“I am returning ship’s boy Christopher Wheeler, commonly known as Smallsize, to you. He has told all to the Captain, confessing that he is a thief’s accomplice. The Captain has now decided that his fate is in your hands, as his messmates. You decide what happens next.”
Wheeler was looking down at the deck, up at the beams, anywhere but at the stern faces above and around him. Members of other messes had also gathered and Sanders placed the cane on the nearest sea chest.
“He’s all yours!”
Morris spoke first.
“Look at me.”
Wheeler did his best, but couldn’t hold it for long.
“Look at me.”
Ship’s Boy Wheeler managed to return the gaze of as angry a look as he’d ever seen. Morris’ reaction was to clip him neatly but firmly alongside his head, then push him over to Dedman, who did the same, until he had gone all around the mess, to be cuffed by something, a hand or a cloth hat. He returned, chastened, but not tearful, to Morris, who placed Wheeler before him, whilst he sat on a chest.
“Now you listen to me.”
This time Wheeler did immediately look up and meet his eyes. The return look was stern, but not unkind.
“If anyone ever threatens you like that again then you comes straight to me. You got that?”
Wheeler nodded, but Morris wasn’t content.
“Yes. Gun Captain!”
“Yes Gun Captain.”
Morris nodded.
“Now, you take a look around yer, now, and see who you’ve got on your side. Any trouble, you’ve got them at your shoulder and they’ll see it right. You got that now?”
“Yes Gun Captain.”
“Right. An’ I don’t know where all this Wheeler stuff came from. Round yer you’m still Smallsize, till I says different.”
oOo
Argent read, for the tenth time, the simple note from Budgen.
“Ready your ship for a mission to Portugal. Likely departure post 10th October.”
Argent was confused. “Hold the ship ready.” What extra could there be about sailing to Portugal? 10th October was four days hence and he was even more confused in the light of the fact that his ship had sat there for three days since their return from the Enquiry. He resolved to see Commodore Budgen, so he stood up, quitting his cluttered desk to then take his hat as he made for the door. Within five minutes he was exchanging the now traditional salutes with Marine Sergeant Venables and then he was sat before Budgen, who looked somewhat affronted at this sudden arrival.
“What brings you here, Argent?”
“Your note, Sir. I’m confused, what extra readiness would I need for a voyage to Portugal? I must say that I’m surprised we’re not out already, Sir, on patrol.”
Budgen sat forward, as far as his stomach would allow, still in unquiet mood.
“You go when we tell you, Argent!”
He paused to alter his face into an even more sour picture.
“State of readiness means that your ship is so far up to the mark as to ensure that she will definitely get there with no mishap, Argent. Everything shipshape, checked, and re-checked.”
“Have you any idea of the nature of the mission, Sir?’
“None. I only know that you are to remain in a state of high readiness. Ready to go on the earliest tide after the tenth, when we know your mission, of course.”
“I feel confident that Ariadne sits in that state now, Sir. As we speak.”
“That may be so, Argent, but it’s for you to be certain that it is.”
Argent stood up. Ideas for the next three days at least were forming in his own head. He saluted, very formally.
“Very good, Sir. I’ll be away and be about it. Sir.”
Budgen waved a finger and Argent left, but what Argent exchanged with Sergeant Venables would not have disgraced Horse Guards parade. Back on board, he sought out Fentiman and brought him down to his cabin.
“We have been ordered to hold ourselves in a high state of readiness to sail on or after the 10th, that being four days from now. How would you put our “state of readiness”?"
“As high as you can get it. All stores on board, well stored and checked. Every rope, sheet, and hawser doubly examined.”
“And the men?”
“I’ve run out of ideas. They’ve run the guns in and out so often we’ve had to change axles on some. They’ve been up and down the masts so often the population look upon it as a regular entertainment. I’ve got them now on knots and splicing, much to the disgust of our “old salts”. I’m now short of ideas.”
“Paint! Paint and grease. And longboat races. We’ve got one, borrow another.”
Fentiman looked shocked and quizzical, but Argent ploughed on.
“I’m taking myself away for a day or so. If Budgen calls for me tell him I’ve gone to Truro. Tell him anything, tell him I’ve gone to see a swordsmith there.”
Argent’s face showed a moment of revelation.
“In actual fact, that won’t be so far from the truth. That old spike of mine could do with a clean up, the removal of a few notches. Yes. Tell him that.”
Thus energised Argent rose from his chair and started throwing shirts, hose and linen into a canvas bag. In contrast he pulled down a large leather portmanteau and carefully folded in his best uniform and best shoes. Within minutes he was ready.
“I’ll be back day after tomorrow.”
Fentiman looked at his Captain with no little humour.
“Yes Sir, but if you’re going ashore to get your sword seen to, then perhaps you’d better take it with you.”
He shifted his gaze to the almost ancient scabbard up in its cradle on a deck beam, terminating with the dull gunmetal bell guard at one end. Argent reached up to seize it.
“Yes, yes, you’re right, of course.”
Two hours later, just on Noon, he was walking into the door of Lanbe Barton to receive the screeched admonishments of his sisters for again arriving without warning. Emily practically pushed him back out the door, but not quite, mostly because of his protests.
