He chuckled ruefully. ‘Well, I guess that puts a whole different complexion on the matter, doesn’t it?’ he said, reaching into a pocket. ‘How much did you want?’
‘All of it.’
‘All of it? What are you planning to drink, champagne?’ He took out a fistful of sovereigns and threw them on the cobbles at the feet of the two men.
Clever, thought Killigrew. One of them bends down to pick up the coins, and the American kicks him in the head, leaving him with one opponent instead of two.
But the menacing men were wise to that trick and both ignored the coins. They attacked fast, one of them trying to grab the American. Instead of turning to flee, he suddenly moved in to meet them. He swung his fists and managed to land a couple of blows which would have decked an ordinary man.
But neither of these men were ordinary. They received his blows with little more than grunts, and then one of them pinioned the American in a full-nelson, holding him fast while the other twisted in front of him to pummel him. The American kicked savagely at his kneecaps, but the attacker was expecting it. He side-stepped easily and rammed a fist into the American’s stomach.
Killigrew decided it was time to intervene. He left the shadows and moved silently across the cobbles, stepping up behind the man who drove his fists repeatedly into the American’s stomach. He got one hand on the man’s shoulder and span him away from his victim, paying him in his own coin by driving a fist into his gut. The man gasped and swung at Killigrew’s head, but Killigrew ducked beneath the blow and hit him in the stomach again, before clipping him on the jaw with a fast uppercut. The man’s head snapped back and he went down.
The other man threw the American against a stack of barrels and charged towards Killigrew. The young man awaited his attack, adopting the classic pugilistic pose with both fists raised ready to strike. When the man reached him, Killigrew stepped aside at the last moment and tripped him up with an extended leg which sent him sprawling on the cobbles.
Something – probably the first man – slammed into Killigrew from behind and threw him against the wall of the tavern. Killigrew rammed his elbow into the man’s midriff and broke free. They faced one another, circling warily, and then Killigrew stepped in close and tapped the man twice on the chin with his left. The man was evidently something of an expert pugilist, for he glanced to his left, expecting Killigrew to follow up with a right, which was when Killigrew decked him with a left cross.
He turned to see the second man advancing on him again, when suddenly the American loomed out of the darkness, holding a cask above his head which he brought down sharply against the second man’s head.
‘Are you oh-kay?’ asked the American, once it was clear that neither of his attackers was in any hurry to get up and resume the combat.
Killigrew nodded, resting with his hands on his knees, breathing hard. ‘Thank you.’
‘No, thank you. I’m not entirely sure I could’ve handled them both if you hadn’t stepped in. Tough little sons of bitches, weren’t they?’
Killigrew crouched down to gather up the coins, and held them out to the American, who gestured dismissively. ‘Keep ’em.’
‘What I did I did out of Christian charity, not out of hope of a reward.’
‘I know. That’s why I’m giving you one.’
‘I thank you for your kindness, but I’m not in need of charity.’
The American looked him up and down, taking in his unshaven face and the threadbare clothes he had purchased from a second-hand shop in Monmouth Street. ‘Well, at least let me buy you a drink,’ he said, taking back his money and gesturing towards the tavern.
Killigrew licked his lips as if torn between pride and thirst. ‘All right,’ he said.
They went inside and crossed to the counter. ‘Back so soon, Cap’n?’ asked the tavern-keeper.
The American grinned. ‘You know me, Jake. I just can’t stay away.’
‘What can I get you?’
‘The usual, please, and whatever my friend here is having.’ He indicated Killigrew, whom the tavern-keeper looked up and down suspiciously.
‘Well? What’s it to be, young feller?’
‘I… I wonder if I could have a cup of tea?’ stammered Killigrew.
The American and the tavern-keeper laughed. ‘Where did you find him, Cap’n? At a temperance meeting?’
Killigrew shook his head. ‘No. I… I had an accident recently. I’d been drinking and… well, I’d rather not talk about it, if it’s all the same with you.’
