A Question of Duty

by Martin McDowell

  “I know things.”

  Argent’s face grew even more contemptuous.

  “Things that will do what? Help your case? Set all this at nought?”

  Fallows angered at Argent’s dismissive reaction.

  “I’ve been smuggling for years. How do you think I’ve always been able to get past your Fastnet frigate, and never got caught?”

  Argent sat up and leaned forward, but he let the silence hang.

  “I always knew when your ship would show up and then sail off.”

  Argent looked at Fallows as though he wished his eyes would bore holes in him.

  “How?”

  “Not how, who! Broke and Cheveley, that’s who. Taking a fat share of the profits for the information.”

  The words hit Argent like a hammer, but he held his mouth closed, then he looked calmly and levelly at Fallows.

  “Too easy to say, you can say that easily, too easily. They’ll deny it and condemn it as a story you’ve dreamed up to save your own neck.”

  Argent paused and leaned forward, his voice heavy with sarcasm.

  “Is that what this is, Fallows? The smearing of two Royal Navy Officers? Some spatchcock story to bargain with and save you from the long haul up?”

  “It’s no story, and there’s proof!”

  “Where?”

  “In my castle at Killannan.”

  “In what form?”

  “Letters from Broke and Cheveley both, telling me when their boat will be coming along and then going.”

  Expressionless, Argent looked at Fallows for a long moment. He then reached down to open a drawer and pull out some paper. This, with the inkstand, he pushed across the desk in Fallows direction.

  “Every detail, Fallows. Details, and instructions. Someone will be going to your castle and searching for these letters and if they cannot find them, your story is a sculpture in smoke; it’ll disappear with the first puff of wind. The wind that’ll swing you on the gallows!”

  He reached down and produced another piece of paper.

  “In fact, were I you, I would produce a letter of instruction to one of your servants, someone who knows, to hand over the whole box or whatever that contains them, to the Servant of the Crown. He will most certainly come to call and him leaving with that box is the only hope you have of saving your neck.”

  He paused.

  “And I’d hurry up if I were you. That Yankee may just double back and fire your house, to rid all concerned of any inconvenient evidence. He’s no cause now to go to France.”

  Fallows pulled one of the pieces of paper over in front of him and began writing furiously.

  oOo

  In the event, Fallows letter to a servant had not been required. Three days later Argent had the box open before him on his cabin desk and was methodically sifting through each paper there contained.

  They had returned to the squadron position and, in the good visibility had seen nothing of their fellows. Argent could only conclude that the squadron was either fighting a running battle with a French invasion force, or it was returning to port and he suspected more the latter. In the circumstances of time on his hands and the possibility of corruption at Admiral level, Argent thought it justifiable to take the small detour to Killannan. Using a beam wind, they had arrived out of the January mist, encountering first a fishing boat, just off shore. Both had idled together to allow Maybank to buy their small catch, while the longboat with a dozen Marines, Argent, Fentiman and Fallows pulled for the shingle. Argent had been apprehensive for another reason beyond Fallows box and so, it was with both relief and disappointment that he learned from Patrick that “herself was away on business, up country.” Fallows had been escorted, hands tied, up to his residence and, closely supervised, he had taken himself immediately to an office room and found the box. Argent had found the interior of “Fallows Castle” to be gloomy, odorous and oppressive, a strange throwback to late medieval times, the furniture thick, sturdy and crude. Whether from choice or from inheritance, he had not bothered to enquire, he had been glad to leave and the journey back down had been more eventful, almost enjoyable. The word had spread of Fallows obvious arrest and the Marines were needed to keep back the growing crowd, all eager to make clear their hatred of their life’s master and their glee at his “proper come down.”

  Now Argent had the incriminating notes available at his leisure. He noted that none of the letters were signed. He had not expected it, but two styles of handwriting were present, both very distinctive from the other. He thought a moment, then he went to his own files to find the order given to send them to Figuiera da Foz, he remembered that it had been Broke that had drafted it, in the absence of Grant. He found the order, opened it and took it back to his desk, then he compared the handwriting to some of the notes in Fallows’ box. The writing style of his Order matched that of over half the notes within.

