The Hawk Page 21

  'You wish me to leave at once?'

  'When you are rested, when you recovered. A carriage will take you. Ring this bell, when you are quite ready. And now I must leave you. Goodnight.'

  'Goodnight. And thank you for your kindness.'

  'Nay, sir – thank you for yours.'

  The Drawbridge Inn at the Point in Portsmouth was a lowbuilt, part-timbered, grimy structure, with lead-mullioned lights and sturdy timber door. It stood as its name suggested immediately adjacent to the wooden bridge spanning the moat between the town side and the island of the Point. The door had been replaced three times, occasioned by raids on the tavern by constables, revenuers and others, in pursuit of miscreants among patrons, or 'clients' as the landlord Sawley Mallison liked to call his guests. It was now a door made of oak – some said oak recovered from a shipyard – studded with heavy nails. There was a cobbled yard at the rear, and a low entrance to one side that led through pantries and the kitchen to the interior. This entrance was in usual barred, and locked.

  The taproom was at night blue with tobacco smoke and rumbling with the din of voices. Light came from lanterns hung from beams above, and the atmosphere was not unlike that of the lower deck of a ship of war, with hands piped to their dinner at the messes. Save for the pipe smoke, reflected Captain Rennie as he made his way through the rows of rough tables towards the figure of Sawley Mallison at the rear.

  'Mr Mallison.'

  'I am 'ere.' Turning his good eye on Rennie. His other eye was walled white. He removed his clay pipe from strong yellow teeth. Grey-flecked hair grew low on his forehead, emphasizing his one clear eye and giving him a distinctly simian appearance. But Sawley Mallison was no slow wit. Here was a man of high acuity and understanding, as Rennie had begun to learn.

  'Mr Mallison, I am expecting a letter. I will like it that you inform me the moment it comes.' He fumbled, found a coin, and was about to pass it when a strong hand closed over his, and:

  'There ain't need to pay me each time you was wanting a simple service, sir. I looks out for naval men, always.'

  'Ah. That is kind in you, Mr Mallison.' Lowering his voice a little. 'I am – I am no longer in that service, however.'

  'I knows all about that, Captain Rennie. You was done down, sir. Put your money away, now. I shall send word to 'ee, soon as letter comes.'

  'Very good, thankee, Mr Mallison.' Putting the coin away in his pocket, then bringing it out again. 'May I give you a glass of something?'

  'Oh, well, now. That I will not resiss, no. Bliss!'

  'Sir?' The potboy, pausing with tankards.

  'Brandy, Bliss, two glasses, corner table. Sharp.'

  The boy nodded, and dodged away between tables, slopping ale. Mallison led the way to a small table in a corner, away from the great seething of the room. They sat down, and Mallison lit his pipe with a taper from the candle. He offered his pouch to Rennie.

  'Smoke, sir?'

  'I don't, thankee. My vices are tea and alcohol only.' A nod, politely. He was not quite at home in the taproom of the Drawbridge.

  'Would you prefer tea now, sir?'

  'Nay, Mr Mallison, I will like a splash of something else, at night. Brandy, indeed.' Another nod.

  'I knows this ain't your notion of a pleasant place to stop, sir.' Mallison sucked on his pipe, then put it aside. 'But you need never fear while you is under this roof.'

  'You are very kind.'

  'I knows your surgeon very well, see.'

  'My surgeon? Dr Wing, d'y'mean?'

  'Aye, Tom Wing is my old friend. He has come 'ere many a time, when one of my clients was poorly. Other surgeons would not like to come 'ere, not in darkness like. When Tom was prenticed over to the Haslar, he would come always, if asked. Many a time he has stopped 'ere a night or two. A gent, is Tom.'

  Rennie thought a moment, and did vaguely recall the connection from a previous commission, when Dr Wing's dunnage had been collected from the inn, and brought into the ship. Recalled too, with a pang of shame, that he had pronounced Mallison a scoundrel, and the Drawbridge a place of iniquity.

  Their brandy had come, and Mallison poured two glasses. 'Your health, Captain Rennie.'

  'Your health, Mr Mallison.'

  And as the fiery spirit ran down his throat Rennie felt his own spirits rise a little, for the first time in many days.

