Scandal and Secrets

by Christopher Hoare

  “I am not as familiar with the craft as are you, My Lady,” Captain Hawke said, “but I would judge the vessel to be a large frigate of about forty guns.”

  “Medusa carries thirty-eight,” Holmes said. “If it will soothe your anxiety, My Lady, I will go aboard the frigate as soon as we have carried out the First Lord’s instructions and spoken to Commander Worthington.”

  “He will tell us what happened,” she said with a slight choke in her voice.

  “I fully expect he will,” Captain Hawke said. “I do believe the mooring party will be active soon where we are standing. I suggest we move to the shelter of the coal bunkers.”

  While he stood waiting for the Spiteful to moor, Holmes divided his time between trying to still Lady Bond’s fears and trying to explain to himself why her distress so easily found an echo in his mind. For his whole life he had steeled himself to behave as a man of his troubled patrimony should and regard attachment to the fair sex as beyond his attainment. For these past months, acting as he did as a go-between for Lady Bond and her husband, he had of necessity allowed his mind to study her moods and needs, as a male friend should. It had led him to many troublesome thoughts and feelings.

  It now seemed, as he stood with her on the windy quay in the darkness, with the lanterns of workmen bobbing about to and fro, that his relationship with her might be nearing its end. Whatever happened to the mensa et thoro—and to the Marquess’ attempt to find fault with the particulars of the marriage—she would by one circumstance or another no longer need to lean on his support and assistance. Whether her marriage to Lord Bond survived all the trials, or whether she became a single lady once more, he knew he would never again be as close to her as he was at this moment. How would he find his way back to the life he had owned before he had ever met her?

  “I think they have secured the lines,” Captain Hawke observed. “We might walk across the quay to await the placing of the gangplank.”

  This soon happened and a young midshipman was the first crew member to descend, and would have hurried away had not the sight of a Post Captain in ceremonial uniform brought him to a pause.

  “Where will we find Commander Worthington, my lad?” Hawke said.

  “On the mid-deck, Captain. He is about to launch a boat to go across to Medusa.”

  The words immediately brought forth a cry of distress from Lady Bond.

  “We must speak with him at once, on the First Lord’s instructions,” Hawke snapped. “Is there a petty officer on deck?”

  A voice from the deck above answered the question. “Aye aye, Cap’n. I will speak to him at once.”

  “We had better go up,” Holmes said, his arm tightly wound about Lady Bond.

  Hawke immediately set foot on the gangplank. “Yes. Formality be damned. Would you please find out the midshipman’s errand, Mr. Holmes?”

  Holmes waited on the rough stones long enough to learn that “the Commander has ordered his ship re-coaled”, before he said, “Very good, Lad. Make sure the dock crew understand the urgency.” He then took Lady Bond by the arm and helped her up to the weather deck.

  Captain Hawke and Commander Worthington were already deep in conversation by the time they reached them.

  “A sorry sight, I’m afraid, My Lady,” Worthington said by way of greeting. “We were too late to stop the Frenchmen doing their worst. Three o’ their steamers came out of the Schelde and sank the gun brig. Captain Bell tried to rescue the brig and that great black monster did this that you see in return.”

  Lady Bond seemed to recover her composure as soon as the discussion turned to tactical details. “The ironclad was at sea?”

  “Aye, for a little time . . . great clumsy thing that it is. But two o’ the pyroscaphes set upon the helpless frigate afore I could chase them off.”

  Lady Bond spoke quickly. “Why do you call it clumsy, Commander? What, in your opinion, makes it so?”

  Worthington seemed challenged to answer. “Well, that is not easy to explain, My Lady. It appeared to be much slower than the other vessels, and to turn with difficulty. I mus’ admit to being engaged with the fightin’ in my mind, rather than that ship. It seemed to have become a lesser threat than the pyroscaphes.”

  “Do you suppose there was some mechanical reason for its weakness?” Lady Bond said.

  “You suggest a breakdown?” Holmes asked when Worthington gave her a perplexed smile.

