The Torrid Zone (The Fighting Sail Series)

by Alaric Bond

  He set off, conscious of his wife by his side, as well as Lady Hatcher, who was following close behind and constantly whispering to her maid. The official in the large hat stepped forward and seemed to be examining them as they grew closer; his smile froze as he searched their faces for one that was not there, and Banks had to resist the temptation to increase his step. Then they were almost face to face, the small guard of honour was ordered to present arms, and all uniformed officers saluted. Banks responded crisply, before proffering the same hand to what appeared to be the senior man, and introducing himself.

  The official accepted the handshake and muttered something in reply that Banks did not catch, then cleared his throat and spoke in a firmer voice.

  “Governor Hatcher is not with you, Sir Richard?” The man blinked. “Perhaps he is unwell?”

  “My husband is dead,” Lady Hatcher announced in a cold and distinct tone that was designed to carry. “Sir Richard all but killed him.”

  * * *

  “There will be shore leave, sure as a gun,” Flint told them as they leaned over the bulwark. “Mind, not that there's much to do when you get there,” he continued.

  “What no pot houses?” Mitchell asked, sourly.

  “Oh yes, by the score, only the military calls them different.” Flint replied. “They ply a decent trade; even brew their own beer. But that's about it.”

  “That's enough,” Hind assured everyone. “All I ask is my stingo and a willin' woman, nothing else is required.”

  Flint gave a brief laugh. “Well, that's not what you'll get, matey.”

  “No doxies?” They all seemed incensed. “That ain't natural.”

  “It is on St Helena. This is a John Company island, and the Honourable East India Company don't provide such things for your foremast jack; least not outside the shipping season.”

  “But what about all them lobsters?” Mitchell asked.

  “I'm not saying there's none,” Flint relented slightly. “But not what you're used to, or expecting. Rumour has it the army is catered for privately, but you won't get a lot of co-operation from that quarter. There was a fine pushing school south of Jamestown that dealt with jacks last time I was here, but they closed it down as soon as the Indiamen left.”

  “Where there is a need, someone will supply it,” Dixon said with the air of one who knows. “Throw out a fish, and the cats will always gather.”

  “That is assuming there are cats about,” Flint persisted. “We're a long way from anywhere, remember. Woman lets out her front room and the Company don't approve, there ain't no fine – she's simply shipped off to the Cape, never to be seen again.”

  “Well that's no good to us,” Mitchell groaned. “What's the point of takin' a cruise if there ain’t no one to dock with?”

  “But hold fast; there is a good side.” Flint added, cheering slightly.

  They waited.

  “St Helena has the fewest cases of clap in the southern hemisphere.”

  * * *

  Kate was alone: all the women had departed. Lady Hatcher with her maid, while Sarah accompanied the captain. She was probably being bored rigid right now by a tour of a barracks or some other such local delight. Robert had also gone; he used the excuse of having to present their medical certificates to accompany the shore party, along with Tom King, the couple's closest friend. Quite what the two of them might get up to if left together Kate did not care to guess but she carried few illusions about seamen of any rank, and did not expect either man to return for some while, or completely sober.

  She sat in the empty sickbay, annoying her needlepoint that never seemed to grow in proportion to the effort invested. The ship was all but silent; every one of the governor's staff had departed, and those of Scylla's people that remained were principally on the upper deck and would doubtless be exulting over the sights of what appeared to be a very dull and uninspiring island.

  Or maybe it was her? She had never been what the lower deck might refer to as a jolly dog and, since the loss of her child, had rather taken shelter behind a barrier of quiet and private contemplation: that and her dedication to work, which was boarding on the obsessive. She knew that such behaviour was hardly beneficial to Robert who, to some extent at least, had lost a child as well, but could do little to change it. On several occasions he had attempted to bring her old self out, and she responded in kind, trying hard to regain her previous subtle, if often mildly sardonic sense of humour, along with a slightly less disconsolate countenance. But every effort failed miserably, and left him just as confused and isolated as before, and her every bit as depressed.

  The pain was simply too great. No matter how she dressed it up: explained to herself and others who would listen that it was the chance every expectant mother took. That nothing good came from little effort, and several attempts might be needed if they were to achieve the family they both wanted. But no matter what ruse or trick she pulled to forget the past, the fact of her loss was always there: always waiting for her to return and provide the attention it demanded. On rare occasions she had even spoken of this to Robert, and he had been as supportive and understanding as ever. There might be no medical cure for her ailment, but he was perceptive enough to recognise it as such. And patient, always so damnably patient. Sometimes Kate even wondered if it was this very tolerance that was feeding the condition; perhaps if he had behaved like most husbands; taken a stronger stance: demanded that she brought herself back to the real world, and start behaving like the wife he had every right to expect, perhaps then it might do the trick. That was not his way however, and Kate accepted that for Robert to change his personality would be every bit as difficult as she was finding changing hers.

