‘GONE?’ asked Bessborough, sitting up in bed. His nightcap had slipped to the side of his head, which made him look very like a cuckolded husband in a Restoration comedy. ‘Gone where?’
Dillon shrugged and his voice was filled with irony as he replied. After all, he had no idea what Bessborough had said to the brothers out of his hearing.
‘Who knows? I most certainly don’t. Ludlow slipped his cable during the night. He was observed from the deck of Diomede. Sandford was here with us, and his officers had no instructions to interfere. We can only assume he’s gone after Captain Toner. Perhaps, in hindsight, it was unwise to issue those orders quite so quickly.’
‘I had a choice, Dillon. You said so yourself. They are his men by right. I cannot stand between Captain Toner and the law.’
‘I fear you wasted a good dinner, sir.’
‘Should we send someone after him?’ asked the admiral. His political assistant raised one of his thin ginger eyebrows in a quizzical way. ‘Perhaps we can demand that he remains in port till Toner returns. For the good of the service. I do represent the law around here and have the power to detain any ship I please.’
Dillon shook his head. ‘I doubt he’d agree, just as I fear it would be unwise to insist. I think Captain Ludlow has smoked your game and decided to engage in a touch of duplicity.’
Bessborough frowned and straightened his nightcap. ‘So there is nothing we can do?’
‘No, sir.’
Both Dillon and the admiral had supped copiously themselves. The older man’s slightly puffy appearance and bloodshot eyes testified to the condition of his head. His political assistant, on the other hand, blessed with a Celtic liver, showed no ill effects from the previous day’s debauch. His apparent immunity to the aftereffects of black crab pepper pot and the bottle annoyed Bessborough, which was obvious by the tone of his next remark.
‘If there is nothing we can do, Dillon, why the devil did you bother to wake me at this hour?’
Dillon smiled at what was clearly intended as a rebuke. His voice had all the silken irony of his race when he replied.
‘I had a choice, sir. You’d either berate me at a later hour for not waking you, or do so now. I chose the course that afforded us both a degree of discomfort.’
James yawned as he came on deck. He felt heavy and listless, with a dry mouth and a foul-tasting tongue, adding to that a dull ache in his temples that would not go away. He had certainly drunk too much, thus ensuring a disturbed night’s sleep, staying abed in a vain effort to compensate. Now as he saw the sails aloft, full of wind, he realised that it was not only drink that had interrupted his slumbers.
‘Good morning, James,’ cried Harry, from the windward side of the deck, his blond hair flapping in the fresh breeze.
This earned him a dyspeptic look from the younger Ludlow, who was annoyed at his older brother’s apparent immunity to nature’s revenge. Harry was the picture of rude good health, with a pink face and sparkling eyes. James looked around the deck, noticing that the yards were braced right round, lying almost fore and aft, as the Bucephalas beat up, close-hauled into the wind. Then his eyes swept around the horizon and observed the obvious fact that they were out of sight of land.
‘We are at sea?’
Harry laughed at that. ‘Your nautical education proceeds at a snail’s pace, brother; but it does proceed.’
James put his fingers to his temples and rubbed them slowly. ‘Do not bait me, Harry. I am not in the mood.’
His brother laughed even louder, then called out the orders that set his ship round in a long sweep to larboard. The deck was full of running men, sprinting aloft or hauling on ropes. Harry called his instructions in a continuous stream and James watched as the bowsprit swung steadily through an arc until the Bucephalas settled on to her new heading. Immediately the motion of the ship eased, as the waves, the current, and the wind all favoured her passage, instead of opposing it.
‘You need some coffee, some food, and plenty of fresh air,’ called Harry.
The deck tilted as the Bucephalas increased speed, her bows dipping in and out of the Atlantic swell. James felt an unaccustomed queasiness in his stomach as he lurched across to join Harry. His brother, taking an arm, proceeded to examine him closely, a smile playing around his lips.
‘That’s the truth, James, and no mistake. In fact, you seem a trifle green around the gills. Surely you’ve not lost your sea-legs after two days ashore?’
‘Bessborough’s local cuisine, I don’t doubt. That pepper and crab dish, particularly.’
James using both hands, steadied himself by the rail and took several deep breaths. A mug of steaming coffee was pushed into his hand and the combined effect of these two tonics meant that he could listen to Harry order their breakfast with something approaching equanimity.
‘I take it that we are going after Toner,’ he said.
‘We are.’
‘How do you know where Toner is?’
‘Right now, I don’t.’
James frowned and looked around the empty horizon. ‘But you have some notion of his whereabouts.’
Harry grinned at him. ‘Not the faintest.’
‘So are we to wander the seas and rely on luck? I cannot believe it. You are endlessly lecturing me on how large, not to mention how unforgiving, the ocean is.’
James saw that Harry’s grin had widened, something which produced an exactly contrary expression in him. ‘You know how that smug air infuriates me, brother.’
‘Do I?’
