‘Now then, we have an appointment at the Admiralty, I think. Let us proceed there without further delay. Hey?’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
When James and Rennie returned to Mrs. Peebles’ hotel later that afternoon James with a bandaged head, and walking with a slight limp they were both a little flown with wine. Rennie helped James up to his room. Catherine, lately returned from her shopping expedition, reacted with understandable alarm when she saw her husband’s bandaged skull and dirty, bloodstained coat, and surprise that Rennie was with him. She had not known Rennie was in London. She rushed to James, and:
‘My darling, what has happened? Were you knocked down by a carriage?’
‘No, no, my love.’ Collapsing into a chair. ‘Ask William. It is all his doing.’
‘It ain’t, you know.’ Rennie, in jovial protest, intent on disguising the brutal facts.
‘Well, not altogether, at any rate.’
‘What happened, Captain Rennie?’ Catherine knelt anxiously at her husband’s side. ‘Oh, my poor darling.’
Rennie had had the foresight to remove James’s sword as they came upstairs, and leave it inside the door of his own room. Now he went on:
‘We made a dash across Whitehall, you know, and it was damned muddy, and poor James slipped and measured his length, d’y’see.’
‘But how did you injure your head?’ Catherine held James’s hand, and continued to look anxiously at his bandages. ‘My poor dear love.’
‘I am all right. I fell awkward, and knocked my head against the kerbstone. It is nothing.’
‘The Admiralty clerks was very good,’ continued Rennie. ‘They summoned a surgeon right quick, and he achieved a small repair and refit in no time at all.’
‘I fear my coat must be cleaned.’ James, apologetically. ‘It has got awful dirty.’ ‘I do not care about your coat, my love.’ Catherine. ‘Here, let me help you.’
James sat up awkwardly, and allowed Catherine to help him off with his coat. She brought a shawl and wrapped it round his shoulders.
‘Were you able to conduct your business at the Admiralty?’
James glanced at Rennie, who:
‘Indeed. Everything is settled satisfactory. We have drank to it.’
‘I don’t understand,’ said Catherine. ‘Why were you at the Admiralty together?’
‘There has been a change of circumstance.’ Rennie, a nod and a sniff.
‘A change?’ Catherine, looking from one to the other. ‘Are you both to go to Brest?’
‘Neither of us.’ James.
‘You do not go to Brest?’ Bewildered.
‘I have got Expedient again.’ Rennie. ‘James has got Ventura. And well well, it is all settled. We are to sail together but not together immediate.’
‘Both ships?’
‘Both ships, my love.’ James. ‘However, not to Brest. We sail on long foreign service.’
‘Where on long foreign service?’
‘That is a secret.’
‘Surely you will tell me, James ?’
James shook his head. ‘In truth, I may not.’
Catherine turned to Rennie. ‘Captain Rennie?’
‘William, please.’
‘Will not you tell me, William?’
‘I cannot, I fear. James is right. It is a secret. One he may not share with you, nor I with my dear Sylvia.’
‘But that is monstrous. You cannot tell your wives where you go, into what danger and difficulty, far away? It is monstrous.’
‘England is at war, my love.’ James, sitting up in his chair, and reaching for the bell. He rang it. ‘And William and I are in need of wine.’
‘Nay, you are not.’ Catherine, firmly. ‘You are injured, and I think you have already taken wine enough.’ A glance at Rennie. ‘Both of you.’
‘I will leave you alone.’ Rennie, tactfully.
‘Nay, William, stay a little longer, and drink a glass or two.’ James, expansively. ‘I will like to thank you again, for saving--’
‘No no, you are tired.’ Quickly, over him. ‘It has been a long day. We are all tired, I think.’
‘That is what I meant was .for aiding me when I fell.’
‘I will leave you alone, now. I will see you tomorrow. Good evening to ye both.’ Rennie bowed to Catherine, and left the room.
