The Gathering Storm (6 page)

'Run out your guns!'

Crews at the tackles, heaving. Breeching ropes hauled
through and bent.

'Prime!'

Priming wires thrust down vents and cartridges pierced.
Horns tipped by gun captains and fine grain poured. Pans
primed.

'Point your guns!'

Gun captains kneeling at flintlocks and sighting.

'Larboard battery – FIRE!'

BANG BANG-BANG-BOOM BANG-BOOM
BANG BANG
.

The eighteen-pounders.

THUD THUD THUD THUD

The thirty-two-pound carronades.

Shuddering timbers. Whirling clouds of smoke and grit
along the deck, and ballooning from the ship's side.
Explosions of spray to the south as roundshot smashed heavy
into waves.

'Reload!'

'We are ragged, Mr Makepeace. Very ragged.' Captain
Rennie paced aft to the tafferel, turned and paced forrard
to the wheel, the great shadow of the mizzen and driver
falling on the deck as the ship heeled.

A few moments more. Frenzied activity. Shouts. A dropped
bucket of sand.

'Larboard battery ready, sir!'

'And slow.'

'Yes, sir – the guncrews have had very little practice as
yet.'

'Hm. I have disobeyed the port admiral in firing my great
guns, Mr Makepeace. But as a commander at sea I felt it my
duty to give the people a whiff of powder. Nothing like the
stink of powder to sharpen a crew. Sharpen us all. We will
not fire the great guns again, but we will continue to exercise
them, until we are fit to call ourselves a fighting ship.'
His hand to a back stay as the ship butted into a sudden
lifting wave. 'Pray proceed.'

'Very good, sir.' His hat off and on, and he faced forrard
to raise his speaking trumpet. Light flashing on silver. The
shadow of a rope striping his face.

'Silence on deck!'

*

As he came ashore in his boat at the Hard, Captain Rennie
saw a familiar tall figure emerge from the dockyard gates.

Jumping ashore, wetting his shoes: 'Langton!'

The figure hesitated, turned, and began walking rapidly
and diagonally away down the wide expanse, toward a boat
at the eastern end.

'Captain Langton!' Waving. The figure took no notice.
Rennie nodded to the midshipman in charge of his launch,
and hurried across the Hard in pursuit of the retreating
figure. He nearly tripped on a wheel rut, staggered, and
feeling a fool hurried on, raising a hand then lowering it
abruptly. Would not the fellow stop, good heaven?

'Langton!'

At last, puffing and sweating, Rennie did catch him up,
and an embarrassed Captain Langton was obliged to turn
and acknowledge his fellow officer.

'Ah. It's you, Rennie. I thought it was some drunken fellow
calling out.'

'Drunken fellow ... no no, ha-ha, no no. I had wanted –
that is, I had meant to seek you out before this, you know,
and—'

'Everything was explained.' Over him. 'It was all told to
me, the whole thing.'

'Ah. Ah. Very good. Then ... ?'

'So in course there is no need for you yourself to explain
it. Now.'

'Well well, I had thought, you know, that it would – that
it would sound clearer, and better, coming direct from me,
d'y'see.'

'Yes? Did you? I expect so.'

'I can see that you are still angry with me.'

'Angry? Nay, I am not. You acted as you did because you
were under an obligation to do so. It was all explained to
me, some time since, as I've said.'

The difficulty between them had arisen when Rennie –
required to do so by high official request – had provoked a
spurious quarrel with Captain Langton after that officer had
sat on a court martial which dismissed Rennie from the service
for gross dereliction of duty. That too was spurious, unknown
to Captain Langton at the time. Rennie had subsequently
failed to appear at the appointed hour, having accepted
Captain Langton's challenge to a duel. These actions had
brought Rennie to disgrace – expiated only when the reason
for his actions was at last made known. He had all the time
been acting under official instruction, as part of a plan to
overthrow a clandestine attack upon the nation's interest.

