Sailing Home, page 26
“At issue in the case, as I understand it,” he said, giving Opaline a quick glance, “is the definition of assault. There seems to be no question as to whether or not you gave Mister Berry a proper thrashing; at issue is whether or not you were defending Miss Downing’s honor. And so, Miss Downing is—”
“He hit her. I was more than defending her honor.”
“Miss Downing has informed me that she spat upon the gentleman, prior to his striking her.”
“So?”
“So then, the question becomes, was Mister Talmadge Berry guilty of slander against Miss Opaline Downing, at the outset of events?”
“No, the question becomes, am I to allow Miss Opaline Downing’s reputation to be dragged through the muck, simply to avoid paying for the pleasure of having thwacked some turd in a waistcoat, and sending him down into the mud where he belongs?”
There followed a brief calming of silence.
“Mister Carpenter,” Mister Harter rejoined, gently breeching the silence, “Miss Downing’s reputation will be, as you put it, ‘dragged through the muck’, whether or not
she is in attendance; Mister Berry’s case depends upon it. I would think her presence would be advantageous to your defense.”
Opaline reached out and took Marin’s hand. “Marin, I want to be there,” she said.
“Let that be your decision,” Marin said. “Is there any chance I can simply pay the little grubber off, and avoid this entire odious ordeal.”
“It is my opinion that Mister Berry is not interested in the money. His only desire is to humiliate you and debase Miss Downing. Nothing else makes sense.”
“But why?” Marin asked, casting his glance to Opaline.
As soon as her eyes caught his, she looked away. Marin took a step back from the table and thanked Mister Harter, and then excused himself from the room.
Phillipe was in the kitchen tidying up when Marin entered.
“How was your meet and greet with our new shipmates?” Phillipe asked.
A smile grew wide on Marin’s face as he spoke, “You have your work cut out for you, dear brother.”
“M-m-m, I enjoy a good challenge.”
“Well, this one is a real monkey’s fist ...for the both of us. I’m going back down to the ship this afternoon, should you care to join me.”
“I would,” Phillipe said.
“Could you make an effort to dress ...more like a seaman, and less of a dandy.”
“A dandy, you say? How dare you refer to me as a macaroni.”
“I didn’t refer to you as anything of the kind. I was referring to your ...oh never mind. Costume as you wish.”
After Mister Harter had left, Marin attempted to grab a moment of Opaline’s time, but she advised him that she had a patient waiting and had to leave. He offered to take her in the carriage, but she preferred to walk.
He watched her walk out the door and down to Thames Street. As soon as she was out of sight, he climbed the stairs and went into her bedroom. He opened the drawer of her nightstand and took out her diary. He sat on the edge of the bed, holding pieces of her past in his lap. He knew well, he had no right to explore her private thoughts, but he feared he was on the verge of marrying a woman whose very quintessence was comprised of mostly private thoughts. Why had Talmadge Berry called her a ‘whore’? What was the bases of the Berry family’s objections to Jonathan marrying her? What did she mean when he overheard her saying to Phoebe, “I have teased men to their knees, and dangled my permission over them just to watch them squirm. And sometimes I have lent myself to them, but only for my own pleasure, not giving a whit for their own.” What else could that have possibly meant, except...
His thoughts were blunted by Phoebe’s appearance in the doorway. Her eyes danced up and down between the face of the diary and that of Marin’s.
“I haven’t opened it,” Marin offered her, looking back down at the diary.
“But you were about to,” Phoebe replied, more of a question than an accusation.
“I’m not sure,” he said. “She is such a closed book.” He looked back at Phoebe, her round angelic face pregnant with forgiveness, her eyes waiting. “I’m in love with a mystery,” Marin said, surprised at his own words.
“Maybe that’s what you love about her,” Phoebe replied.
Marin’s look turned inward.
“Miss Ruth says, ‘A man loves a good mystery’,” Phoebe added.
“Miss Ruth would know,” he said, and he placed the diary back into the drawer.
