The Blighted Cliffs (26 page)

He
chuckled; Boye
s
dutifully followed suit. 'Monsieur Giscard informs me that they were
escorting the brig to the
Texel
,
carrying men bound for the Austrian front. Nest-cepas, monsteur:
Giscard, a short, stout man with a drooping face and unkempt hair
that sat ill above his new uniform, nodded glumly.

'They
burned the charts of course,' continued Davenant off-hand. 'And I'd
never trust more than half a word a Frenchy says, but it seems likely
enough. They'd lightened her quite substantially to get her into the
estuary, taken out some guns and lost a few score of her crew. Lucky
for you, eh, Crawley? At full complement she'd have sunk you faster
than a Breton rock.'

'And
were there soldiers on the brig you captured?' enquired Crawley
icily.

Davenant
waved the question away. 'Didn't have time to examine her myself,
left that to the boarding party. My abilities were needed elsewhere
at the time, you may recall.'

'Of
course.'

'Anyway,
there's little sense in waiting here for them to send a fleet to
punish us. Not unless you fancy another crack at glory, Crawley?'

Crawley
shook his head, his neck trembling.

'Boyes
will take command of the
Thermidor
.
He can take her back to Sheerness and get her repaired. Your popguns
made quite a dent in her side, you know; you can tell your men to be
proud of themselves. As for me, I shall return to Deal and make my
report to the admiral.' He peered over the side at
Orestes
.
'I suppose you'll be able to hobble back to Dover, Lieutenant? I can
have Boyes give you the tow if you require it.'

'We
may,' said Crawley tightly, 'be able to manage without you. Sir.'

We
did, but it was a devil of an effort. It took half the morning to
jury-rig a sail, and even then it made a feeble job of the light wind
we were given. My head still ached from its misadventure the night
before, and I almost collapsed again when I tried to look up at the
fractured masthead to supervise the rigging work.

Thankfully,
Crawley saw my predicament, or at least the futility of my
contribution, and put me on a party clearing debris from the
fo'c'sle, while he set himself wholeheartedly to the work of repair.
I think if he had not busied himself mending the ship he would have
been brought to doing it greater damage, for there was no disguising
his rage that the prize he had almost taken was now snatched from
him, and would be appended to that famous list of ships gloriously
defeated by Captain Davenant.

Thermidor
was under way long before
Orestes
;
we stood on deck and watched her square sails drawing away, leaving
us alone in the sea. All traces of the night's fog had cleared, and
once we no longer had the French frigate against our gunwale, we
could see
Lancelot
and her second prize, the small brig, tacking slowly back towards the
English coast. The sky was overcast, threatening rain - a mackerel
sky, as Ducker put it - but, as if intent on frustrating Crawley at
every turn, or perhaps to keep him isolated until the head of his
anger had passed, the wind remained faint and variable. In view of
the scant, frail canvas we had been able to mount, that proved
something of a blessing.

It
was long past the early winter sunset when we finally drew close to
the land.

'We'll
not risk entering the harbour tonight,' said Crawley, his voice now
showing nothing but exhaustion. 'We'll anchor in the roadstead, make
our way in at first light. Mr Jerrold, you may have the first watch.
I shall be in my cabin.'

It
was a sharp night, and very dark. Occasionally a sliver of moonlight
would pry its way through the clouds, but otherwise I was left in an
icy void. I tried stamping my feet and striding purposefully up and
down the deck, but anonymous complaints from below put an end to
that, and I could only huddle my boat cloak closer about me, pull my
hat down over my frosty ears and entertain myself by tapping out
familiar melodies between chattering teeth. And try to ignore the
clarity the cold gave to the ache in my head.

I
don't believe I drowsed off, but the noise, when it came, certainly
startled me more than it should have. My chin snapped up, and my eyes
were suddenly very wide open. It had been a splash, some way out in
the darkness, and my first thought was that it could be a cutting-out
party: smugglers, or Frenchmen; come to take their vengeance on us.
Should I sound the alarm? If I was wrong, the crew would not be quick
to forgive me; the earlier misdemeanour of my thumping footsteps
would be minor in comparison. But, I told myself, the sea was
unlikely to be crawling with brigands and villains at this hour; far
more likely the splash had been entirely natural, a wave falling over
itself or some such thing. Or was that how the watchman aboard the
Thermidor
had deceived himself the night before, as
Orestes
crept up on him? I peered more intently than ever over the side,
willing the darkness to part; I think I would almost have preferred a
boatload of pirates armed to the teeth, if only I could have seen
them, than having to contend with the unyielding anxiety of
blindness. As it was, I had nothing to give me confidence either way,
only gnawing doubt.

