A Ship for The King (15 page)

‘May God have mercy upon him,' whispered Mistress Gooding.

‘Amen,' responded her brother.

Faulkner stood in silence, his head bowed. When he sighed and looked up his eyes met the candid regard of Julia Gooding. ‘Have you nothing to say, sir?' she asked.

He shook his head. ‘No, ma'am,' he answered quietly. ‘I have said all I have to say long since.'

The three of them stood for several moments contemplating the dead man, then Gooding volunteered to go and see about the laying-out. ‘Ensure Kit has some breakfast, Julia,' he added over his shoulder as he left the room. The matter-of-fact familiarity somehow broke down the remaining reserve between them all and Julia plucked delicately at Faulkner's arm, breaking his preoccupation.

‘Come away, sir,' she said, her voice suddenly gentle. Without a word Faulkner took up his hat and followed her out of the room. On the stairs he paused.

‘We ought not to leave him alone . . .'

‘There is no need to, sir. Molly is here.' And Faulkner drew aside as the weeping Molly passed him, oblivious in the intensity of her grief.

A week later Faulkner received a letter from Mainwaring in which Sir Henry apologized for failing to attend his partner and friend's funeral. Gooding being about his business in the counting-house, Faulkner was sitting alone in the room he and Gooding had lately shared. Nearby Julia was talking – or perhaps reading – to her mother. Faulkner paid them no attention; Mainwaring's letter was distraction enough.

Mainwaring's handwriting was eloquent of his haste and his exhaustion, and Faulkner crushed the letter after reading it. He was a damned fool for not making his intention in coming to Bristol clear to Sir Henry; now it had all become complicated by Strange's illness brought to its summary conclusion by his death. With a sigh he resumed reading the crumpled paper. Mainwaring was obscurely cryptic:

When he had finished he looked up and started. Julia had noiselessly entered the room, and he got to his feet, aware that he was in his stockings, having kicked off his shoes and yet to pull on his boots.

‘I am sorry if I startled you,' she said. ‘Have you more bad news?'

‘I am summoned to London.'

‘Oh!'

‘You will be rid of me.'

‘Perhaps I do not wish to be rid of you, Lieutenant Faulkner.'

‘Then your mother will be rid of me,' he said, smiling.

‘On this occasion, it is not my mother's wishes that I care for.' Her sincerity stopped him from beginning to gather his things together; they had dropped the formal pronoun in the house, but now its absence gathered significance. She was closing the door behind her and dropping her voice. ‘Shall you be gone long?' she asked.

‘I . . . I do not know.' He indicated the crumpled letter lying upon the bed.

‘I thought that you were intending to occupy your future business in Bristol,' she said, pressing him for an explanation.

‘Yes, that was my intention, but matters have overtaken me . . .'

‘What matters?'

‘Why, ma'am,' he explained, a hint of exasperation in his voice, ‘business of state.'

‘King's business?'

‘Mistress Gooding, I am at a loss to know . . .'

‘Is it to do with this war in France? Is that why you have been summoned by the King, your master?'

‘And yours, ma'am, or so I believe,' he responded quickly, not liking her tone of asperity.

‘I am a free thinker, Lieutenant Faulkner, and it disappoints me to learn that you are not.'

‘Perhaps I am, ma'am, but not one whose opinion finds favour in your eyes.' He was irritated by her manner – what impertinence!

‘But there is much about you that does find favour in my eyes, Lieutenant, and I would save you from your obedience to the King, by which means you may imperil your soul.'

He stopped what he was doing and stared at her. On the one hand her remark was exceedingly forward; on the other it was treasonous. It occurred to him that she was mad and something of this conclusion must have struck her. ‘Sir, you may think me bold, even disturbed, but if you are going away so soon it is necessary that I communicate my sentiments, since my family relies so heavily upon you. With Captain Strange dead and Captain Mainwaring of some years, it is likely to be you with whom my brother will be most associated. As for myself, I have no time for convention and am thought of as headstrong, opinionated, unwomanly even, but you have made an impression upon me and I entertained for a little while the hope that you might have some feelings for me—'

‘Mistress Julia, please I—' She waved aside his intervention.

