The Monsoon (67 page)

He placed the point of his blade at the base of his brother’s throat, in the !” of his white shirt-front, where the crisp black hairs of his chest curled out of the opening.

“As you said, Billy, once and for all. It’s over between us,” Tom told him grimly, and began the death thrust. Yet sword hand. He pricked the skin at William’s throat, but could not go deeper. He tried again, exerting all his strength, but a force outside himself held back the blade.

He stood over William, a terrible blood-splattered figure, the sword trembling in his hands and his face distorted into an ugly mask by his rage and frustration. Do it! The voice of his resolve rang in his ears, and again he tried to stab downwards, but his right arm would not.

Do it! Kill him now. For Dorry’s sake, if not your own.

Then the echo of his father’s voice overrode the murderous command.

“You are brothers. Brothers should never be enemies. I want you to forget the old disputes that have torn you apart and, for my sake, become brothers in the full sense.” ri He wanted to shout back, “I have to do this.” William lay on his back pinned under the blade, and tears of terror filled his eyes. He opened his mouth to plead for his life, but no words came, only a dreadful croak like the cry of a raven.

Tom felt the muscles and sinews of his right hand bunching with the effort he had to make to force them to obey his will, and the point moved down an inch and pierced the soft skin. Bright blood welled up from the shallow scratch and William squirmed.

“Please, I will give you the money, Tom,” he whispered.

“I swear it. This time I will give you the money.”

“I can never-trust you again. You have broken one sacred oath. You are beyond the call of honour,” Tom said, and his revulsion for his brother’s cowardice and perfidy gave him the strength to carry through the dreadful deed.

This time his right arm would obey.

“Tom!” A dreadful cry rang through the silent house. For a moment Tom thought it was his mother’s voice, from it was as though a steel manacle was holding back his beyond the grave. He looked up. A wraithlike figure stood at the head of the stairs, and Tom was seized by a Superstitious dread. Then he saw that it was Alice with her infant in her arms.

“No, Tom. You must not kill him Tom wavered.

“You don’t understand. He is evil.

You yourself know he is the very devil.”

“He is my husband, and Francis’s father. Don’t do it, Tom. For my sake.”

“Both you and the baby will be better off with his death.” Tom turned his attention back to the creature who lay, craven and whimpering, at his feet.

“It’s murder, Tom. They will hunt you down, wherever you run, and they will find you and drag you to the scaffold.”

“I don’t care, “Tom said, and meant it.

“Without you, there will be nobody to go to Dorian.

For his sake, if not for mine, you must not do this evil thing.”

The truth of what she said struck Tom like a blow in the face, and he flinched at the sting of it. Then he stepped back.

“Go!” he ordered, and William scrambled to his feet.

Tom saw there was no fight left in him.

“Get out of my sight.”

His voice was thick with disgust.

“And remember next time you raise your hand to your wife that she saved your life this day.”

William backed away to the stairs and then, when he was at a safe distance, he turned, ran up them, and disappeared down the long gallery.

“Thank you, Tom.” Alice looked down at him with tragic eyes.

“You and I will live to regret this, “Tom told her.

“That is in God’s hands.”

“I have to go away,” Tom said.

“I

cannot stay here to protect
YOU
.

“I know that.” Her voice was a resigned whisper.

“I shall never return to High Weald,” he went on doggedly.

“I know that also,” she agreed.

“Go with God, Tom.

You are a good man, as your father was.” She turned and vanished around the corner of the gallery.

Tom stood for a while, considering the enormity of what he had just said. He would never return to High Weald. When he was dead, he would not lie in the vault of the chapel on the hill with his ancestors. His grave would be in a far and wild land. He shivered at the knowledge. Then he stooped to gather up his sword-belt and scabbard where he had dropped them. He strapped the Neptune sword around his waist.

He looked through the doors into the library. His papers were scattered over the floor. He went into the old room, and was about to gather them up, when he stopped himself. There will be no call for those now, he thought darkly. Slowly he looked around the room. It was filled with wonderful memories of his father. Another tie with his childhood would part here. Then his eye fell on the row of his father’s journals on the shelf beside the door, the faithful record of all Hal’s voyages. Each page, written in his hand, contained sailing directions and information more valuable then any other item in the house Tom was leaving for ever. That much I will take with me, he thought. He swept them off the shelves and went out into the hall.

