"Beneath the aurora" - читать интересную книгу автора (Вудмен Ричард)

CHAPTER 4 Departures

On the last Thursday in September, Drinkwater rose before dawn. Elizabeth, as used to the regime of the byre as her husband was to that of a ship, was astir equally early. She was to leave for Gantley Hall after breakfast, though without orders for James Quilhampton who had been sent to Chatham the instant Drinkwater learned the cutter Kestrel was mastless.

'My dear, I have to go to the Admiralty. I shall have the coach brought round for you.'

'As you wish.'

Bardolini, in shirt and overalls, caught him on the landing as he prepared to leave.

'Captain, please, today ...'

'Colonel, today I promise. I told you not to expect a response until Thursday, and you shall have your answer today.'

'But I have yet to meet Lord Castlereagh ...'

'Lord Casdereagh has been informed of your arrival. Now do be a good fellow and be patient. I shall send for you before this evening, rest assured upon the matter.'

'This evening? But Captain…'

Drinkwater hurried on down the stairs and met Williams in the hall. 'Williams, be so kind as to send word for the coach. My wife's portmanteau is almost ready to come down.'

Elizabeth, in grey travelling dress and boots, her bonnet in her hand, joined him for coffee. He nodded at the sunlight streaming in through the window.

'Well, my dear, you should have a pleasant enough run. D'you have something to read?'

'You know I have trouble reading in a coach, Nathaniel.'

'I'm sorry. I had forgotten. You used to ...'

'We used to do a lot of things,' she said quietly, and the words stung him with reproach.

'The Colonel will have to break his fast alone this morning,' she continued. 'It is curious, but I always thought soldiers were early afoot.'

'I think not Neapolitan soldiers,' he said, smiling, grateful for the change of subject and the lifeline she had thrown him.

'He is a strange fellow, though well enough educated. He reads English books. I found him reading your copy of Prince Eugene's Memoirs yesterday, but he seemed distracted. Has he been out since his arrival?'

'I cautioned him not to venture far and not to be absent for more than half an hour. His uniform is somewhat distinctive, even when he wears a cloak.'

'At least he doesn't wear his hat.'

'No,' Drinkwater laughed, 'though there are so many foreign corps in our service today that I doubt one more fantastic uniform among so many peacocks will turn any heads. Have you seen what they have done to our light dragoons? They've turned them into hussars with pelisses and more frogging than ratlines on a first-rate's mainmast. How the poor devils are supposed to campaign, let alone fight in such ridiculous clothes, I'm damned if I know.'

Williams looked in to announce the coach.

'Well, my dear, looks like goodbye.' He stood as she dabbed at her lips with a napkin and rose, picking up her bonnet. He took it from her and kissed her. He felt her yield and stirred in reaction to her softness.

'Oh Bess, my darling, don't think too ill of me.'

'I should be used to you by now,' she murmured, but both knew it was the unfamiliar and uncertain future that lay between them.

At the Admiralty Drinkwater called upon Barrow and received the orders he had drafted. 'God speed and good fortune, Captain. Lord Castlereagh will receive Bardolini this evening.'

'Thank you, Mr Barrow.'

In his office he removed Pocock's painting and asked for a porter to take it to Lord North Street, then sent for Templeton.

'D'you have all your dunnage, Templeton?'

'I believe so, sir.' Templeton's tone was, Drinkwater thought, one of miserable and reluctant martyrdom.

You have done as I asked?'

'To the letter, sir.'

'Good. That is a sound principle.'

'The papers you were anxious about are secured in oilcloth in the corner.' Templeton pointed to a brown parcel secured with string and sealing wax.

'Very well, I shall take them myself.' Drinkwater looked round the room. The bookcase which had contained Templeton's meticulously maintained guard books was empty.

'This is a damnable place,' Drinkwater said curtly. Templeton sniffed disagreement. 'It is better to be pleased to leave a place than to mope over it,' Drinkwater added.

'It is a matter of opinion, sir,' Templeton grumbled.

Drinkwater grunted and picked up the parcel. 'Come, sir, let us begone.'

The clock at the Horse Guards was chiming eleven as he walked back to Lord North Street to take his final departure. Williams greeted him and Drinkwater asked that his sea-chest be made ready.

'Mrs Williams is ironing the last of the shirts, sir.'

'Very good. Where is the Colonel?'

'He left an hour ago, sir.'

'What, for a walk?'

'No, sir, a gentleman called for him. He seemed to be expected.'

Drinkwater frowned. 'Expected? What d'you mean?'

'The man said he had called for Colonel Bardolini. I asked him to come into the hall and wait. When I brought the Colonel into the hall, he asked the gentleman whether he had come from Lord Castlereagh. The gentleman said he had, and Bardolini left immediately.'

'You are quite certain it was Bardolini who mentioned Lord Castlereagh?'

