The Gathering Storm (7 page)

Mappin regarded him, head a little on one side. At last:
'Very well. You are to remain here in London. Rooms have
been engaged for you at Clerkenwell. You are to have a
new name. Henry Tonnelier.'

'Tonnelier? A French name.'

'You are not French, yourself, but your family came to
England from France a century ago.'

'What is my profession? Shipping?'

'You are a silk merchant.'

'I know nothing of the silk trade, Mr Mappin.'

'Nor need you. You will not trade in silk. You will do
nothing at all.'

'Nothing? At Clerkenwell? How long must I endure this
condition of life, this nothinghood?'

'Until we call upon you. Then you will go into the ship.'

'Oh, yes, you said something about a ship. A merchant
vessel?'

'No.'

'Then – what? You cannot mean it is a naval ship ... ?'

'Yes.'

'Mr Mappin, ye've just took me out of the uniform of
a sea officer, RN, and now you propose to put me into
one of His Majesty's ships of war?'

'I do. That ship will take you to France.'

'When?'

'When your passage has been arranged. Quite soon, we
think.'

'And when I am in France, what then?'

'You will meet various persons, gain certain information,
and proceed to act upon it.'

A sigh. 'Christ's blood, Mr Mappin.' Looking at him not
so much in anger as in resigned exasperation. 'Talking to
you is like drawing teeth – no great pleasure for neither
party.'

'I assure you, Lieutenant – that is, Mr Tonnelier – when
the time comes I shall be right loquacious, and you will
become enlightened. For the moment it is well that you
know nothing, or next to it.' Reaching into his coat, and
producing a silk purse. 'Here is some money. You must
live quiet, but y'must live well.' He handed the purse to
James, who felt the heavy weight of coins.

'A fitting purse for a silken gentleman.' James, an ironic
smile. 'How much have you given me?'

'An hundred guineas.'

'Good heaven.' Looking inside the purse, then: 'And I
am to have no sword?'

'I do not think a silk merchant would go about with a
sword.'

'Then I want my pocket pistols. They are with my things
at Mrs Peebles's hotel, a pistol case—'

'Mr Tonnelier, you are now a man of peace. A trader in
luxury goods, not a warrior. There can be no swords and
pistols now.'

'If not the pair of pistols, then a single one will do.'

'No, it will not do.'

'I will not go about in London without protection.'
Firmly.

'You will not "go about", except where we tell you. You
will live very quiet.'

'Look here, now, Mr Mappin—'

Over him: 'I fear I cannot allow you any weapons.'

'You fear! I am the one you wish to act for you, creeping
and skulking under a spurious name, carrying a large sum
in gold, in a part of London where even the watchmen go
fearful at night. Either allow me the pistol, or my sword,
or go to the devil!'

'Well, perhaps after all you are not the man we want,
Lieutenant.' A languid shrug. 'So bellicose a fellow could
not go into France unnoticed. He would give himself away
in half an hour. Let me have the purse, and throw on your
naval coat. Your sword is on the desk. Take it up, and go
on down into Dorset by all means, where you may wave
it about in the fields and keep your cattle in check.' Holding
out his hand for the gold, and raising his eyebrows.

James frowned fiercely, glared at Mr Mappin, then was
unable to prevent a wry smile. 'You have called my bluff,
Mr Mappin, by God.'

Mr Mappin lowered his impatient hand and gave a faint
reciprocal smile. 'You wish to proceed?'

A conceding nod. 'I am your man.'

'There must also be, I should explain at once, further
alteration to your appearance – aside from your clothes.'

'You mean – I am to go disguised, like a player in the
theatre?'

'Exact. I do.'

*

Two men were waiting aboard
Expedient
when Rennie
returned to her on a bright, breezy morning. As he came
up the side ladder and was piped aboard, he glanced
aloft.

'Tops'l breeze, Mr Makepeace. A weighing breeze, hey?'

'We are to weigh, sir?' Tom Makepeace, in hope, his hat
off and on as the sound of the call ceased.

'Nay, Tom. Not this morning.'

'Oh.'

'Hm. "Oh." Exact.'

'There are two persons waiting on you, sir.'

'Perhaps they have our sailing orders.'

'No, sir, I think not. They—'

'Where are they?' Over him.

