The Hawk Read online

  'None of that! No sudden, artful movement, or I will take your life!'

  'I – I slipped.' Fearfully, still a little dazed by sleep. 'What d'y'want of me? My purse?'

  'Not your purse, nothing at all – excepting intelligence.'

  'Who are you? Do you come from – '

  'I will ask. You will answer.' The pistol steady. 'You mind me?'

  'Very well. If I can answer . . .'

  'You will. Sit on the bed.'

  Rennie did so, and wished that he had a pistol handy, or his sword. His pistols were in his coat, hanging over the chair in the corner, and his sword was at home in Norfolk.

  'Answer me straight out. Where is Lieutenant Hayter? Does he come to you tonight?'

  'Eh? Tonight?' Trying to place the voice, of an educated man. He could not.

  'Well?'

  'Lieutenant Hayter, so far as I'm aware, is attached to the Channel Fleet. You had better ask at the Port Admiral's office, I expect.'

  'He ain't attached to the fleet, Captain Rennie, as you know well. He is attached to you.'

  'Attached to me? You are grossly misinformed, sir. He is not.'

  The pistol thrust into Rennie's throat. He flinched. 'Do not prevaricate, Captain Rennie. I do not care about your life. I will take it in a breath, if you do not assist me.'

  Rennie smelled burned powder. The pistol had been fired not long since, and the smell chilled him.

  'I – I will try to assist you, if I am able. But you are mistook about me. I know nothing of Lieutenant Hayter's whereabouts. I am come to Portsmouth as a private visitor.'

  'Private visitor!' With contempt. 'Is that what they call it, in London? Is that what they have told you to say?'

  'In London? Who in London?'

  'How many cutters are under your command?'

  'Eh? Good God, I am not commissioned. No cutters at all. None.'

  A jerk of the muzzle against Rennie's larynx. He coughed, beginning to choke.

  'I will ask you again. How many cutters, and where do they lie?'

  'How can I answer . . . cehhgh . . . when you stop my wind . . . ?'

  The pistol was withdrawn an inch, and Rennie got his breath, his mind whirling. He opened his mouth to speak.

  Rap-rap-rap. 'Captain Rennie, sir?' The boy's voice.

  Rennie's masked assailant brought a finger up, a warning finger, and whispered: 'Send him away.'

  Rap-rap-rap. 'Captain Rennie, is you awake, sir?'

  Rennie, sotto voce: 'It is my dinner. He will not go away until I have took in the tray.'

  A savage whisper: 'Send him away!' The pistol brushed Rennie's ear.

  'Will you leave the tray outside the door? Thank you.' Rennie, calling.

  'I ain't got no tray, sir. I has come to arst what you will like for your dinner.'

  'There is a confusion,' whispered Rennie. 'He has not brought me what I ordered. I must go to the door, or he will persist . . .'

  'Very well, but do not open the door wider than a crack. Say you ain't hungry. Send him away.' The muzzle of the pistol again flicked at Rennie's ear. 'Remember, I do not care about your life.'

  Rennie cautiously slipped off the bed, and moved to the door, aware always of the pistol pointed at his head from behind. He opened the door two inches, and saw the boy waiting in the subdued glow of a candle.

  'I – I have decided . . .' Jerking his eyes in a frantic sideways glance, several times, in an attempt to alert the boy to his predicament. '. . . erm, I have decided that I ain't desperate hungry, after all.' More jerking movements of his eyes, and his eyebrows up and down.

  'Not hungry, sir?' The boy peered at him, puzzled by Rennie's demeanour, and lifted the candle-holder.

  'Nay, I am very tired . . . desperate tired.' The eyes.

  The boy's face twitched, and he frowned a little. 'As you like, sir . . .'

  'Here, I will give you a penny for your trouble.' Rennie fumbled in his fob pocket, and felt the pistol at the back of his neck. 'Oh . . . I have not got any money about me. I am most desperate sorry.' Again the eyes. He closed the door.

  The glow of the candle under the door faded as the boy went away. Rennie turned back into the room, and tried to make out his assailant's size. He was not a large man, but looked wiry strong, thought Rennie. Could he distract the fellow, wrench the pistol from his grasp, and turn the weapon on him? The masked man seemed to read his thoughts, even in near darkness.

