SH06_War

by Edward Cline

  “Of course, sir,” Hunt answered, startled by the question. “It is Revenue property now, and is a prize of another kind. And its new master is eager to return, as well. Why do you ask?”

  “How long before you intend to sail?”

  Hunt cleared his throat. “From Caxton? In a few days, once matters are cleared up here. We will stop long enough in Hampton for me to reclaim my kit, and then we shall go.”

  “I ask this because I am in need of my valet, Mr. Spears, the man who showed you in. Could he come aboard with me for the time being? He is blameless in all matters political. He would leave when you are prepared to leave Caxton.”

  Hunt grimaced in thought. “Well, I see no harm in it. Will he accompany us now?”

  “No. Allow me to give him instructions to prepare my own modest baggage.” Then Hugh stepped outside the study, and called for Spears. When the man appeared, Hugh said, “I am being invited aboard the Sparrowhawk, Mr. Spears. Prepare a bag for me for a few nights’ stay. Then come to Caxton and the pier to deliver it. You will see to my needs once you are on board.” After a pause, he added, “Be sure to pack a book or two for me to read. Hyperborea, for instance.”

  When Spears blinked in incredulity, Hugh said, “Go on, Spears. We’ll talk when I see you again.”

  “Yes, sir.” The valet turned woodenly and went upstairs.

  Hugh Kenrick, Jared Hunt, and Mr. Blassard went out the door.

  Thomas Hulton waited until he heard an officer shout a command, and the marching boots fade away, before he crept out from beneath the desk. He peered outside the window, and saw no one. Radulphus Spears came into the study, looking like he was about to cry. Hulton stared at his successor, then opened the sheet of paper that Hugh Kenrick had dropped onto his knees. It read:

  “Mr. Hunt means to murder me. My murder is necessary, for I accused him of a murder he knows he is guilty of committing. Take this note to Mr. Frake at the Otway place, and tell him to destroy the Sparrowhawk, regardless of my presence on it. Your most grateful friend, Hugh Kenrick.”

  Hulton came around the desk and silently offered Spears the note. The valet read it and sobbed once. “Oh, Mr. Hulton! What shall we do?”

  “Stop blubbering, man!” Hulton replied sharply. He was a sergeant again. “We’ll think of something. First, you will tell me how to go to the Otway place.”

  Chapter 19: The Answer

  That was easy, thought Hugh Kenrick. And the hardest thing I have ever done. One note for Hulton, and one to Hunt to divert his attention. Prince Arthur versus Meleger, indeed! The hardest part was not rising to assault the man, for not only was Hunt guilty of complicity in Dogmael Jones’s murder, but he was arranging another, my own. Of course, I meant everything I wrote in that “educated folderol,” but nothing in it meant anything to Hunt. It was hard, because Hunt was there, open to whatever justice I could exact. But, Hulton had heard everything, and he had his instructions. The attentive Mr. Hunt was not as attentive as he presumed. He was too busy proposing his iniquities and gloating over their eventual triumph. The man’s vanity had blinded him to a simple deception.

  Destroy the Sparrowhawk, the last bond between him and England. The first bond between him and Jack Frake! Jack Frake had known it. Hugh had always known it, as well. How swiftly does justice act, when it is necessary! Hugh smiled, fondly remembering his last conversation with his friend on the porch of Jack Frake’s place just a few nights ago. Hugh knew that Jack Frake was at the Otway place, waiting for the chance to accomplish that release. It was the only thing that kept him in these parts. And should he fail, he, Hugh Kenrick, might accomplish it. It was a risk. Jack Frake had taken so many risks. It was about time that he, Hugh Kenrick, took one himself.

  No, he reproached himself. You are responsible for much that has happened. He had risked Reverdy, and lost her. And Roger Tallmadge. And now, Meum Hall.

  The Sparrowhawk was now tied to the Caxton pier with the Basilisk. Hugh was not surprised when, after they boarded the Sparrowhawk and went below deck, Hunt and his colleague escorted him to the very same iron-gated berth that he had occupied many years ago — in another age! he thought — when this vessel first brought him across the ocean. Only this time, he was locked inside. Hunt gave the key to Mr. Blassard, then raised his eyebrows after the lock clicked shut and smiled a silly smile. “You are embraced, sir, and you shall vanish, and the world be done with you! Good day.”

