The Hawk (8 page)

'Aye, I did have sight of them.'

'It is nearly certain that he was killed for those documents,
Lieutenant.'

'Yes, yes, your assumption is correct, I think.' Nodding.
'How very shocking.'

'Well?'

James looked at him, then made his back straight. 'All I am
able to tell you, Colonel, is that the business upon which poor
Captain Marles and I were engaged was under the direct
instruction of the First Lord himself. The documents bore
his signature and seal.'

'I see.' Gravely. 'Then I must go to Admiral Hollister.'

'He can tell you nothing.'

'What? Nothing? How d'y'know that?'

'Because he was not party to the business. Captain Marles
merely sought the admiral's consent to my release from the
Channel Fleet. I am not even certain that he had visited the
admiral before – this sad event. In truth I think that probably
he had not, else the admiral would have done so.'

'Done so?'

'Forgive me, I am a little distracted. Would have released
me, d'y'see. If Captain Marles had asked him.'

'Yes, I am not quite clear. Why should Admiral Hollister
release you – supposing Captain Marles had seen him –
without he was told the reason?'

'Captain Marles was acting in the name of the First Lord.
Not even so powerful a sea officer as Admiral Hollister may
gainsay that authority, I think.' A thought came to him now,
and he drew in a sharp breath. 'The documents! If Captain
Marles had not had his interview with Admiral Hollister,
then without the documents I am . . . I must go to London!'

'Nay, Lieutenant, you must remain at Portsmouth until I
have concluded my inquiries.'

'Why? I am not material to your inquiry, when I have been
living aboard my cutter, far out at Spithead, these last three
days. By the by, Colonel, should not such inquiry be
conducted by the local magistrate and his constables?'

'The magistrate is conducting his own inquiry.' The
colonel looked at James, and frowned. 'However, he has not
sufficient runners to be effective in such a matter. The
Marines and the Royal Navy, acting together, will be a better
instrument. You will aid me by remaining here.'

'Sir, I must go to London without delay. I must obtain new
documents, restoring my authority to act as instructed.
Without them I am powerless to proceed.'

'I know nothing of that, since you will tell me nothing. You
will remain at Portsmouth, if y'please.'

James effortfully kept his temper, and made no reply.

'D'you hear me, Lieutenant?' Growing severe.

'Very good, sir.' A brief bow, and James put on his hat and
turned to quit the room.

'I have not given you leave to go.'

'You wish me to remain in this room, sir? Remain in
Portsmouth, in this room?'

'Do not be impertinent, Mr Hayter.' A warning glare.

'I am very sorry, sir.' Icily.

The marine officer sighed, and put the list into a leather
fold. 'Look here, Hayter, we must not be at odds in this. A
good man has been killed, and we must discover why, and by
whom. We will go together to Admiral Hollister, first of all,
and obtain your release from him. Agreed?'

'Very good, sir.' His bearing less rigid.

'I am remiss, I have not introduced myself. I am
Lieutenant-Colonel Brian Macklin of the corps of Marines.
Will you shake hands?'

They shook hands, and James managed to relax his grim
facial expression.

'To say the truth, the local magistrate is not what I
would describe as the sharpest sword in Portsmouth.
You apprehend me?' Colonel Macklin put the fold in his
pocket.

'In short, he is a dullard?'

'You apprehend me. You came ashore in your own boat?'

'I did, sir. The boat lies at the Hard.'

'I will fetch my cloak.'

James knew that he must humour Colonel Macklin, must
go with him to Admiral Hollister in
Vanquish
. He knew that
to demur further, and then attempt to leave Portsmouth,
would in all likelihood prompt Colonel Macklin into placing
him under close arrest. As they made their way to the Hard,
and then walked across and down the gentle slope toward the
water:

'No, I must go to
Vanquish
, and as soon as I am able
thereafter go to London, by the fast mail coach.' To himself.
He would seek out the only person known to him at the
Admiralty, the Third Secretary Mr Soames. Soames might
probably be able to help him obtain further documents – if
not from the First Lord, then at least from some other high
official – so that he could begin his pursuit of the
Lark
cutter
and her master Sedley Ward. Ward was almost certainly
behind the murder of Captain Marles.

