The Devil's Own Luck (32 page)

An event? The death of that boy, Larkin? Again more questions than answers. But there had to be an answer, and if it was to be found aboard the
Magnanime,
then tonight, when some of the ship slept, he must find it. Given this wind they could well raise the Rock in the morning, James would be carted off to the gaol, Carter’s witnesses would swear their testimony. And Carter? He would chase the dockyard to replace his mast, and badger the Port Admiral, saying how keen he was to join the growing fleet in the Mediterranean. As soon as was humanly possible he would be on his way, leaving Harry to defend the indefensible.

“Mr Craddock,” said Harry, standing up as the acting premier entered.

“My cabin, Mr Ludlow, if you please.” Not a glance at Turnbull.

Harry followed him into the cabin. Craddock, still red-eyed, flung himself into a chair.

“How is your man?” asked Craddock.

“As well as can be expected,” said Harry. “You know why I am here?”

“I do. I did as you requested, although given the events of the last twenty-four hours, it has been far from easy.”

“If time was not so vital, I would not be pressing you.”

“All I can tell you is that no one can recall precisely who raised the alarm on the night of Mr Bentley’s death. The news was shouted to the quarterdeck. A voice calling out to come quick, and that Mr Bentley had been murdered.” Craddock dropped his head.

“Murdered?” It wasn’t significant to Craddock. “That’s all?”

“No. Mr Mangold, who had the watch, was very vague. But the quartermaster says it was a voice used to command. Not a sailor’s voice. When I put this to Mr Mangold he thought for a bit, then agreed, though he could not place who the voice belonged to. But he did recall the sound of running footsteps.”

“Shoes?”

“That’s right. Denbigh must have been asleep as usual, for he remembers nowt. But what does that signify, Mr Ludlow? An officer’s voice, not that of one of the hands? And shoes?”

Harry did not wish to explain how much it meant to him.

“Quartermaster was quite sure. He said no hand would dare to shout to the quarterdeck in that manner.”

“Meehan and Porter?”

“None of the officers remembers seeing them, but that don’t mean much, Mr Ludlow, since they weren’t looking.”

“An officer’s voice?”

“Or a gentleman’s,” said Craddock with a steady look. “Anyway, everyone rushed to the scene. The rest you know.”

“Tell me, Mr Craddock. How long did that dinner go on after my brother and I left?”

“Well into the evening, Mr Ludlow. The captain was determined to remove any memory of what happened. Mr Bentley passed out, of course. The captain had him removed. After that the atmosphere eased a lot. I would not say it was entirely convivial, but when it broke up, it was a contented set of officers who left the cabin. We’d all had a lot to drink.”

“And Bentley?”

“Woke up in a foul temper, demanding claret. We were in the wardroom, in a benign frame of mind for once, when he came out of his cabin. The steward offered him some of our wardroom claret, but he pushed it away, saying that it was ‘blackstrap’ and not fit for human consumption. He demanded some of the choice wine we had taken out of the Frenchman. I reminded him that the captain had taken charge of that, and so he stood up and said that if the captain had it, then the captain would damn well just have to part with some of it.”

“What happened then?”

“With that he left, cursing us all for no-good swabs.”

“And where did he go?”

“Why, to the captain’s cabin, of course. We could hear them yellin’ at each other, though we had no idea of the words they was saying. Now that was unusual, because I tell you no secret when I say that Mr Bentley did not show proper respect to the captain. How a man like Oliver Carter bore it I don’t know.”

“So what was unusual?”

“Why, the captain shouting. Normally he didn’t really respond to Mr Bentley. Not that I haven’t seen him struggling to do so.”

“What did you do then, you and the others?”

“We had been sitting talking the way sailors do. Mr Heron, the purser, had even sung us some very nice songs, I recall. The master accompanied him on the German flute. But Bentley acting like that had spoiled the mood. The party broke up more or less immediately, everyone goin’ their separate ways.”

“Being?”

“That I don’t know. Some would have gone for a breath of air, others to their cabins. But I can’t recall who went where, an’ I don’t suppose anyone else would either.”

“How long was it before the alarm was raised?”