'Positive upon the point, sir. I could not have been mistaken. If you'll forgive my saying so, sir, I could not...'

'No, no, of course not, Williams, I just need to be certain upon the matter.'

'Is something amiss, sir?'

Drinkwater shrugged. 'I'm not sure. Perhaps not... Come, I must gather the last of my traps together, or I shall leave something vital behind.' And so, in the pressing needs of the everyday, Drinkwater submerged a primitive foreboding.

At four in the afternoon an under-secretary on Lord Castlereagh's staff arrived in a barouche to convey Bardolini to his lordship's presence.

Drinkwater met the young man in the withdrawing-room. 'Is the Colonel not with his Lordship already?'

'Not that I am aware of,' said the under-secretary with a degree of hauteur. Drinkwater, in grubby shirt-sleeves as he finished preparing his sea-kit after so long in London, felt a spurt of anger along with a sense of alarm.

'But I understand one of his Lordship's flunkeys called for him this morning.'

'Mr Barrow was told that Colonel Bardolini would not be received before noon, very probably not before evening. His Lordship has rearranged his schedule to accommodate the Colonel, not to mention Captain, er, Drink ...'

'Drinkwater. I am Captain Drinkwater and I am obliged to his Lordship, but I fear the worst. It would appear that the Colonel has been carried off by an impostor.'

'An impostor? How is that?'

'Come, sir,' said Drinkwater sharply, 'there are French agents in London, are there not?'

'I really have no idea.'

'I am sure Lord Castlereagh is aware of their presence.'

'How very unfortunate,' said the under-secretary. 'I had better inform his Lordship.'

'A moment. I'd be obliged if you would take me to the Admiralty.'

Drinkwater was fortunate that Barrow had not yet left. 'This is a damnable business,' he concluded.

'I do not think Lord Castlereagh will trouble himself over­much, Captain.'

'No, probably not,' Drinkwater said, 'until Canada catches fire.'

Drinkwater returned to Lord North Street for the second time that day. He was in an ill humour and full of a sense of foreboding. He put this down to Bardolini's disappearance and Elizabeth's departure, and these circumstances undoubtedly made him nervously susceptible to a curious sensation of being followed. He could see no one in the gathering darkness and dismissed the idea as ludicrous.

But the moment he turned the corner he knew instinctively that something was wrong. He broke into a run and found his front door ajar. In the hall Williams was distraught; not half an hour earlier a carriage with drawn blinds had pulled up and a heavily cloaked figure had knocked at the door. Williams had opened it and had immediately been dashed aside. Thereafter two masked accomplices had appeared, forcing their way into the house and ransacking it.

'I thought it was the Colonel or yourself coming back, sir,' a shaken Williams confessed, his tranquillity of mind banished.

'Did you hear them speak?' Drinkwater asked, handing Williams a glass of wine.

'No, sir, but they weren't Frenchmen.'

'How d'you know?'

'I'd have smelled them, sir, no doubt about it. Besides, I think I heard one of them say something in English. He was quickly hushed up, but I am almost certain of it.'

'What did he say?'

'Oh, "nothing in here," something to that effect. They had just turned over the withdrawing-room.'

A faint wail came from below stairs. 'Did they molest your wife?'

'No, sir, but she is badly frightened. They were looking for papers ...'

'Were they, by God!'

'They broke into the strong-room.'

'They took everything?'

'Everything.'

Drinkwater closed his eyes. 'God's bones!' he blasphemed.

He waited upon Mr Barrow at nine the following morning. Curiously, the Second Secretary was not surprised to see him. 'You have heard, then?' he said, waving Drinkwater to a chair.

'Heard?'

'The body of your guest was found in an alley last evening. He had been severely beaten about the head and was unrecognizable but for the remnants of his uniform. Oddly enough I was with Murray last evening when Canning arrived with the news. It crossed my mind then that it might be our friend and I instituted enquiries.'

'You did not think to send me word…'

'Come, come, Captain, the man was an opportunist, like his master. He played for high stakes, and he lost. As for yourself, you would have insisted on viewing the corpse and drawing attention to your connection with the man.'

'Opportunist or not, he had placed himself under my protection.' Drinkwater remembered Elizabeth's assertion that Bardolini was a frightened man. 'Whoever killed Bardolini ransacked my house. I have spent half the night pacifying my housekeeper.'

'Did they, by heaven? D'you know why?'

'I think they were after papers. I have no idea what, apart from his accreditation, Bardolini carried. Whatever it was he did not take it to what he supposed to be a meeting with Lord Castlereagh.'

'Then they left empty-handed?' asked Barrow.

'More or less. I had some private papers…'

'Ahhh. How distressing for you ... Still, someone knew who he was and where he was in London.'

'That argues against your hope of keeping me out of the affair.'

'Damn it, yes,' Barrow frowned. 'And we must also assume they knew why he was here.'

'Exactiy so.'

