The Gathering Storm (26 page)

At the hotel Rennie wrote a letter to his wife Sylvia – who
had gone home to Norfolk with the proviso that she would
return at once to Portsmouth should Rennie wish it – saying
that he would come to Middingham as soon as he was able.
He gave a shilling to a boy to take it to the evening mail
coach, and then joined his lieutenant, who was preparing to
take that same coach to London.

'You go up at once, James? Tonight?'

'I think I must see Mr Mappin without delay, sir. First
thing tomorrow.'

'You have secured a seat in the coach?'

'Here is the porter, now.' He took the paper ticket, and
gave the man a coin.

Rennie nodded, sniffed, and: 'Yes. Yes. I think I had better
come with you. That will be best. Waiting here to see Happy
Hapgood ain't a good scheme. He will do nothing but
admonish and complain, and blame – when he has no comprehension
of anything.'

'You go to the Admiralty ... ?'

'We will make our duty to Mappin together, and give our
report direct to him.'

'
Our
report, sir? Surely—'

'Our report, James.' Firmly. 'About this damned nearly
impossible task we was given. And then I have a great number
of questions I wish to put to Mr Mappin. He has not told
me the truth, nor even half of it, and I mean to know the
reason.'

'Sir, I do not wish to tell you your duty, but now that we
are ashore in England mine is to the Secret Service Fund,
while yours is surely to Their Lordships – ain't it?'

'Mappin is the man behind the commission. He has
arranged it all. We will go to him together. You there!'

'Sir?' The porter, returning.

'Here is a guinea. Go to the George Hotel, and get me a
seat in the mail coach.'

'Tonight, sir? I don't know as I can, sir. The coach is nearly
always—'

'I will add another guinea when you bring me the ticket.
Go on up to the George. Jump, man, jump!'

At precisely six o'clock the two sea officers, one in civilian
clothes, the other in his dress coat, stepped up into the
London coach outside the George Hotel in the High, and
settled in their seats. The cries of ostlers clearing the way.
Coaching horns. The horses took the strain under the whip,
turning and clopping on the dusty cobbles, and the coach
swung north along the street, swaying on its springs.

*

James came awake, and saw through the open window a wide
green space, and the sky. At the horizon the sky was a dull
pale pink, merging into pale yellow, merging into pale pure
blue above, against which a stand of trees spread delicate
and intricate, in a host of subdued greens, gently shimmering
in the early light. This early moment of the day, mute except
for the soft twittering of birds, was the only true moment
of peace in life, he mused. Soon the activity of man would
break in and over it, and quiet tranquil glory would vanish.
Man must always disturb and destroy such halcyon moments;
by his nature he was both urgent and clumsy, however
particular or fine-honed his purpose.

James turned his shoulder toward the window a little
further, and attempted to sit up. At once he was assailed by
dizziness, and fell back on the pillow. He attempted to suck
in a lungful of pure air, and was reduced to panting for
breath. His head ached, he felt suddenly cold, he found that
he was trembling.

'Good heaven, I am fevered ...'

Again he attempted to sit up, clutched at the window sill,
and succeeded in lifting himself into a leaning position against
the wall by the window, the bedcovers falling from him.

'Whhhh ... I am cold ... whhhh ...' Shivering violently.
He clutched at the covers, and pulled them up round one
shoulder. He looked out of the window.

'What is this place?'

Beyond the trees now, the crowing of a cock. Answered a
moment after by another, at a distance. Soon the cocks were
in echoing conversation, each celebrating the other in the
dawn.

'Where the devil am I ... ?'

The lowing of cattle away to the left of the trees, and the
flat clanking of cowbells, then the call of a cowherd, urging
them on.

A footfall outside the room, and the clatter of the latch.

'James?'

'I am here ... wherever that is ...'

'Y'don't recall? Coach threw a wheel, and we was put up
at this farmhouse.'

Rennie came in and stood at the window. He was already
shaved and dressed, carrying his hat. Peering out:

'Pretty enough country, but we must be on our way out
of it in five and twenty minutes. Show a leg, James, hey?'

'I am not quite myself, I think ...' Passing a hand over
his forehead. It was damp and cold with sweat.

'Eh?' Turning from the window.

'I think perhaps I have a touch of fever ...'

