Paladin's War

by Peter Greene

  Lady Wilder reached around quickly and opened the door, stepping in. Barbara grabbed her arm, whispering loudly: “She is my charge, Alina. I need to—”

  Just then, Barbara saw movement from the other, dark end of the hallway. She saw a small, stocking-clad foot almost step out into her view, then retreat quickly backward into the shadow.

  “Barbara!” Alina said with a laugh, “How strange you are!”

  Miss Thompson looked into the guest room, knowing that with Delain not there, Alina would notice, and, well, she would rather not even contemplate what horrible scandal this would cause and what blemish would be placed on the young girl. Glancing to the bed, she was surprised to see the shape of a person under the covers. Then who is in the hallway? she wondered.

  She looked back to the shadow, and a delicate face peered out. Delain.

  “What has come over you?” asked Lady Wilder.

  “Ah…” said Barbara. She glared at Delain as if to say, “What are you doing?” Delain simply made a gesture of surprise and then mouthed what could only be the word pillows.

  “You are right, Alina. Let us go in together!” said Barbara. She quickly glanced at Delain and positioning herself out of Alina’s view, motioned for her to wait.

  The ladies entered the bedroom. Looking at the bed, both women paused.

  “Is she asleep?” whispered Lady Wilder.

  Barbara quickly but silently rushed to the side of the bed and put her face close to the pillow that was pretending to be a head. Acting as if she were listening to the breathing of Delain, she nodded and smiled at Lady Wilder.

  Returning to the door, Barbara whispered, “The little angel is asleep.”

  “Asleep?” asked Alina. “But she seemed so uncomfortable…”

  Thinking of a quick lie to make the first lie seem more believable, Barbara continued, “I believe it is not cucumbers but a cold coming on. Yes, she was outside all this morning with the two dogs, and, frankly, she was barefoot.”

  “Barefoot?” asked Lady Wilder, surprised and shocked. “Oh my dear!”

  “Yes,” said Barbara as she moved out to the hallway, pulling Lady Wilder by the hand and then closing the door quietly.

  “That little imp!” said Barbara, shooting a glance in Delain’s direction and speaking loud enough for the girl to hear. “She is always up to something, and exploring the mud with those hounds is her sort of fun.”

  “Mud? Are you serious? Dear me!” said Lady Wilder.

  “Yes. She is quite a caution!” added Barbara.

  The two ladies began their walk back to the tea room.

  The carriage ride home began in silence, at least from Steward’s point of view. The evening had fallen, the air now chilly, and gas lamps around Van Patten Wood were lit along front streets and drives. The horses clip-clopped onward, heads down, tired, yet happy to be moving home again. Standing was as uneventful and boring for them as it was for Steward. He heard nothing from inside the car until they were almost back to the Bracknell Estate, and then just incomprehensible voices to begin with. Eventually, the conversation became heated, the volume rising to a point where he could pick a few words and sometimes a phrase. He was sure the discussion had to do with Delain’s foray into the woods and her behavior during tea. After a few moments more, the voices became loud enough that the topics were clear, and Steward almost felt guilty for listening.

  “All I am saying, Miss Dowdeswell,” said Barbara, “is that there is a time to act like a lady, and for you, a fourteen-year-old girl, that time is now!”

  “Don’t call me ‘Miss Dowdeswell.’ Am I now not your friend?” asked Delain.

  “Delain, the point is—oh! Friends? Certainly we are!” Barbara said.

  Then she paused, considering the young girl. Yes, we are dear friends, she thought. And though such trouble as Delain is, there is something captivating about her, wise beyond her years, intriguing, and yes, I must admit, exciting. However, a lady must first be a lady. And it is my duty, in the absence of Lady Dowdeswell, still in the Bahamas, to look after this one.

  “And I will call you Barbara, if I may?” said Delain.

  “Of course,” answered Miss Thompson. “Now, where were we?”

  “You were admonishing my behavior at tea,” said Delain flatly.

  “Ah yes, thank you,” said Barbara. “Delain, you have so much promise, a bright spirit, and a charming demeanor. Why do you insist on outrageous conduct?”