James, in sea boots, pushed the twelve-foot jollyboat out,
and helped Colonel Macklin aboard, who had clearly
expected a much larger boat, a launch or pinnace, with a
proper boat's crew. James hoisted the single sail, and brought
the boat to the wind. The little craft pitched and heeled, the
sail taut in the stiff onshore breeze.

'Aye, almost certainly he is,' repeated James to himself.

'Certainly?' Colonel Macklin gripped the gunwale with
white knuckles. 'You think we will certainly capsize?'

James had spoken aloud, without knowing it. And now he
did say aloud: 'No, sir, no. We are quite safe.'

'I am not much at sea, you know. My duties have kept me
altogether ashore of late. Oh!' As a wave smacked in under
the boat's bow, and splintered in drenching shards over the
two occupants.

The single loose-footed lugsail was not ideal for beating
close-hauled by the wind, but James managed both sheets and
tiller with ease. He enjoyed this direct, spray-flying form of
sailing, and had quickly learned the jollyboat's foibles, and
how to master them.

'Tacking!' he called now, and Colonel Macklin was obliged
to duck low beneath the swinging foot and leech, clutching at
his hat, as James brought the boat through the wind.

Presently they came to
Vanquish
, and were hailed from the
deck:

'Boat ahoy! Who are you?'

And James, with a little swelling of pride in his breast, was
able as commander of a commissioned vessel to make the
traditional reply:

'
Hawk
!'

'Come aboard!'

'Ah, Lieutenant Hayter. I know why you have come, I
think.'

The Third Secretary Mr Soames rose from his desk, but
did not come forward, nor proffer his hand in greeting. He
remained where he was, his hand extended merely to indicate
a chair.

'I must thank you for receiving me so prompt, Mr Soames.'
James sat down on the very plain chair, and put his hat
beneath it.

'Under the circumstances I could hardly do otherwise.' Mr
Soames resumed his seat, and tucked a fine linen handkerchief
into his sleeve. A waft of cologne on the slightly stale air.
'The death of Captain Marles has been wretched inconvenient
to us – and to you, I am in no doubt.'

'Inconvenient?' The word came rushing out, harsher and
more hostile than he had intended.

'More than inconvenient, indeed.' A brief puckering of the
mouth. 'A great nuisance.'

James opened his mouth, then shut it again before angry
remonstrance could crash out into the room. He counted
to five.

'I – I have come because I need to have replaced the
instructions Captain Marles brought to me at Portsmouth,
but did not give to me.'

'You never saw them?' Surprised.

'I did see them, but they – that is, Captain Marles did not
give them into my possession.'

'Then it's true that they was removed from his coat at the
time of the attack?'

'We believe so, yes.'

'We?'

'Lieutenant-Colonel Macklin of the Marines, that is
inquiring into the captain's death – his murder.'

'Murder, yes.' Another brief puckering, and the trace of a
grimace. 'Yes, an ugly word.'

'I do not know a better one. A more convenient one.'

'You have not considered, I expect, that this was not
deliberate murder?'

'Not delib— . . . Christ's blood, his throat was cut!'

'Was it? Was it? That I did not know.' He lifted the
handkerchief to his nose a moment, then returned it to his
sleeve. 'Yes, what I had meant to suggest to you, Lieutenant,
was that the assault – though murderous – was merely one of
opportunity, not design. You frown.'

'Surely it is obvious, Mr Soames! I beg your pardon, I did
not mean to shout. But surely it is absolutely clear, ain't it?
The inner pocket of his coat was torn out, the packet
removed and torn apart, and the papers took.'

'Yes?'

'Yes!'

'Mm, yes. It had not occurred to you that the footpad, in
such a place as the Point – notorious, I think, at Portsmouth
– was merely seeking money? He saw a gentleman alone at
night in an alley, supposed that the gentleman had gold
money upon his person, and made his assault.'