When Marin and Phillipe arrived shipside, Mister Prince had the new recruits chipping ice off of the deck, as Navy guards stood around all the while.
“Can we go below, Captain?” Jude asked.
As they entered the Captain’s Quarters, Marin noticed his strong box had been moved. While there was no clear evidence of anyone having forced it open, he gave Jude a disturbing look.
“Everything shipshape, Captain?” Jude asked.
“Someone has been rooting through my quarters, not that I am surprised. What do you suppose is the real purpose of the Navy posting their guards aboard?”
“To protect the cotton balls, Captain,” Jude said, with a wink. He turned to Phillipe, gave him the once over, and asked, “You’re not going to sea in that outfit, are ya?”
“This outfit is called a cassock. And yes, I will be wearing it at times. I thought it best for the men to see me dressed in my role as the ship’s cleric. Besides,” he added with a snide tilt to his voice, “I haven’t any, leather britches.”
Marin, showing his impatience, asked Jude, “What was it you wanted to talk to me about, Mister Prince?”
“The so called, crew, sir. As I was explaining the basic layout of the ship, and most of them don’t know a sail from a bedspread, one of them asked me...” and he paused as if he himself couldn’t believe what he was about say.
“Yes?” Marin urged.
“Well sir, he asked if we couldn’t refer to the Foremast as ‘Mast A’, the Mainmast as, ‘Mast B’ and the Mizzenmast as, ‘Mast C’. He suggested it was easier to remember that way.”
The Captain appeared somewhat amused by the comment, his tight smile holding back his laughter.
“That’s not all, Captain,” Mister Prince continued, hoping to weight down his Captain’s smile, “He wanted the Mail Sail referred to as, ‘Sail Number One’, The Top Sail would be called, ‘Sail Number Two,’ and, well, you get the idea, Captain.”
“To clarify,” the Captain said, entertaining Mister Prince, “The Main Mast, Main Sail would be called—”
“Mast Two, Sail One,” Jude finished for him.
“And how about the rigging?” Marin asked.
“You’re pissin’ inta the wind, sir,” Jude grunted, “God help us.”
“Hear that, Phillipe? That’s where you come in, and, as I said, you have your work cut out for you.” Turning back to Mister Prince, he asked, “What about Mister Collier? Surely he knows the proper terms.”
“Yes sir, he does. And it seems the both of you find the situation somewhat of a laughing matter.”
Marin put his arm around his old friend’s shoulder, and said, “Even the Gods laugh, Jude. Must be, sometimes, we laugh along with them. Between you and I and Mister Collier, we’ll sort it out ...and we will not sail until we do.”
As Marin and Phillipe were returning home, Phillipe asked, “What happens if those men cannot learn the proper terminology?”
“Any man can learn if he chooses to, Phillipe, and any man that does not, will not be setting sail with us. And that includes you, my dear brother.”
“But why must I—”
“Because your Captain says so. You will have your sea duties aboard the Magister Maris, just like everyone else, Phillipe.”
Phillipe remained silent the rest of the way home.
Arriving back home they found Phoebe dusting the mantelpiece above the library fireplace. Marin came and warmed himself beside the fire.
“Will Jude be coming back,” she asked in such meek voice that Marin did not hear her, forcing her to ask again, a little more bravely, “Do you think Mister Prince will be coming back to stay with us?”
“I wouldn’t know,” Marin replied. “Do you want me to ask him?”
“No,” she responded immediately.
“Phoebe?” Marin tested, “You are quite fond of Miss Downing, correct?”
“Yes sir. I think she’s a kind and understanding sort.”
“Understanding?”
“Yes sir. She seems ta know me better than I know m’self.”
“Perhaps you have a lot in common.”
“Well, we are both women, sir.”
Marin smiled and said, “Yes, I have noticed. What else might you have in common?”
“I think the both of us had a rather rough go of it, sir, and I appreciate Miss Downing’s wise counsel.”
“For example?” Marin angled.
“Her telling me not to put too much stock into what others think o’ me.”
“What is it that others think of you?”
