Secrets of the Fearless

by Elizabeth Laird

  ‘Not at all. We wish to use them. If our side can feed the French spies false information about the movement of our armies, the destinations of our ships, the intentions of our commanders . . .’

  ‘It would give us an incredible advantage in the war!’ John couldn’t help interrupting excitedly.

  ‘Precisely. If we know who they are, but they do not know that we know, we will be in a very strong position.’

  Kit cleared her throat nervously.

  ‘What is it that you wish us to do?’

  Mr Erskine studied her face.

  ‘You understand that you are at liberty to refuse this mission? I will not disguise from you the fact that it is dangerous.’

  ‘Come to the point, please, Mr Erskine,’ the captain said testily. ‘Explain the business.’

  ‘Very well, sir. Now, Mr Higgins has had the original code book a long while, and is no doubt increasingly desperate to pass it to his contacts ashore. As you know, he has been signalling to the French for some time. We have been watching him. Every night, until last night, the answering flashes from the French followed the same pattern. We don’t know what they signify, but we do know that yesterday the pattern changed and that today Mr Higgins asked to go ashore. We have assumed that Mr Higgins signalled to the French a while ago that he has something important to say and wishes to meet with them. They presumably told him last night that they are ready to receive him. Why didn’t they allow him to come straight away? It is most probable that they have been waiting for the arrival of someone more senior in their organization, no doubt from Paris, who will be able to receive the message Mr Higgins is anxious to pass on and give him his new instructions. This is only our guess, but I think it’s a good one.’

  ‘I can see that, sir, but what . . .’

  ‘What do we want you to do? Think for a minute, John. You are the only person here who has seen and can recognize the men in Edinburgh who held the code book. There was a lawyer, was there not?’

  ‘Mr Halkett, yes.’

  ‘And another man, the one who pursued you?’

  ‘Mr Creech. And Herriott Nasmyth, I suppose. He could be in it too.’

  ‘Quite so. If any of them have come to France, they will almost certainly be travelling under other names, but we need to know that. We need to know what those names are, what these men’s role in the business is, whether they are small fry or ringleaders, who their French counterparts are – in short, every possible detail, however great or small.’

  ‘You want me to go ashore with Mr Higgins, follow him and find out everything I can?’ said John, understanding in a rush that made him suddenly breathless.

  ‘Precisely.’

  ‘But there may be no British men there,’ Kit put in. ‘The contacts for Mr Higgins, they may all be French.’

  ‘It is possible, yes,’ nodded Mr Erskine.

  ‘John will not be able to understand them, or be able to catch their names.’ Kit was frowning as she thought it out. ‘He does not speak French.’

  ‘He does not, mademoiselle. But you do.’

  Kit’s face was lit up by an impish smile.

  ‘I see,’ she said.

  ‘I don’t understand, sir.’ John’s skin was tingling with excitement. ‘If we go ashore with Mr Higgins, he’ll be suspicious. And even if we didn’t go in the same boat, but followed in another, he’d hear it and see it. It would give the game away.’

  ‘That is why Mr Erskine is to supervise the loading of the boats, and row ashore with you,’ broke in Captain Bannerman. ‘You will be hidden under a tarpaulin behind the empty casks. Mr Erskine will accompany the boat and make sure you can slip ashore while the men are carrying the casks to the spring.’

  ‘But is there really a spring?’ objected John. ‘Wasn’t that just an excuse Mr Higgins gave so that he could go ashore?’

  ‘Oh, the spring is no invention,’ said Mr Erskine. ‘We are assured by Captain Dupré that there are many of them. He has not enjoyed the brackish taste of our casked water, and frequently expresses a wish that we could replenish our stocks.’

  ‘Do you believe that Mr Higgins will really return to the Fearless?’ asked Kit. ‘Perhaps he will run away. If he does, and we have to follow him far, how will we get back to the Fearless ourselves?’

