Alexander Kent - Bolitho 26

by Man of War [lit]

Adam nodded to the sailing master and walked aft toward the poop. For a moment longer he paused and stared at and beyond the headland. But there was no horizon. Sea and sky were merged in bright blue haze.

  England seemed a very long way astern.

  Jago brought the gig smartly alongside the jetty’s worn stone stairs and watched the bowman leap ashore to fend off and make the boat fast. Not too bad a gig’s crew, although he would never say as much. Not yet, anyway.

  There were soldiers on the jetty, and a tall major waiting to greet the vice admiral and his aide. Behind the soldiers and some kind of barrier he could see crowds of people, all eager to greet the newcomers. Like any port, when you thought about it.

  The midshipman, Mister bloody Vincent, was on his feet, bobbing and raising his hat while the admiral and flag lieutenant stepped ashore. Jago heard Bethune say, ”The boat can remain here. This shouldn’t take too long.”

  Jago scowled. The captain never told him what to do. He trusted him. No good officer would leave a boat’s crew sitting here in the heat, sweating it out, while he downed a few wets with the governor or whoever it was.

  The major saluted, and Bethune shook his hand, putting him at his ease. Jago swore under his breath. Never volunteer. It was too late now.

  He swung round, surprised that he had forgotten the other passenger, the admiral’s servant, Tolan. One who caught your attention, made you wonder. Sharp, and always in control of things. Jago had tried to yarn with him but had got nowhere. Bowles had said as much himself, and he could talk the hind leg off a mule if he wanted to.

  ”Going on an errand, eh?”

  Tolan stepped over the gunwale on to the worn stones. He gave Jago a brief, piercing look.

  ”You might say as much, yes.”

  Vincent snapped, ”No gossiping in the boat, there!”

  Jago contained his anger, and across the midshipman’s shoulder saw the stroke oarsman mouth an unspoken obscenity. It helped.

  Tolan reached the top of the stairs and turned to look down at the moored gig; it gave him time to settle his nerves. He could not fathom what had got into him lately, suspicious of the most innocent remark, ever since the incident with the marine’s musket. So face up to it. It’s all over and behind you now. And he liked the captain’s coxswain, what he had seen of him and had heard others say. Tough, competent, reliable. A man with a past; he had seen the savage scars on his back when he had been washing himself under a pump. No wonder he hated officers .. . except, apparently, the captain.

  Some children ran up to him, hands out, all eyes and teeth. The same anywhere, he thought. He ignored them. One sign of weakness and you brought an avalanche down on your head.

  In the shade of the first buildings, it seemed almost cool after the harbour and the open boat. He looked around as he walked; it had not changed much, although there were fewer ships and sailors than the last time he had been in Antigua. In the frigate Skirmisher, Bethune’s final command before his promotion to flag rank. A lot of water since then.

  A woman carrying a basket of fresh fish walked past him.

  Tall, dark-skinned, a half-caste of some sort. Probably born of a slave mother. Some traders and planters had the right idea, he thought. Better to breed slaves than run the risk of being caught smuggling them from the other side of the ocean.

  He looked at the last house, painted white like the others, a short flight of steps leading up to a balcony which faced the harbour.

  He took out the letter from his immaculate coat and studied it for a few seconds. Bethune was a powerful man, and a good one to serve. He had watched him over the years, taking on more authority, and using it without obvious strain or effort. But sometimes he left his guard down, wide open to enemies, and at the Admiralty there would be plenty of those. He knew about Catherine Somervell, had even seen them meet in the park, only a short ride from that elegant office. Beautiful, she was. Hard to accept that she had once been the toast of the country, Sir Richard Bolitho’s mistress. People had short memories, when it suited them. He had seen the vicious cartoon of her in a well known news sheet. After Sir Richard’s death in action she had been depicted nude, staring out at ships of the fleet, eyes open for the next to share her bed. He could recall Bethune’s fury and dismay, as if it were yesterday.

  But mail took a long time to travel. Diverted, lost at sea; there were a thousand reasons. Or, like the brig Celeste, sunk by an unknown enemy. It was not the first letter he had carried for him, but maybe this time he had made a mistake.

