A Shadow's Bliss (40 page)

In one small office several men had gathered. A naval commodore and a Company director were seated at a long table. A slim young ensign with dark luminous eyes and thin nervous hands hovered behind the director's chair. Jonathan Armitage stood before the table, an impressive figure in an immaculate dark blue habit, a snowy cravat at his throat, his left arm still carried in a sling. At the side of the room August Falcon, James Morris, and Joe Taylor sat on straight-backed wooden chairs. All were silent. It was an ominous silence, as though the lightning that flickered occasionally over the city on this sultry afternoon added to the tension in the room. At length, the commodore, a heavy-set florid-faced gentleman, wrenched his gaze from the sheaf of papers in his hand and said with an air of barely suppressed amusement, “I give you credit, Captain Armitage, for adhering to the adage that attack is the best means of defence. But your tale, while most—er, enlivening, has not one point in common with these statements made by the survivors of the wreck. By Gad, sir, you would have done better to have kept your attack within the realm of credibility!”

A faint flush lit Jonathan's features, and his grey eyes held a glitter of anger. He turned to the director. “If to tell the truth is to attack, Lord Hayes, then I must—”

The mighty director, gaunt, hard-eyed and thin-lipped, over-rode with slow deliberation, “You stand accused, Captain Armitage, of gross negligence in the performance of your duties as master of the
Silken Princess.
Your first mate reported you to have been in an intoxicated condition for most of the voyage. His statement was verified by the supercargo—” He glanced at Falcon and Morris and clarified, “That being the title of the senior merchant sailing with a ship. It was also sworn to by the surgeon and by your personal servants, Captain Armitage. You are held directly responsible for the subsequent wreck and tragic loss of life. You appear now, after an absence of more than two years, and hand us a flamboyant tale of having been lured to the cabin of a beautiful woman and clubbed down with a subsequent—and highly convenient—loss of memory. To substantiate your astounding claim of being held prisoner on your own ship, you offer nothing more substantial than the word of your ship's carpenter Mr. Taylor, who is known to be devoted to you. Now, if you had some proof, some names of those responsible, some reason for such dastardly conduct, I should be glad to hear it.”

“As I said, sir, Mr. Taylor discovered the reason. They had stolen the cargo before we sailed, and—”

“Impossible!” snorted the commodore. “Such a feat would require widespread collusion and the cooperation of trusted gentlemen both in the employ of the East India Company, and in the service of their King. Preposterous, I say, sir! A most confoundedly irresponsible piece of nonsense!”

“Unless,” murmured the director, “Captain Armitage can substantiate his claim in—er, some way.”

Gritting his teeth, Jonathan said, “I have given you my sworn word, my lord. As have Mr. Taylor and these gentlemen who—”

Once more the commodore interrupted. “Who have already made themselves ridiculous in Whitehall and elsewhere with their farcical tales of a treasonable conspiracy 'gainst the British government. Poppycock, I say sir. Poppycock!”

Falcon drawled, “Do you consider treason to be ridiculous, Commodore? You are lenient.”

Lord Hayes added to an impression of dyspepsia by opening a small and beautifully enamelled box, selecting a tablet and swallowing it with the water the ensign rushed to offer. “We consider it ridiculous, sir,” he said, “to attempt to besmirch the reputations of the high-ranking aristocrats and military officers you accuse of being involved in your so-called League of Jewelled Men. You offer us nothing more than allegations lacking any shred of supporting evidence. Yet I am told that Gideon Rossiter, the leader of your foolish club, or whatever it is, had the unmitigated gall to point the finger at his own father-in-law, the Earl of Collington, who is a very fine gentleman, and chances to be a good friend of mine.”

“And you emulate his disgraceful behaviour, Lieutenant Morris,” said the commodore, “by having named the head of your house, Lord Kenneth Morris, another conspirator. I wonder, sir, that you would sink so low as to bring such wicked charges 'gainst your own kinsman! One can only assume there is bad blood between you, and that you choose this shabby means for revenge!”

Scarlet, Morris sprang to his feet. “One might better assume, sir, that you are an incompetent nincompoop with not the brains to see past your fat nose!”

