The Devil's Own Luck (17 page)

“Any man can hate, Mr Ludlow, sin though it is. But it takes two to create such a situation. I am close to the captain. I count myself lucky to call him a friend. I like to think I have his respect. I would, indeed, wish to speak with him about this continuing feud, and the futility of it.”

“But you dare not?”

“Choose not to, at least for now. But I am also a man of the cloth. What you are engaged in, both of you, is sinful. I see it as my duty to do what I can to bring you together.” Crevitt stopped and moved in front of Harry, forcing him to do the same.

“That’s easy, Mr Crevitt. Just find a quiet open field.”

“It would be fair to say that you have tried that and failed.” Crevitt held up his hand to stop Harry’s words. “If I said to you that you misunderstand the captain, what would you reply?”

“That I understand him only too well.” They both looked at the entrance to the great cabin under the poop.

“Do you, I wonder? I have often thought that one of Oliver’s problems was an inability to attract friends.” Harry’s surprised look escaped Crevitt. He was looking in the wrong direction.

“I have remarked to him about this, and believe me, I have not laid the fault for this at other people’s doors.” His voice became softer, almost warm and they walked.

“I have known him since he was a boy. We were much of an age, and our fathers had neighbouring parishes. Perhaps because of that we were thrown together. He was not an easy person to get to know, even then, but in the similarity of our backgrounds, we had much in common. And I did, at one time, harbour some hopes of marrying his sister.”

“Why are you telling me all this?”

“Because I think what I have to say may have some bearing on why this situation has developed. Since I have known the captain a long time, I am aware of his reasons for hating you. I knew your name long before I met you. Indeed I have sought to point out to Oliver that you cannot be as bad as he paints you.”

“Spare yourself the trouble, Mr Crevitt.”

The parson was sharp in his response. “I have a duty, sir. And I require no one’s permission to exercise it.” His tone changed as he resumed his tale.

“As children, I observed even then that Oliver invested too greatly in his enthusiasms. He was the type of boy who liked someone too much, and to the exclusion of all others. As a friend I was repeatedly discarded in favour of some new acquaintance, a person who would occupy all of Oliver’s time and thoughts. Such a new acquaintance would be invested with such powers!”

If this had hurt the young Crevitt, you could not hear any evidence of it now. There was neither praise nor condemnation for anyone as he continued.

“Needless to say, such worship rarely bears fruit, and in his disappointment that his new-found friend was not perfect, he would often start to goad them, as if testing their friendship to see if it would break. In most cases it did. It is a habit he has not entirely lost, nor have the consequences much changed. It has made him mistrustful. Outside of myself, and of course his sister, whom he worships, he has few friends.”

“All this is leading up to something,” said Harry, trying not to sound bored.

“Of course it is, Mr Ludlow.” Crevitt turned to face him, forcing Harry to stop again. “Would I not have achieved something, if I could bring you together?”

Harry made to speak, but Crevitt talked eagerly over his attempt.

“Armed not with weapons, Mr Ludlow, but with Christian charity. Enough charity to put an end to the quarrel. I make no pretence when I tell you that Captain Carter is my dearest friend. And while I will naturally tend to take his part against those who seek to harm him, I do feel that what lies between you and he does him no good at all. I would venture to suggest that you have little to gain from it either.”

“Are you going to come to the point?” asked Harry. Crevitt was altogether too prosy for his liking.

“I suggest that something be done to breach the deadlock. A gesture of some sort, one that could be met with another gesture.”

“You are going to ask me to make a gesture?” Harry’s disbelief was very evident.

Crevitt’s cheekbones twitched, but he did not manage a smile.

“Perhaps, under the circumstances, it would be more appropriate if Oliver were to make the first move.”

Harry really wanted to tell Crevitt to jump overboard, but no advantage could be gained from that. “Do you have something in mind?”

“Perhaps if he were to allow you to meet with your brother?” Whistles blew and suddenly the air was full of shouted commands and running men. Craddock had called “All hands.” Harry took Crevitt’s arm and pulled him against the hammock nettings as the men rushed to their stations. Craddock had been joined, on the quarterdeck, by all the officers. Harry had been so engrossed in his conversation with Crevitt that he had not noticed. They were still in their dress uniforms, looking slightly bemused.

