Yo
So without going into detail this has been in the workd for a month! My most sappy peice yet...I think. For M&C anyway. Fourth chapter of Mihi Dic...
Title: Letters
Rating: G, read it anyway
Disclaimer: The plot is all that belongs to me.
Summary: Set during The Mauritius command during a break while the Boadicea is anchored East of La Reunion. Slight spoilers for the first 5 books. I cover all the bases.
The morning came on slowly and it would be the last for many days spent in peace. Brilliant sunlight, made even more so by the reflective water, came streaming into the Commodore’s cabin. The sun rising from its watery grave past the horizon gave a silent order and the lanterns were quickly dowsed throughout the ship in favor of the welcomed sun.
The Boadicea had received its mail the day before and in it a letter for Commodore Jack Aubrey, the captain of the ship, from his wife, Sophia. The new day found him scratching away in response to her missive. He glanced often to the right, where Sophia’s letter lay open, reading and rereading her anxious questions to answer as accurately as possible. He related his love back in his own scribble, primitive when compared to her rolling script. As he regarded her writing, he felt warmth settle on his right hand and was suddenly aware of the rising sun. Noting the time, he called out for Killick, his personal steward and continued to write.
On deck, Dr. Stephen Maturin, the ship's surgeon, was being quite distracted by an enormous unknown bird, flying between the Boadicea and the shore. His attention, however, drifted from the bird to aft of the ship as he heard the rare argumentative tone of Bonden, the captain’s coxswain. To whom the cox’n was conversing with Stephen did not know but surely Jack would want to know of it immediately instead of sensing it upon his arrival on deck.
Writing one last note on the bird he had observed, Stephen headed for below decks.
He was descending the stairs when he met Killick on his was up, bearing his coffee.
“Mornin’ to you doctor and the Cap…the Commodore, rot these bloody positions, extends his invitation to breakfast within the hour.”
Stephen accepted the mug and Killick’s arm assisting him on down the stairs. Though Stephen had been at sea for a good while now, he still managed to gain a bump or two from the ship’s low beams. “Yes, yes, thank you Killick, I can make it from here.” He said, disdainfully, walking past the steward.
“Which there won’t be no eggs…hen won’t lay in this weather.” Killick added.
Stephen wondered what he meant by weather. It was pleasant, not warm enough for himself, mind you but pleasant. He was contemplating the temperature when he opened Jack’s cabin door with little more than a tap to announce himself.
“There you are, Stephen! You didn’t hurry I hope, I told Killick within the hour.” Jack said, looking up from his writing. Stephen closed the door behind him and took a seat across the paper-covered table from Jack.
“No, no. I did not cut my observation short for breakfast but rather to tell you that there’s some discontent on deck with Barrett. I hope you’ll intervene before this day becomes less peaceful”.
Jack groaned and excused himself, returning the feathered pen to the inkwell and throwing on his coat.
Left alone, Stephen's thoughts and his gaze wandered to Jack's stack of letters, all from Sophia, he assumed, after looking at the signatures on each.
The yellowed paper covered the opposite half of the table and only small snatches of the tablecloth could be seen underneath.
Sophie was a generous soul and Stephen remembered receiving letters from her in the past, before Jack and Sophia were married. They had remained friends for they were never anything more. But in time Stephen saw that all of Sophia’s letters came addressed to Commodore Aubrey. There was no longer any personal correspondence for him. Receiving only official papers and orders that were better off destroyed after being read had begun to grate at Stephen’s mind. No one seemed to take the time to put pen to paper and write him a letter, a real and personal letter.
As he began to contemplate this new thought Jack entered noisily, ranting over the gunner and the bosun and how Bonden was correct in his statement that…
“Are you all right, brother?” Jack asked Stephen, seeing the look on his friend's face.
Stephen looked up. He had not allowed Jack’s rambling to interrupt his thoughts.
“Oh, yes, yes. I’m fine, my dear. I was only thinking.” he assured Jack, suddenly feeling rather guilty for the times he had quickly closed his journal and dusted it with sand in an effort to make it seem unused. Stephen grimaced at the thought as he surveyed the letters Jack had left spread open all over the table. Stephen’s eyes cut up to look at Jack but he was oblivious to all but clearing the table for breakfast as Killick entered.
