The Scent of Corruption (The Fighting Sail Series Book 7) (32 page)

* * *

“W
ell, I think both you young gentlemen owe a deal of thanks to Mr Caulfield,” Banks told them sternly. It was two hours later, the sun was now properly up and shining through
Prometheus
' stern windows while, to King at least, the great cabin smelt wonderfully of coffee and recent breakfast. Neither had been offered to him or Davison however. Both stood, side by side, at the foot of the large dining table while Banks lounged in his comfortable chair at the head and Caulfield sat, more upright, to one side.

“Not only did you endanger your own lives, valuable officers were removed from their duties aboard this ship, and at a time when all were needed.” The captain's expression was as cold as anyone present had seen it. “Numerous laws might have been contravened, as well as Admiralty Regulations: generally you both behaved in a manner ill-befitting the service.”

He paused as all in the room took in his words, before continuing with equal gravity.

“It is only by the first lieutenant’s efforts, that I am not lacking at least one senior officer. Had Miss Kinnison not overheard the whole thing and brought this foolish matter to his attention, any amount of mischief could have been caused.”

In reality, young Judy's actions had done even more good than the captain was prepared to admit. Manning had already advised Caulfield of the incident, and would doubtless now be facing no end of personal recriminations for doing so. Her intervention had rescued his surgeon almost as much as either lieutenant. With that, and the severe dose of saltpetre that most suspected her of administering to the man Carroll, the girl had done much to reinstate herself, certainly as far as Banks was concerned.

“Do you have anything to say for yourselves?” he asked, maintaining the same severe demeanour.

“I am sincerely sorry, sir.” King spoke clearly and the captain grunted.

“Mr Davison?” Banks enquired, after nothing had been forthcoming.

“I regret the incident,” the younger man said finally, “but do not approve of catering staff reporting on private conversations. Nor the method Mr Caulfield used to disrupt what was an affair of honour.”

Banks and his first lieutenant exchanged a quick look, and there was possibly a trace of humour on the captain's face as he continued.

“Do you object to the method he used?” he asked with emphasis. “Or your own reaction to it?”

King thought Caulfield might also have been trying to control a smile, even though the situation was surely far too serious for any merriment.

“The first lieutenant had just completed a very exhausting climb,” Banks continued with a captain's authority. “And was quite correct in directing one of the marine escorts to fire his musket – which was surely the most immediate way of breaking up what was indeed a deplorable assembly. However I can see that Mr Davison's reaction to the gunshot might cause him some embarrassment,” he added especially coldly.

“It was the shock, sir.” Davison insisted. “Nothing more; I did not faint.”

“No indeed,” Banks agreed. “I am sure Mr Manning was quite wrong in his assertion. But I would rather we passed on to other matters,” he continued, after a distinct pause.

“In view of the way you have performed, I have to ask if I wish to have such a pair serving aboard my ship in future. I would, of course, expect any animosity to have been settled by this morning's little farce but, where one disagreement has arisen, it seems likely more shall follow. Therefore one of you must leave.”

King felt the tension well up inside. Of the two, he was the junior man and by rights should be the one to go. But he had served with both Banks and Caulfield for several years and in two previous ships: to leave them now would be hard indeed. And there would be no certainty of finding an alternative posting; sea-going berths for middling lieutenants being not so very common, while the captain's report that must surely follow him would hardly help in finding a new position. And he would be leaving Manning behind, and Lewis, as well as others amongst the crew that he had come to count upon as friends. The very notion of striking out on his own appalled and dismayed him in equal measure.

“I have not spoken with the naval commissioner, or indeed anyone ashore, and do not intend to do so in connection with the earlier incident,” Banks continued. “As far as I am concerned, it did not take place; something you would both do well to remember. But I am aware that the
Belle Île
will be made ready to take into the service. She is my prize, so it is reasonable to assume that a recommendation from me will be properly regarded. As a new ship, it will be a fresh start for whoever I propose.”