'At the door of the great cabin, sir. I have the defaulters
list—'

'Yes, very good. Bring it to me in half a glass, will you?'

Rennie went aft to the great cabin and found the Marine
sentry in conversation with the two waiting men. One of
them was very tall, in a warrant officer's plain blue coat;
the other was shorter and stooping, in a civilian frock
coat.

'Gentlemen.' Nodding to them, and: 'I will see you first'
to the tall man, who followed him into the cabin. Rennie
removed his hat, and unbuckled his sword. 'You are a
doctor, I take it?'

'I am Edmond Mace, sir, surgeon. Here is my warrant
from the Sick and Hurt.' Producing the document.

'Yes, yes, yes.' Rennie, facing him across the table,
putting down his hat and hanging his sword on a chair.
'Unfortunately, Dr Mace—'

'Oh, I am not a physician, sir. Only a passed surgeon.'
Handing his warrant to Rennie.

'Just so, but y'would be called Doctor in the ship.' Taking
the warrant, glancing at the seal. 'Unfortunately, the position
of surgeon in
Expedient
is already took. I have my
doctor, d'y'see?'

'Oh.' Puzzled and crestfallen.

'Yes, I applied for a surgeon, right enough. But my own
man came the same day, and – well well, there it is.' He
tapped the warrant on the surface of the table, and dropped
it there.

'What am I to do ... ?'

'Never fear, Dr Mace, never fear. I happen to know that
Captain Langton of the
Hanover
, seventy-four, is in need
of a surgeon just at present, his warranted man having took
ill of drink. Are ye a drunkard, Dr Mace?'

'No indeed, sir.' A wounded frown.

'Very good. Forgive my bluntness. I'll just write a letter
to Captain Langton, introducing you, and then send you
over to his mooring number in a boat. He will arrange
everything with the port admiral, your warrant will be
amended, and all will be well with you.'

'If you are quite sure, sir ...'

'It ain't that I'm rejecting you on merit, nor the lack of
it, Dr Mace. I am arranging for you to go to sea in a ship
of the line. You ought be glad of that, you know.'

'Yes, sir, I expect so. Thank you.'

Rennie moved to his desk, sat down and picked up a
quill. Finding no ink:

'Cutton! Colley Cutton, where are you!'

Presently young Edmond Mace departed the ship in
Rennie's boat, and Rennie interviewed his second visitor.

Removing his hat as he came in, the stooped young man:
'Dr Wing advised me to come to—'

'Thomas Wing?' Puzzled then: 'Ah, in course, in course,
you are the clerk! Are you?' Peering at him anxiously. 'I
hope you are.'

'Yes, sir. I am—'

'Come in, come in. And sit, sit – after all that is your usual
posture, when you are working, hey? Tell me your name.'

'Nehemiah Tait, sir.' Sitting down, holding his hat on
his knee.

'Nehemiah. Hm. And how are you called?'

'I am – I am called Nehemiah, sir. Oh, d'y'mean, familiarly?'

'Aye, exact.'

'Enty, sir. As my initials are N and T.'

'Enty, very good. Well well, you will not object if I call
you that? Enty?'

'No, sir. I hope that you will.'

'And in course Mr Tait, when more formal address is
required. You have served in ships?'

'I have been employed for five years by the Company,
sir, and—'

'The East India Company? That is fitting, that is fitting.
The man you replace has just gone into service with them.
Now then, tell me your ships.'

'Well, sir, you see—'

'There is no need of embarrassment that you have not
been in fighting ships, you know. There is no shame in
going to sea with John Company, a very reputable—'

'No, sir, you don't understand me. I have never yet been
to sea.'

'What? Never?'

'No, sir. Dr Wing – Thomas – said that neither had
your previous clerk been to sea your first commission in
the ship, nor had Thomas himself, and you had no
complaint about neither of them, in fact the opposite.' All
in a rush.

'Well, yes – that is true.' A sniffing breath, and: 'But I
was obliged to show my clerk the ropes, so to say, and he
was so damned seasick the first leg I thought he would
die. Are you subject to seasickness, Mr Tait?'

'I do not know, sir.' The formal 'mister' not lost on him.
'Since I have never been to sea.'

'Never
at all?
Never even in a packet-boat?'