“Like I said, there won’t be no eggs.” He repeated as he laid the tray, full of crisp bacon and a great hunk of beefsteak, upon the recently cleared table. Jack sat down happily upon surveying the meal and forgot about Killick until the steward cleared his throat and looked at Jack.
Jack's brow furrowed in thought for a moment then cleared.
“Oh!” He exclaimed. “Forgive me, Stephen.” He apologized and scrambled to the door.
“You may pipe to breakfast!” Jack’s rumble echoed through the ship and the sound of running feet could be heard rushing to their own meal. Stephen smiled slightly at Jack’s absentmindedness.
Shaking his head, Killick began to mutter, “Thinks he’s the only one that’s gotta eat ‘round ‘er. Feeds the doctor and ‘emself, forgets our old bones are about.”
Jack had returned to his seat, saying “That will be enough, Killick.”
Breakfast was quiet, a fact that lent itself to Stephen’s contemplation. Jack attempted not to notice his friend's inattention, he tried quite hard but after only finishing half the meal, he leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms indignantly and waited for Stephen’s attention.
Intent on thinking and immersed in his meal, Stephen was not aware of Jack’s silent inquisition until Jack cleared his throat. Stephen looked up, confused. “Yes? Is there an issue?” He asked, lightheartedly.
Jack smiled in return “Well, you are preoccupied and..." He started but then waved his hand dismissively. “No, I don’t require you to tell me. I’m only concerned.” He finished and went on eating.
Stephen thought on this for a moment and, finding himself glad at his friend’s concern, spoke up. “I’m…I’m very glad Sophie writes you so often and I’m glad to see you return them.”
Jack looked up quickly. “Where is this going, Stephen?”
“I wish…” Stephen started but broke off, the statement halfheartedly said in the first place and he felt it didn’t need finishing. Surly it was of little importance, considering that England was at war and he was speaking to the captain of one of His Majesty’s war ships. “No, never mind.” Stephen finally said.
“Perhaps you wish you would receive a personal letter or two? Or are you still brooding over Diana?” Jack’s words may not have been quite right and had they been from anyone else Stephen would have been offended, but his forward speech was comforting and familiar and Stephen saw that he had spoken with nothing but concern.
“I suppose it is a bit of both.” Stephen sighed. He pushed back from the table and looked around the room, avoiding Jack's eyes. He began to fiddle with a loose thread that hung from his long sleeve.
Jack eyed him for a moment and became quite sad over the situation. Stephen was different from any other man on Jack’s ship. He was the only one who Jack spoke to in confidence, in truth, the only one who he considered to be on equal footing in most matters.
“It must grow tiresome.” He started, making Stephen look up. Jack had risen and walked over to the windows of the great cabin, looking out at the new sun.
“You watch. You see. You know the support I have. You’re aware of the love that travels back and forth from Portsmouth to the far reaches where we sail. Between Sophie and I.” Jack said, his eyes, sharp as the sword he carried, pierced Stephen before he could compose his sadly thoughtful face. “Is there really no one else Stephen?" Jack continued. "No one to lift you up? Are you really quite stuck with me as your only encouragement? I pity you, if that is so.” He finished, shaking his head sadly and turning again to the sea.
“No, Jack you mustn’t devalue yourself so. You are a great source of hope for me. I meant not to sound as if I’m not grateful.” Stephen replied after a long moment of thought. He went back to worrying the thread.
Jack looked at him but did not reply. Whatever Stephen was holding inside would come out with or without his prodding.
At length Stephen spoke again. “There are some people of acquaintance. They are scattered about. In truth, I know many people in many places. But they do not know me, I do not confide in them, I speak in confidence to very few.”
A great wall seemed to erect itself in front of Stephen’s speech and he began to find it extremely hard to construct what should come next. But his eyes seemed far away and, soon, the thoughts turned into words.
“Some know me as Stephen,” He stopped and laughed bitterly. “Among so many other names, thought up quickly to avoid detection. I cannot remember them all.” Another bitter laugh rolled from his throat. “I pay no regard to those to whom I lied. There are so many and just as I used them, they used me in return. It is not acknowledged though. Information for information, though the information I gave was faulty…and fatal at times.” He stopped short and contemplated his last words. How dreadful but true.