'In truth that explication had not occurred to me, no. I find
it, with respect, entirely improbable.'

'Do you? Ah.' Mr Soames sat impassive, and allowed a
moment to pass. 'In course you are entitled to your view.'

'My view! I beg your pardon. Sir, my very strong sense of the
thing is that Captain Ward was behind it, that he is now in
possession of our plan of capture, and that we must devise a
new stratagem. That is why I have come, for new instructions.'

'Sedley Ward, d'y'mean?'

'Aye, Captain Sedley Ward, of the
Lark
cutter.'

'Not Ward, I think.' Shaking his head. 'Word has reached
us from Barbados that Sedley Ward died there two month
ago, of the fever. He was second officer of a schooner there,
thought to be a slaver. He had not been master of the
Lark
for
a twelvemonth.'

'When did this intelligence come?'

'Yesternight, in a letter. The papers took from Captain
Marles have been destroyed, to a certainty. Torn up, or flung
into the harbour, or burned – as worthless. Sedley Ward is
dead, and we do not know who commands the
Lark
. But
whoever he is, he does not know of our plan. Fair copies were
made of your instructions. You shall have those, when further
copies have been done. Come here at noon tomorrow, and
the papers will be ready for you.'

'I – very good, sir.'

'The impediment is the loss of Captain Marles. He is not
easily replaced as your immediate superior. You will have to
proceed on your own initiative, for the moment.'

'May I prevail upon you, Mr Soames, to advise me – should
I need advice?'

'My dear Lieutenant Hayter, I cannot possibly advise you.
I do not decide, I am not party to decision, nor direction. I am
a servant of Their Lordships.'

'I wonder . . .'

'Yes?'

'I wonder if I might be permitted to call on the – the
assistance of another officer?'

'Another officer? D'y'mean, in the same role as the late
Captain Marles?'

'I do. I had thought – '

'You do not mean . . . you cannot mean . . . Captain
Rennie?' Mr Soames had lost his air of detachment.

'He has been my commanding officer in three commissions,
and he would – '

'No!' Mr Soames half-stood, then as if collecting himself
sat down again, and: 'Such a suggestion is wholly without
merit – it simply don't bear examination.' The handkerchief
again to his nose. 'It cannot be considered at all.'

'But why not?'

'Why
not
? Why
not
?' All of Mr Soames's detached
decorum, his aloof, cologne-scented calm, had vanished on
the stale air. 'Captain Rennie is an officer that has a question
beside his name. In course, he has been exonerated of any
charges against him, all charges was dissolved and dispensed
with, but there remains in association with his name a very
distinct question.'

'What is the nature of this "question"? If Sir Robert
Greer – '

'No. No.' Very firmly, raising a hand. 'I am not at liberty
to discuss it.'

'Then why – forgive me, Mr Soames – but why bring this
into the conversation? I have the highest regard for Captain
Rennie, and any question raised by Sir Robert, or anyone – '

'Young
man
! – Lieutenant Hayter.' The handkerchief.
'Hm. I did not mean to raise my voice.' The handkerchief
again pressed to his nose, then returned to his sleeve. 'If I was
you, I should collect my papers from the clerk tomorrow,
proceed to Portsmouth, and there take up my duties. I should
put entirely from my mind
all other things
. And now, if you
will forgive me, there is many pressing matters in need of my
attention. I trust that you will have a pleasant journey. Good
day.'

And so on the morrow, carrying his new papers, James
returned to Portsmouth – his head alive with questions, and
puzzles, and vexatious troubling doubts.

Captain Rennie, to his surprise, had heard nothing more
from Sir Robert Greer, and nothing more of him. Rennie did
not enquire at Middingham Court. He did not know the
family, had never met them; they were called Rushton. It was
the maid Jenny – who was in effect Rennie's housekeeper, so
completely had she assumed control of his domestic
arrangements – who informed him of Sir Robert's departure.

'I heard from one of them at the Court that the grand gent
has took himself off, and not a moment too soon, she said,
very demanding he was of all the staff there, and not a shilling
by way of a thank-you, neither, when he left.'