'I have been the length of the Thames, sir, from London
to Northfleet and back, in the ferry.'

'The Thames ain't the open sea, Mr Tait.' A puffing
sigh. 'What other experience have y'had? I take it you was
in some sense dealing with ships, at John Company?'

'I dealt with tea, sir, in large. Tonnages of tea, number
of bales, and the like.' Lamely, fearing that his chances of
employment were rapidly fading.

'Then we have that in common, in least. I am an avid
drinker of tea. Talking of which ... Cutton! Colley Cutt—
Oh, there you are. Is that my tea?'

'Hit is, sir.' Cutton, emerging from the quarter gallery
with a tray, and bringing it to the table.

'Well well, put it down, man, so that I may drink it.
Where is my cat?'

'She is about, sir, somewheres in the ship.'

'Find her, and bring her to me.'

'I will, sir, if I am able.' Going out of the cabin.

'Can you instruct boys, Mr Tait?' Rennie poured tea.

'Erm – no, sir. I have had no experience of that.'

'Then I cannot put you on the books as clerk and
schoolmaster.'

'I expect not, sir.' An apologetic grimace.

'Where on earth did Dr Wing find you? – That is, that
is, how d'y'come to know each other?'

'We lodged in the same house in London, and Dr Wing
was kind enough to provide medical assistance when I was
near crippled with costiveness, which he was able—'

Over him: 'Yes yes, well well, just so. Y'may begin,
Mr Tait, by making order out of these lists.' Indicating the
mass of papers lying at a dozen angles on the table.

'You mean, I am – I am situated?'

'I must have a clerk, and you are here.' Sucking a
mouthful of tea. 'Where is your dunnage?'

'My ... ?'

'Your belongings, Mr Tait.' Impatiently. 'Your chest and
hanging cot, and so forth.'

'I ... I have my valise, and my writing case.'

'No cot? Then one must be rigged for you, Mr Tait.
Say so to Mr Adgett. Sentry!'

'Sir?' The Marine sentry, opening the door.

'Pass the word for the carpenter. He is to attend on Mr
Tait at his earliest convenience.'

'Aye, sir.' Closing the door.

'As soon as you go out of the cabin, Mr Tait, ye'd better
look at the ship. Discover all you are able both on deck,
and below, since you are to live aboard from now on. Mr
Trent will wish to speak to you, also.'

'Yes, sir. Who is Mr Trent?'

'He is the ship's purser, Mr Tait. Without his say-so you
will get nothing to eat, and nothing to drink, neither.'

'When am I to look at the lists, if you please, sir?'

'Now, Mr Tait, now. Before you do anything else.'

'I ... I ... yes, sir.'

'Very good.' A brisk nod. 'Take up the lists, and go into
the hole by the coach. That is where you will work.'

'Coach ... yes ...'

'Cheerly now, Mr Tait. There ain't a minute to be lost.'
Another sucked mouthful, and: 'Cutton!'

Presently Tom Makepeace appeared with the list of
defaulters. 'I'm sorry I did not come sooner, sir, but I saw
that you were busy, and so I thought—'

'Yes, Tom, y'did right.' Glancing down the list. 'This is
very long. Too long. Twenty names.'

'Yes, sir.'

'That is what comes of lying idle at our mooring, when
we should have put to sea long since. The people grow
restless, and make mischief.'

'I fear so, sir.'

'But that don't excuse anything, by God. They'd better
learn that lesson, right quick.' Running a finger down the
list of names. '"Hopeful Lubbock, rated ordinary, answered
back when drunk, and raised his hand to a midshipman."
Don't say which middy.'

'Richard Abey, sir.'

'Hm. The only one of our former mids that is with us
again. A steady, even-tempered lad, too. He'll make a good
sea officer one day. I'll warrant he did nothing to provoke
the man?'

'Not in the least, sir. Lubbock was very aggressive, and
foul-mouthed. Mr Abey gave him an order, which he
ignored, and when it was repeated would have struck
Mr Abey, had he not been prevented, and held.'

'Very well. Lubbock is to be singled out, and flogged.
Two dozen lashes, all hands to witness punishment.'

'Very good, sir.'