August Falcon gave a hoot of delighted laughter.

His face an even deeper hue of scarlet than that of the incensed Morris, the commodore jumped up, and roared, “Ensign! Show this disrespectful and ill-mannered person the door!”

The ensign, neither as tall nor as sturdy as Morris, chose to show him the door by opening it and waiting with a grave expression and twinkling eyes for the “disrespectful and ill-mannered person” to pass through.

Shaking his head, Falcon stood also. “I warned you, Armitage. They're all cut from the same cloth. Dense material, at best.”

“Good day, sir!” snorted the commodore, breathing hard as he sat down again. “Have you anything more substantial to add, Captain Armitage?”

Keeping his temper with an effort, Jonathan answered, “Gideon Rossiter and his friends have been able to learn that the League was organized, and is controlled by six men. They are identified by small jewelled tokens, and each of them also has a number. We know that they refer to their leader as the Squire. We believe that this Squire planned my ruin and disgrace because whilst I was in Suez three years ago, I evidently saw or heard something that was dangerous to his schemes.”

The commodore shook his head. “What an imagination!”

With a faint smile the director murmured, “But you have not the very remotest notion of what that—er, ‘something' may have been.”

Humming softly, Falcon followed Morris to the door.

Jonathan said grittily, “Unfortunately, no sir. But we believe that they are training mercenaries to foment sedition throughout London. I've no doubt but that they intend to use the Blue Rose Mine in Cornwall as a storage facility for their stolen cargoes, and as a reception area and training ground for their—”

“Troops?” The commodore threw back his head and laughed heartily. The director's lips curved into a thin smile.

Jonathan's fists clenched and he took a deep steadying breath.

The director said, “It saddens me that a young gentleman who passed out of Eton and Addiscombe College with so impressive a scholastic record as you achieved, should have allowed his love of strong drink and his lust for a beautiful woman to destroy everything the future offered. You will hold yourself available, Captain Armitage, for an official investigation into your disgraceful conduct as master of the
Silken Princess.
In the event you are found guilty, you will be stripped of your rank, discharged with dishonour from the Company, and all back pay and prize monies confiscated. You will then be handed over to the High Court of the Admiralty to be punished for your crimes to the fullest extent of the law. Meanwhile, sir, you are free to leave with”—his sardonic gaze flickered to the door—“your friends. However”—he leaned forward—“do not attempt to leave England!”

Jonathan said with proud defiance, “I have told you the true facts, my lord. To the best of my ability, I shall attempt to serve England. With my friends!” He bowed and stalked from the room, the ensign closing the door behind him.

“'Pon my soul but they don't breed men like they did in my young days,” snorted the commodore, rising and taking up a fat satchel.

“What I fail to understand,” said the director, a thin hand on his thin middle, “is what in the world they hope to gain from it all.”

“Notoriety, very likely.” The commodore waddled to the door. “Though one might think the half-breed would have had enough of that; he's the joke of London.”

“A deadly joke,” said Lord Hayes thoughtfully. “I think few men laugh to his face.”

“They laugh like hell behind his back,” grinned the commodore. “And he knows it. He's outspoken in his contempt for the
haut ton,
and would do anything to slander as many gentlemen as was in his power. Only look at their little group, m'dear fellow. Not a man of 'em who ain't got some sticky skeleton in the family closet. And now they've added a real gem to their ranks. Jonathan Greville Armitage. What'd they call him in Cornwall? Crazy Jack?” He chuckled, nodded his thanks as the ensign opened the door for him, and went out shaking his head and saying, “Jove, what a fine recruit!”

Once more the ensign closed the door, walked back to stand by the table, and waited.

The director asked, “Well, nephew Joel? What sayest thou?”

The ensign answered gravely, “I sayest, it fitteth, my lord.”

“The question is,” murmured the director, “is it a perfect fit? The stakes are extreme high. There can be no slips, you understand.”

“I understand. About Armitage. I fancy he'll be thrown to the lions?”

“Probably.”

“He's had a very nasty time of it, sir.”

“Pity,” said the director. “But—we have no choice, do you see?”

With slow reluctance the ensign said, “Yes, uncle. I see. But I wish we knew what it was that Armitage saw—or heard, in Suez.”

