The devils own luck, p.25
The Devil's Own Luck, page 25
“So you wouldn’t be able to tell me who was still wearing theirs?”
Craddock shook his head. “Some were, others not, same as the uniform.”
“Thank you, Mr Craddock,” said Harry. It would have been more reassuring to be certain, but that would require questioning all the officers. One thing was sure, being bald, Carter always wore a wig.
“Thank you!” The irony was plain. “I don’t know if I’ve done the right thing, Mr Ludlow. You know, when you’re a youngster, you think as you get older things will become simpler. Clearer. That with knowledge you’ll be able to see things right. Make the right decision. Truth is, as you get older, you realize that men don’t stop being what they were as children, only worse. The arguments they have are more serious, and their ability to forget them evaporates.” Craddock shrugged, unable to continue in this vein. He looked at Harry in an avuncular way. “You know what I mean, Mr Ludlow. Only I would hate to think that you are as blind as some others I know.”
“I’ll try not to be, Mr Craddock,” said Harry, going out of the door. The older man smiled, but Harry meant something very different from the drift of Craddock’s philosophizing.
Harry crossed the wardroom. Turnbull was still cleaning his pistols. He raised one of them and aimed along it. Harry sensed it was trained on him. He turned, and the young man dropped the pistol, with an apologetic look.
Pender was still asleep. Harry sat on his sea-chest and ran over in his mind what Craddock had said. It tallied with what Pender had gleaned from the wardroom stewards, though they had paid no attention to the state of the officers’ dress, being too busy consuming the leftovers from the dinner.
It looked as though Bentley had gone to Carter’s cabin, roundly abused the man, and then headed for the hold. Carter, intending to follow him, had stopped when he realized Mangold was there. Instead he had started to walk. The question was, how far had he walked?
Had he stayed on the quarterdeck? Or had he walked on, along the gangway, then slipped down on to the upper deck without being seen. No one, even if they saw Carter, would question his right to be there. He could go anywhere in the ship he pleased. And if he knew where Bentley was going, he would know his avenue of return. A simple thing to wait for him, and then pounce.
Harry’s blood was racing. He stood up and paced up and down the small cabin. He was both angry and excited. Angry that Carter should seek to fasten the murder on him, and excited that he had deduced how it was carried out. Could he prove it? Was there some evidence aboard the ship that would either damn Carter or force him into the position in which he might confess to the crime? Harry looked out of the stern windows. The light was fading fast.
He dropped in on James for the last time. There was one more thing to do. If everything else failed, they must resort to bluff. Crevitt was trying to get his brother to play another hand of whist, but James complained that he would be bankrupt if they continued. He looked so relieved to see Harry.
“Mr Crevitt, I wonder if it would be in order for my brother to have his drawing materials?” Harry asked.
“I see no objection, Mr Ludlow.”
“And may I have a private word?” Crevitt merely nodded this time. Harry took James out into the gangway.
“You’ve often told me that you can draw anything from memory, James.”
“Imagination tends to supply what memory doesn’t.”
“When you were apprehended, with the knife in your hand. Does your memory run to that?”
“Etched here.” James tapped his head. “Every detail.”
“Then kindly etch it on paper, more than one drawing if you have to. Can you do that?”
“Yes.”
“And I want one more drawing. I want a drawing of Bentley being knifed.”
“And who do you want as the murderer?” “Don’t be obtuse, brother.”
“Just as long as you are not allowing a personal animosity to warp your judgement, Harry. Because if you are, you are no better than Carter.”
“I don’t deserve that from you, James.”
“You have no idea how much I hope that you are right.”
“It’s the only way, James. I have told you. The only way to prove you are innocent is to put the guilty party in the dock.”
“Good luck, Harry. And please have a care.” Harry would have liked to embrace his brother, but they were still in Crevitt’s view. It would not do to alert him.
