1 - A Last Meeting

July 1854

Captain Sir Charles Tolliver, Bt, calmly stood in the aft cockpit of the small barge. Its master, Thaddeus Porterman, carried passengers — mostly Royal Navy officers — from Whitehall landing to the Royal Navy Dockyard in Deptford, downriver from London proper on the River Thames, and back to Whitehall again six hours later. The barge was well filled with nine officers and two dockyard shipwrights, the former making the pilgrimage to the paymaster's office in the Navy Yard to receive their half-pay. Some, lieutenants mostly living on the meagre half pay, made that journey monthly to make ends meet, but Sir Charles was a very senior captain, a baronet of the United Kingdom, and a substantial landowner in Surrey, for whom the half-pay was a trifling sum, and he drew his pay once a year on his annual visit to London and the Admiralty.

It should have been doable to have a paymaster's office in or near the Admiralty, but he suspected that the Admiralty was saving the monies due to officers too sick to make the downriver trip or too well off to bother with the travel. He also knew that some solicitors and even former prize agents made a living collecting and forwarding the pay for their clients, against a percentage, of course. Not he. Sir Charles enjoyed the annual ride to London, he enjoyed the week-long stay at his London gentlemen's club, the Ste. Croix, and he even enjoyed the boat rides on England's principal river.

The barge master had timed the ride perfectly, using the peak of the ebb flow for the downriver part, using his eight oarsmen only to keep the barge in midstream, letting his passengers conduct their businesses during slack water, and then going back upstream with the incoming tide. Some days, the tides and the opening hours at the Dockyard matched poorly, cutting into the man's earnings due to needing twelve oars to make the short journey in time. This was a good day for him, since a moderate breeze sped the barge along under its cutter sails, and it was easy money for the oarsmen, all of them former Navy ratings, as Sir Charles saw, and biding their time with light cleaning duties.

Now Rotherhithe could be seen to starboard, and the barge approached the 140° bend in the river. For about three cable lengths, the oarsmen ran out their sweeps to help with propelling the barge against the northwestern breeze, but then the helmsman put the rudder over and the barge gathered speed again before the now quarterly wind until Deptford came in sight to starboard. Now it was only minutes to go before the barge made fast at a hulked brig that was anchored two fathoms from the shore and served as landing site.

As the senior Navy officer in the group, Sir Charles, still nimble on his feet, climbed the short Jacob’s ladder to the deck of the anchored hulk and then took the sturdy gangway to the shore. From there, in was a mere 200 yards to the paymaster’s office, which he entered with all the dignity of a captain of 25 years' seniority.

The clerk sitting behind the counter felt compelled to stand up.

“Good morning, Sir. May I ask your name?”

“Sir Charles Tolliver, Captain, late of the Owen Glendower fifth-rate.”

“Very well, Sir Charles!”

The clerk flipped pages in bis ledger until he found him.

“It’s a year’s pay, Sir Charles, £521.17s.8d.”

“That appears to be correct,” Sir Charles answered without emotion, whilst the clerk handed over a carefully written bank draft in the amount. Nodding his thanks, he left the office and then settled on a bench overlooking the river. The barge would not start the return journey before another three hours were over, but it was a sunny day, and the wait would be pleasant enough. It was inevitable, given his mindset, that his thoughts drifted back to his past, back to when he saw a brilliant future for himself.

—————

Charles Tolliver had been born in 1811, in the late stages of the terrible wars that had raged through Europe, to Rear Admiral Sir George Tolliver and his wife Melissa. Sir George was over fifty when his one and only son was born, and he had been suffering from badly healed wounds ever since the Battle of Copenhagen where he had distinguished himself. What Charles Tolliver remembered of his father was a crouched figure limping along the hallways with a perpetual grimace of pain etched into his features. The invalid admiral was unfit for sea commands, but he held on to the command of the receiving ships in Sheerness until 1820 ,when his devastated body ceased to work, leaving behind his 9 year-old son and his wife Melissa, then only 29 years of age.

Looking back, Charles remembered his mother as a meek and quiet woman. It had been a cruel fate for her to be married to the elderly, crippled admiral, but she never let on that she missed out on her youth. She then duly waited out the mourning year before she accepted the wooing by Captain Trent Mornington. They were married three months later, and it was 10-year-old Charles who had to give away his mother to a cold and heartless stepfather.

Sir George had been no mere knight, but a baronet of the realm, and the title was hereditary in the male line. Thus, Charles became Sir Charles upon his father's death, and as such he was sent to Eton. It was from this time onward that his over three decades of loneliness began, interrupted only by the four years of wedded bliss. His new stepfather was a harsh disciplinarian who held no love for the firstborn of his wife. Thus, Charles was rarely ever allowed to visit home, and if he did, he was mostly subjected to strict discipline and reading assignments. His mother, ever subservient, was completely cowed by her new husband and could offer no solace or support to her only son.