Carter came on deck last. He looked down to where Harry and Crevitt stood. A brief smile crossed his face. Without turning he addressed Craddock.

“About time we indulged in a bit of sail drill, Mr Craddock.” He made sure his voice was loud enough to be heard by the whole deck. “Would you be kind enough to request those not directly engaged to clear the way. After all we don’t want anybody to get hurt.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” said Craddock sharply. He looked to where Harry stood and gave a slight nod. Harry made his way to the poop without a word. Crevitt followed him. Turning round Harry could see James. He was dressed in purser’s slops and he stood with a group of men on the starboard gangway. They exchanged glances just as the orders came to send the topmen aloft. While his companions rushed for the shrouds, James hesitated, unsure what to do.

“Move your arse, Ludlow.” The command, from a man in a pea-jacket and a round hat, was accompanied by the sound of a rope’s end striking his brother’s back. Harry gripped the rail, as he saw James do the one thing that he dreaded. He turned to retaliate against his assailant, a natural reaction in anyone but a sailor. The petty officer let fly with the rope’s end, beating James back towards the shroud.

“Get aloft, you no-good bastard!” Turnbull, standing beside his uncle, turned to see how Harry was reacting. A sharp command from Carter had him facing forward again.

James was now cowering in the scantlings as the blows continued to rain down on him.

“Belay that!” shouted Craddock. The master-at-arms hesitated, his rope in the air.

“Belay, Mr Craddock?” snapped Carter. “A man refuses his duty and you cry belay when he is shown the rope’s end? I would have had a different response from Mr Bentley.”

Craddock went bright red. James had started up the shrouds, climbing slowly out of harm’s way. But Harry knew he was heading for a greater danger. He would have to climb to the upper yards, and having reached them, he would then have to walk out along them, his feet slipped into the roped slings beneath him, and his arms wrapped round the yard to keep him there. If his companions took care of him, he might just survive. If they ignored his inexperience he could well miss his foot or handhold and tumble, either to certain death on the deck, or if he was lucky, to a slim chance of survival over the side.

“With respect, sir, the man does not know his duty,” said Craddock. Harry waited for the explosion, silently blessing Craddock nevertheless. Carter would crucify the acting premier for daring to question his orders.

“I am minded to take heed of what you say, Mr Craddock.” Carter turned with a smile, ostensibly addressing Craddock, but really aiming his remarks at Harry. “Even if I disapprove of you daring to check me on my own quarterdeck.”

“I meant only . . .”

“I know what you meant, Mr Craddock, just as I know that refusing your duty is an offence that normally brings the culprit a flogging. Call that man down,” he shouted, before turning back to Craddock. “However, on this occasion we will allow for everyone’s inexperience, both yours and our newest recruit. You may send the men about their normal duties.”

Carter turned and headed back to his cabin. He stopped and looked briefly at Harry. Brief it might be, but the look spoke volumes.

Go ahead, it said. Wine and dine my officers and seek to turn them against me. Just remember that I hold your brother’s life in my hands. Offend my pride or my person at your peril.

“Mr Crevitt. If you could use your good offices to any effect, I would be most grateful,” said Harry quietly. This was no time for foolish pride.

“Come in, Pender,” he said. The man smiled as he came through the door, showing a set of perfect white teeth. Harry, shutting the door behind him, sized up his new servant. The smile was odd. It wasn’t servile or obsequious, yet neither did it convey insolence or familiarity. Pender was of medium height, slim enough in his purser’s slops, yet the way his shoulders were set implied that he was physically strong. He had a dark complexion, and his face, round, impish, and topped with tight black curls worn short, still held that smile. And there was a look in his eye to go with it. Arrogance, thought Harry, knowing, deep down, it was really just self-assurance.

“I want you to have a look at my chest. I believe it is something you are familiar with, locks and the like,” he said. The smile slowly faded.

“I don’t think I know what you mean.” A steady voice, with a soft West Country burr.