  “Aye. Maybe that were it,” Worthington said, nodding. “In the middle o’ the action I had no time to consider such . . . but that would explain its drawing off.”

  “You were in action against three French steamships?” Captain Hawke demanded.

  “Aye, but not all three together. The ironclad turned for the Schelde as soon as we closed with them. The two pyroscaphes tried to sink the Medusa with broadsides through the stern windows―not that there was any windows left by that time. But they only carry four 18 pounders in a tier.”

  “As I reported when I returned from Antwerp,” Lady Bond said.

  “I attempted ramming, but ’tis harder to catch a steamship amidships than a sailer. He turned away, but I was able to smash his port-side paddle box.”

  “So you caught him?” Hawke said.

  “No. Perhaps I made a mistake but it would’a been impossible to make a capture. The ironclad was but a long cannon shot distant and might have rejoined the action if other craft were threatened. The Medusa seemed in a bad shape with a fire burning amid the guns. I decided to go to Captain Bell’s assistance and let the Frenchmen occupy their time with towing the crippled pyroscaphe to safety.”

  “I feel it reasonable the First Lord will accept your assessment, Commander,” Hawke said. “But he will want your full written report of the action. He instructed us to speak with you meanwhile. I should explain that we will be fellow officers with the spitefuls from tomorrow.” He paused. “The Admiralty is appointing Admiral Pierce to be commander of the spiteful squadron, and I will be his flag-captain.”

  “I see. And what of the crew training?” Worthington asked.

  “That will still be your command, until such time as we have enough crews trained. I expect I will ask to accompany you at first. I recognize that you have the greater experience. But Admiral Pierce is very old and I will go to sea for him, while he organizes our activities from Chatham.”

  “I did not expect Their Lordships to still be at Chatham. I trust they will approve of my intention to return to the Schelde immediately.”

  “I have no doubt that they will approve. They will send the Regent as well―to join with Commodore Fancourt’s seventy-fours from the Downs.”

  It was midnight when Mr. Holmes joined Commander Worthington in his gig to go across to the Medusa. Lady Bond had gone with Captain Hawke to relay the commander’s report to the First Lord, who would no doubt have returned from his compassionate visit to the wounded.

  The wreck had heeled more steeply as the tide went out and the only way aboard was either up the bowsprit or through the smashed windows of the great cabin. The number of small craft tending to the wounded had decreased as those able to be moved had gone ashore.

  Worthington had the crew row slowly past the blackened gun ports on their way to the stern. “I used the hose from Spiteful’s starboard boiler pump,” he said. “The fire would have reached the powder magazine else.”

  “You must have had Spiteful right alongside,” Holmes said.

  Worthington nodded, and Holmes shook his head. That put both ships in peril if the powder had exploded. But he could not find the words of censure. All seamen were shipmates when danger threatened.

  They found the Master in the remains of the great cabin, marking off names in the Ship’s log. A short distance away in the remains of a damaged cot was the fitfully sleeping Captain Bell.

  “They has had ter take both legs,” the Master said, seeing their glance. “He will not let them tak’n ashore. Says he will be the last ter leave the ship.”

  “Ho
w many casualties?” Worthington asked.

  “Near enough all. Two lieutenants, dead; Cap’n o’ Marines, dead; Master gunner, dead; Bo’sun, dead; Clergyman, dead—”

  “The chaplain is dead?” Holmes said.

  “Aye. The main spar fell on he as he helped carry wounded below. Died in my arms, ee did.”

  Holmes immediately thought about Lady Bond needing that special marriage license, and then felt as guilty as sin for asking at this time. “Where would his papers be? Lady Bond needs the marriage certificate.”

  “Then ye had best be a good swimmer. The lad wanted ever’thin’ destroyed. I wrapped it all aroun’ a cannonball an’ sent it to Davy Jones.”