Captain Mornington was hell-bent on having children from his wife. She had no reprieve from his efforts, not after the first miscarriage, nor after the second. The third miscarriage, when Charles was thirteen years old, finally gave her peace, for it was accompanied by a great bleeding. The midwife was barely able to staunch the blood flow, but Melissa Mornington never recovered fully, and she died from a simple cold during the following winter.

This left young Charles Tolliver under the wardship of his hated stepfather. Had it not been for his own father's stalwart solicitor, Captain Mornington would have spent all his stepson's birthright, for it turned out that there was no conscience in the man. As it was, the solicitor, Mister Pommeroy, kept Admiral Tolliver's fortune under tight control, doling out only such monies as were needed for young Charles's schooling and sustenance.

Charles stayed at school all the time now, and when he turned fourteen, he joined the Royal Navy. This at least happened with the blessing of his stepfather who probably hoped that the orphan would perish in the dangerous service. He even arranged for Charles to join his own cousin's ship as a midshipman, but a friendly fate interfered when a frigate readied in Portsmouth harbour. Her captain, Mister Joyce Saltingham, needed an immediate replacement for a young midshipman who had fatally fallen from the mainmast crosstrees, and the port admiral sent young Charles Tolliver on board the Thetis.

From that day onward, Charles's luck turned. The Thetis frigate was a crack ship, manned with volunteers and under a very able captain. Add to that that Captain Saltingham had once sailed under Charles's father, and the young boy found himself under his captain's fatherly care. He had to do his duty; in fact, he was expected to perform better than his fellow midshipmen. However, whenever he failed, he received encouragement along with the rebuke.

Most of the first four years of service were spent in the Far East, and the frigate saw vastly more action than could be expected in the peacetime Navy. Sailing patrols out of Bombay, Thetis often encountered pirates and smugglers, and the encounters often ended in fighting. As it happened, two of her lieutenants and one senior midshipman perished in those skirmishes and could only be replaced with volunteers from Bombay's merchant families, too young and too ill-qualified to be commissioned. Thus, at only seventeen years, Charles Tolliver was appointed acting lieutenant in the Thetis. When a squadron returning from Calcutta visited, there were even enough captains in presence to assemble an examination board, and young Charles received a lieutenant's commission that was dated January 1829.

Suddenly, Bombay's society found him interesting. He was not yet eighteen, but mature beyond his years, and a Baronet of the United Kingdom. He received invitations to accompany Captain Saltingham to dinners, and during one such function he met Eileen Fitzsimmons, the daughter of Colonel Fitzsimmons. She was a lovely girl, barely seventeen herself, and her parents saw a unique chance for their daughter to land the young baronet before the mothers of other eligible girls set their snares.

For young Charles and for Eileen it was honest love at first sight. They read the same authors, they liked the same dances, and they could lose themselves looking into each other's eyes.

A day after his eighteenth birthday, in the Church of St. Francis, Lieutenant Sir Charles Tolliver took Miss Eileen Fitzsimmons for his wife. The young couple spent a week together before Thetis had to sail on her next patrol, and when the frigate made port again nine weeks later, Sir Charles knew that he was going to be a father.

Adam Tolliver was born in Bombay on Christmas Day, 1829, a healthy boy and the pride of his parents and grandparents. The Fitzsimmons were more than happy with their son-in-law, and more importantly, they held enough interest with the Whig Party to further young Charles Tolliver's career. When Thetis was ordered home a year later — Eileen and Adam travelled in a convoy under the frigate's protection — Charles spent only three months ashore before he was appointed to the command of a sloop.

Charles used the shore time to reopen his father's Berkshire house and to assume responsibility for his father's estate. Whilst he went to sea in the Racehorse sloop, Eileen settled in Berkshire. There were a number of Navy families in the neighbourhood, and she was quickly accepted and included in the social circles.

HM sloop Racehorse, 18 guns, was ordered into the Mediterranean. In the aftermath of the Battle of Navarino, British and French men-of-war patrolled the Greek coastlines to protect the war-ravaged country against the inroads of corsairs. The small sloop of war was busy enough for the next months, but it was a pleasant duty with frequent stays in the ancient harbours. The Turks and their corsair allies were licking their wounds after the sound drubbing they had received, and Racehorse encountered only one enemy vessel.

It was ironic that their sole encounter was with a former British sixth-rate. Atropos, 22, had been with the Mediterranean Fleet in 1806 when she was badly damaged fighting a large Spanish frigate. After her repairs in the harbour of Palermo, the ship was given to the King of Naples as the nucleus for a Sicilian navy. In 1825, she was sold to an Athens merchant who fitted her out for a Greek navy he wanted to create. Ill-equipped and with a crew of fishermen, the Turks had no difficulties capturing her and she was sold to a slaver consortium in Alexandria.