“A good thirty minutes. Mr Mangold remembers Mr Bentley storming out of the captain’s cabin, saying he knew what was stowed in the hold, and it was high time it saw the light of day.”

Craddock saw the question on Harry’s face. “The drink I imagine, since he was hard by the spirit room hatch when he was stabbed. Seems the captain followed ‘im out lookin’ very black. But he stopped when he saw Mr Mangold, and went a-walking on the windward side of the quarterdeck.”

“Could he say who was where, among the officers?”

“Not for sure. You don’t pay much attention if you don’t have to.”

“The officers. Were they still in full dress?”

“Full dress?” Craddock’s face creased, trying to get the drift of the question. “For the dinner, you mean?”

Harry nodded.

“Some were, others not. First thing I did was to get out of my best uniform. Can’t be too careful with that.”

“And wigs?”

“I can’t recall properly. But I think most would get rid of their wigs, don’t you? Stands to reason if you get out of your best rig. As I say, I don’t recall very much because I wasn’t lookin’.”

“So you wouldn’t be able to tell me who was still wearing theirs?”

Craddock shook his head. “Some were, others not, same as the uniform.”

“Thank you, Mr Craddock,” said Harry. It would have been more reassuring to be certain, but that would require questioning all the officers. One thing was sure, being bald, Carter always wore a wig.

“Thank you!” The irony was plain. “I don’t know if I’ve done the right thing, Mr Ludlow. You know, when you’re a youngster, you think as you get older things will become simpler. Clearer. That with knowledge you’ll be able to see things right. Make the right decision. Truth is, as you get older, you realize that men don’t stop being what they were as children, only worse. The arguments they have are more serious, and their ability to forget them evaporates.” Craddock shrugged, unable to continue in this vein. He looked at Harry in an avuncular way. “You know what I mean, Mr Ludlow. Only I would hate to think that you are as blind as some others I know.”

“I’ll try not to be, Mr Craddock,” said Harry, going out of the door. The older man smiled, but Harry meant something very different from the drift of Craddock’s philosophizing.

Harry crossed the wardroom. Turnbull was still cleaning his pistols. He raised one of them and aimed along it. Harry sensed it was trained on him. He turned, and the young man dropped the pistol, with an apologetic look.

Pender was still asleep. Harry sat on his sea-chest and ran over in his mind what Craddock had said. It tallied with what Pender had gleaned from the wardroom stewards, though they had paid no attention to the state of the officers’ dress, being too busy consuming the leftovers from the dinner.

It looked as though Bentley had gone to Carter’s cabin, roundly abused the man, and then headed for the hold. Carter, intending to follow him, had stopped when he realized Mangold was there. Instead he had started to walk. The question was, how far had he walked?

Had he stayed on the quarterdeck? Or had he walked on, along the gangway, then slipped down on to the upper deck without being seen. No one, even if they saw Carter, would question his right to be there. He could go anywhere in the ship he pleased. And if he knew where Bentley was going, he would know his avenue of return. A simple thing to wait for him, and then pounce.

Harry’s blood was racing. He stood up and paced up and down the small cabin. He was both angry and excited. Angry that Carter should seek to fasten the murder on him, and excited that he had deduced how it was carried out. Could he prove it? Was there some evidence aboard the ship that would either damn Carter or force him into the position in which he might confess to the crime? Harry looked out of the stern windows. The light was fading fast.

He dropped in on James for the last time. There was one more thing to do. If everything else failed, they must resort to bluff. Crevitt was trying to get his brother to play another hand of whist, but James complained that he would be bankrupt if they continued. He looked so relieved to see Harry.

“Mr Crevitt, I wonder if it would be in order for my brother to have his drawing materials?” Harry asked.

“I see no objection, Mr Ludlow.”

“And may I have a private word?” Crevitt merely nodded this time. Harry took James out into the gangway.

“You’ve often told me that you can draw anything from memory, James.”

“Imagination tends to supply what memory doesn’t.”

“When you were apprehended, with the knife in your hand. Does your memory run to that?”

“Etched here.” James tapped his head. “Every detail.”

“Then kindly etch it on paper, more than one drawing if you have to. Can you do that?”

“Yes.”

“And I want one more drawing. I want a drawing of Bentley being knifed.”

