by John Drake
So Howe nodded wisely at my replies.
“Well, young Fletcher,” says he, “I’m pleased with you! So I shall keep you here with me aboard Queen Charlotte and if, as seems likely, you become the means of my seizing the Grain Convoy, or of bringing Villaret Joyeuse to battle, then you may look upon me as a friend.” He looked at me to judge my reactions. “I’ll see you presented at Court,” says he, “and you may look to me for other favours.”
“Thank you, my Lord,” says I, “I am conscious of the honour you do me.”
And indeed I was. I was conscious of the honour and wondering what the price might be. I was right to wonder, too. For I didn’t know at that time just how enormous my father’s fortune was. And nor did I know that he’d been a sort of banker to the Tory interest, which accounts for why Lord Howe was being so solicitous to the heir of that fortune, for wouldn’t it have been bloody tragic should I take all that money across to the rival camp?
So I didn’t have all the facts, but I guessed some of it. Because if Black Dick wanted me as a chum, that meant that he saw me as an asset to whatever faction he drank his claret with when he was in London. He that was King George’s cousin! That meant … it meant … My God! It meant I was not only rich, but that I could move among the nobility. I could get myself a title: Sir Jacob Fletcher! Lord Fletcher of Polmouth! I could have a house in town, one in the country, a string of juicy mistresses and a nobleman’s snow-white, trembling virgin daughter, for my wife.
I smiled happily to myself, utterly dazzled, and for the first and only time in my life I let go of my lifelong desire to earn my own money. It’s interesting to note that in that moment, I thought of Kate Booth for the first time since the Boston prison.
I thought what a splendid thing it would be to seek her out and set her up in a nice little house somewhere, where I could visit her whenever I wanted.
In short, therefore, I believed that I was about to ascend to Olympus to sup with the gods.
23
MISS KATE BOOTH begs MR JACOB FLETCHER to apply to The Blue Boar Inn, Aldgate High Street, where he will learn of the perilous circumstances in which she is placed and from which only MR FLETCHER may bring her dear. In the event of MR FLETCHER’s being unable to come forward, she undertakes to pay the sum of FIVE GUINEAS IN GOLD to any person providing true information as to the whereabouts of MR FLETCHER.
(Advertisement placed in The Times, Globe, Morning Post and several other London newspapers between 28th September and 8th October 1793.)
*
After midnight on the night of 27th September 1793, a hackney carriage drew up outside No. 208 Maze Hill, Greenwich. The sashes were drawn up and improvised curtains, that recently had been a black cloak belonging to Mr Samuel Slym, covered the windows (the curtains originally belonging to them having long since rotted into uselessness).
As the half-ruined horses stood tired and wretched in their harness, too worn out even to toss their heads, Slym himself got out from the vehicle and addressed the driver. He pointed straight down the road.
“You keep your eyes down there, Benny Riley,” said he, “or I’ll knock ‘em out of your bleedin’ head.”
The driver hunched deeper into his overcoat and his heavy shawl. He pulled his hat over his eyes and bit his lip. But he said nothing and did as he was bid, for this was a man deep in Slym’s power. The great archive of information on the neat little cards in Slym’s office provided all sorts of useful strings and levers.
Slym checked once more that nobody else was about and pulled open the carriage door.
Nobody saw the small female form bundled up in its heavy coat. Nobody saw the door of No. 208 silently open. Nobody saw her go in. Slym turned back to the carriage and pulled out the lady’s bag. He looked up at the driver once more.
“If anyone asks … Where’ve you been tonight, Benny Riley?” he said.
“Indoors with the misses, Mr Slym,” said Riley, staring fixedly ahead.
“All night?” said Slym.
“All fucking night, Mr Slym,” said Riley.
“Filthy tongue you’ve got, Benny,” said Slym. “Just you remember when to hold it.”
“Didn’t stir out all night, sir,” said Riley, urgently, frightened that he’d given offence. “Not all night, sir. The missus’ll witness to it, Mr Slym.”
“Good night, Benny Riley,” said Slym. “Whip ‘em up, now!”
“Go-on!” said Riley and flicked his whip. And Slym entered the house as the carriage rattled away into the dark night.
