The Devil's Own Luck (19 page)

Pender led Harry to where James lay asleep in his hammock. Years as a midshipman, skylarking about and getting into all kinds of mischief, had made Harry a master at the art of dealing with a sleeping man. He pinched his brother’s nose between his forefinger and thumb, using the rest of his hand to cover his mouth. James’s eyes opened in alarm. Harry tipped his hammock causing him to fall out. His arm caught the weight as he lowered his brother to the floor.

Harry crouched down, and James followed suit. Silently, scurrying underneath the mass of swinging hammocks, Harry led the way to the stairwell and they slipped down on to the orlop-deck. Pender stayed up top to keep a lookout. Silently they crept past the various sleeping quarters of the ship’s warrant officers, forward to a point near the pump shaft. Here some bolts of canvas were stacked, just outside the sail room, and Harry slipped in between two of them. In the gloomy light, Harry could not see the true extent of the bruises covering his brother’s face. But he could see the swelling and as James spoke, he could tell that he was nursing a swollen lip.

“I knew you would come,” said James.

“Then you knew more than I, brother. You have been in the wars.” Harry put his hand up to touch the swollen face. James pulled back, as if to avoid more pain.

“Howarth, the master-at-arms, has taken upon himself the task of teaching me my duty. I made the mistake of defending myself.”

“I saw.” Harry wanted to tell him to keep his temper in check, but he reasoned that was a lesson James no longer needed. And this was a rougher ship than most.

“That was before, on deck,” whispered James. “This took place below. He wasn’t on his own. Two of his cronies held my arms.” Howarth had obviously enjoyed himself, free from the restraint imposed by an officer’s presence.

Harry whispered urgently, “We have to get you out of this. First of all you must tell me what happened with Bentley.”

“Would it not be more to the point if you were to tell me?”

“You assume I killed him?”

“Didn’t you?” James sounded as though doubt on this score was a novel idea. Harry felt a slight flash of annoyance.

“James! Do you really think that if I had killed him, I would allow you to suffer in my place?”

“No. But I needed to hear you say it. I must admit I found it strange.”

“Did that allow you any doubts?” Harry reminded himself of the way his own mind had been working, and felt his slight anger change to guilt.

“Plenty. But what did I have to set against them?”

“My knife.” Harry’s resigned tone matched his brother’s.

“I recognized it immediately. I took it out of your desk myself, and put it in your sea-chest.”

“And you picked it up?”

“Yes. I heard an argument taking place outside my berth. At first I ignored it. I felt I’d had enough confrontation for one day. It was the drumming that made me get up.”

“I heard that too.”

“Yes. I presume Bentley’s death throes. His heels drumming on the deck. So I turned up my lantern and went to investigate.”

“And found Bentley?

“And found a body. I didn’t know who it was until Carter turned him over. But I did see your knife stuck in the deck. I grabbed it.”

“To get rid of it?”

“I suppose so. I wasn’t really thinking clearly. Then you came out of the dispensary. I didn’t have time to say anything before the others arrived. I suppose I froze.” James sounded a little displeased with himself.

“What a loyal pair of brothers we are. You remain silent because you think I killed him, and I, seeing you stand there with a knife in your hand, was convinced for a while that you had done it.”

“For a while?” There was a note in his brother’s voice that Harry recognized. Half mockery, half guilt.

“I couldn’t believe it of you. Oh, I had my doubts. You were in such a passion after Bentley insulted Caroline Farrar. And I admit I was shocked when Carter produced my knife. After all, my sea-chest was in your berth. But when I thought about that, and how it had been left to be found . . .” Harry knew that he needed to explain more fully, but there was little time. “If we had both stayed in bed, I would have been here instead of you.”

“What are you saying, Harry?”

“I am saying that I was the intended victim, not you. Someone forced my sea-chest open and took the knife. They knew where I was asleep, I suppose. Bentley was killed close enough to incriminate me. A neat plan. The knife was left in the deck deliberately.”

“How do you know that?” Was that a trace of doubt again?