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry. If it’s tea you want then it’s tea you shall have. I’m sure Susie must have some tea in the kitchen?’ he asked the tavern-keeper, who nodded and poured out a glass of whisky for the American before disappearing into the back. ‘My name’s Madison, by the way. Caleb Madison.’ The American offered his hand. He had a surprisingly powerful grip.
‘Kit Killigrew.’
‘Killigrew, Killigrew,’ mused Madison. ‘I’m sure I’ve heard that name somewhere recently.’
Killigrew hung his head as if embarrassed. ‘It’s a common enough name in Cornwall.’
Madison’s smile did not falter, but there was suspicion in his eyes. ‘But we’re not in Cornwall. And you don’t have a Cornish accent.’
‘No, well, I came from a good family. The tavern-keeper called you “captain”. Am I to assume then that you are a fellow mariner, sir?’
‘United States merchant marine. I’m the master of the Madge Howlett.’
‘That fine Baltimore brig tied up in front of the Goree warehouses?’
Madison nodded. ‘You know your ships. You’re a sailor too? Which vessel are you with?’
‘I’m between ships at the moment,’ Killigrew responded with poorly-concealed circumspection. ‘I, er… I don’t suppose…?’
Madison shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, I’ve got a full complement right now.’
Killigrew nodded hurriedly, as if embarrassed that he had enquired.
‘You said “came”,’ said Madison.
‘What?’
‘You said you “came” from a good family. Most people would’ve said: “I come from a good family”, but you said you “came from a good family”. What happened? Did you disown them? Or did they disown you?’ Madison was grinning, as if to make light of the matter, but his eyes watched Killigrew’s face carefully, missing nothing.
Killigrew grimaced. ‘They disowned me. I don’t mean to be rude, but I’d really rather not discuss it.’
Madison held up his hands. ‘I’m sorry. You helped me out just now, and all I can do is ask impertinent questions. Please forgive me.’
The tavern-keeper returned with a mug of tea which he plonked on the counter before Killigrew. ‘Thanks, Jake. Put it on my slate.’
‘Right you are, Cap’n.’
Madison turned to stand with his back to the counter and cast his eyes across the gloomy tavern as he sipped his whisky. An expression of pain crossed his face. ‘Goddamn it!’
‘What’s wrong?’ asked Killigrew.
‘There’s one of my crew over there. He’s supposed to be on watch tonight. I’m sorry, will you excuse me for a moment?’
‘By all means.’ Killigrew turned back to the counter and sipped his tea while watching Madison in the etched-glass mirror behind the shelves there. Madison crossed to where a man sat at one of the tables, wedged between two buxom serving girls. The man – dark-haired, olive-complexioned – was if anything perhaps below average height, but everything about him suggested bulk. He had the kind of physique which gave the impression of being as wide as it was tall – an impression which in this instance was not too far from the truth – and as far as Killigrew could see very little of it was flab.
The man looked up and grinned as Madison approached. Killigrew could not hear what they said above the hubbub of voices in the tavern, but whatever Madison said prompted the man to glance to where Killigrew stood at the bar. Killigrew saw the words ‘Don’t lo
ok now, you fool’ form on Madison’s lips, and the man quickly turned his head back to face his captain. He pursed his lips, and then rubbed his jaw as if trying to think. Then he nodded confidently, and spoke at length, prompting Madison to glance surreptitiously at Killigrew.
Got you hooked, you bastard, thought Killigrew. Now to reel you in.
‘Get out of here, you idle dog!’ Madison said, unnecessarily loudly. ‘I don’t pay you to sit idling in a tavern, consorting with loose women! Get back to work!’
‘Sorry, Cap’n.’ The massively built man squeezed out from between the wenches, the very image of contrition. He took his leave of them and hurried out.
Madison returned to where Killigrew stood. ‘As a seaman yourself, you’ll understand the importance of keeping good discipline amongst the crew.’
Killigrew nodded. ‘Absolutely. In the navy we used to—’ he said, and then broke off sharply as if he had said too much.
‘You’re in the Royal Navy?’
‘Used to be. The bastards chucked me out,’ he added savagely, and then looked embarrassed, as if he had revealed too much.