Inside, Kate Booth was waiting, looking with disfavour at the dirty hall and at the grubby servant girl who had a look of sly amusement on her face.
“What is this house?” said Kate.
“A property owned by Mrs Manton, ma’am,” said he. “Uncomfortable, perhaps, but safe. There are pervasive interests ranged against us. There could even be danger for you, if it were known that you are in London.” He took her arm and led her forward before she could ponder too much on the matter. “This way, ma’am,” he said. “Mrs Manton is expecting you,” and so into the drawing room where Lady Sarah was waiting.
He almost gasped when he saw her. He knew some of her talents already, but obviously not all. Lady Sarah was sitting reading, but as they entered she stood and smiled. But it was miraculous. Slym shook his head in respect. The woman had put on a new manner. A new soul. What an actress she’d have made! She was still a lovely woman but it was like meeting your maiden aunt. And all she’d done was put on a plain gown and a lace cap. The transformation was all within her self. No make-up. Not so much as a pair of spectacles which a lesser performer would have thought an obvious stage property for the part she was playing.
“Mr Slym!” said Lady Sarah. “Do come in.” She smiled sweetly at Kate. “My dear,” she said, “you must be Miss Booth. I do so much sympathise with all that you have been put to by the demands of a cruel world, and equally, I so much share your anticipation of the happier times that now lie before you.”
The words were simple enough, but Lady Sarah’s delivery of them turned them into something near magic, and Kate Booth was instantly put at her ease. She became one of the many whose first impressions of Lady Sarah were false. Alone, among strangers, in the dead of night and in a strange and unhealthy place, Kate was much relieved to meet so charming a lady.
The past few days in an excellent hotel had reassured her a little, but Slym had brought a cold chill in with him every day when he came to “report” to her. On those occasions he’d given her such a complexity of detail to describe the progress of his campaign that it left her wondering what in fact was going on, and even whether he was not just inventing it to keep her bemused. But she knew that the die was cast and that she must follow on where Slym led. For the present, anyway. Certainly there was no going back to Mrs Simpson’s. There’d been threats and shouting when Kate left.
But now this sweet and kindly lady, who had every authentic mark of position and good breeding, was treating her as an equal. “All that you have been put to, by the demands of a cruel world,” she had said, and “The happier times that now lie before you.” Kate dared to hope the great hope of her profession that she might cross the gulf between the whore and the lady. And then there was Fletcher himself. A kind man and a generous one. She’d thought a lot about him. He’d wanted to marry her.
Lady Sarah noticed a sudden look of worry on Kate’s face.
“What is it, my dear?” said Lady Sarah, with all the warmth and solicitude of a mother. It flicked through her mind that it was a pity that her son Victor was otherwise engaged, for it was great sport to see the envy on his pretty little face when she extended to some stranger the kindness that she had withheld from him.
She crushed her dangerous tendency to laugh at the wrong moment and threw an arm around Kate and drew her to a comfortable armchair, by the fire.
“Poor child!” she said. “You are frozen! Let me help you with your bonnet and coat.” She turned to
Slym who’d been hovering in the background. “Mr Slym,” she said reproachfully, “did you not have wraps and blankets in the carriage? Were there no hot bricks nor foot-warmers? This poor creature is near dead with cold!”
“No time, ma’am,” said Slym. “Our business is urgent, as you know …”
“Bah!” she said, and waved her hand at him. “Leave us at once, sir!” She caught Kate’s eye and smiled, as between confidantes. “Miss Booth and I will do all the better without your intrusive presence.”
She kissed Kate’s cheek and chafed her hands to warm them. At that moment Kate Booth, clever woman though she was, was utterly deceived. She even smiled.
“Begone, sir!” said Lady Sarah, as Slym hesitated. “Leave us to talk without a man to interfere!”
So Slym did as he was told. As he left the room he turned and looked at the two ladies for a second. They were both so lovely in their very different ways. Sarah was stroking the moll’s hair and charming her like the witch she was. Christ! He thought of some of the things she’d done to him in bed! What a woman! Now the two were talking like sisters. The girl was tiny and slender. It fascinated Slym that she always sat so straight-backed and neat. He liked neat things. A twinge of guilt tickled him, a pain like a tooth just starting to complain of decay.
