The Devil's Own Luck (21 page)

“I have, thank you.” Craddock gave a tired smile.

“And you, Mr Mangold.” Mangold nodded. His face did not look quite so pink this morning.

“Pender tells me of another fatality, Mr Craddock. You must begin to wonder if there is a homicidal maniac aboard.”

“Coincidence, I’m sure, Mr Ludlow,” said the purser.

“At least my brother is clear on this one I trust.” Harry realized his mistake, even as he spoke. Craddock reddened visibly. A cooler head would have withdrawn. “I’m sure you will understand my concern, sir,” said Harry sharply, his temper interfering with his plans.

“Just as I understand an undertaking.” The rest were very still.

“Undertaking would seem to be a fitting occupation aboard this ship.” No one laughed. Harry really did not expect them to. “As for my word, sir. It stands since it applies only to your superior’s deplorable behaviour in the sinking of my ship. You will understand that I cannot allow the possibility of a few ruffled feathers to interfere with my attempts to clear my brother’s name.”

Craddock opened his mouth to speak, but Harry was in full flow. He had no real time for verbal subterfuge, plain speaking being more in his line.

“For I tell you now, gentlemen, that my brother is innocent, and I have some proof to underpin that assertion. So you will now find it necessary to examine your memories, and your consciences, to see if there is not some fact that you could add which will either support or refute that theory. And while you are about it, you would be as well casting your mind back to previous incidents that have resulted in an unexplained death. Such as that poor ship’s boy that everyone goes on about. What was his name, Larkin? Why, I have heard it said that the ship is cursed because of it.”

“Mr Ludlow. This is outrageous behaviour!” snapped Craddock. The faces of the others present were equally tense. “Why, you are practically accusing the men in this room of taking part in a conspiracy.”

“I am doing no such thing, sir. What I am trying to bring to your attention is this. That my brother is innocent of the crime he stands accused of. But that does not remove the fact of Mr Bentley’s death.”

Harry did not have to spell it out.

“How would you have me proceed, Mr Craddock?” He sat down, and spoke more softly. He had made his point in too brutal a manner. Sure it would get them to think. Now he must try to repair the breach he had made in their good opinion of him.

“I really cannot say, sir.” Craddock’s anger had not abated. There followed a general avowal of hurt pride from the others.

“I appeal to you, gentlemen, to hear me out.” Harry was speaking very quietly and earnestly now. “For I must ask you, as honourable men, how you would behave in such a case. Mr Craddock says that I am accusing you of engaging in a conspiracy. I am not, for I do not know whom to accuse. But there has been a conspiracy, for someone stole a knife bearing my initials, and used it to murder your superior officer. I have established to my own satisfaction that my brother is not the culprit. I ask you again, what would you have me do? I am as wedded to good manners as you are. Should I fall back on good manners, letting an innocent man hang, while a guilty one goes free?”

“Perhaps if you were to share your certainties about your brother, rather than your doubts about us, you would get more cooperation,” said Turnbull. He was sitting at his usual place, near the wardroom door.

Harry ignored him. It was a reasonable remark, but not really one he was either willing, or ready, to respond to. He stood up again, and addressed only Craddock.

“I will understand, sir, if you wish me to mess elsewhere. I will understand that the officers of the
Magnanime,
who will all surely lay claim to be honourable men, are not only willing to contrive to cover for the cowardice of their captain . . .”

“That’s a lie!” Turnbull again. Harry ignored him.

“. . . but, being honourable, are, for the sake of the reputation of their ship, willing to allow one of their number to escape his just deserts for the murder of Mr Bentley, as well as to ignore other matters which would bear investigation.”

Damn their opinion of me, thought Harry. It was a collective slap in the face, a challenge to all the officers in the room, as well as those not present. He stalked out of the wardroom wishing that he had helped himself to a beaker of coffee before he had started. Behind him he heard the buzz of animated conversation.

Harry made his way to the dispensary. How to handle Outhwaite? Threaten him? Bribe him?

“May I come in,” he said, pulling back the canvas screen. Outhwaite had been leaning back in his chair, in a somnolent position.

“Do,” he said, sitting quickly upright. “I was going to send for you today. Time to remove your bandages and have a look at your wound.”