  “I don’t think it was that outrageous,” said Delain softly as she looked out the window.

  “Jumping out of a moving carriage? Pretending to be ill? Snooping around a private residence?”

  “All right. It was outrageous,” offered Delain.

  “It was almost criminal!” gushed Barbara. “Whatever made you decide to puff up the bed with pillows and go off exploring the dark regions of the Wilder Manor?”

  Delain turned toward Barbara and smiled.

  “I will tell you soon; however, for now, I will keep it to myself. Please, Barbara. Do not ask me again.”

  11

  The Echo Returns

  Just after midnight, April the seventh, the Paladin continued toward Gibraltar under less than full sail due to the damaged foremast. In the deep of the night, she glided along as the stars began their dance about the clear heavens, their reflections vividly sparkling in the dark sea.

  Jonathan awoke from his slumber at the sound of a single bell to start his night watch. He dressed quickly and woke Sean with a mild poke. As the Irishman rolled over, Jonathan saw blood on his pillow.

  “Sean,” he whispered. “Are you all right?”

  “Huh?” said Sean, yawning.

  “There is blood on your pillow!” said Jonathan, careful to not wake others. “And your ear!”

  “What? Oh! Just my earring,” said Sean. “I got it for passing the equator. Welty and Bowman did it. Hurt like Hades, I can tell ya.”

  “Sean!” whispered Jonathan as harshly as he could, “You are going to be an officer someday! You can’t have an earring like a common seaman!”

  “I’m going to be an officer?” asked Sean, still groggy.

  “A marine officer, I would hope! Now get up and take that fool thing out of your ear before you offend Commander Harrison!”

  Sean grumbled and removed the gold loop, then began putting on his uniform. The possibility of becoming an officer had never occurred to him. And as pleasant as it sounded, the thought of being Marine Captain Flagon would bring some amount of responsibility that would certainly require substantial effort. Could he really perform to that expected level of duty? Would it be possible for him to actually progress that far?

  Jonathan turned and ran up the ladder to the main deck, slipping on his coat and hat as he went. Sean, now almost dressed and in relative privacy, replaced the ring in his ear and positioned his hair so as to hide it. He fed Stewie a piece of dried, unsalted fish, gave him a generous pat, and then proceeded to the main deck for duty.

  There were men awake and men asleep, the ones in slumber snoring and wheezing for the most part. The conscious crew was either preparing for a watch or just coming off. They gathered by the few open water barrels, and there was Berkeley, handing out hardtack and an almost completely dry rind of lime to all.

  Once on deck, Sean reported to Sergeant Hudson for duty. It was usually the same: walking the deck, arms shouldered, usually with Hicks, and learning how to grimace at the common crewmen, mostly Sean’s friends. The crew understood the need for the marines aboard to perform as maritime police. They were the eyes and ears and sometimes hands of the captain, and the crew pretended to be somewhat afraid and respectful of the marines’ presence, at least while they were nearby. After Sean and Hicks had passed, the men lapsed back into their usual jolly manner. It was true that, at times, Sean missed the deep camaraderie he had enjoyed with the crew on previous voyages. While in uniform, the men respected him, and that meant sometimes they were distant. At least when belowdecks
, he was again one of them.

  Jonathan quickly found Lieutenant Quinn at the helm with Fawcett.

  “Ah, Mister Moore. Are you ready?”

  “Yes, sir,” Jonathan answered.

  “Then the watch is yours,” said Quinn. “Nothing to report. Garvey is in the crow’s nest. We are a day from Gibraltar. The Mediterranean lies beyond to the east.”

  “I have never been to the Mediterranean Sea,” said Jonathan.

  “It looks as all ocean does,” said Quinn with a smile. “We will stop in Gibraltar and see the port from the ship at least.”

  “We are stopping?” asked Jonathan.

  “Commander Harrison inspected the repairs to the foremast,” said Quinn, “and as it is not mended fully, he has decided to seek additional lumber and then continue on, even at this slower pace. He felt it better than delaying the mission by fully repairing.”

