“No one can say with any certainty when he first began to abuse his authority, but he had a reasonably normal career as a midshipman and then lieutenant. After a few years’ service, he was given command of a sloop-of-war. That appears to be when the trouble started. Over the course of three years, his record began to show an abnormally high loss of young midshipmen.”
Marshall’s expression tightened, then returned to its neutral facade.
“The record shows one desertion. The boy was never found. He may have escaped. Having met Adrian, I doubt that. Another four or five accidents could have been carelessness; three were fatal.”
“And no one noticed?” Drinkwater asked incredulously. “I beg your pardon, sir.”
“If anyone noticed, they did not comment. It was a small ship; he had only two lieutenants and neither was in a position to enter an unprovable charge against an admiral’s son. The matter was brought to a crisis by two suicides within a year’s time. One boy left a vague letter, but the other had mailed a farewell to his father, explaining exactly why he felt he had to do away with himself. The man took the note to ‘Adrian’s’ father, who, naturally enough, did not want to believe it, but... he examined the record and, to his credit, was honest enough to be worried. He arranged to have a young officer whom he trusted sent on board to investigate, and within a few months his agent reported back that it was indeed as he had feared. Adrian had thoroughly demoralized his crew and was cannibalizing young men put in his charge.
“The Admiral had his son removed from the Service, but for obvious reasons preferred to conceal the cause. Apparently he was officially released ‘for reasons of health’. His father bought him a merchant ship, arranged for a government supply contract, and paid a monthly remittance into his account so long as he never set foot in England.”
His officers said nothing, but their expressions were eloquent.
“I agree,” Smith said, “Such treatment seems more a reward than a penalty. At that point, however, despite this leniency, Adrian became a rogue. He seems to have decided that he would punish society for rejecting him—to literally make them pay. At first he had a confederate—God knows what the circumstances were—but after Adrian began behaving inappropriately toward those he abducted, his... partner objected vehemently and then vanished.”
“Murdered?” Drinkwater asked.
“I doubt anyone but Adrian knew. If the man is alive, we have no idea who he is or where he might be. Due to the Admiral’s continuing influence, Adrian will be officially listed as ‘killed in action’. I believe a dose of spirits might make this easier to swallow. Gentlemen?”
Drinkwater nodded. Marshall said, “Thank you, sir,” but he merely accepted the glass and frowned at it.
“I feel obliged to point out that the important word is ‘killed’,” Smith said. “We may be grateful he was not captured, since he might well have been turned loose again.” He suspected that, at some deep level, he had recognized the renegade, and known he would most likely escape justice if he were only captured. “I can understand the Admiral’s desire to protect family honor, but if he had been my son I would have shot him myself.”
“So his mask never will come off,” Marshall said. “No matter what he did.”
Smith shook his head. “I’m afraid not. There is a small consolation, of a financial nature. Since Adrian’s ship, the
Morven
, was registered under an alias, and the Admiral wants no traceable connection of any sort, the ship has been condemned as a prize of war. Because of the peculiarity of the circumstances, and as we were already on detached duty, we will all be considerably enriched for our inconvenience. The division is among myself, commissioned officers, midshipmen and warrant officers, and the crew of the rescue ship. As members of the original kidnapping gang, our two new recruits will have to be content with their earlier ill-gotten gains, but they will be pardoned.”
He saw the objection on Marshall’s face. “If one were to wax philosophical about that decision, it might appear to be something in the nature of buying our silence,” Smith agreed. “However, the matter will be handled as I have just described, regardless of what might be said. Since nothing would be gained by causing pain to Adrian’s surviving relatives, themselves innocent of wrongdoing, I prefer to look on it as the Admiral’s reparation for damage done. As you were the only officer on the scene, and Mr. Archer the only midshipman, you will each be receiving a quarter share of the proceeds. A ship that size should run 20,000 or so, at the very least. If you invest wisely, you should never again need worry about replacing your uniforms.”
