The Scent of Corruption (The Fighting Sail Series Book 7) (28 page)

“In bows,” Chivers, the midshipman seated next to him, commanded. The two rowers furthest forward completed their stroke, before tossing, then boating, their oars, and standing by with the boat hook. Banks raised himself gingerly and stepped onto dry land; a fresh faced lieutenant was there to meet him and introduced himself as Hoskins.

“The Commissioner presents his compliments and apologies, sir,” the younger officer informed him. “Currently he is meeting with Sir Thomas, the Lieutenant Governor, and Major Barnett: they cannot be disturbed. There is news of a further breakout of fever,” he added in a softer tone and with an air of confidentiality.

“Lieutenant Governor?” Banks questioned. He was under the impression that Prince Edward, the king's son, was in command, and had been rather hoping for a chance to meet with royalty.

“Yes, sir,” the lieutenant said, lowering his head slightly. “The prince was recalled, and Major General Trigge is carrying out his duties. Purely temporarily, of course.”

“I see,” Banks replied; he had been aware of some problem with the garrison a year or so back, and supposed it to blame. “Is there any news of the Admiral?”

“My Lord Nelson?” the lieutenant inquired. “None currently sir.
Victory
called here quite recently, but he was not aboard.”

Banks looked his confusion, and Hoskins went on to explain.

“The Admiral visited us in
Amphion
in early June and brought news that we are once more at war.”

“A frigate?” Banks remarked in surprise.

“Aye, sir. He'd shifted his flag to her after leaving
Victory
behind to search for Admiral Cornwallis, off Ushant.”

Banks knew
Amphion
, a relatively new fifth rate. Tom Hardy had her; they'd met several years back and he remembered him as a dour fellow: surely an odd choice for such a lively little ship? And it was equally strange that a Commander-in-Chief should abandon his first rate in favour of her.

“Apparently Lord Nelson was to offer
Victory
to Admiral Cornwallis of the Channel Fleet,” the lieutenant explained. “But Billy Blue turned the old girl down and sent her back to her master.” Hoskins grinned amiably.

“Billy Blue?” Banks repeated the nick-name with a raised eyebrow, and the young lieutenant began to fluster: in his enthusiasm Hoskins had apparently forgotten he was addressing a senior captain.

“F-forgive me, sir; I meant no disrespect,” he stammered, his face now decidedly red. “
Victory
called on her way to the Med. but did not linger more than two or three days. We believe she has caught up with Admiral Nelson and he to be off Toulon with Sir Richard Bickerton's fleet. But no official report has come through to that effect, and a neutral sighted a three decker at Malta.”

Banks considered the situation. The Mediterranean Fleet was hardly blessed with ships, and could not be easily reinforced. They were also sailing in waters where much of the coast was either owned by France or heavily under her influence, yet Nelson was clearly intending to stretch his command over as large an area as possible. It was not to be surprised at; in every station where the man had served, Nelson had played by his own rules, and Banks supposed it was something he must get used to.

“Commander Stewart would be happy to speak with you in the Commissioner’s absence,” Hoskins continued hurriedly, having taken Banks' lack of response as further criticism. “I am sure there is much you will have to relate, and your ships clearly require maintenance...”

“Very well,” Banks said, unbending slightly.

“He can speak with the master shipwright as well as arranging for any victuals you may require,” Hoskins carried on eagerly. “I have a carriage awaiting that will take us to The Mount. If you would care to follow me, sir?”

* * *

“W
hat will become of you?” King repeated the question with more than a hint of impatience. “Why on earth are you asking me?”

Her eyes fell, and she looked small and quite pathetic, seated on one of the large upholstered lockers that was about the only space free in what used to be part of the captain's quarters. Banks had decided Judy might continue to earn her keep; the girl seemed filled with genuine remorse for what she had done and incarceration would be inconvenient to all, as well as taking up valuable space aboard
Prometheus
. And so she had been set to take care of the injured although, considering her performance to date, no British life was placed in her hands. Instead she had spent the rest of the journey to Gibraltar in
Prometheus
' great cabin tending the French casualties.