Sir Robert Greer sat up in his bed at his house in Swallow
Street in London, and prepared to receive his visitor. The
day was warm and sunny, but the covers on the bed were
heavy and Sir Robert wore thick flannel, as if it were a
winter's day. He was remarkably pallid and skeletal, and very
ill, but his black eyes were still penetrating and steady. He
heard his visitor mount the stairs, and with an effort sat a
little higher against the pillows. The pain returned to his
belly, and he thought of reaching for the tincture on the
cabinet, but now the door had swung open and his manservant
Fender announced:

'Mr Brough Mappin to see you, sir.'

Fender stepped aside, and Mr Mappin came in, dressed
in a grey silk coat, with matching waistcoat and breeches,
a dark red stock and laced shirt. A gold-and-stone fob seal
hung at his waist. His buckled shoes gleamed briefly as he
crossed the floor through a muted shaft of sunlight from
the high, leaded window. He was, thought Sir Robert,
rather too much the dandy, young Mr Mappin, but he did
not say it.

'Come in, Mappin, come in. What news have y'brought
to me? Is the thing arranged? Altogether arranged?'

'Not quite altogether, Sir Robert. We are—'

'Not? Why not by now, Mappin?' In the querulous tone
of an ageing man, that he was not unaware of, and regretted,
since it undermined his authority. Had he heard that tone
in his own voice not a year since it would have shocked him.
Now it merely saddened and irritated him. He cleared his
throat and tried again:

'We must be prepared in all distinctions. There must be
no impediment to any part of the plan.'

'Indeed, Sir Robert. However, as I think you know, I was
never happy about the denials I was required to make to
Captain Rennie.'

'He must have no inkling of my involvement!' With an
emphasis that made his voice thin and hoarse.

'I know that is what you advised, Sir Robert. I fear he
guessed it at once, though.'

'But that was your specific task, Mappin. To deflect him.
To make him believe you was acting on direct authority of
the government. The moment he had a suspicion of my
involvement he would deny you and thwart you!' His voice
again rising thin.

'Yes, as you said. It is a difficulty we must acknowledge,
however.'

'No-no-no-no-
no
! You must convince him! You must!'

'Sir Robert, with respect, I think that since Lieutenant
Hayter knows of your involvement, and Captain Rennie
strongly suspects it, then—'

'Hayter knows? How could he know?'

'I was obliged to tell him that he was joining the Fund.'
A little shrug.

'You damned fool!' Nearly breathless with anger.

'Sir Robert, may I speak frankly?' Firmer, his eyes candidly
regarding the ailing man.

'I think you are doing so, already.' Controlling his voice,
pushing his head against the pillow.

'If I am to have charge of this venture, I think I must behave
as I see fit, under any and all circumstance. In course I will
like to ask for your counsel, and listen to your advice. But I
must deal in facts, else make grave errors. It will be an error,
in my view, to continue to pretend to Captain Rennie that
the Fund ain't behind this.'

'He will thwart you! He will ruin the whole careful undertaking
by his intemperate folly!'

'Surely he was chosen because of his steadiness, and
courage, was not he?'

'Not by me!'

'Well, no, Sir Robert. I am entirely aware of that.' Another
little shrug.

'Nor would I have picked Hayter, neither.'

'But they were chosen, Sir Robert. Have not you yourself
made their shared role in this more difficult, by asking me
– nay, obliging me – to be devious?'

'Mr Mappin, you overreach yourself, sir! I am controller
of the Secret Service Fund. I
am
the Fund!'

'You, sir?' A tilt of the head.

'Me, sir!'

'Forgive me, Sir Robert, but ain't the Prime Minister the
controller of it? Of us?'

'I have always acted independent. The Prime Minister has
never interfered with the work I do in the nation's interest.
He knows very well that I am the only person that—'

'Nay, Sir Robert.' A finger to his lips. 'You are
not
the
only person. Not at all. The Prime Minister has made it
clear to me that he wishes me to conduct this venture
according to my own lights, from now on.'

'You have the ear of the Prime Minister?' Incredulous.
'You, Mappin?'

'My own lights, and his own.'

'I do not believe you for a single moment, Mr Mappin. I
think you have took leave of your senses. You will soon
discover, if you seek to inhibit me in any particular, that I
am—'

'You are a frail old man, Sir Robert.' With icy candour.

