Bolitho knew all about the local blacksmith. His wife had left him long ago, and he. sent his weakminded son out of his cottage whenever he was entertaining one of his many female visitors. It was said that he had caused the boy's mind to go by hitting him as a baby in a fit of rage.
The youth said as an afterthought, ''Is pockets is empty, zur. Nary a coin.'
Dancer called, `Is it the man, Dick?'
Bolitho stood up. `Aye. His throat's been cut.'
The Cornish coast was renowned for its smugglers. But the revenue men were seldom injured in their efforts to find and catch them. With the squire away, and without his additional support as local magistrate, it would mean sending for aid from Truro or elsewhere.
He recalled the gamekeeper's words and said to Dancer, `Well, my friend, it seems we are not free of our duty after all.'
Dancer soothed the restless horses. `I thought it too good to last.'
Bolitho said to the youth, `Go to the inn and tell the landlord to rouse some men. We'll need a hand-cart.' He waited for his words to sink in. `Can you manage that?'
He nodded jerkily. 'Oi think so, zur.' He scratched his head. 'Oi bin 'ere a long time.'
Dancer reached down and handed him some money. `That's for all your trouble, er, Tim.'
As the youth stumbled away, chattering to himself, Bolitho shouted after him, `And don't give it to your father!' -
Then he said, `Better tether the horses and give me a hand. The tide's on the make and we'll lose the body in a half-hour otherwise.'
They pulled the sodden corpse up the shelving beach, and Bolitho thought of other men he had seen die, yelling and cursing in the heat and din of battle. That had been terrible. But to die like this man, alone and terrified, and then to be thrown in the sea like some discarded rubbish seemed far worse.
By the time help arrived and the corpse was taken to the church, and then they had all gone to the inn to sustain themselves, it was almost dawn.
The horses made little noise as they returned to the house, but Bolitho knew his mother would hear and be waiting.
As she hurried to greet them he said firmly, `No, Mother. You must go back to bed.'
She looked at him strangely and then smiled. `It is good to have a man in the house once again.'
2
The 'Avenger'
Bolitho and Dancer entered the front door, stamping their boots free of mud and snow, their faces and limbs tingling from a brisk ride across the headland.
It had all but stopped snowing, and here and there gorse or shrub were poking through, like stuffing from a torn mattress.
Bolitho said quietly, `We have company, Martyn.'
He had already seen the coach in the yard where Corker and his assistant were tending to a fine pair of horses. He had recognized the crest on the coach door, that of Sir Henry Vyvyan, whose sprawling estates lay some ten miles to the west of Falmouth. A rich and powerful man, and one of the country's most respected magistrates as well.
He was standing by the crackling fire, watching Mrs Tremayne as she put the finishing touches to a tankard of mulled wine. She had her own receipt for it, with carefully measured ingredients of sugar, spice and beaten egg yolk.
Vyvyan was an impressive figure, and when Bolitho had been much younger he had been more than a little frightened of the man. Tall, broadshouldered, with a large hooked nose, his countenance was dominated by a black patch over his left eye. From above his nose, diagonally across the eye socket and deep into the cheek bone was a terrible scar. Whatever had done it must have clawed out the eye like a hook.
The remaining eye fixed on the two midshipmen, and Vyvyan said loudly, `Glad to see you, young Richard, an' your friend.' He glanced at Bolitho's mother who was sitting by the far window. `You must be right proud, ma'am.'
Bolitho knew that Vyvyan rarely spent his time on useless visits. He was something of a mystery, although his swift justice against footpads and highwaymen on and around his estates was well known and generally respected. He was said to have made his fortune privateering against the French and along the Spanish Main. Others hinted at slavery and the rum trade. They were all probably wrong, Bolitho thought.
It was strange how unreal the revenue man's death had seemed as they had ridden hard along the rutted coast road. It had been two nights since they had stood by the corpse with the smith's moonstruck son, and now with a bright sky to drive the shadows away from the snow and the hillsides, it had all become like part of a bad dream.
