Any Approaching Enemy: A Novel of the Napoleonic Wars (23 page)

Winchester and the Frenchman talked back and forth before Winchester said, “It’s no good. He’s afraid it’s a trap.”

Charles made a show of stifling a yawn. In a barely interested voice, he said, “Argue with him. Tell him Bevan’s an experienced commander who has outfought larger ships than his. Tell him that although
Louisa
is damaged, she can still sail well enough to cut off his retreat. When you’re finished, look at me as though you want me to change my mind.” He fished in his pocket and came up with a piece of paper.

Winchester spoke in imploring tones. At the mention of Bevan’s ship, the French captain’s eyes narrowed, but he gave nothing away. Finally, Winchester turned back to Charles with a pleading expression.

Charles smiled broadly at the Frenchman. He bent to take up a length of smoking slow match kept by the guns in case the flintlocks failed, and blew on the tip until it burned cherry red. Then he lit the paper. He held the burning scrap up where they could all see it. When it threatened to burn his fingers, he dropped it over the side.
“Bonne
chance, Monsieur Capitaine,”
he said, extending his hand once more.
“Au
revoir.”

Capitaine Baptiste did not shake the offered hand, but he did not turn to leave, either. Instead, he spoke to Winchester with harsh, angry words, a torrent of words, gesturing and pointing several times at Charles in disgust. After two or three minutes, he stopped. Winchester bowed with his hand over his heart and spoke a single sentence in which Charles heard the word
“honneur.”

“He’ll do it,” Winchester said.

“That’s all he said?” Charles asked.

“Well, no,” Winchester answered, “he said he thinks you’re a mad-man. He asked if I would guarantee on my sacred honor that you would keep your word. Really, he thinks you’re crazy.”

Beechum was called and his duties explained to him. As Capitaine Baptiste and the young acting lieutenant went over the side into the gig to make the trip back to the corvette, Charles said, “That man is one tough son of a bitch. Bevan got off easy.”

It wasn’t until sometime later that he realized he’d burnt the list of French warships that Jones had given him in Acre.

EIGHT

“YOU JUST CAN’T MANAGE TO STAY OUT OF TROUBLE, CAN you?” Daniel Bevan said, climbing up through Louisa’s entryport. “And yes, before you ask,
Pylades’s
boatswain and his crew will be over presently to show you how to put your ship back into order. It’s shocking the state you allow her to fall into.”

Charles, who had been determined to maintain a firm scowl, broke into a grin. “And you have a quaint notion that orders are something akin to polite suggestions.”

The French corvette, having taken off Félicité’s crew without incident, lay just visible hull down on the southern horizon. Mrs. Daniel Bevan swung up from the cutter alongside to be set gently on the deck.

“What orders?” Bevan said, the very portrait of innocence.

“To go to Syracuse. I signaled you to sail for Syracuse. Twice,” Charles said as sternly as he could.

“Oh, that,” Bevan answered. “I appreciated your concern, but there’s nothing particularly interesting in Syracuse.”

Penny came forward from Charles’s cabin. She had returned from the frigate with Lincoln and most of the others of
Louisa
’s crew as soon as the wounded had been taken off. Charles had noted an unhappy expression on her face and bloodstains on her dress when she came aboard, but he hadn’t had an opportunity to talk with her. She appeared now in fresh clothing and a smile on seeing Molly. The two women embraced and went aft.

“The information we have on the destination of the French fleet must be conveyed to the consul in Syracuse,” Charles continued. “My instructions were for you to do that.”

Bevan turned serious. “I know,” he said. “I also know why you turned
Louisa
to engage the French frigate. As noble as that was, I couldn’t let you face the both of them alone.”

“Next time …” Charles began.

Bevan looked at
Félicité
wallowing in the water nearby. She lay deserted and empty except for
Louisa
’s boats occasionally plying back and forth with any useful items that could be taken off. “Yes, next time,” he said. “What do you plan to do with her?”

“Set fire to her, sink her. I can’t tow her all the way to Syracuse,” Charles said. “We’re taking everything useful off. Attwater’s over there now, looking through the captain’s stores. God knows what he’ll bring back.”

“Goose liver,” Bevan said confidently. “French captains are crazy for goose liver, I’m told. They call it patty. Revolting stuff.”

“I was planning on going over myself,” Charles said, “to see if I can find the ship’s papers: orders, signal books, charts, the log, that sort of thing. I know Jervis would appreciate having them. Perhaps you would be so good as to join me.”

“Be my pleasure,” Bevan answered. “Nothing I’d like better than crawling around in the dark, airless hold of a ship that carries a lot of garlic.”

The two men went across in
Pylades
’s gig, which still lay alongside. Climbing up Félicité’s side ladder, Charles surveyed the eerily empty deck, with its battered sides and broken gun carriages. The dead— including, he had been informed, her captain and all of her three lieutenants—had been put overboard. There were bloodstains on the deck boards and all manner of splintered wood, pieces of clothing, broken lines, and cables scattered at random. As the ship had been cleared for action, he could see the length of the gundeck from the bow all the way to the broken stern under the quarterdeck. Where the French captain’s cabin would have been was now open space lined by overturned guns.