Marshall had the dazed expression of someone who’d stood too close to a cannon during firing practice. “Thank you, sir.”
“Mr. Drinkwater, my thanks again for your handling of this matter. Much as I regret the eventual loss, I have recommended to the Admiralty that you be given command at the earliest opportunity; you have clearly demonstrated your readiness.”
Drinkwater flushed with pleasure. “Thank you, sir!” He recognized the hint, and rose to leave. Marshall began to follow.
The Captain cleared his throat. “Mr. Marshall, a moment, please.”
Marshall sat back down, serious. “Yes, sir?”
“Mr. Marshall... I am deeply sorry this matter has come up, but the problem is like stale bilgewater—everyone knows it exists, but it’s not a subject for discussion. In a way, it may be just as well; you are almost certain to encounter it sooner or later—when you have your own command, if not before.”
Smith realized he was doing it himself—edging around the subject. “Part of the problem is that you will never be trained in how to handle it; you will likely never hear anything about it—officially—but you will have to deal with it.”
Marshall’s puzzled frown deepened. “Sir?”
“I refer to men like Adrian—although I admit he is the worst and most extreme case I have encountered. The conditions of naval service make it difficult to eliminate the problem. Considering how many men are kept at close quarters without women for such long periods of time, that may not be possible. Of course, having women on board would create a different set of problems, and they would be worse, I’m sure...” Damn. He was rambling, and rambling badly, a reflection of his own turmoil.
He started over. “In any event, the important principle is that youngsters coming aboard a ship have enough to contend with; they should not have to fear being preyed on by those responsible for their safety, don’t you agree?”
“Of course, sir.”
Marshall was not making this easy. “I’m afraid I must be blunt, Mr. Marshall. Did Adrian... force himself... upon you or Mr. Archer?”
He did not seem as startled as Smith would have expected him to be. “I... was never alone with him, Captain. The only damage he did me was what you saw, that night on deck.”
“And Mr. Archer?”
Marshall brought his fingertips together on the tabletop and studied them. “I would rather not speculate, sir.”
“Mr. Marshall, I already know that Mr. Archer was alone with Adrian in his cabin for extended periods of time. As you well know, I do not rely upon hearsay, but under these circumstances I have only my assessment of Adrian and my knowledge of Mr. Archer. You were in a much better position to observe what occurred. Please report.”
Marshall did not look up. “Nothing was done to Mr. Archer in my presence, sir.”
Smith’s own discomfort was turning to irritation at Marshall’s careful discretion. “Of course not, man. I appreciate that you might feel a conflict of loyalties if Mr. Archer has told you something in confidence...” Marshall opened his mouth as if to speak, then shut it again, looking wretched. Naturally, he could not say even yes or no without breaking the confidence.
Smith had to press the matter, but he tried to soften his tone. “Mr. Marshall, we are having this conversation because I believe that Mr. Archer has endured enough. I would prefer not to put him through an interview that would, if my estimation of him is correct, be an unnecessary and painful intrusion. I assure you, I have no intention of punishing one of my officers for something that was inflicted upon him without his consent.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“But as an officer in His Majesty’s Navy, my primary concern—and yours—must be the safety and security of all the men under my command, as well as those who will someday be under his. I need to know whether you believe Mr. Archer was a willing participant in whatever may have passed between him and our late host.”
Marshall’s jaw dropped. “Absolutely
not,
sir.”
He hadn’t the guile to feign that conviction. Smith was enormously relieved by his vehemence. “You sound quite sure.”
“I am, sir. Captain—” He met Smith’s eyes. “I mean no disrespect, sir, but may I ask that what I say be kept in confidence between us?”
Thank God he realized where his duty lay. “So long as it does not jeopardize the safety of our men, you have my word.”
Archer sat waiting in the officer’s wardroom. Between the small crew on
Artemis
and the number of men on shore leave, he had the place to himself; the solitary vigil had gone on until he knew he might as well accept the worst.
What can be taking them so long? Why not just throw me overboard and be done with it?