  Come the next day, Ariadne was idling off the entrance to Kinsale, gently rubbing sides with a another fishing boat, whose Captain was now drinking Navy rum whilst sat on the opposite side of Argent’s desk. The fisherman was in some state of cheerfulness, caused by his piece of good fortune, his whole catch was being bought and now, lined up before him were three objects; a full glass of rum, a letter, and a purse containing eight sovereigns, seven for his catch and one for the errand he was about to undertake. His rough and disfigured hands could not decide which to touch first, but the drink won, half was swallowed and then he gathered up the other two. He grinned from a tanned face, exposing surprisingly white teeth, as he waved the letter before Argent.

  “You’ve no need to fear, Captain. This’ll go straight to Commodore Harper, so it will. Fallows is no friend of mine, nor anyone in these parts. Tight landlord, so he is, scrimpin’ landlord, of the worst kind, not an ounce of human kindness in his whole scrimpin’ body. Evil to his tenants and he lifted not one finger when that pirate came to call. That story spread, I can tell you, and, on top, we know of the way that you, yourself, gathered testimony of it all. That gained him a pile of trouble, so it did. So, you can count on my help with this, Captain, so you can, as God’s my judge!”

  He drained the last and slammed the empty glass onto the desk, as though this somehow sealed a bargain.

  “Now, I’ll away. And make no worry; this’ll get where it needs to go.”

  Minutes later, Argent saw the diminishing keel leaving a wake that pointed straight into Kinsale harbour. A letter of explanation from Argent was heading into Ireland with all speed, informing Commodore Harper of the smuggling so far discovered, and the need to occupy Fallows residence to prevent harm, both to it and to any possible extra evidence. All was either in place or in train, time now to head for home.

  oOo

  Chapter Thirteen

  Just Conclusions

  Argent sought reassurance that Admiral Grant was there and, indeed, his unmistakable figure did become clear as he focused his telescope at the quayside; the Admiral could be seen waiting with a squad of Marines. Evidently he had responded with due gravity to the signal “important prisoner need Admiral Grant”; this being sent on their first sight of the Lizard signal station. The signalmen must have sent on their request and he was much re-assured to see that what he had asked for had not been denied. The launch was already in the water before, even, Ariadne had been drawn up to her usual mooring buoy and now he could see Fallows being tied to a strong rope from which he would be lowered into the readied vessel. He looked a thoroughly dejected and dishevelled figure, much reduced from the all-powerful Master of the Estate that he had been in Killannan. There were holes in his clothing over both knees and elbows, he was filthy and unshaven, the whole made even more incongruous by the odd tufts of hair that grew from his dirty, bare and balding head. His evident misery covered all, his dire plight having finally lodged itself firmly in his troubled mind. A bleak December day further depressed both him and the occasion, this as solemn as Argent himself, him now stood with dour expression, wrapped in
his boatcloak, the sharp corner of a box conspicuous front right.

  Argent waited until Fallows was safely lodged on the bottom boards and then chained down by the neck to a stretcher bar; there was to be no repeat of what happened with Kalil Al’Ahbim. With Argent in place and all ready, Whiting called “give way all” and Silas Beddows set a brisk stroke which, with an Admiral viewing all, quickly brought the barge to the foot of the quayside steps. The landing was flawlessly executed and Argent ascended the steps first.

  “Good afternoon, Sir. Thank you for acceding to my request. Might I further ask that we take ourselves immediately to Commodore Budgen’s office? I feel that what I have to say should only be discussed behind closed doors.”

  Grant’s brow furrowed, as much in surprise as in concern.

  “As you choose, Captain, as you think best.”

  However, Argent did not yet walk on, because Fallows was arriving at the top of the steps. Argent turned to the Marine Lieutenant nearby.

  “I leave this man in your charge, Lieutenant. Lock him up, feed him, but keep him secure. And he talks to no one.”