“Then my visit is most fortuitous. I have just set a fox amongst the chickens in the wardroom. Given what I have said, I may have need of your services again.”

Outhwaite stood up, indicating that Harry should sit down in his chair. He did so, and Outhwaite started to undo his bandage. He stopped for a moment, and Harry looked up at him.

“I am, of course, agog to hear what you have said.” Outhwaite continued his unwinding. Harry turned away to avoid his breath.

“I have formally, and publicly, accused your captain of cowardice. I have also served notice that my brother is innocent, and that I suspect a member of the ship’s company to be the real murderer of Mr Bentley.”

“Well, there’s nothing like doin’ things by halves, I say.”

Outhwaite bent to examine the wound. His neutral air intrigued Harry.

“You don’t seem surprised?”

“Was I not there to see you crawling on your hands and knees examinin’ the deck? And why would you examine the body, if’n you didn’t have cause to think your brother wrongly charged? Only a matter of time before you upset someone. ‘Cause the only way you can truly clear brother James is to nail someone else. And all that buttering up of the wardroom.”

Harry smiled. “You weren’t fooled?”

“Not by a mile, or by a couple of pints of fine brandy neither.”

“I rather thought I had been straightforward with you.”

“Yet you cannot help thinkin’ that you can get around me by fillin’ me with drink.”

“That’s not true.” But the words lacked conviction and they both knew it was true.

“And then,” Outhwaite said quietly, “I have a particular way of applyin’ a bandage.”

Harry stiffened involuntarily.

“Still, you must have found sleep hard to come by last night, what with all the things on your mind.”

“Yes.”

“Taking the bandage off would be just you trying to get comfortable, I suppose? Just as well the wound’s healin’ up nicely.” Outhwaite’s voice was full of irony. “As you know, I subscribe to a scientific way of thinkin’. Now that rules out divine intervention completely, and it don’t hold much with chance neither. The master-at-arms takes to bullying James Ludlow, and that very night he’s found with a sword embedded in his back.”

“So Pender told me.” Harry hoped his voice sounded as neutral as the surgeon’s.

“I don’t know many people that like bein’ used, Mr Ludlow.”

Harry turned to face him. “Given the choice, I would rather not try to.”

Outhwaite’s gaze was unusually steady. “You came here with a purpose. I would be more willin’ to listen if you was to come straight to it.”

“I need help.”

“What possible help can I give you?”

“Well. If you have any suspicions of who might have killed Bentley, it would be helpful to hear them.” Now it was Harry’s voice that was full of irony.

“I was with you. Nothing you saw the other night was enough to support such convictions.” Outhwaite sat back on his sea-chest, his rheumy eyes steady on Harry. “And you are a man of action. Would you want me to pass on such as I’m thinkin’ to others?”

“Noughts prove nothing.”

“True. Yet you are asking me to do the same thing for you. To pass on thoughts that may mean nothing.” Outhwaite tilted his head forward. His chins folded into each other, making him look like an unshaven bulldog.

“The case is different.”

“How so?”

“An innocent man may hang.”

The surgeon lifted his head to look him in the eye. “While a guilty one goes free?”

Harry was not sure to whom Outhwaite was referring and the man had no intention of enlightening him, merely dropping his head into his chins again.

“I can only trust that you will see a difference. I cannot explain it to you.”

“Ask what you will, Mr Ludlow. But expect little.” Harry waited for Outhwaite to explain his willingness. “Why? Perhaps I think that you will kill everyone aboard this ship if you have to. And, to tell the truth, I could use a good night’s sleep.”

The surgeon lifted his head and smiled, exposing his black teeth.

Harry was still with Outhwaite when the summons from Crevitt came.

“Perhaps I am to be chastised for upsetting the officers,” he said. Prentice, again the unfortunate messenger, looked blank. “Please inform Mr Crevitt that I will attend upon the Captain presently.” Prentice nodded and left.

“Is there any more?” he asked Outhwaite.

“What do you mean, any more? I’ve already said that there’s likely nothin’ in the first place. The boy just fell overboard.” Outhwaite had started drinking again, his friendly air evaporating the more he drank.