Since then Rennie had meant to approach Langton in
person, and apologise for having insulted him, but the opportunity
had never arisen until now. Captain Langton had of
course been apprised of all the facts long since, but harboured
a niggling suspicion that Rennie's insults had been after all
more than mere play-acting and pretence. Rennie had
insulted him so roundly and publicly – a bombardment of
drunken epithets in a coffee house – that Langton could not
in his heart, in spite of the information he had been given,
quite believe in Rennie's innocence.

Rennie took a further breath now, and: 'Then, then, if
you ain't angry – the matter is all over and done. Will you
have supper with my wife and me, at the Marine Hotel?'

'Supper? I – I do not think I can. I must go aboard my
ship.' Stiffly.

'Perhaps – dinner, tomorrow?'

'I do not think I can – tomorrow. We are giving a dinner
aboard. A duty dinner.'

'Ah. Ah. Then I will bid you good day. No doubt we will
meet again, and perhaps I can persuade you to dine with us
another time. You have not met my wife, I think?'

'I have not had that honour.' Stiffly polite.

'Mrs Rennie was a naval widow when we met. Sylvia
Townend. I think you may have known her late husband.'

'Robert Townend? Captain Robert Townend?'

'Yes.' Sensing a thaw.

'Well, I did know him, years ago. But he was not then
married.' Again stiffly.

'Rennie felt that he must attempt a last time to make
Captain Langton understand him, and thus forgive him. A
breath, and:

'Look here, Langton, I feel very badly about what happened.
You was put to great trouble, and must've felt grievous
wronged. All that dishwater about the duel, and so forth—'

'Dishwater?'

'Well well, it was more than dishwater, I grant you. It was
deliberate deceit and insult. I wish you would allow me to
give you a full explication, if not over dinner, then in least
permit me to offer you a glass of wine—'

'Captain Rennie, an explication has already been made.
As I have tried to say to you, there is no need for further
iteration. If you will excuse me, I must go into my boat.'
Making to walk on.

'Oh, good God, man.' In something like despair. 'Will not
you unbend, and allow me to offer you my friendship?'

Captain Langton paused, hearing genuine distress in
Rennie's tone. He frowned, turned, and now his inherent
good nature overruled all else. The frown became an awkward
smile, and he held out his hand.

'Very well. Very well.'

They shook hands, to Rennie's great relief – and Captain
Langton's. Neither was a man that liked to bear a grudge,
or have one borne against him. Captain Langton, with a
little jerk of his head:

'You said some damned wounding things at the coffee
house, old fellow. But I forgive you, as I should have done
months ago.'

'Yes, I was obliged to be inventive. I did say harsh things
to you, and regretted them bitterly all the time I was saying
them. Well well, what d'y'say we go there now, and drink a
glass of wine together, at the very table where I sat on that
day. Hey?'

Captain Langton looked at him. 'To the coffee house? You
cannot mean it? Go
there
?'

'In course I do mean it, it's the best possible conclusion
to a damnfool quarrel, invented by other men.'

'To the coffee house, hey? Ha-ha-ha, yes, by God! To the
coffee house, ha-ha-ha, capital. I will like to see their faces
when we go in!'

And the two sea officers strode together back across the
Hard, laughing and talking as they went.

Lieutenant James Hayter, RN, was in London on a private
quest. He had heard, as seafaring men do hear these things,
that the 800-ton East Indiaman
Dorsetshire
was in need of
a mate, and that her master Captain Sprigg sought an
officer with a record of service in the Royal Navy. James
had got into touch with Captain Sprigg, and a date and
time of interview had been arranged.