  The letter came not at night, but in the morning, by an errand boy, who did not wait for a reply, only demanded his penny and was at once gone into the grimy bustle of Broad Street. Rennie read the letter – by invitation – in the landlord's own small parlour, where he drank a pot of strong dark tea.

  'Will you take a drop in your tea, sir?' Mallison offered his flask.

  'Thankee, no. This is excellent tea, excellent tea.'

  'Aye, and I never gives a farthing more for it than I must, neither.' Tapping his broad nose. 'I will leave you to read your letter, sir.'

  When Mallison had gone Rennie unfolded the letter, and to the muffled sounds of the landlord cursing his potboy in the taproom beyond, he read:

  Dear Colleague,

  We wish to know details of new vessels to be employed in pursuit of another. To wit:

  Tonnages of each vessel

  Rigging & sail plans

  Number of guns

  Numbers of crew

  Exact dates of deployment

  Present deployment of vessels already in service

  Proposed plan of action should our vessel find herself outrun by the new increased deployment. Take her?

  Or sink, burn, destroy? Take her master alone? Take her people also, or dispose of them?

  Please to respond in writing, and the boy will call again in the forenoon tomorrow.

  You must be mindful, dear colleague, that upon your accurate & detailed reply will depend all else, inclusive of yr safe passage to another place.

  A friend

  Rennie remained indoors at the Drawbridge all the day, and drafted a careful reply, according to Sir Robert Greer's plan, and with some additional refinements of his own invention. At length he had a suitable text, and wrote it out diligently – as diligently as he would have written one of his formal letters to the Admiralty, at sea.

  My dear Friend,

  I thank you for your most welcome letter of yesterday's date, and the proposals therein.

  I am obliged to say at once, for yr own protection, that I am loth to send all of the details & particulars you require by the hand of a boy.

  I will like to bring these particulars to you by my own hand, not merely as a safeguard, to obviate impairment to their delivery by interests inimical to our design; I have, in another distinction, further information I wish to give you, in the form of a most heedful, intricate and safe route of departure, whereby all hazard and difficulty may be put aside.

  I send this by the boy, but dare not entrust to his immaturity anything more of my intention & purpose.

  In the most earnest hope & expectation that you will look favourable on this proposal, I await yr earliest response.

  I will only add that in course I am willing to come to you at any hour, at yr convenience.

  I remain, sir, yr most humble & obedient servant,

  A colleague

  On the morrow Rennie waited at the inn all the morning, and the boy did not come. He waited until the evening, and then ventured out for a breath of air – as relief from the stale and foetid fug of the taproom, and the sparse solitude of his room upstairs – with the earnest injunction that if the boy came there in his absence he was to be detained until Rennie's return.

  He walked along the fortifications in the gathering darkness, saw the lights of the Gosport shore, and the riding lights of ships at anchor, and smelled the wind coming off the sea. The evening was unseasonably chill. Rennie shivered, turned up the collar of his coat, and imagined himself on the canting deck of the Hawk.

  'What will James be thinking, now?' he asked himself. 'Will he wonder at his instructions, his duty? Yes, v
ery probably he will – since he ain't a fool, and will put two and two together when he don't find the Lark. He will do his duty, all the same, as I would in his shoes . . .'

  He shivered again, hunched into his coat, and walked back to the Point. When he reached the Drawbridge Inn, Sawley Mallison took him aside in the taproom, cupped a hand and in a brandy-wafting husk spoke in Rennie's ear.

  'There's a gen'man to see you, sir. Urgent, in the parlour.'

  'Who is it? Did not the boy come?'

  Mallison shook his head. 'He did not. Gen'man's name is Scott.'

  'Scott?' Mystified. 'I know no one of that name . . .' Had the fellow come in the boy's place?

  Rennie made his way to the parlour door, and went in. He saw no one, and then heard the door click shut behind him.

  'Captain Rennie.'

  Rennie turned sharply, and saw a man in a shabby brown coat and breeches, and plain buff stockings and worn shoes. His face was half-hidden beneath a brown hat in the subdued light – until he came forward and removed the hat.

  'Good God – Sir Robert!'

  'Indeed. Shall we sit down?'