  Jonathan felt awful once again. The Paladin, beloved by his commander, was now an injured lady, and it was his fault. He knew it had been a poor decision to not check the entire gun himself—as was his deciding to remain silent about his meeting with Lord Wilder and Spears.

  “Another word, if you have a moment?” asked Jonathan.

  “Surely,” replied Quinn.

  They began to walk the deck as night was closing in deeply, the wind gusting at their backs as they looked toward the few lights they could discern ashore. Peaceful it was, and quiet.

  “Lieutenant Quinn,” Jonathan began. “Two items, if I may.”

  “The gun? Is that what this is about?” asked Quinn.

  “Partly,” said Jonathan, “however, it is not for blame or retribution’s sake I bring up the subject. It was my responsibility to secure the gun, no one else’s.”

  “You just want to know,” said Quinn. “I understand, Jonathan. And the answer is yes, I did inspect the gun and the cap. All looked fine to me for the most part, until I checked the cap. It seemed loose. So I tightened it a bit, but after I began, it was clear that it was really fine before I even touched it. I now believe it was imperfectly made, or damaged in the transportation process.”

  “An accident in the true sense of the word?” added Jonathan.

  “I believe so,” said Quinn.

  “I should tell Captain Harrison,” said Jonathan.

  “Why bother?” said Quinn. “He is over it. To bring it up again would be as if you are opening a healed wound, yes?”

  Jonathan thought about this as they walked the deck, and after a while, he decided to wait until the right moment to discuss the incident again with Harrison. Maybe after the mission was over, and they were back in London.

  “Your second issue, Jonathan?” asked Quinn.

  “Yes. When you came aboard with our new orders and were called to the captain’s cabin, you winked at me as you passed. Was there any meaning to that action?”

  Quinn thought for a moment, looked about the deck, and seeing that they were, for all practical purposes, alone, smiled.

  “Yes. Because I had knowledge of you. From Captain Spears and Lord Wilder.”

  “You were contacted by Spears and Lord Wilder?” asked Jonathan, shocked.

  The young men stopped walking, now back at the bow. The few hands that were present could see they were in deep discussion and moved away, out of earshot and courtesy.

  “Indeed. They changed my orders,” said Quinn. “I was assigned to the Spartan but was reassigned to the Paladin at the last minute and given the treaty.”

  “May I ask what they told you?” said Jonathan.

  “I was told by Spears and Lord Wilder to keep an eye on Commander Harrison.”

  This made Jonathan gasp. Of course, he had been told the same thing and was given the same secret duty.

  As if reading his mind, Quinn smiled and said, “I was also told what you were told, Jonathan. That Harrison, though a capable officer, was possibly a bit too confident, too reckless, and would deviate from the expressed mission orders. I was told that you would also be contacted, as one who knows Harrison well, and that you would also attempt to influence him and encourage him to perform accordingly.”

  “I am relieved to hear I am not alone,” said Jonathan. “However, I can tell you that Commander Harrison is extremely capable, and all this is unnecessary.”

  “Possibly,” said Quinn. “However, he is considering changing course, changing plans, and that could mean disaster.”

  “He is my friend and a proven officer,” said Jonathan, “capable of missions considerably more difficult than dropping off a few pieces of parchment.”

  “I am sure,” said Quinn. “I am only repeating what I have been told. It is true that he has had only a few assignments as an officer, and has gotten his first command by jumping the ladder, as they say, even if by the king’s command. There are those who believe he is a bit unlucky as well. He has lost two ships, and in the Admiralty, that is where they concentrate.”

  Jonathan was not satisfied. There was more to all this. He had been put into a difficult position by being asked to withhold information from his friend, and in that way, he felt dishonest. He told Quinn of his personal feelings about the matter.

  “Then, Jonathan, all I can say is this: we must follow our orders from the king, and in the end, when we are successful, who will get the credit and the glory? Commander Thomas Harrison. That can’t be all bad. So we are actually helping him, yes?”

  With that, Quinn clapped Jonathan on the back and headed off to bed.

