The Hawk

by Peter Smalley

  'America, of course. There to live out their lives in glorious luxury, on great estates, upon stolen money.'

  Mr Soames was aware that Sir Robert had attempted to bring a charge of treason against both of these officers, that he had been unable to sustain the charge, and had thus been obliged to see it lapse, and the officers go free. He was also aware that Sir Robert had been struck down by illness, and that Sir Robert felt that this misfortune, as much as – or perhaps more than – any other factor, had prevented him from pursuing Captain Rennie.

  Mr Soames did not believe in the Rabhetan gold. He believed that the gold had been lost on the Barbary coast. He thought that Sir Robert's illness had very likely quickened his mind to the belief that the gold was in England, and that his imagination – honed by fancy and suspicion of others in his work for the Secret Service Fund – had produced tenacity of purpose in the matter. Mr Soames did not believe in the gold, but he knew that Sir Robert would be a formidable ally in discovering what had happened to the Hawk, and why such obfuscation and mystery now apparently surrounded it.

  'Ye've been to Bucklers Hard yourself, Soames?' Sir Robert paced to the fire, turned and came back to where Mr Soames had retreated from the heat, by a small octagonal table.

  'Erm . . . no, Sir Robert, I have not.'

  'Not! You have not examined the Hawk?'

  'I have not. I have no knowledge of damage in ships, repair, and so forth.'

  'Then how d'y'know the – '

  'I have contacts within the Portsmouth Dockyard, you know, and a certain influence there. Hawk was brought to Bucklers Hard by artificers and others employed in the Dockyard, and a quarterman appointed to survey her, since there was no place for her at Portsmouth. So far as I have been able to establish, nobody at the Dockyard knows how the Hawk came to be damaged. You must understand – since Captain Marles's death, I have been unable to discover very much about the Hawk and her duties at all, excepting that she was commissioned to undertake the pursuit of another cutter, a merchant vessel, and her master. That man, it has since emerged, died far away some time since, and had not in fact been master of the cutter for a long time. I have made it my business to try to find out the truth, Sir Robert. I think that you will like to do the same.'

  'I will like to be proved right, certainly.' He stared unseeing at the splendid view through the window a moment, then: 'Very well, Soames, we will act in concert.'

  When his wife Catherine came to the Mary Rose Inn, Lieutenant Hayter had suffered a relapse, in that he was again greatly weakened by his injuries. The wound at his neck had begun to bleed, and infection had occurred at one of the injuries to his chest, nearly beneath his left arm. He had refused to return to the Haslar, against Captain Rennie's earnest advice, and Dr Wing had been summoned to his bedside. Dr Wing had staunched the leaking wound, and applied a salve and new bandages to the infection lower down. He was there when Catherine arrived, and met her just outside the room, as she reached the top of the stair.

  'We have not met previous, Mrs Hayter, but I am an old friend of your husband's – Thomas Wing.' A very little bow. Dr Wing did not love to bow, given his small stature.

  'You are Dr Wing? James has told me so much about you . . .' A smile, that faltered. 'Is he – is James very ill?' Glancing anxiously at the closed door.

  'He is not mortal ill. Not if he will listen to advice, and allow himself to be took back into the Haslar without delay.'

  'What is his condition? Captain Rennie wrote only that he was ill . . .'

  'He has been – well, perhaps it will be better if he tells you himself, Mrs Hayter. I will leave you together, and return later today.'

  Dr Wing went away downstairs, and Catherine opened the door and went into the little bare brown box of a room, ill-lit and fusty-smelling, and saw her husband.

  'Catherine, my darling . . .' Tears started in James's eyes, and he attempted to lift himself in the narrow bed, but was defeated.

  'Oh, James, my dearest.' Coming at once to the bed. 'Why did you not write to me to say that you were so ill . . . but you are injured.' Looking at the bandages at his neck, and the new bindings half-hidden by his nightshirt.

  'Who wrote to you? Was it Captain Rennie?'

  'It was. He did.' Touching his face fondly, leaning to kiss him, and tenderly: 'How came you to be so hurt?'

  'I was a little damaged at sea, you know.'

  'I saw Dr Wing . . . he said that you had been at the Haslar, and that you must return . . .'

