The Bomb Vessel (15 page)

‘And I've some news for you personal like. Our friend Captain
Martin has heard that our mortars are mounted. I'd not be surprised if he were to mention it to you . . .' Tumily's eyes narrowed to slits and the hair on his cheeks bristled as he sucked in his cheeks in mock disapproval. He took another glass from the passing messman and turned away with an obvious wink as Captain Martin approached.

The commander's appearance as though on cue was uncanny, but Drinkwater dismissed the suspicion that Tumilty intended anything more than a warning.

‘Well, Mr Drinkwater, itching to try your mortars at the enemy are you?'

‘Given the opportunity I should wish to render you every possible assistance in my power, sir,' he said diplomatically.

‘Were you not ordered to strike those mortars into your hold, Mr Drinkwater?' asked Martin, an expression of extreme dislike crossing his pale face.

‘No sir,' replied Drinkwater with perfect candour, ‘the existence of the mortar beds led me to suppose that the mortars might be shipped therein with perfect safety. The vessel would not become excessively stiff and they are readily available should they be required by any other ship. Struck into the hold they might have become overstowed by other . . .'

‘Very well, Mr Drinkwater,' Martin snapped, ‘you have made your point.' He seemed about to turn away, riled by Drinkwater's glib replies but recollected something and suddenly asked, ‘How the devil did you get command of
Virago
?'

‘I was appointed by the Admiralty, sir . . .'

‘I mean, Mr Drinkwater,' said Martin with heavy emphasis, ‘by whose influence was your application preferred?'

Drinkwater flushed with sudden anger. He appreciated Martin's own professional disappointments might be very great, but he himself hardly represented the meteoric rise of an admiral's élève.

‘I do not believe I am anybody's protégé, sir,' he said with icy formality, ‘though I have rendered certain service to their Lordships of a rather unusual nature.'

Drinkwater was aware that he was bluffing but he saw Martin deflate slightly, as though he had found the justification for his dislike in Drinkwater's reply.

‘And what nature did that service take, Mr Drinkwater?' Martin's tone was sarcastic.

‘Special service, sir, I am not at liberty to discuss it.' Martin's eyes opened a little wider, though whether it was at Drinkwater's effrontery or whether he was impressed, was impossible to determine. At all events Drinkwater did not need to explain that the special service had been as mate of the cutter
Kestrel
dragging the occasional spy off a French beach and no more exciting than the nightly activities on a score of British beaches in connection with the ‘free trade'.

‘Special service? You mean
secret
service, Mr Drinkwater,' Martin paused as though making up his mind. ‘For Lord Dungarth's department, perhaps?'

‘Perhaps, sir,' temporised Drinkwater, aware that this might prove a timely raising of his lordship's name and be turned to some advantage in his plan for Edward.

Real anger was mounting into Martin's cheeks.

‘I am quite well aware of his lordship's activities, Drinkwater, I am not so passed over that . . .' he broke off, aware that his own voice had risen and that he had revealed more of himself than he had intended. Martin looked round but the other officers were absorbed in their own chatter. He coughed with embarrassment. ‘You are well acquainted with his lordship?' Martin asked almost conversationally.

‘Aye sir,' replied Drinkwater, relieved that the squall seemed to have passed. ‘We sailed together on the
Cyclops
, frigate, in the American War.' Drinkwater sensed the need to be conciliatory, particularly as the problem of Edward weighed heavily upon him. ‘I beg your pardon for being evasive, sir. I was not aware that his lordship's activities were known to you.'

Martin nodded. ‘You were not the only officer to serve in his clandestine operations, Mr Drinkwater.'

‘Nor, perhaps,' Drinkwater said in a low voice, the sherry making him bold, ‘the only one to be disappointed.' He watched Martin's eyes narrow as the commander digested the implication of Drinkwater's remark. Then Drinkwater added, ‘you would not therefore blame me for mounting those mortars, sir?'