Racehorse was smaller, had fewer guns, and a smaller crew. Yet, when the former Atropos tried to raid the island of Mykonos, the British sloop had been alerted to the plan by Turkish renegades and was already lying in ambush. Cutting off the retreat of the slaver, Racehorse and her disciplined crew out-manoeuvred and out-gunned their adversary in the narrow coastal waters. In the course of forty minutes, the hapless slaver was overwhelmed.

The old ship had only scrap value, but the captured crew of slavers and the freed slaves found in her holds made for a hero's welcome for Racehorse and her master when they sailed for Piraeus.

It was sheer luck that the British commander in chief was visiting Athens at the same time and that two of his captains felt the need to settle a personal quarrel once they were on shore. Captain Jamison of HMS Owen Glendower (36) lost his eyesight when the duelling pistol exploded into his face. He was replaced by acting Captain Sir Charles Tolliver, the hero of the hour.

He stayed in command for more than a year, enough to see his name posted in the London Gazette. A post-captain at the age of twenty-two, he seemed destined for greatness, but it was a time of peace, and a freshly minted captain — even a baronet with interest in Parliament — could not hope to hold on to the command of a frigate for long. Early 1833 saw him back in Berkshire and on half-pay.

Of course, Eileen welcomed him with open arms, and nobody was surprised when she became with child almost immediately after her husband's return. The following months were the best time of Sir Charles's life. He had a loving wife, and he had shown his mettle as a naval officer. He might receive his flag before he was forty-five. He even considered running for Parliament where he would align himself with his father-in-law.

His hated stepfather had died without issue whilst Charles Tolliver had served in the Mediterranean, and much to his surprise he found out that the man held sizeable possessions in Ireland. Charles and Eileen planned a visit to Ireland for the following year, but then she went into labour two full months early, delivering a weakly child and bleeding to death.

The death of his love left Charles Tolliver devastated and a recluse. He declined offers of commands claiming the need to look after his young son, and after a while the offers ceased. For a few years, he served as a justice of the peace, always taciturn and solemn, respected but never popular. Whatever warmth was left in his soul was invested in the little boy Adam.

Then, Adam joined the 17th Lancer Regiment, first as an ensign, but quickly gaining his first commission as a lieutenant. At 20 years of age, a captain's commission became available for Adam, and two years later, Adam was the only bidder for a vacant major's commission. Sir Charles had paid for those commissions, paving the way for his son, and looking for a suitable bride for him, but alas, at the farewell dinner for the retiring Major Purvis, Adam had his host's ward as table partner, the barely nubile Miss Suzanne Millard, an orphan raised by the major.

Only four weeks later, Adam visited Stepley Hall and informed his father that he had asked for the hand of Miss Millard, extolling her virtues and achievements — she was a qualified school teacher and spoke three languages in addition to English — and praising her beauty. In short, Adam would marry the girl, dowry be damned. Sir Charles had vehemently argued against the union, threatening to cut Adam off from any payments coming from the Tolliver estate. The result had been a crushing blow. Adam had laughed into his face and married the young woman anyway. Sir Charles was not invited to the wedding, nor to the baptism of his first grandchild, a girl. He did not even know where Adam and his wife lived, but he learned from others that Adam had been able to purchase a cottage in Maidstone, Kent, where he installed his family, leading Sir Charles to surmise that his young wife had brought some funds into the marriage.

Until then, Sir Charles had not even drawn half pay, unwilling to accept commands, but five years ago, he had reverted to an active commission, seeking employment. Now, he would welcome a command, any command that would distract him from his failure as a father, but who in their right minds would offer a ship or even a dockyard to a man who had not been to sea in over twenty years? No, he would have to wait a few more years for his flag to arrive. As a rear admiral, he might get a shore command somewhere.

In his mind, he cursed Adam's wife for taking his son from him. He had found a fitting bride for him, the only child of a well-to-do neighbour and extraordinarily pretty, too. Yet, Adam had scoffed at the prospect, choosing an orphan girl of dubious background instead. Somehow, as it often happened when he contemplated his situation, a small voice in his mind reminded him that he himself, a baronet and landed gentleman, had married the daughter of a colonial officer, not heeding older men’s advice to aim for a more fitting bride. Yet, Eileen, his late wife, had been all to him, and in a way, still was, for he never considered remarrying. Perhaps, he had been to pigheaded with Adam, but now, it was too late.

Bending over, he picked up a pebble and threw it as far as possible into the river. Exhaling, he watched the pebble splash into the water some thirty yards away. Taking another deep breath, he shook off the melancholy that was overcoming him. Perhaps, he should run for Justice of the Peace again in the next election. He had a good reputation and was known as an upright and fair man. A position in the legal system would give him something to do.