  And then, just as things were starting to improve, the captain's wife became pregnant. Of course that could not, in any way, be construed as bad news; Sarah was probably her closest female friend, and she was sincerely happy for her, if cautiously so. But Sarah was a different person and Kate already sensed would have a perfectly splendid pregnancy. Even now the initial sickness she had personally experienced throughout her term was starting to wear off, and the woman was positively glowing with wellbeing. There was not the smallest portion of Kate that wanted anything else, and nothing in her power that she would not give, or do, to ensure the couple were shortly blessed with a happy, healthy child. But still the inequity of it all could not be ignored, and she knew herself to be sinking ever deeper into the pit that had been both her refuge and prison for far too long.

  The sound of approaching footsteps made her look up from her work. It was a heavy-booted tread and marked the wearer out as both adult and an officer. There was no shortage of either aboard Scylla, despite the absence of the shore party, but still some sixth sense made her wait, expectantly, as the sound grew nearer, and she was not in the least surprised when it stopped outside, and was replaced by a gentle knock. The door opened, admitting the sailing master. Kate was mildly intrigued; she knew Adam Fraiser well, and respected him greatly, but he was not by nature a social person and his healthy diet made him a rare caller.

  “Mr Fraiser, so good to see you; come in, do,” she said, rising, and dropping her needlepoint to one side. “I'm afraid Robert is off ship at present; I could take a message for his return if you wish.”

  The older man's face relaxed into the close approximation of a smile. “Thank you, my dear, but I wanted only to ask a favour of you.”

  “Of me?” This was indeed unusual.

  “Or to be more accurate, your department,” Fraiser clarified. “I require pure water; some will be available ashore, no doubt, but I recalled that you have access to a supply of distilled from the galley range.”

  “Why yes. The cook delivers a pint or so every day from his still. How much do you require?”

  “Half of that will suit me admirably.” he replied, as she went to one of the cupboards and removed a restraining bar that kept the larger jars in place. “It is for my Leige Barometer; it is a bit of an affectation
I know but I value the accuracy and in truth the device uses remarkably little liquid, though it must always be of the very purest.”

  “Well, we have far more than is needed,” Kate told him, fetching a flask that she proceeded to fill. “But we don't dissuade the cook in case he takes offence. Indeed Mr Grimley is not one of life's most cheerful creatures,” she continued, reaching inside a drawer for a suitable stopper.

  “Perchance it is a case of name, like nature?” Fraiser suggested.

  “Indeed,” Kate agreed, frowning deeply as she pressed the cork home. “Though I have seldom met one quite so constantly miserable; if he doesn't make a change he will remain without friends, and die a sad and solitary death.”

  Her eyes swept round to meet those of the fatherly sailing master. She felt a strange pang of conscience as she realised what she had said, and how her words could so easily apply to herself. Then it was as if something vital inside suddenly gave way; the tears rose up unasked, and quickly began to flow.

  “Oh, my poor, wee child,” Fraiser said softly, before reaching out and holding her close against his chest.

  Chapter Ten

  “You have certainly caught us on the hop, Sir Richard.” Colonel Robson, the lieutenant governor smiled, not unkindly, and motioned Banks to a chair. It was a pleasant room, and seemed almost obscenely spacious to one used to the confines of a frigate. Both doorways were easily seven feet high, and wide enough for two to enter side by side, while the ornately moulded ceiling must have stretched all of twelve feet above their heads. But, despite its apparent opulence, the actual furnishings were not of a high standard. The governor's desk, presumably cleared and polished for a new incumbent and now apologetically reclaimed by his deputy, might be imposing but lacked the sophistication of European pieces. The top of the walnut occasional table to Banks' right was also slightly warped, and his own chair creaked alarmingly under what he assured himself was less than average weight.

  “I am sorry for any inconvenience, sir,” Banks said. As a senior Royal Navy post captain he outranked an HEIC lieutenant colonel, although Robson's position as acting governor made the distinction somewhat vague, and Banks' current dependency on the shore destroyed it completely.

  “I suppose the death of a governor elect might be termed as such,” the older man mused. “Though between ourselves and from what I can collect, you are hardly to be blamed.”

  Banks felt some of the tension in his breast lessen, and it was hard not to break into laughter. The scene at the quay was still fresh in his memory. A confusion of voices, with Lady Hatcher's being the most dominant. Accusations and complaints flying like grape shot, while he did his best to rebuff the more outrageous. And all the time attempting to explain to the group of confused dignitaries why their long-awaited leader was lying in a case of spirits on the orlop rather than receiving their greetings. In the end it had fallen to someone other than the lieutenant governor to rectify matters. Banks was still unsure of the man's identity, except that he was one of the members of council, and had both the good sense and authority to act quickly.

  “You will take some refreshment, sir?” Colonel Robson asked, “Tea we have in abundance, and there is a remarkably good Mocha coffee that is grown on the island. Or maybe it is time for something stronger?”

  Banks refused; all he wanted was to clarify the current problem, then discover what facilities were available to his ship. Once the troops had been dismissed it had not taken long for the shore party and those sent to welcome them to repair to the waiting carriages. Fortunately there were several of the latter, and the same intelligent official had seen to it that Lady Hatcher, along with her maid, were swiftly separated from the rest. Sarah was also absent, although she, like Banks, had been brought straight to Government House, an ornate building enclosed within an embrasured wall that housed the official offices. She was now with the lieutenant governor's wife, whereas Banks had no idea of Lady Hatcher's whereabouts. Last seen she was being all but pressed into a coach, and had been making a good deal of noise about it.