“That I’m a whore.”
Marin thought for a moment before asking, as graciously as he could, “Well...aren’t you?”
Phoebe’s downcast eyes wore the pained weight of the word, as she meekly offered, “Miss Downing says, that’s a horrible word.”
“What word would you prefer?” Marin asked.
“Don’t know,” she replied, stiffening a little. “Why does there need be a word at all?”
“How else would we distinguish between a woman who sells her favors, and a woman who does not?”
“Why is that important?” she asked.
“So that there be no confusion between the two,” he explained.
“Beggin’ your pardon, sir, but is there a confusion between a man who pays for a lady’s favors, and a man who don’t?”
Marin was left with but one response, “No ...there is not.”
Phoebe looked down at her feather duster, ran her fingers the length of one of the feathers and said, “I meant no disrespect, sir.”
Marin smiled and said, “None taken, Phoebe.”
Returning to her original inquiry, she asked. “Do you think Mister Prince went away because I lost the baby?”
“I think that Jude...” he began, but pulled up short of finishing the reply. Phoebe’s patient, want of an answer, forced Marin’s tongue. “Mister Prince is a good man, Phoebe. I don’t believe you’ve seen the last of him.”
It was late in the evening when Opaline returned home. Marin came from his room and stood at the top of the stairs watching her ascend. She was holding a stuffed cuddly bear under one arm, and a calendar, the New Testament and a leather-bound journal in her right hand. About midway up, she noticed him, and slowed to a halt.
“Phoebe’s things,” she explained. “I know you would like ...that is, I know we need to talk, but Marin, I am so very tired, and tomorrow promises to be a long day for the both of us.”
“I would only like to be forewarned as to what surprises I might expect at court tomorrow,” he said.
Opaline continued to the top of the stairs, paused and reached out to him with her empty hand, and asked, “Do you love me, or do you not?”
Marin smiled, pulled her to him, kissed her on the cheek, and sent her off to bed with, “Sleep well, M’Love.”
December 23, 1811
When Marin descended the stairs early Monday morning he found everyone sitting in the parlor smartly dressed - even Phoebe. She was draped in one of Opaline’s dresses that had obviously been hemmed in quick fashion. Phillipe, of course, was donned in his clerical best, and Opaline was adorned in a white Chemise a la Reine dress with a baby blue waist ribbon; her tightly curled tresses draped innocently down the curved neckline.
“And where, may I ask, do each of you assume you are off to this morning?” Marin asked.
“Please tell me you are not going to appear in court dressed like that,” Phillipe blurted out.
“And what is wrong with the way I am dressed?” Marin asked.”
“Marin ...you are to appear before a Magistrate.”
“And?”
“Do you imagine he will be dressed like a commoner?”
“Should I wear a robe then?” Marin quipped. “Look, I appreciate everyone wanting to support me by attending this hearing, but I would rather you not; it promises to be an unpleasant and repugnant affair.”
No one responded.
“Opaline?” he pleaded.
She looked at each of them, one at a time, and then pronounced, “I trust everyone in this room as regards my past.”
Arriving at the Newport Courthouse, Phillipe, Opaline and Phoebe took seats at the front of the gallery. Marin saw Talmadge Berry alongside his lawyer, Alfred Brentworth Stanley, sitting at a table to the right, inside the bar. He made the assumption that the table to the left was his, so he sat down and placed his folded hands upon the otherwise bare table. An elderly gentleman came through the gate at the bar, and delivered a stack of papers to Mister Berry’s table. His lawyer sorted through them and added them to the copious pile of other assorted papers and files.
The Bailiff, a compact little man, entered the well and announced in a particularly thin voice, “All rise.”
Everyone stood as the Judge, The Honorable Abraham Gladstone, entered the courtroom and took his seat at the bench.
“You may be seated,” the small man squeaked.
The Judge sorted through a few papers on his bench, and then asked, “Is Mister Talmadge Berry present?”
Talmadge stood up and said, “Present, your Honor.”
