‘Who can ever have enough hands, sir? But let us say that I am burdened with other concerns right now.’
James looked towards the noisy room. ‘There seems to be plenty of men available in there.’
Broadbridge bristled slightly, and by doing so betrayed the extent of his knowledge. ‘Enough to man the squadron. Yet all the men are spoken for, and on the books of one of the other captains …’
The older man stopped suddenly, aware that he was giving the game away, telling Harry and James that he knew why they were here. He was saved from further embarrassment as the door opened and Ma Thomas came waddling back in.
‘Now, gents,’ she said, addressing James direct, after throwing a withering glance at her blustering shareholder. ‘Since you, no doubt bein’ of a more sober disposition than some drunken swabs, know how to go about addressin’ a lady proper, I’ve a mind to accord your wish.’ She flicked her thick stubby thumb towards the angry Broadbridge. ‘Despite what this’n says I must and must not do. So if’n you will take a seat by this here table, I’ll see which one of the rooms is free.’
‘And free it better be, for I will not countenance them payin’,’ growled Broadbridge.
Ma Thomas put her hands on her hips and graced Broadbridge with a stony glare. ‘Then they can bed down on the quayside, for all I care.’
‘Do as I say!’ shouted Broadbridge.
She ignored him, her eyes lighting on James, quite deliberately looking him up and down. Again that almost coquettish voice.
‘Mind, there’s more’n one way of paying, young sir. You can either dip your hand in your purse—’ She rubbed her hands across the lower part of her huge belly. ‘Unless you’ve a mind to dip your parts in here as payment in kind.’
James blushed to the roots of his hair. Harry had to turn away to hide the smile. Ma Thomas made no pretense at her humour, she threw back her head and laughed heartily, her gums exposed, and her entire body shaking and heaving as she waddled out of the room. But she could not leave without a parting shot at Broadbridge.
‘If you’re so worked up to give them a fuckin’ berth, William Broadbridge, you put them up.’
‘God forbid, Harry,’ said James, looking after her. ‘It seems that whatever I do with my tongue these days, it gets me into hot water.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
GROWLING to cover his embarrassment, Broadbridge suggested they go and look at Pender. He took them back out into the dark alleyway and headed towards the back of the inn. The rear entrance looked to be part of a separate building, with an overhead passage forming a bridge which led to yet another building just beside it. A lantern shone brightly in the window in the middle of the bridgeway, casting a good light onto the door. Broadbridge knocked carefully, using some form of pre-arranged signal, and Harry thought he saw a head bob up in the overhead window.
After a long wait the door swung open, creaking noisily. Harry knew this to be another precaution, an alarm to alert those inside against an unexpected invasion. The door opened directly onto a huge, high-ceilinged room. It was obviously a sort of warehouse; the walls were racked for storage, with large wine barrels, and various sized bales stacked around the walls. Yet the place had an empty air, which only reinforced what they’d heard. If the men in the tavern had just returned from a cruise the place should be full of the spoils of their voyage.
Off to one side lay a small office, its light casting deep shadows across the warehouse floor. Carey Sutton stood by a desk holding a lantern over Pender’s upturned head. Presumably it was the surgeon bent over him, a wispy-looking fellow with straight fair hair flopping over his eyes. He looked up as they entered, and the lamplight showed a long, gaunt face, with pale blue red-rimmed eyes sunk deep into his head throwing his nose into sharp relief.
There was no sign of the rest of the party that had escorted them, but that was no surprise. They would be up to all the smugglers’ tricks, these men. And they were in the land of experts, given Genoese excise tariffs. Smuggling, especially to the locals, was a way of life. Each one of these close-packed buildings would in some way be connected to the next one, providing a warren of escape routes for both men and contraband. Perhaps some of these large barrels were empty, or the bales concealed hidden exits.
Pender was still groggy from the blow. If anything his condition had worsened; his face was chalk white and he looked as though he was about to vomit, his throat working to hold back the bile. The surgeon, who’d returned to his labour without addressing them, was busy stitching the gash together, talking to himself under his breath as he did so.