‘Yes, you do! So please enlighten me as to our destination.’
‘How much do you remember of last night?’
James’s face screwed up as he tried to remember. ‘The dinner. Going back to the inn.’
‘And Matthew Caufield?’
‘Who?’
Harry pointed aloft, to a solitary figure sitting in the crosstrees. ‘The young American eavesdropper. And what about the pet mongoose, do you recall that?’
James groaned, though it was impossible to tell if that reaction was brought about by pain or a search for his missing memories. Harry kindly filled him in, though leaving out of his explanation the parts he’d missed, especially the exact contents of Nathan Caufield’s letter, which the youngster had allowed him to read.
‘So we’re following in his father’s footsteps.’
‘To St Eustatius. Do you know of it?’
James intoned his reply like a particularly dogmatic pedagogue. ‘It’s mentioned in a book I bought in the Canaries, penned by a Frenchman called Père Labatt. It claims to be a history of West Indian islands. St Eustatius is, according to the good Father, a Dutch possession, a trading post, rather dull and earnest in the tradition of the race.’
‘That it is. And along with the Danish Virgin Islands, St Bartholomew and St Croix, it’s a prime landfall for illegal traders.’
‘You think Toner will be there?’
‘What an absurd notion, James!’ replied Harry. ‘Few ships carrying illegal cargoes would risk putting to sea with a British frigate in the offing.’
‘Do I have to drag an explanation out of you with a crowbar, brother!’ snapped James.
‘Too much port and rum punch, James. I should have warned you of its deleterious effects. It may taste like fruit …’
James closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead again, squeezing the skin between extended fingers. ‘It’s the very devil, Harry. I never normally suffer like this. I wish I’d stayed at the Clarence with my books.’
Harry decided that his brother had suffered enough. Matthew Caufield came down from the tops and joined them just as James was discussing Bessborough’s dinner and his wife’s reference to their French guest de la Mery. Then suddenly he stopped, rubbing his aching forehead.
‘You know I think even she mentioned that damned mongoose to de Brissot. I was only half listening, unfortunately, being engaged in another conversation. Not that she mentioned it by name. But she said something about his pet treating her brocades like pythons.’
Dreaver called them to their breakfast. Harry led the way into the cabin. There, under the young American’s eager gaze, he outlined his plans, which were simple. Suborn O’Dwyer, by bluff or by threat, then catch this filibuster.
‘Whose name, we are now all agreed, is Antoine de la Mery?’ said Matthew Caufield, turning to James.
‘I don’t think we enjoy the luxury of certainty,’ James replied.
‘What about coincidence?’
James began to nod, but stopped himself before the pain became too much to bear. Had he not been suffering still he would have picked up the obvious omission in what had just been said. Harry had made no mention, while Caufield was present, of Bessborough. Nor had he alluded to his primary reason for being in the West Indies, Toner, Pender, or the recovery of his crew.
‘Are you not over-simplifying things, brother? This fellow has eluded the entire squadron. He will not be so easy to find.’
Harry merely shrugged. ‘It’s simpler than it would be elsewhere. First of all, we’re not a navy frigate, so if he spots us, he’ll be less tempted to run.’
‘That assumes you can get close enough in the first place.’
‘The Caribbean differs from other seas. The winds are generally steady in the north-east, except around the islands, and the trade routes have a regularity lacking in other oceans. Ships arriving in the West Indies still sail along lines of latitude to their destination. Those leaving can only do so by three routes: the Mona passage, the Windward passage, and the Florida channel.’
‘Is not this illegal trade mainly carried out between islands? And have you not told me yourself, many times, the difficulties in making a rendezvous at sea?’
Harry frowned. ‘Yes. But that does not alter the wind. The only variable is time and destination. This de la Mery, vouchsafed similar intelligence, is finding his targets and taking ships by the dozen, well ahead of Bessborough’s cruisers. Given the same information I think I can find him.’
James pointed to the young American. ‘Then you believe what our young friend told you about the contents of his father’s letter?’
Matthew Caufield didn’t bridle at this because it was a reasonable question, and one he’d asked himself many times. Besides, James Ludlow hadn’t read it, as his brother had. The obvious answer was that taken with Bessborough’s request, Nathan Caufield’s suspicions were a near certainty. But Harry hadn’t told the young man about the admiral’s worries, or his ham-fisted attempt to engage their help. Nor had he bothered to enlighten his brother on the matter of what he intended to do about such knowledge. Given his condition, James had also failed to make the connection.
‘I don’t have to believe any more than this. That O’Dwyer is Dillon’s agent. That is a secret he will want kept. The price will be to provide us with the intelligence that is, by methods we don’t know, being made available to this Frenchman.’
The mention of the name O’Dwyer cleared James’s thinking. He appeared angry with himself. But at the same moment he caught the look in Harry’s eyes that begged him not to enquire too deeply, lest by doing so he reveal more than the young American needed to know. Mentally he cursed his brother’s devious nature, which left him somewhat adrift, unaware of which information was damaging and which was not. That knowledge, and the irritation it engendered, made him keep talking in a situation where Harry probably required silence. Partly it became an indirect attempt to lever him into being more open.