Rennie had never met the family, but he knew that Sir
Henry Rushton had six daughters, all of them still on his
hands. The innkeeper at the Plough, Silas Wright, who knew
everything in the village, about everybody:

'Old Sir Henry is in despair that he ain't produced a heir,
and has not got none of his daughters off his hands neither,
and the youngest already seventeen. His eldest girl is twentyfive.
If she ain't wed at twenty-five, who will have her now, in
Norfolk? Lasses here is wed by sixteen, look. I do not say
gentry does, mind, but girls is girls, whichever their rank, and
young men do not want old maids, they do not.'

'What about old men, hey?' Rennie had asked in jest.
'Perhaps I should try my luck, Mr Wright.'

'I should not do that, sir.' Tapping his nose. 'If you don't
mind a word to the wise.'

'Oh?'

'Ain't a bonny one among 'em.'

'Plain fillies, hey?'

'Fillies?' Lowering his voice. 'Moos is the word, I b'lieve.
Bovine critchers, Captain Rennie. Steer clear, I should.'

Rennie had not been arrested nor in any way inconvenienced
by Sir Robert, but he determined that it would be
as well, however, not to sit waiting at home in Norfolk. Was
it not possible that Sir Robert was contriving and conceiving
and conspiring against him? Might not Sir Robert probably
return quite soon, with a detachment of marines and a
warrant of apprehension?

Rennie decided to go to Portsmouth. He would take rooms
at the Marine Hotel for a week or two. If Lieutenant Hayter
was still at Portsmouth, in his cutter, perhaps they could
meet. Perhaps James would invite him to go on board.
Rennie could give him advice, if he sought it. Only if he did;
it would not do to presume. In course, thought Rennie, he
would have to be discreet. He would not call on the Port
Admiral, nor in any other way advertise his presence. He
would not, after all, come to Portsmouth in any official
capacity. He was not commissioned. He would not wish to be
seen in any sense to be interfering in the business of the
Channel Fleet, at a time of emergency. No, he would arrive
at Portsmouth merely as a private gentleman, a private visitor
minding his own business.

He instructed Jenny to pack his bag, and to look after
things while he was gone. To pay the boy who looked after
his horse and cleaned the stable; to pay the man who came
from the village to tend the garden, &c., &c. He would be
gone a fortnight or three weeks, a month at the outside. If –
by chance – Sir Robert Greer should call, she was to say that
Captain Rennie was away on personal business – in London.

He departed.

Rennie might have gone to London by the same route that
James had come to Norfolk, by sea, but he did not. He
determined to go by road. He could have hired a post-chaise,
at great expense, to take him all the way to London, and then
on to Portsmouth. Instead he went by turnpike coach. The
mail coach travelled daily to London from Norwich, with an
overnight stop at an inn at Sudbury. Rennie paid thirty
shillings for an inside seat.

On the coach door was emblazoned the slogan
The London
Flyer
in elaborate red and gold script on a green ground. The
bodywork of the coach was green, with flashes of gold, the
wheels were green with red spokes. The coachman wore a
great green travelling cape, and a broad green tricorne. The
six horses sported gleaming decorated harness.

'It is all very splendid,' muttered Rennie to himself as he
prepared to board the coach in St Stephen's Street, the castle
wall behind. 'But does it reflect their efficacy of service?' He
climbed in and settled in his facing window seat, for which he
had paid an extra five shillings. He noted with approval that
the leather seats were upholstered, and that the vehicle gave
a little on its springs as each passenger ascended. 'We shall
not be rattled and bounced to death, in least.' Politely, to the
lady seating herself opposite. She made no reply, but
employed her vinaigrette, and closed her eyes. She was a
handsome woman, thought Rennie, in her bonnet and
waisted blue dress. 'However, she contrives to look ten years
younger than her years.' Not aloud.

Towards evening, in open country between Bury and
Sudbury, near to a hamlet called Capling Street, the coach
came to a sudden sliding, shuddering halt. Rennie had been
dozing, and woke with a start.

