Watery Grave (14 page)

“What about you, lad?” said he to me.” Would you like to try a little brandy?”

“Ah, no sir, but I thank you for the offer, sir,” I replied to him, most polite.

Vice-Admiral Sir Robert Redmond was showing a side I had not seen before. Already he seemed half in his cups. I wondered at the restraint he had shown the night before. It would be most inconvenient if he were to drink himself unconscious here at this inn. What would we then? His lieutenant seemed most concerned, and I could tell by the stern set of Sir John’s mouth that he would not welcome that possibility.

I glanced at the two at the corner table. They seemed both interested and amused at the admiral’s state and our unhappiness. But why not? Sir Robert was in full uniform, as was his lieutenant. How often, I reasoned, did one have the opportunity to behold a drunken admiral?

(The answer to that, reader, as you yourself may know, is far too often.)

Sir John rose firmly to his feet, indicating with his hand that I should follow his lead, which of course I did.

“I think we should be going, Bobbie.”

There was a great scramble off to my right as the two men at the corner table tossed coins down on the table and departed. Why were they of a sudden in such a great hurry? Ignorant as I was, that boded ill even to me.

“Oh, sit down, Jack. We’ve plenty of time. Even if we arrive late, I’ll have them rout a pair of lieutenants from their rooms. The George would not dare to let me down.”

“We must be losing daylight, Bobbie. We should be on our way.”

“I suppose so~go if we must. Innkeeper! What do I owe you? I’ll take the flask of brandy along with me. But give me a good price, or I’ll malign your name from Portsmouth to London.”

As Sir Robert settled up, insisting on a ticket of receipt for his expense record, I guided Sir John through the tight passage between tables with a few touches at his elbow and a word or two in his ear. But when we reached the door and exited outside, I saw the two tethered horses were now gone. I decided it would be wise to mention to him what I had observed.

“Sir,” said lin a low voice, “there were two men drinking in the corner who left in a rush when you stood up and said ‘twas time to go.”

“That was well noticed, Jeremy. I was aware of them. I even managed to hear a bit of what they said between them. But come, take me to the coach. I would have a word with the driver and the footman.”

Have a word he did, yet he directed me inside the coach, and I heard none of it. The footman, a young Navy man as was the driver, wore a troubled expression as he assisted Sir John into the seat beside me. We were joined soon enough by the admiral. Lieutenant Byner had scrambled atop the coach where the baggage was stored. He descended after a minute or two.

“So, Jack, you think there is danger of robbers on this road?” said Sir Robert.

“Yes, I believe there is. This road is no different from any other in England.”

“Come inside, Mr. Byner. Let’s be on our way.”

The lieutenant hauled his bulk through the coach door and closed it after him. I noted he had something of leather and straps under his arm. He collapsed into the seat beside the admiral just as the coach lurched forward and the horses began to pick up speed.

“If it’s robbers ahead,” said Sir Robert, “then I came right well prepared.”

He patted the space on the seat between him and the lieutenant, and Mr. Byner placed his burden there, unfolding it to my view. It was not one but two very large pistols, a brace of them, each slung in what I now know to be saddle holsters.

“I take it,” said Sir John, “thatyou are now displaying some manner of firearm.”

“Two of them, as fine a brace of pistols as e’er was made. You think that a just description, Mr. Byner?”

“Oh, I do, sir.”

“I won them at whist from a captain of cavalry. Proper horse pistols, they are, each near two feet long— heavy enough to fire a huge ball but well balanced so they seem much lighter than they are. Would you like to try one. Jack?”

“I would not, Bobbie. I have had no use for firearms since one exploded in my face.”

“What? Oh …yes, of course.” The admiral was given pause by that for but a moment.” I have had them only a short while,” he continued, “and I have been hoping For a chance to try them out. Let the villains come, say I!”

“I wish they would not, ” said Sir John.” And I wish you would stop the coach and have the lieutenant pack those things away again.”

“Are they loaded, Mr. Byner?”

The lieutenant did what I would not have been brave enough to do and, leaning toward the window, took the light to look down the barrel of each in turn.

“They are loaded, sir.”

He replaced them in their holsters.