Jack recoiled at the coldness in Stephen’s words but he wasn’t truly shocked and he saw that it was time to confess that he already knew. Still gazing out at the sea, he began to speak.
“I have, I have heard many of those names…your informant’s and yours.” He spoke softly. “I know the faulty information you give and I know it leads some of them to their death.”
Stephen was now frightened. How Jack was aware of his misdeeds was unknown to him, so, he stayed quiet, awaiting an explanation.
“I know what little there is to know about your childhood.” Jack turned then and Stephen saw a familiar smile. “I know about the butterfly you found as a boy, one that you had never seen before and would not let anyone rest until it had been named.”
Jack’s eyes were aglow with knowledge and he continued, coming back to the table. “I know about the young girl who slapped you for she thought that your examination of her feet was improper.”
Stephen smiled at the memory but a frown quickly replaced the smile.
“How do you know this?” He asked in bewilderment.
Jack did not answer but approached Stephen’s chair and squatted, undignified, on the planks of the floor. “I know every heart wrenching feeling you have had over Diana and every tear you have shed over her deceit. Was she a man I’d have no qualms over setting her to rights.”
Stephen sat agape, unsure of what was transpiring. At length, Jack began again.
“I know what they did to you, in Mahon. I know every last thing and I know…I know that you told them nothing.” Jack swallowed audibly and took Stephens’ hand his own, looking at them thoughtfully. “I know that you feared for your hands most of all, that you dreaded the thought of hearing a lone violin at night.”
Stephen did indeed remember being so afraid that he would never play his ‘cello again and even more bothered by the prospect of listening to Jack playing his instrument alone. He gazed, puzzled at his friend, returning the soft pressure he felt on his hands. “Please, please, tell me Jack, how do you know all this? ” His brow furrowed and his throat constricted in order to hold back the emotion that he so rarely showed, that Jack's statements had brought to the surface. A strange mixture of happiness mingled with the bitter thought of his past overwhelmed Stephen and he nearly wept.
“Canning.” Jack spoke plainly. “That man’s bullet was your undoing I’m afraid.”
Stephen thought back to the awful day, when he had been shot by that man and in turn killed him, with a bullet meant for only Canning's arm.
“Under the circumstances, I was the only one who could sit with you through your fever. You knew that I was there, perhaps you don’t remember all that you said.” Jack, being the only one who was aware of Stephen’s secret service to England, was the only man able to sit with Stephen as he recovered.
Stephen looked away. In truth, his memories of anything after being shot were muddled and jumbled and he would be hard pressed to recall much of anything.
“You spoke of everything. So much that at one moment you horrified me, but here is where we come to it. Nothing has changed. You are still the same to me. You are still Stephen to me, not a wandering loon nor a thief or murderer or anything else you could be called. I thank the Almighty for you often and try not to wonder how it would be without you aboard my ships or as my friend.”
Stephen was surprised at this, that even knowing what he did, Jack would still treat him the same, as a fellow human in a world full of mistakes. He had expected and received a much different reaction from others when faced with his truth.
He sat stunned and tried, desperately, to process Jack's words in his mind. Jack waited patiently.
“I had no idea how loosely I had spoken in my delirium.” He began. “Jack, forgive me for any harsh words I may have spoken of you and the ones that I have said to your face.”
Jack looked up with a forgiving smile and new color to his cheeks, showing Stephen that he may have indeed spoken of something he should not have.
“I never dreamt that anyone could still accept me, knowing all that I had done, much less love me as you do.” Stephen spoke softly, then stopped abruptly.
“Dear Stephen, there are to be no tears at breakfast.” Jack said, with a soft laugh.
“And what of tears of joy?” Stephen said, looking up and hiding his tears no longer, but wiping them away.
Jack laughed heartily and stood, offering his hand to Stephen. When Stephen was steady on his feet, Jack turned and retrieved his violin from nearby.
“Come now, Stephen, I shall play no solo this morning!”
Killick appeared through the door as Stephen was adjusting his ‘cello.
“Oh, no, not in the mornin’.”
He groaned and began to clear breakfast away as Stephen began to tune to Jack’s rather shrill A.
End Chapter 4…TBC