“Exceeding fine display this afternoon, Argent. Exceeding fine. You made me 100 guineas richer.”
He reached inside his Admiral’s coat, the rings of rank on his arm reflecting the dying sun.
“Here’s a note for 50, for your crew. From me. And here’s Grant’s note for another 50, for your First. Your performance cut a dash with our Don Admiralty, I can tell you.”
He placed a finger on Argent’s cuff as if to indicate further conspiracy.
“Which has given rise to a little luxury coming your way. You’re to stay the night at The George; Plymouth’s best in my opinion, at His Excellency’s expense. He’s staying there also, so you’ll breakfast with him. He insisted, clearly you impressed him, which will more than satisfy Their Lordships, Heaven be thanked. ”
He paused and leaned even further forward, very, very, conspiratorially.
“You know, I think that there may be a bit more of a seaman in this particular Don, than meets the eye.”
He sat back, beaming again whilst nodding vigorously and released a downward sigh of deep contentment; a man released from a difficult job, now done, all most satisfactory. Grant then realized that he had better start the conversation, so he looked at Lady Willoughby, then to Argent, the Admiral smiling like a child that had much bounty bestowed upon him.
“Lady Willoughby and Charlotte saw the whole thing, isn’t that right Constance, from a high window from their house along The Hoe?”
Lady Willoughby grinned back at Grant and nodded.
“Yes, Septimus, the whole thing, as best we may, through telescopes. My eye still feels damp, and almost depressed; but I understand, Captain Argent, that congratulations are in order.”
“That’s very gracious of you, Ma’am. It was a good contest, fairly played out. I count myself lucky, a good ship, well Officered, and manned by a good crew.”
Charlotte now spoke.
“It seems that success trails on your heels, Captain.”
“So far, Miss Willoughby, yes, I’ve been lucky, but luck can change. In common with all sailors, superstition dwells not too far below our surface.”
“I’m surprised that a modern Captain, such as yourself, if I have the correct impression, allows such primitive ideas to guide his actions.”
“Perhaps, Miss Willoughby, but I take no chances……”
He grinned at his conjunction with superstition, but pressed on.
“I don’t allow superstition to affect the running of the ship. Whatever is good for the ship, then I count that as contributing to our own good luck. For example, there is the superstition of not sailing with a woman on board. But we have one, the wife of my Sailing Master, Mrs. Eara McArdle. She assists my Surgeon, and the men would have no other. All would defend her presence aboard, because she is so fine a nurse; and knowing, especially of that which is required for the care of the sick and injured. She has an unparalleled knowledge of what I’ll term “home remedies”; herbs and such. My Surgeon also remains most content that she be part of his sickbay. Thus superstition comes a poor second.”
Grant slapped his hand on his knee, nodded, and grinned some more, but Charlotte Willoughby looked mildly shocked.
“You have a woman, caring for men?”
“Why yes, my reading of history tells me that is not so strange. And we are a man o’ war, Miss Willoughby. What works, does; if you take my meaning.”
Lady Willoughby looked at her niece.
“I think you will find, Charlotte, the more you hear of Captain Argent, that he does indeed run a modern ship. If new ideas work, he keeps to them. I am correct, Captain?
Argent was not going to gainsay such as Lady Willoughby.
“Yes, Ma’am. I’m ready to try anything that strikes me as being for the good of The Service. For example, I’ve heard of a new shell called “shrapnel”. Really it’s for the Army, but I’ve requested some, to take a look. New ideas should be given a fair chance, I believe, I don’t see how we can do anything other. It’s a tough fight out there.”
Lady Willoughby smiled, a fine thought coming to her mind.
“Perhaps; unless your ship is the Ariadne!”
Argent bowed.
“You are too kind Ma’am, but I see no cause to argue.”
The carriage lurched to a stop, rocking on its springs. Almost in a second, the doors opened and the footrest was unfolded. Grant exited first and then aided Lady Willoughby down to the swept gravel, leaving Argent to do the same for Charlotte. With the Ladies safely alighted, Grant acted as escort to Lady Willoughby, giving Argent no choice but to do the same for Charlotte. He held out his left arm and she placed her hand upon it, but first looking at Argent with an expression whose emotion he could not divine. However, thus arranged, they proceeded up the steps and through the opened, and to Argent, now familiar, doors.