“Perhaps you can persuade my brother to do a portrait of you, Mr Crevitt,” said Harry, walking back into the narrow screened-off cabin. “Do you see yourself in an heroic pose? Nimrod, perhaps. I’m sure he can do whatever you wish. Myself, I am off to invite the surgeon to partake of some of my brandy. If he is in my cabin, he can tend one of his patients and slake his thirst at the same time.”
“Just as long as he does not ignore his other charges,” said Crevitt.
“Those that are to die, will die. Those that will recover, do not need the ministrations of Mr Outhwaite to slow their recovery.”
Outhwaite was uncomfortable with the role assigned to him, although the prospect of being left to drink as much of Harry’s brandy as he saw fit, especially after a whole day of abstinence, was an enticing one. But, much against his will, he was now part of Harry’s conspiracy, without being quite sure how he had got there. He had left his two surgeon’s mates to tend to those recovering from wounds sustained in the battle, and having been at his work almost continuously since that event, he felt entitled to finally relax.
But he was a bag of nerves, and several sips of brandy had done nothing to calm him. He watched as Harry changed out of his clothes, and donned the garb of a seaman. He took the knife that he had borrowed from Outhwaite and tucked it in his waistband. He had also fashioned a garrotte by attaching some fishing line to a couple of wooden pegs. Then his pistols. Lastly he took a small canvas bag, heavy with sand, tying the loop on it to his belt.
He opened the gunport, and lashed the line to the eyebolt holding his cot, the rest snaking out into the dark night. Another line, holding a shaded lantern, was gently lowered out until a knot tied in it rested on the edge of the frame.
“Now, Mr Outhwaite. If anyone comes a-calling, tell them to bugger off, as you and I are in the process of getting drunk.”
Outhwaite didn’t even nod. Harry gave Pender, now awake, a slight wave, before he squeezed out of the casement, and into the night.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
HARRY made his way quietly along the gundeck through the rows of swinging hammocks. He walked on tiptoe heading for the very front of the deck by the bows of the ship, blessing the fact that his geese had been eaten long ago, since his approach to the manger would have been heralded with their squawking. Stopping outside he laid down his lantern and the garrotte. He checked his knife and took out his pistol before entering.
The animals did not stir as he went by, proof that they were used to the passage of human beings through their part of the ship. The smell was strong even by shipboard standards. One of the pigs got up and started rooting about in his straw. The chickens stirred slightly, but he hoped not enough to disturb the men he had come to see.
He could just hear the clicking of the dice over the noise of the ship. There was a regular thud as the bows, just forward of the manger, hit the swell. Harry sat still, getting the rhythm of the sounds, before moving forward slowly as the thuds covered the noise his feet made in the loose straw.
The glimmer of a lantern came from the last stall. They really should have posted a guard, but no doubt the lure of the game had enticed the man who should be watching to look at the roll of the dice. Harry waited listening to the quiet bets being placed, the suppressed grunts of joy and disappointment. This was just one of the groups that Pender had directed him to. Other games would take place during the daylight hours, but this was where the inveterate gamblers gathered, those who played at every opportunity.
They were engaging in a serious breach of the regulations, and a keen officer could have easily put a stop to it. But there were few superiors who did not gamble themselves, so they tended to turn a blind eye to these activities. Some ships were cursed with evangelical types, who saw it as their duty to persuade the men away from gambling and strong drink, an uphill task for men who loved risk, and who consumed, as their rations, a gallon of beer or two pints of diluted rum a day. The Magnanime was free from such problems. Bentley would certainly not have objected to gambling, and Craddock would be indifferent, as long as it did not interfere with the running of the ship. So these men had become lax, allowing him to get close enough to hear their voices.
“Good evening, gentlemen,” said Harry, blocking off the entrance to the stall. The gamblers spun round, and froze as they saw the barrel of the pistol glinting in the faint light. “Forgive me for disturbing you.”
They did not respond, keeping their eyes on the pistol. Harry was curious about their escape route. There had to be one. No point in risking a flogging, in a place from which you could not disappear at the first hint of trouble. Harry waited quietly. He saw one of them glance above his head.
