Read Online The Reckoning by Cynthia Harrod-Eagles - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Cynthia Harrod-Eagles
Tags: Fiction, Historical fiction, General, Romance, Historical, Fantasy, Sagas, Family, Domestic Fiction, Aristocracy (Social Class) - England, Great Britain - History - 1800-1837
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tossing their heads playfully, back the other way.
One groom came down on foot, leading a carriage-horse that was slightly lame, taking it down to bathe its legs in the healing salt water. As he passed them, Rosamund called out to him. He stopped and knuckled his forehead, and he and Rosamund had a very satisfactory discussion of the condition and its progress, while the horse, a friendly soul, blew into Rosamund's ear and nibbled tentatively at the rim of her straw hat.
‘ Shall we move on, young ladies,' Miss Rosedale said at last, having an eye to Sophie's boredom and the increasing activity on the sands. Behind them, two water-carts had come down to collect sea-water for the baths up in the town, and at the top of the strand the first horses were already being harnessed up to the bathing-machines. Sunshine had been in such short supply this summer that everyone was making the most of the bright morning with an early start.
They walked on, and the girls' conversation reverted to the fascinating topic of the letter Sophie had received the day before from her cousin Africa Haworth, with whom she had gone to school for a time. Africa was the sister of Polly Haworth, with whom Rosamund had been brought up. Rosa mund had a keen interest in Africa's doings, for she lived a life of such stunning adventure and excitement that even Rosamund's mother's history paled by comparison.
Africa had been born in the middle of the Battle of the Nile, on board her father's ship, after which she had been named. Except for her brief period at school in Bath with Sophie, she had lived on ship-board all her life, travelling with her father wherever he went. She had been with him on the epic voyage twice across the Atlantic in pursuit of Ville neuve's fleet; she had been present at the Battle of Trafalgar.
When she was younger, Rosamund had listened open mouthed to the stories of Africa's adventures. She had been wild with envy at the mere thought of living in a ship's cabin and romping about the rigging with the jolly sailors; but of recent years her interest in the life-style had been more acad emic. For one thing, there were no horses at sea; and for another, she liked comfort and luxury, and disliked dirt and disorder. Sleeping on damp sheets and having your clothes always sticky with salt did not appeal to her at all; and when she thought of what the food must be like ...! Captain Haworth had lately been raised to flag rank, and Africa's letter came from Jamestown in St Helena, where he had been appointed port admiral and station commander, taking over from Admiral Cockburn. St Helena was a small, rocky island in the middle of the South Atlantic, a regular port-of-call on the Cape route, where ships took on water and fresh fruit and vegetables. Fifty or more naval and merchant ships might be expected to be at anchor in Jamestown at any one time; and there was also a small permanent squadron of naval vessels guarding the island – which was the real reason for the presence of a young and resourceful admiral. For it was on St Helena that Bonaparte was imprisoned.
‘ I haven't met him yet,' Africa said in her letter, which had been written in great excitement soon after their arrival, 'but I saw him at a distance going by in his coach. He makes his coachman drive hell-for-leather – I suppose to give him some excitement in his life, for he must have very little to do now he is a prisoner.
‘ Admiral Cockburn promises he will introduce us to The Prisoner. He lives up on the top of the island in a house called Longwood with his servants. He was down here in Jamestown at first, but it was thought it would be too easy for him to escape and slip on board an American ship – of which there are always several here – so after a few weeks they converted the farmhouse for him. I'm told it's very comfortable, but also very well guarded – a hundred and twenty-five sentries by day, and seventy-two by night. You see how they fear his
One groom came down on foot, leading a carriage-horse that was slightly lame, taking it down to bathe its legs in the healing salt water. As he passed them, Rosamund called out to him. He stopped and knuckled his forehead, and he and Rosamund had a very satisfactory discussion of the condition and its progress, while the horse, a friendly soul, blew into Rosamund's ear and nibbled tentatively at the rim of her straw hat.
‘ Shall we move on, young ladies,' Miss Rosedale said at last, having an eye to Sophie's boredom and the increasing activity on the sands. Behind them, two water-carts had come down to collect sea-water for the baths up in the town, and at the top of the strand the first horses were already being harnessed up to the bathing-machines. Sunshine had been in such short supply this summer that everyone was making the most of the bright morning with an early start.
They walked on, and the girls' conversation reverted to the fascinating topic of the letter Sophie had received the day before from her cousin Africa Haworth, with whom she had gone to school for a time. Africa was the sister of Polly Haworth, with whom Rosamund had been brought up. Rosa mund had a keen interest in Africa's doings, for she lived a life of such stunning adventure and excitement that even Rosamund's mother's history paled by comparison.
Africa had been born in the middle of the Battle of the Nile, on board her father's ship, after which she had been named. Except for her brief period at school in Bath with Sophie, she had lived on ship-board all her life, travelling with her father wherever he went. She had been with him on the epic voyage twice across the Atlantic in pursuit of Ville neuve's fleet; she had been present at the Battle of Trafalgar.
When she was younger, Rosamund had listened open mouthed to the stories of Africa's adventures. She had been wild with envy at the mere thought of living in a ship's cabin and romping about the rigging with the jolly sailors; but of recent years her interest in the life-style had been more acad emic. For one thing, there were no horses at sea; and for another, she liked comfort and luxury, and disliked dirt and disorder. Sleeping on damp sheets and having your clothes always sticky with salt did not appeal to her at all; and when she thought of what the food must be like ...! Captain Haworth had lately been raised to flag rank, and Africa's letter came from Jamestown in St Helena, where he had been appointed port admiral and station commander, taking over from Admiral Cockburn. St Helena was a small, rocky island in the middle of the South Atlantic, a regular port-of-call on the Cape route, where ships took on water and fresh fruit and vegetables. Fifty or more naval and merchant ships might be expected to be at anchor in Jamestown at any one time; and there was also a small permanent squadron of naval vessels guarding the island – which was the real reason for the presence of a young and resourceful admiral. For it was on St Helena that Bonaparte was imprisoned.
‘ I haven't met him yet,' Africa said in her letter, which had been written in great excitement soon after their arrival, 'but I saw him at a distance going by in his coach. He makes his coachman drive hell-for-leather – I suppose to give him some excitement in his life, for he must have very little to do now he is a prisoner.
‘ Admiral Cockburn promises he will introduce us to The Prisoner. He lives up on the top of the island in a house called Longwood with his servants. He was down here in Jamestown at first, but it was thought it would be too easy for him to escape and slip on board an American ship – of which there are always several here – so after a few weeks they converted the farmhouse for him. I'm told it's very comfortable, but also very well guarded – a hundred and twenty-five sentries by day, and seventy-two by night. You see how they fear his
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