In the Hall, all under the command of Captain Baker, stood more servants, who came to take the Ladies cloaks. This revealed the gorgeous dress worn by Charlotte Willoughby, a chemisette, made from the finest satin, with just enough edging and embroidery to convey its hand made quality, and it accompanied by an extensive string of pearls, swooping low from her neck. She was, indeed, a very handsome woman. Baker, for once taken wholly aback and stumbling over words he had spoken a thousand times, led them forward to the ante-room that served for Argent’s first banquet, that of unpleasant memory. There, looking rather lonely in the centre of the wide floor, stood the five other guests, Grant, Cheveley, His Spanish Excellency and the two Equerries. The four entered, the Ladies on the arms of the two Officers and Baker announced their presence.
All conversation ceased. Lady Willoughby and her niece glided forward and all advanced to meet them. Broke, as host, was required by convention to address himself first to Lady Willoughby, leaving Cheveley to advance further to greet Charlotte. Cheveley ignored Argent, who remained supporting Charlotte’s right hand.
“Charlotte, what an unexpected pleasure to see you here. So very splendid to see you again. I thought this occasion was going to be wholly Naval. Permit me to find you a glass of sherry.”
With that he turned to walk rapidly towards an ornate mahogany server that carried nothing but a chased silver tray and some small glasses of the dark wine. No words had passed between them on the way in, but Argent now spoke.
“I had no idea, Miss Willoughby, that you are acquainted with Captain Cheveley.”
“Why yes, on more than one occasion he has been gracious enough to take us out for an excursion into The Channel, on a day not too taxing for myself and my Aunt. His wife accompanies us, also.”
By now, Cheveley had returned and, offering the glass to Charlotte’s left hand, he stood in front of Argent with his back to him and his own left arm raised, clearly expecting a transfer.
“Charlotte, let me introduce you to our Spanish guests. They are anxious to meet you, I know.”
Charlotte transferred her hand from Argent’s arm and allowed herself to be led over to His Excellency and his two Equerries, who stood stock-still and wide-eyed at the arrival of this English vision. Charlotte and Cheveley progressed away, Charlotte moving as though on casters, were it not for the faintest rise and fall of her hem, tailored for perfect length. The High Admiral came forward to take her hand and bend low over it.
Argent was left standing, but he raised his eyebrows and sighed. He expected little else. His only two allies this evening, he knew, were Grant and Lady Constance Willoughby, but they were both engaged in conversation with Broke. He sighed again and took himself over to the server where a single glass remained. He took this, but did not drink, but turned to see the Spanish Admiral still holding Charlotte’s hand in both his, whilst gazing up into her face, this being significantly above his. An Equerry was translating, equally and utterly absorbed, whilst Cheveley and the other Equerry were all smiles.
Argent had no option but to take himself over to Grant and Lady Constance, although this meant being in the petulant company of Admiral Broke
. He walked forward, Broke’s face changing with every footstep that brought him nearer, but Argent knew that he would have to greet his Superior. He smiled as pleasantly as he could, although his eyes did not match the warmth he spoke.
“Good Evening, Admiral Broke. Thank you for inviting me, Sir.”
Broke felt no need to be gracious.
“As our Spanish guest would have it, Argent. As he would have it, not I.”
But Lady Constance, after frowning pointedly at Broke, immediately dispelled the chill.
“Tell me, Reuben, how are things with your Father?”
The weather around Broke turned thunderous, but around Argent it brightened, not just at the use of his Christian name, but also at the support provided by the open friendliness showing on Lady Constance’ face as she looked up at him.
“Thank you for asking, Lady Willoughby, but the last I heard, he was in good health and the farm was holding up. Nothing that could be termed as prospering well as such, but doing well enough.”
“You have a sister, as I recall, or is it two?”
Argent now grinned openly.
“Sisters yes, Lady Willoughby, two, Emily and Enid, and one is married, Enid, the elder, with a small child. I’m an uncle!”
He continued to grin and looked at Grant and Broke. Grant beamed back in fatherly fashion, whilst Broke stared back with a scowl that came straight from the Arctic, but Grant intervened.
“Now, Argent. You are here because our Spanish guest wished to meet you, both of you, Cheveley and yourself, that being. I must take you over.”
Argent was still holding his glass and he knew that this would be awkward, he must lose it somewhere. He looked around but the server was too far, however Lady Willoughby realized his plight and came to his rescue.
“I’ll look after that for you, Captain, whilst you do your duty.”
