The Devil's Own Luck (36 page)

“Aye, aye, sir.” Mangold would have seen a little of the room from the other side of the shaft. He must be afire with curiosity.

“And Mr Mangold.”

“Sir.”

“Resume your duties once you have done that, and get the hands in your division back to their proper stations.”

“Aye, aye, sir.” A very dispirited response this time.

Harry looked about him ruefully, trying to gauge just how much the loss of the pictures meant. With those, he would have had scant difficulty in proving the purpose of this room. Without them, there was an area of doubt, especially since the person doing the doubting would be Carter. In the same way, the bloodstains lost a lot of their meaning without the presence of the manacles, whips, and chains.

On the plus side, he had enough to expand the inquiry into Bentley’s death. Harry would not let Carter hide this from his superiors. He must show it to them. A full report would be called for, as to how such valuable space, in one of His Majesty’s ships, could be so used, without the apparent knowledge of those in authority. And that was the nub. It could not be. The actions and motives of everyone aboard would come under close scrutiny. But most of all the man with the ultimate power, and the final responsibility. The captain. Evidence and witnesses be damned. Suspicion would shift from James, and the man who was truly guilty would stand trial for the murder of Bentley.

“Mr Ludlow. I must ask you how you came upon this?”

Craddock, for the first time since they entered the room, was really looking at Harry. His eye took in the dishevelled, dirty clothes, the bruises around his face, and the badly swollen left hand.

“I fear I have abused your trust, Mr Craddock. But I have done so in a good cause. I think an explanation can wait, don’t you?”

“No, sir, I do not.” His weather-beaten face was even redder. Part effort, part embarrassment, part anger. “Was this room in use?” Harry did not reply. “Mr Ludlow, judging by your appearance, you have been in some kind of fight. That means this room was not empty when you discovered it. Would you be able to recognize the men who were in here?”

There was just a touch of irony in the question. Craddock had not been fooled by his performance that morning, when he refused to pick out the miscreants from the night before.

“All of them are members of the barge crew, bar one.”

Craddock blinked. “Then I think the sooner that these men are taken up the better.”

“I would be interested to hear the captain order that, Mr Craddock.”

The import of what Harry was saying, added to the way he said it, struck Craddock like a physical blow. He shook his head slowly.

“I cannot . . .”

Raised voices stopped him. Carter was coming through the hatch, cursing. The oaths died on his lips, as his head poked through the hatch. He looked around him with utter amazement.

Is he such a good actor, thought Harry, for it was a wonderful performance, enough to convince Craddock at any rate. He gave Harry a very old-fashioned look, before proceeding to report.

“Mr Ludlow came upon this, sir, then had Mr Mangold rouse me out. He has yet to reveal to me the circumstances, or to tell me what he was doing, wandering about the ship in the garb of a common seaman.”

Carter’s eyes came round, first on to Craddock, then to Harry. Stepping through the hatch into the room, he pulled back the drapes to reveal the tin sheets hammered on to the planking. Carter tapped it with his knuckle, as if to convince himself. Then with a sudden burst of anger, he pulled hard on the curtain, tearing it from the wall. Carter held the loose cloth in his hands for a moment, his head down. Then he let it drop slowly to the ground.

“Mr Ludlow tells me that he will be able to name the men he found in this room.”

“Will he indeed,” said Carter without turning.

“Perfectly simple, Captain,” said Harry, using Carter’s title voluntarily for the first time. “This room was occupied by your barge crew. Marchant, Meehan, Porter, and the rest. They were in a state of some undress when I first came upon them.” Carter did not respond, but Craddock, who had been looking at his captain, swung sharply round to look at Harry.

“There were also drawings on the wall, drawings of an erotic nature. And whips, as well as other instruments. I would also bring your attention to the bloodstains, on both the drapes, and the cushions. If you look down here,” he pointed to the spot where the stain was greatest, “you will observe, that at some time, there has been copious bleeding.”

“Instruments?” asked Carter quietly.

“The kind used to inflict pain. Whips. Manacles. They have all been removed, as have the drawings. In the time it took me to raise the alarm, someone came back here and removed them.”

