Dying Trade

by David Donachie

  ‘Mr Dalgliesh,’ he said, recognizing the young man. ‘My brother has sustained a broken arm, and he requires the attention of a surgeon.’

  The boy looked at him blankly, not sure what to do, for he knew that neither his captain, nor many of the other officers, had much time for the Ludlows.

  ‘Come along, man,’ snapped Harry. ‘We need a whip from the yard and a padded sling to help him get aboard.’

  Barnes, told of the arrival of the Ludlows, came out of the main cabin, an irritated scowl on his face. ‘What is all this?’

  Harry explained, but he could see that as he did so, his words were having no effect on the Swiftsure’s captain. Just the opposite, for it was evident in the man’s eyes that he was working up to a refusal, to a demand that Harry take his brother ashore.

  ‘I can hardly think that you will refuse to succour a fellow Englishman, sir, especially one held in such high esteem by your commanding officer.’

  The allusion to Hood held Barnes’s words in check, allowing Harry to nail him with a threat, a particularly potent one to an acting-commander desperate for a ship of his own.

  ‘For any man who failed to aid someone that Admiral Hood looks upon as a near-adopted son would answer at their peril for such a foolhardy action. Why, he’d likely spend the rest of his days on the beach.’

  James was aboard in a trice, with Harry himself supervising the hands that rigged the line. Pender came up behind James, and the surgeon, Williams, brought on deck to see him aboard, hurried him down to his quarters. Harry followed, and watched as the surgeon undid his splints.

  ‘Seems neat enough,’ said Mr Williams, one of the few sober souls on an otherwise loose ship, forever trying, Bible in hand, to bring the worst cases to God and redemption. He’d been a sorry specimen when they’d first arrived in Genoa, standing on the poop, mournfully praying for the souls who were debauching themselves beneath his feet. Like most evangelical men, when not talking about salvation, his abiding trait was pessimism, and this applied to wounds physical as well as scars spiritual.

  ‘But you never can tell,’ he continued, dosing James with tincture of laudanum to dull the pain. ‘Even the simplest wound can prove mortal. You need rest, sir, and you will require to be bled more than once.’

  He turned to Harry. ‘We sail upon the ebb, Mr Ludlow, which will be during the first dog watch. I will happily attend to your brother until then, but he must go ashore for further treatment. Would it not be best to take him right off and find a local man?’

  ‘No, Mr Williams. I would want my brother taken back to the Victory, and put under the care of the Surgeon of the Fleet.’

  ‘Harry …’ said James, sitting up sluggishly.

  ‘I know what I shall do, James. And please believe that I have listened to what you’ve said.’ Harry smiled, and laid his hand gently on James’s good arm. ‘There’s not another man alive I’d take such a wigging from.’

  Williams was still fussing about with his instruments, providing a good excuse to avoid giving details of his plans once more. The laudanum was beginning to affect James. But Harry could not avoid that recurring feeling of guilt, for deep down he knew he would have said nothing anyway. Instead, he sought words to reassure James.

  ‘Perhaps staying in these parts isn’t on the cards after what’s happened. I must go ashore to sort out our financial affairs in any case. Leghorn will be a safer bet as a base, but I would still like to buy the Principessa if she’s for sale at a decent price. As for you, I would rather you were in the care of Mr Williams here than someone we don’t know. If you return to the fleet, then I’m sure that Admiral Hood will insist that you berth with him aboard the flagship.’

  ‘I would rather we stayed together.’

  ‘That would be flying in the face of your own advice, brother. We have had two very close shaves, and you have already alluded to the degree of danger. I must stay a while. I will not risk exposing you to another attack bearing a broken arm.’

  ‘Harry,’ said James anxiously, obviously not convinced that his brother had been completely open with him. ‘I know how impetuous you are. I would hate you to be the victim of another murder …’

  ‘Murder!’ said the surgeon, alarmed.

  Harry was grateful for the surgeon’s interruption. ‘Nothing to concern yourself with, Mr Williams. I’m sure you’re aware of the disorder in the streets of Genoa.’

