The Devil's Own Luck (15 page)

“Mr Craddock?” he enquired from a young officer. He recognized him as the one who had been dressed down by Bentley on the quarterdeck. The man indicated the closed door of the cabin.

“I believe I am to berth in Mr Bentley’s quarters. And I am also aware that I have yet to make your acquaintance, sir. Harry Ludlow.”

“Mangold. Fourth,” said the young lieutenant, half rising. Mangold had a round pink face topped by ginger hair, but you could not doubt that he was blushing slightly. The other members of the wardroom, whom he had yet to meet, did not come forward, busying themselves with their various tasks as Harry turned to look at them. He took some pleasure in the fact that his presence was causing them unease. But that would have to change. If there was a spark of good intentions in any of these men, he must find, and use it. Harry turned back to Mangold. He had not been at the previous day’s dinner.

“You had the watch last night?”

“I did.” His eyes flicked to the others, listening but not looking.

“Has Mr Bentley been removed?”

“Yes.”

“Not for burial?”

“No. His body is being stowed in the hold. In spirits.” A half-smile crossed the young man’s face. Bentley being in spirits would occasion some mirth.

Harry longed to question Mangold, to ask him if he had observed anything the night before, but there were others present. He turned to address the room.

“Gentlemen. I hope to have the opportunity to make a proper acquaintance later. Now, I beg your indulgence. Mr Mangold, would you know, has my kit been fetched?”

“I am not aware of it having been brought aft.”

Harry opened the door to the cabin. There was no sign of his sea-chest. All Bentley’s personal things had obviously been removed.

“I am reluctant to trouble Mr Craddock over so trivial a matter!”

“Allow me, sir,” said Mangold immediately. The young man stood up. He gave the slightest pause as he saw the disapproving looks. Almost in defiance he said, “It would be a pleasure.”

Harry closed the door. As he did so, the silent room broke into a buzz of conversation. The cabin was now bare. If Bentley had anything that marked it out as his home, it had been removed. The room had been scrubbed in true naval fashion. It was spotless. Like Craddock’s across the way, it had a cot and a plain desk with a round armed chair. But there was nothing else. All trace of the previous occupant had been removed with the body. There was a knock at the door. Harry opened it, expecting Mangold. Instead it was Craddock.

“May I?” Craddock indicated that he wanted to come in.

“Of course.” Harry stood back as Craddock entered. He turned and gave a significant look at the still open door. Harry shut it. A short period of silence followed. Craddock was embarrassed.

“Mr Ludlow. You cannot be unaware of the tensions that exist, at present, in the wardroom.”

“I can guess. Just as I can imagine that my being here does not help to allay them.”

“Quite. Yet you are a ship’s captain. I cannot, in all decency, accommodate you anywhere else.” Craddock’s head dropped a little.

At least not anywhere where you can keep an eye on me, thought Harry.

He lifted his head and looked straight at Harry. “It falls to me to ask you, on behalf of my fellow officers, not to make matters any more difficult than they are.”

“May I speak freely?” said Harry.

Craddock nodded. He was not enjoying this. He looked old and sad, rather than stern and unbending.

“I have every intention of bringing Captain Carter to book for the sinking of my ship. In the course of doing so, it may be necessary for some of the officers of the
Magnanime
to give testimony. Then there is the question of my opinion of the captain’s mental state. You may fear that I will try to influence the members of the wardroom in the direction of that opinion.”

Craddock nodded again.

“But then there is the matter of my brother. That, Mr Craddock, is my overriding concern. His welfare and survival.” Harry did not mention innocence. “I will not disguise from you the fact that the other matters are of importance to me. But if you think I will spend my entire time as your guest questioning the ship’s officers about the sinking of the
Medusa,
then let me allay that fear. If they are called upon to speak, it will be before a higher authority than me. I must trust to their honour that they will tell the truth.”

“Then can I have your assurance that you will not raise the matter while you are our guest?”

“You can. I’ll not mention either the
Medusa
or the state of the captain’s health while I’m in the wardroom.” If Craddock noticed that Harry made no reference to Bentley’s murder he said nothing.