Ironically, it was an area considered ideal for treating wounded prisoners. Being relatively isolated, it could be guarded easily, and even boasted separate heads and washing facilities. Judy had seized the opportunity to redeem herself, and worked hard and well, even if none of the medical team totally trusted her and the permanent marine guard that stood sentinel were under orders to watch the woman as keenly as any of the injured.

“I am truly sorry for what I did,” she said. “And had no idea it would make any of you so very ill.”

“But you put poison in the food,” King stated incredulously. “How could anyone think we would not suffer?”

“Davie said it would cause no harm, the powder was just something to make you sleepy,” she replied. “And I didn't see how that mattered. If you'd all just dozed off, he could have taken the ship over, and no one would have been hurt at all.”

“That was never going to happen, Judy,” King told her, and she had the grace to nod in agreement.

“No, I do see that now, but it seemed so right at the time. Davie and I were to sail to the Tagus, and he would stay with me forever.”

“Well he doesn't wish to be with you now,” King pointed out.

“That he doesn't,” she agreed, and her expression hardened.

“But did you not realise?” King asked, when they had been quiet for a moment. “When men started to become ill?”

“Not at first,” she replied in little more than a whisper. “But as soon as I did, I stopped. And I wanted to tell you at least, but Davie wouldn't hear of it.”

King sighed in disbelief; Judy, though no intellectual, was hardly stupid. In matters of the heart though, he had seldom met anyone quite so gullible.

The wounded prisoners were due to be transferred to the shore hospital that afternoon, leaving those aboard
Prometheus
with a shambles for what once had constituted their captain's finest room. All hammocks and make-shift bunks would be cleared out, and the whole place brought back to something like its previous splendour. But as soon as that happened there would be little left for the girl to do and then yes, King supposed, it would be back to the original question of what would become of her.

“You deserve to be put straight ashore and into the care of the magistrates,” he said bluntly. “They will be best suited to judge the magnitude of your crime.”

She winced slightly, and he felt mildly guilty. Her actions might disgust him, but it was an emotion heightened by personal disappointment, and he had not meant the statement to sound quite so harsh.

But the fact remained, a civilian court would take a far more dispassionate view than any Navy tribunal, and was best set to judge if the girl's crime were truly life threatening. If so, Judy might hang; otherwise he guessed seven years in the colonies would be more likely while, were she able to contact her former employers and if they proved to be as influential as they sounded, she may even walk free. Such was the way of the world.

The man, Carroll, was far more straightforward, and with a fate that was easy to predict. Provided the privateer papers were in order, he would be treated as a prisoner of war and could expect to be either exchanged, or live out the rest of the war in captivity. That he had contravened his parole made no difference to any official penalty; such arrangements were purely the prerogative of gentlemen. By effectively breaking his word of honour he had denied himself inclusion into polite society but, from the little he knew of him, King did not feel such banishment would be a major concern. And to confirm himself as the bounder he undoubtedly was, Carroll had dropped any affection he had assumed for the girl. King supposed him to be one of the unemotional types, the kind who barged through life with his personal welfare the only concern. He had encountered a good few like him in the past and despised such single-mindedness, even if it also left him feeling faintly envious.

Judy was still imploring him with those deep, pitiful eyes and King felt his heart soften. What she had just told him was quite significant, he supposed; a sleeping draught was a very different matter to poison, and should certainly be mentioned to the captain. And being as naïve as she was, he could quite see how an eloquent cove like Carroll might lead her astray: any fast talking man, if it came to it. Further more, Sir Richard Banks had grown more understanding since becoming a father. With luck she might simply be set ashore at Gibraltar, told to make her own way to Lisbon, if that was what she wanted, and nothing more would be said of the matter. And she was of the type that would survive, he assured himself, and may even prosper. But as to what would finally become of her, he did not know. And neither, he told himself firmly, did he care.

