by Lynn Bryant
“What the devil does that have to say to anything?”
“Hard to explain, sir. It’s just that in my experience, the Manx do things their own way.”
Wellesley snorted and continued to eat. Paul sipped his wine and thought about the Manx sea captain and the extraordinary discovery of one of his countrywomen aboard the Flight. Kelly had described the girl as the daughter of his business partner and Paul did not doubt that it was true, but he was very sure that she meant a lot more than that to Hugh Kelly. He hoped passionately that she recovered. The stricken expression on Kelly’s face had made an impression on Paul. He was trying to imagine how he would feel if Rowena were that ill and was surprised at how much the thought appalled him.
He looked at Wellesley again and took a deep breath. “Look, sir, there’s not much I can do about it now. If I have to go, I’ll make it as easy as I can.”
Wellesley set down his spoon and sipped the wine. “That does not sound like you, Major.”
“No, it isn’t. I’m not doing it for me.”
“I am very touched, of course. What do you want?”
Paul studied him for a long moment. Wellesley looked back at him and for the first time looked faintly amused. Eventually Paul said:
“If I go quietly I want Johnny Wheeler to get command. I’ll pay if necessary.”
Wellesley set down his glass firmly. “Major, you have more nerve than any man I have every come across in my entire life; no wonder you do so well on a battlefield. You are not in a position to be asking me for favours just now. Get out and let me eat, I will see you in the stables in ten minutes!”
Paul left. He had seen the gleam of amusement in his chief’s blue-grey eyes and although he knew that Wellesley was still furious with him he felt a little better. A shared sense of the ridiculous was one of the bonds he shared with his commander and if Wellesley was beginning to see the funny side, there might be some hope. If nothing else, he had put the idea of Wheeler’s promotion into Wellesley’s head.
The rain did not ease for the entire journey to Hellerup and by the time Paul and Wellesley entered the substantial house which Lord Cathcart had commandeered as headquarters they were soaked through. A young private came to take their coats and hats, removing the dripping garments, and Wellesley felt his dark blue jacket and pulled a face. Paul ran his fingers through his hair which was damp, pushing it off his face.
Wellesley glanced at him. “Wait here,” he ordered. “I’ll…”
“Sir.”
Paul turned. A young ensign was in the doorway, saluting. “Compliments of Lord Cathcart, sir. He asks if you will come through and bring Major van Daan.”
Wellesley nodded. “Very well, Ensign.” He looked at Paul and Paul managed a faint smile although he was feeling slightly sick.
“Nice try, sir,” he said. Wellesley studied him.
“You look almost worried,” he said. “A rare occurrence, I should commit that expression to memory.”
“I would, sir, it might be the last time you see me in this uniform. Let’s get it over with.”
There were four men in the long sitting room as Wellesley and Paul entered, all sitting close to a roaring fire in the big fireplace. Wellesley moved ahead and saluted. He glanced around at Paul who did the same.
Paul had met all four of the men before and knew none of them well. Lord Cathcart, who had overall command of the land forces was possibly the oldest of the three, in his early fifties but already white haired with incongruously dark eyebrows and eyes which looked puffy and tired. Opposite him was Sir Harry Burrard, his second-in-command who was in charge of the first division. Cathcart rose to salute Wellesley, his expression grim.
“Sir Arthur. I am glad to find you so prompt.” Cathcart’s eyes shifted past Wellesley and onto Paul. “I am also glad that you have seen fit to bring Major van Daan with you, since it will save us all a good deal of time. Please join us.”
Wellesley moved to the chair indicated. Paul remained at attention, under no illusion that the invitation included him. He was uncomfortable in his wet uniform and wondered inconsequentially if he was dripping on the polished boards of the floor. The thought of standing in a spreading puddle while the joint commanders dissected his recent misdeeds suddenly struck him as exquisitely humorous and he bit hard on the inside of his lip to stop himself smiling. It was not the moment or the place for an ill-timed fit of laughter.