King felt his mouth go dry. A frigate of such a size would probably require three lieutenants; were he to transfer, at least it would not be a reduction in position. And a sixth rate was surely so much more the thing for the young and ambitious officer he supposed himself to be. But still the spectre of serving without his shipmates returned to haunt him and, however hard Banks might be trying to organise an alternative berth, he did so wish he might be allowed to remain aboard
Prometheus
.

Mr Davison, I shall be recommending you for
Belle Île,”
Banks said the words, uncommonly quickly, and King gave an involuntary gasp. “You will have the advantage of being on hand to supervise her repair and fitting out, and your current rank must enable a posting of second lieutenant to be retained.”

Davison was silent and, from his viewpoint, King had no idea how the man was reacting to the news. But it could not be bettered, as far as he was concerned. And for the second time that morning, King felt a welcome rush of relief.

––––––––

“D
uty Midshipman,” the marine sentry bellowed as the boy rapped on the outer door of the captain's quarters. Banks, in the coach, called out impatiently for him to enter:
Prometheus
was due to sail that afternoon, they still had the last ten tons of Gibraltar's scant and meanly allocated drinking water to take aboard, and there was a day and a half's worth of returns and manifests to sort, so he needed no distraction.

“Urgent message from Mr Carlton, sir,” Steven said, his face flushed. Carlton was the new fourth officer; a youngster barely older than the midshipman who stood before him, although his commission still beat Lewis' by several months. Banks wondered quite what terrible new discovery the lad might have made to cause such a panic.

“
Canopus
in sight and entering the bay,” the midshipman gushed. “Captain Conn, sir.”

That would be John Conn, Banks soberly decided. Something of a rising star, although junior to him on the captains' list, and lucky to have a third rate with his seniority. Stewart had mentioned he was due to join them. Conn was a favourite of Nelson, and had taken part in at least two actions under the Admiral, whereas
Canopus
had been captured at Abukir Bay, so the presence of both was logical, and hardly worthy of such fuss. She was an eighty, though; still a two-decker but even more powerful than
Prometheus
and he supposed her muscle would be a welcome addition to the Mediterranean Fleet.

“Very well, I'll come,” Banks told the boy as he went to replace the ledger on the shelf from where it had only just been collected.

“There's something else, sir,” the lad insisted. “She's let fly her sheets.”

The captain paused in his task. “Are you certain?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” the child replied earnestly. “Least that's what Mr Brehaut said, though she just looked all ahoo to me.”

The ledger dropped to the deck and Steven very nearly followed it as, with sudden urgency, Banks pushed past him and out through the half opened door.

* * *

“W
hat's about, Mr Brehaut?” the captain demanded on gaining the quarterdeck. Lieutenant Carlton was also present but Banks wanted a detailed report and from someone he could trust.

“Masthead sighted HMS
Canopus
in the bay less than half an hour ago, sir,” the sailing master told him calmly. “Mr Carlton wanted to call you but I said you were probably busy, and simply expected her to enter harbour. Then, just as she was in sight of the deck, she let fly her sheets. She's recovered now, and has hauled in her wind. No wait,” he added suddenly. “There is a signal.”

“Where's Lewis?” Banks shouted impatiently as the duty signal midshipman levelled his glass on the bunting that had just been released. But the age old warning had actually been enough: a fleet was in sight and, for Conn to announce it so dramatically, this must be far more than just a stray East India bound contingent.

Seemingly drawn by the sudden excitement, Lewis bounded on to the quarterdeck and over to where Chivers was fussing with the code book.

“Enemy in sight, sir,” the lieutenant said positively, after no more than a second's glance through the glass and without reference to his junior or any book.

“Hands to stations for leaving harbour,” Banks cried instantly, adding, “Who is ashore?” to a bewildered Carlton.

“I – I could not be certain, sir,” the young man began and Banks was turning away in frustration when the reassuring face of the first lieutenant appeared at the companionway.

“Mr Dawson and Mr Stone are at the victualling office,” Caulfield told him crisply, naming the purser and cook. “And Mr King can be expected at any time.”

