For King or Commonwealth (2 page)

‘It seems not,' said Faulkner, leaving Mainwaring to his dolorous reflection and then, scooping up his papers and putting them away in a large leather satchel, he rang a bell and called for wine.

‘Why did you not tell me of this intelligence directly, Kit?' Mainwaring asked, then added with gentle remonstrance, ‘I am, after all, the King's admiral.'

Faulkner nodded, sat back and regarded Mainwaring. ‘You are indeed, Sir Henry, and it was my purpose, before telling you, to ascertain the power of the ships we could assemble in the river's mouth to demonstrate in His Majesty's favour.' He made a gesture of impotence. ‘But now we have Rupert and Batten . . .' Faulkner sighed. ‘You should have known shortly.'

‘I understand,' Mainwaring said and then they were interrupted by the arrival of the wine. Faulkner rose, poured two glasses and carried them across the room, offering one to Mainwaring.

‘And when the King is dead, will you still wish to return to England?'

Mainwaring took a deep draught of the wine then looked at Faulkner. ‘Kit, you are younger and wiser than me; what do you see of the future?'

‘Exile.'

‘That is cold comfort.'

‘Indeed. Moreover, this wine is expensive. We should drink either Hollands or beer if we are to become Dutchmen.'

‘I have no intention of becoming a Dutchman; besides I cannot stand the taste of their Genever and beer is a drink for workmen, draymen and other villains . . .'

‘Not admirals,' Kit remarked with a rueful smile.

‘No, not even ragged-arsed admirals with no fleet to speak of . . .'

‘Come, come, Sir Henry, we do have some ships of quality.'

‘Perhaps, but few to match your own
Phoenix
and she—'

‘Is eating money, Sir Henry, as are the others mewed up in these damned meres by forming ice. They need employment, active employment; if not a cargo then a cruise against our enemies . . .'

‘Our countrymen, Kit,' Mainwaring interjected, though Faulkner took no notice.

‘. . . for these burghers are crafty at their business and once they know of our penury will turn against us quicker than our Lord and Master learned to tack the
Proud Black Eagle
.'

‘I don't know,' Mainwaring said uncertainly.

‘Sir Henry,' Faulkner said sharply, accompanying this with a slap of his hand on the leather satchel lying on the table before him, ‘the matter must be resolved today or tomorrow. If not we shall be obliged to sell at least half of the ships to keep us in firewood, let alone beer.'

‘How is Kate?'

‘What?' Faulkner frowned. ‘She is well . . . why, you saw her but yesterday. Come, you cannot divert me from my purpose.'

‘I heard . . .'

‘What did you hear?' Faulkner's tone was full of exasperation and he stared at Mainwaring through narrowed eyes. ‘That she miscarried? Well, 'tis true but she is blithe enough. God knows we cannot afford another mouth to feed, still less do I wish to risk her life in childbirth.'

Mainwaring hesitated before speaking and a man less preoccupied might have divined a change of mind, but all Faulkner heard was the old man's commiserations. ‘I am sorry to hear the news, Kit. I had thought she looked overly pale.'

‘Yes, well, 'tis bad enough to be a King's man in these troubled times, but to be a woman must be nigh intolerable.'

‘Aye. The ships then, what of them?'

Faulkner counted them off on the fingers of his right hand. ‘The
Constant
Reformation
,
Swallow
and
Convertive
are ill fitted and least able.
Crescent
and
Satisfaction
are in poor condition, and there are others to number of seventeen, I believe. Of them,
Antelope
,
Roebuck
,
Hind
,
Pelican
and
Phoenix
will do well enough to keep the sea when the season suits.'

‘And their companies?'

‘Near enough mutinous but how can one blame them with no pay, the winter upon them and the greater part of their families in penury in England reduced to beggary by lack of income and the hostility of those against them – which, if rumour is to be believed, is most of London and much of the country who want only a return to peaceful living. They are besides upset by the taunts of Warwick's men when and where the Dutch let them land, who guy them mercilessly, telling them of proper victuals and steady money in the Parliament's ships. Of them all, the
Antelope
's people are the most disaffected.'

‘And the
Phoenix
?'