When the servant girl responded to the bell Catherine asked her to bring bread and broth on a tray. When she had gone Catherine set about getting her husband undressed and into bed. As she helped him remove his muddy shoes:
‘I do not think you have told me everything that happened today ’
‘I struck my head, and I have told you everything I recall, my darling except in course the detail of our commission. You know I may not tell you that.’
‘I do not mean the commission, but the rest. Which you know very well.’ A reproachful look as she helped him remove his shirt. He winced, and she saw the heavy bruises across his ribs and back.
‘Ohh ’
‘It is nothing,’ he protested, pulling on his nightshirt and wincing again. ‘I fell very heavy.’
‘Those terrible marks did not come from a fall ’
‘William was very good. He helped me into the Admiralty, and they sent for a fellow that bandaged my head and gave me brandy. I am all right.’
‘If you will not tell me what happened .then I cannot make you.’ Catherine, very subdued.
‘I have told you, my love.’
She looked at him, and he saw that she was wounded by his deceit, and reproachful. Gently he said:
‘You will not like the truth, you know ’
‘Perhaps I will not. I wish to hear it, all the same.’
‘Very well, very well.’ A sigh. ‘We were set upon by footpads. Three of them, very
ferocious. I was knocked to the ground, and lost my sword, and they set about me. William was very brave. He saved my life. He fought two of them, and the third ran away.’
‘Thank God you are safe. Thank God.’
‘It is William we must thank.’
‘Yes, we must. We must honour him. An inscribed gift, a piece of silver, or--’
‘No, we cannot breathe a word of it outside of this room. We can tell no one.’
‘But why on earth can we not--’
‘Our mission is entirely confidential in nature. William and I met in London as old friends, merely to say our farewells before returning to duty. When we leave London, and go our separate ways William to Chatham and I to Portsmouth apparently to take up separate commissions in our ships, we will then sail independent. We will not meet again until we are very far at sea, far away from England. There must be no hint that we act in concert. It is all part of the scheme.’
‘I don’t understand why we cannot in least acknowledge his courage--’
‘Catherine, no!’ Gripping her wrist. ‘You may do nor say nothing at all!’
‘Oh, you are hurting me.’
‘Nothing! D’y’hear me, now?’
‘Yes, I do hear ’
James released her wrist, and she rubbed it. He saw this, and:
‘I I did not mean to be violent.’
‘I am not entirely certain of that.’ Another reproachful look.
‘Cathy, my love, please forgive me. It has been a most oppressing and difficult day, altogether.’
He fell back exhausted on the pillow and closed his eyes, and Catherine forgot her painful wrist in a surge of love and sympathy for her injured husband. When the broth came she fed it to him spoonful by spoonful, dipping the bread to soften it, and feeding him that. He relaxed, and when the broth was finished fell into a doze.
What he had not told Catherine could not tell her was that Rennie had not
only fought off two of their assailants, but had killed them, and left their corpses lying. The story he and Rennie had told at the Admiralty was the same one he had told to Catherine, at first, and for the same reason. That he had fallen very heavily in the street and stru
ck his head on the kerb. Neither he nor Rennie had wished to reveal the peculiar circumstances of Water Passage. His bloody sword, returned to its scabbard, had gone unnoticed in the general desire to aid an injured officer and bring him medical assistance.
However, it would likely not be long before some zealous sergeant of constables when the dead men were discovered began making inquiries in the district as to how they came to be there in dark and narrow Water Passage, and who might have killed them, and then perhaps would hear that two naval officers in their distinct coats and hats had earlier been seen in the vicinity.
James and Rennie would need to depart London early on the morrow, lest one or both of them should be sought high and low, found, and charged with wilful murder.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Catherine woke to a subdued but distinct sound. It was a low fidgeting rattle, as if a mouse were trying to work something loose, with infinite care and patience, very quietly. Beside her James lay deeply asleep, his bandaged head on the pillow, his mouth ajar and his breath a light sighing snore. Moonlight, ghosting through the top of the window, now faded and died. Black darkness.