“Fine way to treat a wounded sailor! Not so long ago I was gravely wounded, remember? For all you know I’ve come back to get my crutch. I may have decided that I have some permanent need of it.”
Emily suddenly looked genuinely concerned, but Enid would have none of it and threw a towel at his head. However, with all that done Argent embraced both and kissed both, twice.
“Are you all well?”
Both smiled and nodded.
“Where’s Father?”
Enid answered.
“Outside, over the back. He’s clearing a drain.”
He looked from one to the other, each still within the crook of his arm
“Nothing found? No news?”
Both shook their heads and detached themselves, pushing their hands against his chest. Both seemed more depressed than last time.
“I’ve come for that idea if mine, to go to Truro to the Records Office at the County Court. They keep copies of Deeds and such. It’s worth a try. If Father can’t come I’ll go alone, but this is our chance. I have to sail on the 10th, but not before. There’s time.”
They both looked at him and hope grew in their eyes, but only a glimmer. They had been disappointed too often. Argent looked at both.
“I’ll go and find Father. If we leave now, we’ll be there come mid afternoon.”
Both nodded and he went through the room to reach the rear of the house. There he found his Father, stood in a ditch in stout leather boots, clearing out the soil and rubbish to ease the passage of the winter rains. Argent Senior saw his son and ceased work, which for Argent, was a good sign.
“Son. Nice to see you, but why’ve you come? What’ve you in mind?”
“That trip to the County Court at Truro I talked about last time. I’ve three days off and I’ve got my best uniform. If we leave now, we’ll be there before they close.”
There was no change in his Father’s expres
sion. It seemed that hope within him was all but gone and Argent recognised it.
“If you’d prefer Father, I’ll go alone. If you’re busy and have something urgent.”
His Father levered himself out of the ditch, using the spade as a hoist.
“No son. I’ll come. I can’t deny myself the chance. Besides, I have a better idea what to look for. I’ll come.”
He placed a dry but grimy hand on Argent’s arm.
“Give me a chance to get clean and changed. We’ll take the dog cart.”
Argent brightened up.
“Yes, Father. Right. I’ll get changed, too.”
Within an hour, the dogcart, with Argent Senior’s riding horse between the shafts, was rattling along the Truro turnpike. Little was said. Argent began most conversations between them, rotating around all sorts of topics, from new types of plough to how far Jacob could now walk, but all were soon exhausted. Argent asked himself if his Father really was now so fully despondent, but he consoled himself with the fact that Father never had been the most garrulous of men and “slow and stern” were the best descriptors for his character. It had occurred fully to him, as his anxiety forced his mind around the topic, that they could expect no help from Broke, their nearest neighbour, more probable full scorn on any document they found that could help the Argent cause. Broke would be first in line for a cheap purchase of Argent land.
When the more accurate clocks of the town were striking three, they pulled up outside the County Court. The horse was tethered at the trough and, side-by-side, both ascended the steps and entered. At the sight of Argent’s dress uniform the Hallclerk lowered his pen and stood upright to await their approach. Dressed in black, with a white cravat so voluminous that Argent wondered if the clerk could see anything beyond it, Argent found demeanour enough to look at him as he would a defaulter.
“We have business at the Records Office. Can we be conducted there, please?”
“Yes Sir. And your names, please, Sirs?”
“Argent. Both Argent, Junior and Senior.”
The Hallclerk made a note, looked at the clock, then placed his hand over a small bell, raised it in his fingers and shook it. Almost immediately a heavy, rough clothed porter arrived in the archway that led off from the entrance hall. In his turn, the Hallclerk looked disapprovingly at him.
“Take these two gentlemen down to the Records Office.”
The porter took a pace back to clear the arch of his burly frame. Both Argent’s recognised the invitation and walked forward to follow him down the long, dark corridor. Argent came up to his shoulder.
“What is your name?”
The porter turned, surprised. Few made such an enquiry.
“Parsons, Sir.”
“Well, Parsons, this for your trouble.”
Argent held out a coin, which Parsons turned to accept, but said nothing.
“Anyone else been here, over the past few weeks, of any note?”
Parsons turned to look at him.
“Few come here, Sir, but we did have Sir Digby Cinch here a while back. He stands out in my memory.”
Argent nodded and then looked knowingly at his Father. He returned to Parsons.
“He came to the Records Office?”
“Yes Sir.”
They had arrived at the required door. Parsons opened it for them and closed it after their entry. Both were now in a room that reminded Argent of the harbour office of Kinsale, many clerks behind a high counter which kept them separate from the visiting public. Immediately upon their entrance one of the Clerks stood and came to them at the counter. Argent spoke first.
“Do you have an office where we can speak?”
Argent wasn’t going to have their business overheard and it had the desired result. The clerk pointed to his right.
“The next door down, Sirs.”
They exited the office and entered the next door to find the clerk waiting for them, sat behind a scruffy desk. The only other furniture in the room was a bench and so this they used. Argent began.
“We wish to see any records you have, any record, concerning a farm called Lanbe Barton, Falmouth District.
