Beneath the aurora nd-12

by Ричард Вудмен

  Drinkwater returned to Lord North Street for the second time that day. He was in an ill humour and full of a sense of foreboding. He put this down to Bardolini's disappearance and Elizabeth's departure, and these circumstances undoubtedly made him nervously susceptible to a curious sensation of being followed. He could see no one in the gathering darkness and dismissed the idea as ludicrous.

  But the moment he turned the corner he knew instinctively that something was wrong. He broke into a run and found his front door ajar. In the hall Williams was distraught; not half an hour earlier a carriage with drawn blinds had pulled up and a heavily cloaked figure had knocked at the door. Williams had opened it and had immediately been dashed aside. Thereafter two masked accomplices had appeared, forcing their way into the house and ransacking it.

  'I thought it was the Colonel or yourself coming back, sir,' a shaken Williams confessed, his tranquillity of mind banished.

  'Did you hear them speak?' Drinkwater asked, handing Williams a glass of wine.

  'No, sir, but they weren't Frenchmen.'

  'How d'you know?'

  'I'd have smelled them, sir, no doubt about it. Besides, I think I heard one of them say something in English. He was quickly hushed up, but I am almost certain of it.'

  'What did he say?'

  'Oh, "nothing in here," something to that effect. They had just turned over the withdrawing-room.'

  A faint wail came from below stairs. 'Did they molest your wife?'

  'No, sir, but she is badly frightened. They were looking for papers ...'

  'Were they, by God!'

  'They broke into the strong-room.'

  'They took everything?'

  'Everything.'

  Drinkwater closed his eyes. 'God's bones!' he blasphemed.

  He waited upon Mr Barrow at nine the following morning. Curiously, the Second Secretary was not surprised to see him. 'You have heard, then?' he said, waving Drinkwater to a chair.

  'Heard?'

  'The body of your guest was found in an alley last evening. He had been severely beaten about the head and was unrecognizable but for the remnants of his uniform. Oddly enough I was with Murray last evening when Canning arrived with the news. It crossed my mind then that it might be our friend and I instituted enquiries.'

  'You did not think to send me word…'

  'Come, come, Captain, the man was an opportunist, like his master. He played for high stakes, and he lost. As for yourself, you would have insisted on viewing the corpse and drawing attention to your connection with the man.'

  'Opportunist or not, he had placed himself under my protection.' Drinkwater remembered Elizabeth's assertion that Bardolini was a frightened man. 'Whoever killed Bardolini ransacked my house. I have spent half the night pacifying my housekeeper.'

  'Did they, by heaven? D'you know why?'

  'I think they were after papers. I have no idea what, apart from his accreditation, Bardolini carried. Whatever it was he did not take it to what he supposed to be a meeting with Lord Castlereagh.'

  'Then they left empty-handed?' asked Barrow.

  'More or less. I had some private papers…'

  'Ahhh. How distressing for you ... Still, someone knew who he was and where he was in London.'

  'That argues against your hope of keeping me out of the affair.'

  'Damn it, yes,' Barrow frowned. 'And we must also assume they knew why he was here.'

  'Exactiy so.'

  'I should not delay in your own departure, Captain Drinkwater. Would you like me to pass word to the commander of the Kestrel to proceed? At least you have no need to divert to Helgoland now.'

  'No. I'd be obliged if you would order Lieutenant Quilliampton to Leith without delay.'

  'Consider it done.'

  After the hectic activity of the past fortnight, there was a vast and wonderful pleasure in the day of the departure of HMS Andromeda from Leith Road that early October forenoon. The grey waters of the Firth of Forth were driven ahead of the ship by the fresh westerly breeze, quartered by fulmars and gannets whose colonies had whitened with their droppings the Bass Rock to the southward. Ahead of them lay the greener wedge of the Isle of May with its square stone light-tower and its antediluvian coal chauffer. To the north, clad in dying bracken, lay the dun coast of the ancient kingdom of Fife, a title whose pretentiousness reminded Drinkwater briefly of the sunburnt coast of Calabria and the compromised claims of the pretender to its tottering throne.