  ‘I don’t believe he will desert.’ Mr Erskine shook his head. ‘The man is much more use to the French as a bosun’s mate on board His Majesty’s man-o’-war. If, as I believe, he is motivated by greed, he will be anxious to perform further tasks for them and earn more money. He can do that only by continuing in the king’s service. As for you, you will do the best you can to find out as much as possible. But if you lose track of him, or you run into danger, you are to give up the attempt and return to the boat. No unnecessary heroics, is that understood? We will wait for you until just before dawn. If by any chance you are delayed, and cannot slip back unnoticed, you are to pass tomorrow hidden in the dunes and we will send the boat back for you when darkness falls tomorrow night.’

  John tried to imagine himself skulking about in the dark, following the man he feared most in the world through unknown territory in a hostile land. He couldn’t suppress a shudder.

  ‘If anyone sees us, sir,’ he said, ‘they’ll know at once that we are British seamen by our clothes.’

  ‘Very good, damn your eyes!’ burst out Captain Bannerman, slapping his thigh. ‘The boy thinks ahead like a true conspirator. He was born for the secret service!’

  ‘You must wear plain boys’ clothes, not your naval rig, then,’ nodded Mr Erskine. ‘John, you have your old clothes still, I suppose?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said John, ‘but I’ve grown so much they wouldn’t fit me now.’

  ‘You will be supplied. And you, Catherine . . .’

  ‘I think,’ interrupted Kit, ‘that perhaps it is better if I am dressed as a girl. No one will think anything of me then. If I am seen, if I am caught even, no one could imagine that I have been a powder monkey in a British ship.’

  ‘Skirts, eh?’ said Mr Erskine. ‘I had thought this ship was supplied with every kind of necessity, but a girl’s clothes . . .’

  ‘There’s no difficulty there, sir. I still have my old dress in my chest. It will be a little short now, but not so much. I have not grown like John has.’

  ‘Your bag! That you always keep so secret!’ John said. ‘They’re in there, aren’t they – your girl’s clothes, I mean?’

  ‘Yes. I was always afraid that Davey would find them, but he never . . .’

  ‘Enough of this chatter,’ interrupted the captain. ‘John, will you undertake this mission? It’s dangerous, and important, and a fine adventure for a boy, and if you succeed, your country – and I – will show you our gratitude.’

  John wanted to say, ‘And if I fail?’ but he didn’t dare. Aloud he said, ‘Yes, sir. I’ll do it.’

  ‘Good lad. And you, miss? You have proved your courage amply up till now, but do you have the stomach for this bold step?’

  Kit smiled at him mischievously. John stared at her. Kit the powder monkey would never have dared to look at the captain so boldly. Catherine the young French noblewoman was clearly not prepared to be intimidated.

  ‘Are you sure you can trust me, sir? I am a Frenchwoman, after all.’

  ‘Are you presuming to jest with me, you damned baggage?’ The captain’s frown was terrible, but John could see that, though she had taken him by surprise, she had amused him.

  ‘No, sir. Of course not, sir,’ said Kit demurely.

  ‘Very good.’ The captain hid a smile. ‘Now return to your duties. Act normally for the rest of the day, and report to Mr Erskine when the hammocks are piped down this evening. Mr Tawse will be advised not to remark upon your absence. Off with you now, and may Providence smile upon your mission.’

  Chapter Twenty-one

  The rest of the day passed in a kind of dream for John. Outwardly, everything appeared to be normal. He worked up the foremast, helping
to haul in the sails, he ate his dinner (but without much appetite), he played a game of spillikins with Davey (though was soundly beaten as his hands were unaccountably shaky) and went through the motions of the gun drill with Mr Stannard and his gun crew.

  By supper time he had almost convinced himself that the morning’s extraordinary conversation in the captain’s cabin was no more than a weird creation of his own imagination.

  Mr Erskine appeared at the canvas screen at half past seven, half an hour before the hammocks were due to be piped down.

  ‘A word, Mr Tawse, if you please,’ he said.

  Mr Tawse went out with him and came back five minutes later, shaking his head.

  ‘Sendin’ boys out on dangerous missions to fetch water is what I don’t ’old with,’ he muttered disapprovingly, then stopped, aware that he had been surprised into speaking disrespectfully of a senior officer. ‘John and Kit, you are to report to Mr Erskine now on the upper gun deck.’

  Tom looked up, his eyes sparkling.