“You’re too modest, Pender. You have quite a reputation aboard ship, though it probably pales beside your reputation ashore.” Pen-der said nothing. He stared silently at a point over Harry’s left shoulder.

“Please don’t be alarmed. I want, indeed I value, your expertise. I would be grateful if you would take a close look at that chest. What would you say has happened?”

Pender bent down and looked at the lock. He ran his fingers over a scratch, then inserted a fingernail into a deeper indentation.

“Well?”

“I think it would be best if I was to be going about my duties.”

“You are going about your duties, Pender. Mr Craddock has appointed you as my servant.” Pender, still squatting, gave him a look of stony indifference. “Think about it, man. Why would Mr Craddock do a thing like that? You’re no more a manservant than you are a sailor.”

Pender stood up and thought for a moment, weighing the odds.

“I would say that someone tried to open this here chest before.”

“You?”

“What?” Pender was genuinely offended. “Me? Not me, your honour. If’n it had been me, you worn’t of seen no scratches.” “An amateur then?”

“I’ll say.”

“Could you show me how you would open it?” Harry held up a gold coin.

Pender smiled again. He pulled a set of thin metal rods from his pocket. He bent down before the chest, and with practised speed he inserted, one after the other, three of the rods. He fiddled about for a couple of seconds, and the lock sprang open.

“A most impressive display. Thank you, Pender.” Harry had him. Pender had not opened the lock to earn the gold coin, he had done it to show off. And in showing off he had told Harry more than he should. Mistaking the thank you as a dismissal, Pender straightened up and made to leave. Or was it a realization of the fact that he had been a trifle foolish, for he made no attempt to take the gold coin.

“Wait,” said Harry. “How much would you say that particular skill is worth? Ashore I mean. Somewhat more than a rating’s pay?”

They looked at each other silently. Pender’s grey eyes were steady. He was not a man to be stared down.

“Beats starvin’, your honour. An’ that’s what you get when times are ‘ard.”

“With that skill you would never starve. Yet you take the King’s bounty, and opt for a life afloat. Seems strange.”

“That’s as maybe. But it’s what I chose to do.” There was the unspoken comment, barely disguised, that it was none of Harry’s business, in the way he said it.

“I have half a mind to threaten you, Pender,” said Harry quietly, still holding that stare. “I cannot but feel that there are those ashore who would welcome news of your whereabouts.” Pender didn’t react, standing absolutely still. Not even his eyelids flickered.

“But something tells me that would do no good. Something tells me that you would not respond to threats.” Pender looked away, breaking off the contest. He was now gazing over Harry’s shoulder again.

“I can’t think what you have a mind to threaten me with, sir.”

“I think you have. You’re not here because you love the Navy or your country, are you? You’re here because it’s too hot to be ashore. Too many people around who would like to get their hands on you and perhaps string you up. At the very least you would be down for Botany Bay. However, that is none of my concern. I have more pressing worries. I dare say it is common talk below decks, my situation and that of my brother.”

“That kind of talk is best avoided, your honour.”

“Do you like being a sailor?”

“It suits me well enough,” said Pender. Harry was getting nowhere with the oblique approach. The man’s self-contained air was infuriating. If Pender adopted this attitude with his officers he would be accused of mutiny. Yet Harry, from what Outhwaite had told him, knew that he applied something close to it in his dealings with his superiors. The man was very sure of himself. Not cowed, or afraid, and certainly not frightened. But most important, nor was he stupid.

“I apologize, Pender.” No response. “But you must understand that I do not know you, and another man might well have responded to a threat.”

“Can you claim to know me now then, your honour.” Pender looked him straight in the eye. It was not a question.

“I am forced to make rapid judgements because I do not have time for anything else. My brother is set to hang unless I can prove that he is innocent. In order to do that I require assistance. While I can move about the ship, my movements are naturally circumscribed. This makes it extremely difficult for me to either talk to anyone or question them; in short, to find out the truth. You are aware of this, and so is everyone on the ship with any brains.”

“That leaves out a fair amount of people, your honour.” Pen-der’s snub nose crinkled, and he nearly smiled again.