‘I am sensible that this outburst is embarrassing to you. I have no means of altering your intentions, nor would I seek to do so. All I ask is that after you have gone you do not forget us here. Quite apart from your business, you may be in need of true friends one day and I wish to assure you that I shall not forget you.' She stopped and gave him a steady look. Then she turned on her heel and was gone. An hour later, when he sent word by Megan that his horse was to be readied at the King's Arms and went to pay his respects to the old lady, Julia was nowhere to be seen.

It was only that afternoon, when he was in the saddle and riding hard to the east, that he realized that he knew little of women; that almost his entire knowledge of them centred on a foolish incident aboard the
Prince Royal
years ago and that although Mainwaring had encouraged every aspect of his education, the matter of women had been ignored. Sir Henry, he knew, took his pleasure of a lady of easy virtue from time to time; Gideon Strange had his common-law Molly, Harry Brenton pretended a knowledge of whoring, though Faulkner had privately doubted his capacity to fornicate as royally as he claimed. Those others among his seafaring acquaintances – Quinn, old Whiting, Ned Slessor – had been either married or spoken for, so that the tales of louche living, of sodomy and fornicating, had been associated with the court which he, busy about his and Mainwaring's affairs, had found repugnant. In short, whatever the predilections of others, his own continence had been complete; he had fallen – or so he had thought until making up his mind to return to his old life sailing out of Bristol – head-over-heels in love with Katherine Villiers and kept himself clean for her in some odd, almost perverse belief that if he did so, she would fall like a ripe fruit into his waiting arms. Was that not love, the romantic fever of which he had heard in the cheap songs sung in taverns? Now he found himself all a-pother over this lunatic but handsome sister of his new business partner. As the horse moved beneath him he found himself excited by wayward thoughts. Great Harry! He had had her panting with lust for him in his very bedroom! Why had he not flung the impudent wench on her back and had his way of her there and then? He knew what was required, felt the means stirred in his loins and she had been like a bitch in heat! He had heard men speak of such importunity but never previously experienced it, and now, like some crass loon, he had passed up a golden opportunity.

Stopping the night at an inn near Chippenham, he was tempted to carry one of the serving girls off to bed; though he had the money, he had not the nerve. Instead he fell asleep, his head whirling. Waking in the dawn he felt his erection and pleasured himself back to sleep. Much later, riding east again, he was full of a sorry mixture of self-disgust and apprehension. His ignorance of women, exposed by recent events, confronted him and reinforced the feelings of failure and inadequacy that he had thought to have thrown off since his return from Spain. But the freedom of recent weeks had combined headily with his contact with Julia Gooding whose image remained strong in his mind's eye. Had she been full of lust for him? Or had she merely expressed a trenchant view with unbecoming, if intimate, forthrightness? Reflecting on their several meetings gave him no grounds for considering her aflame with passion for him in the manner he had conceived in his fantasy; on the contrary, what she had shown was a sober regard for him, an offer of friendship. But was not that in itself promising?

And thus, unthinking of what might be awaiting him in London, full of lusty turmoil, self-loathing and awakening possibility, he arrived in the City in the early afternoon and repaired directly to the Trinity House in Whitehorse Street, Stepney.

Five

The
King's Whelp

‘Kit! How very glad I am to see you. By God, your arrival is timely. You have left your horse in livery?'

‘I have, Sir Henry.'

‘Come, I have to attend the palace and you may accompany me thither, after which we shall dine, but on our way I can acquaint you of matters touching yourself.' Mainwaring took his arm and turned him about almost as soon as he had arrived at the Trinity House.

‘Sir Henry, I was engaged—'

‘I know. In Bristol with ideas of a future there and sorry for the wretched state of things with Gideon dead, but all that is past. Affairs of state occupy us, Kit. And opportunity awaits.'