'What! You dare to speak to me like this!'

'I dare because I must. The venture on which we are
embarked is too important and delicate a matter to be the
subject of internecine division. I wished to spare you this
moment, but now that it has come I must be harsh. I followed
your advice, and was wrong to do so. I should have said what
I am saying now long since. From today I shall proceed on
my own course, without further consultation with you. I am
very sorry, but there it is.'

'You are sorry! You damned impudent—'

'Good day, Sir Robert.'

'I will have you arrested!' Thrusting out an arm under the
fourposted canopy as Mr Mappin departed, closing the door.
'D'y'hear me, Mappin!' As footfalls descended the stair. 'You
damned blackguard ... hnnh ... ohh ... Fender! Fender! ...
ohhh ...'

The sound of the great door below closing with a subdued
thud, and now Fender's footsteps as he came running up.

'Fend— Ohhh ...'

Fender pushed open the door with a bang and a creaking
of hinges, and hurried to the bedside. And found the figure
in the bed fallen to one side against the pillows, the face
ghastly white, the eyes staring.

'Sir Robert ... ?'

'Hhhh ...' A last exhalation of breath, and the staring eyes
ceased to stare.

Fender peered at him, then leaned in under the canopy
and put his fingers to the pallid neck. And felt no pulse.

'He is done.' Whispered.

*

In the midshipmen's berth on
Expedient
's lower deck, the
senior mid and master's mate Edward Dangerfield, a strong
youth of seventeen, was discussing with Richard Abey, a boy
of not quite sixteen, the merits of flogging. He took a biscuit,
and some cheese, and:

'I know it is bloody and all that, but the blood is soon
washed away, and the man is subdued without being gravely
injured, only his pride, and justice is served.'

'Justice! You call—'

'Pass the butter, will you?'

Richard Abey pushed the butter dish. Dangerfield's
family was rich, and the senior mid was thus able to provide
heartier and tastier fare at table than the standard
stodge that would otherwise have awaited them at mealtimes.
Richard did not like to argue with Dangerfield
overly forceful, in case he withheld supplies, but in this
instance:

'I cannot see that justice is served in any distinction,
Dangerfield. A man drunk does not know or care what he
is doing. Ain't the real culprit the ration of drink?'

'What? You are not suggesting, I hope, that seamen should
relinquish the comfort of their grog, are you?' Taking up his
tankard and draining the contents.

'Well, it is beer while we are in home waters, Dangerfield.
But grog or beer, I would cut the ration by half, or three-quarters.'

'Oh, would ye? How long is your sermon today, Chaplain?
Hey?'

'When we lie at our mooring like this, day after day, the
people have nothing arduous to do, and four quarts of beer
per diem is far too much. That is why—'

'Sailing on the open sea, watch on watch in all weathers,
going aloft, manning the pumps, and so forth – y'would deprive
the people of their comfort, when they are wet and cold and
tired? Even then? My dear Chaplain, you would provoke a
mutiny right quick, if you did that.'

'I did not say in all circumstances, Dangerfield. Heavy
weather far at sea, and the fire gone out, the captain will
certainly order a double ration of grog, unwatered if the men
will like it. I am not against that, good heaven. But here at
home, lying idle, where is the good in filling men's bellies
with drink that will only addle their senses?'

'You wish to excuse the fellow that attempted to strike
you?'

'No no, in course not. He deserved to be punished. But
not by flogging him. Cutting off his beer would have
been—'

'A simple inconvenience to him, for a week or two.' Over
him. 'A flogging ain't an inconvenience, Richard. It is painful,
and bloody, and above all else – mortifying. It ain't just the
pain of the lash the man feels. It is the pain of his humiliation.
Tied hand and foot, spread upon a grating, made to
groan and cry out and soil his breeches, he is reduced to the
condition of a wicked child. So that when it is over, and his
cuts have healed, he will likely think twice before he transgresses
again.'

'I had never quite seen it in that light before, Dangerfield.
In a way it is even more disgusting.'

'Eh? Why?'

'To reduce a man – any man – to the condition of an infant
is grossly unjust to him. And it demeans the chastiser. It
makes him a bully.'

'By God, you sound like some damned radical dissenter,
stood upon a cart in the marketplace.'