“Good,” said the admiral.” Now I shall have someone to blame if they should misfire.”

The lieutenant frowned at that, yet restrained himself from examining the pistols a second time.

This last exchange with Lieutenant Byner was carried on at shouting level, for the coach had reached its full road speed. I could but look at the other three passengers to judge their attitudes and thoughts. Sir John, whom I beheld in profile, was unsmiling and most frightfully serious. The lieutenant was openly apprehensive, casting his eyes about the interior of the coach, then down at the huge pistols, then out the window. Sir Robert, in a show of swagger, opened the flask of brandy, from which he took a deep gulp, then stoppered it and tucked it close by his side.

We jolted on for many minutes more through a country of fields and woods. From the position of the sun in the sky I judged it to be some time past seven o’clock, post meridian. There were yet some hours of daylight left, but whenever the road cut through woods, some of which were long and deep, we were plunged into a counterfeit night, so dark was the shade of the tall trees at roadside.

It was as we passed into just such a shaded stretch and had rounded a bend in the road that all of a sudden and quite unexpectedly the driver reined the horses to a halt.

We inside were tumbled about. The pistols were thrown down to the floor. The lieutenant, all in a panic, bent to retrieve them, then dropped them again.

“Why are we stopping?” cried the admiral.

“Because there are two armed men in the roadway, sir,” came the reply.

“Footman, you have a fowling piece and a brace of pistols. Use them.”

“I cannot, sir.”

“Why not?”

“One of them has a pistol pointed at my heart. I can do nothing, sir.”

At that I heard rough laughter from the highwaymen and slow, close advancing hoofbeats.

“Well, by God, I can,” said Sir Robert sotto voce.

He grabbed a pistol from the lieutenant, who had at last recovered them. Then he threw the door open, and taking bare a moment to steady himself and aim, he pulled the trigger. There was a great roar, followed by what can only be described as a screaming whinny from a horse, and then a roar from above.

I strained forward to see what had happened. Sir John threw me back hard against the back of the seat and held me there.

“Damn! I hit the horse.”

More sudden than we had stopped, we started up again. Yet the wheels of the coach could not have made more than two revolutions when I caught a glimpse through the window of the poor, dying beast by the side of the road, and the admiral slammed shut the door.

“Duck!” he yelled.

The lieutenant cowered. Sir John and I sat frozen. The admiral grabbed for the other pistol.

The window broke. Something hit hard into the seat cushion beside my head. I looked at Sir John quite fearfully, yet he seemed unhurt. He went so far as to release me from his grip.

“I believe you will find the ball directly between our two heads, Jeremy,” said he.

I looked and poked into a hole larger than my finger and felt something hard and still warm to the touch.

Sir Robert was all for opening the door and trying again. Yet a pat on the knee from Sir John restrained him.

“Damn, Jack, I shouldn’t have hit the horse. A shame to shoot an animal like that.”

He threw himself back on the seat, panting and perspiring and muttering to himself.

“Shouldn’t have killed that horse.”

He grabbed up the flask of brandy and took another gulp.

It was some time before the driver felt it safe to stop. And when he did so, it was in an open spot with wide fields on either side. The loot-man climbed down and opened the door. He had in his hand a fowling piece with the longest barrel e’er I’d seen.

“All safe here, sir?”

“A near miss, but all safe.”

It developed that when the admiral’s shot had felled the horse, the second highwayman was so distracted that the footman was able to aim the fowling piece at him and blow him quite from the saddle. Yet the rider at whom Sir Robert had shot had jumped clear of his dying mount and was poised by the side of the road with his pistol leveled when the driver wisely started his team of tour. He it was who put the shot be-tween Sir John and me.

The footman, a petty’ officer, had redeemed himself in the eyes of his chief by murdering one of the robbers. He accepted Sir Robert’s congratulations quite modestly.

“Just doin’ me duty, so to speak, sir.” Then he added: “You’d be interested to know the two stopped us was the same two as was at the inn. Didn’t even wear masks, they didn’t.” He saluted.” Well, all safe then. We’ll be on our way, sir.”

He shut the door to the coach, and a few moments later the driver kept the footman’s promise. The coach moved ahead at a moderate pace, resting the horses.

