled a little sheepishly. “I’m afraid I woke him up. I thought I might calm him down a little, rather than leave,” He whispered.
“Sure you are right to do so, it is bad for babies to be left crying for great periods of time,” Stephen replied, equally soft. “I heard him in the kitchen and thought he might be alone, so came to check on him.”
Jack smirked. “I hardly thought you would. You’ve said yourself you’re not fond of babies.”
Stephen sniffed. “I am not, though that does not mean I would abandon one who needed help.”
“No, of course not, I beg your pardon. I think he just wanted some company, in any case.” Phillip’s hand curled around the lapel of Jack’s coat with an air of possessiveness, and Stephen said lightly, “Perhaps. But I think it was your company in particular he wanted. He seems most, ah, ‘attached’ to you.”
Jack glanced down, noticed the grip, and laughed a little. “He did that to my finger earlier; I think pulling it away was what woke him.”
“Sure, it is a strong reflex, in babies. They tend to grab onto whatever offers, and taking their treasure away is known to upset them.”
“I’d hardly call myself a treasure but I see what you mean. At least he was too sleepy to try putting my finger in his mouth; then he might really have wailed. I know I’m not too fresh at the moment, after that ride.”
As if in response to this, both men heard, through the open window, the sound of the General’s carriage returning. “That’ll be our cue to leave,” said Jack lightly. “I know he’d likely let us stay here if I asked, but this place isn’t convenient for London, and I wouldn’t miss an appointment with the admiralty for all the free lodging in England.”
He checked to make sure his brother was really asleep, and laid him back in the cradle as carefully as though Phillip were made of glass. The baby stirred when Jack’s warmth was withdrawn, and Jack stroked his head, hands, and face with his fingertips until he settled again.
Mrs. Pearce had remarked that Evelyn Aubrey had been a natural mother; Stephen rather thought Jack was a natural father, and not just in regards to his own possible future offspring. He had noted on many occasions that the care and concern Jack showed his midshipmen was more like that of a parent than a superior officer, though he would never have dared say so to anyone, least of all Jack, who hated any signs of favoritism and would have been offended if Stephen suggested he was, in fact, showing them.
He thought that even if the bond between Jack and Phillip would never be that of brothers, exactly, it did not mean that other forms of attachment were not possible. To judge by the expression on Jack’s face as he bent to gently kiss Phillip’s forehead, he thought of the baby as his responsibility, and if Phillip’s reaction to Jack on this first meeting was anything to go by, then if Phillip were given the chance to know his brother better in later life, he might well come to see Jack as a father of sorts, especially if the General would treat his youngest son as he had his eldest.
They returned to the front hall, where the General awaited them, having successfully negotiated the bill, (if at a swinging discount) and made their farewells. As Stephen mounted his horse, he saw Jack looking back at the doorway, where Mrs. Pearce stood, her arms folded.
Jack looked from her to the window of the nursery, and back again. He raised an eyebrow in a silent inquiry that the old cook seemed to understand, for she nodded and smiled grimly. Jack, seeming reassured, mounted his own horse, and started off down the lane at a brisk walk. He turned, waved, and called, “Keep an eye on him for me, eh?”
Mrs. Pearce laughed. “I’ll do that young sir, ne’er you fret. Just don’t be a stranger to him, you hear me? He could do far worse than followin’ the likes of you!”
Stephen, urging his own horse after Jack’s, could only agree with that sentiment.