  ‘I am not, sir, for which the Lord be thanked. I have been saved the need to go ashore amongst these papist heathens. All my medicines have been brought out to me by Signor Brown, who I may add, is an excellent fellow, even if he has taken the wrong spiritual road. The price of the potions is higher, but it is not to be compared with the risk of imperilling my soul.’

  James seemed to accept that he was wasting his time, just as he confirmed to Harry that he was not to be fooled by a breezy manner. ‘I can say no more, brother, except to repeat that you put yourself at risk to no purpose.’

  Harry didn’t falter. The prospect of an end to this dissimulation raised his spirits. He was as hearty as Old King Harry of the six wives. And for once, he thought he was being reasonably truthful.

  ‘Never fear, James. I shall be with you long before you’ve had a chance to relish a little solitude. If, in the course of settling our business, I stumble upon anything, I shall note it. But I’ll not waste any time seeking it out. I dare say I’ll be on the next ship to victual here, and be back aboard the Victory before your arm is mended.’

  ‘Are them pistols still loaded, your honour?’ asked Pender as they were rowed steadily towards the inner harbour.

  ‘They are, though I can’t see that we’ll have use of them in daylight.’

  Pender gave him a wide smile. ‘You never know, Captain. Remember the last time we came ashore in one of these.’

  ‘True. And you may castigate me for my attitude of last night, if you so wish, for I fully deserve it.’

  It was true. Without his servant’s precautions they would certainly be dead by now.

  ‘I’ve got to keep you in one piece, Captain Ludlow,’ said Pender. ‘Anythin’ happens to you, I might have to go back into the king’s navy. But there’s another reason I’m askin’.’

  Pender’s face clouded and he looked genuinely worried. ‘I hired our boat off the roughest-looking bastard in the whole of this Godforsaken port. I dunno how he’s going to take it when I tells him that it’s gone.’

  ‘What now, your honour?’ asked Pender, casting his eyes around to see if anyone had observed them coming ashore.

  ‘We must move quickly, Pender.’ Pender’s expression left Harry in no doubt that the reply was inadequate, and he knew he’d have to offer more.

  ‘It would be mortal to have those two bodies discovered by someone else, Captain.’

  ‘You’re right,’ said Harry. ‘But first I must have a change of clothes. I cannot walk about the place coated in blood.’

  Pender nodded, and they made their way along the quay to the inn. Ma Thomas’s was a mess after another night of drinking and gambling, and as yet the place had not been cleaned up. Bodies lay everywhere, and despite the open shutters, the whole room stank of tobacco, drink, and unwashed humanity. Few were awake, and those who were showed little curiosity, content to nurse sore heads with fresh poison. Fairbairn was sitting hunched in the corner by the door to Ma Thomas’s domain, at the only clear table in the place. Harry, passing by, paused, and with a deliberate air looked at the assembled bodies.

  Fairbairn lifted a steaming cup to his lips, and for a brief moment the smell of stale rum was overborne by the smell of coffee. ‘As you can see, Mr Ludlow, our little fleet is still celebrating.’

  ‘Three nights in a row. It must have been a very successful cruise,’ said Harry.

  ‘Won’t be long before they’re skint,’ said Pender.

  The surgeon’s words and movements were slow, yet every so often his body gave an involuntary jerk. ‘So it would seem. But this is to be
a short run ashore. Word is that they will be off in a day or two.’

  Harry cursed under his breath, and sat down suddenly. He called to a serving girl to fetch them some breakfast, then turned back to Fairbairn. The surgeon’s eyes roamed over Harry’s face and coat, lingering for a moment on the bloodstain down one side. With a deliberate movement he looked past them to the anchorage.

  ‘The good Broadbridge is not with you?’

  Harry shook his head. If he was going to say anything, it would be Bartholomew who’d get the information first. The surgeon seemed to realise that Harry would say no more and he lapsed into silence, nursing his cup. But that didn’t suit Harry Ludlow.

  ‘They’re off on another cruise, you say?’

  Fairbairn nodded. ‘Bart has a rendezvous to keep, I hear.’

