A Ship for The King (11 page)

‘We are glad to hear of it,' said Buckingham intrusively ending the brief preoccupation of his charge with Faulkner, and moving on to Brenton in whose mouth butter could not have been melted even on the hottest summer's day.

On the following Friday, at two bells in the afternoon watch, they came in sight of the Scilly Isles and the outlying reefs stretching south-westwards towards the Bishop Rock. Faulkner had the deck and Whiting was fussing about the bearing of the rocks, which lay, hard-edged and spiky, against the sharp line of the horizon. ‘The tide, Mr Faulkner, has a strong set hereabouts on to the reef.'

‘Very well, Mr Whiting, I shall call the watch to tack the ship,' Faulkner responded and the pipes twittered, calling the hands on deck to their stations as Whiting carefully took a compass bearing of the rocks, which were coming appreciably nearer as the strong flood-tide swept them closer. Faulkner swept his gaze around the horizon, noting the respective positions of the squadron. Calling the duty yeoman to hoist the signal to follow the admiral's motions, and the duty gunner to prepare a chase-gun in order to draw the attention of the other men-of-war to the impending manoeuvre of the flagship lying in the van, Faulkner sent word below to warn the royal party of the imminent concussion and alteration of course.

The news brought Prince Charles on deck alone. He approached Faulkner directly and, for a moment, lost his hesitant stammer. ‘You are about to discharge your falconet, sir?' he queried, standing behind Faulkner, who was preoccupied by the imminent manoeuvre.

‘Aye, sir,' Faulkner replied and then, turning, saw to whom he was speaking. He stepped back, uncovered and bowed. ‘Your Highness,' he murmured.

‘P–pray tell me the name of those rocks,' said the Prince, pointing.

‘They are the outer Scillies, your Highness, and you can just see the island of St Agnes,' he pointed, ‘in the distance beyond.' From forward came the crack of the gun and the yeoman and his mates ran aloft two brightly coloured flags.

‘D–d–d–do lend me your glass, if you please, Mr . . .'

‘Faulkner, Your Highness,' he responded helpfully, forgetful of the Prince's impediment and thinking his name had slipped the Prince's memory.

‘Yes, yes, I know, Mr Faulkner. Your glass, pray.' The gloved hand extended with a peremptoriness that signalled the Prince's irritation and Faulkner coloured at the double embarrassment.

‘I regret, Your Highness, I do not possess my own glass. Mr Whiting, the Master, has one though. With your permission . . . ?' The Prince made a second gesture and Faulkner hurriedly crossed the deck to where an anxious Whiting stood awaiting Faulkner's order to put the helm down. Faulkner held his hand out. ‘May I borrow your glass a moment? His Highness wishes to survey the Scillies.'

‘His Highness will be wiping his nose on the Scillies if we do not tack instanter, Mr Faulkner,' hissed Whiting, fishing his small telescope from his pocket and handing it to him.

‘Do give the order immediately then,' snapped Faulkner, as discomfited as Whiting. He spun on his heel and returned to where the Prince stood gazing at the closing prospect of the jagged reef, surrounded by the breaking swells of the Atlantic. Faulkner held out the glass. ‘With Mr Whiting's compliments, Your Highness.'

The Prince took the telescope and, bracing himself against a stay, focussed it upon the reef. ‘Pray thank him for me,' he said abstractedly as Whiting began shouting orders to the quartermasters at the whip-staff. The
Prince Royal
dipped her bow and rose, her beakhead slewing to starboard as the helm was put over. Faulkner turned again to the Prince as he slowly brought the glass round with the alteration of the ship's heading. Meanwhile the men at the braces swung the main yards and, as the
Prince Royal
paid off on the opposite tack, those on the foremast came round with a rattle of parrel beads and the clicking of the blocks. After a few moments, Prince Charles lowered the telescope and handed it to Faulkner.

‘A sublime s–s–sight, Mr Faulkner. Most sublime.' He paused a moment and then added, ‘Is it not a great inconvenience not having a glass? I m–m–mean an officer without a glass is somewhat like a falconer without his t–tiercel, is he not?'

‘Indeed he is, Your Highness,' said Faulkner, thinking quickly and unwilling to admit that he could not afford one, that Mainwaring had neither advised him to acquire one nor given him the means to do so. ‘I had the misfortune to lose mine overboard on the outward passage,' he lied smoothly.

