Dead Man's Island

by David McDine

  ‘Ah,’ Parkin nodded understandingly. ‘I did wonder.’

  ‘As a result of that I have broken off all connection with my mother and father – and my elder brother, although I will maintain a link with my sisters, well, with Elizabeth at least – perhaps through a particular friend of mine.’

  ‘But you are aware that I know your father as a fellow antiquary, and through that connection he has been in touch with me seeking a reconciliation with you. That is what I wish to discuss.’

  ‘No, sir. I know you act out of friendship and for the best reasons, but it is all too raw. To add to the problems, I have had a falling out with Sir Oswald Brax over the same private matter. My father is in thrall to him because he has the advowson, and the squire may well exact revenge through him if I don’t absent myself.’

  ‘Do you say you will never be reunited with your father?’

  ‘Perhaps one day. But our relationship can never be as it was before this marriage business.’

  ‘Meanwhile?’

  ‘I am going to write to my father regarding the allowance he has been giving me since I joined the navy. I intend to repay him. Heaven knows, if Sir Oswald Brax ousts him from his living he will need every penny.’

  ‘I am sure he will not lose his living. But where do you plan to live, and how will you support yourself?’

  ‘I have a room at a coaching inn convenient to my Sea Fencible detachment. As to money, well, sea officers are not in the service solely for the fun of it. They do pay us, too! And there is the matter of prize money, in which I have been moderately successful.’

  Parkin protested: ‘But a room in an inn is not a home.’ He clasped his hands under his chin and leaned forward, looking earnestly at Anson. ‘You have become a dear friend to both me and my niece. This could be your home.’

  *

  After dinner Cassandra left the men to their port and, feeling much better than he had since his arrival, Anson sat back and addressed the old gentleman.

  ‘I have been giving thought, sir – considerable thought, to the matter you proposed to me.’

  ‘About making Ludden Hall your home when you are not off with the navy or with your Sea Fencibles?’

  ‘Indeed. I am most grateful to you, sir, for the kind thought behind your offer.’

  Parkin smiled. ‘It would give my niece and I the greatest satisfaction were you to accept, my boy.’

  ‘Well, sir, for reasons you well know, I cannot, will not, go back to my father’s rectory, at least, not for the foreseeable future.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘Since we first met, when you rescued me after I fell ill on the coach, well, we have become close. We have shared interests.’

  Parkin smiled: ‘Romans and rats?’

  ‘Indeed, I would dearly love to join you in digging up evidence of the former although I can’t bring myself to enjoy dissecting the latter! You, and Cassandra, have been kindness itself, particularly since you came to my rescue again after the Boulogne raid.’

  ‘Then …?’

  ‘But however much I might wish to, I am afraid I cannot accept your offer to make my home here.’

  The old gentleman’s face fell. ‘Why ever not, if it is your wish as well as ours?’

  ‘The truth is, I find myself growing fond, extremely fond, of your niece.’

  Parkin smiled again. ‘I am delighted to hear that. I had hoped that the two of you …’ But he left what he was thinking unsaid, not wishing to tempt providence.

  Instead, he looked earnestly at his guest. ‘So there is no impediment. This shall be your home and should your fondness for Cassandra, which I am certain is reciprocated, mature let us say, well, that would be my dearest wish.’

  ‘But, sir, there is an impediment. I fear I have compromised myself elsewhere and am unworthy of your niece.’

  Parkin held up his hands. ‘I feel I know you well enough to say that there is nothing you could have done to make yourself unworthy of my niece. On the contrary. But come, the maids are waiting to clear the table, so let us adjourn to my study with the decanter and you can tell all.’

  As they left the table, the old gentleman added: ‘Since for the time being at least you find yourself unable to discuss such things with your father, please regard me as serving in loco parentis.’

  And so they adjourned to Parkin’s study and, with the help of the contents of the decanter, Anson poured out his heart. As he unburdened himself, his host sat back in his favourite armchair paying close and sympathetic attention, with only the glass eyes of his collection of stuffed creatures looking on.

  At length his host rose, poured Anson another drink and told him quietly: ‘This Charlotte Brax is clearly an exceedingly scary lady, if that is the right word for her, but had you not heard of her marriage?’