Evan, the house-steward, and two of the footmen were waiting there. Evan had a cocked pistol in each hand.

“His lordship has sent for the sheriff’s men. He has ordered me to detain you until he arrives, Master Tom.”

“So, what are you going to do, Evan?” Tom laid his hand on the hilt of his sword.

“Your horse is waiting outside, Master Tom.” Evan lowered the pistols.

“I hope you find Master Dorian. All of us at High Weald will miss you. Come back to us one day.”

“Goodbye, Evan.” Tom’s voice was gruff.

“Thank you.” He went down the steps, put the journals into his saddlebags and sprang up into the saddle. He turned the horse’s head towards the sea, and rode down the long gravel drive. At the gates he resisted the urge to look back.

“It’s over,” he told himself, “it’s all over,” and he spurred on, down the dark road.

Tom decided not to wait for the sheriff’s men to come for him with the charges he knew William would trump up. He found his men in the taproom of the Royal Oak. They stared in astonishment at his bloodstained clothing and broken nose.

“We will sail immediately,” he told Aboli, Ned Tyler and All Wilson.

Then he looked across at Luke Jervis on the far side of the fireplace. Luke owned the tiny Raven and was his own man, but he nodded his acceptance of the order without demur.

When they were about to slip the lines from the dock, a lone horseman came pounding down Plymouth Ho at a gallop. He almost fell over the horse’s neck as he reined in.

“Wait for me, sir!” Tom smiled as he recognized Master Walsh’s voice.

“You cannot leave me behind.”

A small group of the old stalwarts gathered on the open deck as the Raven slipped out into the night sea.

“What course, sir?” Luke asked as they cleared the headland.

Tom looked longingly towards the south. Down there lay Good Hope and the gateway to the Orient. Oh, for a ship, a real ship and not this cockle-shell, he thought, then turned firmly from that direction.

“London, he said. His voice was blurred for his nose was swollen and blocked.

“I will pay you for this voyage,” he added. He still had most of his prize money in Samuels Bank in London.

“We will settle that later,” Luke grunted, then shouted the order to his three-man crew to tack the little cutter on to an easterly heading.

The Raven slipped quietly up the Thames and into the Pool of London, drawing no attention in the busy throng Of small craft. Luke set them ashore with their meagre baggage on the stone wharf below the Tower of London.

Aboli found cheap lodgings in the mean streets alongside the river.

“If fortune favours, we will need these rooms for only a few days.” Tom looked around the dingy wooden shack.

“We will need good fortune to survive the rats and cockroaches,” All Wilson remarked, while Tom changed into the best clothes he had brought with him. The dark blue coat and breeches, not too fancy, gave him a sober, businesslike appearance.

“I will go with you, Klebe,” Aboli volunteered.

“You will probably lose your way without me.” The day was cold and rainy, a forerunner of autumn.

It was a long walk through the maze of narrow streets, but Aboli threaded his way through them as unerringly as if they had been his native forests. They came out at the Cornhill end of Leadenhall Street, and crossed to the imposing la@ ode of the Company headquarters.

“I will wait for you at the tavern on the corner,” Aboli told Tom as they parted.

When he entered the foyer of the building one of the secretaries recognized Tom, and greeted him respectfully.

“I will see if his lordship will receive you,” he said.

“In the meantime will you wait in the parlour, Mr. Courtney.” A uniformed footman took Tom’s boat cloak, and brought him a glass of Madeira. While he sat in an easy chair before the crackling fire, Tom rehearsed the appeal he intended to put to Nicholas Childs. He could be reasonably certain that Childs had not yet heard from brother William. Unless he had become clairvoyant, William would not expect him to call here, so he was unlikely to have sent an urgent message to Childs to warn. him not to offer Tom assistance.