“And the gentleman with you, I recognize as Mister Alfred Brentworth Stanley, Esquire.”
Mister Stanley stood and nodded respectively to the Judge.
“You do understand, do you not, Mister Berry, that while Mister Stanley may operate as your council, he may not otherwise have voice in this proceeding?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” Talmadge said.
“Is the Captain, Mister Marin Carpenter, present?”
Marin stood and said, “Present, Your Honor.”
“How would you prefer the court address you, sir? As Captain or Mister Carpenter?”
“Mister Carpenter will suffice, Your Honor.”
“I must say, you keep a very neat table, Mister Carpenter,” the Judge commented, in jest.
Marin pointed to his own head, and said, “I have my defense well sorted, Your Honor.”
The Judge smiled, and said, “Very well, then let us proceed.”
After oaths were taken, the Judge addressed Mister Berry, saying, “Mister Berry, you will stand and address the court as to the charges, and present the evidence you have brought forth concerning Mister Marin Carpenter.”
“Thank you, Your Honor,” Talmadge began. “I am charging that, on the Seventeenth of December, in the year of Our Lord, Eighteen Hundred and Eleven, in the fair city of Warwick, Rhode Island, Mister Marin Carpenter did, without provocation, and with malice aforethought, intentionally assault me, resulting in damages in the amount of ...well I have documentation here, if I may approach the bench and present it to the court.”
“You may,” the Judge replied.
Talmadge approached the bench and handed the Judge a stack of papers.
The Judge perused the presented material, and asked Marin, “Mister Carpenter, have you been presented with, or had the opportunity to see, these invoices?”
“I have not, Your Honor.”
“So, Mister Berry, you have not approached Mister Carpenter in an attempt to give him the opportunity to either pay, or refuse to pay, these charges before bringing this suit before the court?
Talmadge turned to his council, and the two quietly discussed the matter. “Your Honor, I originally filed criminal charges against Mister Carpenter for Assault and Battery. On advice from my council, I changed the charges to a Civil Suit for damages.”
“But you just stated that Mister Carpenter did, without provocation, and with malice aforethought, assault you, did you not?”
“I did, your Honor. But I wish only to recover the damages incurred as a result of the assault.”
“I must say, Mister Berry, I find that quite peculiar. Mister Carpenter, would you approach the bench?”
Marin walked to the bench and the Judge handed him the stack of papers that Talmadge had presented to the Judge. “I would like for you to look these over, Mister Carpenter. Court will be adjourned for five minutes. Mister Stanley, may I see you in my Chambers?”
Marin returned to his table and looked through the invoices. They included:
1. A new suit of clothes from Hanover Clothier in New York, in the amount of Eight Hundred and Sixty Dollars and Twelve Cents, (this included the cost of travel, to and from, and lodging required, while in New York).
2. A new Cabriolet carriage from Hobart & Couth, Boston Massachusettes, costing, Seventeen Hundred and Seventy- Five Dollars.
3. A veterinary bill from Doctor James Whitworth, Warwick, Rhode Island, for One Hundred Thirty-Two Dollars and Eighty-Five Cents.
4. A bill from a Mister P.W. Madison, Barber/Surgeon for Thirty-Two Dollars.
5. A bill from Mister Alfred Brentworth Stanley, in the sum of Two Hundred and Fifty Dollars, for legal counsel.
Marin looked at the total damages in the amount of Three Thousand and Forty Nine Dollars and Ninety Seven cents, turned to look at Talmadge, and tossed the invoices aside.
Mister Stanley re-entered courtroom, his confidence somewhat wrinkled. He was followed by the smallish bailiff, who gathered the papers from Marin, and returned them to the bench.
“All rise,” he shrilled.
The judge returned and glared at Mister Berry, while addressing Mister Carpenter.
“Mister Carpenter, are you aware of the seriousness of Mister Berry’s allegation, and that these damages were the result of an assault on your part?”
He then turned to Marin for an answer.
“I am aware of the legal consequences of assaulting someone, Your Honor, but I do not—”