The subdued rattling ceased, and Catherine lay very still, listening. A long moment, then the sound began again. Catherine realized that it was coming from the door. Somebody in the passage outside was attempting to force the lock.
At Mrs. Peebles’ hotel all the upstair bedrooms were fitted with locks, a precaution she had been obliged to introduce when a spate of thefts from guests’ rooms two years ago had cost her, and her reputation, very dear. And now one of those locks was being tampered with in the dead of night.
Catherine had little of value with her in London, other than a pair of gold earrings given her by the dowager Lady Hayter. As a country parson’s daughter she prided herself that she was not vain, and preferred simplicity of style rather than rich adornment. James similarly was not one for personal adornment; he did not even like to wear his signet ring. Neither of them was profligate of money. These thoughts flashed through Catherine’s head as she listened to the furtive sounds with increasing apprehension. She must wake her husband.
She pushed at his shoulder, then shook it but brandy, wine, and the injury to his head had rendered James dead to the world.
‘James!’ A frantic whisper. ‘James, wake up!’
She shook him again. He did not wake.
The sounds now became a series of scraping twists and squeaks. A pause, then she heard the lock give with a flat little click.
‘Ohh .’
James’s pistol case.
She knew he had brought it with him from the Marine Hotel, because at the last moment he had told Hamble to put it in his valise.
Where was the pistol case now, at this moment? In the valise? On the chest of drawers by the half-shuttered window? Under the bed? If it was in the valise where was the valise? She closed her eyes and pictured the room in daylight.
Of course. The valise was lying on the low chair beside the armoire. Very quickly and quietly Catherine slipped out of bed and padded her way across the
floor in her bare feet, found the chair and the valise. Behind her she heard the slight, careful creak of the door being opened. She had the valise open, and the pistol case was in her hand. The contents a pair of pocket pistols given to James by his late brother Charles were by no means alien or intimidating to Catherine. At her insistence James had instructed her in the loading, cocking and firing of these weapons which were usually kept at home so that in his absence she might defend herself, should the need ever arise.
James was effectively absent now. The need had arisen.
She eased the case open, sliding back the brass latch, and took out one of the pistols. Felt for the small powder flask. And poured a priming measure into the pan, all by touch. Felt for the edge of the flint. Felt for the lock. Please God there was a charge in the breech, and a wadded ball. Oh, please God. She drew back the lock, cocking it, not caring now that the sound would be heard. From across the room, an intake of breath.
And now the moon re-emerged from behind dark cloud and faint light filtered in through the top of the window. Just enough light for her to make out a figure standing by the end of the bed. The figure turned toward her. A frozen moment. Now a step in her direction.
Catherine raised the pistol.
‘No! Stand!’ she cried out, almost a plea.
The figure sprang at her.
Catherine pulled the trigger.
A sparking flash.
CRACK
The figure, almost upon her, jerked horribly, the head flung back, and staggered away with a despairing scream.
‘Aaaaaghhh-Christ-I-am-shot .’
A further moan, and the figure slumped against the wall, fell and lay still.
‘What the devil has happened .?’ James, rearing up from the bed, the bandage on his head white in the moonlight. ‘Who is there .?’
Catherine, quaking, still clutching the butt of the pistol, could not answer.
Soon the whole house was awake, lights were brought, and the scene of the commotion was cruelly illuminated. The intruder lay where he had fallen against the wall, shot through the eye, the floor round his head wet with blood. Mrs. Peebles sent a servant to fetch the constables from the watch station at the Aldwych.
As soon as the alarm was raised, James took Catherine aside, and declared that he would take all responsibility. It was he who had fired the shot. Catherine, recovered from her brief and terrifying ordeal, and quite composed, at first rejected this proposal.
‘I primed the pistol, and aimed it, and then I shot him.’ Defiantly. ‘I am glad that I did.’
‘It will go easier if I say that I shot him.’ James.
‘When you are injured yourself, James? With your head swathed in bandages?’
