The Torrid Zone (The Fighting Sail Series) (15 page)

“What do you think they will make of the governor's death in England?” King asked, changing the subject and surprising the sailing master yet again. The older man said nothing for a moment; it was a subject that had hardly been discussed, although every officer, and even some of the men, must have considered it at length.

“I should say that is not for the likes of you or me to speculate upon,” he replied eventually, turning his head, and regarding King for a moment.

“But will the captain be blamed?” the lieutenant continued, unabashed, and completely forgetting the late governor's staff that were standing close by.

“Maybe he will, and maybe he won't,” Fraiser told him evenly. “We cannot predict the ways of man, and neither should we judge them.”

“But he did nothing wrong, they must see that,” King said. Then, catching a look of reproach, continued in little more than a whisper: “Punishing a man for doing his duty is surely unjust.”

“Unjust, you say?” The Scotsman rolled his eyes. “And there is no doubt in your mind as to that?”

King shrugged. “As far as we know, we are still at war with France. Sir Richard did not actively seek a confrontation with a superior force, but when one presented, neither did he turn away. Had he done so then yes, that would have been neglecting his duty. As it was...”

“Your loyalty does you credit, laddie,” the older man conceded. “But I repeat, it is not down to the likes of us. We just have to rely upon the Lord's mercy, and the equity of our betters.”

“Well I know which my money is on,” King replied bitterly.

* * *

B
ut for Banks it was not quite so straightforward. As
Scylla
rounded Munden's Point and stood in towards St Helena's main anchorage his mind sifted through the myriad responses he could use to match whatever reception he might face. They had made the private signal to the station on Sugar Loaf Point some while back and received no indication or communication from the shore since, other than a request to anchor. Now, as the sub-equatorial sun prepared to make its late afternoon plunge towards the horizon, he stood firm in immaculate full dress uniform, wearing an expression of confident anticipation that fooled every person aboard the frigate, except one.

Sarah was watching him surreptitiously as they waited by the entry port and, feeling her eyes upon him, he turned to her. “You are quite certain you feel well enough?” he asked softly.

“I was never better, thank you, Richard,” she replied, while subtly reaching across and gently squeezing his hand. They had discussed the visit in low tones for most of the morning while
Scylla
crept up to the island. Both were well aware that the government on St Helena may well censure the captain and, even if they did not, Lady Hatcher was quite capable of causing a scene on her own account. In either case it would do no good for them to show signs of weakness and, despite the internal misgivings she currently felt, Sarah was determined not to let her husband down.

In fact Lady Hatcher was standing close by and clad in stiff finery; the tailored and formal gown, with just enough black for decency, made her appear very much the governor's widow, and was in distinct contrast to the less modest attire she had commonly worn during the latter days aboard
Scylla
. Neither of them knew exactly what was in the woman's mind but Sarah, for one, feared the worst, and had also rehearsed likely outcomes. Sir Richard Banks might be a senior post captain; skilled in seamanship and fighting tactics, as well as a proven leader of men, but no husband is the complete hero to his wife and Sarah held few illusions about his diplomatic skills. What was correct and proper on a quarterdeck rarely met the needs of council chambers or politic discussion. She knew from experience how he could hesitate and struggle all too easily if under pressure, whereas the governor's widow was exceptionally eloquent when the need arose. As far as Sarah was concerned, Richard would have been safer accompanying a female lion ashore than Lady Hatcher.

Scylla
continued to inch closer until a muttered command from Caulfield at the binnacle set off a series of actions; the mizzen topsail was backed, slowing her progress further and a crack from forward was followed by a loud splash as the best bower plunged to the sea bed, twelve fathoms below. The ship continued forward for a spell until an unseen hand checked her, and a second anchor was released. The sails were whipped up to the yards as if controlled by some hidden and high-speed mechanism, and she came to rest.

Within minutes the gig was skimming across a sea made artificially calm by the frigate's sheltering bulk, with Jackson at the tiller and the captain's coxswain already standing to receive a line from the nearby wharf.