“Are you aware of recent events aboard the frigate the Flight, General?” Admiral Gambier asked coldly. Paul glanced at him. He had heard gossip about Gambier during his two years in the navy as a boy. Gambier was known to his men as Dismal Jimmy, a sanctimonious man with evangelical tendencies who ran his ship on religious lines. One of Paul’s shipmates had previously served under Gambier and had spoken scathingly of Gambier’s refusal to allow women to come aboard his ships unless they carried marriage certificates. He punished swearing, blasphemy and drunkenness with great severity and was heartily disliked by the men and many of his officers.
Wellesley had confided to Paul that Gambier had only been given the command after it had been rejected by Admiral William Young and Vice-Admiral Sir Charles Cotton, both of whom had doubted the legality of the expedition. Paul studied the smooth round face of the Admiral and wondered if Gambier was any happier about it. Certainly something seemed to be making him gloomy although that may have been his habitual expression.
“Yes, sir,” Wellesley said civilly. Paul suppressed another grin. Wellesley being civil was almost worse than Wellesley in a towering rage; he had a talent for injecting his remarks with an indifference which was an insult in itself. He returned his gaze to Cathcart. “I understand you have orders for me, my lord?”
Cathcart looked startled. “Orders. Yes…yes, of course. Orders. We’ve some opposition, General, want you to take the reserves and see them off. But we need to deal with this incident first.”
“Incident?” Wellesley said, and this time his tone was biting. “My lord, forgive me, but if there are Danish troops approaching, do you not think it should be our priority to deal with them, given that is why we have been sent here, instead of discussing the sad details of the misbehaviour of a navy press gang? If there is to be an enquiry into that, it can be dealt with in London later.”
Paul did not look at his chief although he felt an enormous lurch of his stomach. This was not the approach he had expected Wellesley to take at all. He sensed the shock of the two navy men. Gambier looked furious. Captain Sir Home Popham appeared to be smirking, but Paul had never seen Popham when he did not appear to be smirking; it was his perpetual expression. He was a tall man in his forties with an over large nose, wearing a traditional navy wig. Popham’s smirk widened and Paul, who had not moved so far, turned his head very slowly and surveyed Popham. He had walked into the room with every intention of humbling himself as much as Wellesley required, only to find his chief had completely changed direction and seemed to be on the offensive. It was something he did supremely well on a battlefield and his opponents were often taken off guard. At this moment Paul had been taken off guard himself; his prepared speech of humble apology hastily swallowed. He had no idea what to do or say next other than keep quiet and try to follow his commander’s lead.
Paul met Popham’s eyes and allowed his mouth to curve into a smirk of his own which he knew, because his officers had often told him so, was particularly irritating. He had the satisfaction of seeing Popham look surprised. Gambier gave a snort of anger.
“This is not about the misbehaviour of our impress service, Sir Arthur, it is about an unlawful assault on a naval vessel by a member of your brigade. And I am very sure you are aware how serious this is, given that you brought him with you!”
“You misunderstand me, Admiral,” Wellesley said indifferently. “Major van Daan often acts as unofficial ADC when I require one; I do not keep a large staff. You are aware of that; you met him only a few days ago aboard your ship. As it happens, Major van Daan has given m
e a full account of his conduct aboard the Flight and I am completely satisfied that he acted in the interests of the health of the men aboard. It was unfortunate that Lieutenant Paget succumbed to the fever and even more unfortunate that the warrant officers and men left in command of the vessel were so drunk when Major van Daan arrived that he was obliged to restrain them for their own safety and that of the ship, but I have no intention of interfering in naval discipline; that would be completely inappropriate. I am sure Major van Daan appreciates your gratitude for his prompt action which saved lives. No doubt if there is an enquiry in London, the Major will be called to give evidence, as will the surviving men although I do not see the point of it since the navy officer responsible has already paid for his error with his life.”
There was a long, stunned silence. Into it, Lord Cathcart said:
“How many survived?”
Paul decided that it was safe to speak.