  Hugh smiled back at the tormentor. There was no humor in his eyes. “Were those your last words to Dogmael Jones?”

  Hunt’s supercilious expression abruptly changed to rigid, hateful resentment. He did not reply, but turned and mounted the companionway stairs to the deck above. Mr. Blassard looked momentarily confused. Then he shrugged and followed.

  There was no furniture in the berth. A rusty lantern chain dangled from the beam above, but no lantern. Hugh sat down in a corner. He was pleased again, in a way. This had been Reverdy’s berth, when she left him to return to England in what seemed another age. The Sparrowhawk had brought her back to me, and took her away.

  About an hour later, he heard footsteps on the stairs. Mr. Blassard appeared again. With him was Hulton, who carried a small traveling bag. Hugh almost gasped at the sight of his former valet. He got to his feet. Blassard took out the key and his pistol, and unlocked the gate. “All right, give ’im his things,” he said gruffly. Hulton nodded and handed the bag into the compartment to Hugh. Hugh took it and set it down on the floor. “It contains your shaving kit, sir, and a change of shirt, and your special book,” said Hulton. He cleared his throat. “Mr. Spears took ill. I volunteered to replace him.”

  “You want to join ’im in there and palaver?” asked Blassard. “I got things to do.”

  Hulton shook his head. Blassard shouldered him aside, closed the gate, and locked it. He disappeared up the steps again.

  “What are you doing here, Hulton?” asked Hugh in a low voice. “You’re a deserter!”

  Hulton shrugged. “There are some marines aboard, sir, but they’re not looking for me. Mr. Spears has taken your note to the Otway place. I claimed first right to come here as your valet. I am senior to him in that place, you know, even for the gap in service. He protested, but to no avail.”

  “You are in danger, Hulton. Leave now, while you can!” Hugh held the bars of the grate. “Hunt will think I told you as much as I know about him. He will murder you, as well.”

  Hulton shook his head. “I will not leave you to that man’s mercies, sir. He’s rotten.” He smiled. “He is much like Richard the Third. A right bastard. Do you remember when I asked you about him, the night we left the Fruit Wench and those special friends of yours?”

  “Yes, Hulton,” Hugh answered. “I remember it well.” He resigned himself to the man’s presence. The man would not leave.

  “Did this Mr. Hunt truly murder a man?”

  “Or had him murdered. A very good friend,” said Hugh. “On behalf of my uncle.”

  “Him again!” Hulton shut his eyes, then forced himself to exclaim, “Another right bastard!”

  Hugh grinned. “That’s the way, Hulton. We’ll make an American of you yet!”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Well, let’s see what you’ve brought me.” Hugh stooped and opened the bag. He found the things that Hulton said were in it: a shirt, a mug, some soap, a razor, and the books. He placed everything on the plank floor, including both volumes of Hyperborea. The last thing he took out was the tin gorget that was engraved, “A Paladin for Liberty.” Hugh looked up at Hulton in question.

  “For you to wear, sir,” said Hulton. “You are a kind of knight. An officer of thought, kind of.”

  Hugh smiled in gratitude. He had said nearly the same thing to Reverdy in London. He took the hemp cord and slipped the gorget around his neck. Then he picked up one of the volumes. “Hulton, I don’t suppose you ever had time to read this novel.”

  “No, sir.” He nodded to the shaving kit. “Plea
se hand me the razor, sir. It may be needed.” He paused. “I was searched by Mr. Blassard when I came on board, and he looked into the kit there, as well. But it appears that he did not think a razor could be used for anything but shaving.”

  Hugh was momentarily stunned. The idea of gentle, deferential Hulton wielding a weapon was still not real to him.

  Hulton sensed his friend’s disbelief. He reminded him with amusement, “I was at Quebec, sir, and other venues, and had occasion to employ my halberd and sword on a number of Frenchmen and Indians.”

  “Of course.” Hugh handed Hulton the razor, which was folded safely into the carved ivory handle. “Was this your idea, or Mr. Spears’s?” he asked as Hulton slipped the razor inside his frock coat pocket.