  He climbed the steps and felt the sun on his face again as he reached the balcony. He saw a telescope mounted on a tripod, an open fan lying on a cane chair. Sir Graham had not made a mistake after all.

  She was standing inside an open doorway, her hair hanging down on her shoulders, as if it had just been brushed. Dressed in an ivory gown, her throat and arms bare, she showed no surprise, no emotion at all.

  She said, ”I remember you. Mr. Tolan, is it not?”

  Exactly as he remembered her. Poised, striking, and something more. She led the way into a long room, shutters lowered against the glare, a ceiling fan swaying soundlessly from side to side adding to the feeling of seclusion. She gestured to the telescope.

  ”I saw the ship come in. I never grow tired of watching them come to anchor.” She looked directly at the letter in his hand. ”From Sir Graham, I trust?”

  Tolan’s eyes flickered to the ceiling as the fan faltered for a few seconds, as if the unseen hand was listening.

  ”He asked me to deliver it to you, m’ lady, no one else. In case it got mislaid.”

  She did not move. ”I destroyed the others. Please return it to your master. I don’t have the time .. .”

  Tolan stood fast. Like a drill. He knew enough about women to see past her composure. She had been watching Athena’s, slow approach, and had found time to prepare herself. To dress, and be ready. Perhaps she had expected Bethune to come in person. That could be dangerous, for both of them.

  He said, ”He ordered me not to return to the ship without giving you the letter, m’ lady.”

  ”And he must be obeyed, is that it?” She put her hand to her side as if to straighten her gown. ”I am not at all sure that I .. .”

  Another door creaked open and Tolan felt every muscle stiffen. But it was a young girl, a servant, half Spanish at a guess.

  He felt his breathing steady again. For a second he had imagined it would be a man, the protector he had heard some one mention.

  She said, ”Later, Marquita. I shall not be long.” When she looked at him again she was different; the confidence was fading.

  ”You may leave it if you wish. But I do not promise to read it.” She relented immediately. ”That was unfair of me. It is not your place to intercede. Like a second in a duel!”

  Tolan knew she was thinking of the clump of dead trees in the park, where so many duels had been fought, mostly by officers from the garrison nearby. Over money, or an insult, or because of a woman. Like this one.

  She asked abruptly, ”Are you married, Mr. Tolan?”

  He shook his head. ”I’ve not been so fortunate, m’ lady.”

  She reached out and took the letter from his hand. Just the faintest hesitation, perhaps doubt, her fingers brushing his. ”Maybe it is not too late.” She smiled. ”For either of us.”

  He turned to leave the room, and she said, ”A secret, then?”

  He nodded, unusually moved. ”Safe with me, m’ lady.”

  Tolan had reached the bottom of the steps when it struck him.

  She had not even mentioned Athena’s captain, who bore the same name as her famous lover.

  He looked up, but she had vanished. Maybe it was all in the letter.

  He strode along the narrow street. She would not burn it. Nor had she destroyed the others.

  A woman you would die for, or spill another man’s blood. And she had treated him with respect, had called him ‘mister’, not like most of the others who looked right
through you.

  There was still a little crowd of people loitering above the jetty where the gig’s crew wilted in the heat, watching the comings and goings of the many harbour craft around the anchored two-decker.

  Tolan paused by the wall, thinking of the girl he had seen earlier with her basket of fish, the beautiful way she had walked. He was not required on board the ship until dusk, when Bethune was receiving guests.

  He remembered a house he had once visited when he had been here before. Like escaping, being himself, without a false identity and the fear of being trapped by some careless remark or deed.

  A woman like that would give far more than her body.

  He turned as a group of soldiers walked past him. A couple of them glanced at his uniform, uncertain of his rank or status, and one of them, a burly, deeply tanned corporal, gave him a nod and a grin.

  Tolan could scarcely breathe, and leaned against the sun-baked wall, his mind reeling while he listened to the soldiers’ boots until they were lost in the noise and movement of English Harbour.

  It was not possible. Like the nightmare he had tried to forget. He had seen the polished helmet plates, the familiar Lamb and Star of the Seventieth Foot, known as the Surreys. His old regiment.

