Captain Rennie had met his wife Sylvia on an overnight coach journey between Norwich and London. She was then Sylvia Townend, a naval widow, and he had been able to be of some service to her. They had later renewed their acquaintance at Porstmouth, where she was staying with her sister, and had grown fond of each other. There had then occurred – not by his making – a diversion of their paths. Subsequently, when he returned to his home at Middingham in Norfolk, Rennie learned that she was staying nearby, had at once sought her out and proposed, and had been accepted.
At first glance, seen together emerging from the Marine Hotel, or walking down the High, they did not make a very likely pair. Rennie was spare, his face and forehead were lined, he looked older than his thirty-six years, and could not be described as handsome. His wife was very comely, with a fine figure, and a hint of the voluptuous in her eyes and mouth; she chose her dresses and bonnets with care, and was always handsome in appearance. Had he not been dressed in the uniform of a senior post captain, Rennie could have been taken for a passed-over curate, or an ageing clerk, faded, desiccated, resigned to his lowly station, who had been permitted to walk beside the lady a few moments to acquaint her with minor parish business, or to convey a lawyer's message. Even in his naval coat he did not look like a man with near connection to his radiant companion. Closer scrutiny, however, revealed an intimacy of glance, and conversation, and confidence, that bespoke their condition of life. They were a loving couple.
When he returned to the Marine Hotel from the port admiral's office, Rennie went straightway to their rooms in the expectation of finding his wife.
She was not there, and Rennie was disappointed. He had missed her during the days of his absence in Dorsetshire, and there was much he wished to say to her. He had thought it prudent to make his report to Admiral Hapgood as soon as he returned to Portsmouth, and had accordingly gone straight from the George Hotel, where the coach had set down its passengers in the afternoon, and climbed the stair at the port admiral's office.
Now he set down his valise on the chair in the bedroom, gave a penny to the boy who had carried it up, and took off his coat. He called for an ewer of hot water, washed, and shifted into a clean shirt. Then he went downstairs to enquire about his wife.
'Mrs Hayter went out earlier today, sir.' The head porter.
'Ah. Ah. My wife did not say where she was going, did she, by any chance?'
'Not to me, sir, n-ho. Perhaps she may have said something to her maid ... ?'
'My wife did not bring a maid with her from Norfolk.'
'Ah, yes, sir. Most ladies do travel with a maid, and it had quite escaped my memory that—'
'Yes yes, well well, never mind. I dare say I shall discover my wife's whereabouts before long.'
'You are going out yourself now, sir?'
'Yes, I am. I have much to attend to at the dockyard.'
'And if Mrs Hayter should return whiles you are absent, sir, shall I say that—'
'I will just write a note to her, and leave it with you.'
Rennie scribbled the note in pencil, folded it and left it with the porter, and went away to the dockyard. When he returned in the evening he found Sylvia there, and was more profoundly glad and relieved than he had expected. The visit to Dorset had affected him deeply, and he was grateful not simply to be reunited with his wife, but for his untroubled and purposeful life, aided and shored up by her love.
We are such fragile creatures, you know, my love.' Holding her.
What do you mean, William?' Curiously, pulling back her head a little to look into his eyes.
And he told her about his friend's loss.
THREE
Weeks had passed, Expedient was now refloated, rerigged and stored, her boats had been got into her, and her guns, and she had been trimmed. And now most of her people – her required complement of 260 souls, as per the scheme attached to Rennie's commission – had been put on her books.
As in a previous commission her people had not been gathered by Captain Rennie's efforts of recruitment, nor those of his officers, but had been – as it were – produced out of a hat. Tom Makepeace, Rennie's erstwhile second lieutenant, now his first, said to his captain:
'I don't know where the order came from, sir, or how it was managed, but they have come here, all properly provided with conduct money, a few dozen at a time, from Woolwich and Deptford and Chatham, all along the estuary – and assembled at the Marine Barracks here at Portsmouth, all within a week or two.'
'Are there any Expedients among them, Tom?' Meaning, were any of the gathered men former members of the ship's crew.
'Not that I have been able to discover, sir. All of them are faces new to me. But in course I was not with you on the Jamaica cruise.' Referring to Expedient's second commission, when by a muddle of communication he had been left behind.