—————

The return run upriver to Whitehall, although helped by the incoming tide, took much longer. The rising tide met the freshening northwestern wind, and the small craft had to fight the choppy waves of the big river, but also the adverse wind. The eight oarsmen had a hard time keeping the barge on course and moving upstream, getting only a reprieve once they had fought their way to Rotherhithe, whence the barge, though close-hauled, made steady progress again. In any case, the passengers were quite drenched from the spray in the open boat when they arrived at Whitehall landing.

Sir Charles quickly found a one-horse cab for the rather short ride to the Ste. Croix gentlemen’s club where he always resided when visiting London, the membership being the only luxury in which he indulged. Seeing his bedraggled state, the Maitre d’Hotel immediately barked orders in French and Sir Charles had barely reached his first storey guest room when his servant, Mann, and two chambermaids of the club rushed in to help him out of his wet clothes.

There was a dedicated bathroom on the floor, where Mann then led him whilst two house servants began to fill the bathtub with tepid water. A half hour later, only his damp hair reminded him of the wet boat ride, as he sat in the reading room of the club, a balloon glass of Ste. Croix Ancien brandy on the table at his side.

As usual, at least half the members in presence were wearing Navy blue or regimental colours, and Sir Charles even recognised one of them. It was Lord Lucan, the lieutenant colonel of Adam's regiment, the 17th Lancers, but Sir Charles did not feel like renewing the acquaintance, detesting Lucan heartily. Yet, as well-to-do members were wont to do, Lucan had invited several of his regimental officers to dine with him at the Ste. Croix, and Adam was amongst them.

Father and son stared at each other at first, but then, Sir Charles gave his son a nod and a wry smile. Adam must have excused himself to Lord Lucan, because he strode over to his father's table.

"Father?" he started hesitantly.

"Adam. You look well."

"Yes, I suppose I feel well, Father."

"Can you sit with me?"

"Yes, of course. How have you been, Father?"

Sir Charles shrugged. "Same as always, I suppose. Still waiting for a command. I guess I've been on the beach for too long. How… how are your wife and daughter?"

"Suzanne is all I ever dreamt of, and Alice is the apple of my eye."

"I can imagine, having had a scant three years with your dear mother. I am deeply sorry, Adam, for being so pigheaded about the Bywater girl."

Priscilla Bywater had been the girl Sir Charles had picked as bride for his son, but she was now engaged to Captain James Tremayne, of the 13th Light Dragoons, and by all accounts, they were very attached to each other.

"You never gave Suzanne a chance."

"To my shame, I didn't. Will you please accept my support again? I imagine that it should make things easier for you and your family."

"Would you be willing to accept Suzanne as my wife and Alice as my daughter?"

"After thinking my stance over, I believe I can accept your choice of a wife. As for your daughter, I already willed her all my possessions in case of my demise. Not to accept my granddaughter is unthinkable."

"She is a sweet girl, Father. Perhaps, we can arrange for a visit to Stepley Hall some time in the autumn?"

"You would be very welcome, Adam. It is your home, too, and your family should see it. I am not wont to travel much, so you will be welcome at any time."

"That is good to hear, Father. Perhaps, we can leave the ill will behind us?"

"I would like nothing more, Adam. Let me know whenever you can get a leave."

Casting a nervous look at Lucan, Adam smirked. "I am sorry, Father, but I really must return to Lucan's table. He's not the most patient man, as you know."

"You know my opinion of the man," Sir Charles stated, all traces of conciliation gone from his voice. "The way he let his poor tenants starve, over in Ireland, was unconscionable, nay, immoral!"

"Not the way you look after your lands. I know, Father. Frankly, I don't like him either; nobody in the regiment does."

"Let me know if you need funds to transfer to another regiment."

"I may, Father. It was good to see you and to clear the air."

"Yes, it was. Now go back to Lucan's table, lest you incite the fool's wrath!"

When Adam stood, Sir Charles rose, too, and it was only natural for the two men to hug, but Adam returned to Lucan's table, and Sir Charles retired long before Lucan released his officers, seeing how Adam was drinking heavily, and being afraid of a fresh quarrel with his inebriated son.

—————

The visit to Stepley Hall, the seat of the Turner family, by Adam and his family never came to pass. Apparently, the dinner at the Ste. Croix had been to break the news to the officers of the 17th Lancers that they would deploy to the Crimea peninsula as part of a joint British and French expeditionary force to defend Turkey against the Russian Empire. At breakfast in the morning after their chance meeting, Sir Charles found a brief note — a drunk scrawl to be honest — telling him that Adam was taking transport to Ireland, to join the regiment, and to prepare for their deployment.

