21: The Final Unfinished Voyage of Jack Aubrey by Patrick O’Brian Read Free Book Online Page A

and that he had carried with an anxious mind to the Suffolk — the hint that had much increased the gravity of that ceremony - now expanded to a conscious and reasoned certainty: there had indeed been grave unhappiness at Woolcombe, and in all likelihood the unhappiness was still there.
    From time to time he glanced over at Stephen, who was equally grave, but whose letters - whose dated and indeed numbered letters (for from early childhood Christine had been brought up to keep exact ornithological and botanical records) were now assembled in neatly-ordered piles that he was at present annotating in a private script, just as he would have annotated any other body of intelligence documents. From time to time Stephen felt his friend’ s gaze heavy upon him; but this was an exceedingly delicate affair, with very strong emotions involved, and he did not choose to broach a subject that concerned Jack even more than it concerned him: still less did he wish to force a confidence. He therefore made no observation of any kind until Jack turned and said, “ Brother, I am most uncommon stupid today, what with the emotion of hoisting my flag - hoisting my flag, God bless us all - and having a set-to with Lord Leyton as well as coping with our people - and I cannot make head or tail of what is afoot at home, except that they do not seem to be quite friends. Have you puzzled it out? I mean, if you hav e had the same kind of letters?”
    “ I believe I have, my dear, though I may well be mistaken. You will recall that Christine went down to Woolcombe at my particular request and at dear Sophie's invitation?”
    “ Yes, yes: I reme mber it perfectly”
    “ At that time your twin daughters were away, at their aunt's school in Ulster .”
    “ Just so. They travelled with James Callaghan, whose eldest girl is there too.”
    “ So at Woolcombe there was just Sophie, your young George on long leave while his ship was refitting, Christine Wood and my Brigid. Edward Heatherleigh had brought them down from the North Country, but at that point he did not stay, having at least three pa p ers to read before the Society.”
    “ All this while we were moving slowly down towards Brazil.”
    Stephen nodded and went on, “ Perhaps I told you that among a quantity of letters that I received at Funchal there was a note from Edward speaking of his delight, in the countryside about Woolcombe and his hope of hunting there one day?”
    “ I believe you did. Do you think a pot o f coffee would sharpen my wits?” He touched the bell. “You will take a cup, I am sure?”
    Stephen agreed and went on. “ That was the posture of affairs: a very elegant posture too, with George and Brigid excellent good friends, often riding on a stout well boned pony - the source, ala s, of that greenstick fracture.”
    “ It knit very soon and it earned h im another three months’ leave.”
    “ To be sure. And this was the state of affairs when Edward came back from London. He had been charmed by the reception of his papers and he was even more charmed by the countryside; he thought it ideal for fishing, for hunting fox or hare, and for recording the movements, mating, nesting and diet of an extraordinarily large number of birds, and he asserted that he should start making enquiries for a house to be let or sold, observing that although their place in the north was very well, the weather was exceptionally and increasingly severe, which his declining health could no longer endure. So Sophie, judging very rightly from his carriage, servants and evident style of living, suggested a comfortable, fair-sized house a quarter o f a mile away.”
    “Medenham.”
    “ Just so . . . which had been empty for some time, but which, with a gardens and meadows, had been carefully kept up and which was to be had at a modest rent by a tenant such as Mr Heatherleigh, and if dear Christine liked she would ask the agent for an order to view.
    The brother and sister viewed with every