  The eastern sky above the continent had now a pale gray glow as the creeping morning sun lit the few wispy clouds. To the west, it was black as pitch, and to the south, still too dark to make out anything but a few crests of the small waves that broke all but silently ahead of the ship. The view north was shrouded in shadow.

  Jonathan’s first and middle watch continued without incident, and as a single bell signaled the morning watch, Lieutenant Alexander took over the deck, sending Jonathan to bed. He tossed and turned, unable to sleep as the past few day’s events played out, over and over, in his mind. Frustrated, Jonathan returned to the deck and stood by Mister Fawcett, staring off the stern, watching the crests of the waves. Deep in thought, Jonathan stared, now and again, refocusing his eyes through his telescope on a different section of the sea, a habit he had been taught by Harrison so many months ago. It was a way to systematically scan the ocean, moving one’s gaze a point at a time, then progressing on to the next point. At first, he saw nothing, though as the sun climbed a little higher, the gray shades of the cresting waves lightened—and one crest was actually a pale white. Within a minute, Jonathan could see two masts, then, square mizzen, topsails, and topgallants, and finally the triangular mainsails. Not all were set out, but it was clear it was a sloop, much like the Paladin. He lowered his glass.

  “Two masts! Three points off the port stern! Steady as she goes, Mister Fawcett,” Jonathan said.

  “Aye, Mister Moore. Steady as she goes.”

  Harrison and Alexander appeared immediately at the stern and raised their glasses.

  “Very nice, Mister Moore. I see your eyes are in perfect working condition. She’s almost directly behind now. Looks like…a brig-rigged sloop.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Alexander. “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear we were looking in a mirror.”

  “The Echo!” exclaimed Jonathan.

  “It must be,” agreed Harrison. “Lieutenant Gray is in command, if I remember correctly. There is a union jack above the spanker,” said Harrison. “We must invite him to breakfast if his errand allows. Jonathan, have the crew reduce the tops, keep the mains.”

  As his orders were being carried out, Harrison again took up his glass and watched the approaching vessel. He could now see plainly as the sun ascended, making the ship’s identity clear.

  “It is definitely the Echo,” he said. “I can almost make out the figurehead. No wonder it has caught us. Without our foremast, we couldn’t have been doing more than seven kno
ts.”

  Aboard the Echo, not Lieutenant Joshua Gray, but Nikomed Aggar, the Russian captain, watched intently through his telescope at the ship ahead. He had hoped that he would be able to steal a quick glance at the vessel, positively identify it as the Paladin, then come about with great speed and agility to slip out of visual range. He would then know that all was on schedule and could prepare his crew.

  “Is it she” asked Kowalski, standing at the wheel.

  Both were now wearing uniforms that they had taken from the English crew of the Echo and ones found in other places, including Gray’s cabin.

  “Yes,” said Aggar. “I don’t dare get any closer. If she sees us…have the men reduce sail and come about. We will hide to the north for a while.”

  The Paladin, now with canvas reduced to only square sails on the mainmast, had given up speed perceptibly. This was done to allow the Echo to easily approach. As Harrison watched, the Echo also reduced sail and kept her distance.

  “Odd,” said Harrison to Mister Fawcett. “What in heaven’s name is Gray doing? Why is he slowing? Alexander! Quinn! Add sail, Moore! Get the men to the guns! Come about, Mister Fawcett! Jenkins! Pipe to stations!”

  “Yes, sir,” said the officers, who rushed to carry out the order. Following the call from Jenkins’s pipe, the deck of the Paladin was now alive with men. The crew in the tops began letting down sail. Others ran to their guns, rolling them into position and prepping them for what may come. The marines mustered at the bow as Sergeant Hudson gave his orders. Within seconds, the red-coated musketeers were in position along the rails and in the masts. Sean took his place at the stern with Hicks to his right. His gun was loaded, his hands shaking visibly.

  “What’s a matter, Seany?” asked Hicks.

  “I-I’m all right. Just don’t want to fire on the Echoes, if you catch my meaning.”

  “Ah, just a precaution. Showin’ off a bit,” assured Hicks.

  “They have seen us, Captain Aggar!” came the call from crow’s nest of the Echo.