  Rennie saw that on Sawley Mallison's little parlour table a tray had been laid, with a jug of wine, glasses, and a plate of biscuits. The fire had been stoked in the grate, and a new candle lighted. They sat down, and now Rennie remembered.

  'We have met before in this way, Sir Robert, have not we?'

  'Indeed, Rennie, we have. Years since, at the Marine Hotel, when I had adopted this same disguise in pursuit of my various aims, you came to me there, in a private parlour.'

  'Exact, I did.'

  Sir Robert poured wine, offered biscuits. 'I will like to know what progress ye've made, and why there has been so great a delay in communication.' The black gaze.

  'I am awaiting upon a reply to my letter, sent by hand yesterday.'

  'You made a copy of the letter?'

  'Ah – no. I had – '

  'No copy! Did not I tell you most particular, you must make a fair copy of anything sent? Hey!'

  Rennie began to bristle, checked himself, and instead of a snappish reply he said:

  'I have kept the original letter, that came to me here.'

  'Show it to me.' Putting down the jug and holding out an impatient hand.

  Rennie brought the folded letter from his coat, the broken seal catching in the pocket and sending a crumble of red wax on the floor. He gave the letter to Sir Robert, who perused it with a frown.

  'Very well. Now then, tell me accurate – line by line – what you have said in reply to this.'

  Rennie told him, and Sir Robert listened intently, head cocked on one side. When Rennie had finished:

  'Very well. I do not quite like your embellishment about the route of departure, and so forth, but no matter. If it will aid us in arranging a meeting between you and Faulk, then your work will have been done, and our design accomplished.'

  'Thank you, Sir Robert.' Inclining his head in what he hoped was not too ironical a manner, damn the fellow. 'However, there may be an impediment . . .'

  'Yes?' The gaze.

  'When I was brought back here – did I tell you of this? – when I was conveyed from the house where I was took after the brawl in the Pewter Tavern, I was blindfolded, so that I would not know the location of the place – '

  'D'y'mean – where Aidan Faulk was? He was there, himself?'

  'I do not know that it was Faulk. I could not see his face, Sir Rob—'

  'You was at his hiding place! You was took there! And did not contrive to get word to me! Good heaven, Rennie, the wretch might have been took! This whole episode might now have been concluded, and Faulk in chains!'

  'Sir Robert,' with great forbearance, 'I was carried there unconscious from the Pewter Inn, and woke very hazy in a low-lit room – '

  'Surely y'could have contrived to escape! Surely y'could have sent word! Why do I learn of this only now, tonight?' Sir Robert turned away down the little room, and stood with his hands clenched at his sides. Turned back with a piercing dark furious glare.

  'I wonder if I have not chose the wrong man in you, Captain Rennie. The wrong man entire, for this exacting work. You are not a man of high education, nor understanding, nor enterprise. You are found wanting, in the nation's interest. Timid, faltering, and inept.'

  And now Rennie could contain his anger – his furious anger – no longer. All the duties, pressures, requirements and stipulations lately placed upon him, in all their exhausting cost to him, to his very sanity, now welled up and surged in a tide from his breast into his head. Sir Robert came to the table, and opened his mouth to say something more, and Rennie:

  'Damn your infernal cruelty and impudence, sir! Nay nay! Do not utter a single further syllable, or by God ye'll know the consequence! D'y'hear me?'

  In spite of himself, of the great inner conviction of his power and position, Sir Robert was given pause by the bitter ferocity of Rennie's outburst. He took a step back, quite involuntarily, and opened his mouth to reassert his authority. Before he could say a single word:

  'Did not I say, do not speak, damn your blood! You will allow me – by God, you will – to tell you my only proposal as to this affair! I absolve myself from it! Aye, absolve!'

  Sir Robert closed bloodless lids over his black eyes, a gesture he had used to great effect in many past circumstances where his authority must needs be imposed upon unruly naval men. Closed them, and raised an imperious hand, and drew a deep breath. However:

  'Hush! Hush, sir! Do not have the temerity to speak to me, until I allow it! I absolve myself, release myself, find myself at liberty entire! And you may do your worst, sir! Threaten, and condemn, and have me bound in chains, instead of your damned quarry Aidan Faulk! I do not care! I am no longer your slave, your snivelling, complaisant, gutter-low creature! Y'may go to the devil, and may he welcome you with open arms, too, you miserable savage, for you and he are blood brothers!'