“Did you hear, Jack? Didn’t wear masks —and in broad daylight, too.”

“Indeed I did hear.”

“These roads are no longer safe.”

“I did warn you they were not.”

“You should do something about that.”

“My jurisdiction does not reach near so far, Bobbie. But in point of fact they have approached me to set up some sort of horse patrol on the roads around London —constables on horseback, as it were. I think it a bad idea.”

“But why? Something should be done.”

“Most of my constables cannot ride. They can bare sit on a horse and say ‘Giddap’ and ‘Whoa.’ I should have to recruit some who are expert on horseback, and for that neither Parliament nor the Lxjrd Mayor are willing to grant funds. I think myself the job should be done by the Army. Let the cavalry stop parading and do some work.”

“The job of the Army is to fight wars. Jack.”

“There are, at this blessed moment, no wars to Fight.”

Sir Robert had no ready reply for that, and so he pulled forth the flask of brandy once again and took another swig from it. In fact, as daylight faded and dusk came on, he drank at regular intervals from it until he had near emptied the good-sized bottle. By nightfall he was fast asleep, his head resting and bouncing upon Mr. Byner’s shoulder.

Still the horses plunged on through the dark until clusters of lights began to appear. These I saw were more than the villages through which we had passed along the way. I sensed quite rightly that we had reached the outskirts of Portsmouth.

The admiral slept on, though his dreams seemed to trouble him. He grew restless on his lieutenant’s shoulder, tossing his head to one side and another, adding considerably to the uneasiness of Mr. Byner, who shifted this way and that to better accommodate him. Sir Robert began muttering in his sleep, though not talking aloud in any manner that might be judged comprehensible. I strained to understand what I could, but only a few words came through — “judgment,” “cannot plead, ” and a woman’s name, “Margaret ” — of the great multitude that he mumbled. Sir John, beside me, seemed also to take interest in these occult communications from the realm of dreams. He leaned forward slightly in an attentive mode I had come to know well from watching him in court. The lieutenant, however, seemed merely embarrassed by the unexpected garrulousness of his superior officer.

Then, as the horses slowed and we entered Portsmouth proper, Sir Robert seemed to come to a kind of terrible climax in his dream state. Still asleep, he began talking —nay, shouting —quite intelligibly.

“No, no, no, ” said he, “you cannot blame me, you cannot!”

And thus he continued protesting, as Sir John began slapping him sharply on the knee and thigh.

“Wake up, Bobbie, wake up! It is but a dream, only a dream.”

Then came the dreamer’s eyes open, even as he shouted a final “No!” He blinked. He looked about.

“A dream?” said he in a timid, confused voice.” Oh, such a dream — a nightmare, it was.”

He leaned forward of a sudden across the gap that separated them and grasped Sir John by both hands.

“Jack, you must save my nephew. Do what can be done. Find witnesses. Teach Byner your tricks. Do what you must, but save him.”

“Lieutenant Landon is your nephew?” The magistrate spoke not in astonishment but as if seeking confirmation from a witness.

“Yes! Yes! And in my dream he sat in judgment on me —on me! He and his mother —my sister Margaret —and another who kept his face hidden from me until the end, when I saw it was none but myself. They sat in judgment upon me —and they condemned me —to what I do not know. Ah, but it was something horrible, horrible. I, the judge, joined in the verdict. I condemned myself!”

“Bobbie, listen to me. You must disqualify yourself. You cannot head a panel of judges sitting in court-martial upon your own nephew.”

“But I must. I must see it through. It’s expected of me. This is the Navy, not one of your courts of law.”

“1 daresay it’s not.”

Through all this, the lieutenant —and I confess, I as well —looked on and listened in amazement. Surely his lieutenant would know of this — yet apparently not. As for myself, it made clear to me the informality of the admiral’s relationship with Lieutenant Landon. Yet not quite all questions were answered — no, not all.

And then the driver reined to a halt. Sir Robert, having slept so long, seemed to have no idea where we were, and perhaps feared another encounter with highwaymen. He turned and looked sharply out the window of the coach.

At just that moment came a cry from the driver: “It’s the George, sir. We’ve arrived.”