The Devil's Own Luck (11 page)

“It’s hardly surprising you chose not to engage the
Verite.
With such a person on your quarterdeck, perhaps it was too hazardous.”

“Damn you, sir,” said Bentley. Wine spilled out of his glass as he jerked his arm in anger.

“He seems however to enjoy a degree of freedom that I cannot remember from my days as a serving officer. Perhaps others at the table will tell me I am wrong.”

No one else was talking. There was something close to shame on the faces of the other officers present. Prentice, with youthful curiosity, was the only one whose head was up. The others, like Carter, tried to concentrate on their food. But Harry’s stare made the captain look up. Had James smoked what his brother was about—for if he intervened now, he could ruin everything. The dinner could not continue with both the Ludlows and Bentley present. Carter would have to ask one or the other to leave. To pick on Harry and James, given the state of his subordinate, would be grossly unfair. The man had behaved abominably. Harry could not even begin to guess what it was that allowed Bentley such latitude. But now he had manoeuvred Carter into a position where he really had to check his first lieutenant, for if he didn’t, he would be advertising to all that as a commander he was a mere cipher.

“Mr Bentley. You are unwell. I suggest that you retire.”

“Me, retire? For these upstarts?” Bentley leaned across the table, half out of his seat. “From what I hear, they are not above a bit of unlicensed rogering themselves!”

James stiffened visibly, as Bentley turned towards him. “That is, if the whore of their dreams is high-born enough. Never mind that she be someone else’s wife.”

“Stop him, Carter!” cried James. It sounded like pain.

“Perhaps when we have finished this commission you will introduce me to the fair Lady Farrar. Oh yes, Mr High-and-Mighty Ludlow. You were the talk of the town before we sailed. Stealing another man’s wife is about the mark of your family. And what did you do when he sent to take her back. Her honour meant less than keepin’ your skin. Perhaps you was never man enough for the lady, for I hear she went meekly enough. I shall make a point of seeking her out next time I’m ashore. I’m the stallion of all the world, I do assure you. I can certainly guarantee her a memorable gallop.”

“Shut your mouth!” yelled James. “You are not fit to mention her name!”

“Am I not? I suppose you think you’re the only one who’s bedded her. If she’d stoop to dallying with the likes of you, I dare say she’s pretty free with her favours. No better than a whore, most like.” Bentley roared with laughter.

James’s slap knocked Bentley over his chair. Carter and Harry stood up together. Harry moved quickly round the other diners. James smashed a decanter, and was about to lunge at the prostrate Bentley. Turnbull, moving at surprising speed, pinned his arms, giving Harry enough time to get between his brother and the premier. James wriggled free, dropping the jagged remains of glass from his hand.

“Until now, Carter,” shouted James, his face red with anger again, “I never quite knew what a scrub you are. Not only do you man your ship with dregs for officers, but you are incapable of discipline. Your behaviour yesterday was wholly in character. Should my brother not oblige with a bullet, then I most certainly will!”

“I will not be talked to like this!” yelled Carter.

“You will be addressed as you deserve,” said James. “You are the scum of the earth. You deliberately stood off yesterday and allowed an enemy to rake our ship. And that to settle a private feud. Tonight you have done the same: stood aside where it was your responsibility to intervene. And you have allowed this drunken swine to sully the name of a woman that I hold in the highest esteem. You may think that your carefully worded dispatch will save you from censure, but I will make it my task to see you stripped of your commission. And if I fail in that, rest assured that I shall bend all my efforts to ensuring that you spend the rest of your life on the beach. You are not fit to command a herring buss, let alone a King’s ship!”

Carter looked as though it was he who had been slapped. Bent-ley, having hauled himself up, was leaning against the bulkhead, blood seeping from the corner of his mouth. Suddenly he lunged at James. Harry made to intervene, but it was unnecessary. James nimbly side-stepped, and Bentley slewed across the table, sending dishes and glasses flying. James grabbed him and turned him over on his back.

“I would kill you if I thought you were worth it, you piece of dung!”

“Get out of my cabin!” screamed Carter.