  ‘A mission? To fetch water? You mean they’re to go ashore, into France? Oh please, Mr Tawse, let me go too. I’ll take Kit’s place. He’s not well enough yet.’

  ‘’Old your tongue, Tom,’ Mr Tawse growled. ‘John and Kit is asked for, and John and Kit is to go.’ He held up a silencing hand as Tom seemed about to plead. ‘That’s enough, or it’s bread and water for you, my lad, till you can learn to keep your place.’

  Kit had already gone to her chest and pulled out her bag. She nodded at John, who took one last look round the berth as if he was afraid he’d never see it again. Then the two of them, hearts beating fast, skipped out through the canvas screen.

  Although it was nearly eight o’clock, the sun had only just set on this balmy August evening, and the sky, still golden, lit up the sea, which shone like polished copper. Mr Erskine was on the upper gun deck, supervising the preparation of one of the cutters that was kept there, resting on its wooden cradle. The covering tarpaulin had been removed, and a couple of sailors were lifting out the cages of chickens that normally lived inside the boat. The birds were protesting with agitated squawkings.

  Mr Erskine lounged across to John and Kit, his back to the working sailors.

  ‘What are you boys doing up here?’ he called out severely as he approached, but winked at them to show he was acting. He was beside them now.

  ‘You have your clothes?’ he said quietly to Kit.

  She raised her bundle.

  ‘Good.’

  He looked back over his shoulder. The chicken cages were now stowed neatly beside the second small boat.

  ‘You men!’ he called out. ‘Get below. Mr Higgins is waiting to send up the empty casks. Start bringing them up now.’

  ‘Aye aye, sir,’ one of the seaman answered, and they both disappeared down the nearest companionway.

  Minute by minute the light was fading. At any moment the ship’s bell would sound, the bosun’s whistle would blow and hundreds of men would run up to the deck to fetch their hammocks while the lanterns were lit and hung in the rigging and the evening watch took up their stations.

  Mr Erskine looked up into the rigging and saw that the man on lookout up there was obscured behind a spar.

  ‘Get into the boat,’ he ordered quietly.

  ‘My clothes, sir,’ began John.

  ‘Already stowed. Quick. Crawl under the bow seat and make yourselves small.’

  A moment later John and Kit had scrambled into the boat and were huddled together in the tiny space under the low boards that covered the bows. They were only just in time. Mr Erskine had barely stuffed a length of canvas in after them, to obscure them from view, when the command ‘Down hammocks!’ was piped round the ship and the feet of hundreds of men pattered all round them as they ran up on deck to pull their hammocks out of the nets.

  With customary speed, they had all quickly gone below, but John could hear the echoing rumble of empty casks being rolled across the deck and the chivvying voice of Mr Higgins, made even more strident than usual by his evident nervousness. Then the timbers of the small boat juddered as the casks were loaded into it.

  ‘Pull out that canvas!’ John heard Mr Higgins say irritably. ‘Whoever stowed such a mangy bit of old gear under that seat?’

  ‘Leave it, lads,’ Mr Erskine contradicted pleasantly. ‘There’s no time for tidying. Hurry now, the light’s gone. It’s time we were on our way.’

  A startled grunt came from Mr Higgins.

  ‘We, Mr Erskine? You surely ain’t comin’ with us?’

  ‘I most certainly am, Mr Higgins. Oh, never fear. I don’t wish, as you clearly do, to risk my life and limb running about in the dunes looking for springs. I shall content myself with staying by the boat on the beach, to guard it.’

  ‘There’s men a-plenty can do that, sir.’ Mr Higgins was clearly unnerved. ‘There’s no call for you to put yourself to so much trouble.’

  ‘Come come, Mr Higgins. You can’t play the hero alone. You must allow a little glory to rub off on me. Now then, lads, are all the casks in? Very good. Lower the boat!’

  With a lurch, the boat rose into the air as the sailors pulled on the ropes to swing it up. It tilted sickeningly as it swung over the side of the Fearless and was lowered down to the water. The jerking loosened the barrels and one rolled hard against the canvas, knocking sharply on John’s shin. He had to bite his lips to stop himself from crying out.