It was, indeed, a new construction, and well made from hefty slabs of deep brown timber that looked likely to last out the rest of the new century. Banks helped Sarah up the short steps and in no time the party was assembled on the smart wooden walkway. Ahead stood a delegation of officials, one wearing a golden chain and an especially elaborate hat that he appeared uncertain of in the light wind. Most wore East India Company uniforms and there was a group of highly polished soldiers standing rigidly behind, while what must have been an entire company of troops could just be seen formed up on the parade ground beyond. Banks even thought he caught the glint of brass instruments and swallowed nervously; this was clearly intended to be a glorious occasion; one that all attending had been looking forward to since the last governor departed. And now it was about to fall embarrassingly flat.

He set off, conscious of his wife by his side, as well as Lady Hatcher, who was following close behind and constantly whispering to her maid. The official in the large hat stepped forward and seemed to be examining them as they grew closer; his smile froze as he searched their faces for one that was not there, and Banks had to resist the temptation to increase his step. Then they were almost face to face, the small guard of honour was ordered to present arms, and all uniformed officers saluted. Banks responded crisply, before proffering the same hand to what appeared to be the senior man, and introducing himself.

The official accepted the handshake and muttered something in reply that Banks did not catch, then cleared his throat and spoke in a firmer voice.

“Governor Hatcher is not with you, Sir Richard?” The man blinked. “Perhaps he is unwell?”

“My husband is dead,” Lady Hatcher announced in a cold and distinct tone that was designed to carry. “Sir Richard all but killed him.”

* * *

“T
here will be shore leave, sure as a gun,” Flint told them as they leaned over the bulwark. “Mind, not that there's much to do when you get there,” he continued.

“What no pot houses?” Mitchell asked, sourly.

“Oh yes, by the score, only the military calls them different.” Flint replied. “They ply a decent trade; even brew their own beer. But that's about it.”

“That's enough,” Hind assured everyone. “All I ask is my stingo and a willin' woman, nothing else is required.”

Flint gave a brief laugh. “Well, that's not what you'll get, matey.”

“No doxies?” They all seemed incensed. “That ain't natural.”

“It is on St Helena. This is a John Company island, and the Honourable East India Company don't provide such things for your foremast jack; least not outside the shipping season.”

“But what about all them lobsters?” Mitchell asked.

“I'm not saying there's none,” Flint relented slightly. “But not what you're used to, or expecting. Rumour has it the army is catered for privately, but you won't get a lot of co-operation from that quarter. There was a fine pushing school south of Jamestown that dealt with jacks last time I was here, but they closed it down as soon as the Indiamen left.”

“Where there is a need, someone will supply it,” Dixon said with the air of one who knows. “Throw out a fish, and the cats will always gather.”

“That is assuming there are cats about,” Flint persisted. “We're a long way from anywhere, remember. Woman lets out her front room and the Company don't approve, there ain't no fine – she's simply shipped off to the Cape, never to be seen again.”

“Well that's no good to us,” Mitchell groaned. “What's the point of takin' a cruise if there ain’t no one to dock with?”

“But hold fast; there is a good side.” Flint added, cheering slightly.

They waited.

“St Helena has the fewest cases of clap in the southern hemisphere.”

* * *

K
ate was alone: all the women had departed. Lady Hatcher with her maid, while Sarah accompanied the captain. She was probably being bored rigid right now by a tour of a barracks or some other such local delight. Robert had also gone; he used the excuse of having to present their medical certificates to accompany the shore party, along with Tom King, the couple's closest friend. Quite what the two of them might get up to if left together Kate did not care to guess but she carried few illusions about seamen of any rank, and did not expect either man to return for some while, or completely sober.

She sat in the empty sickbay, annoying her needlepoint that never seemed to grow in proportion to the effort invested. The ship was all but silent; every one of the governor's staff had departed, and those of
Scylla
's people that remained were principally on the upper deck and would doubtless be exulting over the sights of what appeared to be a very dull and uninspiring island.