‘Believe me, my darling, it will be--’
‘Why shouldn’t I shoot a cowardly villain that has broke into our bedroom at night?’ Again defiantly. ‘He may probably have murdered us both, if I had not.’
‘I will not dispute with you, Cathy. I must insist that you do as I ask, and leave the whole affair to me.’
Catherine was unhappy with this version of events, and said so, but bowed to her husband’s wish. James himself was far from happy. Why had this wretched fellow whoever he was invaded their room in the dead of night? His clothes and appearance were not those of a common thief, and a cased watch had fallen from his pocket. It seemed unlikely, but could he be connected in some way with the three ruffians that had attacked him in Water Passage? If so, then what was their collective aim? To steal money? To steal documents connected to the forth-coming commission? Or had their aim been simply to kill him? If that was so, what was their motive? Who was behind it all? These questions tumbled and whirled ceaselessly in his aching head.
The sergeant of the watch was a stout, methodical and insistent man, known to Mrs. Peebles from her previous difficulty. She wished to reduce the damage to her reputation a violent death on her premises might bring, and attempted to deflect the sergeant in his determination to make the most of that death. She produced beer for the constables in the kitchen, and gin and water for the sergeant in her private parlour.
‘The ruffian that has broke into my house has attacked Sir James and Lady Hayter, and her ladyship is greatly distressed.’
‘No doubt she is, Mrs. P. However--’
‘She really must be spared further mischief, don’t you think so, sergeant? And poor Sir James himself took a bad fall only yesterday, and was laying with his head bound swaled thick in bandages when the villain entered their room.’
‘Exact, Mrs. P, he entered the room and was shot dead. What I wish to learn is why all this has occurred. What is the reason behind it all?’
‘Have a little something more, sergeant.’ Lifting the bottle.
‘You are very good, Mrs. P, very kind.’ Covering his glass with his hand. ‘But I must remain sober, and do my proper work. I must determine all p
articulars of what has took place here, tonight.’
At length the sergeant, having interviewed those other guests who had not returned to bed, interviewed James and Catherine. James insisted that he should speak for both himself and his wife, so that Catherine should not be further distressed. The interview took place in Mrs. Peebles’ parlour. Catherine sat in reluctant but obedient silence as James explained what had happened.
‘I heard the lock of the door being broke,’ he told the sergeant. ‘It waked me, and I crept from the bed and found my pistol case, and when I turned to face the intruder, he attacked me at once. I was obliged to shoot, or be killed myself.’
‘He was armed, Sir James?’
‘I believe so.’
‘My constables could find no weapon, sir. Neither bludgeon, nor pistol, nor sword .nor even a knife.’
‘All I can say is that his arm was raised as he came toward me.’
‘In the darkness.’
‘There was moonlight, through the window.’
‘Moonlight. Yes, sir. And that was how you came to shoot him?’
‘What?’
‘That was how you was able to see him, was it, sir?’
‘I I saw him just at the moment he attacked. I had no choice but to fire.’
‘Yes, sir, thank you. Erm, do you know the man?’
‘I do not.’
‘You did not rec’nise him, from an earlier occasion?’
‘I saw his face only after he was dead, sergeant. I have never seen him before tonight.’ A breath. ‘Now, is that all? My wife and I have been greatly upset by these events, and we are exhausted.’
‘Yes, sir, thank you. You have been most helpful. Erm I will ask you one more question, sir, if I may?’
‘Oh, very well. What is it?’
‘When you fell and was injured, yesterday, was it anywhere nearby?’
‘It was in Whitehall. I had an appointment at the Admiralty, and was in a hurry.
I tripped and fell as I crossed over. Why do you ask?’
‘Was anyone with you, sir?’
‘Yes, my friend Captain Rennie.’
‘Is he here, tonight? In this house?’
‘He is also stopping here, yes.’ It occurred to James that he had not seen Rennie since last evening. He had not appeared when the alarm was raised.
The Following Wind Page 6