“But you’ve just told me that none of the hands believe that to be the case. They believe he was ‘done in,’ as you put it.”

“Well, if they have any grounds for that I’ve never heard them speak. All I’m telling you is what the talk was.”

“It would be interesting to look at the ship’s log,” said Harry.

“Anyway, that’s when the floggin’ got bad. Bentley had always been keen, but the captain must have felt it was necessary too, ‘cause he stopped interfering, and just confirmed whatever the premier wanted.”

“But it didn’t really work, did it?”

“Well it didn’t cow the hands if’n that’s what they intended. Bentley drank more, then flogged more.”

“And Carter?”

“Ask him, ‘cause I’m damned if I know what he was thinkin.’”

“Maybe I will.” Harry stood up and left.

“I have summoned you here . . .”

“I am here at Mr Crevitt’s request,” said Harry stiffly.

“I’m aware of that, Ludlow.” Carter could not bring himself to look Harry in the eye. He was plainly having trouble containing himself, since he paused for a considerable time. Harry said nothing to help him. Crevitt, Craddock, and Turnbull also held their tongues.

“You have been asked here because it has been reported to me that I have been less than charitable in my attitude.”

He looked at Harry as if expecting some response. He received nothing but a blank stare.

“I am not the sort of man who refuses to listen to reason, nor am I one to ignore my Christian duty. Mr Crevitt has represented to me that by refusing you permission to speak with your brother, I am in danger of being both unChristian and unreasonable.”

“Sir, if I may . . .” said Turnbull. He was silenced with a look.

“There are, of course, certain conditions attached to this.” He looked towards Crevitt.

“I have suggested, Mr Ludlow, that an interview in my presence might be acceptable.”

Harry did not answer right off. He was left to wonder how much of this change was due to Crevitt’s pleading, and how much to the words he had spoken in the wardroom that morning. For if Craddock had not passed them on, then Turnbull would have done so. So would Crevitt. His silence worked to his advantage, for Crevitt, having worked hard to get this far, had no intention of letting things drift. His bony frame was bent forward eagerly.

“Should you find this unacceptable, I have suggested that Mr Craddock should also be present.”

Harry nodded.

“Mr Turnbull,” snapped Carter, “fetch the prisoner.” Crevitt closed his eyes, pointing his beaked nose towards the deckhand. For it would have been kinder for Carter to have asked him to fetch Mr Ludlow. Turnbull hesitated for a second, but his uncle’s look sent him on his way.

“You may have the use of my cabin.” Carter stood up, gave Crevitt a long, cold look, then, jamming his hat on his head, left the cabin.

“I think that some progress has been made,” said Crevitt, attempting a smile. It made him look like a body-snatcher.

“I’m curious to know what you will require of me in return.”

Craddock looked from one to the other, his ruddy face creased up, obviously mystified by the exchange.

“I don’t think the captain would be angry if we availed ourselves of his seats.” He invited Harry to sit, but he refused, remaining standing. The door opened behind him and he spun round. Turnbull ushered James into the cabin, then closed the door.

“James!” Harry rushed over and put his arms round his brother. He whispered one word in his ear, just the word “careful,” before he stood back to look at him. The things he had only guessed at last night were now plainly apparent. His brother’s face was a mass of dark bruises, and both lips had barely healed splits in them. Harry turned on Crevitt.

“What do you say to this, Parson, and you, Mr Craddock? Are you so little in command of your ship that this sort of thing can happen with impunity?”

“I was not aware till this morning,” said Craddock, lamely tugging at one of his whiskers. “I have given direct orders . . .”

“Which I am sure the captain will confirm,” said Crevitt hastily.

“I want to know who is responsible.” He turned to his brother. “James, tell them who did this to you.”

“I’m sure the captain would welcome the opportunity to chastise them at the grating,” said Crevitt.

“No. That would never do, brother. A member of the lower deck splitting to an officer.”

“You are no more a member of the lower deck than I am, Mr Ludlow,” said Crevitt. “And if you wish the people who are responsible for this to be punished, you must give us their names.”

“Is not humility a prized virtue in the Church, Mr Crevitt?”

“Most certainly.”

“Then let me consider this as a penance for sins unspecified, for it is my affair, and it will be settled as such.”