‘Yes, your “accident”.’ Madison drained his glass, set it on the counter and turned to Killigrew. ‘Well, my thanks to you once again, Mr Killigrew. That was a right Christian thing you did, and I’m much obliged to you. You have a place to stay tonight?’
Killigrew nodded. ‘The Spotted Dog, up along the way.’
‘I’m sorry I couldn’t give you a berth on my ship, but as I say—’
‘Think nothing of it. There’s a steamer leaving for the Orient tomorrow, I understand they’re looking for hands.’
‘The SS Ophelia? I wouldn’t recommend a voyage on her.’
‘Why not?’
‘Captain Jacobs has one of the worst reputations for cruelty on the seas.’
‘I fear I’m not in a position where I can afford to be choosy about whom I work for.’
‘Wait a couple of days. Something better is bound to come along. Besides, a man with your experience could do better than a berth as an ordinary seaman on a steamer. With your background and training, I’d’ve thought that ship’s captains would be queuing up to have you in their crews.’
Killigrew grimaced. ‘Unfortunately I have what you might call a… a reputation.’
‘Your accident?’
Killigrew nodded.
‘It wasn’t at sea by any chance, was it?’
‘No. It had nothing to do with the sea. But as soon as I’d got a criminal conviction for what was only an accident those hypocritical swine at the Admiralty decided it was the perfect opportunity to get rid of me. I never was one of them, not really. My mother was Greek; the bastards never tired of reminding me of the fact.’
‘Maybe you should think about getting a berth on a foreign vessel. Countries like Brazil and Cuba are always happy to have European officers on board. It lends them… shall we say, an air of respectability?’
‘Slavers sailing under false colours, you mean.’
‘Ah. You disapprove of slaving, I take it?’
Killigrew pursed his lips. ‘It’s against the law in this country. Not that I have a high opinion of the English law. I never really thought about it. I spent two years sailing with the West Africa Squadron, but I can’t say I cared for the work. Sometimes I think we did more harm than good.’
Madison regarded Killigrew with a mixture of astonishment and amusement. ‘Are there many more in the navy like you?’
‘Unfortunately not. Pah, I’m better off out of it.’
‘You’ll certainly get better pay in the merchant service, once you find yourself a berth. And you strike me as a singularly intelligent young man. I’m sure you’ll be oh-kay.’
‘You’re probably right. Well, thanks for the drink. Perhaps I’ll see you around?’
‘Perhaps. I was supposed to sail three days ago, but the damned harbourmaster’s saying there’s some irregularity concerning my ship’s papers – which is a damned lie – and I can’t leave until I’ve been cleared. Each day my ship rots in this port is costing me a fortune, and not doing me any favours with my owners, either.’
‘Have you tried bribing him?’
Madison shook his head. ‘He’s one of those self-righteous ones, the kind who’d take great pleasure in throwing the money back in my face.’
Killigrew shook his head. ‘Try sending him a crate of fine wine. Just as a gift. Let the quid pro quo remain unspoken.’
‘You think that would work?’
Killigrew shrugged. ‘Compare the cost of each day you’re stuck in this harbour with the cost of a crate of fine wine. It’s got to be worth trying, hasn’t it? Who’s the harbourmaster here, Jack Tolliver? I think I knew him vaguely in the navy. I seem to recall he’s rather partial to a glass of Madeira.’
‘You know, I think I’ll give that a try. Thanks for the advice, Mr Killigrew. Once again, I’m in your debt.’
Killigrew watched him leave and sipped his tea to hide his smile.
He finished his mug of tea and left about five minutes later. As he made his way along the waterfront he heard his footsteps echo where there should have been no echo. He stopped abruptly and pretended to read a poster advertising a dinner-dance at the local assembly rooms. Out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of a shadow ducking out of sight behind him. He smiled to himself and went on his way until he reached the Spotted Dog, a tavern which was on the right side of respectable, but only just.
‘Evening, Mr Killigrew,’ said the pot-boy who, in his capacity as night-porter, let him in.