‘The supposition that it is de la Mery is, as Matthew just pointed out, based on coincidence. Even proven, who’s to say he isn’t operating alone? If Dillon can find the routes these ships take, so can a Frenchman.’
‘But you must allow that Matthew’s father has a point, James. Let us assume for a moment that it is the man we think. He has not only the location of the illegals, but the precise rendezvous that has been arranged for our cruisers, which means he can avoid them.’
‘Is that so very significant?’ demanded James, doggedly.
Harry missed the tone of disquiet, hearing only another example of James’s ignorance in nautical matters. ‘Yes. Without certain knowledge of their position, and sailing in the same waters, he’d be bound to come up against one of them at some time. The clear fact that he never does quite explodes the notion of mere luck.’
‘Are you basing all of this entirely on the contents of my father’s letter?’ asked Matthew.
Harry replied forcibly, and with a lack of sincerity which was obvious to his brother. ‘Didn’t Marcus Sandford not say something regarding that? Poynton certainly did. You remember him, James, the man with the loud voice who damned our arrival.’
‘I know who Poynton is, Harry, and so does Matthew.’
‘Everyone seems to have missed what Nathan Caufield spotted months ago. Yet if anybody should have seen it, Poynton was the one.’
James rubbed his temples again. ‘You will have to go on, brother. My brain is lamentably slow this morning.’
‘Come, James. It must be clear to even the most muddled head. That was the only occasion when a British frigate picked up the crews. At all other times, barring Effingham’s fluke, they’ve landed up on other islands, all well away from their home ports. Hence the delay in information coming together. In the case Matthew’s father cited, either de la Mery realised that such a policy was folly, or his contact in Antigua, aware of the damage that could be done, told him to desist.’
‘You are leaping, Harry. You go from speculating on a contact in Antigua to a certainty so well placed as to be able to warn this filibuster that he must change his ways. Bessborough—’
‘Let us leave him out of this,’ said Harry quickly. ‘I must go on deck and see to the needs of the ship.’
James caught him alone as soon as he could get away from Matthew Caufield. ‘I have finally realised what you are about, brother. Does the young man know that you have quite different priorities?’
‘I hope not,’ said Harry, coldly.
‘Would it not have been simpler to take young Caufield to Bessborough with the information in his father’s letter?’
‘That letter tells him nothing he doesn’t already suspect. And even if it points a finger, it uncovers no secrets. It also exposes us as being in possession of information regarding some of Dillon’s network.’
‘I was wondering if Bessborough would be grateful enough to give you Toner’s course?’
‘I was foolish enough to think that news of d’Albret’s frigates would help us, but it didn’t. Given that Matthew came ashore with the messengers, whatever orders Toner was given were probably based on intelligence received from St Eustatius. That information will not be divulged to us. Therefore we must go to the island, find out what we can from O’Dwyer, calculate the point of contact for Endymion, and be there at the right time.’
‘I still think we might have done better to have stayed in English Harbour.’
‘Can you imagine me sitting there, James, swapping yarns with the other captains and twiddling my thumbs for months on end?’
‘Surely not months?’
‘You heard Bessborough yourself. Endymion is well victualled. There is no gain to Toner being in port. In fact, to his mind, the minute he returns he’s beached, with or without prizes. The admiral can hardly send him out on his own again. The very best he can hope for is convoy duty. Bessborough will send someone else on patrol, one of his favourites. To make matters worse, Bessborough is bound to find a way of informing him that we are in these waters. No, brother. It all favours him staying at sea. The only thing we’d observe, if we’d stayed tied up in Antigua, is assembling convoys, weed growing on our hull, and perhaps, if he’s lucky, Toner’s prizes sailing into the harbour.’
‘We might also have unmasked Bessborough’s spy.’
‘That’s his job, James, not ours.’
‘We have to get our crew back?’
‘That’s right. And before Toner kills someone.’
‘Land ho! Islands fine on both bows.’
Harry looked up to the masthead before he took out the telescope.
‘St Eustatius?’ asked James, well aware that he’d receive no answer to his previous proposition.
‘No. We would have to sail north-east past St Kitts,’ said Harry grimly. ‘I sailed south-east from Antigua, just in case they were tempted to send Marcus Sandford to shadow me.’
Harry pointed with his telescope to the two extinct volcanoes that were now old Caribbean islands.
‘Guadeloupe is the island to the north. The other, smaller one is Marie Galante. And dead ahead, if you care to go aloft and look, you will spy a long chain of rocky islets. They, James, are Les Isles des Saintes. This is the very channel where Rodney and Admiral Hood beat de Grasse in ’82.’
James looked eagerly over the side, for the first time like a man without a hangover. ‘So, brother, this is the place you fought your duel?’