“Thank you, Mr Ludlow.” Craddock made to leave.

“Mr Craddock?” Their eyes made real contact for the first time since Craddock came into the cabin.

“Mr Ludlow. I cannot overtly go against the wishes of my superior officer. Yet I hope that you will observe by my actions, that I will do everything in my power to soften the effects of his orders. I am aware of a higher duty than blind obedience. I do not want anyone’s death on my hands.”

Harry, who had been holding his breath, let it go with a sigh of relief. James’s chances of reaching shore alive had increased tenfold. Craddock had the running of the ship entirely in his control. It gave him ample scope to evade the letter of any order from a captain, remote in his cabin.

“I will require a servant, Mr Craddock. A personal servant.”

Harry could see Craddock’s mind working. Harry should have been content with the ministrations of the wardroom servants. He could only want a man of his own for other reasons. They could only be guessed at, but they would not be to Carter’s advantage.

Having already challenged him to relieve Carter, and having had that request denied, Harry was more than pleased with what Craddock had eventually said. This was different. It was requesting an act of commission rather than one of omission.

“We are short of the type of hand who makes a decent servant.”

“I would be happy with a seaman, that is if you can spare me one.”

Craddock stood silently, weighing the question. If he understood what Harry was about, he left that unsaid. “I think I have just the man.”

“Thank you, Mr Craddock.” Craddock made to leave again.

“One more thing,” said Harry. Craddock swung round angrily, like a man being pushed too far. “I wonder if I might have some of the brandy that came aboard with my stores.”

The angry look faded quickly. “A pleasure.”

“Oh, and Mr Craddock. I have just realized that I have been remiss. I cannot accept your hospitality without offering something in return. Please inform the wardroom that they are to feel free to draw upon my stores while I am their guest.”

“Most kind, sir,” he exclaimed. Craddock was genuinely pleased at this, as his smile showed. Such a gesture would serve to ease the atmosphere considerably. Harry could not know it, but voices had been raised, advising that Harry be confined to his cabin for his meals. But the prospect of good food and wine would please more than just Craddock.

It was not a wealthy set of officers in the wardroom, and James had already alluded to the fact that their fare tended to be meagre. Harry, in the
Medusa,
had carried the stores of a rich man. Added to that, he had taken a number of well-laden merchant ships on his cruise. Their stores had filled the
Medusa’s
hold as well, not to mention the manger. There were sheep and pigs, a milking goat, plus any number of hams and cheeses and tubs of fresh biscuit and butter.

“Perhaps if I could instruct Cook to use some of them for your first dinner. A good meal would stand as a perfect introduction to the wardroom.”

“A capital idea, Mr Craddock.”

“Would it be in order to serve fresh meat. Fresh mutton, say?” Craddock’s eyes glowed slightly. He was clearly a man who liked his food.

“Make it so. And choice wines to wash it down. I leave the choosing of those to you. I wish you to treat my stores as if they were your own. Spare no expense.”

Craddock opened the door. A sailor stood outside, Harry’s chest at his feet.

“Ah, your dunnage, Mr Ludlow,” said Craddock, smiling.

Harry bent forward quickly, his hand running over the front of his battered sea-chest.

“Mr Craddock. Would you oblige me for one more minute.”

Harry signalled to the seaman to bring in his chest. The man did so, leaving it in the middle of the cabin. As he left, Harry shut the door again.

“Mr Craddock. Would you look at the front of my sea-chest?” Craddock hesitated. He had no desire to be further involved.

“Sir. I have kept my word. I did not want to ask the question so that it could be overheard.” Harry’s head nodded towards the closed door. “In return, I really must demand that you give me the benefit of your opinion.”

Craddock, with some effort, squatted down and looked at the chest. He too ran his hand over the deep scratches that covered the front of the hasp.

“Would you agree that someone has tried to force the lock?”

“No, sir,” said Craddock angrily, pushing himself upright.

Harry looked at him quizzically.

“There could be another, entirely innocent, explanation.”

“Really. I would be grateful if you could advance one.”

