by Wilbur Smith
‘Father is dead!’ Tom thought he had not understood. Not even Black Billy could be so callous.
‘We’d best call Reynolds to make certain of that, and then seal him up in his fancy new tomb before he changes his mind.’ William smiled at his own grim humour, then bellowed for the surgeon, who came stumbling through from the dressing room, still half asleep. Swiftly he examined Hal, listened at his mouth for breathing, then ran his hand inside his nightshirt to feel for his heart. At last he shook his head and looked up at William. ‘Your father is indeed gone, my lord.’ Tom was stunned by how swift and simple it was. Billy was now Baron Dartmouth. ‘Do you wish me to order the laying out and other preparations for interment, my lord?’
‘Of course,’ William said. ‘I will be engaged. There is much that I have to see to. I will have to go up to London as soon as possible.’ He was talking to himself now, rather than to the others. ‘I must take my seat in the House of Lords, then meet Master Samuels at the bank—’ He broke off, and looked at Tom. ‘I want you to make the arrangements for the funeral. It’s time you started to earn your keep.’
‘I would be honoured.’ Tom tried to shame him, but William went on without check.
‘A quiet funeral, just the immediate family. We will get it over as soon as possible. The Bishop can do the honours, if we can keep him sober long enough. A week from today,’ he decided abruptly. ‘I leave the details to you.’ He stretched again. ‘By God, but I’m hungry. I will be at breakfast if you need me.’
There was no time for all of Hal’s brother knights to assemble for his funeral. The Earl of Exeter and his brother were the only ones close enough to attend. However, the officers and men who had sailed with Hal straggled in from every corner of the county and every seaport along the coast. Some walked fifty miles to be there. Ned Tyler, Alf Wilson and Luke Jervis found pews near the front of the chapel, and the common sailors and labourers from the estate crowded the nave and overflowed outside.
‘I will not spend my hard-earned guineas on food and drink for every loafer and tippler in the land,’ William decided, and paid only for the hospitality offered to his invited guests. From his own prize money, Tom purchased funeral meat and drink for the men who had come to honour his father.
Two days after Hal’s body had been sealed in the new stone tomb in the vault of the family chapel, William took the coach up to London, and was gone for almost three weeks. Before he left, he sent Alice and the baby to her father. Tom was certain that this was to prevent him speaking to her. He found the empty house so oppressive that he took rooms at the Royal Oak and spent his days there with Ned Tyler, Alf Wilson and Master Walsh, planning the final details of the expedition to find Dorian.
Working from the watch-bills and manifests that he and Hal had drawn up, he prepared a budget to present to William on his return to High Weald. Time was running against Tom, for autumn was once again coming on apace. He had little more than three months to equip and man the ships, cross the Bay of Biscay and reach the more clement southern waters before the gales of winter blocked his passage. ‘It will cost us another year of waiting if winter catches us,’ Tom fretted. He spoke for the stores they needed from the chandlers, and pledged his word against the return of William. The credit of the new Lord Courtney was good as any banker’s. He hired a large warehouse at the docks to store the goods, then sent Ned and Aboli to call up the men they needed. After the triumph of their last expedition, there was little trouble in finding the best crew, all of whom who had sailed on the Seraph. Most had already spent their prize money, and were eager to take a berth with Tom.
Ned Tyler and Alf found the second ship they needed, and haggled the best price for her. However, the owners refused to hand over either ship until they had been paid in full. Tom had to curb his impatience.
At the end of September William returned from London to High Weald. He came in triumph: he had taken his seat in the House of Lords and had been presented at court. He had been the guest of Lord Childs at Bombay House for his entire stay in the city. Childs had sponsored his entry to fashionable London society, had introduced him to the halls of power, and had prevailed upon him to take a seat on the board of governors of John Company. Using the prize money he had inherited, William had increased his investment in the Company to 7 per cent of the issued share capital, to make himself one of the five major shareholders after the Crown.
The gossip in the town was that Alice had come back with him from her father’s house, and it was said too that she was expecting another infant.
