‘As your friend, I think I must. In my opinion—’
‘I do not want your opinion!’ Banging down his glass and standing up. His chair fell backwards with a clatter. ‘You are determined to take Blewitt’s side because you wish my private venture to fail! You wish me to come crawling back to the navy on my knees, and beg for employment like some snivelling halfwit scullion! Damnation to that!’
‘James, James, my dear friend . . .’ Rennie, very shocked. ‘I have nothing but your best interest at heart, whichever course your career may take. I have no wish to thwart you in anything.’
‘Hah!’ Fiercely. ‘Then why did you insist on taking me in your boat to Bucklers Hard?’ Before Rennie could reply: ‘I will tell you why, exact! Because you wished to belittle the whole enterprise, condemn my ship out of hand, and make me see the error of my ways! Nay, do not deny it!’
‘Good God, I had no such motive. You are mistook. Wholly mistook.’
‘Did you call for me, sir?’ Colley Cutton, coming in with a tray. ‘Only I has the first remove, piping hot broff, sir. I had great difficulty in persuading the cook Mr Swallow to return to his duty so late, but he has done so.’ He carried the tray to the table, and set down two bowls of steaming broth. Neither officer said a word. Silently, dutifully, Cutton retrieved James’s chair, and held it behind him. ‘Will you be seated, sir?’
Very stiffly James sat down, and allowed Cutton to push the chair comfortably in under him. ‘There we are, sir.’
Opposite James, Rennie allowed himself to relax a little. He took up his spoon.
Timbers creaked as the ship rode a swell and eased in a slight drift to leeward at her mooring. Reflected light rinsed bright across the deck head from the stern gallery window.
Rennie addressed his broth, dipping, blowing upon, then sucking at the brimming spoon. James sat mute and unmoving. Cutton waited, and when Rennie looked up and flicked his eyes toward the door, the steward took his tray and departed, closing the door softly behind him. Rennie sucked up another spoonful of broth. James sat still, his hands resting in his lap. Presently:
‘I beg your pardon, sir.’
‘Nay, nay, it was nothing at all.’ Rennie, dismissively.
‘As your guest in the ship I have behaved abominably bad, and I am very sorry.’
‘I am at my ease, entire.’ Rennie smiled, and shook his head, his eyes closed. A further spoonful of broth.
‘I am thoroughly ashamed of myself.’ James looked at his own broth without appetite, then blurted: ‘Catherine and I are to part.’
‘What?’ Rennie put down his spoon and stared across the table.
James pushed his bowl away. Broth slopped and rode and spilled on the cloth.
‘Ay.’ A sigh. ‘It has come to that between us.’ Quietly.
‘Oh, my dear fellow, I am so very sorry for you both.’ Sincerely.
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘I should never have thought it possible.’
‘It has not happened all at once. But we have now reached an impasse, I believe. We are quite out of sympathy one with the other, and there is no way forward, nor back, neither.’
‘I wish there was something I could say, James, or some kindness I could do for you. Perhaps – after our little exchange this afternoon – I had better say nothing.’
‘You may say anything you wish, sir. Anything at all. I could not think less of myself than I do at this moment.’
‘Nay, do not punish yourself. And never think that I would wish to. If ever I say things that seem to you clumsy, or interfering, or ill-judged – then all I am guilty of is a fervent desire for your success and happiness. We have served together many years, we have seen and been obliged to do terrible things and known much hardship and danger, and you have never failed me. You are my truest and dearest friend, before God.’
‘You do me a great kindness by saying that, and I thank you for it, and echo it.’
‘Hm. Hm.’ He cleared his wind. ‘There is no possibility that things might come right between you and Catherine, given time?’
‘I fear not.’ A breath, and he shook his head. ‘I will not burden you with my private troubles.’
‘If it will help you to speak of them – I am here.’
‘Thank you, sir. I do not think it will help.’
‘No? Ah. Well.’ Rennie waited.
James sat silent a few moments, then looked across the table, and:
‘I had thought she was the most faithful and loving wife a man could hope to have – and in course as you know I do not deserve her.’
‘How so?’
‘I was not faithful myself. That affair in France . . .’