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Roberta and Worthington

  After an hour aboard the Medusa, Commander Worthington took his leave. “If you wish to remain longer, I feel sure you may return ashore in one of the longboats still alongside, Mr. Holmes. I have yet to write a formal report for the First Lord before I set out for the Channel on tomorrow morning’s tide.”

  “By all means, my good friend. I will make my own way ashore―I merely need to assess some of the damage done by the ironclad’s 24 pounders, and perhaps find a gunner who might speak of the effect of Medusa’s cannon hitting the Frenchman’s iron plates.”

  “A very good thought, Sir. I do not think I have any worthwhile observation of either for my report.”

  Mr. Holmes smiled. “And if I don’t provide that intelligence I feel Lady Bond will insist on coming aboard tomorrow to learn the information herself. Ghastly sight or no.”

  As he sat in his gig to return to Spiteful, Worthington reflected on Mr. Holmes’ consideration for Her Ladyship. The two had corresponded regularly and even met several times since Bond had been required to stay away from her, perhaps forming a closer relationship during that time. He, on the other hand, had always been aboard Spiteful and only learned a few details of the marital action by accident of circumstance.

  How he wished he had spoken more with her when he had that chance, but she had seemed a lady far above him even before her marriage. Yet even so, she had been most considerate of his feelings when he was still adjusting to the knowledge of the union when they met aboard Medusa . . . even hinted that she might have a greater regard for him that she might be allowed to acknowledge as another man’s wife.

  What did these issues about the marriage and even the special license mean to him? If her marriage were annulled by the Marquess’ machinations, would he have the slightest chance of enjoying this regard of hers? Mr. Holmes was always closer at hand, and Lord Bond would surely not quit the field without defying his father again and wedding her a second time.

  The gig reached the Spiteful’s side with a bump, and he climbed aboard by the wooden ladder he had ordered made for use in harbour. When he reached the deck, he found the ship was rank with the smell and miasma of coal dust as the crew filled the bunkers. His second-in-command hurried to the rail as he reached the deck.

  “How goes the coaling, Mr. Trent?”

  “Almost finished, Commander. And the stores are being stowed . . .” He paused. “But the Lady is still aboard, Sir.”

  “The lady? Do you mean Lady Bond?”

  “Yes, Sir. She is below, speaking with the engineering staff. She said she had more information to gain for the First Lord.”

  He shook his head in surprise. Could she possibly also have some words for him? Of course not. He must put such foolish thoughts aside. “Really? I must go to her at once.”

  In the event, she met him on the companionway from the lower deck. “Ah, there you are, Commander,” she said, looking up at him. “I have only a few questions and then will leave you with your preparations for tomorrow.”

  He had to wait while several seamen rushed past them with stores and boxes of hardtack.

  “Perhaps we had better find a less crowded place to talk, My Lady. If the night is not too cold, we might find it quieter by the paddlewheels.”

  She nodded agreement and put out a hand for him to assist her up the last rungs. “I think I am well warmed for it, Commander. I waited for your return beside the boilers.”

  He kept his hand on her arm to steady her in the dark as they walked toward the stern. She showed awareness of his liberty but did not pull away. “What does the First Lord want to know, My Lady?”

  “He is desirous of information about the gunnery . . . that of ours and of the ironclad.”

  He had to chuckle. “Mr. Holmes and I were discussing that very thing a short while ago. He has remained aboard Medusa to save you from the need to look for these answers yourself.”

  “So you are in on this conspiracy to keep me from seeing the Medusa,” she chided gently, stepping back a little. “I assure you that I have a stronger constitution than you credit me with.”

  “I am sure you are correct, but I must agree with their intention. The ship will not be fit to receive visitors until its decks are washed and its planks and framing scrubbed clean.”

  She shrugged. “As you will, Sir. But I also want to know what damage Spiteful sustained, and where.”

  “We received several hits from the pyroscaphes’ 18 pounders, My Lady. All above the waterline and none that caused us any casualties.”

  “Indeed? Do you ascribe that to good fortune or some skill at manoeuvring?”