'Surely I am free to express an opinion, Dangerfield, when
I was the cause of the poor fellow's flogging?'

'Poor fellow! Pfff! Drunken oaf is the better description.
And you were not the cause.
He
was, by his own action in
becoming drunk.' Shaking his head. 'Never think, by the by,
that he will be grateful for your pity. He will look at you
with contempt, and think you puny-hearted.
Are
you puny-hearted,
Richard?'

'No.' A frown.

'You are not?' Another shake of the head.

'No, I am not!' Stung. 'I have seen action, Dangerfield,
and have never shirked great hazard nor risk at sea! I was
senior mid my last commission, in the
Hawk
cutter, that
was twice near blown to splinters in the Channel!'

Dangerfield, mild and steady: 'Then for the love of Christ
show them all who y'are, Richard, and what you are made
of. A quarterdeck man in a blue coat, that must be reckoned
with and obeyed. Hey?'

A hailing shout, then the sounds of a boat coming alongside,
nudging bumps through the wooden wall, and the wail
of the boatswain's call on deck.

'Hello, who's that, I wonder?'

*

It was the port admiral, who had himself brought Captain
Rennie's sailing instructions to
Expedient
's mooring number.
With him in the boat came Mr Brough Mappin. Admiral
Hapgood could not think of himself as having brought
Mr Mappin to the ship; it was simply that Mr Mappin had
appeared at the Hard and decided to come. Admiral Hapgood
had asked him:

'Why d'y'wish to go to
Expedient
, sir?'

And Mr Mappin had replied: 'To see Captain Rennie.'
The half-smile.

'Let me save you the journey. I will gladly convey a
message.'

'Ah, no, thank you. I must see Captain Rennie myself. It
is a confidential matter.'

'Ah. Hm. Then by all means, Mr Mappin, avail y'self.'
Grimly gesturing toward the stern sheets of his launch. The
admiral noted with satisfaction that Mr Mappin possessed
no boat cloak, nor any other means of protecting himself
from the splashings and sprinklings produced by double-banked
oars on open water. To the admiral's further
satisfaction Mr Mappin arrived at the ship's side with his
fine-cut coat near soaked through. There was a brisk breeze,
the waves were chopped white, and the half an hour it took
the admiral's crew to row out across Spithead to
Expedient
was an eventful time for the landlubber. He was distinctly
paler in his face than when he had stepped aft across the
thwarts at the Hard.

'Just clap on to the pieces as ye go up.' The admiral to
Mr Mappin as the man at the bow held the boat in with a
hook to the side of the ship.

'Pieces?'

'The steps of the ladder, man.' With a sea officer's impatience.

'Ah, yes. I have you. I see them.'

'Nay, Mr Mappin. Do not attempt to grasp the ladder as
the sea falls. As it
lifts
is the moment ...
Now
!' Tapping him
firmly on the shoulder.

To his credit Mr Mappin did not fall into the sea. He
clung to the bottom of the ladder, felt his body lurch one
way as the sea rose, then the other as the boat fell on the sea
beneath him, and with a supreme effort he swung himself
upward and into the waist, his fine shoes slipping on the
narrow wet steps.

As the admiral came up into the ship behind him, Mr Mappin
was startled by the piercing eagle's shriek of the boatswain's
call, and the rigid expressions on the faces of the hastily assembled
line of Marines.

Captain Rennie came forward to greet the port admiral,
his hat formally off and on, and took him aft to the great
cabin. Mr Mappin found himself virtually ignored, and was
obliged to bring up the rear as Rennie endeavoured to be
affable to Admiral Hapgood:

'I had not known you was coming, sir, else we could have
put our boys in white gloves, and so forth, and rigged ropes
at the ladder.' As the sentry at the great cabin door stood
aside, his back straight, Rennie continued: 'Come in and sit
down. I fear we are not quite prepared for guests, but you
are in course welcome.' He hurried in ahead of the admiral,
and thrust away in a drawer a spread of papers and journals
that lay scattered over the table.

'Captain Rennie, I bear your instructions.' Pulling them
from inside his coat with a gesture that in another man might
have been a flourish, but in Admiral Hapgood was merely
an irritable jerk. He thrust them at Rennie, who took them
with a little bow.