'Nonsense, it's the cider we drank last night. A glass too
many. Two glasses. I felt the same until I swallowed a quart
of tea, and now—'

'I tell you, I am fevered! I am shivering cold, and yet my
head is on fire inside.'

Rennie looked closely at his friend, saw the sheen of moisture
on his face and neck, and the dazzled look in his eye,
saw the trembling of his limbs, and was dismayed. He betrayed
nothing of this, and instead:

'We'll get you to London, and you will feel better. The
coach—'

'London! I cannot go there. I cannot go anywhere.
Whhh ... so damned cold. What o'clock is it?'

He slipped, his back to the wall, struggled a moment –
and fell face down in the bed.

'James ... ?'

Rennie came to the bed, reached out a hand, then
withdrew it. To himself: 'Nay, I had better not touch him.'
And aloud:

'I'll just call down for hot water, and so forth.' Moving to
the door.

James rolled over in the bed in a heavy flailing heave,
half sat up and fell back. And now he was trembling uncontrollably.

'Whhh-hhh-hhh ... I heard shots! We must go ... go into
the tunnel – whhh-hhh ...'

Rennie left the bedroom and clumped down the narrow
stair. He found his way to the farmhouse kitchen, where the
farmer's wife was preparing breakfast.

'Is there a doctor hereabouts? A local man?'

'A doctor, sir?' Breaking eggs into a bowl. 'Are you poorly?'

'Nay, I am not. Your teapot revived me. But my lieutenant
is ... he is a little unwell today.'

The woman frowned, concerned. She wiped her hands on
her apron, and:

'There is Dr Denfield at Headley Down, but that is near
five mile ...'

'Five mile? Well well, I wonder if your husband could lend
me a horse?'

'I'm sure he will.' Nodding. 'I will just arst him.' Coming
round the table. 'He is in the yard.'

Rennie did not ride to Headley Down. A boy was sent,
and an hour later returned to say that Dr Denfield would
come as soon as he was able, he was attending a confinement.
The coach, wheel repaired, had left half an hour ago,
and Rennie – reluctantly, anxiously, fretfully – had remained
at the farm.

'I should have gone on to London, but I could not leave
the poor fellow lying here so ill with no friends.' As he waited
for the doctor in the farmhouse parlour. 'Dr Denfield is a
good man – is he?' Anxiously. 'A reliable man?'

'Oh, yes. We have known him near twenty year. He will
always attend prompt, if he can.'

'Yes? Very good, very good. Hm.' Nodding, twisting to
peer through the window.

'Will you like to eat a breakfast now, sir?'

'Eh? No no, thankee, madam. I am not hungry.'

'I has plenty of eggs left, look.' Kindly.

'No doubt you are fatigued from cooking for so many this
morning, and so early.'

'Lord, sir, I am used to cooking early. A farm rises with
the sun.'

'As does a ship, indeed. I will just climb the stairs again,
and look in on my friend.'

'Are you sure I cannot aid him in any way? I will gladly—'

'It will be better if he is not disturbed.' Rennie, rather
more sternly than he had meant, and he saw the look of
doubt in the woman's eyes. He had told her that James was
suffering from colic, but now he saw that she did not quite
believe that any more.

'Very well, sir. I shall not interfere.' Politely.

'You are very good, very kind.' Rennie smiled at her, and
went up the stairs.

James lay on his back on the bed, the covers thrown off
on the floor. He was unconscious, and his breathing was
rapid and shallow. Sweat dripped from his forehead on the
pillow, and sweat had soaked through the bedding. His whole
body trembled and shuddered.

Rennie bent to pick up the fallen covers, then held back.
They were now contaminated. He glanced round, saw a
cupboard, and found blankets. He heaped blankets over his
shivering friend. James did not wake, and the shivering did
not diminish.

Rennie stood anxious at the window, breathing the fresh
air. Presently he heard the sound of hooves and wheels
approaching, and he clumped rapidly down the stairs. He met
the doctor coming up. A cramped mutual introduction on the
narrow staircase, and Rennie took Dr Denfield up. He hovered
in the doorway as the doctor examined the patient. Presently:

'Well, Doctor? Is it typhus?'

Without looking at Rennie: 'No, Captain Rennie.'