So
keenly did I scan the space before me that I did not hear the grate
of the companion hatch, nor the footsteps approaching me across the
deck. Nor even the voice in my ear. Only when a hand tugged at my arm
did I notice the presence, and spin about in pure, sudden terror.

It
was not One-Eyed Jack, nor Blackface Bill, nor any of the other
demons I had imagined. To my surprise, it was Nevell, the postman
we'd found aboard
Thermidor
,
who had elected to return to Dover with us rather than take the
faster route to Deal aboard the prize. After his encounter with
Lieutenant Boyes, I could quite understand his decision.

'Did
I startle you?' he asked, a wry grin on his face. 'I hope you were
not asleep.'

'Certainly
not. I merely thought I had heard a noise out there, and was trying
to discern its source.'

'They
do say that concentrating on silence is the surest way for a lookout
to miss the real danger.'

'They
teach you that in the Post Office, do they?' Crawley had seemed happy
enough with Nevell's tale of derring-do under the noses of the enemy,
but I'd not yet satisfied all my suspicions.

'I've
pursued various professions:'

'And
what brings you on deck?' My fraught conjectures still played out in
my mind, and I wondered whether this mysterious passenger might not
have come out to signal his evil cohorts aboard.

'I
couldn't sleep. Although not because of the sound of your footfall,'
he added hastily.

'If
I've learned one thing since I came to Dover,' I told him, 'it's that
one should never leave the comfort of a warm bed in the middle of the
night. Lands you in all sorts of trouble.'

'The
famous body on the beach? I've heard all about it.'

'Don't
tell me it's the talk of France now.'

Neve
ll
laughed quietly. 'No. I had it from the crew. They view you as some
sort of talisman, you know.'

'You
mean a curse, I presume.' It had not escaped my notice that few of
the men would catch my eye, and that when they obeyed an order it was
usually to take themselves away from me.

'I
wouldn't put it that way,' said Nevell earnestly. 'I believe they
think you some sort of a magnet for bad luck. As long as it attaches
itself to you, it stays away from them.'

'Until
I attract a particularly vicious typhoon or a razor-sharp reef while
we're out at sea. I'd never known sailors want any contact with bad
luck other than to throw it overboard.

Nevell
shrugged. 'Perhaps I misunderstood them. But they do talk of the
bodies you've found.'

I
wondered whether they saw my influence in the death of the man who
had fallen into my arms the night before, and, if so, how much longer
they would tolerate me. But Nevell, heedless of my discomfort at his
line of conversation, was continuing.

'In
fact, I'm told that you discovered poor Hal Webb.'

There
was more in his voice than just a man fishing for a yarn, and I
stared hard at him through the gloom. Between the darkness and his
naturally innocent face, though, he was as impossible to make out as
the waters around us.

'Did
you know Webb, then?' I asked. 'I thought he was a customs man.

Nevell
nodded. 'Indeed he was. But as I say, I've pursued various
occupations. And it's one of the great satisfactions of working for
the Post Office, you know, the broad sweep of people you meet.'

'I'm
glad my postage pays for such entertainment.' I trusted the man ever
less. 'Yes, I did find Webb, though it was Ducker, the quartermaster,
who hauled him in. You can visit his grave in Dover.'

'I
shall. But tell me, Lieutenant, was there anything suspicious about
the corpse?'

'Besides
the fact that he was five fathoms down with a sandbag round his leg?'

He
could have had all this from Ducker, or from any of the men who'd
been there; he could even have got it from me, with much less
trouble, if he hadn't accosted me in the middle of the night. My
concern over the splashes in the distance - I had heard several more
while we talked, each stiffening my nerves more than the last –
did not incline me to conversation.

'He
had no personal effects on his person, Mr Nevell, and no paper
conveniently inscribed with the name of his murderer. He was drowned,
deliberately, probably by someone else but equally possibly by
himself. Perhaps his conscience caught up with him.'

'His
conscience?' prompted Nevell.

'Please,
Mr Nevell.' I paused mid-sentence, for I had heard another sound off
to my left, somewhere ahead of the bow. 'Did you hear that?'

'I
confess I did not.' He cocked his head and affected to listen for a
few seconds. 'No. But you were expounding on Mr Webb's conscience.'

'If
you knew him at all,' I said shortly, 'you'll have known him better
than I ever will. And you'll perhaps know that he vanished from Deal
under something of a cloud.'

'I
do. But I also know that men sometimes take themselves into clouds to
get lost.' Nevell sounded more cautious now, and stared at me
significantly.

'Maybe
they do, but it's no concern of mine. I need to discover the
provenance of the first body, Mr Vitos, not the enigmatic Mr Webb.
Fascinating though he may be.'