‘Evening.’ Killigrew touched the brim of his hat and went upstairs to his room. It was small but comfortably furnished. He lit the oil lamp and took off his hat, drew the curtains, and sat down at the table to write a letter and smoke a cheroot. When he had finished he dried the ink with blotting paper – afterwards burning the blotting paper over the ashtray so the ink could not be deciphered by means of holding it up to a mirror – folded the letter and put it inside his coat. He stubbed out the cheroot in an ashtray, put out the light and slipped out of the room.
He made his way to the water closet at the end of the dingy corridor. It was unoccupied, so he closed the door behind him without locking it and stood on the seat of the commode to open the window. There was no light in the water closet so he had no difficulty observing the alley below. It was deserted. He opened the window all the way and climbed out on to the ledge. Then he jumped into the night.
It was only one flight down. He hit the ground, rolled over and rose quickly to his feet. A couple of cats scavenging amongst the rubbish ran off with a hiss, startling him, but they were the only creatures to have observed his unusual mode of departure. He dusted himself off and went on his way, sticking to the shadows.
The Fouled Anchor was on the wrong side of respectable, but dressed in his second-hand clothes and grubby after rolling in the alley at the back of the Spotted Dog, Killigrew’s arrival excited no interest whatsoever. He made his way upstairs and tapped gently on one of the doors.
‘Who’s there?’ asked a voice.
‘Tom Bowling,’ said Killigrew.
The door opened and one of the men who had attacked Madison earlier stood there. The other sat before a mirror, wrapping a bandage about his own head. Killigrew slipped inside without waiting for an invitation. Corporal Summerbee of the Royal Marines quickly closed the door behind him.
‘Are you fellows all right?’ Killigrew asked them.
‘Nothing that won’t soon heal up,’ said Summerbee. ‘How did it go?’
‘Splendidly. You did very well. I was utterly convinced.’
‘So was I, sir. You didn’t tell us he was such a tough customer.’
‘I didn’t know it myself. Hope I didn’t hit you too hard there, Private Whitehead.’
Whitehead grinned. ‘Hardly felt a thing, sir. Unlike when that Yankee bastard brained me with a keg. Begging your pardon, sir.’
‘That�
��s all right.’ Killigrew took out the letter and handed it to Summerbee. ‘I want this delivered to Rear-Admiral Napier. There’s no reply necessary. I’ve got one more task for you. There’s a house of ill-repute in Leopold Lane, at number sixty-nine. There should be a package for you to pick up there.’
‘What sort of package, sir?’
‘The kind that has two arms and two legs. Don’t worry, he’ll have been drugged to the gunnels, so you won’t have any difficulty handling him. Take a wheelbarrow and a blanket to throw over him. Then take him to where the SS Ophelia is docked and deliver him to one of the boatswain’s mates. He’ll pay you a shilling. You might as well keep it between you. That should be all. Once again, thank you for all your help. When this is over I shall be writing a letter of commendation to your commanding officer.’
‘I just hope that when this is all over, a letter of commendation from you is worth having, sir. For your sake, as well as for our own.’
‘So do I, Summerbee. So do I.’
‘Sir? Rear-Admiral Napier didn’t tell us what any of this is about – although I think I can guess – but whatever it is, good luck with it anyway.’
‘Thank you, Summerbee. That’s much appreciated.’
Killigrew opened the door and was halfway across the threshold when he heard the corporal mutter under his breath, ‘God knows, you’re going to need it,’ and Whitehead sniggered.
Killigrew’s steps faltered only momentarily before he set his jaw and continued on his way.
* * *
The following day Killigrew sat down to luncheon and awaited his visitor. He dined alone, an impressive spread of roast mutton, potatoes and sprouts with lashings of gravy on the broad plate before him, a pot of tea steaming at his elbow.
Cheer up, Kit, he told himself. If you don’t succeed in pulling this off, you can always change your name and start a new career on the boards. But it was difficult to imagine Eulalia being happy married to anything so disreputable as an actor.
Even though he expected company, there was no sign of it at the table, which was set for one. He was just tucking in when the door opened and Madison entered with an agitated look on his face. He gazed about the room, saw Killigrew, and at once came across to speak to him, holding his hat before him.
Killigrew of the Royal Navy Page 19