Harry waited for Carter to refute his statement. But he just stood still. He sighed, raised his head to look at the ceiling and said, “I dare say.”

“These pictures, Mr Ludlow. Erotic you say?” asked Craddock.

“Every ship has its sodomites, Mr Craddock. Only on board the
Magnanime
they seemed to enjoy a rare degree of latitude.” Carter still did not turn, yet it was obvious what Harry was implying.

“You will oblige me, Mr Ludlow, if you will return to your quarters,” he said. “And if Mr Outhwaite is not drunk, I would suggest that you get him to tend that hand. Mr Craddock and I will, of course, wish to see you when you’re back to rights again.”

Carter turned and looked at Harry. It was as though he was seeing him for the first time. There was a great sadness in his eyes, but little of the hate that had been there previously.

“That is my express wish, Mr Ludlow.”

Harry left, for if he had not done so, he was in no doubt that he would have suffered the indignity of being forcibly removed by a file of marines.

He climbed the ladder. Marines lined the walkway, with Turnbull pacing up and down just aft. He turned and looked expectantly at Harry as he emerged from the hold. Had Mangold told him what had been found? He thought that it was not his place to enlighten him, though the look on the young man’s face was inviting him to do so. Harry merely nodded in reply, and headed back to the wardroom.

The whole ship was awake now, abuzz with rumour and conjecture. Harry walked across the gundeck and the upper deck, all eyes upon him. Silence reigned while he walked by, but as soon as he entered the wardroom, he heard the loud buzz of conversation begin. It was similar in the wardroom itself. Everyone was awake. They looked expectantly at him as he crossed to his cabin. The door was locked. He knocked sharply.

“Bugger off,” came Outhwaite’s voice, loud through the door. “We’re getting drunk in here.” Potentially humorous, but no one behind Harry laughed, as he identified himself, and the door was slowly opened.

At least Outhwaite was not lying. The man could barely stand. He looked at Harry bleary-eyed and tried to speak. But no words came, and he just waved his hands in the general direction of the casements. Pender was up on his elbows, equally curious, but silent and sober.

“Later, Pender,” he said. His servant continued to look at him. Harry nodded, and the man lay down, satisfied that the night’s work had been attended by some success.

“Mr Outhwaite. You will have to oblige me with some assistance, for I doubt if I can change my clothes on my own.”

“Delighted, sir,” slurred the surgeon, and staggered forward to help Harry off with his shirt. Harry remembered seeing a dumb show once, in which a drunken servant had to help dress his master. If the actors who had undertaken the roles had seen Outhwaite, they would have quit the stage immediately, on the grounds that their performance could be so bettered.

“Your hand,” Outhwaite tried to say. It came out as “Y’ han’.”

“I will have one of your mates attend it, Mr Outhwaite. Now please try and hold my jacket still so that I may put it on.”

This was a relatively simple affair, taking only two minutes, which compared favourably with the time it had taken for Harry to get into his breeches.

“You stay here, Mr Outhwaite. I must call upon my brother.”

Harry left. Outhwaite, trying to bow, fell to his knees. Again the expectant looks, as he crossed the wardroom and the decks. He looked neither left nor right as he made his way to the parson’s quarters. James was sitting on a stool drawing Crevitt, when he pulled back the screen.

“Well, brother,” said James, without looking up. “What have you been about? The whole ship seems to be awake.”

“I think that you will find yourself released from Mr Crevitt’s parole very shortly.”

James was a study in sang-froid, disdaining to respond in any obvious way. Not Crevitt. He stood suddenly, forgetting his height, and bumped his head painfully on the deck beams above. Another man would have cursed heartily. Crevitt merely pursed his lips.

“Please do not ask me to explain the events of tonight to you, Mr Crevitt. Suffice to say, that I have entirely discredited the testimony of the two supposed witnesses to Bentley’s murder.”

Crevitt would find out soon enough the degree of his friend’s troubles. Even without a charge of murder, Carter could not survive the fact that he had condoned sodomitical practices, let alone flagellation and the like. It was a strict breach of the Articles of War.