  The answer was a brisk salute and, as Argent began his walk with Grant, Fallows was seized by two Marines and frogmarched into their guardhouse.

  For some paces Grant and Argent exchanged no words, until Argent looked at Grant and the latter responded with a question.

  “This is serious?”

  “It is. Very!”

  Small talk seemed wholly out of place in view of the gravity of those few words and so they both kept step together and their silence, until they entered Budgen’s Office. Marine Sergeant Venables immediately sprang to his feet at the sight of both and, with the downward movement from his salute, gathered up their hats. Grant asked the question.

  “Is Commodore Budgen still here?”

  “Yes Sir. Has been since you came on the quayside, Sir.”

  “Very good. We are not to be disturbed. Clear?”

  Venables saluted.

  “Yes, Sir.”

  Grant went straight through the door and Argent followed. Two chairs were before the desk and Budgen sat waiting behind it, the desk clear of all his “consumables”, but Budgen was plainly apprehensive. Grant chose his seat and spoke first, this being to Argent.

  “We are your audience, Captain.”

  Argent opened the box and took out Fallows confession, his letter of authority and Michael’s statement. He lined them all up on the desk and then placed his finger on the confession, the largest of the three.

  “That is the confession of an Irish smuggler, James Fallows, whom you just saw, Admiral. He owns extensive estates in Southern Ireland. We captured him aboard an American schooner, which tried to escape after killing two of my men. I took off the six who fired the muskets and found the schooner full of Irish linen. She was bound for France.”

  Argent paused.

  “As if that wasn’t serious enough! He says he’s been smuggling for years, regularly sending boats to France loaded with linen, their usual cargo. He says that he escapes our patrol of the coast to the Fastnet, “the Plymouth Picket”, because he is informed when our frigate will not be at sea.”

  Argent sat up to his full height. On hearing his words, so did the other two.

  “Here is the bombshell. He states in his confession that he is informed by letter from either Admiral Broke or Captain Cheveley of the dates when Herodotus will definitely be in port. Thus safe, that’s when he sails, and Broke and Cheveley take a share of the profits.”

  The words hung, suspended on the shock they had caused. Grant’s face grew very grave as he picked up Fallows confession and began to read, fully some parts, scanning others. Budgen looked as though he had seen a ghost. The other two gave Grant time, and then he spoke.

  “And the other documents?”

  Argent pointed.

  “A letter from Fallows, instructing a servant to give the box containing the letters from Broke and Cheveley to a Servant of the Crown. I saved anyone the trouble by calling at Killannan myself and I took Fallows into his residence and he brought out the box. I sent a letter into Kinsale suggesting that Commodore Harper take possession of Fallows’ residence, in case there is any more evidence there.”

  He pointed at the remaining document.

  “That is a confession of Michael Regan, Fallows servant, implicating Fallows.”

  Grant looked at him.

  “And the box?”

  Argent held it open and placed it on the desk, the contents visible.

  “Those are the letters Fallows alludes to. Their contents support what Fallows says, but none are signed. However, I compared the handwriting with that of an order from Admiral Broke’s which I have on board, and it matches at least half the letters. Quite distinctively.”

  Grant looked at Budgen then at Argent. He was decisive, but his expression was tired and matter-of-fact, almost resigned. He looked at Argent.

  “Fallows’ place is in the hands of the authorities, you say?”

  “Yes, Sir. My letter into Kinsale asked for exactly that to happen.”

  Grant took a deep breath, then released it slowly through his nose.

  “We’d better get someone off to Kinsale on the next mail packet. This may go deeper, I’ll trust no one there, so I’ll send Baker with a letter of authorisation from me, to make a thorough search. We’ll give him Fallows’ letter also.”

  He looked at Budgen.

  “Can I use your office, here, now?”

  “Yes Sir. Of course.”

  Grant nodded.

  “I feel I need to write the two letters suspending Broke and Cheveley immediately.”

  Budgen looked overwhelmed.