On the other hand, Tom had realized the futility of asking Childs for command of a Company ship. There were many captains of vast experience and long service who would take precedence over him. Tom had never had his own full command, and Childs would never give him one of the magnificent Indiamen. The best he could expect was a berth as a junior officer on a ship bound for India, and Dorian was in Africa.

As he turned the problem over Tom frowned into the fire and sipped his wine. Lord Childs knew all about Dorian’s capture, in fact, Tom had heard him discussing it with Hal when they were guests at Bombay House. If Tom asked for a ship he would realize his intention of going after his captured brother, instead of trading for profit.

Furthermore, if Tom procured any other vessel, Childs would do his best to prevent him even rounding the Cape. Hal had said that the Company was bitterly opposed to interlopers in their chartered territories.

No, best to feign disinterest in that part of the world. I’ll take the skin off this cat from the tail end, he decided grimly.

Lord Childs kept him waiting less than an hour, which Tom took as a mark of high favour. The chairman of the board of the East India Company was probably one of the busiest men in London, and Tom had arrived without invitation or warning.

On the other hand I am a brother knight of the Order, and my family owns 7 per cent of the shares in the Company. He cannot guess that, only days ago, I came close to slitting Billy’s throat.

The secretary led him up the main staircase, and through the antechamber to Childs’s office. The furnishings bespoke the Company’s vast wealth and circumstance.

The carpets underfoot were of lustrous silk and the paintings that hung upon the panelled walls were imposing seascapes depicting the ships of the Company in full sail off the exotic shores of the Carnatic and Coromandel coasts.

When Tom passed under a chandelier that looked like an inverted ice mountain and entered the inner chamber through carved and gilt doors, Lord Childs rose from his desk and came to meet him. This was enough to allay any ivings that Tom still might have about his reception.

dear young Thomas.” Childs clasped his hand and, with thumb and forefinger, gave him the recognition grip of brother knights of the Order.

“This is a pleasant surprise.” Tom gave him the counter-sign.

“My lord, it is gracious of you to receive me at such short notice.”

Childs made a deprecatory gesture.

“Not at all. I am only sorry that I was forced to make you wait. The Dutch ambassador…” He shrugged.

“I’m sure you understand.” Childs wore a full wig and the star of the Garter on his gold-embroidered lapels.

“How is your dear brother, William?”

“In the best of health, my lord. He asked me to convey his deepest respects.”

“I was most sad not to be able to attend your father’s funeral, but Plymouth is so far from London.” Childs led Tom to a chair below the tall windows that looked out over the rooftops to a distant view of the river and its shipping.

“A remarkable man, your father. He will be greatly missed by all of us who knew him well.”

For a few minutes more they exchanged pleasantries, then Childs leaned back and reached down over his ample midriff to haul the gold watch from his fob pocket.

“Bless MY soul, “tis past ten, and I am expected at St. James’s.” He stuffed it back into his pocket.

“I am sure you did not come here merely to pass the time of day.”

“My lord, if I may come to the point, I am in need of employment.”

“You have come to the right quarter.” Childs nodded so vehemently that his jowls wobbled like a turkey cock.

“The Seraph sails in ten days for the Carnatic. Edward Anderson is her master. You know both him and his ship, of course. He has a berth for a third officer, which is yours for the asking.”

“I had in mind something more, more warlike?”

“Ah, Mr. Pepys is a personal friend of mine, and he knew your father. I have not the least doubt that we can find a berth for you on one of the men-o’-war. I think a fighting frigate might suit a young man of your temperament.”

“Again, sir, may I be blunt?” Tom interrupted apologetically.

“I have at my disposal a small cutter. She is very fast and handy, an ideal craft to raid French commercial shipping in the Channel.” Childs stared at him in astonishment, and Tom hurried on before he could refuse.

“I also have a crew of fighting seamen to serve her, some of the same men who served under my father on the Seraph. All I lack is a letter of marque to attack the French.” Childs chuckled so heartily that his belly bounced on his lap like a rubber ball.

“The apple does not fall too far from the tree does it? Like your father, you want to lead rather than follow. Of course, your warlike exploits are common knowledge.