“Huh!” he said to himself and shut the door and stumped off to find somewhere to wait in this decrepit and miserable house. He chose the kitchen, in the basement. There’d be a fire there. As he entered, the two servants stood up from the table with surly half-hearted respect, disturbed from their gin and playing cards. He saw that they’d not been chosen for their good manners. Nor cleanliness, neither.
The girl he already knew, but the other, Mrs Collins the abortionist, he’d not met before. She was a thick, heavy woman, of about fifty years, with big red arms and a well-developed moustache.
“Sit down!” he said. “I’ll wait here.” He sat at the other end of their table.
Mrs Collins nudged the girl sharply. “Harsk the gennelman hif ‘e wants to partake hov some refreshment,” she said. The girl wiped her hands on her apron and shoved the gin towards Slym.
“No,” he said. And that was as much conversation as passed between the three of them over the next couple of hours until one of the bells high up on the kitchen wall summoned the servant girl to the drawing room. A minute later she was back.
“Mistress says, would the gennelman join herself in the with-drawin’ room.” She gave Slym a perfunctory curtsy, and turned to Mrs Collins. “And there’s a room to be made up for the other lady, and a fire lit in it and the sheets aired.” Slym left the two of them grumbling over this unprecedented extension of their duties.
In the withdrawing room, Sarah was playing the same game, and Miss Booth looked tired. But each looked happy and it was clear that Kate had accepted whatever tale Sarah had told her, and would stay in the house willingly. That was one objective achieved. Slym was burning with curiosity to know if Lady Sarah had found out more than he had, but he was far too experienced to clump heavy footed into the matter. So he followed Sarah’s lead and talked of nothing in particular until the girl came to say that Miss Booth’s room was ready.
“It is upstairs, under the roof, my dear,” said Lady Sarah, “but the best we can provide here, and there is a good fire.”
“That is perfectly adequate,” said Kate, making the best of the inevitable. “Thank you, ma’am, and you Mr Slym, for all that you have done.” She offered him her hand and he shook it carefully. Lady Sarah kissed her and she was led upstairs by Mrs Collins and the girl, holding a candle.
“Now then!” says Slym as the drawing-room door closed behind the procession.
“Wait!” said Lady Sarah, and poured herself a glass of wine. “Ahhh!” she said and sank back on to her chaise longue, shedding her assumed persona, as a snake slides out of its old skin. She drained the glass as Slym sat down beside her.
“What does she know?” said Sim. “What happened abroad that blasted Press Tender? Did Fletcher do for that bloody Bosun or did he not?” She took a moment to think, then sighed and shrugged her shoulders.
“Sam,” she said, “I don’t think you realise how determined a creature is our little Miss Booth. She looks like an angel but she’s lived aboard ship as a common sailor’s tart, which I imagine to be a hard school dealing rough knocks.”
“Hmm,” he said. As usual, Sarah had hit the nail on the head. The fact was that Kate Booth had such an air of gentility about her, and the speech and manners to go with it, that even Slym tended to forget where she’d come from. “What the hell is she?” he said.
“It’s obvious!” said Lady Sarah, and smiled mockingly at him. “Can’t you guess? How does a girl of her sort come to be a whore?”
“Well,” he said, “she’s been ruined, I’d say. Some well-born girl that’s been seduced and abandoned.”
“And so she is,” said Lady Sarah, “but not a word did I get from her as to her family or parents.”
“And what about Fletcher?” he said.
“She loves him. She thinks he loves her. She says he’s kind and generous ...” she paused and frowned in disbelief, “and … and she says he didn’t want the Coignwood money!” She stared at Slym. “Can you believe such a thing?”
“I told you that!” said Slym. “I found that out! Now what about Fletcher and that Bosun?”
“I learned no more than you,” she admitted. “Fletcher did something that she won’t talk about, but that is all I learned.” She smiled and leaned across to nestle comfortably against Slym. She slid an arm around his neck and ran her fingertips through his hair. “Though of course,” she said, “I could have it out of her if I chose …”
“Well, why didn’t you?” he said, irritated.