'I am nearly certain that none of them has served with me before.' Rennie, a sniff. 'No, a person behind has arranged this crew for us.'
'A person behind, sir?' Puzzled. 'D'y'mean, at the Admiralty?'
'No no, not exact, Tom, not exact. Never mind, they are right seamen, by the look, and they will do. Must do, we have no more time.'
Since gaining this commission Rennie had been puzzled by other things. At first there had been a certain urgency about it, and he had come to Portsmouth full of bustling energy. Then there had been the inevitable delays of bringing a ship out of Ordinary, examining and refitting her, &c., then a curious hiatus while he waited, and the port admiral waited, for his final instructions, his sailing instructions, to be delivered from the Admiralty in London.
Rennie knew only what had been mentioned in his preliminary instructions. That Expedient was to make a general survey of the coast of France. No other details had been vouchsafed him. Why not? He had enquired at the port admiral's office. Admiral Hapgood had shaken his head in pretended misunderstanding:
'Ain't the word plain to you, Captain Rennie?'
'If you mean—'
'Survey, sir. Survey.'
'Aye, sir, it is plain enough I suppose. But nothing else is plain.'
'What else should be made plain?'
'I was once required to make such a survey of Jamaica, you know, but in the end the duty was quite other.'
'Eh? Other?'
'Well well, I should not speak of – it is of no matter, sir. All I meant was that I wish to understand whether or no I am to be thrust into something other than a duty of survey, now.'
'Thrust? Other? I do not understand you, Captain Rennie. If I was you, sir, I should do exactly as I was told. When your sailing instructions arrive, I will tell you. Good day to you.'
'Yes, sir. Thank you.' Coming away entirely unenlightened.
* * *
Rennie's two junior lieutenants had joined the ship. Lieutenant Merriman Leigh, RN, was a pleasant fair-haired young man from Suffolk. He was the youngest son of a retired admiral, and both of his brothers were in the service. Lieutenant Leigh had not spent more than a month or two on the beach in the last several years, due to family interest. His last commission had been as fifth in the Caesar, 74, in the Channel Fleet. In all his service he had managed to avoid duty in West Indies, where three of his former middy shipmates had died of yellowjack. It was clear to Rennie that his second was a man protected, destined for high things in his future.
His third was Lieutenant Renfrew Souter, RN, a Scot from the Borders. Rennie was not quite sure about Mr Souter. He was a taciturn young man of one-and-twenty, with auburn hair and a certain dourness of demeanour. He had until now been without a commission, having passed his Board two years ago, and lived at home on half-pay ever since. Certainly Rennie had Mr Souter's papers, with details of his service as a midshipman, but he knew nothing else about him, and decided to ask. He sent for him.
In the great cabin, in the smell of new paint:
'Mr Souter, thank you for attending so prompt.'
Mr Souter stood very correct, back straight, hat under his arm,
the buttons of his undress coat gleaming clean.
'Sit down, Mr Souter, sit down. I wished to speak to you informal, so to say, and since we have not yet begun to give dinners in the ship, I felt this was our best opportunity. Will you drink a glass of wine?'
Thank you, sir, I do not take alcohol.' Sitting down opposite Rennie at the cabin table.
'Not? Ah.'
Light glanced and danced on the deckhead timbers, dazzling through the stern gallery windows as the ship eased on her mooring cables.
Rennie sniffed in a breath, and:
'Now then, Mr Souter. Tell me something of your experience of the sea, will you?'
'D'ye mean when I passed my Board, sir?'
'No no, I meant – your time in ships. Your experience in ships.'
'D'ye mean generally, sir? Or d'ye wish to know about particular ships?'
Was he being deliberately dense? wondered Rennie. The brogue was not obtrusive, but there was a disconcerting austerity of pronunciation. Rennie felt in need of refreshment before he tried again. Only yesterday his former steward had returned destitute and in rags to the ship, and Rennie had not had the heart to turn him away. He summoned him now:
'Cutton! Colley Cutton!'
His steward appeared. His appearance had been transformed. He was fresh-shaved, his hair had been combed flat, his shirt was clean, and his breeches – and he was carrying something in a wicker basket.
