‘I just hope you’re not planning to try and take back our ship in this.’
‘It’s all we’ve got,’ Harry sighed.
‘Christ, Capt’n,’ Pender spluttered, looking to the gods for support, ‘is this one you get a chance to volunteer for?’
Harry laughed, expecting that if he went Pender would be right behind him. It wasn’t something he thought he deserved, but it helped to lift some of the gloom which had overcome him since he’d guyed Villiers.
‘Strikes me,’ Pender continued, suddenly serious, ‘if we can’t surprise that Tressoir bastard we’ll get a hiding anyway. And that can only be done by getting up the river faster than the news that we’re about. In this thing they’ll know in Paris.’
‘Any suggestions you have will be most welcome.’
‘And what are we goin’ to do about him down below? He’s not about to take kindly to a cutting-out venture when he thinks we’re going after the Channel Fleet.’
Pender was about to continue when he caught the expression on Harry’s face, that look in his captain’s eye denoting that the brain was at work. He stayed quiet when Harry started speaking, aware that he was thinking out loud.
‘You said it and you’re right. We have to get upriver before he knows we’re there, preferably when he doesn’t think we’re coming. How would you defend against that? A lookout on St. Aubin means that no warship can get close enough to the estuary in clear weather without Tressoir being warned, even in foul weather. He’ll have a positive age to get ready to defend against them at Isigny.’
‘Not that sod, your honour,’ Pender snapped, not caring if he was breaking Harry’s train of thought. ‘He’ll have something well before, a surprise set before you get anywhere near our ship. He out-thought you the last time and you’ve got to guard against him doing the very same thing again.’
‘Which means, Pender, we have to conjure up a surprise for him, instead of him landing one on us.’
‘Well, if we arrive in the Good Intent he’ll be so surprised he’s like to faint.’
Harry grinned, although there had been little humour in Pender’s remark. ‘That’s right. What he won’t do is feel threatened.’
‘No,’ Pender replied, giving his captain a hard look. ‘That will be me!’
‘Take the wheel,’ said Harry softly.
When Pender obliged he went to the rail and started to pace up and down, head on his chest. No great distance was covered in this, since none was available. Every time a change of tack was needed he joined Flowers and Pender, leaving one of the two caretakers on the wheel. But as soon as the task was complete, he resumed his pacing. As the tide began to ebb, so the Good Intent found a bit more speed.
In some senses, he could hardly have been on a better river to indulge such thoughts. Though the Thames was huge compared to the River Vire, the tidal nature was very similar, with the fresh water flowing from inland, denied easy egress, rising and falling well over twelve feet even upstream of London Bridge. The Vire, and its tributary, the Aure, would enjoy the same effect. The brig sailed on past Herne Bay and Margate, with Harry only surfacing from his musings when they were abreast of Foreness Point.
They altered course, and retrimmed the sails to take the wind on her larboard quarter, sailed south-west past Ramsgate Roads, then luffed up to run through the Brake channel between the white cliffs and the northern point of the Goodwin Sands. Pender was watching Harry carefully. He knew him very well indeed, and reckoned he could rate the progress of the scheming that was going on by the number of lines on his captain’s forehead. It was with mixed feelings that he saw them clear, until by the time they entered the Deal roadstead Harry Ludlow was smiling, with not a crease to be seen on his brow.
‘So, Capt’n. What’s the answer?’
‘You provided the clue, Pender, when you said that we had to get upriver before he knew we’re about.’
‘And how do we do that?’
‘Centipedes,’ Harry replied.
‘What the hell are they?’
‘Something our good friend Tressoir will not have taken precautions against.’ Harry lifted his head to look at the great anchorage, ten miles of tethered ships. ‘They only exist in one part of the world, friend. And as luck would have it, we are at this very moment sailing right into it.’
Pitt had left Walmer Castle to return to London, but Lady Hester Stanhope was still in residence, engaged, as she continued to be while inviting them to dinner, in her task of turning the draughty castle into a decent home, and the gardens into something that would complement it as a residence.
‘My cousin receives no income from the Cinque Ports sinecure,’ she said, her annoyance clear on her face. ‘So all the funds he is expending are his own.’
‘Quite a burden,’ Harry replied. It was well known that Pitt wasn’t wealthy, a source of amazement to the honest and amusement to his more venal contemporaries. But that was a family trait. His father had cemented his reputation as the ‘Great Commoner’ by his refusal to act like his contemporaries and milk the public purse. ‘And I shall not add to that by the need to feed me,’ he continued. ‘I fear I must decline your kind invitation. My men will be aboard by now, but there is a great deal to do in the way of loading stores and water. Matters are at such a stand in the nation’s affairs that we must make what haste we can.’
Villiers cut in, pleading hunger. The green colour he’d had at sea was completely gone, and he was clearly attracted to the idea that he might get a chance to restore to his stomach all the contents it had so unceremoniously chucked through the scuttle. For once Harry was quite brusque, guessing that the lady before him was made of sterner stuff. The words she responded with proved that assumption to be correct.