“By the mark in the planking. I had a look before they managed to swab the decks. There was a huge pool of Bentley’s blood and another smaller one where the blood had run off the knife. And there was a deep cut in the deck. That knife was not dropped. It was deliberately stuck there, and with some force. It was coincidence that you found it before anyone arrived. Strange, that. Why did they come then? Who raised the alarm?”

“The murderer?”

“Yes.” James was silent. “If you are waiting for me to tell you who that is,” said Harry, “all I can say is there are enough candidates on board to man our next ship. As you yourself observed, Bentley was much hated.”

“You must have some idea.”

“I have too many ideas.” Harry had more than that, but he didn’t want to share his thoughts with James. He justified this to himself on the grounds of uncertainty. “What I don’t have is anything to point me in the right direction. I was hoping you could help out in that.”

“But if you can find out who raised the alarm . . . ?”

“How? I can’t ask any questions. It has been made plain to me that your survival is dependent on my good behaviour. The next time you may well have to go aloft.”

“But if you cannot find the murderer, Harry . . . ?” James was straining to stay calm.

“I know. You are likely to hang. A neat situation for whoever the killer is. And Carter has discovered that having you at his mercy is a very good way to vent his spite on me.”

“We have to do something.” James grabbed Harry’s wrist.

Harry covered his brother’s hand with his. “Yes. But the risk will be greater for you than it is for me, James. Someone killed Bentley, and the only way I can see to trap the culprit is to invite them to kill again.”

“Then that is what we must do.” James’s grip tightened.

“James,” said Harry, using a slightly pedagogical tone that his brother hated, but silently endured. “Right now you are threatened by the hangman. You are in even greater danger from Carter’s hatred of me. Do you really want to add another threat to the list?”

“I can see no choice. Besides, you will be as much at risk as I.”

“Hardly.”

“Harry. Whoever killed Bentley did so in a place where it must have been possible to be observed. And given the presence of your knife it was planned that way. Don’t tell me that my risk is any less than yours.”

“I am not normally one to regret my actions.”

“Please, brother. No apologies. For if we were to—”

Harry’s hand must have hurt James as he clamped it over his mouth, but the sound he had heard warranted the pain. Someone was listening to them, someone close by. The muffled cough would have been covered by the noise of the ship, if it had not been followed by a wheezing sound. Harry slipped behind one of the bales, motioning James to stay still.

James, listening hard, could hear the wheezing now. He had no doubt who it was. He crouched back against the bulkhead, his heart pounding in his ears.

Howarth’s bulk cut out most of the available light, but he could still see James.

“Ludlow, you bastard. How much does it take to get you to learn, an’ you callin’ yourself a fuckin’ gentleman.”

Silhouetted as he was, James could not see the man’s face. But there was pleasure in his voice. The wheezing, as Howarth breathed, was very pronounced now, seeming to fill the small gap between the bales.

“An’ you creepin’ round the ship at this time of night. What could you be about, eh! Maybe you be plannin’ to do somebody else in. Nice cosy spot for a quiet chat. Cosy enough for anythin’, I say. Perhaps you’ve become a sailor quicker than I thought.” Howarth stood back, looking up and down the gangway. “I heard voices. So who was you havin’ a talk to? Lost your tongue?” James’s silence was upsetting him, his voice turned angry. “Well there’s only one thing for it. To finish off what I started earlier. Then maybe you’ll mind your lesson.”

Howarth stepped forward, raising and swinging a short club as he did so. James cowered down and it caught him on the back, causing him to cry out in pain.

“And then I’ll see you flogged, you bastard, when I be finished with ye.” The club was raised again. James, realizing he stood no chance crouching down, lunged forward, grabbing his assailant round the knees. He waited for the second blow on his back that was sure to follow. Howarth, his club raised to deliver it, gave a sudden gasp. James stood up, meaning to grab his throat, but Howarth’s body arched as he did so, seeming to gain several inches in height. His eyes were wide open, bulging out of his head. He started to fall forward. Harry stood behind him, a wild look in his eye and his short sword lost in the man’s back.

“Grab him,” he hissed impatiently. James reached up to stop the body thudding on to the deck.

“Lower him gently,” said Harry. “Keep him face down. And leave that sword, or there’ll be blood all over the place.”