Offering no further explanation Mainwaring clambered into a waiting hired carriage and motioned for him to follow. Faulkner sank into the rough cushions wearily. He was saddle-sore, tired and hungry. He wanted a glass of something strong, a hearty meal and a sleep.

‘I shall have to ask you to wait for me at Whitehall. I imagine that your arse is aching but there is much afoot,' Mainwaring said. The coach had moved off, an uncomfortable equipage, rolling like a ship at sea over the uneven road and frequently slowed as, with various imprecations and frequent cracks of his whip, the coachman forced its lumbering frame through the thronged streets. Faulkner had trouble keeping his seat and, despite his long journey, would have preferred to have ridden, even walked, rather than submit to this crazy mode of transport. Mainwaring pressed on and Faulkner was obliged to give Sir Henry his full attention. ‘The expedition to La Rochelle has gone from bad to worse, as you may have heard. Richelieu's forces have the upper hand, M'sieur Soubise is in trouble, as is My Lord Duke of Buckingham, he being likely to be impeached. The Commons are in unruly uproar and the King . . .' Mainwaring let the silent inference hang heavily in the gloom of the coach. Then he lowered his voice into a confidential whisper, leaning towards Faulkner's nearer ear. ‘The King is unreliable. Utterly. The conduct he manifested during his Spanish adventure was no aberration. All augurs ill and I am unhappy about what lies ahead.' Then he straightened up and resumed his conversational tone. ‘However, whatever one thinks of My Lord Duke, he made the funds available himself for the construction and commission of the ten small vessels lately completed, one of which is presently readied at Deptford, and tomorrow thither thou shalt go to take command of her.'

‘I, sir? I command a King's ship?'

‘You will sail with the King's commission, though the vessel of which you shall have charge is owned by My Lord Duke of Buckingham.'

‘A letter or marque? Or,' Faulkner said, greatly daring but with his mind racing, ‘am I to be a pirate?'

Mainwaring sat back with a chuckle. ‘No, sir, a privateer at worst, but your commission will be from the King and your crew paid according to the new naval regulations.'

‘I see.' Faulkner neither saw, nor understood. His mind was in turmoil as the unsprung coach lurched down Ludgate Hill leaving behind the vast bulk of St Paul's Cathedral, with its immense spire black against the sky. ‘I had hopes that in Bristol—'

‘Whatever plans you were cooking up, Kit, I must ask you to lay aside.' Mainwaring looked sideways at his young friend. ‘Is this entirely contrary to your liking? Gooding is a good man – no pun intended – and I think that we must trust him, at least for a while.'

‘Yes . . . yes, of course. I am sorry; my mind has been much diverted by the death of Captain Strange and consequent events.'

‘Is she lovely?' Mainwaring asked shrewdly.

Faulkner pulled himself together. The question was not serious; a joshing to jolt him out of his preoccupation. Sir Henry could have no idea about Julia Gooding's effect upon him. Nevertheless, he tested his patron. ‘Is who lovely?'

‘The woman you have obviously met in Bristol. I cannot think that you wish to suddenly become an owner of merchantmen, sitting in your counting-house all day, fossicking over your dusty ledgers. When a young man of your abilities even contemplates the possible attraction of such a thing there is usually a woman at the bottom of it.'

‘You are wide of the mark, Sir Henry, on both counts. If I went to Bristol with any prospect in mind it was not to turn owner, but to take command of the
Swallow
, or another of the ships in which I have shares, but I had not considered those better experienced that presently hold command, and though I might have found a ship of my own, your summons terminated my adventure.'

‘Well then, that is something in the favour of writing letters. And glad I am that mine was timely. Had there been a woman, it might have proved more difficult to persuade you to come.' Mainwaring slapped him affectionately on the thigh and lifted the window curtain with the handle of his cane. ‘Nearly there. By God this thing rattles like a tumbrel!'