'Bring me a bottle of Madeira wine.'
'Yes, sir.'
'What is in that basket?'
'It is a person of your acquaintance, sir.'
'A person of my—'
A plaintive miaow from the basket.
'Good God.'
The steward placed the basket on the decking canvas, and opened the lid. A small, delicate creature, all black but for a patch of white over one eye, jumped out on the squares, and fell to cleaning its fur with quick nodding movements of its head.
'Dulcie.' Rennie, in delighted astonishment. 'I thought she was lost after our last commission.'
'Mr Adgett found her, sir, and has kept her fed, like.'
'Mr Adgett? Why did not he say something to me?'
'Don't know, sir.'
'Well well, no matter. She is here, she is restored to me.' Adopting a soft, ingratiating tone: 'Dulcie ... Dulcie ...'
The cat ignored him.
'... Dulcie ... ?'
The cat stood, stretched, padded away to the stern gallery windows, sprang up easily on the bench, curled up in the corner and shut herself away in sleep.
'She don't know me ...' Rennie, chagrined.
'Hit will take her a day or two to come round to you, sir, I expeck.'
'Come round to me?'
'Well, sir, cats is very particular about neglect. They do not like it.'
'Damnation, how am I guilty of neglect? I believed the creature lost. I wished to take her home with me, but she had disappeared. What was I to do?'
'No, sir, yes ... but she don't ezackly see it in the same hillustration, sir. As a cat.'
'Ah? Does she not? Ah. Madeira, Cutton. Jump, now.' A breath. 'Mr Souter, I beg your pardon. Where were we, exact?'
*
A further week, and Expedient was ready for the sea, except in one – vital – component part. She lacked a surgeon.
In her first three commissions Expedient's doctor had been Thomas Wing, the diminutive disciple of Dr Stroud of the Haslar Hospital at Gosport. Rennie had liked Thomas Wing from their first acquaintance, when he came into the ship as surgeon's mate, and had come to know him, and trust him, better than almost any other man on board. Now, in spite of letters, and other urgent enquiry, Dr Wing could not be found.
Rennie had tried at Gosport, making two journeys there to consult Dr Stroud as to Thomas Wing's whereabouts.
'He ain't here, Captain Rennie,' Dr Stroud had told him, on the first occasion. 'I have heard nothing from him these last few months. Has he gone abroad, I wonder?'
'Abroad? Why should he go abroad?'
'He has been abroad with you, has not he?' Mildly.
'I do not know that I would call attachment to a ship "going abroad", you know. He was my warranted surgeon, and extremely valuable to me.'
'May not he have become attached to another ship?'
'In the Royal Navy, d'y'mean? No no, I should certainly have heard of it. We had always agreed between us that he would come with me in any subsequent commission. He would not desert me, I am certain.'
'He would have to gain the appointment to you by warrant, though, wouldn't he? From the Sick and Hurt?'
'Yes yes, Doctor, but that in course is a mere formality.'
Rennie had fretted, written further letters, and grown anxious that Wing had been lost to Expedient now, and that he would have to ask for another, inferior, man.
'Perhaps he has died, sir,' suggested Lieutenant Makepeace.
'Died?' A fierce glare.
'Men do die, sir, after all. Just because Thomas is a doctor – albeit a very fine one – don't mean that he is immune to—'
'That will do, Mr Makepeace.'
'I merely suggested it as a possibility, sir, that—'
'Be quiet, sir!'
The day following that conversation with Lieutenant Makepeace, Rennie had formally requested another surgeon for his ship. And on that same day, shortly after the noon gun, Dr Wing appeared. He had himself rowed out to the mooring by a ferryman, and brought his dunnage aboard. Rennie, working on innumerable vexing lists in the great cabin, was informed of his arrival, and at once went on deck.
'Dr Wing! Thomas!'
'Captain Rennie!'
They shook hands warmly.
'You got my letters, then? I had thought—'
'Eh? Letters? No. I heard nothing about the new commission until I came to Portsmouth late yesternight. And naturally – faithful to our understanding – I have rejoined the ship.'
'You had received none of my communications? Nothing came to your London address?'