As soon as he heard of William’s return, Tom rode up from the town to High Weald, excited and eager to discuss his plans for the expedition with his brother. He carried two metal despatch cases in his saddle-bags. In them were all the papers he had assembled over the past weeks of waiting: the deeds of purchase of the two ships, the bills from the chandlers and suppliers of ships’ stores and trade goods.
He arrived at the big house in the middle of the morning, to find that William was already closeted in the library, in consultation with his bailiff. Tom was astonished to find a throng waiting their turn to see Lord Courtney. They crowded the entrance lobby and, at a rough count, Tom made it sixteen in all. Most of them he knew. There was the family lawyer, John Anstey the high sheriff of the county, overseers and engineers from the mine, and the mayor and senior aldermen from the town. The others Tom did not recognize, but he greeted them all politely and chatted with Anstey while he waited for his brother to see him.
When noon struck, he decided that William did not know he was waiting with the others so he sent a note through with Evan, the steward, who returned almost immediately, looking uncomfortable. ‘His lordship says he will call you when he is ready to see you. In the meantime you are to wait.’
The afternoon passed slowly. At intervals Evan came to summon the others through to the library. By the evening Tom was the last one left.
‘His lordship will see you now, Master Thomas,’ Evan said apologetically.
Carrying a despatch box under each arm, and trying to conceal his irritation at the way in which he had been treated, Tom went through to the library. He found William standing at the fireplace, his hands clasped behind his back, lifting the tail of his coat to present his backside to the warmth of the flames.
‘Good afternoon, William. I hope that you have had a successful visit to London. I heard of your presentation at court. I offer you my congratulations.’ He placed the despatch boxes on the library table.
‘How kind of you, brother.’ William’s tone was distant. At that moment Evan returned with two goblets on a silver tray, and offered one first to William. Then he came to Tom, and as Tom took the other goblet, Evan asked him, ‘Will you be staying to supper this evening, sir?’
Before Tom could reply, William cut in, ‘I think not, Evan. Master Thomas will not be staying long. I am sure he has plans to dine with his rough friends in the town.’
Both Tom and Evan stared at him in astonishment, but he went on smoothly, ‘That will be all, thank you, Evan. Supper at eight o’clock as usual. I do not want to be disturbed before then.’
He sipped the cognac and raised an eyebrow as he glanced at the black-painted tin despatch boxes. ‘I am sure that you did not come merely to congratulate me.’
‘I have for your approval the manifest for the expedition. Also the bills for the expenses I have already incurred.’
‘What expedition?’ William pretended puzzlement. ‘I do not remember asking you to run up any bills on my behalf. Perhaps I misheard you.’
‘Your undertaking to our father.’ Tom tried not to show that he was put out by the denial. ‘I have almost completed the preparations.’ He opened the boxes and laid out the documents in neat piles down the length of the table. ‘These are the watch-bills. I have found one hundred and fifty good seamen. That’s all the crew I will need. Every man jack of them sailed with our father, and I know them well. I can answer for every one.’
W
illiam stayed at the fireplace. There was a small enigmatic smile on his lips, but his eyes were cold.
‘These are the bills of sale for the two ships. I have inspected both. They are ideal for our purposes, and I have managed to beat down the owners’ asking price by almost four thousand pounds.’ He looked up at William, but his brother remained silent. Tom waited a while for him to speak, and when he did not he went on doggedly. ‘This is a complete manifest of the stores and equipment we will need. I have already purchased most of it, and I have it stored in Patchley’s warehouse at the docks. I am afraid I was forced to pay high prices. The Admiralty is buying up all available stores to equip the navy. Powder and shot, rope and sails are in desperately short supply. Prices have more than doubled since the beginning of the war.’
He waited for William to reply, then said lamely, ‘I have given my word on the payment. I will need the money for these bills, and notes for the owners of the ships at once. The rest can wait a while.’
William sighed, crossed to one of the leather chairs and threw himself into it. Tom started to speak again, but William cut him off by bellowing for one of the parlourmaids.