“So do we all, dear boy,” sighed the director, taking out another tablet. “So do we all.”

C
HAPTER
XVII

The afternoon was grey and drizzly, and the three men came gratefully into the warmth of palatial Falcon House. They shed their wet cloaks and went up the stairs to August's comfortable private parlour, where a crackling fire awaited them.

A lackey hurried to light a branch of candles. When he'd drifted silently from the room, Falcon said, “Well, 'tis done. I fancy you mean to leave Town, Jack.”

Morris looked sharply at Jonathan. “When? Where do you go, dear boy?” He added with a sly grin, “Sussex, perchance?”

Jonathan shook his head. “I must see my family. I'd have gone down sooner had I not been prevented by this stupid board of inquiry.”

“It was a strange business,” said Falcon thoughtfully. “To say truth, I'd have laid odds you would be held for Admiralty justice. They dealt lightly with you.”

“Lightly!” Morris expostulated. “Despite the testimony of those navy physicians regarding his head wound, and the information Joe Taylor gave them, the best they could do was to decide against further prosecution pending a more far-reaching investigation.”

Jonathan said, “Which means—an' I know anything of governmental manoeuvreings—that those involved will busy themselves in finding scapegoats, or in covering up all evidence of their own wrongdoing, and prolonging their investigations till the matter has been forgot!” He smiled suddenly. “But only listen to me grumble, when I should instead be full of gratitude. I know now that I was not responsible for the loss of all those lives; I have taken back my self-respect and my wits—”

“Such as they are,” inserted Falcon.

“Such as they are,” agreed Jonathan with a chuckle. “And at least I am not obliged to languish in prison, which I'd thought very likely.”

“Had Admiral Chetwynd not come so eloquently to your defence,” said Falcon, “you'd not be sitting here now.”

“Very true! He's a grand old sea dog, is he not? He told me I owe his intervention to Lady Lyme-Rufford. I gather he courted her when he was a young man.”

“I wonder he didn't win the lady,” said Morris. “He has a silver tongue.”

Falcon said, “Even was it studded with gems, I still say Armitage was let off surprisingly easy. The League was more of a threat.”

“We can't prove those varmints were aiming at Jack,” argued Morris.

Falcon fixed him with an incredulous stare. “The ball that was fired at our carriage on Monday made a hole in his tricorne. The knife that came through the window yesterday missed him by a hair. I should have realized that both were intended for you! What sorry assassins the League hires to—”

He was interrupted as Tummet rushed into the room balancing a laden tray precariously. “That 'orrid 'ound, guv,” he panted, kicking the door closed behind him. “Be the death o' me, 'e will! Not that you'll care,” he added.

A deep bark resounded in the hall. Morris grinned and suggested that Falcon give Apollo to Jonathan.

“Certainly not,” said Falcon. “Miss Rossiter would never forgive me if the League put a period to the animal. You must learn how to deal with him, Tummet.”

“I shoulda brung back one o' them Cornish spells,” grumbled Tummet, setting his tray on a handsome sideboard.

“I know a few,” said Falcon obligingly. “If you wish someone ill, you've only to drop a toad on his doorstep, and he'll be visited by the most wretched luck.”

Tummet said, “Even if that 'orrid 'ound 'ad a doorstep, which 'e don't, it wouldn't do no good. Show 'im a toad and 'e'd likely eat it. 'Course,” he added, brightening, “I could give 'im a bag o' feathers! A long and painful dee-mise! That'd serve 'im right fer—” Given pause by Morris' aghast stare, he looked at two other arrested expressions and said uneasily, “Cor, I don't never mean it, gents! A 'orrid 'ound 'e might be, but I wouldn't wish 'im a slow death!”

Jonathan said quickly, “Besides, 'tis all superstitious nonsense.”

“And those stupid spells only work on—on native born Cornish people,” said Morris.

Falcon laughed. “I collect I must be prepared to awaken some night and find a charmer or diviner waving a deceased fowl over my bed, or some such thing, to break the spell! Wake up, Tummet! Must you stand there with your jaw at half mast? You're here in the capacity of a valet—try behaving like one!”