  'Do not think of attack, Captain Rennie.' With quiet menace. 'Not while I have this cocked in my hand.' He motioned Rennie to return to the bed. Rennie obeyed.

  'Would it not be easier if we had a light?' he ventured.

  'It would not, thank you. Now I will like – '

  'What if the boy should return? What then? He is – '

  'I will ask. You will answer. Do not make me iterate that instruction.' The mask began to slip on his face, and he adjusted it with a gloved hand. 'You will tell me, please, where you are to meet Lieutenant Hayter. Here, or aboard his vessel?'

  Rennie was silent a moment, then cleared his throat. 'Sir – I have no wish to disappoint you, when you hold a loaded pistol at my head. But I must earnestly insist, you are under a misapprehension. Please!' As the pistol was once again thrust into his face. 'For God's sake, now. Will y'not listen to me. If you have come from Sir Robert Greer, then I – '

  'Sir Robert Who-is-he?' Withdrawing the muzzle a fraction.

  'Sir Robert Greer . . . ? You do not know him?'

  'I have never heard the name. Do not attempt to distract me, I warn you.' Again thrusting the pistol.

  Rennie had had more than enough of this bullying, hectoring nonsense, and he took a deep, quiet breath.

  'Well? Where d'you meet Lieutenant Hayter! Tell me!'

  'I am, I fear, unable to help you at all.' Deliberately meek, deliberately defensive, with a little shrug – to provoke his opponent. He succeeded. The muzzle of the pistol was advanced towards Rennie's chin, and in that moment Rennie thrust up a hand, grasped the muzzle and wrenched it aside, and kicked with all his strength into the fellow's crotch. Felt his foot connect, and heard a gasp of pain. Rennie continued the wrenching motion, and felt the pistol loosen in the other's grip, and come into his position. He wrenched it free, reversed its direction, and as his erstwhile assailant sank to his knees with a groan, pointed it down at his head.

  'Take off that bloody mask!'

  A groan. Rennie reached down, and tore the mask off. The man collapsed on the floor, and lay doubled up, his face hidden. Another groan.

  'Aye, I am glad it is painful, you damned blackguard. Only let me find my shoes, and I will repeat it. Show me your face!'

  But the hapless man gave a retch, writhed over and fell on his back in a dead faint. Rennie stood over him a moment, then put the pistol on the cabinet, struck a light and lit his candle. He held the candle over the prostrate figure, and examined the face. He saw a clean-shaven man, evenfeatured, of about thirty years. A man unknown to him.

  Presently the man coughed, turned his head a little, coughed again, and came to himself. His face contorted with pain, and he clutched at his testicles.

  'Now then . . .' Rennie leaned over him. 'Who the devil are you, hey?'

  The man sucked in a breath, stared up at Rennie, and was silently defiant.

  'Why have you come here? Why d'you ask me these questions about Lieutenant Hayter? Who sent you?'

  The man turned his head away, and attempted to sit up.

  'Stay down on the floor, damn you.' Rennie aimed the pistol. 'Stay there, and answer me.'

  The man coughed, appeared to sag with pain, then leapt to his feet and flung himself at Rennie, knocking him off balance. Rennie fell back against the bed, and the man swung a fierce blow at his head with his clenched fist. Rennie rolled away, pushed himself off the bed, and as the man came at him again, fiercely, and caught him a blow to the neck, Rennie smashed the barrel of the pistol as hard as he could into the man's arm, then across the side of his h
ead. The flintlock broke and skidded across the floor, and powder from the pan scattered. The man gave a coughing grunt, slumped, his head bouncing off the side of the bed, and fell prostrate and senseless.

  'Damned wretch . . .' Rennie got his breath, and dropped the pistol on the cabinet.

  Rennie summoned the boy, gave him a shilling, and required him to find two strong men – porters or stable hands – and bring them to the room.

  'Say to them that they will be handsome rewarded, in gold.'

  The two men came, stable hands from the yard behind, and Rennie explained:

  'This fellow attempted to rob me at pistol point.' Stepping aside to allow them to see the prostrate figure. 'I have overpowered him, but I need to have him took out of the hotel. I do not want the runners informed, nor the magistrate. I am here privately, and I want no upset, nor attention drawn to me. You have me?'

  'Yes, sir.'

