The Scent of Corruption (The Fighting Sail Series Book 7) (11 page)

“Flag acknowledges, sir,” Lewis reported, his head buried in a small, but thick book. Chivers, one of the signal midshipmen, was holding the deck glass on the flagship and whispered something in his ear which set the pages turning. “Then our number - 'take station two leagues to leeward and astern of me',” the lieutenant continued with a hint of incredulity and an accusing look at his informer.

“I think that might be cables, Mr Lewis,” Banks said in a markedly flat tone, and both  officers blushed visibly. “But the wind is blowing the signal away from you,” the captain allowed, before turning to the sailing master beside him on the quarterdeck. “Mr Brehaut, if you would be so kind...”

The senior warrant officer touched his hat and stepped forward. Banks moved away slightly, and might have been considering the nearest merchant, but was actually watching Brehaut intently.

The Jerseyman had first joined
Prometheus
at Portsmouth and carried excellent references from his previous captains, several of whom were known for being hard to please. As a man he was presentable; relatively short in stature, and lightly built, with frank blue eyes and a look of constant concern. But Brehaut was also modest: the fact that he spoke French fluently had only come out by accident, with a genial nature which soon made him a popular addition to the wardroom. The sailing master had also guided them from Spithead to Tor Bay without the help of a pilot or any hint of trouble.

That had been navigation, though; something an academic may excel in: to conn a strange vessel with an untried crew through a crowded fleet would be a test of his innate seamanship, and many would judge such a skill every bit as important. Banks had been spoilt by his predecessor, Fraiser: a seaman of the highest standard. It would take someone of considerable talent to impress after such an example.

Brehaut's first command was bellowed through the speaking trumpet with perhaps not quite the force most would consider necessary. But it was a sensible order nevertheless and, as the forecourse was taken in and the ship ceased to gain on the convoy, settling to a speed fractionally slower than that of the surrounding shipping, Banks began to relax.

Two East India Company monsters were forereaching to either side; the captain noticed Brehaut consider both, but keep
Prometheus
on a steady course that allowed them plenty of room to pass. Then, when the danger was cleared, he had the helm put across, and
Prometheus
began to cut a diagonal course across their wake.

Banks acknowledged that this was probably the most dangerous part of the procedure. None of the watch keeping officers had handled the ship for more than a few tricks, and to estimate the difference in speed that might be expected of
Prometheus
when turning from being close hauled to a broad reach was probably beyond all of them. Brehaut had extra canvas in hand, but even re-setting the forecourse would take time, and there were close on ten large ships bearing down on them. The captain was also aware that most of the merchants were commanded by Company men; trained seafarers in the main, but not known for endangering their charges unnecessarily. They might easily view the warship heading across their path as a hazard, and start taking unnecessary avoiding action that, in turn, would endanger others.

But either Brehaut was in luck, or his intentions were both obvious and unambiguous, for
Prometheus
was allowed to reach clear water off the flagship's larboard quarter without a major incident. Then all that remained was for her to lose way, allowing all to forereach until the required distance had been attained, then drop the forecourse once more and adjust canvas to bring her to convoy speed.

Banks drew a silent sigh of relief. The ship, her crew, and Brehaut had performed perfectly; failure in any one might not be considered a disaster as such, but would hardly have been the best start to a commission, and no captain can give of his best while being unsure of any aspect of his command.

Brehaut reported the ship in position, then replaced the speaking trumpet in its becket before turning from the binnacle, his task apparently accomplished. Banks noticed that, apart from a slight flush to his pale cheeks, he did not seem unduly moved by the episode, and took a place next to Caulfield and Davison without a comment to either.

“Very good, Mr Brehaut,” Banks told him. “That was well done indeed.” The commendation was formal and almost a platitude, but in this case meant with total sincerity.