Vyvyan was saying in his deep voice, `So I says to meself, ma'am, with Squire Roxby an' his family enjoyin' themselves in Bath, an' the military away disportin' themselves like dandies at our purses' expense, who better than meself to get over to Falmouth an' take the strain? I see it as me duty, especially as poor Tom Morgan was a tenant of mine. He lived just outside Helston, a stout, reliable yeoman. He'll be sorely missed, not least by his family, I'm thinkin'.'
Bolitho watched his mother, seeing her hands gripping the arms of her chair, the relief on her even features. She was glad Sir Henry had come. To restore security and kill the dangers of rumour. Bolitho had heard plenty of that on their two days of leave. Tales of smugglers, and spine-chilling talk of witchcraft near some of the smaller fishing villages. She was also relieved that Vyvyan and not her youngest son was to carry the responsibility.
Vyvyan took the steaming tankard from Mrs Tremayne and said approvingly, `God swamp me, ma'am, if I didn't hold Mrs Bolitho as a dear friend I'd lure you to Vyvyan Manor all for meseif! There's none in the whole county who can mull wine like you.'
Dancer cleared his throat. `What do you intend, sir?'
The solitary eye swivelled towards him and held steady.
`All done, me boy.' He spoke cheerfully and offhandedly, like one who is used to making and following through decisions. `Soon as I heard the news I sent word'to Plymouth. The port admiral is a friend.' The eyelid dropped in a wink. `And I'd heard that your people have been active of late against the smugglin' gentry.'
Bolitho pictured the big two-decker, Gorgon, laid up for repairs, her decks probably covered in snow. It would take longer than anticipated. Captain Conway might well see fit to grant extended leave to his junior officers. After all, when she put to sea again it could be several years before the Gorgon touched England once more.
Vyvyan added, `The admiral will send a ship to deal with this matter. I'll have no murderin' scum working my coast!'
Bolitho remembered that some of Vyvyan's land ran down to the sea itself, from the dreaded Lizard to somewhere near the Manacles. A' dangerous and cruel coastline. It would take a brave smuggler to try and land a catch there and face Vyvyan's rough justice at the end of it.
Bolitho turned as his mother said softly, `I'm grateful for your trouble, Sir Henry.' She looked pale, more so in the reflected glare from the snow outside.
Vyvyan regarded her affectionately. `But for that damned husband of yours, ma'am, I'd have set me cap at you, even if I am a cut-about old villain!'
She laughed. `I'll tell him when he returns. It may make him quit the sea.'
Vyvyan downed the last of the wine and waved another ladle aside. `No, I must be off now. Tell that fool of a coachman to get ready, if you please!' To the room at large he added, `No, don't do that, ma'am. England will need all her sailors again afore long. Neither the Dons nor the French Court will rest until they have bared their metal against us for another attempt.' He laughed loudly. `Well, let 'em!' He faced the two midshipmen. `With lads like these, I think we can rest easy at night!'
With a hug for Mrs Bolitho and heavy slaps on the back for the midshipmen he stamped out into the hall, bellowing for his coachman.
Dancer grinned. `His man must be deaf!'
Bolitho asked, `Is it time to eat, Mother? We're starving!'
She smiled at them warmly. `Soon now. Sir Henry's visit was unexpected.'
Two more days passed, each full of interest, and neither spoiling their escape from discipl
ine and the routine life of shipboard.
Then the postboy, as he called at the house for something hot to drink, confided that a vessel had been sighted standing inshore towards the entrance to Carrick Roads.
The wind had veered considerably, and Bolitho knew it would take all of an hour for the incoming vessel to reach an anchorage.
He asked the postboy what she was, and he replied with a grimace, `King's ship, sir. Cutter by the looks of ' er.'
A cutter. Probably one of those used by the Revenue
Service, or better still, under naval command.
He said quickly, `Shall we go and see her?' Dancer was already looking for his coat. `I'm ready.'
Bolitho's mother threw up her hands. `No sooner back and you want to go looking at ships again! Just like your father!'
The air was keen-edged, like ice, but by the time they had walked through the town to the harbour they were glowing like stoves. Good food, with regular sleep and exercise, had worked wonders for both of them.