  'Aye, sir.'

  'He is to be took away concealed in a cart, or a barrow – whatever means you have to hand – and left at a place far from here. I will in course make it worth your while. A golden guinea.'

  'Each?' The taller hand.

  'Eh?' Rennie regarded him a moment, then: 'Yes, very well. A guinea each. For which payment you are to carry out your task – and keep silent. Will you give me your solemn oath?'

  'It is give, sir.' The taller.

  Rennie looked at the shorter, stockier man, who: 'Oh, aye.'

  'Say it. Give me your oath.'

  'I do, sir. Solemn oath.' Touching his forehead.

  'Very well.' Standing back. 'There he is. Take him out.'

  'When shall we get our payment, sir?'

  'When you have done it.'

  The taller man looked at his shorter companion, sucked his teeth, and: 'I think we will like to have half now, sir, by your leave.'

  'Aye.' The shorter man.

  'Oh, very well. Here is a guinea between you.' Opening his purse and finding the coin. He held it up, but did not yet pass it over. 'Remember! Absolute discretion, now. Go very quiet. Not a word breathed to a living soul.' He gave them the guinea.

  The two men lifted the unconscious man and carried him out, their way lighted along the passage by the boy with his candle. A door opened to a rear stair. Creaks and muffled thuds as they carried their burden down the narrow stair and away. Presently the sound of wheels scraping over cobbles below.

  Rennie let out a breath – he had not been aware that he was holding it in – and found that he was thoroughly done up. He found his shoes and put them on the chair, and then was too tired to undress. He lay down on the bed, and fell into a fitful doze.

  In the morning Captain Rennie changed his hotel. He liked the Marine, had stayed there happily in the past, but the incident in the night had greatly dismayed and unsettled him, and he wished to become wholly anonymous, and to reassess his position. Having to fend off three armed assailants in the space of a few days, and having been obliged to shoot two of them dead – one of them a young woman – had taxed his endurance to the limit, and made him uneasy and fearful.

  'If I don't go careful I shall become like Rountree's undertaker, good God.' But even this determined attempt at jocularity, directed at his face in the shaving glass, did not cheer him.

  Troubled thoughts continued to run in his head as he moved from the Marine Hotel to the substantial old Mary Rose Inn at the corner of St Thomas Street. A further thought came to him as he went in at the door:

  'I must disappoint Langton, that is a good fellow, a decent fellow. He will wonder what has become of me, and no doubt think me ill-mannered in not taking him up on his offer of dinner.'

  He gave his name to the clerk as: 'Mr Birch, of Dorsetshire.' He was not in naval dress, and since all the best rooms were occupied again had to accept a very small one at the rear, but he had disguised his presence, and was content. Sitting on the hard narrow bed he said to himself:

  'Langton must wait. Today I will seek out James, very discreet, and discover what that blackguard at the Marine Hotel meant by his questions. Aye – this damned bed is uncommon firm – I must discover from James what is afoot. If he will tell me. If he will oblige me.'

  He fell silent, and thought of his house at Middingham, of the quiet life he had grown used to there, his pleasant easy routine, his understated clothes, his agreeable diet, his every comfort attended to by his servant girl Jenny. Every comfort – excepting one. A little sigh, and he lifted his head.

  'In course I had much rather be at sea, I had much rather have a ship under my legs,' he told himself briskly, coming out of his brief reverie with a slapping of palms on thighs. 'But my condition of life at Norfolk – was I a landlubber by nature – could not be better, I think. Nay, it is very pleasant there – was I a lawn-loving, pond-gazing fellow, wandering tranquil among shrubs.'

  Captain Rennie found Lieutenant Hayter, not as he had expected by assiduous discreet enquiry as to the location of the Hawk cutter, and the whereabouts of her commander – but by chance. He found him at Bracewell & Hyde, trying on his new coat. Rennie happened to glance in at the window as he passed by, and caught sight of his friend inside. He went in, to the sharp jingling of the above-door bell.

  Mr Bracewell's assistant, that was not Mr Hyde – Mr Hyde had sold the business to Mr Bracewell long since, and then had died – came forward with a professional smile, recognizing the naval look when he saw it, in spite of the civilian dress, and:

  'Sea officer, sir? In need of new – '

  'Nay nay, thank you, ye may strike that measuring tape.'

