The Torrid Zone (The Fighting Sail Series)

by Alaric Bond

  Next the dockyard superintendent appeared at the entry port and climbed cautiously up the quarterdeck ladder. Banks stopped his pacing and swung round to address him directly. “Well, Mr Brady?”

  “We've started to flood the barge, sir,” he said, clearly taken by surprise and touching his forehead awkwardly. Noticing the gesture Banks decided that he had been wrong about the man not having sea experience: such an instinctive reaction indicated time spent in the Royal Navy. Just why he had left was a mystery of course; he may have been laid off, or might conceivably be a deserter; but whatever his reasons, Brady definitely lacked the mildly contemptuous attitude that many of his profession adopted when dealing with a post captain, especially one so dependant upon him. His deference might be down to something else, however. What they were about to attempt could so very easily end in disaster, in which case it would be better for him to be on good terms with Banks.

  “I set the men to fixing additional cleats last night,” Brady continued hastily. “There are plenty enough now, as well as chocking points, if they be needed. And the barge is as sound as a bell – she were hauled out an' filled with water yesterday evenin'.”

  “You have done more than could have been expected,” Banks told him. “Especially when there are other vessels under your charge.”

  The superintendent gave a brief laugh and seemed to relax. “Oh, we'd far rather be dealing with you than Cap'n Walker's little lot at present,” he added in an outburst of familiarity. “They got a female passenger aboard who's askin' for the world with ribbons on. Makin' 'em run about like headless chickens, she is; I wouldn't want to spend the next few weeks with that as company.”

  Banks was in two minds about the news that Lady Hatcher had decided to return to England in the packet. On one hand he was delighted to be rid of her. As far as he was aware, she had hardly set foot outside of the governor's country house, but even so her vague presence had shed an uncomfortable shadow over the whole island. Her absence also effectively ruled out any possibility of a court of enquiry on St Helena itself. But that did not mean that a future investigation would not take place at all; indeed, it was far more likely the Board of Directors in London would insist upon it. And even if he were exonerated, there was also the small matter of a threatened court martial. He could not be sure what influence the woman wielded at the Admiralty but, without his father's support, he himself had very little. She might not even need to be successful; just by stirring matters up his name would be blackened sufficiently with those in authority, causing considerable harm to any future naval career.

  There was a movement from the stern that diverted Banks' thoughts just when they were in danger of becoming morbid. He looked back to see the carpenter's head appear over the taffrail. In a few agile movements the man swung himself over, before standing on the quarterdeck and smacking the dust from his hands.

  “Mr King sent me to tell you the rudder's free, sir!” he said, beaming broadly at Banks and Brady.

  The deck was at an angle, half her guns had been moved, and now warrant officers were springing over the side like monkeys; Scylla was turning into something between a construction site and a circus, but there was no doubting the positive attitude, and Banks knew only too well that such a thing could move mountains.

  “Very good, then you may begin to secure the barge, Mr Brady,” he said, before continuing to pace uphill once more.

  * * *

  “You may as well transfer to the shore,” Manning said cautiously, there being some doubt in his mind that she would want to join him. “They will be a week or more working on the ship and, if anything, this accursed angle shall only increase.”

  “Ashore?” Kate asked. “Would that be permitted?”

  “I am the surgeon, and in overall charge of the medical team,” Manning reminded her without humour. “It is for me to say, and I think you will be the better for some time on land.”

  “You make it sound as though I am ill,” she said then, realising there was to be no reply, added: “And probably you have every reason to think so.”

  Manning studied her for a moment. There was, perhaps, a slight change in her countenance; a hint, no more, that the dark veil she had worn for far too long might finally be lifting. Perhaps, but he could not be certain.

  “I have splendid quarters, which Mr Booker is happy for us to share,” he said at last. “And believe you will get on well with his daughter.”

  “Then that sounds very nice; thank you, Robert,” she replied crisply. “And will Sir Richard and Sarah be there?”

  “They are staying a few miles off with the lieutenant governor,” Manning told her. He knew that Kate and the captain's wife had been good friends for the entire voyage. And even afterwards, when Lady Banks had discovered herself pregnant, she had not apparently been affected although her petulance had certainly increased. But then Kate had changed in so many ways since they had lost their own child that he could no longer be certain of anything. Except, of course, that the woman who stood in front of him now was not the same person he had married.

  She had definitely grown more severe in her manner, and was also far more irritable. Never one to suffer fools gladly, her reaction to minor annoyances were liable to become even more extreme of late. And yet, on other occasions, a far more major set back might be ridden out with almost inappropriate good humour. He wondered which was to be the case now and outwardly regarded her with more than a little care, while deep inside mourning the loss of the woman he had loved.

  “I should be allowed to see her, though?” There was a strange, yet familiar glint in her eye, and Manning was suddenly hopeful.

  “The captain's wife? Why yes, I see no reason why not. I'm sure she would appreciate your company.”