  He regarded her with a smile. “Mostly I would suggest it was a fool’s luck, but I would rather you did not tell the First Lord that.”

  She returned his smile. “I will promise you that. What damage did the shots do?”

  “There was a fiddley grating bent against the Port funnel uptake, but we bent it back wi’ crowbars.” He watched her concentration in the dim light reflected off the paddlewheels. Even after the tragedy and her great exertions this week she was still as sharp as a tack. She was a woman any man would cherish . . . if only . . .

  “There is no escape of hot flue gas, I hope.”

  “Nay, but our engineers will keep a watch on he at sea. The other hits were into the coal bunkers that we have plugged with canvas and tar.”

  “Will they leak at sea?”

  “In a rough sea I would’na doubt, but we will take fuel from those bunkers first so’s we can climb onto coal to keep the holes closed. The holes are bigger than the calibre of the shot and jagged enough that the tarred canvas has a good hold.”

  “Good. I think that will answer Viscount Melville’s questions when I see him in the morning. He has undertaken to escort me to visit the wounded in the hospital tomorrow.”

  “Aye, that is very good of ye, My Lady, and a credit to His Lordship. Please do not take the suffering and pain too much to heart. Your distress should never affect our plans to defeat the French vessels.”

  “I will be strong.”

  “The fact of the Frenchman’s actions weigh heavily in my mind. It is a customary gentleman’s understanding that a ship of the line does not fire upon a frigate or smaller vessel unless under exceptional circumstance. There was nowt o’ the sort in their action here. The brig was used as a target for practice, and none of its crew could be saved before it sank. The Medusa was nay a threat to the great ironclad, but they did not cease their fire until it was a dismasted wreck.”

  He paused to read her reactions. She seemed as angry as him. “Should I have the opportunity I will pay they back in spades.”

  “I understand your rancour, Sir, but please do not allow it to impel you into any dangerous action should you meet the French vessels again. Captain Hawke and the First Lord agreed that the Commander and crew of Spiteful deserved the strongest commendation―the honour of all is to be recognised.”

  “Aye, my lads did well.”

  “As did you to take your command into the fray to effect a rescue. The Admiralty cannot overlook your actions that were in line with the greatest traditions of the service. If I were in peril I should feel safer if I knew you were at hand.”

  “Well, I did my d
uty, My Lady. As I might do for you this night perhaps,” he ventured. “When we were aboard the Medusa, I overheard Mr. Holmes’ questioning of the Master and wonder if I should make any haste in advising you what he learned from him. It is very late now, but it seems to be information you have been waiting for, and I should be proud to relay it, even for good or ill, if I may continue . . .”

  She seemed surprised. “Indeed, Sir, I regard you as a friend who may converse with me upon whatever subject is meet―and will always expect your words to be couched in the most expeditious way for my receipt.”

  “You have requested to inspect the marriage license Lord Bond brought with him to the Medusa?”

  “Yes. We expect poor Chaplain Jenkins will have kept it amongst his papers. The legitimacy of the marriage may hinge upon its content.”

  He shook his head. “Was there such a need for Lord Bond to go to such extremes? His actions hardly seem fair to you.”

  “I do not disagree, Mr. Worthington, but I would not burden you with any such complaints. He seems to have anticipated the necessity for me to go to Antwerp with him from the very start and planned accordingly.”

  “Aye, and very conveniently it was to bind you to him forever.”

  She looked away but said nothing.

  “Well, perhaps the Good Lord has seen fit to unravel that plan, My Lady. Mr. Holmes was informed that the special license and all of the chaplain’s papers are lost. The young man instructed the master to commit them to the deep.”

  She gave a gasp. “Thrown overboard?”

  “Weighted with shot, the Master said. They will never be found.”

  She reached out a hand to him as if about to faint and he put his arms around her to support her. “Then it is surely the Lord’s will. The Marquess has a clear field to make of the ceremony what he will choose.”

  “But will not that be a terrible disgrace for you―innocent though you be?”