Faulkner looked up, a spark in his eye. ‘Thanks to all this –' he gestured at the ledgers and papers – ‘I have managed to keep my own men loyal – at least, until the spring.'

‘The spring.' Mainwaring's tone was ruminative. ‘Perhaps too late, if what you say proves true.'

‘Exactly.'

‘You think a demonstration off the Knock . . .'

‘Off the Nore . . .'

‘The Nore? God's teeth, Kit, that is bold!'

‘Put the stopper in the bottle, Sir Henry, with the first east wind that allows the ships out of the Haringvliet.'

‘I took a Moor off the Nore in sixteen,' Mainwaring mused before recollecting the immediate problem. ‘But what of the ice?'

‘Already forming but we might contrive to move them,' Faulkner said resolutely.

Mainwaring shook his head. ‘No, the fair east wind you seek will freeze the Haringvliet. Then the men will not muster and will gripe unless they have some liberty. Christmas was bad enough. No Dutchman will move on our behalf for the money we could offer before Christmas, let alone afterwards.'

‘Must we have Dutchmen? I'd rather my English dogs.'

‘Aye, for a certainty, but needs must when the devil drives and methinks there are too few proper jacks who, with a few square-heads . . .'

‘I could take the
Phoenix
,' Faulkner said with such a sudden conviction that Mainwaring stared at him.

‘Alone?'

‘Aye, alone but with such teeth as will bite the Puritan in the trade, where it hurts him most.'

Mainwaring smiled. ‘Ah, me, Kit, you remind me of the man Henry Mainwaring once was.'

‘I was taught well, Sir Henry,' Faulkner responded, raising his glass in an ironic salute to his senior.

‘D'you recall we called you Mr Rat when we found you on the quay in Bristol?'

‘Only too well; and a damned hungry rat.'

The two men smiled at each other and a silence fell between them. Warmed by the wine Faulkner restrained himself from pressing Mainwaring on the subject of moving the ship. Instead he fell into a study, thinking of the most pressing tasks to bring the squadron to a state of readiness. Perhaps one ship was insufficient but if he could get three, say the
Antelope
and the
Roebuck
commissioned quickly, he might achieve something. He might save the
Antelope
for Prince Charles's service if he could get her to sea and take a prize or two.

‘Where is Katherine?' Mainwaring suddenly asked.

‘Eh?' Faulkner was recalled to the present with a start. It was growing dark rapidly as the sky clouded over the low sun of the late winter's afternoon and the chill made him shiver. ‘Katherine? She is without . . .'

‘Waiting on His Royal Highness?'

Faulkner frowned. ‘Perhaps; I don't know . . .' He looked at Mainwaring and knew the expression he wore. ‘Why? What is troubling you, Sir Henry?'

‘Apprehension, Kit, apprehension. His Royal Highness is no more to be trusted than any other man and perhaps less than most.'

Faulkner frowned. ‘What exactly are you insinuating?'

‘I think you can guess. There is talk.'

‘There is always talk around the Prince,' Faulkner said tossing off his wine, but his face wore an expression of such agony as he put the empty glass down on the table before him that Mainwaring was minded to change the subject and sought to mitigate the damage he had done.

‘That is very true,' he said hurriedly.

Faulkner was of like mind. ‘What of you, Sir Henry? Are you still intent upon returning to England despite the chance to command at sea against the King's enemies?'

‘Kit, Kit,' said Mainwaring shaking his head and smiling ruefully, ‘despite her most excellent qualities the
Phoenix
is not the
Prince Royal
. . .'

‘Would to God that she was,' said Faulkner sharply, recalling the puissant man-of-war which Mainwaring had once commanded and in which he himself had served as a lieutenant. He helped himself to another glass of wine from the flagon. ‘I should take all the shipping in the London River with her had I the men to man her and the powder and shot to do proper execution.'

But both men heard the voices below and fell silent as the familiar footfall on the stairs preceded the opening of the door. Both men rose as Katherine Villiers entered the room. She was flushed, a high colour in her cheeks as she moved quickly to the fire, rubbing her hands.

‘Gentlemen,' she said, acknowledging their bows. ‘God's death, but 'tis cold without! I pray you be seated.'

