The Scent of Betrayal (5 page)

As soon as the
Daredevil
saw the engagement being broken off, she put up her helm and set a course due north. Harry fetched her wake and they sailed out of danger in company. The two ships weren’t alone. Cutters, avisos, and even wherries had put off from every bay on the island, each one full with those who for their own reasons had no desire to wait and test the reputation of Victor Hugues. Once news got out every island in the Virgin group would be constructing a makeshift defence, blocking their harbours to anything other than small boats.

The American Captain made no attempt to enter any of them; instead he used up nearly the whole of the day heading for the lee of Tortola. Having found a secluded bay, he anchored there. Harry did likewise. By the time he secured himself fore and aft, a boat had pulled off from
Daredevil
carrying his rescuer over to meet him.

‘
DAMNED
if I knew where I was,’ said Pollock. ‘Didn’t even know I was aboard a ship till the sun woke me.’

His normally ruddy face was pale and grey, even if it was split with a weak smile. Harry had grabbed the American as soon as he came aboard, enveloping him in a welcoming bear-hug. The heartfelt plea to be released had struck a chord, and when Harry looked into his friend’s eyes he could see that he was still suffering mightily from his birthday celebrations.

‘Pender, my compliments to the cook. Say that we require another one of his potions in double quick time.’

‘Aye, aye, Capt’n.’

Harry took Pollock by the arm and led him towards his cabin. As they passed each member of the crew, he was given a hearty thanks. The Frenchmen, finally allowed on deck, were more restrained, but they also showed a proper level of gratitude for his timely intervention.

‘Hell’s teeth, Harry,’ Pollock whispered. ‘What are they doing aboard?’

‘That’s not just a French fleet attacking St Croix. They say it’s Victor Hugues, Oliver. I could hardly leave them and their fortune to him.’

‘Fortune?’

‘Another time,’ said Harry, hurriedly, looking anxiously into Pollock’s grey face to see if his slip of the tongue had really registered.

His French passengers were indeed in possession of a fortune, the proceeds of a period of successful buccaneering in the
Caribbean. Harry had avoided the temptation to relieve them of their money. This was partly due to the circumstances in which they’d acquired it, but more out of respect for their Captain, who’d lost his life fighting his own countrymen. His arrival had been every bit as timely as that of the
Daredevil
, though he’d taken a more positive role in the action, an act which Harry knew had saved
Bucephalas
from certain destruction. He had accepted their offer to pay for his repairs as well as their own, and watched with satisfaction as they’d settled a decent sum on Nathan Caufield, who, trading illegally into the West Indies, had through no fault of his own become one of their victims. Their heavy treasure chest now sat out of sight in Harry’s sleeping quarters. While it had been aboard the
Ariadne
, its presence had been a carefully guarded secret, one that they’d all tried hard to keep from the realms of gossip. Judging by Pollock’s mystification, they’d been successful.

‘Let’s get you sat down, before you fall down.’

The American responded to Harry’s solicitous tone. Pender entered bearing the steaming tankard. Pollock’s suspicions were similar to those of Harry and Caufield, and lacking the element of danger it took a great deal more pressure to get him to drink it. But he complied eventually, taking half a dozen reluctant gulps. Slowly, as he talked, the colour returned to his cheeks, making him look like a human being instead of a corpse. Judging by his endless yawning, he was a very tired man.

‘Two of the
Daredevil
’s crew laid some crayfish baskets last week. They were heading out to check on them when they were nearly run down by a Hanseatic trader. He’d spied the Frenchies’ topsails at dusk and was heading out of the area for safety. By the time their Captain got the information I was dead to the world. They didn’t even try to wake me, just loaded me aboard and weighed anchor.’

‘They didn’t think to tell anyone else?’ said James.

‘So it seems,’ Pollock replied, though he had the good grace to blush at their lack of regard for the inhabitants of St Croix. ‘Naturally when I came to I insisted that we return. When we
saw those two brigs with their guns run out, then you with that frigate on your tail, firing off a salvo seemed the only neighbourly thing to do.’

‘Without hitting anything,’ added Harry.

The American just grinned. ‘Damned right, Harry. We aimed to miss and thank God we did. Can’t go starting a war with the French now, can I? Wouldn’t be right after what they did for us in ’78.’

‘And if they hadn’t sheered off?’