Together they stood on the jetty and watched the slow-moving vessel tacking towards her anchorage. She was some seventy feet in length, with a massive beam of over twenty. Single-masted, and with a rounded, blunt bow, she looked cumbersome and heavy, but Bolitho knew from what he had seen elsewhere that properly handled cutters could use their great sail area to tack within five points of the wind and in most weathers. She. carried a vast, loosefooted mainsail, and also a squared topsail. A jib and fore completed her display of canvas, although Bolitho knew she could set more, even studding sails if required.
She was now turning lazily into the wind, her canvas vanishing deftly as her hands prepared to drop anchor. A red ensign and masthead pendant made the only colour against the pewter sky, and Bolitho felt the same old feeling he always did when seeing a part, even a small part, of his own world.
Blunt and clumsy she might appear, lacking the glinting broadsides and proud figureheads of larger men-of-war, she was nevertheless somebody's own command.
He saw the anchor splash down, the usual bustle at the tackles to sway the jolly boat up and over the bulwark.
Across the choppy water they both heard the twitter of calls, and pictured the scene on board. In that seventy feet of hull they carried a company of nearly sixty souls, although how they managed to sleep, eat and wdrk in such cramped space was hard to fathom. They shared the hull with anchor cables, water, provisions, powder and shot. It left few inches for comfort.
The jolly boat was in the water now, and Bolitho saw the gleam of white breeches beneath a blue coat as the vessel's commander climbed down to be pulled ashore.
As the tide and wind swung the cutter to her cable Bolitho saw her name painted across her raked quarter. Avenger. The dead revenue man would have approved, he thought grimly.
A small knot of onlookers had gathered on the wall to watch the newcomer. But not too many. People who lived by and off the sea were always wary of a King's ship, no matter how small.
Bolitho started as the boat hooked on to the jetty stairs and a burly seaman hurried towards him and knuckled his forehead.
`Mr Midshipman Bolitho, sir?'
Dancer chuckled. `Even out of uniform you are recognized, Dick!'
The seaman added, `My cap'n wishes a word, sir.'
Mystified, they walked to the stairs as the cocked hat and shoulders of Avenger's commander appeared above the wet stones.
Bolitho stared with amazement. `Hugh!'
His brother regarded him impassively. `Aye, Richard.' He nodded to Dancer, and then called to
his coxswain, `Return to the ship. My compliments to Mr Gloag, and tell him I will signal when I require the boat.'
Bolitho watched him, his feelings mixed and confused. Hugh was supposed to be in a frigate, or so he thought. He had changed quite a lot since their last meeting. The lines at his mouth and jaw were deeper, and his voice carried the rasp of authority. But the rest was unchanged. The black hair like his own, and like some of the portraits in the house, tied above his collar with a neat bow. Steady eyes, strained after long hours of sea duty, and the same old air of supreme confidence which had brought them to blows in the past.
They fell in step, Hugh thrusting past the onlookers with barely a glance.
As they walked he said,. `Is Mother well?' But he sounded distant, his mind elsewhere.
`She'll be glad to see you, Hugh. It will make it a real Christmas.'
Hugh glanced at Dancer. `You've all been having a time for yourselves in the old Gorgon, I believe?'
Bolitho hid a smile. There it was again. The barb, the hint of disbelief.
Dancer nodded. `You read of it, sir?'
`Some.' Hugh quickened his pace. `Also I saw the admiral at Plymouth and spoke with your captain.' He stopped by the broad gateway, his eyes examining the house as if for the first time. `I may as well tell you now. You have been placed under my orders until this local matter is cleared up, or my vacancies have been filled.'
Bolitho stared at him, angered by his abruptness, sorry for Dancer's position.
`Vacancies?'
Hugh regarded him calmly. `Aye. I had to send my senior and some good hands aboard a prize last week. The Navy is hard put for spare officers and men, Richard, although you would not know about that, of course. It may be sunshine in Africa, but it is icy reality here!'
`Did you ask for us?'
Hugh shrugged. `Your captain told me you would both be here. Availability and local knowledge decided the rest, right? He approved the transfer.'