  The sound of that familiar voice caused James Hayter to turn from the long glass.

  'Good heaven, it is you, sir. Here in Portsmouth.' A happy thought. 'You have got a ship! You have got a commission!'

  'Nay, I have not, James.' They shook hands, James in his half-made coat, one sleeve attached, and the back marked with chalk. 'I came to find you, to say the truth.'

  'From the Admiralty? They have changed their minds, then?' James as Mr Bracewell waited.

  'Eh? No. No, I am here privately. What made you think I had come from the – '

  'Give me one moment, sir, if you please.' James nodded, touched his forearm, and returned to Mr Bracewell at the glass. He shrugged out of the new coat, handed it to Mr Bracewell, and retrieved his old coat from a chair. He slipped it on. 'Thank you, Bracewell, I shall return tomorrow, or very soon after.' To Rennie: 'And now, shall we stroll a little way, sir, and talk?'

  'I should like very much to talk, James. That is why I have come to Portsmouth, you know. In that hope.'

  They went out into the busy street, and walked – at Rennie's urging – away from the press of people, and the traffic and noise, along Battery Road to the fortifications, the castle away to the east against the sky. Rennie walked with his plain hat jammed well down on his head, nearly hiding his face.

  'I had myself hoped – half-hoped, anyway – that you would come, sir.' James, as they came to the wall.

  'Eh? Had you?' A sideways glance. 'You surprise me, James. Twice in five minutes you have surprised me.'

  And the two officers talked. James about his commission, his duties, the murder of Captain Marles – he held nothing back – and Rennie about Sir Robert Greer, his flight from Norfolk, the incident on the road and the intruder at the Marine Hotel, with his questions about James – he held nothing back, in turn.

  'I am living under the name Birch, at the Mary Rose.'

  'Birch?'

  'Aye, you notice the choice of name. Mr Birch of Dorsetshire. I hope y'don't mind me using the name of your house, James.'

  James laughed. 'In course I do not, sir. I am flattered. Catherine would be flattered, I am in no doubt.'

  A moment of quiet now between the two men, in the echoing cries of gulls, and the distant crack-crack of mallets aboard a moored frigate. The church clock struck the quarter-hour. Clouds slowly drifted, unfurling on the wide blue sky. The moment was significant for both men. Both men
knew that if it passed unseized their immediate convergence – here, today, upon the great stone wall – would cease at once, and their lives in the service drift wide apart, perhaps never to converge again. The Royal Navy was by its nature deep and wide in its purpose and duty; oceans and continents could divide and separate its officers over long months and years in pursuit of that purpose, in compliance with that duty; if they let the moment pass, a great deal might be lost. They did not let it pass.

  James took a breath. 'I have need of a senior officer to give me assistance, sir, to advise me as Captain Marles would have done in a commission I do not yet wholly understand. It cannot be official, since the Admiralty I know will not sanction a replacement – but I wish it.'

  'I am your man.'

  And so it was settled, very simply, there on the stone wall, with a handshake.

  'I thought it best to sail on the evening tide.'

  'Not at first light?'

  'No, sir. I wish to be at sea, waiting for her, at first light.'

  The two officers stood aft of the pumps on the diminutive quarterdeck of Hawk, one of them in the uniform of undress coat and hat, the other in plain frock coat and plain dark hat.

  Lieutenant Hayter – in uniform – continued: 'We must try to make an interception at sea, I think, rather than attempt to take her when she stands in to put her cargo ashore.'

  'Ain't that when she will be the more open to being took, though? When she is vulnerable?'

  'From all I hear, Lark can never be thought to be vulnerable, sir. At sea I can outgun her with my smashers, and – '

  'Forgive me, James, but how d'y'know that?'

  'Because I have ninety pound weight of iron broadsides, sir, and Lark – '

  'She may well have the same, mayn't she? Hey?'

  'No, sir. No, I do not think so. A fast cutter like the Lark will carry four-pounders, probably. Six-pounders, at the highest. Even if she carried eight six-pounders in each battery, her weight of metal broadside could only be a little more than half of my own.'

  'Was not your instructions to take the Lark, though? Take her, and never damage her at all? How will you manage that, I wonder, if you go at her smashing with ninety-pound broadsides? Hey?'