“Because I’m tired,” she said. “It’s late. I don’t want to go to the trouble tonight.”
“What do you mean?” said Slym.
“Well,” she said, “I have two methods in mind. I had Mrs Collins find me a large barrel and place it in the cellar — she’s stronger than most men, you know. A useful assistant for work of this kind. What I had supposed was that we might fill the barrel with water and give Miss Booth a bath. But first we’d bind her to keep her from struggling, so that I might the more easily push her head below the water and lift it out when I chose. I imagine that would be most persuasive.”
“Good God!” said Slym, staggered at the casual way in which these words were delivered. “You can’t do that, you’ll kill her!”
“Yes,” she said, “that could be a danger. We shouldn’t want to lose her before she’d told her tale, should we? But we might not actually have to put her to it. Drowning is so horrid a thing that the threat of it might be enough!” She looked into his eyes. “Did you know, Sam, that when Galileo was before the Holy Inquisition, they took him to the torture chamber and simply showed him the instruments, and he, like a sensible fellow, immediately did what they wanted. Perhaps Miss Booth would do the same?”
“Good God!” said Slym.
“Must you repeat yourself, my dear?” she said, and continued, “The second course would be simpler and although it would lack the former’s special capacity to inspire horror, it would have the advantage of there being no possibility of an unintentional death.” She smiled. “And that would be a simple flogging.” She leaned closer still, whispering the words and sliding her tongue into his ear. “I’d have her stripped naked and tied to her bed: one limb to each corner, and then I’d take a riding whip and give her the finest thrashing she’s ever had in all her life.” Slym shuddered with peculiarly mixed feelings. “You might like to watch, my dear,” she breathed, “many gentlemen find it most stimulating to see one woman whip another.”
“But, but,” said Slym, far out of his depth and clutching at straws, “we can’t do it …”
“Of course we can, my love,” she said, “these are practical possibilities. The first leaves no marks at all and so long as we k
eep the girl here until she’s healed, then neither does the second. Miss Booth could prove nothing against us. She’s no more than a street-walker, in any case. Who’d believe her? She is in our power to do with as we will.”
“None the less, hold your hand,” he said, finally. “We know Fletcher did something she’s frightened of, and I’m damn sure I know what it was. So what’s to gain by her telling what it was? She’d never testify against him, that’s for sure.”
“Hmm,” said Lady Sarah. “I think you are rationalising, my dear Sam.”
“Sarah,” said he, taking both her hands in his and glaring at her, “keep her here. Keep her safe. And leave me to chase Mr Fletcher. If I get nowhere then you can have your way with her. But just having her here gives us an advantage over Mr Fletcher, and gives me an idea. I’m going to put advertisements in all the papers for Mr Fletcher to see. We’ll use Miss Booth as bait to catch him. That’s what you want, isn’t it? To get your hands on him?”
“Oh, yes!” she said. “Oh, yes indeed.”
24
One good thing about a three-decker is that there’s plenty of cabins aboard for supernumaries like myself. At least there is if the Admiral himself has instructed that a cabin must be found and someone turned out on his ear if need be. Even so, rank has its honours in the Navy, and it was only the most junior Lieutenant who had to give up his cabin for me. But a Lieutenant is a Lieutenant none the less, so he took the Master’s Mate’s cabin, who took the Bosun’s cabin, who took the Gunner’s Mate’s cabin, who kicked the arses of the lower-deck hands until everyone was perfectly happy again.
In addition, I was found shirts, shoes, razors, tooth powder and brush, bedding, and other things I stood in dire need of (I also got a horn snuff-box that I’ve kept to this day and which I never needed at all). All these things were kindly paid for by my mighty patron, Admiral Lord Howe. But the best thing he did was to endorse my status as a gentleman. That meant I dined with the wardroom, I had absolutely nothing to do, and I could walk the quarterdeck and generally nose around and see what went on. It was the closest thing I’d ever had to a holiday, for there was plenty to see, plenty of good company and all the food and drink I could take aboard.