“Come Mr Ludlow. Your ship was involved in a heated action. At the end of that your kit was hauled aboard in something of a hurry. These scratches could easily have occurred then.”

“The knife that Captain Carter showed me this morning was in this chest.” That was a guess, but it had been in his desk, in the cabin of the
Medusa.
James had made a point of telling him that he had cleared it out.

Harry bent down, and pulling out his key, he opened the chest. Moving aside the clothes, he came upon a leather purse. A quick feel was enough to establish that it still contained his money. The ship’s log was also there, as well as the other valuable things that he had kept in his desk drawers. Suddenly with absolute clarity, Harry knew what had happened. He knew that James was not only innocent, but the wrong victim. The whole charade had been mounted to cast suspicion on Harry, not James.

“You have obviously a deep love of coincidence, Mr Craddock. Mr Bentley was killed with my knife. My brother stands accused of his murder. The implication, and no doubt part of the case against him, will be that only he or I would have access to that knife. Yet there are scratches on the front of my sea-chest, which at least raises the possibility that someone else could have had such access.”

“Mr Ludlow.” The older man’s eyes had watered slightly, and he spoke softly. “Do you think that I do not comprehend your desire to clear your brother? It is only natural. But don’t, I beg you, sir, go clutching at straws.”

“Called upon to speak in court, you will witness that these marks were evident upon delivery of my chest?”

“I could do no more, for it is the truth.”

“Thank you, Mr Craddock.” Harry was tempted to add more. To say that if James had not killed Bentley then someone else had. But Craddock would only be alerted by such words, and perhaps impede Harry’s chances of finding the evidence that would clear James.

CHAPTER EIGHT

“MR OUTHWAITE,
can I tempt you to a drop of this?” Harry held out a bottle of a very superior brandy.

“I think I can be persuaded, Mr Ludlow.” He was not fooled by the invitation to join Harry in a pre-prandial drink. He decided he would accept the drink, but he’d be mighty careful about revealing anything else. He emptied the glass that Harry filled, with a smack of his lips to follow. “Don’t often get to drink such as this.” His eye was firmly on the bottle.

“Feel free, Mr Outhwaite.” The surgeon picked up the bottle and refilled his glass. Habit made him cradle it in his arms, rather than put it back.

“Now, sir. I require the use of your brain.”

Outhwaite immediately assumed a guarded air and emptied his glass.

“We are having dinner with the wardroom in an hour. A dinner I have provided. I have spared no expense since I require the goodwill of these officers more than I require meat and drink.”

Outhwaite refilled his glass and downed the contents again.

“I am willing to give you a general opinion of the captain and his relations with his officers. But you cannot engage me in any other way.”

“That would be helpful.”

“As far as the commissioned officers are concerned, there is, in the main, a great distance between them and the captain. Bentley saw to that. And Oliver Carter is not really a sociable man, so he’s had few occasions to change their minds. There is one exception, his nephew. He’s Oliver too. Oliver Turnbull is the Marine lieutenant. He is often closeted with the captain. He was thick with Bentley too, but that was because they were overfond of the bottle. Nobody likes him because he’s the captain’s nephew. Yet I think he’s a decent enough lad. We’ve had the odd tipple together, and away from Bentley and his bad influence, he’s a different man. Be interesting to see how he fares with Craddock as premier.”

“Carter?” said Harry, bringing Outhwaite back to the point. The surgeon’s round purple face took on a mystified air.

“The real problem is that he is so very changeable. They never know how they stand, all smiles and praise one minute, and then cursing and damning you the next, and for no reason that anyone can see.”

Harry’s smile made him pause.

“Moodiness is not madness, Mr Ludlow. As for the warrant officers, they see him as a good seaman, careful with the ship and its rigging. The gunner will like him for he never fires the guns, the carpenter because he never damages a spar, the purser for the care he takes with the ship’s stores.”

“The master?”

“Not overfond, I’d say. Carter is a good seaman, and a better navigator than the master will ever be. They’ve swapped high words at times, but Carter usually has the right of it, be it the sail plan or our position.”

“The crew don’t like him, I’ll hazard?”