  Coffee, fresh bread, and more of the strong-smelling sausage were placed before them, and after the exertions of the night they set to with a will. But Harry was trying to place this new information in the context of his intentions. He’d yet to see the material that he had to hand, so he might, after all, need Bartholomew’s help. He had fully intended to string the man along. James had been right. Bartholomew had been toying with an invitation to join the syndicate the other night. Whoever came to the door had told him about the gold they were carrying. Broadbridge was a liability, and the man sitting in his room, had come not only with money, but bearing a successful reputation. As long as he saw Harry as a potential investor in the syndicate he would be well disposed towards him.

  Fairbairn watched him silently. Harry, sick of being examined, looked directly at him, forcing the surgeon to avert his eyes. In the daylight, with the sun streaming through the tavern windows, the dry grey colour of his skin was apparent. The stubble on his chin looked grey as well, rather than fair in the manner of his thin, lank hair. The lips, set in such a colourless face, formed a slash of red which glistened, for he was forever licking them, a sure indication of the nature of his habit. His eyes were red too, not just the rims, but the whites, and with the pale blue of his pupils he would have looked like a corpse if it was not for the constant small involuntary movements that racked his body.

  Fairbairn was looking past Harry again, avoiding his eye. ‘You went out to join Captain Broadbridge, I believe.’ The surgeon paused slightly before continuing: ‘Crosby tells me that you are in contention for the same ship. Said you were in a high old temper when you found out that Captain Broadbridge was aboard.’

  ‘If you go listening to Crosby, you’re a fool.’

  Fairbairn stiffened, then pointed to the huge bloodstain on Harry’s jacket. ‘I am a surgeon, Mr Ludlow. In the course of my duties I have often found that my clothes take on that colour. It is the bane of a medical man’s existence.’

  Harry responded sharply. ‘I must say that I find the drift of your remarks impertinent.’

  Fairbairn flushed. Harry wiped his mouth and threw down his napkin.

  ‘And now, if you will forgive me, I must find hot water and a razor. It may seem fitting to you, sir, to appear at breakfast as you are. But I am accustomed to more careful society.’

  Fairbairn smiled, unaffected by that remark. He had long since given up caring about his appearance. Harry stood up. He didn’t leave the table as his eyes were still locked with those of the surgeon. Pender raised himself, breaking the spell, and with his servant still munching a mouthful of bread, they made their way towards the rear of the tap-room, to the door that led to Ma Thomas’s domain.

  ‘Hot water, Pender, if you please,’ he cried, proceeding up the stairs three at a time. Ma Thomas may have run a bawdy house, but it was nevertheless an efficient one. The water arrived in less than five minutes. Pender produced Harry’s shaving kit, with soap and combs, hazel twigs for his teeth, and dusting powder for the wig he never wore, all together in a mahogany box inlaid with brass. Harry opened it, peering at himself in the mirror affixed to the lid.

  No wonder Fairbairn had been curious. Besides the state of his coat, his face was covered in tiny abrasions from last night. He sat down in the chair while Pender worked up a lather, brushing it onto his chin when he was satisfied. Harry winced slightly as the hot soapy water found its way into the broken skin.

  Pender had, up until now, kept his peace, aware that Harry would do what he wanted regardless of his opinion. But he could contain himself no longer. ‘What happens now about buying that ship, your honour?’

  Harry could have declined to answer, since it really wasn’t Pender’s place to ask. Yet their relationship fell outside of that which normally existed between master and servant.

  ‘I’ll buy her if I can. And I’ll crew her with the late Captain Broadbridge’s men. And then we shall be off to sea again.’ It was with an impish delight that he saw Pender’s face fall at his next remark. ‘Perhaps in the company of Gideon Bartholomew.’

  Pender, not really knowing how his captain felt about Bartholomew, refused to be drawn, taking refuge in a generalised criticism.

  ‘Don’t give his hands much time ashore. Worse than the bleedin’ navy.’

  Harry laughed, narrowly avoiding a mouthful of soap as Pender jabbed the brush in his direction. It was beautifully done, for you could never say it was deliberate. ‘Never fear, Pender. Bartholomew’s not my sort either. A rendezvous, Fairbairn said. I wonder where that is? He seems to have some golden touch when it comes to the taking of prizes. That can only mean one thing.’