'My dear Captain Rennie, I have not been in London since last year.'
'Not in London? Oh.'
'No, I have been – elsewhere, on private business.'
'Private, hey? Are you wed, Thomas?'
'Matrimony was no part of the matter. The farthest thing from my thoughts.'
'Well well, I will not pry into your private affairs, Thomas. Let us get ye berthed, and so forth, and your dunnage stowed.'
'Thank you, sir. I ...' Hesitating.
'Yes, Doctor?'
'I am not in possession of my papers, I fear. That is, I was so taken up with the business just mentioned that I thought of little else, and I have come to the ship without any official—'
'Pish pish, Thomas. A mere formality. I know who you are, good God, and that is all that's required for me to put you on my books.' Quite forgetting the formal request he had made for another man. 'When you have settled in comfortable, come to the cabin, will ye?'
Later, in the great cabin, as they drank tea together, Dr Wing:
'I see that you are inundated with documents, sir.'
'That is the price we pay for going to sea, alas. Every last nail and length of twine must be entered, checked and signed for, and—'
'Surely that is your clerk's work, ain't it?'
'Alan Dobie, d'y'mean?'
'That is his name. I had forgot it. Alan Dobie. Yes.'
'Well, Dobie was my clerk in Expedient, yes. But then he joined John Company as a clerk when we paid off our last commission, and was sent away to India. I have not been able to find a comparable man to replace him.'
'May I interpolate?'
'Eh?'
Dr Wing, with the careful enunciation of the autodidact: 'May I make a suggestion as to his replacement?'
'You, Doctor?' Rennie raised his eyebrows.
'I would not wish to overreach myself, sir, but I believe I do know of a person that would suit.'
'As my clerk?'
'Indeed, sir, as you
r clerk.'
'Well well ... who is this "person", Thomas?'
A knock at the cabin door. Rennie frowned, and:
'Cutton! Cutton, there! See who that is, will you.'
A further knock, and Colley Cutton came hurrying from his spirit kettle in the quarter gallery, and opened the slatted door.
Mr Loftus, the sailing master, stood waiting. Rennie beckoned him in:
'Come in, come in, Mr Loftus. Look who is here.'
'Why, good heaven, it is Dr Wing! I am right glad to see you, Thomas!' Dr Wing rose from his chair and was little taller than when he had been seated, but he wished to shake hands. Mr Loftus came to the table and pumped the surgeon's hand with enthusiasm. 'Right glad, indeed.'
'You wished to see me, Mr Loftus?' Rennie, when the greetings had been dispensed with.
'Yes, sir. There has been a late delivery of casks by a hoy. I am not entirely certain where they may be stowed.'
'What casks? I know of nothing that has not been stowed days since.' Rennie, getting up on his legs.
'Beer, sir. And a hogshead of wine.'
'No no, Mr Loftus.' Coming round the table, his coat brushing and dislodging sheafs of lists, which now tipped and scattered on the canvas squares. 'The hoy has clearly mistook us for another ship. We have our full allowance of beer—'
'These are not part of our allowance, sir.' Over him. 'They are by way of being a – a gift to the ship.'
'Gift! Whose gift, Mr Loftus?'
'Mine, sir,' said James Hayter, and he walked into the cabin, removing his hat.
Hours passed before Rennie was able to speak to James alone – as he knew that he must. Quite apart from his lists, and his interrupted and now postponed conversation with Dr Wing, Rennie had to deal with a great many minor exigencies in the ship. One of the six lately arrived midshipmen had fallen ill, and had to be taken off in a boat to the Haslar at Gosport. Three seamen, absent without leave from the ship, had returned drunk in a stolen boat with three young women, and been discovered in flagrante in the forepeak. Mr Trent complained that half a tier of salted pork was spoiled, and wished to have it replaced as a matter of urgency. The boatswain Mr Tangible was unhappy that he had not received his full allowance of Stockholm tar, &c., &c. Without saying so to James, and with a heavy heart, Rennie had ordered the hoy to stand away, taking the beer and wine with her. And at last he returned to the great cabin, having allowed all of these matters to occupy him until the sun was low in the west, when he could avoid the interview no longer.
The Gathering Storm Page 4