“His things will have been taken below,” Bevan said. “We’ll have to find them.”

Charles nodded. It was not pleasant walking through the shattered hulk of another captain’s ship. He found it unnerving, a little like standing on a fresh grave. For a moment he had a picture in his mind of a French captain passing through
Louisa
’s battered remains. It made him shiver. They went down the after ladderway to the lower deck, still lit by isolated lanterns hung from the beams. If it were his ship, Charles reasoned, they would have brought the captain’s furnishings somewhere convenient, thinking that everything would have to go back up again when the battle was over. He soon spotted a hasty pile of furniture off to the side. Bevan found two sea chests and dragged them into the middle of the room while Charles forced the locks on a desk with his pocket-knife. Inside, he found what he was looking for: the captain’s log, the muster book, some volumes of naval instructions and regulations, and a collection of envelopes and loose papers. Since he could read little of it, he put them in a pile on top of the chests. He would send someone to collect them later.

“Attwater should be around here somewhere,” he said. “The gig was still alongside.”

“The captain’s pantry would be aft, wouldn’t it?” Bevan said. “Attwater,” he shouted. The sound reverberated in the hollow space.

“Maybe he went down into the hold,” Charles said. “He could have been looking for anything.” He took a lantern from overhead, and they started down the ladderway into the cavernous space below.

“Attwater!” Charles shouted.

“ ’Ere, sir. Forward,” Attwater’s reedy voice reached them. Charles looked and saw a faint circle of light near the bow.

“Christ,” Charles muttered. “Come aft to the hatchway.”

“Wouldn’t it be best if you didn’t come forward, sir. You’ll see.”

Charles muttered some more but started forward along the narrow walkway between the stowed water casks and barrels of the ship’s stores, holding the lantern in front with Bevan close behind. The space was close and humid and stank like a cesspool.

“What have you found that is so important you couldn’t come to the ladderway?” he asked as he neared the light.

“ ’Ere, sir,” Attwater said. He was sitting cross-legged on the deck, holding a bundle of loose clothing against his chest. Then Charles saw that it wasn’t a bundle of clothing. Two large brown eyes stared at him from beneath a disheveled mop of curly dark hair.

“Oh my God,” Bevan breathed.

There, in Attwater’s lap, sat a very frightened child, a girl, Charles guessed, of about four years old, clutching at his servant’s coat lapels.

Charles knelt and stroked the child’s hair. “There, there,” he said softly. “It will be all right. No one will hurt you.” To Attwater, he said, “Where did you find her?”

“Down ’ere in the ’old. I thought I saw something from the ’atchway and came down to look. I caught up with ’er up ’ere. I wasn’t never so surprised. Do you think she’s a stowaway?”

“No,” Charles said, “I think it’s more likely she’s someone’s child, an officer’s, probably. She was placed down here for safety during the battle.” He ran the back of his fingers gently across the girl’s cheek. “Hello, my little one,” he said, smiling reassuringly. “
Jeth
Charles.
Et
vous
?” The girl hid her face against Attwater’s chest.

“Christ, Charlie,” Bevan said, “you call that French?”

“Can you do better?”

When Bevan refrained from answering, Charles tried again. “Charles,” he said, poking his chest. “Daniel.” He pointed upward at Bevan. “Attwater.” Finally, he touched her hand.
“Vous?”

“Claudette.” It came in a whisper so tiny he had to bend close to catch it.

“Well, Claudette,” Charles said, “we can’t leave you here.” To Attwater, he said, “Can you carry her?”

“She don’t weigh next to nothing,” he answered.

“Let’s go, then.” Charles stood. He and Bevan helped Attwater to his feet, still clutching the bundle. As they were making their way forward, Bevan asked, “What are you going to do with her?”

“Haven’t a notion,” Charles said. “I’m going to give her to Penny. She’ll know.”

Claudette was handed down into
Pylades
’s cutter, which excited much conversation among the boat’s crew, and back up onto
Louisa.
Winchester stared in surprise as Charles led the little girl, her grip firmly around his finger, toward his cabin. “What’s this?” the lieutenant asked.

“Claudette,” Charles answered. “She’s come to visit us.” He bent in front of the child and pointed to Winchester. “Stephen,” he said.

“Stepen,” she repeated.

He touched his own chest again. “Charles.”

“Charle,” Claudette said with the very smallest of smiles, softening the C and rolling the R so that it came out as “Sharrle.”

The marine sentry at the door to Charles’s cabin snapped to attention with wide eyes. “Claudette, this is Private Thomas,” Charles said. “Private Thomas, Claudette.” The marine took the liberty of chucking the girl under her chin, for which he received a cautious upturning of the corners of her mouth.

