The Gathering Storm (10 page)

'Coxswain!' James turned to the man at the tiller, and saw
that there was no one there. All thought of disguise and
subterfuge left him now, he stood up, grabbed the tiller,
and attempted to pull it sharply over. The timber swung
useless in his hand. The rudder had been snapped off.

'You there, larboard number one, pass me your oar!
Cheerly, now!'

Astonished, the seaman obeyed, so clearly was that
command given in the voice of a sea officer, RN.

James grabbed the oar, moved to where the coxswain had
been sitting, and lifted the oar out and down in the water,
to act as a makeshift rudder. The boat began to swing back.

'The coxswain has gone overboard!' Careful not to raise
his voice too loud, but making it as hard and authoritative
as he was able, and as expressions of fear and concern came
from a dozen throats: 'We will go about and search for
him. Starboard bank, give way together!' And he stood at
the makeshift helm, gripping the oar and angling it over
to make the boat turn.

Not one of the seamen questioned his right to give orders.
They obeyed him without hesitation. The boat came about,
but in spite of repeated calls in the rinsing, washing dark,
they found nothing. James ordered the boat about again,
angled the makeshift helm, and the boat's crew obeyed. Again
they found nothing, and by now it was clear to James – to
them all – that the coxswain was drowned. Mr Leigh regained
consciousness. He groaned, coughed, and was helped to sit
upon a thwart by two seamen as James ordered:

'Lay on your oars.'

Mr Leigh was not yet quite himself. He stared about him.

'What has – happened? Where is this place? Are we at
sea?'

'You was knocked senseless, sir, when the boat struck a
reef.' One of the seamen.

'Are we sinking?'

'No, sir. We are safe. The other gen'man has took
command.'

'What?' Swivelling blearily. 'Command?'

'The rudder was broke, sir, and the other—'

'But – I am in command.'

James, clearly and firmly: 'You are injured, Mr Leigh. I
will guide us in.'

'But –
you
cannot command a boat's crew, Mr Tennelier.
You are a landlubber.' Rising clumsily and stumbling aft.
The boat heeled sharply.

'Sit down, Mr Leigh, and be quiet now, will you? I will
guide us in, never fear.'

The authority in that voice was unmistakable, even to the
stunned and confused lieutenant, and he did as he was told
and resumed his seat. The boat righted itself. James gripped
the steering oar and:

'Give way together. Cheerly now, lads, while the tide is
with us.'

And half a glass after, without further upset, the boat came
gliding in on the little sandy beach of the inlet, the great
granite headland of Malaise towering black above.

'Oars.'

The oars inboard. A moment, then a sliding crunch.

Men leapt out and held the boat firm as James clambered
forrard to the bow. He jumped on to the glistening sand as
a wave washed over his shoes. Striding up the slope he turned
and in a low, carrying tone:

'Many thanks, lads. We have lost a man, but have come
in safe, and you have done your duty. Shove off now, right
quick, and get Mr Leigh back to the ship. I must make my
way alone from here.'

'But – how will we navigate through all them rocks, sir?'
One of the crew, anxiously.

'You must do your best. Row and steer very careful, a man
in the bow with the lead. Beyond that I cannot aid you.
Good luck to you all.'

'Good luck, sir.' Very subdued.

'Aye, good luck, sir.'

A few moments more and the boat was gone, and James
heard the anxious command:

'Give way together, lads.'

The slow, rhythmic splashing of oars as the boat's crew
pulled away into deeper water. James could only trust that
whoever had taken charge of the boat was capable of steering
with an oar. He sighed, turned up the sandy beach, and walked
steadily to the rocks beneath the cliff. He smelled wild gorse,
the scent drifting on the night air. Now he stood waiting, as
Mr Mappin had instructed. Was he too late? Had the moment
of rendezvous been kept for the preceding three nights, and
now been abandoned altogether? He waited a whole glass,
and began to fret.

In darkness he could not hope to find a way up the cliff,
nor could he make his way north or south along the shore.
On either side beyond the inlet were steep, unforgiving
outcrops of rock, rinsed and sucked at by the surging sea.
He could see nothing, and hear nothing but the wash of
waves.

'Damnation ...' Muttered.