  'Nay, nay, it is nothing. I am nearly recovered. Nay, my darling, do not cry. No tears for me, I am nearly well again.'

  'Oh, James.' Tears fell on her cheeks, and she kissed him again, and touched the bandage at his neck. 'Oh, I cannot bear to see you so . . .'

  'Hush, hush . . . I am all right.' Stroking her hair, blinking back his own tears.

  Presently she recovered herself, and saw that James was not about to die quite yet, and wiped away her tears, and they fell to talking.

  'Will you promise me to return to the Haslar, as Dr Wing has said you must?'

  'Must? I do not respond to must, you know.' Not harshly.

  'Then I shall ask. Will you return there, and allow Dr Wing to bring you back to health?'

  'Thomas may attend me here. Unless I am grievous ill I shall not return to the Haslar.'

  'Oh, but James – '

  'Although the Haslar is a well-conducted hospital – indeed, there is no better hospital in England – no hospital is a very pleasant nor welcoming place. There are men in the grip of many and several diseases, there are men dying, crying out, there are others so gravely injured they will never again get on their legs and walk about as free men . . . but will live out their poor lives there, in wretchedness. In short, it is a damned miserable place, for all Dr Stroud's ideas of cleanliness, and sweet air. Unless I am absolutely compelled to it I will not like to go there again, my love. Beside – I have much to do, a great deal to do.'

  And he told her something of the circumstances of the action at sea; not everything, but enough to show her where he now stood in the eyes of the Admiralty. When he came to tell her of his plan to pay for the repairs to Hawk himself, he was met with – if not hostility, then very severe dismay.

  'Why should you be obliged to find this money, James?'

  'Because she is my ship, and – '

  'Surely she is the Admiralty's ship, England's ship, and you are merely her captain, is not that true?'

  'Merely? Merely?' Only half-amused.

  'I do not mean that you are little in courage, nor in sailing skill. Only that you do not own the Hawk, nor even a little part of her. Why then should you be obliged to pay for her repair, when you were only carrying out your orders? Surely that is the responsibility of Their Lordships?'

  'My love . . .' He faltered, his face pale, passed a hand across his forehead, then lay back on his pillow. 'I – I am quite done up. It is all the excitement and delight of seeing you.'

  'In course, I should not have argued with you. Forgive me, my darling. Do not talk any more, now. Rest, now. I will wait downstairs, in the parlour – '

  'Nay . . . stay here with me, stay by me. Will you?'

  She kissed him, and sat down, and waited by his side until he drifted into sleep, watching over him.

  Presently Captain Rennie tapped at the door, put his head into the room, and saw Catherine there by her sleeping husband. Rennie nodded, smiled in greeting, indicated by gesture that he would not interrupt, and withdrew.

  Mrs Townend and her widowed sister Mrs Rodgers – both of them naval widows – arrived by the fast mail coach at Portsmouth, outside the Marine Hotel, very late at night. They had come from Mrs Rodgers's home at Lambeth, in London, to visit her son Lieutenant Wyndham Rodgers, who was Third in HM Tempest frigate, thirty-six, presently attached to the Channel Fleet. These two ladies had come not by previous arrangement, and not entirely upon a whim. They had come because Mrs Rodgers wished to see her son before he departed on
what perhaps would be long foreign service, and because she and her sister wished for a change of scene.

  Mrs Rodgers's home at Lambeth was a perfectly pleasant, free-standing brick house, with a walled garden, and she lived there in decent comfort, but she was not much in society. Her late husband's career had meant frequent changes of address, and now she preferred to be settled and serene. She had no admirers, having determined on a single condition of life following on her husband's death of fever at Jamaica, during the late American war. This life, unstrenuous, mild, comfortable, in usual suited her very well, but the arrival of her sister – her handsomer and livelier sister – had provoked in Mrs Rodgers a wish for some little fillip to her existence, a brightening of the afternoon, so to say, and together they had come to the notion of this excursion to Portsmouth.

  When they descended from the coach in the bustle of arrival – ostlers, coachmen, the stamping and snorting of horses, the heaving and bumping of baggage – both these ladies were pleased to be at their destination, and briefly exhilarated by the cool air coming in off the sea. Soon, very soon, as they came into the hotel, fatigue set in, and they felt themselves in need of hot chocolate and the comfort of repose. The night porter was – they thought – less than helpful to them, given that they were the only guests coming in so late.