James was lodging at Mrs Peebles's private hotel in
Bedford Street off the Strand, an establishment known for
its comfortable rooms, excellent table, and reasonable
charges – where he in turn was known and always welcome.
On the morning of his appointment with Captain Sprigg a
written message was delivered to him at the hotel. As he
ate his breakfast in the dining room he read:

By hand

Lieutenant James Hayter, RN, at Bedford Street
Wednesday

Sir,

We do not know each other, & have never met, but
if you will indulge me I shld take it as a great favour if
you wld meet me at the Admiralty at 12 noon today,
upon a matter of vital importance.

Pray ask for me as you go in, & you will be directed
to a side room where we can be private & undisturbed.

Yr humble servant
Brough Mappin

Please do not take offence when I say that this is
of infinitely greater moment – both immediately, &
afterward – than yr intended interview with Captain
Sprigg.

James put down his coffee cup, glanced up as the serving
girl brought his eggs and bacon, and when she had bobbed
and gone he reread the letter.

'Brough Mappin ... ? "We do not know each other."'
Murmured to himself. 'Then how the devil does he know
about Sprigg?'

Mrs Peebles, stout in her green dress, came to his table,
apologised for interrupting his breakfast, and enquired as
to whether James would be requiring his room for longer
than the two days engaged.

'I am not entirely sure, Mrs Peebles, just at present.'

'I ask simply because there is a gentleman coming to
town tomorrow, with a party of friends, and they wishes
to take half a dozen of my ten rooms, for a week. It is
just that if you was going to be stopping on, sir, I—'

'Yes yes, Mrs Peebles, I understand you.' Slightly put
out. He glanced at the letter again, folded it away in his
waitscoat pocket, and: 'I will do my best to let you know
this afternoon.'

'Thank you, sir.'

James went to his bedroom and wrote a note to Captain
Sprigg, asking that the interview be postponed until the
morrow, as urgent family business had taken him elsewhere.
He paid a boy to deliver the note by hand to the shipping
office.

At noon he presented himself at the Admiralty, in his
dress coat, and wearing his tasselled sword. He was shown
to the side room mentioned in the letter, where he found
Mr Mappin. His hat under his arm James advanced into
the room, and Mr Mappin rose from his chair.

'Mr Mappin?'

'Lieutenant Hayter?'

They bowed, and Mr Mappin indicated a second chair.
A kneehole desk was the only other piece of furniture in
the small, bare, plain room. James placed his hat on the
desk, and sat down, easing his sword by his side.

'Thank you indeed for coming, Mr Hayter.'

'Before you say anything further, Mr Mappin, I must
ask you a question. How did you know of my interview
with Captain Sprigg?'

'I have been trying to get into touch with you for some
little time, Mr Hayter. I had thought that in your present
circumstances you might wish to make yourself available
to John Company, and so I made enquiries, and requests,
and your name duly appeared.'

'D'y'mean you bribed various persons in that company
to forward my name to you? Clerks, and the like?'

'Bribery is too harsh a word, I believe, for what was
done.'

'You think so? Well, no matter. My name came to you,
and you found me at Bedford Street. And here I am, now.'

'Indeed. And thank you again for your attendance.'

'Why did you wish to see me? And why here, at the
Admiralty? Are you employed here, Mr Mappin?' All with
a sea officer's directness.

'Am I? Nay, I am not. I work in another sphere.'

'Then why—'

Quickly, over him: 'If you will indulge me, Lieutenant,
I think I will come to my point quicker if you will allow
me to ask the questions, without interruption.'

'Interruption?' Astonished.

'I wish to ascertain something at once. You seek employment?'

'As I think you know, else you would not have mentioned
Captain Sprigg.'

'And if employment were offered to you – in another
quarter?'

'Do you mean – the Royal Navy?' Puzzled.

A brief impatient half-smile. 'No no, not the Royal Navy,
Mr Hayter. We are talking, as I thought you had grasped
by now, of the Secret Service Fund.'

'Good heaven, why should I wish to join that?'

'Because you are a lieutenant on half-pay, with no other
offers of employment.'