* * *

A
t the same time as King and Judy were speaking, Caulfield happened to be with Carroll on the orlop. The improvised cells were more crowded than even
Prometheus
' great cabin, with the officers pressed up to one end to make some form of division between them and their men. Carroll was squashed into a corner next to his captain and did not appear particularly pleased to see the first lieutenant.

“I understand you broke your parole,” Caulfield said, coming straight to the point. “That was hardly the act of a gentleman.”

The Irishman leant back against the spirketting and gave a short laugh. “I have not behaved like a gentleman in years,” he said. “That is assuming such a thing was ever in my nature.”

The British officer bristled visibly; Carroll was clearly a rogue of the first order, and it was doubtless a waste of time even speaking with the fellow. But still he felt an innate compulsion to point out exactly how badly the man had behaved. It was as if he must be told, and Caulfield had been appointed to do so.

“Should such a thing become known in society, you would be ostracised,” he said with restrained relish. “There would be no chance of your ever serving as an officer again, or standing in a position of responsibility, and all forms of social intercourse would effectively be at an end.”

“And that would bother me greatly,” the Irishman replied. His once proud uniform was now tattered and he stared listlessly up at the slick officer who stood over him. “My, you English are a race in yourselves,” he said, his head set back against the woodwork. “Behave as if the world was simply provided for you alone to rule, and naturally expect all to follow in your wake.”

“There is nothing wrong in assuming a man will honour his word,” Caulfield said, with only the slightest hint of doubt.

“If there not?” Carroll asked. “Well there you have the better of me; I lived for many years under the rule of English gentlemen, so know them for what they are, and would prefer to put my trust elsewhere.”

“Do you think the French will treat you better?”

“The French have no use for the pitch-cap, or the triangle, or any of the other diabolical devices you have used to torture my countrymen.”

The first lieutenant snorted; this was a foolish exercise, the man was clearly not worth troubling with and, despite the two burly marines that stood not two paces away, he was starting to feel just the slightest unease.

“So you would rather
Liberté, Égalité
and
Fraternité
?” Caulfield scoffed. “And that is why you sit to one end of the cells; so that you may mingle with your brothers?”

“I was in Ireland during 'ninety-eight,” Carroll replied solemnly. “And can tell you much about the way the English behaved; there was little freedom, equality or brotherhood in their actions. And a total lack of honour.”

“The fact remains, you deceived us,” Caulfield persisted. “And should at least show some shame.”

“Do you show shame?” the French captain interrupted. “Did you not fool us into thinking this ship was an Indiaman?”

“Aye,” Carroll agreed, collecting the thread. “With flags and all, or so I hears. You even used children and women to fuel your deceit; was that the act of gentlemen?”

“We did not fire whilst flying Company colours,” Caulfield protested. “Everything was done strictly under the rules of war – this is a king's ship: we take notice of such things.”

At this the captain laughed and turned away but Carroll, it seemed, was keen to continue.

“And that is important, is it?” he asked. “You are happy to involve yourself in a war, but only for as long as you can give such an obscenity rules that are then governed by something you call honour?”

“It would be no use explaining to an Irishman,” Caulfield sighed. “What possible interest could you have in such matters? How could you know of integrity, or trust? Or loyalty, if it came to it? Why, you betrayed an innocent woman,” the first lieutenant added with a scornful laugh. “I suppose you are proud of that as well?”

“I have nothing to be ashamed of, if that is what you are asking,” Carroll replied. “Every promise I made to young Judy would have been met in full. Which is more that can be said of the sailor man who brought her aboard this ship in the first place. And, unless I am very much mistaken, he was an Englishman.”

* * *

A
ctually Commander Stewart turned out to be an old shipmate, and one not encountered since he and Banks had shared a midshipmen's berth nearly fifteen years before. The Captain had been driven through the winding streets of town, and finally deposited at The Mount, a large, new and somewhat imposing building that constituted the senior naval officer's residence. He recognised the long face and lantern jaw as soon as he was shown into a welcomingly cool room and, despite the considerable difference in rank, the two were soon gossiping and laughing like the pair of lads they had once been.