Argent bowed and smiled his thanks.
She took the glass and Argent turned to accompany Grant, but he caught a glimpse of the withering look that she gave Broke now that they were left alone, made more so because she was slightly taller, thus it was delivered down the fine line of her nose. His Excellency had released Charlotte’s hand, but was wholly monopolising the conversation with her, severely taxing the translator, thus his concentration upon her was absolute. Argent realized what he was breaking into, but Grant was doing the breaking. Grant stopped close to the Spanish Admiral and leaned forward to attract his attention, whilst Argent maintained an inferior’s distance.
“Your Excellency, I’m sure that you would wish to meet the other Captain. The one that you so graciously declared to be the winner of the competition earlier today.”
His Excellency looked alarmed at the interjection between himself and Charlotte, but the translation calmed his expression. He turned to observe Argent, who, upon being regarded by his Eminence, came to the attention and saluted. Argent took the wave of the glass as acknowledgment and dropped his hand. His Excellency remained regarding him, up and down, with a strong look of puzzlement on his face, but Grant did the honours, first waiting for the translating Equerry to hurry round to Grant’s side to hear.
“Your Excellency, may I present Captain Reuben Argent, of His Majesty’s frigate, Ariadne?”
His Excellency grinned through the puzzled expression and nodded. Grant continued.
“Captain Argent, this is His Excellency, the High Admiral Joaquim Don Alaves D’Sentillo.”
Argent remained at attention and bowed. His Excellency nodded again, waved his glass and then returned to Charlotte. Argent remained at attention, until he saw Don Alaves D’Sentillo’s back, then he relaxed himself. He thought “job done”, and felt more than a small sense of gratitude for the presence of Miss Charlotte. However, he felt that he should “hover” as he may be required and therefore stood on the edge of the group. Doing, he felt, no harm and remaining standing there, made him at least half-way occupied, attending his superior Officers. His place, just offset from the talking group, but near enough to hear, caused him to catch the question that explained His Excellency’s puzzled countenance. His Excellency, still holding firm to his position at Charlotte’s elbow, spoke rapidly to the Equerry translator who posed the question to Grant.
“Why has this Captain no decorations, merely one epaulette?”
Grant’s reply was to the point.
“His rank. He is a Post Captain of only one year, entitling him to wear one, just one. After three he is entitled to two epaulettes.”
The answer was conveyed to His Excellency, who received the answer with merely an inclination of his head, his eyes remaining on Charlotte. Argent remained at his post, as he saw it, but was grateful when the gong sounded, rung by the same Steward as the occasion before, to call them into dinner. He allowed all others to move off, before he took a pace forward himself, but his spirits sank when he saw that, tediously, Cheveley was hanging back, evidently intent on exchanging some words. Argent was, however, determinedly polite. He nodded his greeting.
“Captain Cheveley.”
Cheveley made no reply that could be counted as an acknowledgement; he merely began to unburden himself with what he had been bursting to say since Argent entered the room.
“Damned sleight of hand you demonstrated this afternoon, Argent.”
Argent was expecting as such and spoke indulgently, wearily, after giving release to a deep sigh.
“Sleight of hand? How so, Captain?”
“You broke the rules, Captain. We agreed broadsides both sides, up and back. And, if I’m not mistaken, you used grapeshot.”
Argent looked at Cheveley as one would at a petulant adolescent.
“I recall no hard and fast rules being spoken of, Captain, nothing so clearly defined as “full broadsides”, both “up and back”, nor specific type of shot. Six targets to be destroyed by gunfire. You took your decisions, I took mine.”
Argent looked hard at Cheveley. His own temper was rising and he saw no need to be diplomatic.
“You were bested and that’s it. Next time, things may be different, but this time the winner was my Ariadne and my crew. Look to yourself and to your own crew as to the reason. You may call it sleight of hand, but we did what was needed so that the job got done, done quick and done thorough. Something you may find pretty useful yourself when you come up against Johnny Frog. He’s not bad himself with the odd trick or two.”
Cheveley face turned black with anger at so thorough a riposte. He could think of no reply other than to growl in the back of his throat.
“And I still say sleight of hand.”
His own outburst had calmed Argent somewhat, so he regarded Cheveley with a blank expression, then replied.
“Well, whatever was done, it was at least done open and above board. Out in The Sound in full view! And at least we amused the Ladies and impressed His Excellency.”