For a second Drinkwater was uncertain of the result of his importunity. Then he saw the ghost of a smile appear on Martin's face. ‘And you are yet known to Lord Dungarth?'

Drinkwater nodded. The knowledge that the lieutenant still commanded interest with the peer was beginning to put him in a different light in Martin's disappointed eyes.

‘Very well, Mr Drinkwater.' Martin turned away.

Drinkwater heaved a sigh of relief. The antagonism of Martin would have made any plan for Edward's future doubly hazardous. Now perhaps, Martin was less hostile to him. He caught Tumilty's eye over the rim of the Irishman's glass. It winked shamelessly. Drinkwater mastered a desire to laugh, but it was not the mirth of pure amusement. It had the edge of hysteria about it. Elizabeth had been right: he was no dissembler and the strain of it was beginning to tell.

Drinkwater returned to
Virago
a little drunk. The dinner had been surprisingly good and during it Drinkwater learned that it had been provided largely by the generosity of the artillery officers who had had the good sense to humour their naval counterparts. It was only later, slumped in his carver and staring at his sword hanging on a hook, that the irrelevant thought crossed his mind that it had not been cleaned after the fight with the French luggers. He sent for Tregembo.

When the quartermaster returned twenty minutes later with the old French sword honed to a biting edge on Willerton's grindstone he seemed to want to talk.

‘Beg pardon, zur, but have 'ee looked at they pistol flints?'

‘No, Tregembo,' Drinkwater shook his head to clear it of the effects of the wine. ‘Do so if you please. I fancy you can re-knap 'em without replacing 'em.'

‘There are plenty of flints aboard here, zur,' said Tregembo reproachfully.

Drinkwater managed a laugh. ‘Ah yes, I was forgettin' we're a floating arsenal. Do as you please then.'

Tregembo had brought two new flints with him and took out the pull-through. He began fiddling with the brace of flintlocks. ‘Do 'ee think we'll sail soon, zur?'

‘I hope so, Tregembo, I hope so.'

‘They say no one knows where we're going, zur, though scuttelbutt is that we're going to fight the Russians.' He paused, ‘It's kind of confusing, zur, but they were our allies off the Texel in '97.'

‘Well they ain't our allies now, Tregembo. They locked British seamen up. As to sailing I have received no orders. I imagine the government are still negotiating with the Baltic powers.'

Drinkwater sighed as Tregembo sniffed in disbelief.

‘They say Lord Nelson's had no word of the fleet's intentions.'

‘They say
a great deal, much of it nonsense, Tregembo, you should know that.'

‘Aye zur,' Tregembo said flatly in an acknowledgement that Drinkwater had spoken, not that he believed a word of what he had said. There followed a silence as Tregembo lowered the first pistol into the green baize-lined box.

‘That volunteer, zur, the one you brought aboard t'other night. Have I seen him afore?'

Drinkwater's blood froze and his brain swam from its haze of wine and over-eating. He had not considered being discovered by Tregembo of all people. He looked at the man but he was nestling the second pistol in its recess. ‘His face was kind of familiar, zur.'

Suddenly Drinkwater cursed himself for a fool. What was it Corneille had said about needing a good memory after lying? Tregembo had not left Petersfield when Edward called upon Elizabeth. It was quite likely that he had seen Edward, even that he had let him into the house. And it was almost certain that either he or his wife Susan would have learned that their mistress's visitor was the master's brother.

‘Familiar, in what way?' he asked, buying time.

‘I don't know, zur, but I seen him afore somewhere . . .' Drinkwater looked shrewdly at Tregembo. Edward's present appearance was drastically altered. Clothes and manners maketh the man and Edward had been shorn of his hair along with his self respect. He was also losing weight due to the paucity of the food and the unaccustomed labour. It was quite possible that Tregembo was disturbed by no more than curiosity. He might think he had seen Edward in a score of places, the frigate
Cyclops
, the cutter
Kestrel
, before he connected him with Petersfield. On the other hand he might remember exactly who Edward was and be mystified as to why the man had turned up before the mast aboard Drinkwater's own ship.