They lowered Howarth on to the deck. James looked at his brother’s face. “Well, Harry. We are both for the high jump now.”

“There was no choice, James.” Harry’s voice was quite calm. “He was out to kill you, I think. If not today, then before we reached port.”

“What do we do now?”

“Get rid of the body, James. Had you been at sea for any time, brother, you would know that it is not uncommon for a bully to go overboard in the night.”

“Then why has someone not done for this one before?”

“Because he wasn’t stupid. A bully picks his victims carefully. But I think he picked you because he was told to. Can you help me get him upright?”

Pender came running along the gangway. He stopped when he saw Howarth’s body.

“Christ Almighty. We have to scarper, Mr Ludlow. Something’s up, I don’t know what, but the marines are out with orders to search the ship. Supposed to be planning a surprise for someone, but I saw them being raised from their hammocks, quiet like. Anyway they are now getting set to block off the companionways.”

“We can’t leave him here,” said James.

“We’ll have to,” said Harry. “It’ll be all hands on deck once they have shut off the lower parts of the ship. Then anyone missing is up to no good.”

Harry said no more, heading for the stairs back to the gundeck. He had just started to climb when he stopped suddenly. The light at the head of the steps was increasing as someone approached with a lantern. The sound of footsteps clacking on the deck left him in no doubt who the light belonged to. On board ship, only officers and marines in uniform wore shoes.

He signalled for Pender and James to head back the way they came. James, now in the lead, quite naturally took cover between the bales again. Pender followed him. Harry ran on past with a whispered “Come on.” They emerged and followed him.

“Thank God one of us is a sailor,” he said, grinning at his companions. And thank God this is a French-built ship, he thought, praying that in some refit the
Magnanime’s
old suction pump had not been replaced. They were doomed if it had.

“We have got to get up on to the gundeck before they finish posting sentries. Now it’s going to be pitch dark, as well as dirty and quite possibly wet. And if it works, we are going to emerge smack in the middle of the gundeck. Let’s hope that it’ll be so dark up there that no one will notice. Till then, stay with a crowd and keep away from any lights.”

“What about you?” asked Pender.

“I’ve got to get out of that gunport without being seen.” He gave his brother a quick explanation. “A tall order, Harry.”

“One step at a time, James. Besides, I can stay hidden if I wish. I can only hope that whatever they are looking for, it’s not me.”

Harry, holding his breath, turned and pulled open a hatch to the pump shaft. He breathed out with relief as he saw that it was still the old suction type, a hollow chamber with a canvas hose, now hanging limp, running down the centre.

“There’s a ladder just to the side. Let’s hope they haven’t posted anyone to guard the hatch by the cistern. You two go first. Go past the next hatch.”

“How will we know we’ve passed it in the dark?”

“Keep going till I call you to stop. I’ll go through first. If I am spotted, stay where you are until all hands are called!”

Harry thought that it was a faint hope that anyone looking into the shaft after catching him would only look down instead of up, but he said nothing about that. Caught, he would be in trouble, for sure. But James and Pender would find themselves rigged to a grating. Then he suddenly realized that he had completely forgotten about Howarth. They would all hang!

James and Pender were through now. Harry followed pulling the hatch to behind him. That would be discovered probably, but by then they hoped to be in the clear.

Harry counted the rungs as he climbed, hoping that his memory would extend to a recollection of the right number. He had not climbed this pump-shaft ladder since he was a boy, making mischief that too often ended in a beating.

The smell from the bilges was strong in this confined space. He could hear a scurrying sound as the rats escaped from this intruder. In the dark he felt for the hatch cover, fighting a slight sense of panic as his search for the wooden latch failed to locate it. A rat nipped his outstretched hand as it felt around the planking. He swiped at it, cursing. Above him he could hear James and Pender breathing heavily. Even in the dark, he shut his eyes to increase his concentration. Putting both hands on the damp rung, and trying desperately to calculate the distance from the ladder to the latch, he reached out. Surely this was where the latch would be if he had got the number of rungs right. He touched the side, running his hand up and down the wood of the shaft.