  “I believe you mentioned Sir Terrance's death as being in action,” the lieutenant governor said. “That is unfortunate. I presume a place of safety had been provided for him?”

  “Yes, Colonel. He was allocated quarters in the cable tier; his wife and staff were there and remained safe.”

  “But Sir Terrance did not stay?”

  “He came on deck upon hearing gunfire.”

  Robson nodded, apparently satisfied. “I did not know the man of course, but can understand such a draw. It is probably better that we say no more for now; there will doubtless be an official enquiry, but I am sure you did not take your ship to battle lightly. I am equally certain you cannot be held responsible; if a government official outside of your service chooses to place themselves in danger, well, then it must be on their own head.”

  Banks' feeling of relief grew; it was obvious that, despite its size and remote position, St Helena did not lack intelligent staff. The promise of an official enquiry hardly appealed, but that was more due to the time such a procedure was likely to take.

  “And the action, Sir Richard: it was conclusive?”

  “I am afraid not,” Banks confessed. “We ran into a battle squadron; three warships: a heavy French frigate and two corvettes. Over the space of several days I was able to severely damage the smaller craft, although the larger remains unharmed.”

  “And she is in the vicinity?”

  “Not sighted for some while, but the squadron was definitely heading south when first encountered.”

  The lieutenant governor gave a brief smile. “It seems that any ship within five hundred miles will find us eventually – indeed, there is precious little elsewhere to go.”

  “She is a large fifth rate, Colonel,” Banks told him. “But even if all three ships have survived, I doubt they could carry a sufficient force to threaten this island.”

  This time Robson laughed out loud. “Oh we do not fear invasion, Sir Richard,” he said lightly. “There are troops a plenty hereabouts, with artillery enough for a small war. And as only one beach is suitable for a landing, and that stays protected by more metal than is carried by one of your liners, we can remain relatively secure for some while.” His smile faded. “It is rather the oncoming shipping season that concerns me. Even alone, a powerful frigate would be a damnable nuisance, and three as you describe might cost us a small fortune. The Navy will sort it out, no doubt, although of late they have been inclined to rather abandon convoys further north. You could not meet her once more in your ship I suppose?”

  Banks' mind went back to that final deadly broadside; in some ways it was unfortunate that the action had not continued for longer. If Scylla had been able to inflict even some minor damage on the enemy he would feel a good deal more confident: as it was she had received, but not delivered. It was purely psychological, of course, but that, combined with the Frenchman's rate and accuracy of fire, had instilled an almost supernatural quality onto his adversary. And if that was his impression, he dared not consider what the lower deck, with their predilection for tall tales and superstition, would be making of it. Even now legends might be forming based on what was probably just another French warship that happened to get in a couple of quick and lucky strikes. “Of course I would be happy to take my ship to battle again,” he said, in as neutral a tone as he could manage. “But Scylla is badly damaged, and will require considerable repair before that can happen.”

  A tap at the side door interrupted any reply from Robson, and heralded another arrival. Banks was pleased to note it was the efficient official encountered earlier.

  “Ah, Henry, so glad you were able to join us,” the lieutenant governor said, standing up and indicating Banks. “I don't think I had the chance to make any official introductions before. Henry Booker, Secretary to the Council: Sir Richard Banks, Captain of his Britannic Majesty’s ship, Scylla.”

  The two men greeted each other formally and Banks was im
pressed by Booker's straightforward look and firm handshake. He was a man of late middle age, and on a station such as St Helena, might be considered to be at the end of his career. But Booker clearly had an alert mind and had already demonstrated both his efficiency and personal authority.

  “Henry has the office next door though spends much of his time in here with me. He has been indispensable since the departure of Governor Brooke,” Robson explained. “Frankly we have all been putting in long days, and were rather looking forward to a rest, though it appears we shall have to continue a while longer,” he added, awkwardly.

  “Forgive me for not arriving sooner, I have been entertaining Lady Hatcher,” Booker said, as all three sat down. “She was a mite upset, as I think you will have gathered.”

  “Sir Richard and I have discussed the matter briefly,” Robson murmured. “I think we can save anything further for the official enquiry.”

  “Of course,” Booker agreed. “I have settled the good lady at Plantation House. That is the governor's official country residence,” he explained to Banks. “The alternative was to have her here, and some distance seemed to be preferable in the circumstances.”

  All were in total agreement with the last point. Even to Banks it was patent that Lady Hatcher's presence at what was clearly the centre of government for the island could only be an embarrassment. He was also impressed that Booker had acted so quickly, and without bothering Robson. “She has her maid of course and Major Morris, of the Artillery, who was related to her late husband. He is with her now and doing a good job in keeping her calm. Be assured, she will not be neglected,” the secretary added with a degree of consideration, even though all were well aware that no one with such a personality as Lady Hatcher's could ever be condemned to such a fate.