'What? Are we upset?'

'Nay, sir, I think not.' An elderly gentleman. 'I believe we
are – '

The
crack
of a pistol shot. The lady opposite Rennie
gasped, and looked out of the window in alarm.
Consternation among all of the passengers. And now a shout
in the road ahead.

'Stay still now! Very still!' Echoing on the crisp evening air.
The sound of hooves, a single horse on the metal of the road.
'Make no resistance, and you will not be harmed!'

The lady transferred her alarmed gaze from the window to
Rennie, and instinctively he felt that he must offer her his
protection.

'Never fear, madam.' Quietly to her. She glanced again out
of the window, and then looked anxiously at Rennie, as if for
reassurance. 'Never fear . . .' He was not wearing his sword,
and now regretted it, but he was carrying two loaded pocket
pistols. He leaned to the window, thrust down the glass, and
cautiously peered out. There was just enough daylight
remaining for him to make out a large horse, and a caped
figure. A horse pistol was pointed at the coachman, who was
out of Rennie's line of sight. The figure urged the horse
forward, pointing the long pistol, and in the glow of the
newly lit side lantern his face was revealed, pale, with hooded
eyes and a narrow nose under a thwartwise hat. He motioned
with the pistol, leaning forward in the saddle, and Rennie saw
the coachman descend from his driving perch. A second,
shorter figure appeared now, that of a youth or a small man,
also in black. The youth pushed the coachman towards the
rear of the coach, and the pair passed the window. Rennie
drew back his head until they had passed, then cautiously
thrust it out again. The black-cloaked highwayman dismounted,
and came towards the rear of the coach, leading his
horse. The horse stumbled on a flint, and for a moment the
man's attention was diverted, and he turned his head.

Rennie acted. He flung open the door, leapt to the road,
and drew one of his pistols from his coat. The man turned
from his horse, saw Rennie, and thought to lift his own pistol,
now half-lowered.

'Nay, do not attempt – '

Crack
. The highwayman fired, lifting the long barrel in a
jerk, and the heavy ball sang by Rennie's head, struck the
half-open coach door, and smashed it back with a splintering
thud on its hinges. Screams and gasps from within.

Rennie fired in answer, his pistol aimed.
Crack
. The ball
struck the man in the temple, his hat flew off and there was a
fountaining spurt of blood. His head lolled to the side and his
body collapsed. The black cloak billowed and was snatched
down by his falling weight. His horse shied away. Rennie
turned swiftly, tried to pull the second pistol from the pocket
of his coat – and was struck a stunning blow to the side of his
head.

He staggered, lifted a hand, and felt a second savage blow
to his forearm.

'Damn . . . your . . . blood . . .' he mumbled in dazed fear,
and fell to the road. He saw a figure loom over him, got his
pistol clear, and fired point-blank into his assailant's body.
Crump
. The shot muffled in cloth. For a long moment
nothing happened. Then the blackness of the figure
diminished, fell back, became a tottering shape of cloak and
breeches and riding boots, gave a cry – pitiful and anguished
– and slumped.

'Good God, he is only a child . . .'

Rennie stumbled to his feet, dropped the pistol in the road,
and went to the boy, who now lay motionless. He pulled aside
the draping cloak, and found – not a boy, but a young woman,
quite dead, her dark hair loosed from a red ribbon in a
spreading fan.

'Christ Jesu . . .' Whispered.

He had shot her through the heart.

There was inevitable concomitant flurry and inquiry and
nuisance after the incident. An agent of the coaching
company, the London Flyer Limited, was summoned from
Sudbury, the local magistrate was informed, a local physician
pronounced the corpses dead, and Rennie was obliged to
furnish his explanation of the event firstly to the magistrate,
and subsequently to his clerk, &c., &c.

The lady in the blue dress, who put up at the same inn at
Sudbury, was a widow, Rennie learned – a Mrs Townend.
She was travelling to London to visit her sister.

'We are all in your debt tonight, Captain Rennie,' she said
to him. 'You were uncommon brave.'