‘Men are men.’ A shrug. ‘Most of us fail in these things, and you had strayed in Jamaica, as I recall, long before France . . .’
‘Oh, that. That was nothing, a foolishness. I had forgot all about it. But what happened in France was a love affair, that I felt very deep.’
A sniff. ‘Did Catherine know anything of what happened in France?’
‘Nay, nothing, I am quite certain. But I was burdened with sorrow, and guilt.’
Rennie regarded James a moment, and wondered if he should ask his next question. Presently:
‘You said just now that you had thought Catherine was the most loving and faithful wife. Do not take offence, but had you any reason to change that view?’
‘She took to a life of gaiety and pleasure, and I did not like it, always rushing off to Lyme, or Bath, with her friend Mrs Swanton. Meeting great throngs of worthless, purposeless people, idle gossipmongers and their silken fripperies. People with too much money and nothing to do but waste it, taking the air, taking the waters, going to the play.’ Dourly.
‘But . . . had you any – particular intelligence?’
‘Intelligence?’ A glance, a frown.
‘I see that you had.’
‘Well, there is a fellow. I’ve never met him, or seen him, only heard of him. Bradley Dight.’ Scowling.
‘No, don’t know the name.’
‘Nor did I. Never heard of him at all, until a few weeks ago.’
‘You had reason to suspect him of making advances to her?’
‘A strong suspicion.’
‘What sparked it?’ Sharply.
‘I found a letter.’
‘A letter? From him to her?’
‘No no. From her friend Mrs Swanton.’
‘And his name was mentioned specific, in this letter?’
‘Very specific, and I knew then that Catherine had met this fellow, and quite deliberately said nothing to me about it. About him. In fact she denied it, at first.’
‘At first?’
‘When I confronted her. And she had hid his calling card among her private things. I found that, too.’
‘Will you tell me what the letter said, exact?’
‘That he was a very handsome fellow, and that Mrs Swanton proposed to introduce him to Catherine, very soon.’
‘Nothing more? No other letters? Notes? Billets-doux?’
‘No.’
Rennie sniffed, then: ‘I fear I must ask a very direct question, James. Again, pray do not take offence.’ A breath. ‘Do you and Catherine still share the marital bed, as a couple?’
James looked quickly at Rennie, not quite a glare, then he looked away, and very subdued: ‘Nay, we do not. Not for months.’
‘Hm. I thought not. You have neglected her, and she has not unnaturally sought comfort elsewhere . . .’
‘There!’ Bursting out. ‘You think the same thing! That they are lovers! Any man would think it, in my position!’
‘Nay, I don’t.’ Calmly, but firmly. ‘I think that like any beautiful young woman who feels herself neglected by her husband Catherine was flattered by the attention paid to her by a handsome young man – but nothing more. Mrs Swanton introduced them, and he left his card. If there had been anything more, you would have found more, I think. Trinkets, gifts, billets-doux. I do not b
elieve she has strayed, nor committed hot-fleshed treason. She wished merely to warm herself in the glow of life, after everything she had suffered.’
‘What? D’y’mean the loss of our son? What had she suffered that I had not?’
‘James, my dear friend, I know that you have suffered much else beside.’ Sincerely, leaning forward. ‘That poor wounded wretch you was obliged to shoot dead to end his agony, your first command at sea. I know that cut you to the quick, and made ye doubt your fitness ever to be a sea officer again. Then you lost your only son, and Catherine herself nearly died. And then . . . there was France.’ Sadly, quietly: ‘I think that both you and Catherine needed to be healed and renewed, together. Perhaps you should have gone with her to Lyme, and Bath, and to London even. Gaiety and pleasure ain’t a sin, you know.’
‘Sir, I think you do not – cannot – understand everything that has happened. It ain’t just Bradley Dight, even if he is not her lover. For weeks and months Catherine has sought to breach the trust and understanding that once bound us together. She refused to answer any and all of my careful questions about her activity, she did nothing to disabuse me of my increasing misgiving, nothing. In truth she fanned the flames deliberate. She provoked me. When I am her husband, that had every right.’
‘Every right – to what?’ Gently.