“With pleasure, Captain,” said James, all urbanity again. “Your dinner has been attended by the success it deserves.”

“I have to remark that’s not quite what I had in mind when I asked you to be hearty,” said Harry. “I never knew you had such a temper.”

“I feel a sense of shame at having displayed it, and that in front of people like Carter. And I don’t suppose I have aided our cause a great deal.”

“Let’s not fret about that, James. What is done . . .”

They paced the deck, using the windward side almost in a sense of defiance. James’s calm behaviour was only skin deep. Harry knew that underneath he was still seething from the way Bentley had talked about Caroline Farrar.

“I cannot comprehend why Carter lets Bentley carry on in such a vile manner.”

“I think I have already said that I find it wholly in character.”

“But it isn’t, James. I served with Carter when he was premier, and he would never have countenanced such behaviour in our wardroom. Bentley was openly challenging his superior to check him. You did not see the insolence in Bentley’s look. Yet he did nothing.”

“Men change, Harry. I have often heard you talk of the odd behaviour of naval captains.”

“This is different. A wholly sane ship’s captain is hard to find, given the isolation they suffer and the authority they wield. But to let your premier talk in that manner destroys all discipline. Did you see the looks on the faces of the others?”

“I did not. If you recall I was rather preoccupied.” Memory restored the angry tone.

“They were ashamed.”

“And well they might be.”

“Ashamed of their captain.”

James stopped. “And Bentley, I would hope.”

“No,” said Harry turning to face him, “I would say that they are frightened of him.”

“The man is a wreck. Judging by his complexion he is drinking himself to death.”

“Why doesn’t Carter relieve him of his duties?”

James started pacing again. “I would have thought that was perfectly obvious, Harry. You say the other ship’s officers are afraid of Bentley. I say that Carter is afraid of him too.”

“It was unwise to challenge him so openly, James.”

“I will not accept such a rebuke from you,” said James, again showing a flash of temper. Harry was quite taken aback.

“Tactless of me. But your other threat was more telling. Without his rank, Carter would be nothing. I would hazard that he is more frightened of that than the prospect of death. Which makes the case of Bentley all the more strange.”

“All I know is that I must be kept apart from him. For if he dares to mention Caroline again, I shall not answer for my actions.”

“A man like that is a danger to the ship,” Harry carried on, trying to change the subject without seeming obvious. “I admit there is no shortage of drunkards at sea, quite a few of them captains. But it is unwise for a sober person to leave any authority vested in a drunk like Bentley. Say something happened. Something that could be directly attributed to Bentley’s condition. Any court martial would pillory Carter. I would hold out little hope for the officers of the
Magnanime
to speak out on our behalf, but in a situation which I just alluded to, they would sing mightily, and for the same reason.”

“That tribe? I’ve never seen people so supine.”

Harry had hoped that conversation would calm James down, but it seemed to be having precisely the opposite effect.

“They would be reluctant witnesses for us since it may adversely affect their careers. They would give willing testimony against Carter in such a setting for exactly the same reason.”

“Yet they too are frightened of Bentley?” James could not keep out of his voice the low esteem in which he held such an attitude.

Harry raised a finger. “Is that because of the power he has over Carter?”

“This is all getting rather byzantine,” said James wearily. “And I really cannot bring myself to care.”

“You were the one who said that Carter was frightened of the man.”

“He is. I saw it in his eyes.”

“Then whatever hold Bentley has over Carter must be damning.”

“I suppose it would do us no harm to find out?” This was said without much enthusiasm.

“I think we owe it to Carter, don’t you?” said Harry gaily.

“Most certainly, brother, most certainly.”

Harry laughed loudly and distinctively. James nearly smiled at the thought that it was probably the only sound of gaiety to penetrate the now silent wardroom. But he could not. Instead he stopped and leaned against a bulkhead, trying to compose his face, so that Harry would not see the hurt.

“I wish I could help, James,” he said softly, putting his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “I don’t have the words.”

“There are no ‘words,’ Harry. At least none that would lessen the burden. There are plenty for a swine like Bentley to use.” The anger came boiling up again at the mention of the premier’s name.