‘Susan!’
She must have been waiting outside the door, anticipating his call, for she came at once. Tom knew her. She had been a child when he sailed with his father, but in his absence she had grown into a pretty girl, with dark ringlets peeping out from under her cap and sparkling blue eyes with naughty lights in them. She dropped Tom a quick curtsy, then ran to answer William’s call.
William lifted one of his legs. She took it between her own legs with her bottom pointed towards him, and seized his boot at toe and heel. She used the grip of her knees to prise it off his foot. When the boot slid off William wriggled his stockinged toes and gave her the other foot. She repeated the process, but as the boot came free William thrust his foot up under her petticoats. She squealed playfully and blushed scarlet. ‘My lord!’ she cried, but instead of pulling away she bent a little further over to let him explore with his toes as he wished.
After a minute, William laughed. ‘Go on with you, you saucy little baggage.’ He pulled his foot out from under her skirts, placed it firmly on her rump and gave her a playful shove towards the door. She scampered away, looking back archly over her shoulder as she closed the door.
‘When you are done with exercising your rights as master of High Weald, may we return to the business of the expedition?’ Tom asked.
‘Please go on, Thomas,’ William invited, with a wave of his hand.
‘Will you consider the list of costs?’
‘Damn me, Thomas. Don’t tire me with your lists. Come straight out and tell me how much you are begging for?’
‘I am begging only for that my father promised to me.’ Tom was having difficulty controlling his temper. ‘The two ships are the main expense—’
‘Speak out!’ William snapped. ‘Chase the fox into the open. How much is it?’
‘In all it amounts to a little over nineteen thousand pounds,’ Tom said, ‘but that includes trade goods. I will trade along the coast for ivory, gold, copper and gum arabic. I expect to turn a handsome profit—’ He broke off as William began to laugh. It started as a chuckle, then escalated to a full belly laugh. Tom stood and watched him, wrestling with his temper. William was choking on his mirth, and had to gasp for breath before he could go on.
At last Tom could conceal his irritation no longer. ‘Perhaps I am slow, but I am not certain what it is that amuses you so, brother.’
‘Yes, Thomas, you are slow. It has not yet penetrated to the depths of your thick skull that I am now the master of High Weald and that you are beholden to me for every penny, not to our father’s shadow.’
‘What I need is not for myself. It’s for Dorian. It’s for the oath you swore to our father,’ Tom said grimly. ‘You gave him your word. You are oath-bound.’
‘I think not, Thomas.’ William stopped laughing abruptly. ‘At the end Father was in delirium. He was wandering in his mind. If I said anything, it was merely to placate him. I had no serious intent. It would be folly to squander my inheritance on the whim of a dying man. Nineteen thousand pounds! You must have lost your senses if you think for one minute that I will hand that sum of money over to you so that you can go chasing off to the end of the world. No, dear brother. Put it out of your head.’
Tom stared at him speechlessly. ‘You are going back on your solemn word? Billy, I am not chasing off for my own pleasure. We are talking about the rescue of your own brother from the hands of the infidel.’
‘Don’t call me Billy, not ever again.’ William lifted his goblet and swigged the last drops of the cognac.
‘No, I agree that there are better names for you than that. Cheat? Twister? What else would you call the man who denies his own younger brother and goes back on an oath to his father?’
‘Don’t address me in that disrespectful tone!’ William hurled his goblet into the fireplace. It shattered. He got to his feet and advanced on Tom menacingly. ‘You will have to learn your place, or I will beat it into you.’ His face was dark with rage.
Tom stood his ground. ‘As you beat it into Alice?’ he asked bitterly. ‘You are a fierce, hard man when it comes to bullying servants and women, brother. You are a prince of liars when it comes to breaking your word and cheating on your sworn obligations, too.’
‘You little turd.’ William’s face had turned dark red and seemed now to swell. He was no longer handsome and debonair. ‘You will not speak like that of my wife.’