Or maybe it was her? She had never been what the lower deck might refer to as a jolly dog and, since the loss of her child, had rather taken shelter behind a barrier of quiet and private contemplation: that and her dedication to work, which was boarding on the obsessive. She knew that such behaviour was hardly beneficial to Robert who, to some extent at least, had lost a child as well, but could do little to change it. On several occasions he had attempted to bring her old self out, and she responded in kind, trying hard to regain her previous subtle, if often mildly sardonic sense of humour, along with a slightly less disconsolate countenance. But every effort failed miserably, and left him just as confused and isolated as before, and her every bit as depressed.

The pain was simply too great. No matter how she dressed it up: explained to herself and others who would listen that it was the chance every expectant mother took. That nothing good came from little effort, and several attempts might be needed if they were to achieve the family they both wanted. But no matter what ruse or trick she pulled to forget the past, the fact of her loss was always there: always waiting for her to return and provide the attention it demanded. On rare occasions she had even spoken of this to Robert, and he had been as supportive and understanding as ever. There might be no medical cure for her ailment, but he was perceptive enough to recognise it as such. And patient, always so damnably patient. Sometimes Kate even wondered if it was this very tolerance that was feeding the condition; perhaps if he had behaved like most husbands; taken a stronger stance: demanded that she brought herself back to the real world, and start behaving like the wife he had every right to expect, perhaps then it might do the trick. That was not his way however, and Kate accepted that for Robert to change his personality would be every bit as difficult as she was finding changing hers.

And then, just as things were starting to improve, the captain's wife became pregnant. Of course that could not, in any way, be construed as bad news; Sarah was probably her closest female friend, and she was sincerely happy for her, if cautiously so. But Sarah was a different person and Kate already sensed would have a perfectly splendid pregnancy. Even now the initial sickness she had personally experienced throughout her term was starting to wear off, and the woman was positively glowing with wellbeing. There was not the smallest portion of Kate that wanted anything else, and nothing in her power that she would not give, or do, to ensure the couple were shortly blessed with a happy, healthy child. But still the inequity of it all could not be ignored, and she knew herself to be sinking ever deeper into the pit that had been both her refuge and prison for far too long.

The sound of approaching footsteps made her look up from her work. It was a heavy-booted tread and marked the wearer out as both adult and an officer. There was no shortage of either aboard
Scylla
, despite the absence of the shore party, but still some sixth sense made her wait, expectantly, as the sound grew nearer, and she was not in the least surprised when it stopped outside, and was replaced by a gentle knock. The door opened, admitting the sailing master. Kate was mildly intrigued; she knew Adam Fraiser well, and respected him greatly, but he was not by nature a social person and his healthy diet made him a rare caller.

“Mr Fraiser, so good to see you; come in, do,” she said, rising, and dropping her needlepoint to one side. “I'm afraid Robert is off ship at present; I could take a message for his return if you wish.”

The older man's face relaxed into the close approximation of a smile. “Thank you, my dear, but I wanted only to ask a favour of you.”

“Of me?” This was indeed unusual.

“Or to be more accurate, your department,” Fraiser clarified. “I require pure water; some will be available ashore, no doubt, but I recalled that you have access to a supply of distilled from the galley range.”

“Why yes. The cook delivers a pint or so every day from his still. How much do you require?”

“Half of that will suit me admirably.” he replied, as she went to one of the cupboards and removed a restraining bar that kept the larger jars in place. “It is for my Leige Barometer; it is a bit of an affectation I know but I value the accuracy and in truth the device uses remarkably little liquid, though it must always be of the very purest.”

“Well, we have far more than is needed,” Kate told him, fetching a flask that she proceeded to fill. “But we don't dissuade the cook in case he takes offence. Indeed Mr Grimley is not one of life's most cheerful creatures,” she continued, reaching inside a drawer for a suitable stopper.