  'Chocolate, madam?' In answer to Mrs Rodgers's request. 'Ho, no. Not at this hour of night, no. It is gone midnight, look, and the kitchen is closed long since.'

  'Could not you find some member of the staff awake that will give us refreshment?'

  'I am the only person that is awake, official, madam. I waits up for the coach by arrangement.'

  'Could not you wake someone, then?'

  Mrs Rodgers, in dealing with the servant class outside her own home, was inclined to set her lips, and speak in a nearly peremptory tone, her purse clasped firm in her hands before her. It was not altogether a persuasive manner, and she was not persuasive now.

  'I am here, madam, to carry your baggage and show you to your rooms. May I ask what is your name, madam – and you, madam?' To Mrs Townend. 'I will gladly light your way, if you will tell me which rooms you has engaged, if you please.'

  Mrs Rodgers began to lose confidence, and exchanged a glance with her sister, who now smiled at the porter, and:

  'We came away from London in a great rush, and have not engaged rooms. We will like to do so – '

  'Not engaged rooms?' The porter gave a heavy, beery sigh, and allowed their bags to sink to the floor beside him. 'Then I fear I cannot be of no service to you ladies. The hotel is full.'

  'That is absurd,' began Mrs Rodgers. 'I have stopped at the Marine Hotel many times with my late husband, and there is always a few rooms kept for naval officers – '

  'Well, madam, there ain't no rooms tonight, and that is all there is to say.'

  'Will you tell me your name?' Mrs Townend interposed, again smiling.

  'I am Jacob, madam.'

  'Jacob . . .'

  'Jacob Slipper, madam, night porter.' Touching his forehead.

  'Jacob, here is a guinea.' Giving him the gold coin. 'I am sure that there is a room somewhere in the hotel that you could open for us, with your key, and let us rest there tonight. It will not matter to us if it is a little room, an attic room, even, high under the rafters. We will not notice its condition, however bare and small it may be. We are greatly fatigued, we have travelled all day to come here to Portsmouth, to see my sister's only son before he departs in his ship on foreign service. We have nowhere else to go, late at night. I know that you will help us – two naval widows – at the hotel which has always opened its doors gladly to all persons connected to the Royal Navy.'

  'Well, madam . . .' Staring at the gold guinea, scratching his head, and shrugging apologetically. 'I do not know as I am able to find you a room, when there is none to be had . . .'

  'Not even a servant room, a maid's room?' Another smile, and Mrs Townend tilted her head on one side a little. 'I entreat you, Jacob. I can see you have a kind heart . . .' The night porter, thus rewarded and pressed, was obliged to find them a room – very high under the roof, up a narrow, steep stair – and the two exhausted ladies, supperless but glad of shelter, were able to spend the night in the Marine Hotel after all.

  On the morrow they discovered, when they called at the Port Admiral's office, that HMS Tempest had already been ordered to sea, and set sail. No detail of her intended duty could be made known to civilians in a time of emergency, not even to relations of sea officers, but Mrs Rodgers was sufficiently well versed in naval matters to know that a frigate sent to sea as a single ship must probably be engaged on reconnaissance, and that Tempest, engaged on such a mission, could well be absent some time.

  Naturally Mrs Rodgers was disappointed not to have seen her son before his departure, as was Mrs Townend not to have seen her nephew, but both these ladies were entirely sensible of the navy's exigent demands upon sea officers, and of the necessity for naval families to understand and accommodate these demands in turn. No good ever came of bitter lamentation, nor resentment towards Their Lordships, nor forlorn pining for absent sons and husbands. The two ladies accordingly went from the Port Admiral's office to the coffee house, ate a late breakfast, drank chocolate, and thus fortified set about finding themselves rooms and preparing to enjoy their stay in this most naval of port cities.

  Catherine Hayter, with the willing help of Dr Wing, had succeeded in persuading her husband to return briefly to the Haslar.