  He had not realized how much he had missed the independence, even the solitariness, of command, or the sheer unalloyed pleasure of the thing. There was a purposeful simplicity in the way of life, for which, he admitted a little ruefully, his existence had fitted him at the expense of much else. It was, God knew, not the rollicking life of a sailor, or the seductiveness of sea-breezes that the British public thought all their ill-assorted and maltreated tars thrived upon.

  If it had been, he would have enjoyed the passage north in the Leith packet which had stormed up the English coast from the Pool of London on the last dregs of the gale. As it was the heavily sparred and over-canvassed cutter with its crowded accommodation and puking passengers contained all the misery of seafaring. True, he had enjoyed the company of Captain McCrindle, a burly and bewhiskered Scot whose sole preoccupations were wind and tide, and who, when asked if he ever feared interception by a French corsair, had replied he would be verra much afeared, if there was the slightest chance of being overtaken by one!'

  The old seaman's indignation made Drinkwater smile even now, but he threw the recollection aside as quickly as it had occurred for Lieutenant Mosse was claiming his attention.

  'If you please, sir, she will lay a course clear of Fife Ness for the Bell Rock.'

  'By all means, Mr Mosse, pray carry on.'

  'Aye, aye, sir.'

  Drinkwater watched the young second lieutenant. He was something of a dandy, a sharp contrast to the first luff, a more seasoned man who, like James Quilhampton aboard the cutter Kestrel dancing in their wake, was of an age to be at least a commander, if not made post. Drinkwater had yet to make up his mind about Lieutenant Huke, though he appeared a most competent officer, for there seemed about him a withdrawn quality that concealed a suspicion which made Drinkwater feel uneasy.

  As for the other officers, apart from the master, a middle-aged man named Birkbeck, he had seen little of them since coming aboard three days earlier.

  The crew seemed willing enough, moving about their duties with quiet purpose and a minimum degree of starting from the bosun's mates. The boat's crew which had met him had been commanded by a dapper midshipman named Fisher who, if he was setting out to make a good impression upon his new captain, had succeeded.

  He could have wished for a heavier frigate, his old Patrician, perhaps, or at least Antigone with her 18-pounders, but Andromeda handled well, and if she was not the fastest or most weatherly class of frigate possessed by the Royal Navy, the ageing thirty-six gun, 12-pounder ships were known for their endurance and sea-kindliness.

  She bore along now, hurrying before the westerly wind and following sea, her weatherbeaten topgallants set above her deep topsails, the forecourse straining and flogging in its bunt and clewlines as it was lowered from the yards on the order 'Let fall!'

  'Sheet home!'

  The ungainly bulging canvas, constrained by the controlling ropes, was now tamed by the sheets which, with the tacks, were secured from its lower corners and transmitted its driving power to the speeding hull. With the low note of the quartering wind sounding in the taut stays, the frigate ran to the east-north-east.

  A moment or two later the topmen, left aloft to make up the gaskets after overhauling the gear and ensuring the large sail was set without mishap, lowered themselves hand over hand to the deck by way of the backstays. Standing by the starboard hance, Drinkwater concluded that he had, like those simian jacks, fallen on his feet.

  Evening found them passing the Bell Rock lighthouse, a marvel of modern engineering
built as it was upon a tide-washed rock. The brilliance of its reflected light far outclassed the obsolete coal chauffer of the Isle of May, and Birkbeck confidently took his departure bearing from it when it bore well astern.

  Having assured himself of the presence of Kestrel, Drinkwater went below. His quarters were small compared to those he had enjoyed on board Patrician, but admirably snug, he told himself, for a voyage to the Norwegian Sea with winter approaching. He settled in his cot with a degree of contentment that might have worried a less elated man. But that day of departure had been, in any case, a day of seduction; if Captain Drinkwater failed to notice any of the many faults that encumbered his command, it was because he had been too long ashore, too long kept from contact with the sea.

  And the sea was too indifferent to the fates of men to keep him long in such a placid state of grace.

  PART TWO

  A Portion of Madness

  'A portion of madness is a necessary ingredient in the character of an English seaman.'

  Lord Howard of Effingham

  CHAPTER 5

  A Most Prejudicial Circumstance

  October 1813

  'Pray sit down, Mr Huke.'