‘To demand answers to my questions, to pursue her.’
‘Ah. Hm. Like a magistrate, d’y’mean?’ Again, not harshly.
‘No no, nothing like. Not at all.’
‘Ah. Well.’ Quietly.
‘I – I may have spoke harsh on occasion, when I was most vexed with her. But she would never address my questions honest and direct. She sought always to deflect my purpose, to obfuscate and dissemble and discommode me at every turn.’
‘Hm. Poor Catherine.’
‘Poor Catherine . . .’ James’s face clouded, and began to be very angry with Rennie. And then he checked himself. He looked away toward the stern-gallery window, and bit his tongue. Presently, in a quiet and reasonable tone, Rennie:
‘You had not considered, I expect, that she felt herself hounded, poor girl? Under the circumstances, had not she the right to remain silent, to refuse to submit? And had not you considered, in addition, that your own feelings of guilt was behind much of your suspicion of her, James?’
‘My own guilt? You think so . . . ? Well, perhaps I may have pursued her too sedulous, on occasion . . .’
‘I think perhaps ye did.’ A sigh, raised eyebrows, a little nod.
‘You are anxious to find fault with me today, sir.’ A grimace, and he dipped his head.
‘I am anxious to do nothing of the kind, James.’ Kindly. ‘I wish to see you and Catherine reconciled, that is my sole motive.’ Another nod. ‘I wonder, now – will you permit an old friend to intercede in this?’
‘Twice in one day, sir . . . you will like to intercede in my behalf?’
‘Oh, forget about Blewitt for the present. Ninety pound is nothing at all – compared to your wife and her happiness.’
‘You are very patient and good. But I fear you can do no good in this, sir. Our life together is broke in fragments, and they lie scattered on hard and bitter ground.’
‘Will not you let me make the attempt, in least?’
‘How? What will you say to her?’
A brief glance. ‘Leave that to me – will you?’
A hailing shout now on deck, the sound of a boat approaching, and accompanying commands.
‘Oars!’ The bumping and nudging of the boat alongside.
‘Who the devil is that?’ Rennie stood up, pushing back his chair. ‘Sentry!’
The Marine sentry put his head in the door. ‘Sir?’
‘Pass the word to Mr Leigh – nay, I had better go on deck myself. That is a launch or a barge, if I am not mistook, carrying a senior personage. James, will you excuse me?’
‘By all means.’ Standing up politely.
‘Or better still . . . come on deck with me. Let us see who it is together, hey?’
‘Oh, but I am not in uniform. I am only a guest.’
‘Uniform or not, you are a sea officer, RN, and you have every right to stand at my side on the quarterdeck of a ship of war. Come on, then.’ And he jerked his head toward the door, took up his hat and sword, and strode out.
Coming up the side ladder into Expedient – as Rennie and James appeared on deck – were Mr Brough Mappin, and the newly knighted Admiral Sir David Hollister, vice-admiral of the white and commander of the Channel Fleet. They had come together in the admiral’s barge from his flag, HMS Vanquish, one hundred. The admiral was in dress coat, and stooped though he was he cut a striking figure in his cockaded hat and gold lace. Mr Mappin was dressed today in blue. Captain Rennie came forward to greet them as they were piped aboard. A line of Marines had been hastily assembled by their officer, Lieutenant Harcher. As he passed him, Captain Rennie murmured:
‘Where is your hat, Mr Harcher? You have forgot your hat, sir.’
And moving beyond the hapless officer, and removing his own hat, Rennie formally welcomed the visitors aboard. James hung back and kept out of the way, in spite of what Rennie had said about his having the right to be present on the quarterdeck.
The party went aft to the great cabin, and James remained on deck.
‘I do not belong here any more.’ To himself.
An officer shrugging into an undress coat approached. ‘Is it Hayter? Lieutenant James Hayter?’ James turned, and recognised him.
‘Mr Leigh.’
‘I had heard you were aboard, but I was detained – business in the hold, you know – else I should have saluted you before this. I am just going below to the great cabin, we have important guests. Do not you join us there?’
‘Nay, I – I think not. I wonder, Mr Leigh, if you will do me a kindness? I notice the jollyboat is moored astern. D’y’suppose you could spare me two men to take me ashore?’