'Well, I . . . I have had experience of this before, ma'am.'

'Before?'

'Aye, a year since, journeying with another officer to
Portsmouth. Our roads in England, in this age of frequent
travel, are not yet suitable safe, I fear. It is a thing the
coaching companies must address.'

'D'y'mean armed men, to protect us?'

'I think so, ma'am.'

'We had you, tonight.'

Her late husband, it came out in subsequent conversation,
had been a sea officer – Captain Arthur Townend RN.
Rennie thought he could recall his name on the List, from
several years ago.

'He has been dead these seven years, Captain Rennie. He
died at sea, and was buried at sea.'

'I am sorry.'

'It is long past, I no longer feel a pang when I think of it,
nor even when I talk of it. Only a little passing regret. You
think me harsh? You think me callous?' Looking at him over
her chocolate cup as they waited for their rooms to be made
ready.

'Nay, madam, I do not. I have lost my own dear wife, and
know intimately what such loss means. It is a private thing,
and each of us that has known it must find his own way
through.'

She inclined her head with a grave half-smile. 'You are a
man of understanding, Captain Rennie.'

'I hope that I am, ma'am.'

'And may I say it again – a very brave one?' A further smile.

Praise to his face was in usual disconcerting to Rennie, but
in the case of the blue widow he felt a little glow. He had
meant to pursue – was that quite the word? – had meant to
discover the lady's address at Norwich, so that he might call
on her at some future time. He was not sure when, nor even
why. To press his attentions upon her? But she had eluded
him, when the coach reached London the following day. He
was again delayed by company agents, and failed to see Mrs
Townend depart the Angel Inn, and deeply regretted it.
Rennie thought then, before he secured his seat on the coach
to Portsmouth, that he would be a damned fool if he did not
attempt to find her, and indeed press his attentions on her.
She was a very handsome woman, and she had smiled at him.

Rennie arrived at Portsmouth in a very subdued condition.
He had always intended to come there quietly and discreetly,
but the dark event on the road, and all of the consequent
exigencies of magistrate and clerk and agent, had quite cast
him down – in spite of Mrs Townend's kind efforts to lift
him. By the time he came to the Marine Hotel, and enquired
about a room, his bag lying by his legs, he was almost too selfeffacing
and diffident in the bustling busyness of the place to
make himself heard. Presently he succeeded, and:

'I fear we are very full up at present, sir.' The clerk. 'If you
had stayed with us before, there may be . . . I did not quite
hear the name, sir.'

A party of young women, escorted by a captain of Marines,
made the space loud a moment as they moved towards the
dining room, just as Rennie said who he was to the clerk.

'I am very sorry, sir . . . will you just say your name again?'

'Rennie. Hm. William Rennie.'

'And – have you stayed with us before, sir?' Opening the
book.

'Yes.'

A finger flicking through the book, moving down a list of
names:

'Ahh, yess. Yess, of course. Captain William Rennie, RN!'
Triumphantly tapping the list.

'Hush, hush – if you please.' Rennie glanced round.

'I do beg your pardon, Captain Rennie.' Clearly this called
for discretion, and he lowered his voice accordingly, and
waited.

'Now then.' Rennie leaned forward. 'I do not wish . . . it is
most important that I should have quiet, that I should be
quiet, d'y'see. That is – if you are able to find room for me, at
such a busy time.'

'Oh, yes, sir. We do keep rooms available for valued guests,
indeed.'

'I am not here on naval business. I am here privately.
Quietly. I do not wish to be disturbed.'

'Just as you say, sir. – If you was wanting the same rooms as
what you took previous, well . . .'

'Yes. No. Quieter rooms, towards the rear, if you have
them. I do not wish my presence known.'

'Very well, sir.' Riffling through another book. 'We have a
room – not rooms – overlooking the stable yard, at the rear.
If that would suit . . . ?'

'Yes, yes, admirable.' Nodding, again glancing round. He
saw no one he knew, among the officers and young persons
making their way through to the public rooms, and was
reassured.