He hoped Marshall wasn’t trying to plead his case and discrediting himself in the process.
And, please God, don’t let Will’s overactive sense of responsibility ruin him, let him have enough sense of self-preservation to leave—us—out of it.
Apart from a day or two under the surgeon’s care for concussion—he’d managed to keep his shirt on—Archer had spent the last couple of weeks in limbo. He’d been returned to duty, but with the
Calypso
in for repair, duty for everyone aboard the
Artemis
was light. A few days after their triumphant return to Portsmouth, Captain Smith had departed for London, to report directly to the Admiralty and get his recovered ransom money back into the bank. No one had mentioned the situation with Adrian; Archer had begun to hope that William was right, and the Captain had never caught wind of it.
But now—what else could that meeting be about? Will had been included; why exclude him, unless a decision had already been made, at a level that would brook no appeal? He had no illusions left on that score, and no hope. Drinkwater’s look of concerned sympathy, when they’d returned from the shipyard, had told him all he really needed to know.
Well, if he couldn’t have their respect, he’d be damned if he wanted their pity. He hadn’t survived that bastard Adrian to be broken by this. He would survive. Once he had word, he could clear out his dunnage in an hour. Less, really. Fifteen or 20 minutes, shipboard life didn’t encourage accumulation.
And then what?
Archer had no idea what he was going to do, now. He would have a few months’ salary coming, and the money from those last prizes. That would last for awhile, but a midshipman released from service, even on good terms, wasn’t entitled to half-pay. He did not want to go home to face his father’s interrogation. He could not possibly explain the situation—especially not to his mother, or sisters—and he would not accept the inevitable offer of Army enlistment.
Hunt a job on a merchant ship, without being able to explain why he’d left the Service? Even if he found one, that would mean every time they met a Navy vessel, he would chance meeting someone who’d known he had been an officer who left under unnamed and therefore suspicious circumstances. No.
Survival was all very well, but one did eventually need a reason for it, and finding a reason was rather difficult at the moment. He wouldn’t even have Marshall’s friendship—for William’s protection, the break would have to be complete
. The bastard’s won after all, hasn’t he? He’s taken everything.
He was now effectively cut off from everyone and everything he’d ever known—except, perhaps, Drury Lane. But if he found work there—doing what, painting scenery?—it would last exactly as long as it took for someone to recognize him and get word to his father. The Earl was entirely capable of pulling strings to save himself the embarrassment of a son following such a disreputable calling.
Perhaps he might change his name and ship out to North America. He could disappear into that vast wilderness, start over somewhere. Others had, with much less cause. But it would be a long, bleak, lonely way to go, and hardly seemed worth the effort. Maybe he would be lucky, and the ship would sink.
No. The way my life’s been going, the ship would sink, but I’d float, and I’d be rescued by a shipload of French sodomites
.
It would be funny, if it didn’t hurt so much.
~
Dear God, Davy, you were right. How am I ever going to get us out of this?
Captain Smith’s questions were like a broadside out of thin air. Never mind how he found out; it was no secret anymore. Marshall was both honored and chagrined that Smith would put such weight on his observations; he felt caught between two points of honor. True, David had told him to go ahead and tell the Captain about Adrian, but he hadn’t told him about the matter in confidence; it had come out through Marshall’s own clumsiness. And he could hardly explain what else had happened after that.
But if he wouldn’t or couldn’t provide sufficient answers, the Captain would no doubt call Davy in. To make him suffer that again, in an official inquiry... and what if Davy blurted out something that would incriminate them both?
No, Davy would never do that; he would sacrifice himself first. As he had all along.
The Captain was waiting.
“Thank you, sir.” Marshall looked at his hands, and forced his voice to a formal, detached tone. “Shortly after Mr. Archer was first taken to Adrian’s cabin he began having nightmares that woke us both.” That was literally true, at least. “Eventually I realized that something was amiss and—and confronted him. Based on what he said, as well as injuries to his person, it was clear that he was... extremely distressed at what was happening.”