“King?” Banks, snapped.

“Yes, sir. He had personal business and took one of the hands with him. Oh, and I understand Mr Swift and Sergeant Jarvis are with a party of marines sent to collect the men who went adrift last night,” he continued in a lower voice.

“
Canopus
is signalling once more,” Chivers broke in, having spotted a second hoist. “Three ships, sou'-west by south and steering to pass,” he looked back at his captain anxiously. “I cannot read the last, sir.”

“Signal from The Mount,” Lewis interrupted. “Our number and
Aries
; permission to leave harbour.” The crack of cannon fire emphasised the importance of the last message, and Banks felt his frustration grow.

“Hoist the peter and single up to our stern cable,” he snapped. Three ships could mean anything or nothing; Stewart had spoken of ten expected from San Domingo, in which case they might be battleships, and possibly just the head of a larger fleet. Otherwise it was more likely a collection that had escaped blockade, and would probably prove smaller. If frigates, they would run before the lumbering old
Prometheus
could even cast off, although liners might be a different prospect entirely. As an eighty,
Canopus
mounted much the same ordinance as
Prometheus
but in greater quantity, whereas
Aries
was little more than a sloop, and potentially even a liability. But still, handled correctly, the two British two-deckers could probably account for an enemy up to half as big again. It all depended on the final number.

“There's the marines,” someone shouted from the forecastle and, sure enough, two bands of red and white could be seen marching stiffly towards the ship. A far less orderly group of seamen ambled between them wearing looks of defiant shame. Banks glared at them then turned away. The added manpower would be useful; marines were determined fighters and every hand was needed, but he was far more interested in knowing his recently appointed second lieutenant’s whereabouts.

“What the devil was King thinking about?” he demanded of Caulfield. “The ship's about to sail and he's squandering time ashore.”

“He has hardly taken any leave so far, sir.” Caulfield pointed out. “And would undoubtedly have returned well before our intended departure time.”

Banks muttered something under his breath, then shifted his gaze to where
Canopus
awaited them in the Strait.
Aries
was already preparing to set sail and, even though a line-of-battleship was probably allowed to take longer than a sixth rate, it would be at least five minutes before they would be able to follow her example. If King was not back by then, they would just have to leave without him. And it would be his loss, Banks assured himself.

* * *

B
ut, as luck would have it,
Prometheus
sailed with all hands. Even Stone and Dawson, alerted amid the confusion of a busy market day by a dozen differing rumours, were in time to board. By three bells in the forenoon watch the ship had cleared Bleak Beach and caught the fresh east-north-easterly that had only recently risen.
Aries
was already ahead, and steadily drawing more so although Banks felt quite content to let the little frigate scud over the waves in a splendour of spray and sail. She might have all the dash and impudence of her type but, if there were to be a battle, it would be won by the brute force and solidity of warhorses such as his own
Prometheus
.

And she was being cleared for action at that very moment. The men, many of whom were still digesting the briefest of breakfasts, obviously anticipated getting to grips with the enemy almost immediately, and threw themselves into their work with gusto. Furniture was being stashed in the hold, bulkheads broken down, and every one of the many tasks necessary to turn their home into an efficient fighting machine was being undertaken with almost frantic haste.

For this had all the makings of a regular ruck, no attempt to humbug by disguising the barky as an Indiaman; no hand-to-hand combat in the cramped nether regions of the lower decks. It might hardly be a major fleet action; the British numbered three, and that was counting a jackass, but what
Canopus
had spotted bore all the hallmarks of a regular foe. A chance for
Prometheus
' big guns to speak properly and in earnest: to put their skills to the test against a conventional enemy with no attempt to deceive or delude. And, for most, the opportunity could not come fast enough.

* * *

B
ut Banks was not so keen for action and had no intention of sending anyone to quarters for some time. He was even happy for his senior officers to remain on the quarterdeck.
Canopus
was likely to signal again at any moment and it would be better for all to be fully appraised of the situation before being confined to their stations.