  “Well I would understand if it were to be otherwise,” Kate replied instantly. “She must feel uncomfortable, having me around; almost as if I might be an omen of ill luck.” He went to speak, but she stopped him. “Oh, and don't think that Sarah is in anyway to blame; I have said all the right things, of course and tried to play the part of friend and nurse. And I sincerely want nothing but the best for them both,” She looked at him intently, her eyes imploring his belief. “But she must know that I cannot help but resent their happiness deeply.”

  “It is natural that you would,” he said. Then, greatly daring: “and natural that you may have been not quite yourself of late.”

  Her eyes rested on him. “Robert, have I been so very much the bore?” she asked.

  “Perhaps not always the easiest to deal with,” he confessed. “Yet you had every reason to be so and no one has cast blame, of that I am certain.”

  “Yet Sarah has picked up on it,” she said, almost to herself. “And there must be others.”

  “Everyone who matters knows what you have been through, and all understand.”

  “And you; you must understand better than any of them; especially as it was your child that was lost as well as mine.”

  “I am not a mother,” he shrugged. “It is different.”

  She shook her head. “There was still no excuse, and I am sincerely sorry.”

  Without speaking the two drew close, and soon she was in his arms again, and they embraced properly for the first time since the child had died. A loud and ominous creak sounded from somewhere deep inside the bowels of the ship and as they drew apart the deck took on a slightly deeper angle.

  “Heavens, listen to that,” she said smiling more sweetly now, and still holding his upper arms in her hands. “We must be away, else the ship starts breaking apart about us.”

  “You are sure you wish to go?” he asked.

  “Oh yes, I had thought us to be moving, so have already packed my bag. We can collect it from our cabin on the way.”

  She leant forward and pecked him quickly on the cheek. “I am sorry for what has been,” she said. “And how I behaved.”

  “There is nothing to apologise for,” he told her gently. “You were in mourning; ind
eed we both were, and will be for some time to come.”

  “That is it exactly; it was a shared thing, yet I was taking everything on myself, and almost punishing you.”

  He reached up and placed his finger across her still quivering lip. “No more for now,” he told her. “It is good that we have spoken, and indeed I think we should do so again, but first let us depart.”

  As he turned she naturally took his arm and, for the first time in what seemed like an age, the two walked out of the sick bay truly as a couple.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Three days later, when Banks and King stood on the small wharf looking back at Scylla, their precious ship was not in the most elegant of positions. Brady's barge had proved ideal for the work: pumped dry, and secured under her transom, the warship's stern was now raised by several feet. However the extra buoyancy, together with her emptied holds and a selective movement of ordinance forward gave the frigate a dramatically prow-heavy attitude. The bows were pretty much submerged to the hawse holes, while her rear was proffered up in a most inelegant manner. Her lie would offend the rawest of seamen, whilst even a casual observer would have to look twice to be sure she was not in the act of sinking. But however extreme the measures taken, there was one major redeeming factor: the damage below the waterline was now accessible. It might not be possible to replace the entire wounded futtock frame, but additional strengthening timber was already bolted alongside, and soon a proper job would be made of her scantlings and spirketting. The carpenter and his team had been at work almost continually and a deep void was now visible to one side, exposing the frigate's innards, and adding further to her indignities. There was no way of telling how much longer the business would take, but Evans had risen to the challenge with all the energy and commitment a captain might have wished for, and Banks was content that no one could see the job finished sooner.

  “Michael Caulfield seemed strangely eager to stay aboard.” The captain's voice was low and his tone informal; it was hard to maintain quarterdeck authority when their ship was little more than a wreck; besides, he and the young lieutenant had been shipmates for many years.

  “Perchance he is more content there than ashore,” King replied neutrally. It had been agreed that each of Scylla's three commissioned officers would take turns to remain with the ship at night, but Caulfield had volunteered for the first trick, and was apparently content to remain. Even after that day's excitement, when the French frigate had been spotted offshore, and remained visible for some while, backing and filling in the stiff offshore breeze, he had shown no reluctance to be left. Scylla was safe enough under the protection of the shore batteries: a full moon would rise shortly after dark and the watch keepers on land were confident of sighting even the smallest vessel by its light. Still, each evening Banks and King had been loath to depart, and on this occasion it was harder still. Stripped of most of her crew and set at such an extreme angle, the ship felt a strange and dangerous place: not somewhere to leave a friend for the dark hours, especially when an enemy lurked near by. And King's reluctance was always tempered by the fact that he was secretly spending his time ashore in Julia's private rooms, and had every intention of doing the same again that very evening.

  His relationship with the young woman had panned out in almost exactly the manner he had predicted, although that did not stop him from keeping an eye on his superior, as far as her affections were concerned. Caulfield might be older, and far more crusty in his ways but, as the executive officer of a frigate, he had a good deal more status than any junior lieutenant. And it was obvious to him that, on the rare occasions they had been together since the trip to Sandy Bay, she enjoyed Caulfield's company, even if they disagreed on certain points.

  There were no such differences between King and Julia however; they got along together splendidly. As a sailor, he was used to forming quick relationships, and she had proved equally adept. Even after so short a time, King felt a strong bond was forming between them. In the last few days they had talked much, laughed often and would soon, his young mind blithely predicted, become lovers. He didn't seriously think that an older, and slightly balding widower who held mildly radical views would take her away from him, although still felt a guilty relief that Caulfield had once more chosen to remain aboard.