  And then they were down. The boat was floating quietly on the water, and the men were climbing down the cleats on the Fearless’s side to board her. The little boat rocked as the men stepped down into her.

  Mr Higgins and Mr Erskine, counted John, and the six other seamen. He guessed he knew which ones they would be: the bullying, swaggering familiars of the bosun’s mate, who were forever in his company.

  The oars were being plied now. The rowlocks had been muffled with cloth to eliminate the sound. All he could hear was the gurgle and rush of water beneath his ear, just below the thin boards. The cutter was moving steadily across the long stretch of water that separated the Fearless from the beach. Beside him, Kit shifted.

  ‘My shoulder,’ she breathed in his ear. ‘If I do not release my arm, the wound will open again.’

  He made room for her, moving as carefully as he could, but his foot caught in the canvas, which began to sag. There was a crack now through which he could see. He froze. If he could see out, others could see in.

  Straight in front of him was a pair of legs clad in creased white stockings. An officer’s stockings. Mr Erskine must be sitting on the bow seat under which he and Kit were hidden. In front of him he could just make out, in the gathering darkness, the back of one of the sailors, whose shoulders were moving rhythmically, backwards and forwards, as he rowed with short, powerful strokes.

  He had forgotten that the men would be sitting with their backs to the bows. He breathed in with relief, then wished at once that he hadn’t, as a fluffy little feather, no doubt fallen from the chickens’ cage, lodged in his nostril.

  His hands were trapped down by his sides and he didn’t dare move them. He wriggled his nose, gently blew out, screwed up his eyes, and curled his tongue up towards his nose as far as it would go, but the feather was stuck fast. He could feel a sneeze gathering. It was coming. Nothing could prevent it. It would lead to discovery, to disaster, to . . .

  He sneezed. At once, Mr Erskine coughed to cover the sound.

  ‘Beggin’ your pardon, sir,’ came a reproving whisper from Mr Higgins, ‘but we can’t afford to make no noise.’

  ‘You are right, of course. Carry on, Mr Higgins,’ came Mr Erskine’s quiet reply.

  It seemed like an eternity before the bottom of the cutter grated at last on the soft sand of the beach, and in that time both John and Kit had suffered agonies of cramps. The boat tilted and lurched as the men jumped out and dragged it up on to the beach. John was longing so ardently to climb out and release his tensed muscles that he hardly heard Mr Erskine’s q
uiet commands.

  At last there was silence. He could wait no longer and shifted an arm experimentally.

  ‘Not yet,’ Mr Erskine’s voice hissed. ‘Wait.’

  Five more minutes dragged by.

  ‘Now,’ Mr Erskine said at last. ‘Come out now.’

  Standing on solid, firm land for the first time in months was the strangest sensation John had ever felt. It took a moment for him to ease the stiffness out of his arms and legs, but then, when he straightened himself, he felt as if the ground was heaving like the sea swell under his feet and he staggered to keep his balance.

  Mr Erskine was already thrusting a bundle of clothes into his arms.

  ‘Jump to it, John. Get out of your rig into these.’

  John averted his gaze from Kit, who, her back turned, had stripped off her shirt and was already lifting her dress over her head, but once she stood beside him he couldn’t help turning curiously to look at her, as she shook her long hair loose from the pigtail into which it had always been tied. All he could see, though, in the darkness, was the blur of some pale material that fell, clipped in at the waist, from her shoulders to her feet and the outline of her face against the dark mass of hair.

  ‘Listen,’ said Mr Erskine, ‘I’ve sent four of the men off that way, behind us, to check if all’s clear in the dunes, and two of them straight ahead into the woods. Mr Higgins has gone the other way, on his own. Get after him now, you two. Keep as quiet as you can and watch out for yourselves. And don’t forget, if you can’t get back to me unseen tonight, before Mr Higgins returns, I’ll return for you tomorrow. Off with you now, and God speed.’

  Chapter Twenty-two

  It was now very dark, but it was still possible to make out the white edges of the waves rolling up on to the beach, which stretched long and straight for miles in each direction. Ahead, the sand slanted gently up towards the low ridge of dunes. John had stared across at them from the Fearless so often that they had become quite familiar, but close up and in the dark they seemed strange, mysterious and threatening.