  ‘Marriage?’ Anson was astonished.

  ‘No, of course you won’t have heard. It must have been while you were off to Boulogne. It was reported in the Kentish Gazette. She married some yeomanry fellow … at your father’s church, come to think of it.’

  ‘Not Chitterling?’

  ‘Yes, I do believe that’s the name.’

  ‘Good grief! So she is, well, no longer on the hunt for a husband.’

  ‘No, it appears she has found one. But look, my dear boy, you must not let this business with the Brax woman worry you further. You are not the first to allow yourself to be ensnared in such a way.’

  Anson looked up at him questioningly.

  ‘As a young man on my grand tour I was similarly lured into … well, that’s another story. But in your case surely there is no longer a problem. The minx has married the yeomanry fellow. So you are free of her! And you have no lasting feeling for her?’

  ‘None but revulsion. But I still feel that I have behaved dishonourably and that I must tell Cassandra.’

  ‘Nonsense. She need not and should not know. You are a man of honour but you are a sea officer, and, being a sensible girl brought up to be open-minded, she will assume as a matter of course that you are a man of the world – a man of, let’s say, experience … In fact, she is so sensible about such things that I believe she would be somewhat disappointed if you were not!’

  ‘But, sir, after what I have told you about Charlotte Brax I hope you don’t for a moment think that I would behave anything but honourably towards your niece. She is not only beautiful and intelligent, but pure and …’

  ‘My dear fellow, I trust you completely. There is no need whatsoever for you to give me assurances.’

  Anson felt a huge wave of relief and did not demur when Parkin poured them both another glass.

  ‘Now, we’ll forget all that nonsense and discuss important matters such as moving you to a bigger room, sending to the rectory for your things and so forth.’

  ‘I am eternally grateful to you, sir. But before I settle in too comfortably now that I am on the way to being mended, both physically and mentally thanks to you, I must get myself back to Seagate and my duties with the Sea Fencibles.

  Parkin protested: ‘But you are not fully mended. Doctor Hawkins mentioned to me that he is concerned about the wounds you have suffered – even before Boulogne. He tells me you were lucky to survive and fears that if there is a next time you may not be so lucky.’

  ‘It is all part of being a sea officer and at least, unlike Lord Nelson, I have managed to hang on to all of my body parts.’

  ‘But will you please at least consider giving up the sea altogether before it is too late and we do lose you? I have more than enough money, far more than enough, to make your life comfortable. We could pursue our shared interests, and travel – with Cassandra of course – when the war ends, as surely it must. Our own grand tour: Paris, Venice, Rome – just think of it! And perhaps on return we three could put our minds to tackling some of the many social injustices that plague our country, and this county in particular.’

  ‘You are most kind, sir, and most persuasive, but I will not be a drain on your purse. I c
an and will contribute my share. Also, perhaps you do not quite understand what drives us in the navy?’

  ‘Adventure – the lure of the sea?’

  ‘Why yes, but it is more than that – far more. It is every midshipman’s dream to pass for lieutenant, and each lieutenant’s ambition to become a captain – and a post captain at that. Every sea officer’s dearest wish is to command his own ship and I am no different. Then there is flag rank to aspire to …’

  The old gentleman put up his hands in mock surrender. This was a debate he was not going to win.

  But Anson was not yet finished. ‘You see, as long as there is an enemy of Britain afloat anywhere in the world, we are driven to follow our profession.’

  Parkin smiled indulgently. ‘I feared you would say something of the sort, but at least consider delaying your return to duty until you are properly fit.’

  Anson shook his head. ‘No, I have been absent too long and there will be much to be done, not least to ensure that the other Boulogne raid casualties and the families of those who died are being looked after properly.’

  45

  The New Divisional Captain

  Sam Fagg was holding forth to the landlord in the Mermaid. ‘It’s a treat to sit quiet wiv a jug of ale now we got them blurry funerals out the way. Can’t abide funerals, I can’t. All that weepin’ and wailin’ – it drives yer nuts!’

  The landlord was sympathetic. ‘Could have been worse, I suppose. What did you lose, five was it?’