‘How right you are, Captain Ludlow. The needs of the nation must take precedence.’
Seeing the crestfallen look on Villiers’s face, Harry relented a touch, but soon realised that it was for his own selfish reasons. Pender and Flowers had set out to find crew replacements. He needed time to check that they were numerous and of the right sort: he wanted men who’d been in a man-of-war at some time in their lives, preferably those who were bored by life in the merchant service. There was no actual shortage of hands, this being the place where merchant vessels took on and dropped off their deep-sea crews. Only the minimum of men necessary were taken into the River Thames, awash as it was with prize crews trawling for experienced seamen.
The question remained, would they sail with Harry Ludlow? Because of his need for centipedes, locals had to be avoided, which was a pity, since Harry had always enjoyed a high reputation amongst the Deal seafarers. He longed to know how much his recent losses had dented that standing. His assertion when insisting on itinerants, that only the addled-brained would be willing to serve with him now, brought forth a frown from Pender and laughter from Flowers, the latter at least keen to convince him that recruitment would be easy.
Both men would gild the lily, of course, and recruit on a promise of easy wealth just waiting to be plucked from a Frenchman’s grasp, and that under a captain who’d enjoyed great success in the past. The truth, that his luck was fickle, that they’d need exceptionally good fortune, and that men often died in pursuit of riches, would be glossed over. Thankfully, sailors were generally fatalistic types, from their calling prone to sudden expiry from weather and disease, so they were almost to a man easily tempted into adventure.
That seen to, he must make some calls, visits which of necessity Villiers could not share. Leaving him here would satisfy both the gnawing of the young man’s stomach and his own need for time free from his gaze.
‘That is not anything that need occupy you, Mr Villiers. We shall work through the hours of darkness so that we may weigh at first light. It would be better for our cause if that sharp brain of yours was granted a good night’s sleep, something you are unlikely to achieve in a ship taking on provisions.’
Gratitude shone from Villiers’s face. He hadn’t enjoyed
their little cruise from Faversham, and even if the Good Intent was now at a mooring and relatively stable, he couldn’t get aboard without an uncomfortable trip across the anchorage in an open boat, which would without doubt return him to his previous bilious condition.
‘I expect to see you by the Admiralty jetty at dawn.’
‘I shall be there, Captain Ludlow, never fear.’
His recruiting officers were as good as their word, and when Harry came back aboard it was to a vessel crowded with over forty men. The survivors from Bucephalas were there, too ashamed of the ship they now sailed to lord it over the two dozen new-comers. But that included three men who’d been wounded, and their keenness to serve after the fiasco in the waters off Normandy cheered him up.
He spoke to each new hand in turn, rejecting the services of four, who lied about navy service or failed to answer his questions in a straightforward manner. There was no room for shiftiness on this trip. He needed men who would obey him absolutely, and blend in easily with the existing crew.
‘We’ve got them here, Capt’n,’ said Pender, when he came back on deck. ‘The question is, do we know we’ll ever need ’em?’
‘I hope we will,’ Harry replied, going back over the side to his waiting boat. ‘Anyway, I’ll know soon.’
‘When?’
‘The very next time you see me.’
Naomi Smith gave Harry a direct look that made him feel very uncomfortable. She had a habit of pushing her cheek out with her tongue before she said something that might be disturbing. Even that could not spoil her looks: slightly pale, cornflower-blue eyes and even features.
‘I wondered when I heard you’d returned if you’d bother to call.’
Harry had felt distinctly odd since he’d come through the door of the Griffin’s Head, as if he was visiting a place that only still existed in his dreams. Sitting opposite Naomi had only added to that. Now, as he heard her utter those words, he was very close to blushing. Having been his lover for years, she knew him too well. He was sure that she would see in his eyes the truth; that only a need of the most desperate kind could have brought him to this place.
‘Your brother James came in to tell me you’d had some troubles. How is the wound?’
‘Improving by the hour.’
‘He also hinted that my lease might be mortgaged. Considering that you were at Cheyne Court on your own, recuperating, I had expected you to tell me the rights and wrongs of that yourself.’
‘I’m afraid it has. So has the house. In fact, everything I own. I’m not the man of parts I once was.’
She smiled, the tongue poking her cheek again. ‘You don’t need money to be a man of parts, Harry Ludlow.’
There was a slightly unreal quality in this, talking as a near stranger to someone with whom you’d been intimate. Harry was normally the kind of man to avoid entanglements, the life he led precluding such things. Naomi, a widow and a tenant, had fulfilled a need for several years, seemingly happy in a relationship that left both parties free from strain. That had come to an end under the pressure of events, and this was the first real conversation he’d had with her since that parting. Added to that, he had no idea how much James had told her about his troubles. He decided that if she didn’t mention Hyacinthe Feraud neither would he, to avoid the need to explain himself, and for the misery explanations would induce.
‘That’s a very kind thing to say.’
She leant across and laid a hand over his, an act which didn’t pass unnoticed by the other taproom customers. ‘I bear you no ill will, Harry, I hope you know that.’