“The hawse hole,” he said, smiling. “Which, in an emergency, would put you on the beak. Where do you go from there? Do you sit it out, or do you clamber on to the forecastle?” Simple but effective. Harry had wondered if they had cut a trapdoor somewhere for an escape route.
“You know who I am?”
“We do, Mr Ludlow,” said a voice from the back of the group. Harry could not see his face, which was in shadow.
“Good. For I have to persuade you that you are in no danger from me.”
“Then put up your gun,” said the voice.
“I shall, in a moment. Perhaps you would come into the light where I can see you?”
“I think not, Mr Ludlow. Whatever it is you want, seein’ my face ain’t going to alter it. I don’t think you are here to partake of the game.”
“True. And nothing would give me greater pleasure than to leave you in peace to continue yours.”
Again silence. Harry heard a slight scratching sound. It could have been anything, but it could also be someone searching for a weapon.
“You must all be thinking that the best thing to do would be to rush me. After all, if I were to let on about this, you would all be in for a fair number of lashes. What really worries me is that this gun will go off regardless. That will make it very difficult for all of us.”
“Belay, Jeff, for fuck’s sake. That pistol’s pointin’ at me.” The scratching sound stopped. “Your bein’ here would require explain-in’ too.”
“Yes. But not to the bos’n.” Harry paused to let his words have some effect. “But I am not here to threaten you. I am here to ask you to help me.”
“An’ if we choose not to?” It was infuriating not being able to see the man’s eyes. Harry found it hard to try and judge his intent, just by the tone of his voice.
“Nothing will happen.” He raised the pistol slightly. “This was merely to get you to think, to stay still long enough to let me explain my case.”
“As well as to keep you alive.”
“That too.”
“So you are sayin’ that regardless of what we do, you’re not goin’ to split on us.”
“No. And for several reasons. One, it is none of my business, and two, if it is as easy as this to sneak up on you, I doubt if any of your officers want the trouble.”
“And just what is it that you want from us?”
“Information, freely given, about the night Mr Bentley was murdered.”
“And if we was to give you information, what would you do with it?”
“If it was what I seek, I would use it to help clear my brother.”
“Information would be no use unless it is sworn.”
“Let’s start with the information. Were you here on the night of Mr Bentley’s death?”
“Mr Ludlow. There is not a man here who knows anything about that. Because we was here, and when the alarm was raised, we scarpered back to our hammocks fuckin’ quick.”
“Not just you?”
A long pause, then that same steady voice. “Likely that’s true.”
“Is this the only gambling school?”
“Aye.” That was quick and definite, and probably a lie.
“But there are other people who are about at night?”
“We keep ourselves to ourselves. An’ they do the same.”
“On your way back to your bunks did you see anyone else?”
“Mr Ludlow. Supposing that I was to tell you that one of our number saw something, and that that somethin’ would be of help to you. Would you then undertake not to ask the man’s name, nor press for anythin’ to be sworn?”
“Would you trust me if I said yes?”
“I can only speak for myself. But I saw you on deck this mornin’. And I know that there were quite a number of men who, had you choose to finger them, would be facing a floggin’ round the fleet, if not a rope round their necks. You knew who they were, didn’t you?
“Not all of them.”
“One would have been enough within those buggers. He would have named his mates just to save his own skin.”
“So?”
“So I’m sayin’ that if you will give me your word, then I am inclined to accept it.”
“Then you have it.”
“I’d be obliged if you would say it out loud. Make me feel safer.”
“Should you give me information that will help my brother, I will not say where it came from, or ask you to swear.” The faces he could see relaxed a bit. “Without coming back to ask you first.”
“That’s fair,” said the voice, quieting the murmur of protest from his mates. “No one would want to see your brother hang, Mr Ludlow. Not for somethin’ he didn’t do.”
“You seem very sure.”