Argent was looking at the clerk and asked himself if he detected a slight shifting of his eyes, a change in the set of his mouth and also the lines of his forehead, but the clerk now spoke.
“Which Parish?”
“All Saint’s.”
The clerk made the note. Argent continued.
“How long will the search take?”
“If you return at Noon tomorrow, Sir, we will have found all that we have.”
Both Argents rose, but Argent Junior continued.
“Noon tomorrow, then. In here.”
“Yes, Sir. In here.”
“May we know your name?”
“Fellsham, Sir. Michael Fellsham.”
Argent walked to the desk and placed a guinea on it. Fellsham looked up, this time with fully elevated eyebrows.
“You’ll make a full search. Yes? Everywhere you can think of. Show us any document you can find with Lanbe Barton written on it.”
A thin hand extended from a frayed cuff and closed over the guinea. Argent looked full at him.
“Another if you find what we need.”
Argent allowed that to sink in.
“So. Until Noon tomorrow.”
Both left the office and made straight for the street. Argent looked at his Father as they approached the dogcart.
“Cinch!”
Argent Senior didn’t look up as his released the reins.
“It could be nothing. He is the MP and a landowner himself. He could well have his own business here.”
By now both were in the dogcart. Argent took up the reins.
“Let’s hope. His own business, not ours.”
Argent then looked at his Father.
“What do you want to do, Father? There’s an Inn just along there, we could stay the night, or return home. Which one would you prefer?”
Argent Senior answered instantly.
“Home. I can’t waste a day, waiting, then travelling. That’s if you can ride back, to get what they’ve found, or not found.”
Argent nodded.
“As you choose, Father, and yes, I’ll come back, hopefully for something helpful.”
The journey back was even more silent and faster, the horse sensing his stable at the end of the journey. Once back, their entrance through the door coincided with the preparations for the evening meal. Emily and Enid looked both confused and annoyed. Enid voiced their feelings.
“We didn’t expect you back. I doubt there’s enough.”
Argent Senior appeased her.
“No matter. Bread cheese and cider, will do for us both. Don’t worry yourself.”
He sat in his chair and eased off his boots, then sat for a while to regard the fire. Argent came to sit with him and both Enid and Emily drew near. Enid spoke.
“It’s a good thing to try, Father. There could be something, in all their dusty records. They’ve got papers there that go back centuries.”
Both Argent and Emily nodded and their Father smiled.
“As may. Could be. So let’s hope so.”
With their Father more cheerful, the meal was also. Of course there was enough stew, potatoes and greens, and none at the table had need of the large loaf of bread to fill an empty corner. As before, the three men sat around the fire, but Argent, for a reason he could not fathom, whilst sitting comfortably before a good fire, could not stay awake and so he dozed whilst the other two talked farming talk. Come morning, Argent allowed himself a long stay in bed beyond dawn, but once up, he lost no time and set out for Truro on his “good mare”, wearing again his best uniform. Behind the saddle, his sword swung on its slings.
He reached Truro close on 11 am. He rode to the swordsmith’s that he knew and left the sword in their expert hands, but if the look of distaste on their face carried a clear message; it would not get their most careful attentio
n.
“When shall I return? I must rejoin my ship tomorrow.”
“At 2.00 o’ clock, Sir. We’ll have it ready. Should we attend to the scabbard, Sir?”
“To do what?”
“Polish the fittings, Sir.”
Argent shook his head.
“No need for that. I’ve come up through the Navy, I know how to polish brass, but thank you, all the same.”
He left the workshop and led the mare down to the County Court. He tied her up at the same horse trough and sat in the unseasonal sunshine. Enid had packed some food and he debated how much to eat, none, some, or all. He chose some and ate, as much to occupy himself as to ease any hunger. At 11.55 he entered. The same Clerk rose to ring the same bell, but someone other than Parsons took him down. Very much other than; thinner, shorter, and older. Argent took himself into the main office to announce his arrival to Fellsham, then he left to go further down to the side office. Within minutes Fellsham arrived, bearing a heavy velum folder. Argent’s hopes rose, but were dashed when the folder was opened. It contained but three pieces of paper, none particularly old, two pieces of quarto, one of foolscap. Argent allowed Fellsham to speak.
“I have three documents here, Sir. Two are summaries of two Court cases between Edward Albert Argent and Admiral Sir Arthur Broke. One concerning drainage, the other concerning access. The third is a requirement on William Reuben Argent to provide a statement of the members of his family, dwelling in Lanbe Barton, as at 1st January 1768. It gives a list.”
Argent’s face turned grim. Not at all what he wanted, but not without some use, for it proved their residence there almost half a century ago, but he knew that it would satisfy no court, were someone of the ilk of Broke or Cinch to make a challenge. He looked at Fellsham.
“This is all?”
Fellsham nodded.
“And, if needs be, these can be quickly recovered?”
“Yes, Sir. They can be held in this file for six months, as an ongoing matter.”
Argent stood up, whilst Fellsham shuffled the papers.
“My thanks to you. I would be grateful if you would hold them as so.”
A Question of Duty Page 37