  Huke threw out his coat-tails and sat on the edge of the chair bolt upright with his hands upon his knees and his elbows inclined slighdy outwards. It was not a posture to put either of the two men at ease.

  'I was much taken up with the urgency of departure and communicating the purpose of this voyage to Lieutenant Quilhampton of the Kestrel' If Drinkwater had expected Huke to look from his captain to the cutter, which could be glimpsed through the stern windows when both vessels rode the crest of the wave simultaneously, he was mistaken. Mr Huke's eyes remained disconcertingly upon Drinkwater who wondered, in parentheses, if the man ever blinked.

  'Sir,' said Huke in monosyllabic acknowledgement.

  'It is proper that I explain something of the matter to you.' Huke merely nodded, which irritated Drinkwater. He felt like the interloper he was, in a borrowed ship and a borrowed cabin, and that this was the light in which this strange man regarded him. He considered offering Huke a glass, but the fellow was so damnably unbending that he would seem to be currying favour if he did. 'Before I do confide in you,' Drinkwater went on pointedly, regretting the necessity of revealing anything to Huke, 'perhaps you will be kind enough to answer a few questions about the ship.'

  'Sir.'

  'You are up to complement?'

  'Within a score of hands, aye.'

  'Is that not unusual?'

  'We took aboard near twenty men during the last week off Leith. All seaman. Took most of 'em out of a merchantman.'

  'Very well. Now the Master reports the stores will hold for three months more…'

  'And our magazines are full; we have scarce fired a shot.'

  'Did Captain Pardoe not exercise the guns?'

  'Oh, aye, sir.'

  'I don't follow...'

  'Captain Pardoe was not often aboard, sir.'

  'Not often aboard?' Drinkwater frowned; he was genuinely puzzled and Huke's evasive answers, though understandable, were confoundedly irritating.

  He rose with a sudden impatience, just as the ship lurched and heaved. A huge sea ran up under her quarter, then on beneath her. As he staggered to maintain his equilibrium, Drinkwater's chair crashed backwards and he scrabbled at the beam above his head. From the adjacent pantry came a crash of crockery and a cry of anger. So violent was the movement of the frigate that the perching Huke tumbled from his seat. For a moment the first lieutenant's arms flailed, then his chair upset and he fell awkwardly, his skinny shanks kicking out incongruously. Hanging over the table, Drinkwater noticed the hole worn in the sole of his first lieutenant's right shoe.

  He was round the far side of the table and offering the other his hand the moment the ship steadied. 'Here, let me help ... there ... I think a glass to settle us both, eh?'

  He was gratified to see a spark of appreciation in Huke's eyes.

  'Frampton!'

  Pardoe's harrassed servant appeared and Drinkwater ordered a bottle and two glasses.

  'We'll have a blow by nightfall,' Drinkwater remarked, as they wedged themselves as best they could; and while they waited for Frampton, Drinkwater filled the silence with a reminiscence.

  'This is not the first ship I have joined in a hurry, Mr Huke. I took command of the sloop Melusine in circumstances not dissimilar to this. The captain had become embroiled in a ridiculous affair of honour and left me to make a voyage to the Greenland Sea in a ship I knew nothing of, with officers I did not know. You can doubtless imagine my sentiments then.' [See The Corvette.]

  'When was that?' Huke asked, curiosity about his new commander emerging for the first time.

  'At the termination of the last peace, the spring of the year three.'

  'I was promoted lieutenant that year.'

  'Mr Huke,' Drinkwater began, then Frampton appeared and they concentrated on the wine and glasses. 'Did you lose much just now, in the pantry?'

  'Aye, sir, two cups and a glass.'

  'Oh, a pity.'

  'Aye, sir.'

  'You were saying, sir?' Huke prompted expectandy.

  Drinkwater felt suddenly meanly disobliging. 'I forget,' he said, ' 'twas no matter.'

  Huke's face fell, relapsing into its disinterested expression. There was a predictability about the man, Drinkwater thought, to say nothing of a dullness.

  'Anyway, your health.' Huke mumbled a reply before his beak of a nose dipped into the glass.

  'Ah, I recall, I was asking about Captain Pardoe, his exercising of the crew. They seem reasonably proficient.'