'It ain't ... ?'

'No, it is a returning bout of a tropick fever, I think. Your
friend has been in the tropicks recent?'

'We have served together in tropick climates, but not
recent. The fever he suffered was yellowjack, at the West
Indies.'

'Yes?' A brief glance at Rennie. 'I cannot agree with you.
He suffered a bout of malaria, and took it for something
else. Had he suffered from yellowjack he would not be lying
here. He would be dead.'

'Could he die of this – now?'

'He could, but I don't think it likely. Has he been under
a very great strain of late? An arduous voyage?'

'Very arduous.'

'That is the reason. We need seek no further explication.
Malaria is a returning disease, very capricious and vengeful,
that may strike at any time, but in particular when the patient
has been under strain. He must be kept quiet, fed very light,
and then only fluids. Plenty of fluids.'

'Is he – a danger to others?'

'It will be as well to keep him separate. As a precaution,
you apprehend me? I will say so to Mrs Temple, and to her
husband in his field, as I depart. They must be told it is
fever, but I will reassure them it ain't typhus. Typhus we
do
fear, rightly so.'

'His son died of it.' Quietly.

'The patient's son?'

'Aye.'

'When?'

'Some little time since.'

'I see. Yes, I see. That is why you asked me if ...' Nodding
briskly. 'This ain't typhus, thank God.'

'You are certain, Doctor?'

'Quite certain.' Another nod, and a quick little confident
grimace. He rose from the chair he had pulled beside the
bed, and came downstairs with Rennie. He spoke to Mrs
Temple about the patient, reassured her, and explained the
necessary requirements of diet and rest. He gave her a flask
of physic. To Rennie:

'I will call again on the morrow, Captain Rennie. You will
in course stay here at the farm?'

'In truth I ought make my way to London. I go there on
very urgent business. I should like to summon his wife from
Dorset to nurse him, you know, but she has been very ill
herself.'

'Cannot your business in London wait a few days? You
were travelling there together, were not you?'

'We were.'

'Listen now, it will aid him in recovery to see a familiar
face when he wakes.'

'I expect you are right, Doctor, yes. The business in
London must wait a day or two. In truth it cannot make any
great difference now, in any case.' This last half to himself,
with a sigh.

The doctor glanced at him curiously as he went out of
the door into the yard, but said nothing. He climbed into
his gig and was away. Only when the doctor was out of sight
beyond the trees did Rennie recall that he had not offered
payment.

'I am filled with embarrassment, Mrs Temple.' To the
farmer's wife. 'What must the fellow think of me, that I did
not offer to settle his fee?'

'But did he arst you for it, sir? Dr Denfield will
never arst for payment until he is satisfied with his patient,
look.'

'Ah.' A little rictus. 'Ah.' A breath. 'I am greatly obliged
to you, madam, for allowing us to impose on your goodwill
a day or two longer. Until my friend is able to get up on his
legs.'

And he settled that obligation by placing a guinea on the
sideboard, so that there should be no embarrassment as to
board and lodging.

Rennie lay in his little bedroom under the eaves, and was
restless. He had looked in again on James after supper, and
found him sleeping peacefully. The tremors and sweating
had gone, and he had felt easier about his friend. Rennie's
own headaches, that had recently plagued him, had receded
now, and his head was clearer – but that only added to his
wakefulness and unquiet contemplation.

The commission had been a hopeless failure in all
distinctions. His ship was so badly damaged that she would
probably have to be sold out of the service, or broken up.
He had lost more than half of his people and his officers.
To what purpose?

'Young Souter, that I never liked, poor fellow. And cheerful,
steadfast Tom Makepeace, that I have known since
Expedient
was first commissioned. What am I to say to his widow? I
should have wrote to her as soon as we made landfall, and
have not. So many letters I have neglected, in my rush to
get to London. What for, in God's name? What am I to say
to Their Lordships? I do not care anything about Mappin,
in the end, the fellow. His whole purpose is to conceal, and
obfuscate, and omit. But what am I to say to Their Lordships,
who wrote my warrant? I have lost the most valuable passengers
that was ever in a British ship of war. They will wish
to lay the blame for what has happened ... and their eyes
will fall on me. I
will
be blamed.'