The expression on their mother's face as they entered the house made up for some of the sudden hurt.
Dancer said softly, `It may be fun, Dick. Your brother has the cut of an experienced officer.'
Bolitho replied grudgingly, `He has that, damn it!'
Bolitho watched Hugh leading their mother into an adjoining room. When she came out again she was no longer smiling.
`I am so sorry, Dick, and more so for you, Martyn.' Dancer said firmly, `You need not be, ma'am. We
have both become used to the unexpected.' `Nevertheless....'
She turned as Hugh entered the room, a glass of brandy in one hand.
`Nevertheless, dear family, it is a serious affair. This is just the tip of the berg. God knows what that fool Morgan was about when he was killed, but no revenue man should act alone.' His eyes moved to Bolitho. `It is far worse than smuggling. At first we
believed it was the foul weather. Wrecks are common enough on this coast.'
Bolitho chilled. So that was it. Wreckers. The worst crime of all.
His brother continued in his clipped tones, `But we have received news of too many rich cargoes lost of late. Silver and gold, spirits and valuable spices. Enough, to feed a city, or raise an army.' He shrugged, as if weary of confidences. `But my duty is to seek out these murderers and hand them to the authorities. The whys and wherefores are not for a King's officer to determine.'
His mother said huskily, `But wreckers! How could they? Loot and rob helpless seamen. . . .'
Hugh smiled gently. `They see their betters reaping a rich bounty from ships run ashore on their private land. Reason soon flies out of the window, Mother.'
Dancer protested, `But an accidental wreck is a far cry from being lured aground, sir!'
Hugh looked away. `Possibly. But not to the leeches who live off the trade.'
Dancer said, `Your presence here will be well known by now, sir.'
Hugh nodded. `I will warm a few palms, make a few promises. Some will give information just to send the Avenger somewhere else!'
Bolitho looked at his friend. This was a different kind of Navy. Where a commanding officer could use bribery to gain information, and then act independently without waiting for ponderous authority to give him its blessing.
The door flew open and Nancy rushed across the room and threw her arms around her brother's neck. 'Hugh! This really is a gathering of the clan!'
He held her away and studied her for
several seconds.
`You are a lady now, well almost.' He raised his guard again. `We'll sail on the tide. I suggest you make your way to the harbour and hail a boat.' His tone hardened. `Don't fret, Mother, I have become very swift in matters of this sort. We shall have Christmas together if I have anything to say on it!'
As Bolitho closed the door to go to his room he heard his mother's voice.
`But why, Hugh? You were doing so well aboard your ship ! Everyone said your captain was pleased with your behaviour!'
Bolitho hesitated. Unwilling to eavesdrop, but needing to know what was happening.
Hugh replied shortly, `I left the Laertes and was offered this command. Avenger's not much, but she's mine. I can lend weight and authority to the revenue cutters and excisemen, and do much as I please. I have few regrets.'
`But why did you decide so?'
`Very well, Mother. It was a convenience, if you must know. I had a disagreement....'
Bolitho heard his mother sob and wanted to go to her.
He heard Hugh add, `A matter of honour.'
`Did you kill someone in a duel? Oh, Hugh, what will your father say?'
Hugh gave a short laugh. `No, I did not kill him. Just cut him a trifle.'
He must have taken her in his arms for the sobs were quieter and muffled.
`And Father will not know: Unless you tell him, eh?'
Dancer waited at the top of the stairs.
`What is it?'
Bolitho sighed. `My brother has a quick temper. I think he has been in trouble over an affair.'
Dancer smiled. `In St James's there is always someone getting nicked or killed in duels. The King forbids it.' He shrugged. `But it goes on just the same.'
They helped each other to pack their chests again. Mrs Tremayne would only burst into tears if they asked her to do it, even at the promise of a quick return.
When they went downstairs again Hugh had disappeared.
Bolitho kissed his mother, and Dancer took her hand before saying gently, `If I never returned here, ma'am, this one visit would have been a great gift to me.'
Her chin lifted. `Thank you, Martyn. You are a good boy. Take care, both of you.'
Midshipman Bolitho & The Avenger Page 2