Charlotte and the Cypher

Part the First, wherein Mrs Arden receives a gift.

Mrs. James Arden – Charlotte, to her intimate associates - ran home as fast as one could while wearing pink satin slippers. Mere moments ago, she had been sitting in the kitchen of her father's house, reading aloud to her youngest sister, Catherine. The redoubtable Mr. Gulliver had just awoken to find himself tied up by the Lilliputians when William, Charlotte's much-spoiled young brother, rushed into the room, toy spyglass in hand

“Charlotte, Charlotte!” William had exclaimed, excitement written all over his face, “There is a ship in the harbour! A big ship!”

The announcement was enough to make Mrs. Arden spring to her feet, and, book still in hand, rush bareheaded out into the street. It took nearly fifteen minutes to reach the cottage James had bought for her, a pretty little house nestled in a walled garden overlooking the harbour, where a lonely bench stood among rose bushes.

Charlotte flew through the garden gate, then skidded to a halt - she had caught sight of the ship. Her breath caught in her throat. Charlotte could not make out the name on the ship's transom, not from this distance, but it was clearly a glorious vessel. The ship was enormous - a poop deck larger than Charlotte's kitchen garden, three gun decks - clearly first-rate. For a heady, fleeting moment, she thought that perhaps James had been assigned that ship, that glorious thing, as his command. But, with a sigh, she realised that could not be true.

The ship was far too grand for a mere junior captain to command. Charlotte's husband had been promoted from Lieutenant - his name posted in the Times and put on the captain's list – a mere three years ago. James Arden's only command thus far had been a sixth-rate frigate, and Charlotte could not imagine her husband commanding eight hundred men and a hundred guns. James had neither the experience nor the authority to captain the ship anchored out in the harbour. Therefore, logically, he must be her passenger - which meant that he had failed to secure a position, and was being pensioned on half-pay.

Charlotte lowered herself onto the green bench. Only James Arden, Charlotte reflected ruefully, could manage to get pensioned off in the middle of a war! French ships could be anchored in the Thames while Napoleon himself ran roughshod through London, and James would somehow manage to find himself unemployed and sleeping until noon. Even a captain's full pay was meagre without the promise of prize money won capturing enemy ships. They would have trouble getting by on half-pay. Sometimes, she wondered why she married the man, though she more often reflected that she was fortunate to have him.

"Charlotte!" A familiar voice called. Mrs. Arden jumped.

“Mr. Arden,” she replied coldly. There he was, cocked hat and all, smiling at her from the other side of the garden wall.

"Captain Arden," he corrected, looking comically pleased with himself.

Charlotte let out an exasperated sigh. “No matter what your rank, you ought not to call yourself 'Captain' when you have not been assigned a ship."

Arden's shock was palpable. His left arm swept outwards, indicating the harbour and the magnificent ship afloat there. "Not been assigned a ship? Charlotte, you rusty-haired fool, do you not see her?"

 Charlotte's mouth fell open, her book falling from her fingers to land, open, on the bench. "You mean to say that they have not sent you home on half-pay?"

"Sent me home on half-pay? No, on the contrary, this past month has been the finest I have experienced since I made post." He dreamily raised a hand to his right shoulder, fingering the epaulette buttoned there. For the first time, Charlotte noticed that Arden now wore two epaulettes, rather than just the one he had eight months ago, when he was last home. Two epaulettes signified three years experience; she wondered if his crew had organized a celebration for him.

"But, James, how could you be captain of a first-rate ship-of-the-line? I do not understand it!" Charlotte retorted.

He coloured slightly, "Ah, well, the Admiral - "

"Oh, it is the Admiral's flagship,“ Charlotte interrupted, as everything became clear. “You are his flag-captain, then?" Flag-captain was a relatively junior position; the captain of an Admiral's flagship was, after all, always under the Admiral's direct supervision.

"It is a good position, Charlotte," Arden insisted. He sounded defensive. "I shall learn a great deal, working with the Admiral, and the next time Boney sends his ships out to play, we are sure to be right in the thick of it."

"I know," Charlotte said generously. “Come, James. Let us go into the house. I have a half a loaf of Madeira cake; we can celebrate your promotion.”

James shook his head. “Unfortunately, I have much to do and we sail again with the tide. But before I go, I have something for you."

Arden pulled his linen sea-bag up onto the top of the wall. Just seeing it made Charlotte smile. She had offered to make him a better one, but he was childishly proud of the embroidery he had done as a midshipman, a slanted "J" and a drunken "A" surrounded by a circle of pale blue x's. He riffled through the bag, then wiggled a roughly oval object wrapped in cloth out through the narrow drawstring mouth.

"Here," he held the package out to her. "Take it."

Charlotte was surprised by the weight of the object. She unwrapped the cloth to reveal burnished bronze and bright metal.

"A lamp?" she asked, looking at the object.

"A cassolette, actually," James corrected, "there's no opening for the wick, see? But the top opens up, and you can fill it with scent."

“Well, thank you, James,” Charlotte replied, trying to be polite. She really had no use for such a thing, and it was too ornate for her simple tastes. It might look nice in her parents’ house, however.  “Are you certain you cannot stay?”

Arden shook his head. “I am sorry, dear Charlotte, but I must be off at once. At any rate, I have no doubts that you shall make something of my gift. Write to me when you do. Your father is a barrister; I am sure you have enough of his skill to talk your letter into the bundle from the Admiralty. I shall await the packet ship with enthusiasm.”

“A ridiculous idea. Besides which, what can one make of a cassolette?” Charlotte asked, awkwardly holding the item up by its handle.

Arden shrugged and turned, beginning to walk down the hill.

“Wait!” Charlotte called, “How can I write you? You have not told me the name of your ship!”

Arden turned. Very deliberately, he bowed, removing his bicorn with a flourish. “Her name is 'Reckless'. HMS Reckless.”

“A very fitting name,” reflected Charlotte, “considering the personality of her captain.”

“Now, Charlotte, you do not mean that. I shall see you in a few months. Do write,” Arden replied. He strode off down the path towards the harbour, whistling.