  “What will happen, then, Sir? After the suspensions?”

  “Probably a full trial, but that is in the hands of their Admiralty Lordships. This is criminal, so, if they do go down that route, it will be the King’s Bench and these letters from Fallows’ residence and the other three documents will undoubtedly to be used in evidence.”

  “Will they be gaoled in the meantime?”

  “I think not. That is up to the local Magistrate, and I suspect that, for now, he’ll give both the benefit of the doubt, until all this has been thoroughly examined. If it stands up as you describe, then gaol it will be, but until then, well? They do have connections!”

  He paused and took another deep breath.

  “Now, Argent. What else?”

  “I have six Americans held prisoner, Sir. They fired on my longboat and killed two of my crew. We let the rest go, and their ship.”

  “Heavens be thanked for that! As for the six, send them to the town gaol and I’ll send them to London. That’s for the Admiralty, no, it’s probably beyond that, it’s for the politicians. Much too complex for the likes of us. Anything else?”

  “Yes Sir. Michael Regan, Fallows servant, was on the American schooner. He did not fire on us, and so I pressed him onto Ariadne. Strictly, he is a smuggler and crewed the vessel that fired on a King’s ship, but he gave us Fallows who was hidden on the schooner and he identified four of the six.”

  He placed his finger on his statement.

  “As I have said, that is his statement implicating Fallows, which then forced Fallows to implicate Admiral Broke and Captain Cheveley. Should I also send him ashore?”

  Grant furrowed his brow and screwed his lips. After a moment he answered.

  “No. Let it go. Were he arrested, as a smuggler the Magistrate would sentence him to time on a warship anyway. I’ll get that cleared. If this Michael wants a full trial he can have one, but he’d be a damn fool were he to insist on that.”

  He allowed his fingers to fall onto the desk edge, as a gesture of finality.

  “Right. Commodore, I need to use your desk. Argent, send Venables down with paper, ink and sealing wax.”

  However, Argent was not finished.

  “Sir, do you know, I don’t know if you do, but what will happen to Fallows estate?” />
  “If memory serves; the property of felons, judged to be the result of their criminality, becomes Crown Property and is invariably sold off, usually at auction.”

  Argent grinned and nodded.

  “Yes Sir. Thank you. I’ll send Venables down now, on my way out.

  However, he did not make an immediate exit. He made full use of the goodwill of Sergeant Venables to dash off a quick letter to Sinead, telling her of Fallows arrest for smuggling and that she was to keep a look out, maintain a “weather eye” he added, for any notice of the sale of Fallows estate.

  Back on board, Argent issued his orders, then went straight to his cabin and so he saw nothing of the longboat being loaded with the six American prisoners and a Marine escort for each. On his final exit from Budgen’s office, Venables had given him the ship’s mail and, once at his desk, Argent tipped the contents onto the empty surface. One he recognised; it being the same as the letter from the Admiralty Prize Court, another was of a new form, addressed in a businesslike, but feminine hand. He felt duty bound to deal with the former first and had difficulty bending it to break the seal, but, that done, he prized it all open and found the Banker’s Draft which confirmed his thoughts. It said £16,533, 9s, 8d, this for the smuggler they had taken in the Autumn. He could not bring himself to bother with the calculations as for La Mouette, his thoughts were too preoccupied with the other letter, so instead he called for Purser Maybank. The Prize Court letter summarily placed aside, he looked at the second.

  He read his name and the name of his ship several times, then he broke the seal and folded back the paper. The first line hit him like a hammer blow and brought a huge grin to his face. “My special Captain. It means much to me that you are still thinking of me.” The rest was a jumble of ideas, events and observations, as much as Argent’s letter to her had been, but it was signed “Your Sinead.” He read every word, some carefully, some quickly, then he re-read the whole, four pages of it, and was still reading when Purser Maybank arrived. Argent did little more than raise his head at his entry and, whilst still reading, he pushed the Prize Court documents towards Maybank’s side of the desk. He did manage some words of greeting and instruction.