Something in her eyes made her statement suspect, and Harry realised that intimacy was a two-way thing, that he knew her just as well as she knew him. Not that he thought she bore him a grudge. But he did feel that there was something more behind the words, something she wanted to say but couldn’t.
‘I’ve come to ask you for a favour.’
‘Then perhaps if I can grant it, you will oblige me with a favour of your own.’
‘Which would be?’
Naomi hesitated, clearly debating if she should speak, or force Harry to do so. ‘I wondered why, if you needed money, you didn’t offer me the Griffin’s Head.’
‘That would have been a permanent loss to me. Did James not tell you? My problems are temporary. Once I have cashed in my American investments, I intend to pay off all my loans.’
James obviously hadn’t told her, judging by the look of disappointment that crossed her face. But she composed herself quickly, and looked him directly in the eye.
‘What favour is it that you are after?’
‘Centipedes.’
She was shocked enough to sit back sharply, but sensible enough to keep her voice low. ‘What makes you think that’s something I have in my gift?’
‘You’re a beautiful woman, Naomi, and that means people notice you. They also talk, and while I’m not one to take cognizance of everything I hear, neither do I shut my ears to what might be on the edge of credibility.’
‘I don’t have any centipedes, Harry, whatever you’ve heard.’
She was involved in smuggling, but to what degree he didn’t really know. In this part of the world it was an industry not an occasional indulgence, and as the owner of an inn on one of the routes to Canterbury and London she knew everybody who mattered.
‘No. But I dare say you know where they are kept hidden.’
Her first instinct was denial, but the words died in her throat when she saw Harry’s smile. There was no use pretending to him. He knew better. Her own late husband had been a smuggler. He would know she had spirits in her cellar and cloth in her loft that had come ashore without being taxed. And how many meetings had taken place in this very room at which scarce luxury goods had been ordered by the London vendors, cut off by the war from their French suppliers?
There were dozens of vessels engaged in the trade. But the supreme vessel of the smuggling art, so successful they were actually banned by the authorities, was the centipede, a 24-oared rowing galley so fast that it could make the journey to the French coast, on a calm night, in just over two hours. They were particularly prized for carrying gold, which was worth twice as much in France as it was in England. One trip could net a fortune, as long as the men making it could get in past the excise the contraband their gold had purchased.
‘I don’t suppose there’s much point in my asking why you want them?’
‘None,’ Harry replied, kindly.
‘I know who has the use of them, if the name will help.’
‘It won’t. I want the boats, and I doubt the people who own them would be willing to lend them out.’
‘You could offer to buy them, pay the money to build new ones.’
‘I don’t have the means. So I will need to borrow them.’
‘That could get you killed, Harry,’ she said anxiously.
‘A chance I’m prepared to take.’ It was Harry’s turn to lay his hand on hers, which added knowing nods to the expressions of the curious onlookers. ‘And you have nothing to fear, Naomi. Who would ever guess that I would come here, to see you, in order to ask you that?’
‘My lease?’
‘The freehold of the Griffin’s Head will be my gift to you, with access to the road, if the task for which I want the boats is successful.’
There were no guards on the Church of St Leonard’s, Upper Deal, even though the boats, judged to be priceless for what they could achieve, lay inside. For those who knew the location, the local smugglers, were in the main to be respected. If they couldn’t command respect they worked through fear and intimidation, practising on the local excisemen as well as the populace. The Cinque Ports magistrates, blood relatives or business associates, needed no such strictures: unless the government engaged in one of its periodic crackdowns they represented the law, so the smugglers operated with near impunity.
But precautions still had to be taken. So the galleys, wide enough for two men to sit together, and with
a low freeboard, were stood upright behind giant decorated screens at the back of the church, their twenty-four oars lashed inside. Entering the building proved no problem to Pender, but moving the screens silently was really difficult. The smugglers had to get the boats down, out, and into the water in record time, and the double doors of the church, why they were there in the first place, worked in Harry’s favour. The local clergy were carefully chosen souls content to take unexcised brandy as a reward for their cooperation, and they would turn a blind eye to such activities.
The street outside was wide enough to swing the boats round, and the road to Deal proper, dotted with silent red-brick farmhouses, presented no difficulty. Likewise the alleys they chose that led to the sea were amongst the broadest in the town. With two dozen men on each, they ran through them, which caused no surprise since it was, if not commonplace, not astonishing. On the shingle they tipped the boats on to their keels and ran them down into the water, the men jumping into them as soon as they floated and grabbing the oars to propel them out to sea.
The Good Intent was at single anchor, sails loosely furled ready to be dropped. The centipedes were lashed to each other then tied on to the boat davits, as the majority of Harry’s scratch crew worked frantically on the capstan to get her over the anchor. Harry was at the gangway, handing the two caretakers a letter, and pressing enough coins into their hands to mollify them, urging them into the jolly boat.
‘I don’t care how much you drink tonight, or how many whores you try to bed. But be at the Admiralty jetty at first light. Mr Villiers will be there. Give him this.’
Game of Bones Page 27