  'Very well, I shall go back for a day or two,' he had conceded. 'Only for a day or two, you mind me? I have not struck my colours entire. It is only to aid Thomas, so that he may change my dressings without having to come from the hospital to me. It is for his convenience, not my own.'

  'In course, my love, you are very considerate and kind. It is for Dr Wing's sake.'

  When she had seen her husband safely settled in his cot at the Haslar, Catherine wrote a note to Mrs Fenway, at Bosham, and sent it by hand.

  Mrs Fenway was a gentlewoman known to Lady Hayter, an old friend of hers, who lived in a small pretty house at Bosham, just to the north of Portsmouth on the London road. Lady Hayter had said to Catherine, when her daughterin- law was obliged to leave in haste to be at James's side:

  'Should you need somewhere to stay, my dear, if there is no room where James is lying ill, please to get into touch with Gwendolyn Fenway, who is my oldest and dearest friend. Her husband is master of an Indiaman, and is nearly always absent, and so she is alone in her house. I know that you will like her, and she you. She is excellent kind, and will like to have company. I will write to her.'

  At about four o'clock Catherine went to Bosham in a gig, and found the house without trouble. Tattham Grange was indeed a pretty house, with a gabled roof and handsome façade, set well back from the road in a large surrounding garden of tall spreading trees and wide lawns. Everything about it was pleasing to the eye, and Catherine at once felt that she could be at ease there – except that Mrs Fenway was not at home.

  'Did your mistress receive my note, that I sent over by hand?' Catherine enquired of the elderly maid who answered the door.

  'The mistress is not here, mum. Who shall I say called?'

  Catherine told her, and: 'Did not my note arrive?'

  'I b'lieve a message did come, mum, yes – but being as the mistress ain't at home . . .' She did not stand aside to allow Catherine to come into the house from under the portico.

  'When will Mrs Fenway return? Later today?'

  'Oh no, mum. She is gone away out of the district in her carriage.'

  'Oh. – When d'you expect her?'

  'She visits family in Surrey, I b'lieve, mum. A week at least, I should say.'

  'Oh, dear. I had hoped . . . never mind . . . thank you.' And Catherine returned to her gig disconsolate, and was driven back to Portsmouth. On the way the gig was passed by an imposing, well-sprung black carriage, briskly drawn by four black horses. Harness gleamed and
jingled. As the carriage passed Catherine caught a glimpse through the window glass of a black-clad figure, chalk-faced, sitting well back in the upholstered interior, hands clasped over the head of a cane. A shaft of sun flashed on a ring, there was the ember spark of a red stone, and then the carriage was gone in a dry spinning rhythm of wheels.

  By the time the ostler she had engaged to drive the gig had brought her safely again to St Thomas Street and the Mary Rose Inn, Catherine had consoled herself with the thought that Mrs Fenway's house, pleasant though it was, would not have been convenient – lying as it did so far from the Haslar – and she resigned herself to occupying James's small bare room until he was well enough to leave the hospital. The outing had done her good. She had breathed fresh air, and felt the sun on her face, and all lowering thoughts of James's wounds, and his determination to squander what little capital they possessed on the repair of his cutter, had quite gone out of her head. She met Captain Rennie as she went in. He bowed, and invited her to dine with him.

  Catherine hesitated, smiling, then demurely:

  'I do not think I can accept, Captain Rennie, when I am alone.'

  'Oh. Ah. Hm.' Disconcerted. 'Forgive me, my dear, I – I had not took account of that. In course it would not answer, when you are a married woman, and – and I am not.'

  Catherine giggled to herself all the way up the stairs as she thought of this reply.

  Later, after she had written a letter to her mother-in-law, and sent it to the post, she reflected that perhaps she had been unkind to Captain Rennie. Under the circumstances there could surely be no impropriety in her dining with an old friend – an entirely respectable, widowed sea officer in middle life – could there? She thought not, and attempted to make amends. However, Captain Rennie was not in the hotel, and Catherine was obliged to dine alone – her earlier sense of well-being quite dissolved.

  Mr Soames, in a clean shirt and his shoes newly polished, a sprinkling of cologne on a fresh lace kerchief, had been summoned. Yesterday, from under his nose at the marine barracks, Hawk's people had been removed to an address unknown to him, and now he had been summoned – to the Port Admiral's office. He went.