  And Rennie turned away, trembling from head to foot, and flung out of the door of the parlour, thrust, pushed, strode headlong through the crowded taproom, spilling ale, knocking aside chairs, shouldering away larger and stronger men, who fell back from this raging madman and let him whirl away out of the great oak door into the night.

  Sir Robert stood silent in the parlour, rooted to the spot a moment, staring at the open door. At last he gathered himself, and:

  'That is the consequence of allowing a fool free rein. I will not allow it again.'

  Sir Robert put the letter away in his coat, took up his hat, and presently slipped away through the taproom unremarked.

  When the storm began to blow up Lieutenant Hayter quickly decided to run for shelter, and declared his intention to Mr Hope, who had come on deck.

  'I shall run into Weymouth and ride out this weather in the bay.'

  'Run?' Over the rising wind.

  'It makes little sense to risk Hawk now, when Lark ain't in these waters.'

  'It is out of the question, out of the question.' Mr Hope shook his head vexedly, clapped on to a stay as a frothing sea surged over the deck, and continued: 'This is just the kind of weather Lark has waited for, to make her dash. This will be your best opportunity to take her, Mr Hayter, when the energies of her people are wholly occupied in keeping her from broaching to.'

  'Energies of –' James looked at him to make sure that he was not being facetious, saw that he was not, and shook his own head. 'Mr Hope, I must consider the energies of my own people, and Commander Carr's. Aye, and their lives, too. I will not like to risk them riding out a fierce Channel storm on the open sea.'

  'Pish pish, an ordinary merchant cutter will not have nearly the same number of men in her as a naval cutter. We have forty men, the Lark has half that number, and she is a bigger vessel, and therefore harder to handle.'

  'Twenty men? To fight all that number of guns? Ho, I think not. I think she will have the same number of men as – '

  'I will not argue with you, Mr Hayter.'
His voice rising with the wind. 'We will continue the chase.'

  'Chase! What bloody chase? We have never seen the Lark yet, this cruise!'

  'Did not y'hear me, sir!'

  'I cannot chase a vessel ain't to be seen!'

  'You defy me, sir? Knowing who I am?'

  James shook his head again, drew breath, opened his mouth, but before he could speak:

  'Knowing what I am capable of, in the question of your future activity in the Royal Navy? Hey? You oblige me to be blunt, sir. Very blunt. We'll continue the chase, Lieutenant Hayter, or by God I'll chase your arse so far inland ye'll never sight the sea again, sir, so long as you live!'

  James's blood boiled in his heart, surged searing through his veins, and threatened to flush all self-protective reasoning out of his head. He became aware that the helmsman was looking at him with an astonished expression, which disappeared as soon as James looked directly at the man. But James had seen that expression, and had realized at that moment how intemperate this quarrel had become, how loud and public a dispute, recklessly embarked upon on the quarterdeck of one of His Majesty's fighting ships.

  'Mr Abey!'

  Richard Abey came from the binnacle, where he had retreated in embarrassed consternation.

  'Sir?'

  'Starboard tack, heading east-south-east, and a point east!' Cupping his hand as the wind gusted in a stay-whistling howl, and the cutter heeled. 'We will further reduce the mainsail by another reef. Make tight those hanks, Mr Abey.'

  'Aye, sir. East-sou'-east, and a point east. Third reef in the mains'l.'

  'Mr Hope.'

  'I am here.'

  'Kindly go below, sir, if you please.'

  Mr Hope glanced with grim approval across the deck and briefly aloft as Hawk began to run large away from Weymouth, and safety. The chase would continue on the open sea, according to his wishes. He nodded once, did as he was asked, and went below.

  When Hawk had settled on her new heading, James again summoned Richard Abey.

  'Make to Pipistrel that she is to come about and hold station astern of me.'

  'Aye, sir.'

  'And Richard . . .'

  'Yes, sir?'

  'Foul-weather jackets on deck. We are all going to get very wet and cold, this day.'