From what Sir Charles gleaned from the newspapers, the campaign, to be known as the Crimean War, was ill-conceived and hastily implemented, with Army commanders who hated each other but loved to see their names in the newspapers, and throwing overboard long friendships with Russia and Greece. Sir Charles could not help but fear an unfortunate outcome.

After his return from London, once again engulfed by the solitude at Stepley Hall, he once again reverted to being a recluse. He briefly contemplated writing a letter to his daughter-in-law, apologising for his previous rejection, but he abstained from the idea, fearing a rebuke from her. Perhaps, it would be better for Adam to bring his father in contact with his family.

 

2 - Obligation

November 1854

Captain Sir Charles Tolliver R.N., 3rd Baronet of Stepley, was sitting at the desk in his study. Two letters were lying on it. One was from the Army, informing him in brief words that Major Adam Tolliver of the 17th Lancers had died of the wounds sustained in the Battle of Balaclava. There was the usual blather one could expect of ministry officials, assuring him that the late Major Tolliver had died a heroic death.

Charles Tolliver cast the letter aside with a violent move. What did it matter? His only son, in fact his only child, his last link to his dead wife, had perished in a foolhardy action, ordered by glory-seeking old men, and bungled on just about every level of command. What good did it do to the families of all the young men who had perished?

Over at Woodbridge Manor, Lord Lambert had to console his daughter over the death of her husband, Major Pryce, who had fallen in the same senseless attack. The memorial service had been just a week ago, and Sir Charles had attended, at that time still ignorant of his son's fate. Now there would be another memorial service, and the same people would come and would now offer their condolences to him.

The other letter was written in a strange hand. A nurse at the Scutari infirmary had written it at the behest of Adam. It was a beautiful female handwriting, but it was signed in Adam's own, weak hand.

—————

My dearest Father,

it is morning, and my fever has abated just a little. Nurse Prescott is so kind as to write down what I need to tell you and ask of you.

It has given me immeasurable relief that we had the brief face-to-face in London before I was shipped to the Crimea. It were unbearable if our quarrel had not been resolved, for I am now convinced that it was our last meeting before we shall face our divine maker. The wounds I suffered are of a grave nature, and I fear that the gangrene is now setting in. I must use the last moments in which I am still of a clear mind to settle my affairs.

My letter to Suzanne is already written, and in it I instructed her to contact you and to accept your help which I hope you will grant. In our last meeting you mentioned your regrets over the stance you showed regarding our marriage. Now, with my last strength, I implore you to let actions follow those words: please, take care of Suzanne and of my little daughter Alice. I am convinced that once you see her without the blinders of prejudice you will understand why she is my one and only love.

I deeply regret that with my passing nobody will be left to continue the male line of our family, but I take solace in your promise to accept Alice as your granddaughter and heiress.

I also wish to convey my gratitude to you for being a warm and caring father. You taught me by example the virtues of a true gentleman, and it is due to your example that I became the man with whom Suzanne could fall in love.

Lastly, I ask you to embrace life again. Love and happiness may still be there for you to claim if only you can let go of the past.

Your loving son

 

Adam Tolliver, Major, 17th Lancers

—————

Captain Tolliver finished re-reading the letter for the fifth time. Adam was no more, and the letter in his hands was all that was left of what had once been a happy family. Twenty years ago, the death of his wife Eileen just three days after giving premature birth to a tiny girl had devastated him. The girl outlived her mother by only a day, barely living long enough to be christened after her mother, and from that time on, father and son had only had each other.

At least, they had made peace with each other during their brief meeting at the Ste. Croix. Charles Tolliver had promised to contact his daughter-in-law, but he had postponed it time and again until it was too late.

He sighed. There was no excuse for his cowardice. The woman and Adam's daughter were now his responsibility.

—————

The late December weather was predictably cold and rainy. Even in the fully covered coach, Charles Tolliver was cold and miserable. He had spent the night in London after paying a call at the Admiralty which he did once a year. He was still an active officer albeit without command for the past ten years. Now the coach was lurching forward towards Maidstone. Why Adam had purchased a cottage in Kent was beyond Charles Tolliver's comprehension.

Fortunately, the drizzling rain stopped before they reached Maidstone, and when Tolliver alighted from his coach there was even a weak wintry sun that warmed him slightly. The cottage was not much to write about, but well kept and cozy enough. Tolliver nodded to his coachman who approached the door and knocked.

A middle aged woman opened and looked at the callers. Tolliver stepped closer.

"Sir Charles Tolliver, to see Missus Suzanne Tolliver."

The woman's eyes widened just a little.

"I shall announce you, Sir Charles," she said timidly. "Perhaps you want to step in?"

Nodding, Tolliver bent under the low door and entered. There was a faint smell of food, but also of wood polish and soap. It was certainly a well-kept household, if modest. He was led into a small parlour with old but well-maintained furniture. He sat gingerly on an ancient upholstered chair.