‘Yes, yes, in course, I expect it can be arranged.’ Puzzled. ‘But ain’t you the captain’s guest, though? I had understood—’
‘I am wanted ashore urgently.’ Over him, and glancing at his pocket watch. ‘It is later than I’d thought. Be a good fellow and haul in the jollyboat, will you?’
‘As you wish.’
And James went quietly and quickly ashore, without making his farewells to Rennie. In spite of his friend’s wish to help, James felt that he could not impose himself on Rennie any longer, and that he must now take charge of his responsibilities, and make the best of his circumstances, alone.
‘Else I am not my own man – nor even a man at all.’
*
‘Brandy, if you have it?’ Admiral Hollister with a nod, in reply to Rennie’s question. He sat down at the table, glancing round the great cabin. Without being asked, or even noticing what he did, he took Rennie’s chair at the head of the table. Rennie and Mr Mappin sat down, facing each other across the table.
Rennie, to his steward: ‘Brandy, Cutton.’ And to his other guest: ‘For you, Mr Mappin?’
‘Nothing, thankee.’
‘Nothing at all?’ A frown of surprise.
‘Nay, I take nothing before six in the evening.’
‘Ah, well well.’ He became aware of Colley Cutton’s head immediately behind his own, whispering. Irritably, sotto voce:
‘What?’
‘Hair his no hrandy hin the hip, hir.’
‘Well well, bring us – bring us wine, then.’ Turning in apology the admiral: ‘Unfortunately, sir, I regret to have to tell you that—’
‘Yes yes, I heard your steward. Madeira, if you have that.’
‘Madeira, Cutton. Jump now.’ And as his steward departed: ‘Gentlemen, I am at your service.’
‘Let us wait for our wine, and then to business, hey?’
Rennie glanced across at Mr Mappin, saw no indication of what that business might be, then inclined his head to the admiral.
‘Very good, sir.’
> The admiral again looked round the cabin, and he nodded. ‘Yes, frigates. They are austere little ships. I have grown used to comfort, I confess. Is that a good thing, I wonder?’
‘Sir?’
‘It is fitting that frigate officers should live austere, though. It keeps you alert, and ready for anything you may be called upon to do, at a moment’s notice.’
‘Indeed, sir. Just so.’
Their wine came. Aside to Cutton, Rennie: ‘Find Mr Hayter, or send a boy to find him, and ask him with my compliments to join us in the great cabin.’
‘But he hain’t in the ship no longer, sir.’ Pouring wine.
‘What? Nonsense. Go and find—’
‘He has gone ashore, sir, hin the jollyboat.’
‘Good God, why? – Forgive me, sir.’ Rennie, to the admiral. ‘Ship’s business, you know.’
‘Did I hear you say the name Hayter, Captain Rennie?’
‘Well, you did, sir. He was my guest in the ship, but he . . . he has evidently took himself ashore.’
‘Was not he your first, in an earlier commission?’
‘He was, sir, yes. In several commissions.’
‘But no longer? Yes, now I recall. He has got his own command, in course. The Harrier, cutter, ten guns.’
‘Hawk, sir. That was sold out of the service. Mr Hayter is presently on the beach.’
‘And who is your first, now?’
‘Lieutenant Merriman Leigh, sir.’
‘I am surprised ye did not ask for Hayter again, when you made so admirable a pairing of sea officers, in the past, hm? If he is on the beach, and thus available to you . . .’
‘It was – it was not my decision, sir.’ Stung by the implied rebuke.
‘Nay, I expect it was not.’ A pull of wine. ‘Mr Mappin has something to say to you, Captain Rennie. I shall stay on the side while he says it.’
A knock at the door, and Lieutenant Leigh presented himself, very correct, his hat under his arm, and apologised for his late arrival. When the formalities had been observed, and Mr Leigh had taken his place at Rennie’s side, Rennie:
‘You have no objection, Mr Mappin, I hope, to Mr Leigh’s presence? He is my right arm in the ship, and must know and be party to our duties and obligations in all distinctions.’
The Pursuit Page 5