'I should not delay in your own departure, Captain Drinkwater. Would you like me to pass word to the commander of the Kestrel to proceed? At least you have no need to divert to Helgoland now.'

'No. I'd be obliged if you would order Lieutenant Quilliampton to Leith without delay.'

'Consider it done.'

After the hectic activity of the past fortnight, there was a vast and wonderful pleasure in the day of the departure of HMS Andromeda from Leith Road that early October forenoon. The grey waters of the Firth of Forth were driven ahead of the ship by the fresh westerly breeze, quartered by fulmars and gannets whose colonies had whitened with their droppings the Bass Rock to the southward. Ahead of them lay the greener wedge of the Isle of May with its square stone light-tower and its antediluvian coal chauffer. To the north, clad in dying bracken, lay the dun coast of the ancient kingdom of Fife, a title whose pretentiousness reminded Drinkwater briefly of the sunburnt coast of Calabria and the compromised claims of the pretender to its tottering throne.

He had not realized how much he had missed the independence, even the solitariness, of command, or the sheer unalloyed pleasure of the thing. There was a purposeful simplicity in the way of life, for which, he admitted a little ruefully, his existence had fitted him at the expense of much else. It was, God knew, not the rollicking life of a sailor, or the seductiveness of sea-breezes that the British public thought all their ill-assorted and maltreated tars thrived upon.

If it had been, he would have enjoyed the passage north in the Leith packet which had stormed up the English coast from the Pool of London on the last dregs of the gale. As it was the heavily sparred and over-canvassed cutter with its crowded accommodation and puking passengers contained all the misery of seafaring. True, he had enjoyed the company of Captain McCrindle, a burly and bewhiskered Scot whose sole preoccupations were wind and tide, and who, when asked if he ever feared interception by a French corsair, had replied he would be verra much afeared, if there was the slightest chance of being overtaken by one!'

The old seaman's indignation made Drinkwater smile even now, but he threw the recollection aside as quickly as it had occurred for Lieutenant Mosse was claiming his attention.

'If you please, sir, she will lay a course clear of Fife Ness for the Bell Rock.'

'By all means, Mr Mosse, pray carry on.'

'Aye, aye, sir.'

Drinkwater watched the young second lieutenant. He was something of a dandy, a sharp contrast to the first luff, a more seasoned man who, like James Quilhampton aboard the cutter Kestrel dancing in their wake, was of an age to be at least a commander, if not made post. Drinkwater had yet to make up his mind about Lieutenant Huke, though he appeared a most competent officer, for there seemed about him a withdrawn quality that concealed a suspicion which made Drinkwater feel uneasy.

As for the other officers, apart from the master, a middle-aged man named Birkbeck, he had seen little of them since coming aboard three days earlier.

The crew seemed willing enough, moving about their duties with quiet purpose and a minimum degree of starting from the bosun's mates. The boat's crew which had met him had been commanded by a dapper midshipman named Fisher who, if he was setting out to make a good impression upon his new captain, had succeeded.

He could have wished for a heavier frigate, his old Patrician, perhaps, or at least Antigone with her 18-pounders, but Andromeda handled well, and if she was not the fastest or most weatherly class of frigate possessed by the Royal Navy, the ageing thirty-six gun, 12-pounder ships were known for their endurance and sea-kindliness.

She bore along now, hurrying before the westerly wind and following sea, her weatherbeaten topgallants set above her deep topsails, the forecourse straining and flogging in its bunt and clewlines as it was lowered from the yards on the order 'Let fall!'

'Sheet home!'

The ungainly bulging canvas, constrained by the controlling ropes, was now tamed by the sheets which, with the tacks, were secured from its lower corners and transmitted its driving power to the speeding hull. With the low note of the quartering wind sounding in the taut stays, the frigate ran to the east-north-east.

A moment or two later the topmen, left aloft to make up the gaskets after overhauling the gear and ensuring the large sail was set without mishap, lowered themselves hand over hand to the deck by way of the backstays. Standing by the starboard hance, Drinkwater concluded that he had, like those simian jacks, fallen on his feet.

Evening found them passing the Bell Rock lighthouse, a marvel of modern engineering built as it was upon a tide-washed rock. The brilliance of its reflected light far outclassed the obsolete coal chauffer of the Isle of May, and Birkbeck confidently took his departure bearing from it when it bore well astern.

Having assured himself of the presence of Kestrel, Drinkwater went below. His quarters were small compared to those he had enjoyed on board Patrician, but admirably snug, he told himself, for a voyage to the Norwegian Sea with winter approaching. He settled in his cot with a degree of contentment that might have worried a less elated man. But that day of departure had been, in any case, a day of seduction; if Captain Drinkwater failed to notice any of the many faults that encumbered his command, it was because he had been too long ashore, too long kept from contact with the sea.

And the sea was too indifferent to the fates of men to keep him long in such a placid state of grace.