‘A glass of wine, Kate?' Faulkner said moving to the door and calling for a glass.

‘If you please, thank you.'

‘How is His Highness today?' Mainwaring asked.

‘Very well . . .' Katherine broke off, perceiving too late, as he shot Faulkner a look, the trap that Mainwaring had laid for her. Recovering quickly she added, ‘And he particularly wished to commend himself to you both. “They are my most devoted followers, Mistress Villiers”, he was pleased to say, “upon whom I rely for my flag's maintenance upon the Narrow Seas”.'

‘How very grand,' Mainwaring said as the red-faced maid-servant brought in a fresh glass and a second flagon of wine.

Katherine broke the inevitable silence that this necessary intrusion caused, not warming to Mainwaring's tone. ‘Well, gentlemen, why look you so glum? Have you instead been plotting treason? This is passable tipple.' This last a distraction for she was wary of too open a discourse and Mainwaring was too old a bird to wish to linger. At best a tiff was imminent and these were, after all, Faulkner's lodgings; his own rooms were next door in this rented floor of a Dutch house and the walls thin enough to learn if matters between these younger people, whom he regarded in his straightened circumstances as his family, took a turn for the worst. Tossing off his wine he rose.

‘I shall take leave of you. We may discuss the plans for the, er, squadron, tomorrow, Kit. I shall give the matter thought overnight and we will draft a paper to place before Prince Rupert. Saw you the Prince, Mistress Villiers?'

Katherine shook her head. ‘No, he was said to be at Helvoetsluys with the ships, but was expected back in a day or two.'

‘Very well, then I bid you goodnight, Mistress Villiers.'

Sweeping up his worn and shiny hat with its bedraggled ostrich feather, Mainwaring made his courtly bow and left the room, leaving Katherine staring after him and her lover staring at his boots. In the wake of Mainwaring's departure a deathly silence fell, broken at last by Katherine, who asked in a low voice, ‘What is the matter, sweetheart?'

The endearment brought Faulkner's head up with a jerk. His eyes were bright and he said, in a strangled voice, ‘I beg you, do not call me that.'

‘Why I—'

He stood up suddenly, so that she drew back in surprise. ‘You spend,' he said with difficulty, ‘too long in his company.'

‘Whose company?'

‘Do not fool with me, Kate. You know who I mean.'

‘He is a Prince, Kit, and commands me.'

‘Commands you to
what
, for Almighty God's sake?'

‘Why,' she said in a tone so reasonable that it left him speechless with a disarming mixture of anger, confusion and humiliation, ‘to attend him, of course.'

‘Attend him?
Attend him?
' He could not bring himself to make the accusation whose confirmation he did not wish to hear.

‘He holds court, he is a Royal Prince,' she repeated, as if repetition would allow the import of Prince Charles's status to sink in.

Sensing the argument was diverging from the truth towards which he felt irresistibly drawn he asked the question that had – he now realized – been forming in his mind for weeks. The decision once made restored his manhood and he felt an icy calm fill him, casting out the demon of weak and pitiful supplication. ‘And does attending him require you to lie with him?'

The colour draining from her face she stepped backwards as though struck. For a moment he thought that he had it all wrong and a spark of hope threatened to tip him into a doting, slobbering apologist for entertaining the very suspicion.

Shaking her head, she said, ‘Not lie, Kit. Not as a man does with a woman.' She hesitated. ‘That I have denied him but he likes a little frivolous diversion.'

‘A play, you mean?'

‘Aye, nothing more . . . and . . .'

‘A Prince shall have his way,' Faulkner finished the sentence for her in a snarl.

‘It means nothing, Kit . . .' Perceiving the hurt the honest confession was inflicting she sought, inadequately, to find reasonable ground between them. She made a circular movement of her hand, embracing them both. ‘We . . . we are not married. We cannot be married . . .'

The reference to Faulkner's wife Judith caught him for a second but he had long ago reconciled himself to his own betrayal. That he would burn for it he had no doubt, but that he had found in Katherine a love worth risking damnation seemed – at least in the heat of their passion – a price worth paying. Now he was seeing that hell was not beyond this life, but of it and that other people were the devil's agents.