“Keep me away from them all, Harry. For if one of them dares to speak her name again, I will kill them.” He screamed, loud enough to be heard all over the ship: “Do you
hear!”

Harry slapped James hard, then threw his arms around him, and pulled him into an embrace. James struggled free.

“Just leave me be, Harry.” His shoulders had slumped. He looked exhausted.

“Sleep, James,” he said, remembering how his brother had sat over him the night before. “Sleep will help.”

“Would that were true, Harry.”

“Damn. I could kill them myself for bringing you to this.” He took his brother’s arm, and led him gently to his berth.

CHAPTER SIX

JAMES
had been berthed in the steward’s cabin. They talked for some time, Harry trying to repair the damage, trying to bring his brother back to the mood he had been in before dinner, to divert his mind from the doomed affair with Caroline Farrar. He felt that he had managed a partial success. But at a price. His head was throbbing as he left James’s berth.

Harry had not been allocated any quarters, so he presumed upon the surgeon and returned to Outhwaite’s cabin. It would have been polite to ask the man’s permission but a quick glance into the surgeon’s dispensary showed that Outhwaite was out cold, an empty bottle clasped to his breast. Since no other casualty seemed to occupy the space in his berth, and since a reasonably calm sea made the prospect of a sudden fall unlikely, Harry bedded down gratefully in the same cot. He had done little to warrant it, but he was tired from the exertions of the day. The pain he felt reminded him of his wound.

It was some time before the commotion going on outside his door roused him. He heard muffled oaths, the sounds of a struggle, a thud as someone fell. Then a sort of drumming sound. Painfully he raised his head from the pillow. He listened for a few seconds, but no sound followed. He swung his feet to the floor. Whatever it was, it was surely none of his concern, but he knew that he would be obliged to have a look. Curiosity would rob him of the power of sleep.

He pulled back the canvas screen, hearing a distant shout as he did so. James knelt in the open space between the cabins, a tallow candle in one hand and a knife in the other. The body lay crumpled up, the face hidden, but the officer’s coat was plain even in the dim light. Other people were coming, their feet sounding on the wooden planking. The lanterns they carried began to illuminate the scene.

“Harry,” said James standing up, a curious expression on his face. He held out the knife. Harry did not look at the knife, his eyes were locked on to his brother’s. He wanted to speak, but could think of no words to say.

“Seize him.” Carter’s voice, loud and sharp.

“I found it.” James was looking at him with doubt plain in his face. He suddenly seemed to realize that other people were there. His face went blank as two seamen rushed forward and grabbed his arms. Carter came into the arc of light, followed by several other men. He knelt beside the body.

“Get the surgeon, man.” He pushed the raised shoulder of the man lying on the planking. The body rolled on to its back. Bentley’s eyes were wide open. The front and side of his chest were covered in blood. He had not been stabbed so much as ripped open.

Outhwaite stumbled into several people before reaching the centre of the assembled group. He was soaking wet. No doubt he had been aroused from his drunken slumber by the liberal quantity of water the hands had poured over him. He knelt by the body, his shaking hand touching a point under the neck.

“Dead,” he slurred. “Stone dead.”

Carter, who had not taken his eyes off the body since he knelt down, slowly looked up at James. His eyes went to the knife still in his hand. It was covered in blood. He turned to look at Harry, his eyes registering triumph, before he turned back to James.

“Well, Mr Ludlow?” he said quietly. It was plain which one he was addressing. Carter stood, and leaning forward took the knife from James’s hand.

“Mr Carter . . .” said Harry.

“You will oblige me by staying quiet, Ludlow, or I will have you removed. I require an explanation from your brother, not from you.”

James looked at Harry. There was a question in the look, one that he could not ask.

“I have nothing to say.” James turned back and looked directly at Carter.

“Indeed. Speech would seem superfluous. And to think that you accused me of being a scrub. You, who claim good breeding. Was this a continuation of your quarrel, or did you just take the opportunity to kill him in cold blood?”

“I told you, Carter, I have nothing to say.”