  He was not free at all.

  Commodore Sir Baldwin Swinburne, senior officer of the Leeward and Windward Islands, took a glass from the preferred tray and held it up against the light of the nearest lantern. His forehead was set in a crease which faded as he took a slow sip. ”An excellent Madeira, Sir Graham. It has a ready tongue indeed.” He smiled, and watched Tolan refill his glass. ”But then,

  you always did have the taste for a good wine!”

  Adam Bolitho stood by the stern windows, apart from the commodore and the elegant vice-admiral. Swinburne was heavily built, even portly, with a face which was hard to imagine young. Troubridge had told him that Bethune and the commodore had been lieutenants together somewhere along the road to promotion. That was even harder to believe; but Troubridge was never wrong in such matters. Considering he had been Bethune’s flag lieutenant for such a short time, he had certainly discovered a great deal about his superior.

  Bethune had returned on board in a bad mood. The governor had not been there to receive him. An official had explained that he had been forced to keep an appointment with his opposite number in Jamaica. The despatch confirming the flagship’s estimated time of arrival in Antigua must have been destroyed with the ill-fated Celeste, or was now in some one else’s hands. Bethune obviously believed it was the latter.

  Adam watched the cabin servants moving silently in the shadows, and was careful not to leave his own glass unguarded where it might be refilled without his noticing. Bethune was equally abstemious. He and Swinburne were probably the same age. That explained a lot.

  Bethune was saying, ”Three frigates, and one of them laid up in overhaul, is simply not good enough. I want every patrol area covered, even if local craft have to be temporarily commissioned into the King’s service. I am told that we will never destroy the slave trade well. I intend to prove otherwise. It is ten years since Britain passed the Abolition Act, and made the slave trade a crime. Other nations have followed, albeit reluctantly. Our new ally, Spain, for instance, has prohibited it, but has left a gap in the net by insisting that the trade is only to be banned north of the Equator. And Portugal is the same.”

  Adam watched him with new interest. This was a different side to Bethune, fully informed, and almost passionately concerned with every detail. All those hours, days, sealed up in this big cabin had armed him well. Swinburne looked surprised and off balance; uneasy, too.

  Bethune paused to sip his wine. ”And where are the biggest slave markets today?” He put down the glass. ”Cuba and Brazil, under the flags and protection of those very same countries.”

  Swinburne said, ”All our patrols are under the strictest orders, Sir Graham. They have caught several slavers, some empty, some not. The commanding officers are very well aware of the importance of vigilance.”

  Bethune smiled. ”As well they might be. With some eight hundred and fifty captains on the Navy List at last count, each one would be well advised to remember his chance of survival, let alone promotion!”

  Adam saw a boat pulling slowly past Athena’s quarter. He could see the phosphorescence trailing from the oars, like serpents keeping pace in the calm water.

  He had read enough of the Admiralty reports to know the hopelessness of any attempt to wipe out slavery altogether. Swinburne had spoken of successful interception and seizure by the patrolling ships, but in fact not one in twenty of the slavers was ever captured. No wonder there were men hard and desperate enough to take the risk. A slave bought for less than twenty dollars in Africa would sell for three hundred and more in Cuba. And there had to be big money behind it. To build and equip larger and faster ships, to supply a ready market which was never closed. Regulations and Acts of Parliament were only pieces of paper to the faceless men behind the trade.

  He wanted to pinch himself to stay alert. It was dark beyond the tall windows, with just the lights from the houses on the shore and the moored vessels nearby. Almost as dark as when he had been called to go on deck, only this morning .. .

  Bethune must have made some sort of signal. Tolan and the cabin servants had disappeared, and Troubridge was standing, framed against the screen door, like a sentinel.

  Bethune said quietly, ”Lord Sillitoe is here, in the Indies. Baron Sillitoe of Chiswick. Why was I not told?”

  Swinburne stared at him. As if he were hearing a foreign language.

  ”I had no instructions, Sir Graham! He is a man of influence, once the Prince Regent’s Inspector General.”

  Bethune did not hide the sarcasm. ”And his good friend, too, as I recall.”