It struck Drinkwater that if the authorities got wind of what he had done he might only have Tregembo to rely on. Except Quilhampton, perhaps, and, with a pang, he recollected James Quilhampton was a party to the little mystery of Edward's note.

Drinkwater was sweating and aware that he had been staring at Tregembo for far too long not to make some sort of confession. He swallowed, deciding on a confidence in which truth might masquerade. ‘You may have seen him before, Tregembo. Have you mentioned this to anyone else?'

Tregembo shook his head. ‘No zur.'

‘You recollect Major Brown and our duties aboard
Kestrel
?' Tregembo nodded. ‘Well Waters is not unconnected with the same sort of business. I do not know any details.'

‘But I saw him at Petersfield, zur. I remember now.'

‘Ah, I see'. Drinkwater wondered again if Elizabeth had revealed Edward's relationship. ‘His arrival doubtless perturbed my wife, eh? Well I don't doubt it, he was not expecting to find me absent.' Drinkwater paused; that much was true. ‘
Whatever
you have heard about this man Tregembo I beg you to forget it. Do you understand?'

‘Aye zur.'

‘If you can avoid any reference to him I'd be obliged.' Then he added as an afterthought, ‘So would Lord Dungarth.'

‘And that's why he is turned forrard, eh zur?'

Drinkwater nodded. ‘Exactly.'

Tregembo smiled. ‘Thank 'ee zur. You'll be a commander afore this business is over, zur, mark my words.'

Then he turned and left the cabin and Drinkwater was unaccountably moved.

Drinkwater turned in early. The effects of his dinner had returned and made him drowsy. He longed for the oblivion of sleep. A little after midnight he was aware of someone calling him from a great distance.

He woke slowly to find Quilhampton shining a lantern into his face.

‘Sir! Sir! Bengal fires and three guns from the
London
, sir! Repeated by
St George
. The signal to weigh, sir, the signal to weigh . . . !'

‘Eh, what's that?'

‘Bengal fires and three guns . . .'

‘I heard you, God damn it. What's the signal?'

‘To weigh, sir.' Quilhampton's enthusiasm was wasted at this hour. ‘Return on deck, Mr Q, and read the night orders again for God's sake.'

‘Aye, aye, sir,' the crestfallen Quilhampton withdrew and Drinkwater rose to wash the foulness out of his mouth. It was not Quilhampton's fault. No-one in the fleet had had a chance to study the admiral's special signals and it boded ill for the general management of the expedition. Drinkwater spat disgustedly into
the bowl set in the top of his sea chest. A respectful knock announced the return of the mate. ‘Well?'

‘The signal to unmoor, sir.'

‘Made for . . .?'

‘The line of battleships with two anchors down.'

‘And how many anchors have we?'

‘One sir.'

‘One sir. The signal to weigh will be given at dawn. Call all hands an hour before. Have your watch rig the windlass bars, have the topsails loose in their buntlines ready for hoisting and the stops off the heads'ls.'

‘Aye, aye, sir.'

Drinkwater retired to sleep. There was an old saying in the service. He prayed God it was true: all debts were paid when the topsails were sheeted home.

He did not know that an Admiralty messenger had exhausted three horses to bring Parker St Vincent's direct command to sail, nor that Lady Parker would return to London earlier than expected.

‘What a God damn spectacle!' said Rogers happily as he watched the big ships weigh. The misfortunes of others always delighted him. It was one of his less likeable traits. Drinkwater shivered in his cloak, wondering whether his blood would ever thicken after his service in the Red Sea and how much longer they would have to wait. It was nine o'clock and the Viragos had been at their stations since daylight, awaiting their turn to weigh and proceed to sea through the St Nicholas Gat.