  ‘Fencibles? Three, all from Mister Anson’s boat and ’e was quite bad hurt hisself. Hogben stopped a musket ball in the ’ead. Brooke ’ad ’is arm chopped orf when he tried to get through the netting and bled to death. Poor old Longstaff ’ad his ’ead split right open by a Froggie wiv a tomahawk. The boys used to say ’e ’adn’t got no brains, but he ’ad. You could see ’em, all dribblin’ out.’

  The landlord winced at the thought, trying not to think of the tapioca pudding he had eaten with last night’s supper. He swallowed hard and grunted: ‘The going of him won’t do my trade no good. He was one of my most regular regulars, he was.’

  Fagg nodded. Longstaff had been a serious toper all right. He remembered the man getting rotten drunk at the review of the volunteers by the King at Mote Park and having to restrain him and hide him in a wagon.

  ‘Yeah, ’e was a drinker orlright, but on the raid ’e showed he ’ad guts as well as brains – ’e carried on tryin’ to cut through the Froggy nettin’ even after some French matelot stabbed ’im and then split ’is ’ead open like a melon. Just wouldn’t let go, see? Mind you, ’e was proberly ’alf cut, but there you go. That’s guts for you whatever way you sees it.’

  ‘How did you go on, in your boat?’

  ‘We wus shoved off course by the current, but we managed to join up wiv Mister Anson and ’is lot and get right up close and personal with the Frogs. One of the impress lads and three of the marines wiv us copped it. Mister Coney stopped a musket ball, but ’e’ll live, and a couple of our fencibles wus wounded.’

  ‘How about Tom Hoover?’

  ‘Orlright – ’e wus in the other boat. Come out of it wivout a scratch. Mister Shrubb and ’im saved Mister Anson’s life by all accounts. Nah, Tom’s orlright for an American. Right now ’e’s orf with Shrubb and his daughter, visitin’ the wounded. Whenever she appears ’e’s orf escortin’ ’er round and whatnot. Wouldn’t surprise me if ’e didn’t pop ’er the question one of these days.’

  Fagg grounded his tankard and the landlord answered the signal by drawing another draught of ale.

  ‘But, o’ course, the big noos is that old porky face ain’t around no more.’

  ‘What, Captain Hoare?’

  ‘That’s ’im. Appears ’e went along wiv Nelson in the Medusa to hadvise ’im. Can ye beat it? I wouldn’t let ’im hadvise me pet dog if I ’ad one, which, thank Gawd, I ain’t!’

  The landlord asked gingerly: ‘Is that why the raid didn’t quite …’

  ‘Don’t mind yer words, mate – just say it. It was a effin’ disaster, excuse me French.’

  Fagg swigged his ale. ‘Anyways, since then ’oare’s supposed to have got called to the Hadmirality and no-one’s seen ’ide nor ’air of ’im since. All I bin told is that ’e’s bin replaced.’

  ‘Not promoted, surely?’

  ‘Gawd ’elp the navy if they’re kickin’ ’im upstairs to be a hadmiral ’imself. Wouldn’t put it past a lying, cowardly git like ’im to talk ’em into it, though, just like he talked your daft mayor into givin’ ’im that presentation sword. If I’d ’ad my way I’d ’ave stuffed it right up where the sun don’t shine!’

  The landlord agreed. He had not been in favour of using rate money on such fripperies when there were plenty of more pressing local issues to fund, getting rid of the town’s extremely smelly and growing dunghills being just one.

  *

  Back at the Seagate detachment Fagg soon worked himself into a tizz, supervising some unemployed Sea Fencibles who, for their King’s shilling a day, were only too willing to titivate the place ready for inspection by the new divisional captain – and for the return of Lieutenant Anson.

  The bosun chivvied one of the fencibles who had the temerity to rest on his broom reversed. ‘You there, Bishop, put yer back into it! I told yer to sweep the place up, not move the blurry dust from ’ere to there and back agin and doze orf when yer feel like it!’

  Bishop obliged by putting the broom back into action and disturbing a pile of dust he had gathered earlier.