‘Don’t rightly know, friend. But I can tell you this. Cabot, the
Daredevil
’s Captain, was loath to risk his ship in any way whatever, and I lacked the will to force him.’

‘You did enough, Oliver. We’d have been taken without your intervention.’

There were holes in the tale and all present, including Pollock, knew it. As an American he had nothing to fear from an attack by anyone, including the French, who would always take care never to wound the pride of a potential ally against Britain. In fact, thinking about it now, there were gaps in everything to do with Oliver Pollock. A man who claimed to be in trade but seemed singularly disinclined to do any, who sailed in an armed barque not a merchant vessel. But only a churl would have the gall to speak when Pollock’s actions, however confined, had just saved them from the wrath of Victor Hugues.

‘You’re tired, Oliver, and so am I. We’re safe here. I suggest we all get some rest, then we can have Captain Cabot join us for dinner.’

Harry drifted in and out of sleep, rudely awakened from time to time by the clang of metal on metal. Willerby wasn’t pleased when he was ordered to cook a dinner for the Captain and his guests. As he pointed out, noisily, they’d left St Croix ‘in their smalls’ and though they might be ‘well found in the article of wine’ he’d not taken on the kind of stores to produce a meal that would reflect credit on the ship. The noise from the galley, as he used
every utensil in his armoury to beat on his coppers, was enough to wake the dead. Pender finally lost his temper and told the one-legged cook that they’d be eating shark meat if he’d didn’t ‘stow it,’ with the old man used as bait. There were fishermen in the bay, happy to sell their catch, adding some lobsters from their pots. But Willerby wasn’t happy. He might have quelled his banging, but he could still be heard muttering to himself, as the sweat dripped off his triple chin, that ‘a dinner with no red meat was no meal, at all!’

Even without Willerby’s banging, sleep would have been difficult for Harry Ludlow. Too many thoughts were chasing each other round his head. He went back to the first dinner he’d shared with Pollock, provided by the Danish banker Børsenen. Harry made no secret of the fact that he was a successful privateer, and was proud to inform the American that James, despite his modest protestations, was a well-known portrait painter. Pollock might claim to be no more than a run-of-the-mill businessman, yet a great deal of what he’d subsequently said, when drink had loosened his tongue, indicated that he was someone of substance, a man who was highly regarded by the United States government, perhaps even some kind of envoy. His anecdotes were peppered with references to such luminaries as the brothers Morris, Alexander Hamilton, Jefferson, Jay, and Adams. Even Washington himself was mentioned, all spoken of with a familiarity that implied a degree of intimacy. He undertook to introduce them to James should he choose to visit New York, with a recommendation that they sit for him. Deliberately or otherwise, Pollock left no one at the table, quite particularly their Danish host, in any doubt as to the strength of his connections.

His passion was his country. Pollock loved everything about America; its political system, its people, and its vast landscape. Yet he himself lived in New Orleans, which was under Spanish control. Harry had listened with an extra degree of attention when he described his home city; the climate, language, and some
interesting opportunities. With no desire to have to explain either his own recent behaviour or theirs, Harry gently pumped the American on behalf of the Ariadnes. He knew they were experiencing some difficulty in deciding on a destination. Indeed the only point on which they seemed to agree was a desire to leave the Caribbean. A return to France or settlement in Quebec were the preferred options, but many were after their previous experiences fearful of unbridled French rule. Others harboured deep suspicions of the British, who ruled Canada.

The Louisiana Territory had a strong French presence, and it seemed a vast area ready for exploitation. Harry wondered if it might provide a destination for them. Everything Pollock told him, in their subsequent meetings, he passed on. Seeing that this had an effect, he undertook to speak to his new friend, if they decided in favour of Louisiana, and ask him to look out for their welfare. But with a caution born of experience, he avoided mentioning the subject to Pollock until matters were settled.

That love of country had led to their one and only disagreement, and thinking about it now Harry could see just how many questions had been left hanging in the air at the conclusion of what seemed at the time something quite minor. Pollock, again having consumed slightly more drink than was good for him, was describing the blight that had struck America in the years after they’d separated from the British Crown.

‘I never thought to see my people in danger of dying of starvation. But, thanks to your navy, and your Navigation Acts, we couldn’t ship anything out of the country, and had no one to sell them to if we could. The wharves were heaped with goods that just rotted. We had an army disbanding that expected to be paid, and nothing to pay it with. We were near to anarchy.’