The parson rubbed his head silently.

“And I am also in a fair way to naming the culprit,” said Harry.

“It really is very difficult to draw someone who will not stay still, Harry. Please stop exciting my subject.”

With his good hand Harry pushed James off his stool.

“I have taken the precaution of confining my barge crew, until this matter is cleared up,” said Carter.

“Cleared up?” asked Harry. The way Carter said it dented his confidence. He and James were in the great cabin, seated on one side of the table. They faced Crevitt and Carter. Craddock stood off to the side, stony faced, for all the world like an umpire at a cricket match.

“It would be helpful if you could explain the events of last night, Mr Ludlow,” said Crevitt, leaning forward, his hands clasped together.

“I would have thought I might be called upon to describe, sir; but to explain?” Harry enjoyed that play with words. It was the kind of thing Carter indulged in.

“Explain, describe. What difference does it make?” snapped Carter, slapping the table. “Just tell us how you came across this place.”

Harry started to speak, to say how and when he had observed people coming out of the pump shaft, but he checked himself just in time. Called upon to say when this had happened, he would incriminate himself in the death of Howarth.

“You and I have both been at sea long enough to know what goes on aboard ship. And since there is no one here to record what we are saying, and the meeting is therefore unofficial, I will speak freely.”

“Just as long as you speak truthfully, Ludlow.” Carter seemed to have recovered from last night. Both his composure, and his loathing, were intact. Harry ignored the insult. After all, he could afford to play with the man.

“On any ship, there are always things going on which are forbidden by the Articles of War. We all know this, and we all, officers and men, turn a blind eye, as long as a certain level of decency, and discretion, is observed.”

Carter sniffed loudly. “Please do not allude to yourself as a King’s officer, Ludlow, except in the past tense.”

Harry ignored this, maintaining the level voice. “I have never subscribed to the theory of my brother’s guilt. So I set out to find everything that was going on aboard this ship, in the hope of unmasking the true culprit.”

“In direct contravention of your word, Mr Craddock informs me.”

Even Crevitt was irritated by Carter’s constant interruptions, but he could not speak. But the sideways glance and the slight roll of his eyes did.

“You go skulking about the ship, despite my warnings, and despite giving your word to Mr Craddock.” Carter looked angrily at James. “It is to be hoped that the word ‘honour’ is not going to crop up in this tale.”

“If you would rather I desist, Carter, and keep what I have to say for a Court of Inquiry, please say so.” Harry had the satisfaction of seeing Carter’s mouth shut like a trap. The man was going to deny any involvement, that was obvious. But it would do him no good. Harry had enough to put him in the witness box, as a stepping stone to the dock.

“My intention was to bring what evidence I could to bear to establish my brother’s innocence. By discreet questioning, I came to have grave doubts about the presence of your two witnesses at the scene of the crime. Indeed I had information that those very men were totally unreliable, and had been observed, that night, scurrying for their bunks at the time the alarm was raised.”

“So?” Carter made no attempt to disguise his impatience.

“So they were not where they should have been,” said Harry, with some asperity.

“That does not mean that they did not witness the crime. They came forward with their testimony the following day.”

“I will contend that they were on their way back to their bunks from the room at the bottom of the pump shaft. That is where they were last night, and given what they were about, I would wager they were in the same place the night Bentley was murdered.”

“Which still does not prove your brother’s innocence.”

Harry sat forward. “Someone raised the alarm, called the officer of the watch. It was not Meehan or Porter?”

Carter shook his head. The question seemed to mystify him. He looked at Crevitt, who shrugged. “I don’t know,” said Carter.

“Have they said that they raised the alarm?” asked Harry.

Carter shook his head again.

“Do you know who raised the alarm?” Another shake.

“But someone did, and I have satisfied myself that it was not one of them. And yet that someone, who called for assistance, has not identified himself. If that person, whom I am assured spoke like an officer, saw Bentley’s body, and if my brother was guilty, then that person would surely come forward to witness seeing the murder take place. I’m sure that no one here would suggest that my brother himself raised the alarm, and then returned to the scene of the crime, and stood over the body, knife in hand.”