“There are around thirty, sir, although several of them are still very ill, Dr Norris is afraid they may not make it,” he said, controlling his voice with an effort. “We found accommodation for them in a local farm and Captain Kelly of the Iris detailed some of his marines to take care of them. I handed over full responsibility to him once he had arrived to take command. It’s a navy matter really, sir. Not my business.”
Wellesley made a curious sound and then began to cough violently. Paul suspected he had been choking back a laugh but it had been a mistake. He stood perfectly to attention while Wellesley coughed. It seemed to be getting worse and Wellesley was going very red in the face. It was impossible to continue the meeting over the noise of his coughing and eventually Lord Cathcart said irritably:
“Oh for God’s sake. Get him some water, somebody. Call the servant…”
“I’ll do it, sir,” Paul said helpfully and went to the door, not looking at his chief. He had no wish to make the situation any worse. He had his hand on the doorknob when it opened and the young ensign jumped at finding him so close. Paul stepped back, keeping his back to the room while trying desperately to control his facial expression and found himself looking into the steady grey eyes of Captain Hugh Kelly. Paul saluted and Hugh returned it gravely.
“Major van Daan. I seem to meet you everywhere,” he said placidly and Paul pulled his face straight with a huge effort.
“Captain Kelly. I was just speaking of you.”
Hugh’s eyes gleamed. “Were you?” he said with great affability.
“Yes. How are the sick men?”
“Captain Kelly!” Gambier said sharply. “Come in, sir, and tell us the truth of this matter.”
Wellesley coughed harder, his breath coming in great wheezing gasps as he struggled to breathe.
“It’s why I’m here, sir,” Hugh said, studying the choking Wellesley in apparent surprise. “Should I…”
“Coughing fit,” Paul said succinctly. “Ensign…?”
“Roberts, sir.”
“Would you get General Wellesley some water please, lad?”
“Yes, sir.”
Paul nodded pleasantly and returned to his place before the chiefs. Wellesley was scarlet-faced but seemed to be calming down. Paul watched him, affecting a sympathetic expression, although privately he felt that Wellesley had it coming for his outrageous interpretation of the facts regarding the Flight. He was still reeling from his chief’s astonishing about turn but he was trying not to hope too much. They were not clear yet; he was waiting to see what Hugh Kelly would say.
With the arrival of the water, Wellesley drank and eventually regained his composure although Paul noticed that he was carefully not looking at either he or Captain Kelly. Cathcart was muttering words of concern but Admiral Gambier, once it became clear that the general was not about to expire on the floor, turned his cold eyes back to Paul. Something about him suddenly reminded Paul of a fish; possibly a cod with a slightly disapproving expression. He was glad he had no opportunity to mention that to Wellesley, it would set him off again. Hugh Kelly had taken up a position next to Paul which felt oddly supportive. Like Paul, Kelly was soaked through from the rain and dripped onto the boards.
“Captain Kelly. We have heard from Wilson, the boatswain on the Flight, that Major van Daan forced his way aboard a Royal Navy frigate, manhandled the crew and ordered his men to point their rifles at you. Is this true?”
Hugh Kelly laughed. “Is that what he said?” he asked pleasantly. “Sorry, sir, it isn’t funny, I know. He’s probably not deliberately lying, he was so drunk he won’t remember much. I had a message to say there were problems aboard the Flight. I’d no idea what, so I took a few of my marines over with me to see and I walked into a scene from hell.”
“Blasphemy, sir!” Gambier snapped, and Hugh looked at him.
“That wasn’t an oath, sir, it was a plain description of what I saw aboard that ship. I’ll give you a full written report as soon as possible. Major van Daan was there and his men did challenge me because he’d left them on sentry duty; it was their job. We talked, the Major explained, I had a look for myself and then we worked out a way to get the men ashore. One of his captains had found a hay barn and we’ve set up a temporary field hospital there. I should have sent a message straight away, I’m sorry there was confusion, it was late last night once I’d seen all settled and I didn’t want to wake you up. I was going to write a note but I thought I’d better come and tell you myself, find out what you want to do about the Flight. I’ve left my first lieutenant and a few of my marines over there and by now I imagine the remains of the crew are feeling very sober, but they’ll need to be disciplined.” Hugh turned the grey eyes onto Paul. “I also wanted to find Major van Daan to thank him for his help since I’m fairly sure I didn’t do it properly yesterday, we were both too busy.”