As if in answer a pittering of rocks from far above. A dull
crack as a stone fell nearby. Presently, faintly at first, the
scuffing and scraping of shoes on the rocks above. Coming
nearer and nearer, descending. A pause, then a voice in
French: 'Are you the silk merchant?'

'Erm ... deus—'

Over him: '
Comment!
' The voice low and urgent.

James thought quickly, decided to take a chance, and: '
Oui,
oui. Je suis le commerçant
.'

'Avancez-vous, monsieur.'

James went toward the voice, on the opposite side of the
inlet, and was immediately seized from behind, and a blindfolding
hood pulled down over his head. Strong arms on
both sides lifted him bodily over the rocks, and forced him
to his knees in a patch of shingle. The smell of wild flowers,
and seaweed. Hard pebbles pressing through his breeches.
He shut his eyes in mortal fear, expecting at any moment to
hear the click of a cocked pistol, and to feel the muzzle at
his head. Instead a second voice said in educated French:

'Tie his arms and pin them behind him, then lift him to
his feet.' A brief pause, then close to James's ear: 'Do not
attempt to struggle, monsieur, if you please. You are quite
safe – if you do not resist.'

James felt his arms gripped again, and soon his wrists were
bound tight behind him with strong twine, and he was lifted
again to his feet. The voice again, close:

'Will you give me your word that you will not attempt to
escape?'

'I can hardly escape, monsieur, when I am blindfolded and
bound, on a strange coast.' James, politely enough, but with
a hint of acerbity.

'Answer, if you please. Will you give me your word?'

'
Oui, oui, d'accord
.' Impatiently.

'Very good, thank you. If you had not I would certainly
have shot you.' A rattle of stones as the man stepped away.
'Take him up.'

James felt a nudge to his spine, and began to walk forward
and up a steep path, his breath huffing strained and harsh
inside the confining hood, and his arms growing numb behind
him.

'
Dépêchez-vous!
' Another nudge. James quickened his pace,
stumbled, and climbed on.

*

The boat returned to the ship after a long delay, occasioned
by the extreme caution of Mr Leigh, who had recovered his
full senses not long after the boat left the shore, and had
resumed command. The faint smudge of a June dawn was
in the sky to the east by the time the boat bumped against
Expedient
's side and was tied to a stunsail boom. Mr Leigh
reported to Captain Rennie, who had gone below to his bed,
leaving Lieutenant Makepeace to keep the deck, with instructions
to wake him the moment the boat arrived.

'What? My coxswain is drowned?' Rennie was appalled.
He dashed water in his face from the jug brought to him by
Colley Cutton. 'How came he to drown, Mr Leigh, good
God?'

'We – we struck a reef, or in least fell on some rocks,
and lost our rudder. The coxswain fell overboard, as I
understand it.'

'As you understand? Was not you conning the boat,
Mr Leigh?' Lifting his dripping face to stare at his lieutenant,
as the steward slipped discreetly out of the door
behind.

'I was knocked senseless by the accident to the boat, sir.
I did not see what happened to him.'

'But how could this accident occur, when ye had all the
particulars of the channel in your head?'

'The tidal current was very swift, sir, and it was near pitch
black, no moon—'

'Did you look for the poor wretch? Did you heave to and
search?'

'We did, sir – as I understand.'

'And found nothing?'

'No, sir. Mr Tonnelier had assumed command, and he
ordered the search—'

'Mr Tonnelier assumed command?' Then he remembered
to add: 'A landlubber?'

'Yes, sir. He did. When I began to regain my senses I
heard him give a series of commands.'

Captain Rennie dried off his face, stared away a moment,
and: 'Well well, I think you must have imagined that, you
know. You had struck your head, and was confused. What
you heard was in course one of the boat's crew taking
command, an experienced man that—'

'No, sir, no.' Earnestly. 'If you wish, any of the boat's crew
will confirm it, sir. Mr Tonnelier took command, and used
an oar to steer the boat. I would swear on my oath ...'

'Swear what, Mr Leigh?' Looking at him.

'That Mr Tonnelier ... is or was a sea officer, sir, RN. He
even ordered me to sit down.'

'Yes yes. Well well.' Draping his towel at his neck.
'Everything and everybody was in a state of confusion in the
boat, Mr Leigh, and no doubt Mr Tonnelier, as a man of
substance, has wide knowledge of how to govern men, and
merely wished to – to protect his life, and yours, indeed, in
an emergency. We must be grateful that by a happy chance
he was able to do so. Hey?'