‘How is he, Matty?’ asked Broadbridge.
‘Don’t call me Matty!’ The surgeon spoke angrily, but he had such a weak voice that his protest carried no force.
Broadbridge leant over and looked enquiringly at Pender’s wound, then turned to the man called Sutton. ‘Gather the lads, Carey. Time to go out again. An’ this time we’ll put a watch on the main quay. I shouldn’t wonder if some of those Swiftsure hands are coming ashore dressed as women.’
Was it Sutton’s surprised reaction, or the bluff, false-sounding note in his captain’s voice? Harry felt instinctively that whatever Broadbridge planned, further hunting for deserters was not included. Carey Sutton handed the lantern to Harry, who moved forward to stand over his recumbent servant, before going out to collect his men.
Broadbridge, satisfied that Pender was receiving proper care, stepped back a pace, addressing Harry. ‘I’ll leave Sutton behind, Mr Ludlow. He will direct you to my room, which you may use until you find another berth.’
Harry wondered if Sutton’s instructions would include keeping an eye on them, but he checked himself mentally. This was no way to respond to such a generous offer.
‘Please, Captain, I fear we have inconvenienced you more than enough.’
‘One Englishman to another, sir,’ said Broadbridge with a pompous note. ‘I shall bed down aboard my ship.’
Ignoring their further protestations, Broadbridge left, the door creaking noisily as he closed it behind him.
‘How is he, Doctor?’ asked James.
The surgeon lifted his head and fixed his deep-set eyes on Harry for an age, before turning to answer James. ‘How would I know? All I’ve been asked to do is stitch up the wound.’
‘It would help to know if that is all that’s amiss,’ said Harry, impatiently.
The surgeon’s head wobbled as he replied, and there was an attempt at levity in his voice. ‘A consultation, sir. Is that what you want? A general assessment of this man’s health? I really think you should look at my scale of fees before you ask for such a thing.’
Harry snapped at him angrily. ‘If you want paying, sir, say so.’
The surgeon ignored him. Patiently, taking great care, he finished his stitching and cut the thread with a small pair of scissors. He stood back to examine the work, and spoke without looking at either of the brothers. ‘Was a time you would have thought twice about saying that, sir. Was a time when it needed deep pockets to consult Matthew Fairbairn.’
‘There was a time when Matthew Fairbairn didn’t lose patients through a lack of care,’ said James quietly. The surgeon lifted his head and looked closely at James, as if trying to place him.
Harry looked from one to the other as James continued, his voice cold. ‘Be so good as to examine this man. Then charge what you like.’
‘Do I know you?’ asked Fairbairn, peering at him.
‘We’ve never met. But I know you by reputation.’
‘Reputation. Surely that is the wrong word, sir. Am I not notorious?’
‘Notoriety carries a certain amount of glamour, Mr Fairbairn. Perhaps it would be better to say you are infamous.’
Fairbairn shuddered like a man feeling the cold, then bent over to look at Pender again, more to avoid James’s steady look than to examine his patient.
‘All surgeons lose patients, sir. If they’re poor, no one turns a hair. Good riddance they’ll say,
more like, and how much will Surgeon’s Hall pay for the cadaver. But lose a wealthy man under the knife …’
Harry, looking closely at his servant, had grown increasingly anxious at Pender’s pallid countenance. ‘Are you positive he doesn’t require further treatment? A blow to the head can be mortal …’
Fairbairn interrupted him. ‘Rest. That’s all he needs. And if you’re worried about him being groggy, you should know that he’s had near a pint of rum. Some men cannot face the prospect of a needle in their skin.’
‘Pender!’ Harry was surprised. He’d seen him puncture himself enough times as he ham-fistedly tried sewing and stitching.
‘Is that his name? I suppose he’s as brave as a lion. Not afraid to face cannon-fire. There are a lot of men like that.’ He emitted a small laugh, one that was as weak as his voice. ‘I can understand their reluctance to face the knife. But a needle!’