Tom had found the weakness, the way to reach and wound him. ‘Have a care, Billy. Alice might hit back. You would be no match for her in a fair fight. You might be reduced to beating her baby. That should give you real pleasure. Turning little Francis’s face purple and blue with your whip.’ He was watching his man, poised on his toes, his fists clenched at his sides, watching William’s eyes to read his intention, ready to meet him when he attacked.
‘Tom, please, Tom.’ To Tom’s astonishment, William’s face crumpled. The anger flowed out of him and he looked distraught. ‘Don’t say that. Please!’ His shoulders sagged, and he held out his hands towards his brother in appeal. ‘You are right, I owe a duty to our father’s memory. We promised to set aside our differences.’ He came towards Tom with his right hand outstretched. ‘Here’s my hand on it, Tom. Come, take it.’
Tom was thrown off-balance by this sudden change in William. He hesitated, but his anger and outrage were subsiding and William was smiling at him warmly. And what he had said was true: they had promised their father. He forced himself to relax and, awkwardly, he put out his own hand to take William’s. His brother gripped it firmly, and smiled into Tom’s eyes. Then suddenly, with all his strength, he heaved Tom towards him. At the same time he lowered his chin and butted the top of his head into Tom’s face, catching him across the bridge of the nose.
Tom’s vision exploded in a burst of flashing light, and he felt the cartilage in his nose crack. A wash of blood shot from both his nostrils, and he reeled backwards. But William still had a grip on his right hand, and again he pulled him forward. William was left-handed and this was his strong side. Tom’s vision was starred with fireballs of light and he was dazed. He did not see the fist coming. It cracked into the side of his head and sent him flying backwards over the library table. The sheafs of paper on the tabletop scattered like leaves in a high wind, and Tom smashed into the floor on his shoulder-blades. Though he was half stunned, he was already scrabbling at the floorboards in an effort to get back on his feet and into the fight.
But William jerked the dagger from the sheath on his hip, and launched himself over the table as Tom came up on his knees. Through his fractured vision Tom saw the glint of the blade, and hooked up under it with his forearm, deflecting it from the centre of his chest where it was aimed. The point scraped over the top of his shoulder, slicing through his waistcoat. Tom barely felt the sting of the steel, before William’s weight hit him
squarely and they went over together, chest to chest. Tom grappled for his wrist as William tried to stab the dagger into his eye, and they rolled across the polished floorboards, first one on top then the other.
‘I’ll cut your liver out,’ William grunted, and changed the angle of his thrusts. Tom had to rally all his scattered wits and strength to hold him off. The point of the dagger was inches from his face. Even though William had led the sedate life of a gentleman these last three years, his wrestling skill and muscle seemed unimpaired.
They crashed into the bookcase at the end of the room. At that moment Tom was on top, and he used the brief instant of respite to slam his brother’s dagger hand into the sharp edge of one of the oak shelves. William yelped, and his grip on the hilt slackened. Tom used all his strength to repeat the blow. He saw blood spring up across William’s knuckles where they hit the wood, but he did not loose the dagger. Again Tom pounded his fist against the edge of the shelf and this time William gasped with the agony, his fingers opened and the weapon slipped from them.
Neither of them could reach for it without loosing his grip on the other. For a moment, they matched strength, then Tom curled up his legs under him and started to rise. William came up with him. They were standing now, chest to chest, gripping each other’s wrists. William tried to swing Tom off his feet, but he stood solid. He tried again and Tom went with the swing, using the impetus to fling William into the bookshelves. Loaded with heavy books, they reached almost to the high ceiling of the room and William crashed into them with such force that an entire section came free of the wall and swung down on top of them. An avalanche of leatherbound volumes cascaded down on the pair, and the falling shelves gathered momentum. Anyone trapped under them would be crushed under their weight. They realized this simultaneously and sprang apart. As they scrambled aside the shelves thundered down in a chaos of splintering wood and glass.
Panting, they confronted each other over the wreckage. Blood bubbled from Tom’s broken nose and dribbled down his shirt-front. But his vision and strength came back to him, and with them his rage. ‘You were ever the cheat, Billy. You king-hit me.’