  Hulton said in self-irony, “I must credit Mr. Spears with the notion, sir. He was most emphatic about it.”

  Hugh chuckled. He leaned back against a wall and opened the volume of Hyperborea. There was enough light from a lantern on the side of the stairs that he could read the pages. “Sit comfortably, Hulton. I shall read you some marvelous literature.”

  Hulton obeyed, and sat cross-legged on the planks outside the gate.

  Hugh read his favorite passages from the novel. Hulton listened, fascinated. They forgot time.

  After a while, they heard shouts and a great clatter of feet above them on the deck. Then they felt the Sparrowhawk move. Hugh read on. The vessel jerked as it caught wind. Hugh eventually glanced up from the book. “Hulton, poke your head out of the hatch, and tell me what you see.”

  Hulton rose and obeyed. When he returned, he whispered, “We are going upriver, sir. We have just passed the windmill on the bluff. The sloop follows us.”

  “He lied,” Hugh remarked with unconcern. “We are sailing up to the Otway place.” He paused. “Be prepared, Hulton.” He turned some pages of the book, and stopped near the end. “Here is a glorious conclusion, Hulton,” he said. “Let us hope we can emulate it.”

  Hulton’s brow furled as he listened to Hugh read the ending of Hyperborea. The former sergeant looked captivated; then Hugh closed the book and his eyes and sat quietly for a long moment.

  Minutes later, they heard steps descending the companionway stairs.

  * * *

  The smithy was quiet this morning. The fire was out, and the tools laid aside. Two fires were burning elsewhere on the Otway place: a cooking fire near the ruins of the great house, and a fire by the wheeled gun that faced the York River, at water’s edge, near the remnants of the Otway pier. The water was deep there; in the past merchantmen had tied up at the pier to load hogsheads of tobacco and corn. Four men of the Company were assigned to work the gun, and two kept the brick-protected fire there going, to heat the embers and metal that would go into iron bowls that would be quickly strapped and secured to cannon balls, then loaded down the muzzle of the gun, once it had been primed. John Ramshaw had taught Jack Frake about the projectiles years ago, and one had landed intact at Morland.

  Jack Frake sat on a stool in the smithy, holding the note from Hugh Kenrick. Spears had arrived minutes before, brought in by one of the pickets who did not know him. The valet told him everything that had happened at Meum Hall. Spears stood before him now, waiting. Jack Frake looked up at the Company man who had escorted Spears across the weed-grown and scrub-dotted fields. “Ask Mr. Fraser and Mr. Proudlocks to come here. Then return to your post.”

  When Proudlocks and Fraser appeared, they nodded in surprise to Spears. Jack Frake showed them the note, then asked the valet to repeat for them what he had witnessed at Meum Hall. This Spears did, adding what Hulton had told him he overheard from beneath the desk. Jack Frake said, “All right, Mr. Spears. You should go back now. Can you find your way?”

  Spears said he could. “Will you try to save him, sir? Staff are concerned, and the tenants.”

  “We’ll try, Mr. Spears. That is all I can promise.”

  Spears wished them well, then hurriedly left the smithy.

  “What can we do?” asked Proudlocks.

  Jack Frake said, “Destroy or cripple the Sparrowhawk, if and when she appears. That man Hulton is with him. I haven’t met him, but perhaps he is resourceful enough to help Hugh escape from it.”

  “And if he does not escape?”

  Jack Frake said nothing.

  Proudlocks said, “He is your friend, Jack. And mine.”

  Jack Frake simply held up the note, then folded it and slipped it inside his coat. “No more about it, John.” It was a command. He rose and picked up his musket. “I’m going to the great house for coffee.”

  When he was out of hearing distance, Fraser remarked, “He can be a mean man, Mr. Proudlocks.”

  “But no less a friend,” Proudlocks answered.

  Jack Frake did not get far along the path that led to the ruins before a Company man ran up from the direction of the river and pointed to it. “Sir! They’re coming!”

  Jack Frake looked east. Against the clear morning sky, he saw the sails of the Sparrowhawk gliding up the York. Behind them were the smaller sails of the sloop Basilisk. “Find Cletus and tell him to beat the alarm.” The man ran off.