'But that is damn' nonsense. When I got your letter I
was about to meet Captain Sprigg, who would certainly
have offered me the mate's berth in his ship. Who will
offer it to me tomorrow, when I go to see him then.'

'No. He will not.' Confidently.

'What the devil d'y'mean?'

'He has been asked to fill the position elsewhere.'

'Asked!' Outraged. 'Asked by whom!'

'By me, sir.'

'Well, God damn your bloody impertinence!' Rising.

'Perhaps we are impertinent, at the Fund.' Mildly. 'We
are certainly underhand, and often criminal in our methods.
We do not care how we obtain information, nor where. We
do not give warning how nor where we may strike. Those
who make mischief against us, in dark places, will certainly
live to regret it – if they are not dead.'

'And you want me to join you?' In wondering contempt,
staring at him.

'We do a great many things behind, that can never be
acknowledged. We are devious, merciless, and determined
to prevail.' His tone more emphatic. 'But we are not vicious,
nor corrupt, nor malevolent men. We are at heart, and in
fact, loyal servants of His Majesty the king. As are you.'

'Don't compare yourself to me, sir! I am a sea officer,
and everything I do must be above-board, sheeted home
true and answered for, upon my oath!'

'You shot a man, did not you, in your last command?
That was in pain, and could not live?'

'By God! You know that! And you dare to throw it in
my face?' James drew his sword with a ringing hiss, and
put it to Mr Mappin's throat. 'You miserable bloody wretch!
Why shouldn't I run you through?'

'I can think of two reasons. No doubt there are others,
if I put my mind to finding them.' All with extraordinary
self-possession, not a hair out of his place on his head, nor
a wrinkle anywhere on his coat. 'First, I should be killed.
Second, you would certainly hang, and thus we would both
be dead. Not an happy end to our conversation. Hey?'

James looked at the fellow a long moment, and then
lowered his sword.

'You take very grave risks, Mr Mappin.'

'I am paid to. Risk is intrinsic to my work.'

'Paid? You undertake your work from that motive?'

'As would you, at least in part – should you join us. A
man must live, and pay his tailor.'

James put up his sword, turned away from the desk and
chairs, and stood quietly, his head bent. Presently, turning
to Mr Mappin again:

'You spoke of what happened in my last command – my
first and last command. Yes, it's true I shot a man dead, that
could not live long and was suffering very bad. I cannot
forget it, and never will.' A breath. 'I had thought to go
into the Company, and make my way there as an officer in
a blameless duty. But I would still be obliged to command
men, and gain their respect, and I am unfitted to it, even
in a merchant ship. You have made me see that.'

'Will you not sit down, Lieutenant?'

'Eh? Sit? Why? I have said all there is to say.'

'In course, in course, but if you will sit down one moment
I think perhaps you will benefit.'

'Oh, very well.' A sigh, and James pulled the chair to
him and sat down.

'I know that you have suffered very hard of late, and
I am very sorry for you.' Mappin's voice was lower now.
'I too have lost my only son, two years ago.'

'You?' Looking at him.

'Aye. A riding accident. He was five years old. For a
time – many weeks – I was not quite a human being.'

James nodded, and said nothing.

'Had it not been for my work, you know, I think I might
have run mad.'

'Yes. That is how I feel, now. But I have no work, Mr
Mappin.' James looked away, and was about to rise again,
take up his hat and go out, when:

'There is work for you, very worthwhile work, waiting
to be done.'

A long moment, and at last James looked him in the
eye.

'I do not think I am the man you seek, Mr Mappin. Your
world, the world of Sir Robert Greer – a man that in
course you know – is foreign to me, and alien to my nature.
You have done me a service today in showing me that I
do not belong on the deck of a ship, either. I must seek
employment in another field.' Rising, and taking his hat.
'Good day to you.'

'Wait, wait. Will you wait one minute more?'

'Well?'

'There would be no official position, no acknowledgement
of your ... employment.'

'I don't understand you. I do not wish to take up the
position.'