Charles entered first. He found Penny and Molly seated together on the bench under the stern windows.

“Charlie,” Penny said, rising, “I have something to tell thee.”

“In a minute,” he answered. Opening the door wider, he said, “May I introduce Mademoiselle Claudette. She has come to stay with us for a time.” To be complete, he added, “She’s French.”

The girl clung shyly to Charles’s leg, but her eyes widened at the sight of the two women. Penny and Molly crossed the cabin quickly, Penny dropping to her knees, taking the child into her arms, and holding her against her chest.

“Where did you find her?” she asked.

“In the hold of
Félicité,
” Charles said. “Attwater spotted her.”

“Where are her parents?” Penny stroked the child’s hair and picked her up as she rose to her feet.

“Her father, probably,” Charles said. “Killed, taken off with the injured. I don’t know.”

“Poor little girl,” Penny cooed, hugging her closer. “You must be starving.” Then she said something in French to which Claudette nodded. To Charles, Penny said, “Get her some food. Something soft and hot; none of your salted meat.”

“The galley should be relit by now,” Charles said. “Attwater, see what you can arrange. Bring some ship’s biscuit in the meantime.”

“And some boiling water, please,” Penny said. To Molly: “Would thou bring the remainder of our chocolate?” To Charles: “Have we any milk?”

“Goat’s milk,” Charles answered. “Someone will have to convince the goat to give it up.”

“See to it,” she said. “Have it heated. Not too hot. And find the rest of her clothing, it must still be on board the French ship. Get me some fresh water so that we can bathe her, and see that it is heated also.”

Charles nodded and, with Bevan, left the cabin to find one of his lieutenants. Beechum was closest.

“Send Sykes and a half-dozen seamen across to the frigate,” Charles said, pulling on his ear. “Have them search her from stem to stern, especially the hold. I want to be certain there is no one of any age, size, or description left on board.” He also told Beechum of the chests and papers on the lower deck and requested that they be brought back to his cabin.

“Yes, sir,” Beechum answered, touching his hat. “Will there be anything else?”

“Oh, yes, have someone milk the goat. Have it heated, not too hot, and sent to my cabin.”

“Yes, sir,” the lieutenant said, and left.

Charles remembered that Penny had said she had something to tell him. It would have to wait, he decided. She had something else to occupy her now. Anyway, how important could it be? He went forward to find Keswick and see how the repairs to
Louisa
’s rigging were progressing.

Daniel and Molly Bevan were asked to stay to supper, during which most of the attention was devoted to the very young Claudette, who ate happily and smiled suspiciously when addressed. Once, when Charles helped her slice her food, she nodded seriously to him and said, “
Merci,
Monsieur Sharrle,” which sent an arrow through his heart.

Toward the end of the meal, he studied his wife, seated on the other side of the girl. She seemed both pleased and content, and had a rosy sort of glow about her. “I am sorry,” he said, “you told me earlier that there was something you wanted to tell me. What was it?”

Penny met his eyes, then looked back down at her plate. “I will speak with thee later,” she said. Charles noticed Molly glance quickly across the table at Penny, who furtively glanced back with a small shake of her head. Daniel Bevan contentedly chewed on his roast chicken, picking a bone clean and dropping it on his plate. Charles stared intently across the table at Molly until he caught her eye. Molly turned pink.

“Ain’t we had nice weather today,” she observed a little too loudly. “Wasn’t I worried when I saw you fighting that other ship. Wasn’t I worried, Daniel?” she said, elbowing him in the ribs.

“What?” Bevan said.

“Wasn’t I worried.”

“About what?”

Charles studied Penny, whose rosy glow seemed to have heightened. He knew what it was she had to tell him.

“Are you?” he said. “We?”

She nodded once, then looked at him, a hopeful, serious, apprehensive look.

Charles smiled his largest smile.

Penny smiled back, her eyes glistening.

“What?” Bevan said, laying down his knife and fork and wiping his mouth with his napkin.

Molly jabbed him in the ribs again, then raised her hand to his ear and whispered into it.

“You mean there will be more of them?” he said in apparent dismay. He took his wife’s elbow firmly in his two hands.

Charles rose from his chair and knelt beside Penny. He lay one hand on her belly and kissed her cheek. He said into her ear, “A child couldn’t have a better mother.”

“Qu’est-ce que c’est?”
Claudette said, her big eyes following the activity in the room.

Penny turned and spoke to her in French that Charles followed well enough to understand his wife was explaining that she was about to become a mother. Then the child asked something that he did not follow, to which Penny gave a long, serious answer, then kissed her on the forehead and smoothed her hair.

“What was that?” Charles asked.

“She told me that she has never had a mother, only an aunt, and that she lived with her father, only she doesn’t know where he is now.”

“Oh,” Charles said.

“And she said that so long as I was going to be a mother, would I mind being her mother also.”