'Aye, sir. If you say so.' Unconvinced. 'But I still think—'

Over him: 'At any rate, he was got ashore, and that was
our purpose and design. It is a very great pity about the
coxswain, but there it is, and nothing to be done. Thank
you, Mr Leigh. Y'may retire, and I will send Dr Wing to
examine you presently.' A nod of dismissal. 'Cutton!'

*

'Good morning, Mr Mappin.'

'Prime Minister.' A bow.

'Sit down, will you?' Indicating a chair. 'A glass of something?'

'No, thank you, sir.' Sitting down, flipping the tails of his
coat on either side neatly.

'No?' Mr Pitt poured wine for himself.

'It is a little early for me, thank you, sir.'

'Ah.' The Prime Minister lifted his glass, and sucked down
half of the wine. 'Now, Mr Mappin, your plan is how far
advanced?'

'Well, sir, that depends on which plan you mean. I am at
work on many and several at once.'

'The French plan.' Looking narrowly at Mr Mappin.

'The frigate plan, sir?'

'Exactly so, Mr Mappin.' Sucking down the remainder of
his wine, and refilling his glass. 'How do we progress?'

'He has got ashore into France. To date, to this hour, we
have heard nothing more.'

'The frigate has returned to England?'

'No, Prime Minister.'

'An attending cutter, then?'

'There is no cutter with her, sir. The frigate—'

'Then how d'y'know for certain your man is in France?
What is his name? Lieutenant ... ?'

'Hayter, sir. He has gone into France under the name
Tonnelier, a silk merchant.'

'Yes, yes, I mind that name. I repeat: how d'y'know he's
there, if your ship ain't here?'

'I have received a communication from another source, sir.'

'Do not be obtuse, Mr Mappin, now. Who told you what,
how, and when? Hey? I am pressed in many distinctions, and
I will like to hear you in plain English.' Another pull of wine,
and he drew toward him on the desk a sheaf of documents
tied with a ribbon. 'D'y'see these, Mr Mappin? I must go to
Windsor, directly, and seek His Majesty's signature. They are ...
well, never mind what they are, exact. They concern debt, Mr
Mappin. Debt. If I am able to persuade His Majesty to take
up his pen I shall be grateful. He frets about America still,
when matters at home are what concern me. Important matters
elsewhere – in France, as an instance – cannot occupy me
paramount. But when I do think of them, and ask for enlightenment,
I expect to get it, Mr Mappin, I expect to get it.'

'Yes, sir, forgive me.' A tight half-smile. 'The communication
was by word of mouth, from a young lady that returned from
France yesternight, in the packet-boat. The message had
come to her by a horseman, at the port.'

'You trust her?'

'She is Lady Sybil Cranham, sir, daughter of the Marquess
of Chalke. She is a confidante of our principal friends there.'

'Then in course she is above suspicion. Where, in France?'

'He is to be taken to the Château de Châtaigne.'

'Where is that?' A slight shake of the head.

'It is near to the coast in the Pays de Léon, north-west of
Brest. Isolated, secure, hid away. Our friends believe it is the
ideal place.'

'Very well, thank you, Mr Mappin. I will not detain you
now. Send word to me, though, as soon as you hear anything
further. Will you? Your plan is important, and I do not wish
to neglect it.'

'I will, sir, certainly.' Rising.

'Good morning.'

'Good morning, Prime Minister.'

*

'Are we to return to England, sir?' Mr Souter, lying in his
cot in his cabin. His breath was foul, noticed Captain Rennie.

'Nay, Mr Souter. As you are aware, we are here to carry
out a duty of survey along the French coast, and we shall
do so, as ordered. Tomorrow we venture south.'

'We do not call at Brest?'

'We do not. How d'y'fare today, Mr Souter? Any better?'

'I – I endeavour to feel better, sir.'

'What ails you? What does Dr Wing say?'

Rennie knew what Dr Wing thought. Dr Wing had already
given his opinion in plain, forthright language, the day
previous. 'He is constipated. He don't believe it, and will
not swallow the purgative I have prescribed. Won't take his
ball pill.'

'You are certain it is simple costiveness?'

'I am.'

'What does
he
think it is?'