  Swinburne made another attempt. ”He is here to conduct enquiries, matters which concern his business, and the City of London.” He ended lamely, ”The governor left no instructions.”

  Bethune said, ”He is a very dangerous man, and his father was the most successful slaver on record.”

  Swinburne picked up his glass. It was empty. ”I know that Lady Somervell was with him. But I thought .. .”

  Bethune actually smiled. ”You hold a good appointment here. Others might be envious. Think on it, eh?” He snapped his fingers. ”Now we can sup in peace.”

  Troubridge had left the screen door and stood right aft by the stern windows.

  ”Your first lieutenant wishes to speak with you, sir.” He glanced at the servants, who were arranging chairs again, lighting candles on the table. In the flickering light his young features looked suddenly grave, angry. ”And, no, sir. I did not know that Lady Somervell was here in Antigua.”

  Adam looked past him. ”I shall not be a moment, Sir Graham.” But Bethune was lifting the silver cover from the dish and gave no sign of having heard him. He touched Troubridge’s sleeve. ”Thank you for that.” He saw Tolan bringing more wine from the pantry. ”I thought I was the only one who didn’t know!”

  He found Stirling waiting by the companion ladder, his head bowed beneath the deck head beams. There was probably ample room to stand upright, Adam thought; it was merely habit, born of a lifetime at sea in every class of ship.

  ”I am sorry to disturb you, sir.” His eyes glinted in the swaying watch light as he glanced at the white-painted screen, and the Royal Marine sentry at the door to the admiral’s quarters. In the dim light, the scarlet uniform looked black.

  Stirling lowered his voice.

  ”The sloop Lotus anchored an hour or so back, sir. Her commander is come aboard to report an action with a slaver.”

  ”Why so long?” It gave him time to mark down the sloop, like an entry in the log. She was one of the commodore’s chain of patrolling vessels. But that was all.

  ”He went to the commodore’s residence first. Said he knew nothing about Athena’s arrival here. All aback, he was.” He turned again as the sentry shifted h
is boots. ”I put him in the chart room and told him to wait.”

  ”You did right. I’ll see him now.” He thought he heard a glass shatter beyond the screen, and somebody laugh. It sounded like Swinburne.

  They climbed the companion ladder together, Stirling breathing heavily, but, Adam felt, glad to have shifted the responsibility so quickly.

  On the quarterdeck the air was cool, clean, after the admiral’s cabin. A few figures stood grouped by the starboard nettings. Beyond and below them Adam could see a boat, almost motionless, hooked on to the main chains.

  Stirling paused outside the chart room, one large hand on the clip.

  ”His name is Pointer, sir. First command, apparently, six months on this station.”

  ”Thank you. That’s a big help, believe me.”

  ”Sir?” He could feel Stirling peering at him through the darkness, as if he was expecting or searching for a trap.

  It seemed unusually bright in the chart room after the quarterdeck and its silent watch keepers

  Pointer, Lotus’s commander, was tall and thin with a narrow, bony face and clear, intelligent eyes. Still only a lieutenant, but already after so short a spell of command he carried an air of quiet authority.

  Adam held out his hand, and saw a brief start of surprise.

  ”I’m Bolitho. I command here. Flag captain.”

  Pointer grasped his hand firmly; the grip was bony, too. ”Yes, sir, I just heard.” He looked at the unsmiling first lieutenant. ”And about Sir Graham Bethune. I have been out of contact with the commodore, you see. We did not know.”

  Stirling said impatiently, ”The courier was blown up.”

  Adam gestured to the rack of charts, all neatly folded, numbered and in order: knowing Dugald Fraser, they would be. Like his notes and personal log, even the gleaming dividers and rules were each in its place.

  ”Show me.”

  Pointer opened a chart and flattened it on the table.

  ”Two weeks ago, it was, sir.” His forefinger touched the chart. ”I was in my usual patrol sector. I’ve had it since I commissioned Lotus, so I think I have the feel of it by now.” The finger moved. ”The sector runs from the Bahama Bank, westward to the Florida Straits. A regular run for slavers if they can slip past us.”