A Shadow's Bliss (36 page)

The irrepressible Morris suggested, “We could ask dear old Hibbard. D'you suppose—?”

They all laughed, and nobody mentioned the line of torches moving rapidly along the top of the cliffs towards the castle steps, or the second line to the south of them where Green's bullies were coming down the cliff path.

Later, Jonathan had no very clear recollection of their journey, save for the peculiar circumstance of the moon shining up at him. He realized after a puzzled interval that the moonlight was reflecting in the tidal pools. This seemed hilarious, and his arm wasn't so horribly painful now. ‘I must,' he thought contentedly, ‘be very drunk.'

They were on the dock, and then he was sitting in a large rowing boat beside Joe Taylor. Morris was at one oar, and Falcon's unorthodox valet, Tummet, had materialized from somewhere and was manning the other.

Jonathan crooned softly,

“Oh, when I was a sailor,

a sailor, a sailor.

Oh when I was a sailor

A jolly life had we!

What with rum at sea

And gin on the shore

Little cared I

If I seldom had—”

A hand was clapped over his mouth.

Morris gave a snort of mirth.

Falcon said sternly, “He's properly lushy! You were fools to fill him with brandy.”

Holsworth said, “If ye'd seen his arm—”

From out of the darkness a voice hailed:
“We ist da?”

Morris whispered, “Save us all! Dutch now!”

Falcon dashed an icy wet handkerchief at Jonathan's face and shouted, “Captain Jonathan Armitage of His Majesty's Royal Navy, and troops following. Prepare for boarding party!”

Jonathan shook the cobwebs from his brain and heard someone exclaim a dismayed
“Maledictions!”
followed by a flurry of agitated chatter.

Falcon hissed, “Are you sober, Armitage? You'll have to bluff this.”

“I'm—almos' sober,” said Jonathan, striving. “Has anyone a letter? A notice? Something written?”

They came alongside to the accompaniment of a good deal of commotion aboard the vessel.

Falcon handed him a folded paper. “I've this letter is all.”

“It'll have to—serve. With luck they cannot read English.”

Jennifer said softly, “They do not lower a ladder.”

“And I'm not waiting,” said Morris. “Row along to the anchor chain.”

The boat slid along. When the anchor was reached, Holsworth took the oar, and Morris seized the chain and was up it, hand over hand.

On the ship, a man was howling for the sails officer to come and deal with “some pig of an English officer, with his men most fast coming!”

Falcon followed Morris and seconds later a rope ladder was slung over the side.

Morris grinned down at them and called cheerfully, “All aboard!”

Tummet helped Jonathan to the rungs. “You'd best go first, sir.”

The climb was another challenge, but he was over the rail at last, and facing a small Frenchman who came running while pulling on a coat and with a stocking cap all askew on his mop of dark hair.

“You—off my
capitaine
's vessel will go!” he screamed, his face red with anger. “Where your uniform is? You 'ave ze look of ze officer naval—
jamais!
Depart!”

“Silence!” Jonathan thrust Falcon's letter at him, and by the light of the lamp which a very dishevelled and unshaven sailor brought, he saw it was the note that had been in Falcon's book at Breton Ridge. “As you see,” he said in the loud voice of authority, “'Tis an order demanding instant cooperation of all ship's masters sailing British waters. You will note the royal signature—‘G'.”

The international crew members peered uneasily at the letter. Behind them, Morris grinned broadly. Very conscious of the torches and muffled shouts that drew ever nearer, Jonathan noted that Taylor was aboard, leaning against the rail, and that Jennifer was helping Mrs. Newlyn, with Tummet following, carrying the birdcage.

“Enough!” He snatched the letter, and said in French, “You will at once up-anchor and—”

Half a dozen men ran along the deck, brandishing weapons. A seaman crept up behind Morris, knife upraised to strike. Falcon sprang to push Morris aside. The razor sharp blade that would have plunged into Morris' back slashed through his own coat. He caught the flying wrist, pulled hard, and with a cross-buttock twist sent the would-be assassin flying over the rail.

Simultaneously, Holsworth whipped his hook about the throat of the small Frenchman and held him goggle-eyed and powerless.