  Half an hour later, the vessels had anchored exactly as Jack Frake had predicted, the Sparrowhawk on the river, and the sloop on the inlet. Every one of his men was at his post — a few on the river side, fewer on the inlet side, most of them on the east and south sides of the immediate grounds, as concentrated as he could arrange them to meet an attack from the marines. The new volunteers from Morland were mixed with the veterans, bringing his Company strength up to twenty-nine. The ground leading from Morland and the Hove Stream sloped slightly to the river; the marines would have that advantage, as well as their numbers.

  Jack Frake stood in the middle of the defenses with Proudlocks and Fraser. He used his spyglass to examine the Sparrowhawk. He saw men busy preparing the ten guns on the larboard side. He did not see Hugh Kenrick.

  Another Company man ran up to him. “Sir, look!” He pointed east, in the direction of Morland. The three officers turned and saw a redcoated man advancing on horseback across the field, carrying a white flag on a stick. Jack Frake, Proudlocks, and Fraser began moving to intercept him.

  Some minutes later, the officer reined in his mount, and Jack Frake and his companions stopped within a few yards of him. It was a captain from the marines. Without dismounting, the man doffed his hat and addressed Jack Frake. “Major Ragsdale sends his compliments, sir. I am Captain Crofts. The major wishes to know if you will surrender. He also wishes you to know that if you do not, that will happen.” He pointed with the white flag to the Sparrowhawk.

  Jack Frake turned to look again. He took out the spyglass and swept it over the length of the vessel. It was then that he saw Hugh Kenrick, standing on a chair or stool at the stern beneath a yardarm, a rope around his neck. He faced the Otway place. He was coatless, and his hands seemed to be tied behind his back. A man stood behind him. He examined the deck closely again, and saw Jared Hunt standing to the side. As his sight fixed on Hunt, that man raised his spyglass to fix it on him.

  “The major has instructed me to inform you that should you fire on that vessel with the field gun I espy over there” — the officer gestured again with the white flag — “the gentleman will be immediately hanged. That vessel will then return fire, as well as the one in the inlet there. Furthermore, my battalion is ready to attack from numerous directions.” The officer paused. “What is your pleasure, sir?”

  Jack Frake did not answer immediately. He could not take the spyglass away from the sight of Hugh Kenrick. But he lowered it and said, “I will need some time to decide, Mr. Crofts.”

  The officer took out a pocket watch and consulted it. “I have been given leave to grant you half an hour, sir, should that be your answer. I will wait here. I will caution you that if any harm is done to me, or if Major Ragsdale or Mr. Hunt on that vessel suspects I am taken prisoner or hostage, they will proceed with an attack.” After a pause
, he added, “I should tell you that it is Major Ragsdale who has set these terms, excepting the one regarding the gentleman in question. Mr. Hunt wished to proceed with an attack without granting you the choice of surrender. But for the gentleman in question, Major Ragsdale prevailed.”

  Jack Frake glanced up at the officer. “Thank you for the information, Mr. Crofts.” Without another word to anyone, he turned and walked away. Jock Fraser moved to follow him, but Proudlocks stopped him. He was the only man present who understood the decision that Jack Frake had to make, the only man present, other than the figure on the stern, who knew the story of Falmouth. They walked in another direction.

  Jack Frake strode through the weeds and scrub, not taking his eyes from the Sparrowhawk. He stopped and rested his musket against a tree stump. He stared for a long time, still as a statue, at the figure on the stern, the spyglass clutched tightly in both hands behind his back. A paralysis seemed to turn him to stone, caused by a debilitating ague of doubt. There was no decision to make, but he did not want to do this again. In the figure on the stern, he saw Redmagne and Skelly. He owed Hugh Kenrick so much; he was faced with the prospect of repaying his friend with death, an agonizing, prolonged death, and he would be helpless to quicken it, as he had done for Redmagne and Skelly in Falmouth.

  It did not matter that Hugh Kenrick wished him to destroy the Sparrowhawk, regardless of his presence on it. It did not matter that Hugh Kenrick and he agreed that the vessel’s destruction was necessary. And it was irrelevant that Hugh Kenrick was willing to die that way. Jack Frake did not want to do it again. He knew that if he fired on the Sparrowhawk, it would be he kicking the stool from beneath Hugh Kenrick’s feet.