* * *

“A
s to the state of any pregnancy, I would not care to speculate,” the surgeon said, washing his hands in a pewter basin. “Though if so, it must be precious early and I would say you are much underfed. You may also be suffering from some form of chill – there is perhaps a trace of fever, but no more.”

Manning turned and surveyed his patient again. She was sitting back on the plain deal table and drawing the light gown about herself once more. He had not seen his own wife, Kate, for over a month, yet several years of married life, and many more dealing with the meat that comprises a human body, enabled him to view the woman with total objectivity. Certainly she was undernourished; the bones on her upper arms, legs and ribs were far too prominent, and he had noticed the obvious signs of an empty stomach during his examination.

“Were you to wish it, I may be able to start investigations as regards the possibility of a foetus, though you will appreciate that a line-of-battleship is hardly equipped for such tests.” He gave a reassuring look. “But from what you say I would diagnose a simple case of sea-sickness. You have had no recurrences after setting foot on dry land?”

The girl shook her head and Manning's face relaxed. “I thought not: it is a certain remedy.”

He moved across the sick berth and opened a locker. “I do not have much in the way of clothing I'm afraid.” He pulled out several shirts and a pair of canvas trousers. “These may do for the present, and of course you may keep that gown. You will doubtless be able to make more of them later. There are two men aboard who act as reasonable tailors, I am told, and will be happy to oblige if you are not so skilled.”

“Am I staying then?” she asked, turning on the table and allowing her bare legs to swing down.

“Most certainly,” Manning replied. “For now at least. We are deep into the English Channel and cannot turn back.” He was about to add 'for a mere slip of a girl', but his innate sensitivity saved him. “But you will no doubt want to wash,” he said instead. “And may do so here, if you wish – it is probably more private. I shall send to the galley for hot water.”

“Where are we bound?” Her voice was fragile, but Manning noticed she had actually gained a little colour in the last minute or so. The thought of being set ashore must have been playing on her mind and, as he considered the trusting expression, he wondered if she were inclined to act younger than her years.

“We are for the Mediterranean, my dear,” he told her. “And will be calling at Gibraltar; you may be permitted to land there if you wish, though it will be the part of the captain to confirm any arrangements.”

“And Lisbon? Shall we be going to Lisbon?”

Manning paused on his way to the sick berth entrance. “Yes, I recall you did say it was your home.” He opened the door no more than a fraction and murmured to someone in the dispensary beyond before closing it firmly once more. “The water will be coming presently,” he explained. “As to Lisbon I cannot rightly say; once more, it is the captain you will have to speak with on such matters. But we have been with the Med. Fleet afore, and the Tagus was a useful station then, so I would certainly not rule it out.”

* * *

H
e had not engineered the situation; it just so happened that King found himself in the great cabin with the captain when Ross was sent to request the latter's presence on deck. It was a minor matter; Banks would soon return, and they could continue to discuss the starboard watch bill, so King remained standing by the large table, but indicated for the seaman to remain also.

“We have not spoken,” King began awkwardly. “Not since the day you volunteered.”

“That's right, sir,” Ross agreed.

“You are settling down?”

“Well enough, thank you, sir,” the seaman replied with little feeling. “My mess seem a decent bunch,” he added.

King had arranged for the former officer to be with a seaman who was one of his personal favourites.

“I have served with Flint in a number of ships,” he told Ross. “Lieutenant Lewis started in his mess as an ordinary hand: you may progress as well and could achieve your former rank, who can tell?”

Ross said nothing, but now his eyes were set directly ahead as if he were being questioned, and King felt he had inadvertently stepped over an unseen line. “You know you may ask me if there is any way in which I can help,” he added.

“Thank you, sir, but I shall be able to manage.” The reply came quickly: then Ross seemed to soften. “But your concern is appreciated.”

“This is a perilous life, and no one can be certain of the future,” King continued carefully. “I know nothing of your personal circumstances, but think the majority of officers have been guilty of at least one trivial error in the past: I mean one that would have seen them in peril, were it discovered.”