  ‘He must know where to look,’ said Pender.

  ‘I’ll say. He was looking in the right place when those sailing out of Leghorn were writing to Admiral Hotham complaining of lack of income. If the navy managed to drive them into penury, how have the men here done so well? They’re spending money like water.’

  ‘So you don’t plan that we should join your brother?’

  Harry, who had lain back with his eyes closed, looked up at his servant. He’d been mistaken about the man’s mood. The usual cheerful smile was missing. Pender was worried, that much was clear. Harry reasoned that he must be rattled by the unfamiliarity of the place. Harry, more accustomed to the perils of ports all over the world, even with what had already happened, felt less threatened.

  Then he felt a slight pang of guilt as another ploy slipped unbidden into his mind. He’d sent James away with the excuse that he wanted to keep him out of harm’s way. But he knew that James wasn’t fooled. Nothing would convince him more of Harry’s peaceable intentions than if he sent Pender away as well. He would, after all, have Broadbridge’s crew to protect him. Best to find out that was possible before making a final decision.

  ‘There are too many things need doing for that,’ he said, finally answering the question. ‘I may send you back with him. He’ll need his sea-chest anyway, and I’ll want you to take it aboard. He’ll require a deal of care for some time yet. Mr Williams I trust, but not Barnes and the rest of the officers. If I decide against the Principessa, then I can rejoin you both aboard the next ship that comes in to victual. That will be here in a few days.’

  ‘You don’t reckon that’s a mite dangerous, bein’ here on your own?’

  ‘A few days will make little difference.’

  Pender’s face was now positively miserable. ‘That depends on whether you take account how long we’ve been in Genoa, your honour. After what we’ve been through the last two days, it could prove mortal.’

  Harry decided to ignore his drift. He couldn’t leave on this afternoon’s tide, and that had nothing to do with plans to attack the French or pretend to apply to join the syndicate. There was, quite simply, too much to occupy him. Besides, too many people knew that they’d been aboard the Principessa. If he went off now it would be taken as a tacit admission of guilt once the bodies of those two seamen were discovered. To cap it all, he’d had enough of that pessimism from James for one day. He returned the conversation to Bartholomew, his ships, and their success.

  ‘They must be covering some specific routes that the French merch
antmen sail. Perhaps they have secret information about that. It’s a pity we never really got a chance to talk with Broadbridge. I feel that in his cups he might have let something slip. I wonder if Sutton knows anything?’

  ‘He might, for he’s sharp,’ said Pender, smiling again. ‘You might say he has the nose of a good thief.’

  ‘He’ll be aboard the Dido.’

  ‘Aye,’ said Pender. ‘He was only ashore ’cause they’d been out all night. His lot can’t afford to stay ashore. They ain’t got the price of a drink.’

  Having towelled his face dry, he handed Harry a fresh shirt, and then laid out a clean coat. While he was changing, Pender waved his set of picks, and nodded in the direction of Captain Broadbridge’s sea-chest. Harry thought for a moment, then nodded. The man was dead in mysterious circumstances. It would make no difference to him, and there might be something in there that would answer some questions. His servant had the chest open in a few seconds. He lifted the lid and stood back. Harry stepped forward and started to rummage through the contents.

  What was revealed came something of a surprise. Firstly the items you would expect to find. An oilskin pouch holding some papers relating to the ownership of the Dido. These were wrapped round a heavy decorated latch-key, which fell out and lodged in the small amount of clothes the chest contained. Harry flicked it over, giving it a cursory glance, noting that it had some form of heraldic device on the grip. Then he turned his attention to Broadbridge’s clothes. These included the late captain’s best coat and a pair of rather worn pistols. But underneath these lay a mass of elaborately scripted documents: bonds relating to a variety of enterprises, from mining concessions to shares in a scheme to promote a flying contraption, and finally, most numerous, share certificates for participation in a corporation set to dig a navigation canal. He selected one or two and passed them to Pender, standing behind him.