It took almost a quarter hour before the sound of foot steps signalled the arrival of his daughter-in-law. The door opened, and a woman entered wearing a black dress and veil. He could not see much of her face, but her voice was pleasant.

"Good day, Sir Charles. Please excuse my delay. I was not expecting visitors."

Tolliver stood and bowed, kissing the gloved hand.

"Madam, think not of it. May I first offer my heartfelt condolence?"

"Thank you, Sir Charles. Of course, you must feel the loss as hard as we do."

"That is what I feel indeed. Madam, in his last letter, my son charged me with the care for you and his daughter, and I thought it best to come myself to see how I may be of assistance."

"Adam wrote to me to let me know that he asked, but I did not…"

"Madam, I hope that you will forgive me my past conduct. I regret it deeply, and it is my intention to make good for it. Will you allow me to be of assistance to you?"

She flipped back the veil and looked into his eyes. For the first time, Charles Tolliver saw her face. It was dominated by large blue, almost turquoise eyes that fixated him unwaveringly. Tearing his gaze away from her eyes, he saw a small, well formed nose, a small but full mouth, reddish eyebrows, and a pale skin dotted ever so lightly with freckles. How stupid he had been! How could he expect Adam to forsake this woman? He cleared his throat.

"Forgive me my staring, Madam. I believe that I can understand my son's motives much better already."

She gave him a pained smile. "Perhaps you can, but perhaps not. Adam was precious to me because he could see past my outward charms. Believe me when I state that I had proposals both decent and indecent from many men, and most of them had more to offer. I chose your son because he saw more in me than a pretty face."

"I stand chastised, Madam," Charles Tolliver replied. "Be that as it may, I feel it my duty to see to your well being and to that of your daughter. I can offer you to live at Stepley Hall. It is a good place to raise a child, and I can promise you a life in the style you can expect. I have no living relatives save for your daughter, and it would gladden me to watch her growing up."

"That would be in your household, Sir Charles?"

"Yes, indeed. Should you prefer to live in a separate household, I can offer you a well-kept cottage a mile or so to the west. I retained it for Adam, and you are welcome to use it at your discretion."

"I could also stay here," she answered. "Adam did not leave me much, but it is enough to raise Alice."

"That is for you to decide, Madam. I am quite aware that my past conduct did not endear me to you. Should you decide to make your home here or at any other place, I shall arrange for you to receive an adequate support. That is what Adam asked me to do, and you will understand my desire to follow my son's dying wish."

He was not pleased with the turn of the conversation. It was clear that Suzanne Tolliver was a strong-willed woman. Redheads were supposed to be strong-willed, or perhaps they got away with it more easily. Charles Tolliver found it hard to stand up to the woman himself, and he had yet to see her hair.

"Will you agree to let me raise and educate my daughter following my own principles?" she asked pointedly, and Tolliver stood taller.

"For as long as she will be raised to the same ideals as my son, I shall refrain from interference. However, I maintain that children should have a comprehensive schooling, and that also goes for girls."

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise, and her demeanour changed considerably.

"Why, Sir Charles, you surprise me with your stance. It is exactly that on which I insist — a proper schooling in all matters. I shall not raise my daughter as a little fool!"

"Then we have agreement on at least this important issue, Madam," Tolliver answered. "Adam told me that you are well schooled yourself?"

"I am fluent in French and German,I have a little Italian, I enjoy Algebra and Geometry, and I find Geography and History exhilarating!" she declared proudly.

"You are also in favour of women's suffrage," Tolliver stated drily but without sneering.

"Indeed I am, Sir Charles, but that must wait until women can be their own persons in every respect, including the ownership of property."

Tolliver shrugged. "I have met just as many smart women as smart men in my life, Madam. I hold no prejudice against your positions."

"Adam always said that he was surprised at your hard stance regarding our marriage. He claimed that you are of a liberal mindset. I can see it now. Yet, why did you refuse to bless our union, pray?"

"To be honest, it had nothing to do with you. I had picked a young lady for Adam, the daughter of a neighbour, and we had reached an agreement. Adam's refusal to woo the young lady caused me great embarrassment. I will also admit that recent events made it quite clear that she is not a fit consort for Adam or for any other gentleman."

Suzanne Tolliver nodded knowingly. "That would have been Priscilla Bywater. Adam told me of her, but he also told me that she loved an officer from the 13th."

Charles Tolliver snorted. "Yes, until he was shipped to the Crimea. She broke that engagement as soon as a wealthier suitor showed."

"Oh, dear! The poor young man! How could she?"

Tolliver shrugged. "I suppose some women are like that. I had only a few years with my wife, but I count myself a lucky man for she was as true as gold. I can see now that Adam made a good choice, too."