‘An expensive item to replace, no doubt,' the Prince remarked conversationally.

‘Tolerably so, sir,' Faulkner said, with only the vaguest notion of what a telescope cost. He had never thought to acquire one previously, having relied upon Strange providing a battered French glass for general use aboard the
Swallow
. Thankfully the Prince's attention was distracted as one of his gentlemen came on deck, made a low bow and remarked that His Grace the Duke wondered if His Highness would care to take a hand at a game of chance. After a final bow as the small, almost delicate figure made his way below, Faulkner had a chance to look about him to find the squadron had conformed and followed the
Prince Royal
's change of direction. The entire incident had taken no more than a quarter of an hour, but it was to have a profound effect upon Faulkner's subsequent life.

Shortly afterwards, however, the squadron came in sight of a number of ships which, as they drew near, were seen to be four Dunkirkers being chased by seven Dutch men-of-war. They came close to the
Rainbow
and were directed to heave to under the lee of the
Prince Royal
, which herself hove to for the purpose of receiving their commanders. In a vain attempt to end hostilities in the English Channel, Prince Charles bade them to desist from their actions, which the Dutch admiral refused, so that the Prince was obliged to detain him until the Dunkirkers had got away. The wind now veered again into the north-east and the fleet remained hove-to off the Scillies, the Prince conceiving the notion of landing on the principal island of St Mary's, since several local pilots, perceiving the royal standard flying from the largest man-of-war, scented pecuniary gain and had come aboard from their boats. A council was held aboard the
Prince Royal
and it was decided that the Prince and Buckingham would land at St Mary's. The longboat was launched, the royal party, Captain Mainwaring and Mr Whiting descended into it and it was streamed astern. Here one of the pinnaces came alongside it and, with every man shifting for himself without ceremony, they all embarked, along with a pilot, and made for the islands.

There was now a further gathering of the
Prince Royal
's remaining officers, and Slessor, having consulted with two pilots, decided to follow the pinnace before it grew dark. Accordingly, the other ships in the squadron took their stations and followed the
Prince Royal
through the rock-strewn sound into St Mary's Road, all hands touched by the sight of Prince Charles and Buckingham standing on the shore cheering them and waving their hats. A curious interlude ensued, lasting four days, but on 5th October the
Prince Royal
led her squadron into Spithead and within hours had once again been transformed. Emptied of the Prince and his entourage with a thundering of artillery and much fluttering of standards and other flags, she and the other ships pressed on to the eastwards and anchored in the Downs. Here they were ordered to the Medway for paying off. Void of the presence of the Earl of Rutland and with none but her ship's company to fill her, she made the short passage. No longer crowded, it seemed all hands heaved a collective sigh of relief; their duty was done and before them was the prospect of laying up for the winter, receiving their pay and discharge, followed by a return to their families. For those, like Faulkner, who had no family the future was less rosy, though it was difficult to resist the sense of accomplishment that accompanied the return of the ship's boats after Rutland's guests had left and they had only the passage round the North Foreland into the Thames Estuary ahead of them. The following few days were spent tearing down temporary bulkheads and preparing for the short voyage to the Medway and the ship's winter berth. This kept them busy and gave Mainwaring time to dine his officers in compliment to their diligence. The invitation was brought by the captain's manservant as both Faulkner and Brenton returned to the cabins intended for them under the half-deck, vacated now by the courtiers who had left them dirty and untidy.

‘It is astonishing, is it not, Kit, that two ladies-in-waiting whom, one would have thought, possessed refined tastes, can so be-powder a few square feet of wretched cabin-space that it looks as though a market has been held herein?'

‘Well, I suppose . . .'

‘Oh, you suppose the luscious Mistress Villiers inhabited one such hutch and made it a bower of unrequited love, do you?'

‘Oh, hold your tongue!' His reaction surprised Faulkner himself.

‘Come, Kit, she was a flirt – a damned pretty flirt, I'll grant you, but a flirt nonetheless – and a cousin distant to his High-and-Mightyness the Duke of Muckingham.'

‘Oh, come now,' Faulkner responded, ‘Buckingham was not so bad. He seemed civil enough to me.'

‘Of course he did. He beguiles the susceptible. Now see how you are defending him. The man bends for the King – what good will come from that unnatural conjunction?'