“Not sure, your honour. But one of our number, an’ I’m not sayin’ who, exceptin’ it weren’t me, saw somethin’ that throws a bit of a question on what is bein’ said.”
“Which is?”
“Which is, if those two no-good bastards, Meehan and Porter, were supposed to be on hand to see Bentley sliced, how come one of our number saw them scurrying to their bunks, and coming from the other direction at that?”
Harry tried to keep the excitement out of his voice. If he had needed proof that his suspicions of Carter were not just based on personal prejudice, then here it was.
“I leave you with a question, gentlemen. I will keep my word. But if those two swear to what they saw, perjuring themselves in the process, it will be scant comfort to me, or my brother, to have such unattested knowledge.”
“People die, Mr Ludlow. More poor bastards die on the lower deck than abaft the mizzen. There’s plenty that’s gone on aboard this ship that needs investigatin’. Trouble is, it’s too late to save the person wronged.”
“Larkin?”
“Him, for one. A proper scamp that boy.”
“But well liked?”
“He had a way with him. Even Mr Bentley used to laugh at his antics.”
“So what happened to him?”
“They say he fell overboard.” The voice cast no opinion, maintaining that steady, almost monotonous tone.
“What do you say?”
“Christ. It’s not what I say. It’s what we all say.” There was some emotion in the voice at last. “That boy knew no fear. He would go anywhere and do anything. As long as it could be said to be a bleedin’ laugh. And he was like a monkey in the riggin’. Lad like that is not goin’ to fall overboard on a dead calm night, with no cunt to see him going. No scream, no crying out. It don’t add up.”
“But he did go overboard.”
“Some say in a sack.”
“Who?”
“You’re in the wrong part of the ship for that question.”
Harry realized that he’d been sidetracked. Sad as the death of the ship’s boy was, his reasons for being here were more pressing.
“I return to the question. If I can find no other way to clear my brother, can I count on you, whoever you are?”
It was chilling, the way no one but the speaker responded.
“One thing at a time, Mr Ludlow. You can’t expect people who you have come on sudden with a gun in your hand to leap into somethin’ without considerin’ it. But I say you can come back an’ ask.”
“Enjoy your game, gentlemen.” Much as Harry would have liked to stay and try and persuade whoever it was to reveal publicly what he had seen, it was better to leave the man who had spoken to use his influence. That he intended to seemed plain from what he had said. No good would be served by Harry trying to aid his efforts. He backed out of the manger, still careful not to disturb the animals. Once out on the gundeck again, he tucked the pistol in his belt, picked up his lantern, and headed for the nearest companionway.
Down on the orlop-deck he walked silently past the various screened-off quarters of the ship’s warrant officers. No one was about, and he made his way quickly aft, ignoring the carpenter’s walk, a narrow space on both sides of the ship for the carpenter to come at the hull, and a likely spot for nefarious activity. Below the waterline, damp air and the smell of the bilge water were very strong. He went right aft till he was under the gunroom.
He unshaded the lantern a fraction, just enough to remind him of his direction, for he had not been in this part of a 74-gun ship for years. He made his way along the walkway, until he was outside the bread-room. He stood at the door, in the dark, listening. The room was lined in tin to keep out the rats, and no sound came from within. But a sound came from behind him, and Harry quickly dropped to his knees.
There was a loud thud above his head, followed by a curse. Harry put his lantern on the deck and flicked the shutter fully open. The light revealed a man standing over him, club in hand, uncertain of which direction to aim it. Harry grabbed both the man’s ankles as he looked down at the light. He pulled hard. On the damp walkway the feet came easily, and his assailant crashed to the ground.
The bread-room door flew open, knocking Harry over on to his adversary. He rolled on, pulling his pistol from his belt as he did so. There was enough light from his lantern to see several figures crowded in the doorway. The light was on the wrong side of the door, leaving them in shadow. Harry slid forward and pressed his pistol into the neck of the man struggling to rise from the deck.