Tummet levelled the birdcage as though it had been a blunderbuss and roared, “In the King's name!” and the muscular seaman running at him with cudgel upraised, halted, staring in confusion at this strange weapon.

Shots rang out from the dock. Waving recklessly at that murderous fire, Jonathan howled, “Boarding party! Advance!”

What they could have been expected to advance in, had there been a “boarding party,” was debatable, but the crew of this illegal vessel did not stay to argue the point. As one man, they abandoned ship.

The victors sent up a ragged cheer.

Holsworth's captive cried, “Me, I 'ave surrender,
mon capitaine!
I am ze prisoner of ze war!”

Falcon panted, “Well, we've pirated her! Now what do we do with her?”

Exhausted, in considerable pain, but elated, Crazy Jack said, “We sail her, friend! We sail her!”

*   *   *

August Falcon opened the door to the
capitaine
's cabin, then stood aside as the widow came out carrying a torn sheet and the remains of the mop handle they'd utilized for splints.

“How does he go along?” enquired Falcon.

She shrugged her plump shoulders. “'Twas hard on the lad, but he's full of pluck.”

“It looked more than a trifle ghastly. Will he lose the arm?”

“With myself tending him? He will not! Though,” she muttered limping away stiffly, “I'd have gone on better with some rhubarb and a black cat.”

Falcon stared after her.

She turned and waved the sheet in his face. “Tomorrow, I'll use this to try and clean that cupboard they call a kitchen! If ever I saw such a filthy lot! And let him rest—he's worn to a shade!”

“Er—yes,” said Falcon and went inside.

Jonathan lay on the bunk looking exhausted. Morris was at the low cupboards that lined one side of the cluttered cabin, pouring rum into a chipped mug. He glanced round as Falcon entered, and said, “Good thing you've come. He wouldn't take any of this till—”

Jonathan sat up. His arm ached wretchedly and he felt considerably wrung out, but he asked, “Did that fellow Armand follow my orders? Who's watching him? I'd not trust—”

“Peace, peace,
mon capitaine.
” Falcon drew up one of the crude chairs and dusted it with his handkerchief before lowering his muddied person onto it. “The Frenchy seems eager to please, now he's turned cat-in-pan and decided to work for us. Tummet is watching him with the aid of a blunderbuss, for the time being. Not for long, I fancy. Already he's looking greenish about the gills, and if it blows, we'll have him at the rail all night. He's a poor sailor.”

“Not the only one,” said Morris, handing Jonathan the mug.

Falcon sighed. “I do not love an ocean voyage, I'll own.”

Jonathan took a healthy swallow of the rum, and coughed. “What about Miss Jennifer?” he croaked.

Morris said, “She was fast asleep when I laid her on the bunk. It ain't the cleanest of cabins, but I think 'tis a bit less redolent of spirits than this hovel.”

Falcon drawled, “The poor lady is properly compromised, you know.”

“I do.” Jonathan said, “You must know it was my intention to make her my wife, but…” He shrugged and didn't finish the sentence.

Morris handed a mug to Falcon, kept one for himself, and carried over a plate of some chunks of cheese and broken biscuits. Removing Duster from Jonathan's shoulder, he sat on the end of the bunk and offered the bird a crumb of cheese.

Duster recoiled in disgust, and fluttered back to Jonathan.

Morris shook a finger at him. “Your master needs his sleep, you stubborn ingrate.”

Fighting that need, Jonathan said, “First, I'll know what it is that you keep from me.” They exchanged a quick glance, and he went on with a trace of impatience, “When first I met Mr.—ah, September, I'd a fleeting impression of familiarity, and you, Falcon, were sure you knew me.”

Falcon inspected the contents of his mug.

“I believe,” Jonathan went on, “that 'twas your name and—er, reputation I knew. I cannot recall that we ever actually met. Yet you knew me—or knew of me. The truth, if you please.” He saw Morris's troubled expression and added, “I'm not a child, Jamie. If a price has been set on my head, or some such thing, I will not fall into a decline.” He gave a wry smile. “I am no stranger to disgrace.”

Morris said unhappily, “The fact is, we could neither of us think where we'd met you. Which was logical because—we hadn't. We recognized you—or Falcon did first, of course—by the er, strong family resemblance.”