Carey Sutton was hanging around at the side entrance as they came back in, carrying Pender between them. Ma Thomas, now caressing a huge ginger cat, glowered at them. Carey told them that their dunnage was already stowed in Broadbridge’s room. He led the way through a maze of corridors, a candle held aloft, as the brothers transported the softly singing Pender. The inn was like a warren, with stairs leading in all directions, and seemed larger than the outside structure would indicate.
It was a plain, untidy room, with a single cot in one corner, a rickety desk with a jug and washbasin, and two chairs. Broadbridge’s sea-chest was in another corner, and by adding their own, plus the chair at one end, Sutton had contrived to make up a second bed. As soon as he’d shown them in, he mumbled something about being wanted, and left. Harry guessed that he wouldn’t go far.
‘One of us is in for an uncomfortable night,’ said James gloomily.
‘There’s no question about who would feel it least,’ said Harry, knowing James’s attachment to comfort. James smiled, equally aware that Pender, in his present state, would sleep happily hanging over a rope. But they laid him on the cot anyway.
‘Never fear, I shall take the floor, James.’
Harry waited for a slight indication of protest from his brother, for the sake of good manners if nothing else. He waited in vain. The noise of a creaking floorboard made him turn round. Ma Thomas stood in the doorway, the cat cradled in her arms. She tried to smile, but with her fat red face she looked like someone squinting in strong sunlight.
‘Well, gents, it would never do for you to spend the night alone.’ She then bent all of her formidable personality to the task of providing them with a couple of ‘good’ girls to warm their bed.
‘Thank you, no,’ said James, avoiding her eye, as well as another invitation, by turning to indicate the small room. ‘As you can see, we are in rather cramped accommodation.’
She frowned at this, as though she thought James was baiting her. Then she looked at Pender, fast asleep on the cot. Such consideration for someone so obviously not of their class led her to an erroneous conclusion.
‘You don’t look the type for boys, but if’n that be what you want, just say the word.’
‘I’m sure you could provide us with all sorts of services, madam,’ snapped James, ‘but we don’t require them.’
Again she gave the sleeping Pender a knowing look. Then she tilted her head to the side, hands on hips, in a rather fey gesture. ‘Got each other, have we?’
Harry smiled broadly, as James completely lost his temper. ‘No, madam, we have not, as you so indelicately put it, got each other.’
‘You’re not shy are you, cause of bein’ related?’ she said, her eyes taking in the small room. Then inspiration seemed to strike.
‘Ah,’ said Ma, holding up a thick finger, refusing to admit defeat. ‘Virgins, is it?’ She looked at the floor, her huge fat face taking on an air of worry. ‘Now that would be a mite difficult to produce right off, but if you was to order ’em now, why they’d be warming your bed before tomorrow twilight.’
James threw up his hands in exasperation, leaving Harry to decline. ‘Perhaps we will avail ourselves of your services some other time, madam. For now, we have other things to attend to.’
‘Then you come and see Ma Thomas, whatever it is you be after.’ She aimed another toothless grin at James. ‘Be sure you do.’
‘We most certainly shall,’ said Harry.
She waddled her way down the narrow corridor leaving James still blushing. ‘God. What an awful creature.’
‘You can hardly claim that you have not been offered such services before,’ said Harry, turning to check on Pender, now snoring gently.
‘Not with such determination. And if I’m going to indulge myself, I would not choose to do so in a place such as this. Why, it must be riddled with the pox.’
Harry looked around the room. ‘Odd set-up here. Did you hear Broadbridge? The privateer captains own the place, and she runs it.’
James lay down on the makeshift cot. ‘An odd set-up indeed. They seem to own the doctor as well.’
‘Who was that fellow?’
‘Fairbairn. I’m surprised you’ve not heard of him. He was the talk of the town two years ago.’
‘I’ve spent too much time at sea, brother,’ said Harry with a trace of impatience. ‘I tend to miss such things.’