Faulkner fell silent. The truth was he remained ill-at-ease over the entire voyage. Of course, he had no hope of seeing Katherine Villiers again, had no expectations of further advancement, despite Buckingham's encouragement – which he took for mere condescending civility on the Duke's part – and remained concerned about the animus he must have aroused in Rutland. Indeed, as he smartened himself up for Mainwaring's dinner, his most profound hope was to escape and return to Bristol and the life of mate aboard the
Swallow
or another merchantman. All hopes of advancement in the King's service had evaporated, not least because his encounters with Rutland, Buckingham, even the lovely Katherine, had disarmed his ambition and made him realize his inadequacies and the impediment of his low birth. That was something he could only disguise in the short-term – exposure was, in the end, inevitable. He should henceforth count himself lucky to have come thus far, and return to trade and the merchants' service.

The dinner was a convivial enough affair; Mainwaring's generosity lubricated the occasion, encouraging Brenton's irreverent sparking and drawing from Edward Slessor a short but pointed diatribe on the unwisdom of courtly influence on the sea-service. Mainwaring presided genially, his easy manner demonstrating his skill at handling others. Only Faulkner failed to enjoy the evening, his reticence seemingly overwhelming him so that he was tempted to get drunk at Mainwaring's expense and would have done so had not Slessor's words given him pause for thought, for it was clear that Slessor's inspiration arose in part from Rutland's attitude towards Faulkner. Slessor did not mention either the admiral or his junior colleague, nor was it clear what he thought of Faulkner, which had at least the effect of diverting Faulkner's thoughts from himself. Instead he toyed with the unlikely idea of continuing in the naval service before rejecting it, and in doing so realized that the officers were rising – somewhat unsteadily – from their seats. He followed suit, only to be restrained by Mainwaring who motioned for him to remain behind.

‘A word with you, Kit,' he said with the quiet intimacy of former times, as he bid the rest of his guests goodnight. Fortunately, Slessor was amused at some remark of Brenton's while Whiting and the others had already withdrawn. When they had gone, Mainwaring indicated to Faulkner that he should be seated. ‘A word with you, if you please,' he repeated, and Faulkner again felt the cold hand of apprehension seize his stomach.

‘I am well pleased with you, Kit, notwithstanding your, er, contretemps with my Lord of Rutland.' Mainwaring smiled and Faulkner bowed his head.

‘I apologise, Sir Henry, for forcing you to the extremity of intervening on my behalf. It was perhaps foolish of me to have engaged Mistress Villiers in such intimacy as I did . . .'

Mainwaring waved his explanation aside. ‘Between ourselves, it did not do the admiral any harm to mind his manners for, in all justice, his appointment to flag rank was exactly what I am opposed to, as are those of us intent, by command of the King and the Commissioners he set so recently above us, to man His Majesty's ships with only competent officers – though I daresay we shall have to accommodate and make allowances for the high-born from time to time.' Mainwaring paused a moment, gathering his thoughts. ‘What I have to say to you bears directly upon you and your prospects. Whether or not Mistress Villiers plays any part in them,' he added with a wry smile, ‘is a matter for yourself, but I must caution you to be wary where the Duke is concerned. He showed an interest in you, and this may have been on my recommendation as a tarpaulin officer of merit and prospect, but might be from some personal desire of His Grace towards your person in a less flattering manner, if you take my meaning.'

‘If I take your meaning, Sir Henry, I must, perforce, be most careful.'

‘Indeed. In such circumstances a healthy interest in Mistress Villiers may be out of place, but would not be inappropriate.'

‘I thank you for your advice.' Faulkner made to rise from his seat, but Mainwaring put up his hand to restrain him.

‘There is more, Kit. I am charged by His Grace whom, for all his sodomitical faults, does not lack energy or determination to do good by the King's service. You and Brenton have promise and I would see you continue in it. My Lord Duke and the Commissioners of the Naval Board had the task of reforming the Service and have put their hands to the building of new ships, ten in five years, of which the last two have most recently been put in commission. Four of these – the
St George
,
St Andrew
,
Swiftsure
and
Bonaventure
– were most recently in our company. Much is therefore afoot and, hearing some word that you were minded to return to Strange's employ, I thought it better to offer you some more permanent part in what is under way.'