‘But matters have improved.’

‘They have, Harry,’ he replied, the bitterness, for once, still in his voice, ‘though Albion’s arm seems mighty long and sticky. General Wilkinson was still negotiating to get your soldiers out of Detroit when I left. And the commercial treaty we just signed
had British green written all over it. It was so pernicious that getting it ratified was a close-run thing.’

‘Then why did you do it?’

‘Had to, friend. Four-fifths of our trade is with your ports and Billy Pitt knew it. The umbilical cord remains to strangle us.’ Pollock picked up his drink and proposed a toast. ‘Damnation to Albion, Harry.’

‘Sorry, Oliver,’ Harry replied good-humouredly.

‘You should shift out of that land of corruption, Harry.’

‘I’m happy as I am, believe me.’

‘Nonsense! If only you’d seen half of the things I have.’

Harry grinned. ‘I don’t have to. You never stop telling me about them. I feel as though I know every mountain, tree, and river in the whole continent. In truth, given your love of the place, not to mention your admiration for the Constitution, I can’t fathom why you live in a Spanish colony. Nor have you explained it. I sense that you might be the possessor of some dark and dangerous secret.’

This was no more than the plain truth. But the remark, intended humorously, produced a deep frown, an abrupt change of subject, and a definite chill in the mood. Pollock leant forward in a slightly threatening manner, his eyes cold.

‘If your King’s officers don’t stop whipping any man they choose out of our ships, I can see a day when we might be at war again, cousin versus cousin.’

‘Then I’d best stay this side of the Atlantic, Oliver,’ Harry replied with a grin, trying to keep the conversation in a jocular vein. ‘If we go to war I shall have some very profitable fun with your merchant ships.’

That he’d failed was very evident in the sharp reply that sally received, one that in its bellicosity made him wonder if Pollock had been at the bottle before they met.

‘Perhaps you’ll bite off more’n you can chew, Harry Ludlow. They ain’t all lacking in the means to fight.’

‘The
Daredevil
certainly isn’t,’ Harry replied, finally showing
a trace of the same impatience. ‘Nor is she designed to bear cargo. A more sceptical soul might enquire what a man who says he’s in trade is doing aboard such a ship.’

‘Convenience, Harry,’ Pollock said swiftly, his eyes narrowing. ‘Nothing else but convenience. She was heading this way and I hitched a ride.’

Said with force, and given the frosty way the words were spoken, it was not something Harry felt inclined to pursue.

When Captain Cabot came aboard from the
Daredevil
Harry realised that since he’d never come ashore in St Croix, no one from
Bucephalas
had ever met him. Suspecting a misanthrope, Harry found him to be an amusing companion who shared his love of wine and conversation. The food, if Willerby thought it plain, was fresh and delicious, and since neither Ludlow brother believed in stinting himself in the vinous line, the drinks that accompanied each remove were excellent. James was the first to propose a toast to American ships in general, and the
Daredevil
in particular.

‘Hear him,’ cried Cabot, happily.

‘Mind you, sir,’ James continued, ‘how will I recognise such fellows when I see them? Every time I spy an American ship the flag has changed.’

‘Stars, sir,’ said Matthew, with an enthusiasm that earned him a glare from his father, ‘represent each additional state. One day you’ll see a whole lot more. Kentucky, Vermont, and Tennessee are already in, as you know. But it won’t stop there.’

‘What about New Orleans?’ said Harry, turning to Pollock. Again the question bothered his guest, producing the kind of expression that Harry remembered from his daydreams.

‘Pigs might fly, Harry. A Spanish colony with a French population, sitting right across the best river route out of the interior? Damned if anyone can make sense of things there, even me. The Spaniards won’t give it up, even though it drains their treasury and the French if they want it back aren’t saying. Meanwhile their people seem intent on getting rid of King Carlos and installing
some kind of Republic. Thank God they’re too small in number to have their way. The last emigration was the influx of refugees from the Terror. I hope it was the last. The more Frenchmen we have there the more unstable the place becomes.’

Harry blushed slightly, making a mental note to avoid alluding to his recent discussions with the Ariadnes. Pollock talked on. He clearly had mixed views about the French as a nation, quite prepared to admire them as individuals, while deploring their collective inability to find a political solution that didn’t involve fratricidal bloodshed. That good opinion did not, however, extend to the Creoles of New Orleans, who he saw as nothing but a nuisance.