‘Had a practice in Bath, became quite sought after, in fact. Fairbairn had been out East, and returned with some interesting remedies for the kind of ailments afflicting those who were taking the waters. Herbal potions and the like, and a novel curative involving the use of long needles.’
James looked at the bed, rose himself, and leant over the snoring Pender, looking closely at the stitching around his wound. ‘I doubt that our friend here would find such treatment attractive. I must say he does a neat stitch. By all accounts he was good. Brought the Duke of Portland back from death’s door, apparently, after he’d had an attack of the bloody flux. Suddenly, he was all the rage. Then he lost a couple of well-connected patients. I doubt he would have been in quite such a stew if he hadn’t upset his medical contemporaries in the process. But it was the physicians who hounded him out in the end. You know how physicians like to look down on surgeons, as though they’re a lesser breed. Fairbairn sneered at convention and combined the two, which caused much comment, even amongst his surgeon colleagues. Both sets of medical men like to keep their disciplines separate. It doubles the available fees.’
Harry poured some cold water from a large jug into the bowl below the mirror, peering at his grubby countenance as he did so. ‘It’s a long way from Bath. Was he brought low by drink?’
‘Did I not refer to opium? I believe he acquired the habit of eating it in China.’
James looked around the room as Harry washed his face, his words echoing their earlier impression.
‘It’s a rum set-up here. I wonder what the rest of the place is like. By the way, you didn’t mention to Broadbridge that you were in the market for a ship.’
Harry didn’t answer right away, concentrating on his toilet. He felt a tiny twinge of annoyance at having to explain himself again. Since they landed in Gibraltar, James, once ashore, seemed to feel that the imbalance of equality that existed aboard ship no longer applied. And he was, of course, right. It occurred to him that the bond of friendship between him and his brother had stayed strong precisely because of the limited amount of time they’d spent in each other’s company. It had survived on board ship because James deferred to Harry in all things nautical. Then he silently cursed himself for his arrogance. The problem was created by his bad habits, not James’s. His brother welcomed conversation in a way that Harry just wasn’t familiar with. He dried his face furiously.
‘I doubt if I had to. He would have had all he needed to know from the men who’d run from the Swiftsure. After what he let slip downstairs about the hands, I’d guess he’s well aware of our plans. But I feel no need to go volunteering the information.’
James frowned, immediately smoking Harry’s reasons for
playing his cards close to his chest. ‘Does the nature of this set-up attract you?’
Harry dried his face. ‘I don’t know. I’ve yet to see it all. I suppose it would be in order to go and have a look.’
‘What a strange way to put it, brother.’
Harry threw the towel playfully at his brother’s head before answering. James caught it and proceeded to fold it neatly.
‘We are not guests here, James, though we are not exactly prisoners either.’
‘Prisoners?’
‘Broadbridge is unsure of us. For all he knows we could have thanked him for his help and walked straight off to tell Barnes where his crew had gone. He has put us up here to keep us in view, that is, until he finds out more. And the fact that we are accommodated in the good Captain Broadbridge’s own room means, for all my caution, he probably knows more about us than either you or I would wish him to.’
‘The strongbox?’ asked James.
Harry nodded. ‘Mind you, with the number of crew that have got ashore, not to mention the officers, I dare say the whole port knows what we’re carrying.’
‘Could that explain why we were attacked?’
‘It might, brother. It just might. Yet if you add what Lord Hood told us about Captain Howlett, and the French here in numbers, not to mention that ship in the harbour, then the possible explanations do tend to multiply.’
‘Did you hear any French spoken?’
‘I didn’t hear a word of any language spoken,’ said Harry.
As if acknowledging that it was a unsolvable mystery, he changed the subject. ‘Pender seems to have settled in.’
His servant’s snores were growing louder, filling the room. ‘I hope he’s fit tomorrow. There are questions that require answers. Pender can ask in places barred to the likes of us.’
James frowned. ‘Would it surprise you if I said that I don’t very much like the sound of that?’
‘It is possible to be too cautious, James.’
Dying Trade Page 8