'No, no, and nor would you, because it don't exist.'

'Then what are we talking about?' Shaking his head.

'Let us say ... an hundred guineas.'

'I see. You are offering me one hundred a year?'

'Oh no. No no. One hundred per quarter.'

'Four hundred a year?' Astonished.

'Guineas.'

James, in spite of himself: 'And ... what would be my
duties, exact?'

'You are interested in the position, then?'

'You have just said there ain't one, Mr Mappin.'

'So I did. So I did.' A breath. 'You would be in a ship,
at various times. Not in command. At other times on land,
seeking people out.'

'Spying?'

'No no, not that. As you have told me, that is alien to
your nature.'

'Whom should I be seeking out? And where?'

'Before we go further, I must know one way or t'other.
Are
you interested?'

'I have not said that.' Stiffly.

'Come come, Lieutenant, the navy is a plain-spoke
service. Give me an answer. Yes, or no?'

James looked at him, took a deep breath, shrugged –
and nodded.

'Good. I am glad. Your fluent French will greatly aid us.'

'How did you know I spoke French, Mr Mappin?' Tilting
his head.

'It is part of my work to discover such things, Lieutenant.
You spent time in France as a youth, and you are quite
at ease there in polite society. I would not have chose you,
else.'

James looked at him again, frowned slightly, then again
nodded. 'No – no, I expect you would not.'

And now Mr Mappin rose, and held out his hand. James
took it.

'You have made the right decision,' said Mr Mappin
briskly. 'And now you must disappear.'

'Disappear? I do not—'

Over him: 'You will say, naturally, that you must tell
your wife of your new situation. We will do that for you.
A message will go to her, at Shaftesbury.'

'But if I vanish—'

'And you will say that you must return first to your
hotel, retrieve your things and pay your bill. That is being
done at this moment. And in course there is no need for
you to say anything further to Captain Sprigg. As I said,
he has been told to look elsewhere for a mate.'

'If I am to—'

'By the by, I will like you to shift your coat.'

Mappin went to the door, put his head outside and gave
an instruction. A moment after, a bundle was handed to
him, which he brought in and placed on the desk.

'Your new clothes. Let me have your coat and breeches
and hat, and your sword, will you?'

'You mean – I am to shift my clothes immediate, here
in this room?'

'I do mean that, yes. If you please.'

James began to remove his clothes, first unbuckling his
sword. As he did so:

'Where am I to go?'

'To a safe place.'

'Will you tell me where?' Removing his shoes.

'It is quite safe, I assure you.' A nod.

James paused, one foot on a chair as he made to unfasten
one of his stockings. 'I think we had better understand
each other, Mr Mappin.' He lowered his foot to the floor
and stood straight in his shirt and breeches. 'I have agreed
to your proposal, but never think I am some meek servant
boy, his voice not yet broke, that will go blind and uncurious
anywhere he is told.'

'In course I do not think that.'

'Then tell me where I am to go, and why.'

'In due course, in due course.' Opening the bundle on
the desk.

'No, Mr Mappin, no. Tell me now.'

Mappin held out a fine linen shirt, and a coat and
breeches of dark velvet. 'Here, these are what you will
need, exact.' Also in the bundle were a silk waistcoat, dark
stock, and new stockings.

James did not take the clothes. Instead, he began putting
on his uniform again.

'Nay, what are you doing?' Mappin, frowning. 'Lieutenant
Hayter has disappeared from view. You cannot go out in his
uniform, now.'

James, his fingers on the buttons of his white waistcoat:
'If I am to remove it, kindly oblige me with a reason, and
tell me where I am to go. Either that, or you and I have
no agreement of any kind. I never came here today, and
tomorrow I will go home to Dorset – to be a farmer,
content among his cattle. Well?'

'You have no cattle, since you have no acres on which
to graze them.' Mildly.

'Fields may be leased, Mr Mappin.'