Now she blushed a little. "Thank you, Sir Charles. Could I perhaps visit you at Stepley Hall before I decide on our future? I do not know the place at all, and I would rather not make a decision of this magnitude uninformed."

"You are welcome to visit, Madam. Have you any servants whom you wish to accompany you?"

"My housekeeper lives with her husband. I doubt that she would accompany me."

"I am quite certain that you can find a fitting servant or two with the help of an agency. I myself have only a few staff — a manservant, a housekeeper, two chamber maids, a cook and a coachman. There is room enough though."

"I see. When would we have to be ready for the journey?"

"The wind has veered. I suppose that the rain will let up in a day or two. It would be more comfortable to travel in dry weather, Madam."

She nodded to that. "There is nothing to hold us here. I shall pack for Alice and myself and hold ourselves ready. Have you planned where to stay, Sir Charles?"

"My coachman is already looking for an inn. I do not foresee any problems, Madam."

"I admit to being relieved. We are not prepared for overnight guests. As you can see, the house is on the small side."

"Think not of it, Madam. I shall be comfortable in whichever inn my coachman will find. One last thing though. May I see my granddaughter?"

Suzanne Tolliver blushed. "Oh, dear! How thoughtless of me! But of course, Sir Charles."

She left the room and returned barely a minute later pushing a girl of 5 years into the room. From this moment on, the purpose returned to Charles Tolliver's life. He immediately saw the likeness to his dead wife Eileen in the small girl's features and the stone in his chest melted. His eyes even misted over and his voice was a weak croak.

"You — hr-hm! — must be Alice. I am your grandfather Charles."

The girl looked at him but then a smile spread over her cute face.

"Hullo, Grandfather Charles," she said.

"I — hr-hm! — invited you and your mother to visit me at my home. Would you like to see my home? Why, we might even find a pony for you in my stables."

He could see Alice's eyes widen at this, but she looked at her mother first. Suzanne Tolliver nodded to her.

"Could I ride the pony, Grandfather?" Alice asked breathlessly.

"You can brush it, feed it and ride it, Alice," Charles answered with his first genuine smile in weeks and months.

"Are you in the Army like my Papa?" Alice wanted to know.

"No, Alice. I am a Captain in the Royal Navy, but I haven't been to sea since — well, for a very long time."

"People say my Papa was a hero. Are you a hero too?"

"No, no hero. I did my duty and I had to fight the Turks and some pirates over in India, but I wasn't a hero. Your father was. I am very proud of him and very sad that I shall never see him again."

"I am sad too," Alice said with a nod, but then she smiled shyly again. "When shall we go to see my pony?"

 

3 - Stepley Hall

December 1854

The journey to Stepley Crossing, halfway between Maidenhead and Reading, was 80 miles long, taking almost three days. Stepley Hall stood at the outskirts of the village, a fine sight for the travel-weary Tollivers. It had been built under the reign of the third King George by Sir Reginald Tolliver, 1st Baronet, but the present owner had subjected it to considerable modernisations over the years. Thus it looked splendid in the late evening sun with its curved dual front steps leading up to the entrance. Suzanne Tolliver swallowed.

“Adam never told me how beautiful this place is,” she said haltingly.

Sir Charles sighed heavily. “Perhaps he did not want to be reminded of the home which he had forsaken.” He switched topics. “With the exception of my suite and Adam’s old room, the entire first storey is furnished as guest rooms. I suggest that you pick two suitable rooms for yourself and for Alice, and once you decide about whether to move to Stepley Hall, we can make alterations after your fancy.”

“That is kind of you, Sir Charles,” Suzanne answered. “But where do your servants live?”

“The basement floor is above ground in the back of the manor. Cook has rooms close to the kitchen for herself and the kitchen maid. The rest live in the coach house.”

He pointed at a two-storey house which had a wide, arched door on the ground level and living quarters atop of it. Everything looked well ordered and maintained.

When the coach rumpled over the cobbled drive way and came to a screeching halt in front of the front steps, a small welcome committee of five people formed. The rotund cook was easily recognised as such, as was the livered manservant. Two young chambermaids and a solemn looking older woman — the housekeeper — completed the staff.

“Welcome home, Sir Charles,” the housekeeper spoke up as they alighted from the coach. “Welcome to Stepley Hall, Missus Tolliver, Miss Alice. I am Boswell, the housekeeper. Mann here is Sir Charles’s servant, Quonsett is our cook, and Edna and Judy are the housemaids. I have detailed Edna as your personal servant until you can find your own servant, Madam.”

“Thank you, Miss Boswell,” Suzanne answered nicely, only to be met with a frown from the woman.

“Please, Madam, just ‘Boswell’. I do not rate as a ‘Miss’,” she insisted.