Jonathan jerked forward, then winced and cradled his arm painfully. “Do you say you are acquaint with my family? Are they well?” and still disturbed by the widow's conversation with the Spirit of the Ocean, he asked, “Is my dear father—”

Morris interposed with a look of desperation, “We—ah. That is to say, er—no, we didn't meet your papa, er—exactly. But we chanced to visit the Chandler estate, and—”

“Ye Gods and little fishes!” cried Falcon explosively. “Do you mean to take a year and a day to caper around the simple truth? Your sister is now betrothed to Gordon Chandler, Captain Jack. A most eligible match. Your father is dead. He died a year after your ship went down.”

Jonathan lay back and closed his eyes, and the mug sagged in his hand. So it was truth. Papa, always loving and unfailingly proud of them all, was the person he was “specially fond of” who would not be there to meet him …

Springing to snatch the mug, Morris exclaimed, “Damn you, Falcon! Your tact is exceeded only by your compassion! He's in no state to weather a shock like that!”

“He'd as well hear it tonight rather than wait till next week whilst you try to get your tongue from 'twixt your teeth! It gets no easier for beating about the bush, Lieutenant Mealy-mouth!”

Jonathan pulled himself together. “No—I am all right now. I think I have—feared this for some time … Do you know how—what happened? Please do not wrap it in clean linen.”

“As you wish.” Falcon said, “From all I heard, your father refused to believe the charges against you. He spent a fortune trying to prove your innocence.”

Jonathan smiled. “Yes, he would have done that. He is—was—the very best of—” He bit his lip, then went on, “His fortune was small, unless— Did he sell the house? The country place?”

Morris gestured sharply, but Falcon ignored him. “I believe he lost everything.”

“My … God!” Jonathan put a trembling hand over his eyes for a minute while Morris glared at Falcon, and Falcon looked back at him enigmatically.

“My—apologies,” said Jonathan trying to keep his countenance. “The last time I saw him, my father was in excellent health. He is—was a relatively young man. Did—did his health break down because—of my disgrace?”

“No, no, dear boy,” said Morris kindly. “Never blame yourself. Anyone can suffer a heart seizure, you know, and—”

“A heart seizure!” Jonathan shot a narrowed glance at Falcon. “Is that truth?”

“Ask not for truth, if you want rather to be spared it.”

“Yes,” said Jonathan numbly. “Yes. The inference is—sufficiently obvious.” He took a deep breath. “I know you are both very tired. But—would you be so kind as to tell me of—of the rest of my family…?”

*   *   *

Jennifer climbed up the companionway stiffly, and stepped into a radiant morning, the skies dotted here and there with fluffy clouds, the sea sparkling in the sunlight, and a brisk breeze billowing the sails. The distant loom of the coastline was off the port side, which meant that Johnny had decided to go around Land's End rather than head north towards Bristol. Briefly, she wondered why, then thought, ‘Plymouth! Of course! He's running for the fort and the Harbour Master!'

She was surprised to see that the fiery Frenchman they'd captured last night was manning the tiller quite cheerfully. Two sailors were swabbing down the decks. Enoch Tummet, a blunderbuss across his knees, and an expression of profound gloom on his faintly green countenance, sat on the hatch, keeping watch over the prisoners. He rose and bowed, and she called a “Good morning” to him. Towards the bow, Falcon and Morris sat on some coiled rope examining the contents of a small bag. They both stood to greet her.

“I am very ashamed,” she said, extending a hand to each of them. “To think I would fall asleep at such a moment! I don't even recollect going down to my cabin.”

Morris said, “You were exhausted, ma'am. Faith but I was astounded any of you could walk about at all after your wild boatride! 'Twas my very great pleasure to carry you. Falcon would have, but he has frippered about Town too long, and lacks the stamina to—”

Falcon said, “You'll find out how much stamina I have if you ever summon the gumption to face me!”

“The scowl you see on his handsome phiz”—Morris grinned and ducked the bag Falcon hurled at him—“is because he saved my life last night. Major tactical error.”

For just an instant Falcon looked disconcerted, then he drawled “I mean to ensure that when you meet your just deserts, 'twill be at the point of my Colichemarde!” He bowed to Jennifer, and sauntered away to confer with Tummet.