  'Aye, they are.'

  'Thanks to you?'

  'Yes, in part.'

  'Well come, Mr Huke,' said Drinkwater, a note of asperity creeping into his voice. 'Do I attribute your lack of respect to your not being unduly used to having an officer superior to yourself on board?'

  Drinkwater caught the swift appraising glance of Huke's eyes and knew he had struck home. It had not entirely been guesswork, for in addition to Huke's hints had come a somewhat belated realization that it was odd that Pardoe had turned up on his London doorstep so promptly after Barrow had indicated that the Andromeda could be made available.

  'I thought the regulations were quite specific upon the point, expressly forbidding captains to sleep out of their ships ...'

  Huke gave a great sigh. 'Very well, since you'll not be content, sir, until you have dredged the bottom of the matter, Pardoe has no interest in the ship and we are cousins. I made up the ship's books and the rest of the officers and crew thought he was detained on parliamentary business. He is the Member for Eyesham ...'

  'So you maintained the fiction?'

  'That is right,' Huke said wearily. 'And in return I was allowed an emolument…'

  'An emolument?'

  'A portion of Captain Pardoe's pay went to my sister who lives with my widowed mother and has no other means of subsistence.'

  'And will Captain Pardoe continue with this arrangement?'

  Huke gave a thin and chilly smile. 'Would you, Captain Drinkwater, if there was no reason to?'

  No wonder, thought Drinkwater, Pardoe had been so keen to relinquish his ship once it was clear that the interests of party had been served by his obliging the ministry. The captain's protests had been all sham. He would make an excellent politician, Drinkwater privately concluded.

  'If he told you he regretted handing over command, sir, it was a lie. He is a man who seeks ease at all times, and even when aboard never took the conn or put himself to the least trouble. He is a great dissembler; any man would be fooled by him as would be any woman.'

  Huke broke off. He did not reveal that his sister had been dishonoured by Pardoe, and had borne him a bastard, acknowledged only because of the ties of blood. The child had died of smallpox eighteen months earlier, so Pardoe could cynically drop the old commitment.

  'I'm sorry, Mr Huke. I had no wish t
o pry. Pray, help yourself.'

  'It's been difficult, sir,' Huke said, the wine loosening his tongue. 'It was not in Captain Pardoe's interest to see me advanced ...'

  'No, I can see that,' Drinkwater frowned. 'My presence here is hardly welcome then?'

  'I could not expect promotion because of Captain Pardoe's removal, sir, but, yes, at least under the previous arrangements I had a free hand on board and my dependants cared for.'

  'Damn it, Huke, 'tis outrageous! We must do something about it!'

  Huke looked up sharply. 'No, sir! Thank you, but you would oblige me if you would leave the matter alone. It was inevitable that it would end one day…'

  'Well, what did Pardoe think would happen when I joined?'

  'That I would simply carry on as any first lieutenant.'

  'I don't want a resentful first lieutenant, Mr Huke, damn me, I don't, but I'm confounded glad you have told me your circumstances. What's your Christian name?'

  'Thomas, sir.'

  'D'you answer to Tom?'

  Something of a smile appeared on Huke's weatherbeaten face. 'I haven't for some time, sir.'

  Drinkwater smiled. This was better; he felt they were making progress. 'Very well, then let us to business.' Drinkwater pulled a rolled chart from a brass tube lashed to the table leg and was gratified that Huke helped spread it and quickly located the lead weights to hold it down upon the table. He indicated its salient points:

  'To the west Orkney and Shetland, to the east the Skaw of Denmark, the Naze of Norway and here,' his finger traced the Norwegian coast due east of Orkney, 'Utsira.' Beside the offshore island of Utsira the ragged outline of the coast became more deeply indented, fissured with re-entrant inlets, long tapering fiords that bit far into the mountainous terrain, separating ridge from ridge where the sea exploited every glacial valley to thrust into the interior. Each fiord was guarded by rocks, islets and islands of every conceivable shape and size, their number, like the leaves upon a tree, inconceivable.

  The names upon the chart were long and unpronounceable, the headwaters of the inlets faded into dotted conjecture, the hachured mountains rose ever vaguer into the wild hinterland.