There was a stunned silence around the room. Paul saw, with immense satisfaction, that Popham was no longer smirking at all. He was staring at Kelly through narrowed eyes as though reassessing the Manxman.
Into the silence, Wellesley said:
“Thank you, Captain, that was admirably brief. This is entirely a navy matter, as you say. May I suggest we leave any further discussion of this until after we have dealt with the Danish troops?”
Gambier snorted. “I’m not satisfied!” he snapped. “The army has no right to be boarding our ships.”
“We are on the same side, Admiral and it does not sound as though it was an act of aggression,” Lord Cathcart said mildly. His eyes were on Paul. “Van Daan. It’s not a common name, I’m assuming it’s the shipping family?”
“Yes, sir. My father and elder brother run the business.”
“Were you by any chance at Eton?”
Paul nodded. “I was. I think I may have known your son there, although he was a year younger.”
“He was. I remember a few of the names he mentioned. Yours has stayed with me, because he told me you were very good to him when he first arrived at school. He took a while to settle, I believe.”
“He settled very well eventually, sir. Better than I did, they threw me out.”
“That is not a surprise to any of us, Major,” Wellesley murmured scathingly.
Lord Cathcart permitted himself a small smile. “You may have been impulsive yesterday, but it seems it was with good intentions,” he said. “I recommend you try to follow the chain of command in future, Major.”
“I will, sir, my apologies. Thank you. I was sorry to hear about William. I liked him very much.”
Paul had spoken without thinking, remembering the shy boy, horribly bullied during his first few months at Eton, who had gained confidence and courage fast by the end of the first year. He had not intended to play on Cathcart’s feelings and experienced an immense sense of guilt as he saw Lord Cathcart’s face soften.
“It was yellow fever, a long way from home. We miss him a good deal. Thank you, Major.” Lord Cathcart glanced at Gambier. “We have some matters to discuss so with the Admiral’s permission, I suggest we postpone f
urther consideration of this matter until later. It is possible some form of investigation will be necessary but personally I am prepared to accept your good intentions. Captain Kelly, thank you. I look forward to a written report from both of you. Please have them copied to Admiral Gambier.”
Paul, knowing himself dismissed, saluted and left, followed by Captain Kelly. He went out into the hallway and the door closed. Ensign Roberts was hovering and the captain touched Paul’s arm and motioned for him to come through into a small parlour opposite. He closed the door firmly. It was dim in the room, with the rain still beating against the windows, but a lamp was burning on one table and Hugh picked up a taper moved around the room lighting candles and another oil lamp which smelled strongly of fish oil. Paul sank down onto a wooden settle, ignoring protocol and put his head into his hands.
“I can’t believe I’m still here!” he said. Now that it was over he was feeling surprisingly shaky.
“It’s not over yet, Major,” Kelly said. “Are you all right, you look as though you’re going to cast up accounts all over this very elegant carpet?”
Paul took a very deep breath. “I’ll be all right,” he said. He looked up into the Manxman’s steady grey eyes. “Captain Kelly, you are a damned liar and a very good one. Even I believed you, and I was there, I knew you were talking bollocks! And Wellesley…he ripped a layer of skin off me earlier and told me I was about to lose my commission and then when we walked in there he changed his mind completely and behaved as if I’d done nothing wrong; I almost fell over. It’s not surprising I feel like throwing up!”
Hugh Kelly put his hand on Paul’s shoulder. “Don’t, fella, it’ll look suspicious. Have some rum.”
He offered a pewter flask and Paul shook his head. “Don’t be offended but I hate rum. Had too much of it in the navy. There has to be some brandy around somewhere. I don’t often feel like getting drunk but if I didn’t have a suspicion I’m going to be expected to fight fairly soon I might be tempted.”