By the most fortunate of chances, one of the Ladies had observed and was approaching to end a confrontation that had the potential to finish with a challenge to a duel. Lady Willoughby had waited for them to come up to her, she being stood in the doorway of the dining room. One glance had told her that bad blood was running between the two.
“Captain Cheveley, please sit by me.”
Cheveley’s face improved to merely look as though it were made of stone; he even constructed a rictus grin to convey agreement, before managing to speak.
“As you choose, Lady Willoughby.”
Thus Argent was the last in and found himself on the end of the table, furthest from the Admirals, and next to the Equerry who could speak no English. Unsurprisingly, for Argent the dinner was a dull affair; apart from the food, that he enjoyed; it being plain, from good ingredients, and well cooked. As Junior Officer, it fell to him to propose the Loyal Toast, which he did, and he settled for that as his main contribution to the evening. Unsurprisingly, his High Excellency requested that the Ladies remain, and so it continued as before, His Excellency, his Equerries, and Cheveley unable
to take their eyes off Charlotte. Grant and Lady Willoughby, were both opposite Argent, but deep in their own long conversation, whilst Broke drinking himself into a stupor, or at least some level of drunkeness, Argent sat daydreaming and twirling the stem of his glass. However, this social arrangement dissolved with alarm when the English-speaking Equerry interrupted the conversation between Grant and Lady Willoughby.
“His Excellency wishes to inspect the victorious vessel. Tomorrow morning, would be his pleasure.”
Broke chocked on a glass of port and he spoke before Grant could reply.
“Please inform His Excellency that the first ship made a fine showing and, being larger, is more fitting for an inspection conducted by such as himself.”
The translation was made, but soon His Excellency was shaking his head.
“His Excellency says no. He wishes to inspect the winning ship. Perhaps there may be something that he can learn. No?”
Grant looked over at Argent, who had, belatedly, realized that the conversation had moved to a subject that very much concerned him. Behind his confused face Argent’s mind raced to make sense of the few words he had heard. Grant didn’t help.
“Argent, is there any problem that you can foresee? Four bells of the forenoon?”
Argent looked blank, but Grant helped him out.
“For the inspection, I mean?”
It fell into place and Argent could foresee a hundred problems, but none that he could speak of, not least that he was tied to His Excellency all night, so how he could warn his own ship? Also, being ordered to remain ashore, he would be unable to supervise the preparations himself. He could do nothing other than look across the table at Grant, then at His Excellency.
“Si, mi Admiral.”
The Admiral beamed his brown grin at the affirmative reply in Spanish, and returned his attention to Charlotte. Argent sat in silent thought for a minute, then he made his excuses and left the table, ostensibly heading for the guarderobe.
oOo
Aboard the Ariadne, jollity and celebration still proceeded unhindered. The Officers dined in the Captain’s Greatcabin, with Fentiman at the head of the table, in his Captain’s stead. All Officers were present, save Bentley, him being on Watch, and all were in good spirits, which included even Sailing Master McArdle, who, despite not having partaken of the wine and port, had caught the good mood of celebration and was even seen to smile. The Loyal Toast had long passed and now the conversation had passed on to whichever amusing story those gathered around the table could come up with. Currently, the Ariadne’s Marine Captain Reginald Ramsey was regaling all with a tale about some washing belonging to a High Spanish Matron that went missing whilst he was on garrison duty on Gibraltar. He had just introduced the idea that the Garrison Mascot, a goat, may have had some part to play and, when this became clear at the finish and the laughter had died, even to the echo, someone began singing. At this point, the Surgeon, Harold Smallpiece, made his excuses and rose from the table. The tune was quickly taken up, therefore few noticed his leaving nor heard that he wished to check on his patients. Although there was a quicker route, he chose to go up and via the starboard gangway and then down through the forecastle to his Surgery, the Orlop Deck. The corridor led out onto the gundeck, through which existed the nearest route but the gundeck was alive with a cavorting crew, drinking their grog, dancing hornpipes, telling tales and generally making merry. On the way along his chosen dim gangway he saw three figures, not joining in with the merriment, simply talking and sharing the moment as they drank their portion of the potent mixture of rum, water, lemonjuice and sugar. Smallpiece felt the need to say something, not merely to pass by, for he had recognised them as George Fraser, Zachary Short, and Henry Ball.
A Question of Duty Page 8