  Strangely King did not regard his own marital status as a disadvantage. A foreign wife who lived well over five thousand miles away and had already shown herself to be independent of him need not be an obstacle. He had no knowledge of the intricacies of such procedures, and it was not something he could enquire of Fraiser, Manning or any of his other usual advisers, but in his naïvety it seemed obvious that there would be ways by which the marriage could be annulled, and the term 'deed of separation' came readily to mind. And even if not, he thought Julia would be content to stay on the island as his mistress. Such an arrangement was not uncommon, besides someone in her position could hardly be shunned from local society when for so long she had been an important part of it. King would be quite prepared to make allowances himself, of course – he could not expect Julia to make all the sacrifices. The first step would be to resign his commission, then once more apply for employment with the East India Company. It might not be the best of career moves for an active young man, but with the threat of court martial hanging over his head, the option was certainly worth considering. Given time, luck, and the right connections he could eventually progress to take Julia's father's post, live in the house where he now lodged, and spend the rest of his life on the island that had won his heart as much as any young woman. It was a future that appealed and, in his current mood, seemed well within reach.

  “Do you think we will see any more of the Frenchman today?” King asked, breaking the silence that had lasted for some while.

  “I doubt it, and the anchorage is well protected if we do,” Banks grunted. “What worries me more are the other vessels.”

  “The corvettes?” King was surprised; the two accompanying ships had stayed further out to sea, but must be of little danger to Scylla, compared to a heavy frigate. “You surely are not contemplating an attack by fireship?” he asked finally. Such a ruse was not unknown, but normally would only be used against a mass of moored shipping. Apart from Scylla, there were only small craft and fishing vessels at the anchorage.

  Banks shook his head. “No, but I secretly wonder if they are what we think. You remember the action? One was left pretty much a wreck, yet this morning two were sighted, and both seemed to be sailing sprightly enough.”

  “The second was indistinct,” the younger man reminded him.

  “And stayed further out to sea,” Banks agreed. “Yet the other came in almost as close as the frigate, and both were annoying the shore batteries for some while.”

  “Is that so unusual?” King asked. “They seemed to be sounding out the island's outer defences; surely that is pretty standard practice when dealing with unknown gun emplacements?”

  “So why did the French not use all three vessels?”

  King said nothing; it was a question he had not even considered. The third ship might certainly have been weakened in the earlier action, and ordered to stay on the horizon although, as the captain had stated, she seemed to be sailing quick enough.

  “How about if she were unarmed?” Banks suggested.

  “Unarmed?”

  “Unarmed, and not, in fact a warship. I should say the badly damaged corvette was either sent back for repair, or sunk after the action.”

  King was about to ask of the other when the answer came to him like the cold wave of sudden sickness. “And you think the far off sighting might have been the Company packet?” he asked, appalled.

  “I do; it is strange that those on watch did not recognise her, but she were a long way off, and thought to be several hundred miles north of here.”

  That was quite true; the service vessel had left more than three days before. She was fast and reputed to be well handled, but some mixture of ill luck and timin
g might easily have led her to be taken.

  “So the French may well hold Lady Hatcher,” King said slowly, his voice notably free of concern.

  Banks nodded; for the last few months the governor's widow had been a blight on his very existence and even now, when she had officially left the scene, the woman continued to haunt him. Silently he wondered if he would ever be free of her.

  Thoughts of the capture had led him to consider other implications. For a ship as fast as the packet to be caught implied an element of surprise, in which case the transport's captain could easily have been remiss in ditching the confidential papers. So, in addition to his nemesis, the French might also have his carefully worded report. There was nothing so terribly damaging there, but news of Sir Terrance's death would inevitably be delayed for even longer, and that would hardly improve its eventual reception in London.

  On the other hand he had been given time and, in theory at least, a golden opportunity to put matters right. He need only take Scylla to sea and defeat the French to make all well again, although that would be no easy task. A single French frigate would be problem enough; the presence of another armed corvette must add to his worries considerably while a captured transport, especially one likely to be carrying the widow of an important government official, could only confuse matters further.

  The first of many lanthorns was being lit aboard Scylla. Time was still very much the enemy, and work would continue throughout the night, with the carpenter's team, as well as those hands who had associated skills, standing double tides until it was completed. But the fact that dusk was falling brought a slight chill to the air and, without reference to the other, both men turned to begin the long walk back to the town proper.

  There was no doubting the departure of Lady Hatcher had made the island a far friendlier place. Like King, Banks had worries in England and he was also developing a strange affection for this tiny community set in the middle of nowhere. Knowing that a child was due, and family life would soon begin, had altered his own thinking considerably. For the first time in his naval career he wondered if being a man-of-war's captain was really the correct occupation for one with other responsibilities. Unlike King, he could not imagine spending his days in a place so isolated, though the reminder that normal, domestic life did exist, and could even be open to one such as him, was timely indeed.