“And who do you want as the murderer?” “Don’t be obtuse, brother.”

“Just as long as you are not allowing a personal animosity to warp your judgement, Harry. Because if you are, you are no better than Carter.”

“I don’t deserve that from you, James.”

“You have no idea how much I hope that you are right.”

“It’s the only way, James. I have told you. The only way to prove you are innocent is to put the guilty party in the dock.”

“Good luck, Harry. And please have a care.” Harry would have liked to embrace his brother, but they were still in Crevitt’s view. It would not do to alert him.

“Perhaps you can persuade my brother to do a portrait of you, Mr Crevitt,” said Harry, walking back into the narrow screened-off cabin. “Do you see yourself in an heroic pose? Nimrod, perhaps. I’m sure he can do whatever you wish. Myself, I am off to invite the surgeon to partake of some of my brandy. If he is in my cabin, he can tend one of his patients and slake his thirst at the same time.”

“Just as long as he does not ignore his other charges,” said Crevitt.

“Those that are to die, will die. Those that will recover, do not need the ministrations of Mr Outhwaite to slow their recovery.”

Outhwaite was uncomfortable with the role assigned to him, although the prospect of being left to drink as much of Harry’s brandy as he saw fit, especially after a whole day of abstinence, was an enticing one. But, much against his will, he was now part of Harry’s conspiracy, without being quite sure how he had got there. He had left his two surgeon’s mates to tend to those recovering from wounds sustained in the battle, and having been at his work almost continuously since that event, he felt entitled to finally relax.

But he was a bag of nerves, and several sips of brandy had done nothing to calm him. He watched as Harry changed out of his clothes, and donned the garb of a seaman. He took the knife that he had borrowed from Outhwaite and tucked it in his waistband. He had also fashioned a garrotte by attaching some fishing line to a couple of wooden pegs. Then his pistols. Lastly he took a small canvas bag, heavy with sand, tying the loop on it to his belt.

He opened the gunport, and lashed the line to the eyebolt holding his cot, the rest snaking out into the dark night. Another line, holding a shaded lantern, was gently lowered out until a knot tied in it rested on the edge of the frame.

“Now, Mr Outhwaite. If anyone comes a-calling, tell them to bugger off, as you and I are in the process of getting drunk.”

Outhwaite didn’t even nod. Harry gave Pender, now awake, a slight wave, before he squeezed out of the casement, and into the night.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

HARRY
made his way quietly along the gundeck through the rows of swinging hammocks. He walked on tiptoe heading for the very front of the deck by the bows of the ship, blessing the fact that his geese had been eaten long ago, since his approach to the manger would have been heralded with their squawking. Stopping outside he laid down his lantern and the garrotte. He checked his knife and took out his pistol before entering.

The animals did not stir as he went by, proof that they were used to the passage of human beings through their part of the ship. The smell was strong even by shipboard standards. One of the pigs got up and started rooting about in his straw. The chickens stirred slightly, but he hoped not enough to disturb the men he had come to see.

He could just hear the clicking of the dice over the noise of the ship. There was a regular thud as the bows, just forward of the manger, hit the swell. Harry sat still, getting the rhythm of the sounds, before moving forward slowly as the thuds covered the noise his feet made in the loose straw.

The glimmer of a lantern came from the last stall. They really should have posted a guard, but no doubt the lure of the game had enticed the man who should be watching to look at the roll of the dice. Harry waited listening to the quiet bets being placed, the suppressed grunts of joy and disappointment. This was just one of the groups that Pender had directed him to. Other games would take place during the daylight hours, but this was where the inveterate gamblers gathered, those who played at every opportunity.

They were engaging in a serious breach of the regulations, and a keen officer could have easily put a stop to it. But there were few superiors who did not gamble themselves, so they tended to turn a blind eye to these activities. Some ships were cursed with evangelical types, who saw it as their duty to persuade the men away from gambling and strong drink, an uphill task for men who loved risk, and who consumed, as their rations, a gallon of beer or two pints of diluted rum a day. The
Magnanime
was free from such problems. Bentley would certainly not have objected to gambling, and Craddock would be indifferent, as long as it did not interfere with the running of the ship. So these men had become lax, allowing him to get close enough to hear their voices.