Realising her gaffe, Suzanne blushed. “As you wish, Boswell,” she returned.

Sir Charles then led the way into the house. He could see that his daughter-in-law was impressed and he had a passing feeling of pride. He had taken good care of his house and of his lands. A recluse he might have been, but he had done his duty for the estate and those living on it.

Edna was the older of the two chamber maids and Boswell was training her to take over the household some day in the future. Judy, the other maid, was a recent hire, only nineteen years old and not quite settled into her tasks yet. Now they both carried the two valises of Suzanne Tolliver and her little daughter whilst Boswell was bringing up the rear.

Sir Charles remained downstairs, giving his daughter in law time to settle in and to change from the travel clothes into whatever she was wearing inside a house. Emma Quonsett — “Cook” — had stayed behind.

“Sir Charles?”

“Yes?”

“Is there anything special the child may want to eat?” she asked eagerly.

Sir Charles smiled briefly. There were four women in his household, each of them ready to spoil little Alice rotten if given a chance.

“From what I observed she eats normal fare. If she is her father’s true daughter, she will however relish your cottage pie.”

“I’ll see to it right away, Sir Charles!” Cook smiled. “Will you take tea or coffee this afternoon?”

“I believe Missus Tolliver to be enamoured with coffee. Have somebody get some cream too. Oh, and a cup of hot chocolate for my granddaughter if you can.”

“Certainly, Sir Charles. Be ready in a jiffy!”

The coffee, strong and black, was ready and waiting in the garden room when Suzanne Tolliver came downstairs with little Alice. Sir Charles stood and held her chair and then he helped the little girl sit. A very nervous Judy poured coffee for the adults and a thick, dark chocolate for Alice.

“This is such a wonderful house, Sir Charles,” Suzanne sighed. “And now you are spoiling us with coffee and chocolate.”

“I always have coffee or tea this time of the day and you are welcome to join. I…”

“Mum, can I have more choclit?” Alice butted it.

“Alice, what have I told you? Never interrupt another person’s speech!”

The little girl was momentarily chastised.

“Sorry, Mum,” she mumbled.

“Don’t do it again! You will have more chocolate when we’ll have more coffee. Try to sit still and wait!”

Sir Charles would have let the girl have more chocolate, but Suzanne had been right. No need to let the girl get away with impoliteness. Now Suzanne turned to him.

“I’m sorry, Sir Charles. You were saying?”

“I wanted to say that I shall be happy to have you join me, but I shall be understanding if you choose to abstain.”

“And miss this excellent coffee? Sir Charles, you can count on me attending your afternoon coffee.”

“This is settled then. Are you content with your accommodations?”

“Very much so, and your household has been very helpful.”

“If the weather holds, we can ride over to Hesley Cottage tomorrow, so you may see your options.”

“You are very considerate, Sir Charles. There is another thing. I do not wish to be an idler. If there are duties and tasks that you wish to delegate to me, some charity perhaps or other matters, I shall be happy to help out.”

Sir Charles slowly shook his head. “None that I can think of right now. Lady Lambert and her sister-in-law, Mrs Ruiz at Oxford House, handle most charitable activities in these parts. Should you decide to settle here permanently, I can make the introductions. .Missus Ruiz is a also a prominent champion of women’s suffrage.”

“A worthy occupation to be sure,” Suzanne opined.

“One may think so indeed,” Sir Charles nodded. “Should you decide on staying at Stepley Hall and once you have settled in, we can discuss your roles and responsibilities within this house and the estate.”

Suzanne raised her eyebrows. “What have you in mind then, Sir Charles?”

“Oh, dealing with Mr Allen, the vicar. Looking after the widowed women and the few orphans we have. Things like that for which, as I have to profess, my patience is often too short.”

Suzanne nodded to this. “That sounds quite agreeable, Sir Charles. Of course, you are correct when you point out that we must decide on my accommodations first.”

They left it at that and Sir Charles gave his daughter in law a view of the house, from the top floor of the turret down to the cellars. The study room with its well filled bookshelves excited her the most, but she also liked the room atop the turret for the wide view it afforded. Here, Sir Charles kept a large telescope mounted on a tripod with which Adam had watched the night sky as a boy.

It was time for the supper then, served in the vast dining hall. The three members of the family were almost lost at the massive table, but there was a huge tiled stove to keep the hall warm. The room, just like all rooms at Stepley Hall, had gas lighting fed from a small gas works that operated in the back of the great barn. Sir Charles embraced modern technologies and he prided himself on his well-lit house.

After supper, Suzanne brought little Alice to bed. The girl was quite tired after an exciting day, and even in the unaccustomed room, she fell asleep in short time. Suzanne then rejoined her father-in-law in the study room where he was sipping on a glass of Port wine. He rose when she entered.