“But few are come down upon quite so heavily as me,” Ross added, with a wry look.

“And what caused such an act?” King asked after a moment or two. “Not that you need tell me,” he hurried to add. “Every man's history is his own to keep private.”

“Aye, I would say so, sir.” Again that look. “Whatever the status he may have attained.” Ross seemed to consider, then continued. “But I am happy to tell you, Mr King; my secret has been kept so far, for which I am grateful, and I would gauge that adding to it will not be too great a burden for you.”

King gestured silently, and Ross began.

“My commission was revoked earlier this year. It was by court martial; my last vessel,
Wakeful
had run aground off Crump Island and was a total loss.”

King remembered reading the first news of the incident, and being struck by the irony of the ship's name when it was surely wrecked by the inattention of whosoever had command. But there was nothing unusual in a vessel foundering; far more Royal Navy ships were lost in such a way than to enemy action. And the act might well have mitigating circumstances, in which case it would attract little more than a reprimand. There had been no subsequent notice of any eventual court martial verdict, however, and King had disregarded the matter.

“I did try for the merchant service; they are short of hands, and thought to find myself a berth as a junior officer or mate. But the India Company seem thick with the Admiralty, neither did any private owner want a man who could not pay attention. And so it was the R.N. or starve – which was why I especially sought out a member of
Prometheus'
people that evening.”

“Indeed?” King asked. “Why so?”

“Captain Banks has a fine reputation,” Ross replied. “I read of his engagement with the French squadron off St Helena on my journey home; it was as fine an action as ever I had heard, yet none of his officers were known to me. And at that time the word was you were bound for the Channel Fleet, which has an honourable commander, and is set a goodly distance from the Caribbean.”

All made perfect sense, although King was still in doubt regarding the court martial verdict. Ross came across well: it seemed strange that one so apparently sound and reliable should have been broken. “I am saddened to hear your tale,” he said, “though wonder that the blame for the loss of any ship can be wholly attributed to a single officer.”

“I said all I was permitted to at the court martial,” Ross' voice was flat and without emotion. “
Wakeful
was nought but a brig and I her only lieutenant. The watch had been mine when she ran aground, but Commander Harker was determined to try for a faster passage and took the conn. And he was a favoured man: the other officers owed their positions to him, and one was the son of an admiral.”

It was not such an unusual scenario, although King remained silent.

“Then we had the presiding captains,” Ross continued relentlessly. “Most were close to Harker or his cronies and, when it came to the call, all seemed content for me to take full responsibility.”

“I see,” King said finally, and he surely did. He had never come across Harker personally but the man appeared as one with more connections than skill. On a foreign station, where the eye of the public and a far off Admiralty could easily be distracted, it would have been little trouble for influential friends to whitewash a popular commander. And with a presumably friendless lieutenant on hand to bear his blame, all could be neatly sorted.

Such were the problems of serving in un-rated vessels. Though more power and responsibility rested with their senior men, and a man might learn and progress more quickly than aboard battle-wagons such as
Prometheus
, the risks were also that much greater. Had Ross been backed by a loyal band of officers, Harker could not have passed the blame so easily. But, when it came down to one man's word against another, and the captain was well connected, it was clear who would come in second.

“Once more, I am sorry,” King sighed, “and can only repeat my earlier offer. Should a chance present for you to be promoted, or singled out in any way, I will not hesitate to take it.”

“Thank you, sir,” Ross said, with a little more feeling this time. “I appreciate that though it was made plain to me by the court president that I may not expect to progress.”

“You cannot accept promotion?” King questioned.

“No,” Ross told him sadly. “That path is now forever closed to me.”

* * *

F
ord might have been an uninspiring captain but, now that he was an admiral and in command of an entire fleet, he certainly did not lack energy. No sooner had
Prometheus
joined the convoy than a general change of course was ordered, and the signals continued with annoying regularity for the rest of the evening.