  As the clean-up continued, Tom Hoover reported back from visiting the wounded and handing each a shilling as a day’s pay. They were not strictly entitled to the money but had surely earned it by putting their lives on the line at Boulogne.

  The American had wanted to dish out more of the navy’s money, but had heeded Boxer’s warning that if some of the men, incapacitated though they were, had been given more than the minimum per day it would disappear very quickly down the town’s pub urinals.

  Fagg gave the working party another blast and winked at Hoover. ‘I’m just what they calls encouragin’ them. To be honest wiv yer, Tom, I’m all out of sorts meself. I effin’ dread clappin’ eyes on this new divisional bloke. What if ’e’s—?’

  ‘Out of the same mould as Hoare? For sure there couldn’t be more than one of him, could there?’

  ‘That’s just it. Supposin’ ’e is? After all what’s ’appened I can’t see Mister Anson puttin’ up wiv anuvver bleedin’ ’oare. What wiv bein’ wounded bad and all, if anuvver bad-un turns up ’e might decide to chuck it in. I would, if it was down to me. I’d get out and run a pub … or buy a chicken farm. Anyfink not to ’ave to serve under anuvver pompous effin’ idiot like ’oare!’

  His tirade was interrupted by Tom Marsh who had been lurking around outside as lookout to give early warning of the new divisional captain’s arrival.

  ‘Right, you lot!’ Fagg ordered, not unkindly. ‘Stop fannyin’ abaht and disappear out the back wiv them brooms and whatnot. I want this place lookin’ shipshape and it won’t while the likes of you lot are pussy-footin’ around makin’ the place look untidy. If the noo divisional bloke sees you lot ’ere ’e’ll fink ’e’s wandered into a looney bin!’’

  Hoover shot him a glance and held up crossed fingers as the door swung open and the new divisional captain entered.

  *

  Anson was deep in thought throughout the journey from Ludden Hall down to the coast in Jeremiah Parkin’s coach.

  Already the last time he was at Seagate sorting out the men to go on the Boulogne expedition seemed like an age ago.

  Some of those men he had selected to go were now dead and buried, others wounded, in some cases maimed for life. Although he well knew that fault for the failure lay elsewhere, he could not help feeling responsible. They were, after all, his men.

  And, with the prospect of having to continue to serve under the dreaded Hoare, who from the outset had given him more gri
ef than help or guidance, he had never felt the loneliness of his junior command more keenly.

  Worse, he felt he could no longer defer to Hoare. The divisional captain had long since forfeited his loyalty. And if it was true, as he believed, that the man had failed to pass on the warning about the chains securing the Boulogne flotilla, then he deserved to be court-martialled – and shot.

  No, his mind was made up. He could not, and would not, serve under the man for another minute. Anson knew he must confront Hoare once and for all, and, if there was no other course open to him, he was prepared to call him out.

  He stepped down from the coach and told Dodson to seek water and feed for the horses at the Mermaid before steeling himself for the coming encounter with his despised superior officer.

  *

  Bosun Fagg, his foully smoking clay pipe clenched in his teeth, was waiting at the entrance to the detachment building and greeted Anson with a wide grin.

  Knuckling his forehead in salute, he chortled: ‘Back from the dead agin, sir, eh? Them Frogs must be wonderin’ what they ’ave to do to knock you orf yer perch permanent-like! Mind you, you’ve gorn very thin, more like a skellington …’

  Despite his black mood, Anson could not suppress a smile. ‘Thank you, as ever, for your solicitude, bosun. Is all well here, and has Captain Hoare arrived?’

  Fagg’s grin widened. ‘Captain ’oare? Why, no, sir, you’re a bit what they calls be’ind the times – ’e’s been posted orf to somewhere called the Silly Islands, ’e ’as. Right place for ’im, if ye arsk me. Nah, but the new bloke’s arrived and ’e’s waiting for yer inside, checkin’ the books and runnin’ ’is fingers over the furniture to see if ’e can find any dust, I ’spect!’

  Anson’s mood had lightened at the news of Hoare’s departure and the thought of him trying to social climb among the tiny population of the Isles of Scilly. But, nevertheless, he sighed as he entered the building, preparing himself to meet his new master.