William Bush - Homecoming
Welcome home.
That is, at least, what Charlotte, the eldest of his four sisters, had told William Bush when he had arrived on the doorstep of his childhood, tired and still aching from his wound acquired on the deck of the Renown. Sitting at a table in a small pub in town and gazing out on the street outside, he had difficulty imagining it as any sort of home for him. On one hand, his years away with visits far apart had made Chichester almost foreign, and on the other, the aching familiarity of some things – his room at home, barely changed since he was a child, the unchanging spots in the ceiling that leaked, the all-too-quiet streets – made him realize why he had left in the first place.
A familiar voice surprised him out of his silence. “You are back, then. I thought I’d heard that you were, but it’s always dangerous to trust rumors, you know.”
William didn’t need to turn around to know who it was who had addressed him. He snorted. “Never trust rumors, I always say. Go find out for yourself instead.” He turned his head to meet the wry, tired expression of a man about his own age with dark brown hair and brown eyes. “Arthur. Good to see you.” He jerked his head to indicate the seat across from him, welcoming his neighbor, a man who had grown up with him, to join him.
The invitation was taken, and Arthur slid into the chair across from him. “So what brings the good lieutenant back into our humble company?”
William snorted. “Aren’t you the extravagant one this afternoon.” He looked at his companion over his glass with a raised eyebrow. “As if you didn’t know.”
“What? So you’re not good enough for them to keep you on when there are no French get you killed?” There was another snort from Bush.
“If I had the sort of money that could buy me that position, I wouldn’t be in this business in the first place.” He shook his head and drained his glass. “How are things with you, then? Anything exciting happen in my absence?” The last was completely deadpan.
“You mean the last fifteen years or so?” He raised an eyebrow.
William sighed. “For Christ’s sake, Arthur… “
His companion waved a hand. “Yes, yes, you don’t have to chart out your visits like you do to prove to that sister of yours that you haven’t abandoned her completely.”
“Oh, Charlotte knows that – she just… worries.” The last was said with a wry look. He briefly felt a pang of guilt, though, at the flippant words, much as he did when every month, after finishing his dutifully written letters home, he put down his pen with relief. It was unfair, he knew – his sisters, and Charlotte, still unmarried and home most of all, were nothing if not continually generous and loving, but he could not entirely shake the quiet resentment he had for the way in which they could drag him back to this place that he had so gladly left. “But you didn’t answer my question.” He took a drink from his glass.
“Exciting?” Arthur’s laugh was devoid of humor. “You’ll have heard about Robert, of course?” Bush nodded grimly. “That cousin of yours…” Arthur shook his head.
“The only reason Robert was in such a poor position to begin with is that his father drank away every spare penny,” was William’s quiet response.
“All the more reason for him not to be such a damned fool!” Arthur took a drink from his glass. “He clearly had enough pennies left to invest them all into some absurd scheme and disappear off to Manchester, only to return without a thing to his name.” He met William’s gaze steadily, his voice going unusually quiet. “He’s got nothing, William. His family - your family – has nothing left now.”
Despite the intensity of his friend’s words, William merely shrugged. “Sometimes you have to take a chance, don’t you?” The words were surprising, even to Bush’s own ears. Unlike his cousin, who had always been the first one to leap into a new gamble - often without looking first – like his recent investment into a failed mill whose business, as far as William could understand, had been swallowed up by the larger textile factories that were growing in Manchester, William had been one for the sort of quiet caution that his friends called prudence and his enemies called cowardice. But perhaps the past few months had taught him something about the power of chance – the way that, in the right hands, it might even turn the worst of battles to one’s advantage if you could learn to trust it. He could not begrudge Robert the attempted escape to something better than could be found in the dwindling port town, for all its failure.
Arthur, though, merely snorted. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised – you would sympathize with someone trying to run away, wouldn’t you?”
The words stung all the more for the way that they seemed to twist William’s very thoughts. Nevertheless, the expression in his cool blue eyes as he looked up was impassive. “Some of us have people besides ourselves to support, Arthur. And I might not know much, but I knew enough to see that I couldn’t do that by staying here.”
“And how much better has your precious navy done? Gone and spit you back out again now that it has no more use for you, it seems to me.” He emptied his glass, letting the taunt sink in before continuing, tone no longer quite as sharp. “You so damned dutiful, but when things are falling apart, this is the last place you want to be.”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake…”
“Don’t ‘oh for Christ’s sake’ me, William.” The sharpness was back. “Do your fellow officers really make you feel so at home that you no longer have a taste for where you belong?”
William narrowed his eyes. “Or perhaps it’s only that I’m clearly not wished to be here by those I considered friends,” was his almost nonchalant reply. Arthur stood up at that, thumping his glass down on the table.
“Afternoon, William.”
William made no reply as he stalked to the door, but as soon as he was gone, ran a hand tiredly over his face.
Welcome home indeed.