The Gathering Storm (4 page)

'I have, yes.' Bringing the sealed letter from the pocket
of his coat.

James hesitated a moment, standing in the doorway, then
he came to a decision. Standing aside:

'Sir, if you will take a risk – and I must iterate, there is
a small risk still – I will like you to come in, and sit with
me a minute or two in the library. I have not suffered from
the fever myself, nor have any of the servants, and the
library is in least warm – warmer than standing out here
in the night air.'

'Thank you, James. Then I will come in.'

He followed James into the library, where a fire glowed
in the grate and the air was pleasantly temperate after the
chill of the paved forecourt. James poured Madeira, stoppered
the blue decanter, and the two men sat before the
fire. Rennie gave his friend Admiral Hapgood's letter. James
read it through quickly, then put it aside.

'I cannot go there, now.'

'No, no, you must stay here until Catherine is better, in
course.'

'I mean – I cannot take up the commission.' Glancing
at Rennie briefly, then staring into the fire.

'Not take it up, James ... ?'

'It means nothing to me now, d'y'see? I have lost my only
son ... and Catherine will not wholly recover before the
summer. Dr Harkness is of the opinion that she may never
get back all of her former strength. So you see – I cannot
possibly go away.'

'In course that is how you feel, just at present. It is entirely
natural that you should. You have suffered a terrible loss,
a dreadful loss, and Catherine must now be your first
concern. But in a few weeks—'

'I shall not go back.' James turned his glance again on
Rennie. 'I have made my decision.'

'Well well, I will not press you now, my dear James. Not
at present.'

They sat mute for several minutes, and drank their wine,
each buried in his own thoughts. The fire whispered and
settled, and occasionally sighed as a flame flared up, and the
glow flickered across their faces. At last, James:

'I cannot erase it from my mind ...'

'Nay, James, do not speak of it now, when it is so painful
to you.' Rennie, thinking to aid his friend by enjoining his
silence.

'No – I wish to speak of it. I have not spoke with anyone
but Harkness in many days – and he is a busy fellow, with
other duties, and has not time to listen.'

'Then – I am here.'

'It is the sound ... the sound in my head.' Quietly.

'Sound?'

'The sound of a handful of earth, falling on the lid of
the coffin. Just a brief rattle, you know, a light sprinkling
rattle – and yet it echoes in my head like a horrible thunderclap
– over and over again. I cannot rid myself of it.'

'It will pass, in time.' Not knowing what else to say.

'Often, you know, I fear that I shall go mad. It is there
every day, all the time.'

'Perhaps your physician could give you a potion—'

'I asked him for something to aid sleep. It provoked a
worsening of the sound – crash, crash, crash, in my head.
I cannot rest, I cannot find a moment's respite but the
damned abominable noise returns.'

'You have been under a great strain. Your nerves are
frayed.'

'Nerves? Hah!' Bitterly.

Rennie looked across at his friend, took a quick, deep
breath, nodded, and:

'Listen now, James. I will speak, after all. The moment
Catherine is well enough you must take her to your father's
house at Shaftesbury, and then come on to Portsmouth and
take up your duty of getting
Eglantine
ready for the sea.
That is the cure, James. That must be your course—'

'No! Will no one listen to me, in God's name! I am not
fit to command! I have turned my back on the sea for ever!'
Vehemently, standing up and walking away from the fire.

Shocked into silence Rennie stared at his friend's back,
at the tensed shoulders and rigid neck, and saw a man at
breaking point. At length:

'You are not yourself, James. I shall go away now to the
inn in the village, and return on the morrow.'

He put down his glass, and stood up. James now faced
him again, and lifted a hand to his head to push back a
lock of hair.

'I beg your pardon, sir, I shouted at you. You will return
to Portsmouth, did y'say? Tomorrow?'

'Nay, I shall return here, to Birch Cottage.'

'Ah. Yes?' Distractedly.

'Yes, indeed.'

'Well, as you wish. I will – I must go to Catherine now,
and see if she needs anything.'

'Of course, very good. I'll see myself out, James.'

'Thank you, sir.'

And James left the room, with a half-turning, sidelong
glance as he reached the door and went out.

Rennie stood still a moment, in genuine dismay. 'The
poor fellow.' He shook his head. 'Poor dear fellow.'

*

'No, sir, I could not persuade him.'

'Persuade him?' Admiral Hapgood was contemptuous. 'I
did not ask you to persuade him, Captain Rennie. I gave
you an order to bring him back.'

'He would not come.'

'He read the letter? You are certain he read it?' Admiral
Hapgood stood at the window, and looked bleakly at the
world.

'He read it in my presence.'

'It is beyond reason.' Returning to his desk. 'What is the
matter with him? Has he gone mad?'

This was so nearly the truth that Rennie was obliged to
look away lest his eyes betray him.

'I – I do not believe that he has, sir, no. As I have said,
his family—'

'Yes, yes, fever.' Over him. 'He lost a son, and his wife
was ill. Such things are not uncommon in England, Captain
Rennie. Typhus is a curse everywhere, from time to time.
But good heaven, sea officers of all men must face these
things and continue to do their duty. We cannot allow
private difficulty to interrupt the king's service.'

'I am very sorry, sir, but Captain Hayter has made his
decision. Naturally, I attempted to dissuade him. He is my
valued friend, and we have sailed three hazardous commissions
together. Nobody could more greatly regret his
departure from the service than myself, and I said so to
him very sincere. However, he was adamant. It would have
been ungentlemanlike to press him further, under the
circumstances.'

'You think that, do you?'

'I do, sir.'

'Ungentlemanlike?'

'Just so.'

'You are a bloody fool, Rennie. You have allowed him to
hoodwink and bamboozle you.'

'Eh?' Outraged.

'Self-approval is his fault, sir. Self-approval and damned
self-pitying pride. Many men lose sons, sir. Life is fraught
with such peril. But they do not then lie down to sulk and
snivel in defeat. They lift up their heads, and behave manly,
and courageous. That is how they may father other sons, and
rise to their responsibilities.'

'Well, sir,' Rennie kept his temper, 'well, you was not
there to see how hard the blow fell upon him. Men are not
all the same—'

'Pish posh, Captain Rennie. You will like to make excuses
for the fellow because he is your friend. His behaviour is
very reprehensible, very foolish and weak.'

Tears of rage pricked Rennie's eyes, but he held himself
in. The admiral grimaced and gave a furious sigh, throwing
up his hands.

'However – if he will not return, he will not. I have done
everything that is in my power to help him. I shall write to
Their Lordships immediate. His ship will go to another officer.'

'I cannot argue with you, sir.' Rennie, angry and sad,
conceding the inevitable.

The admiral looked at him, and in spite of his contempt
for what Rennie's friend had done, he could not find it in
him to blame Rennie any more. Rennie perhaps lacked certain
qualities of imagination, but he had stood loyal by his friend,
whose faults were not his own. The admiral relented.

'Very well, Captain Rennie. He is your friend, whatever
his failings, and I will not like to say any more against him
in your presence.'

'That is kind in you, sir.' Surprised.

'I am not kind, you know. I am merely trying to be –
gentlemanlike.'

'It is the same thing, in a way – ain't it?'

'Hm. Perhaps.'

Rennie made his back straight, and:

'Good day to you, Admiral.'

'Good day, Captain Rennie.'

Rennie walked stiffly to the admiral's door, put on his
hat thwartwise and settled it firm on his head. He went
down the stair to the entrance, and out into sunlight and
the sharp fragrances of the Portsmouth air: dung, tar, tide.
He breathed them in, and was restored.

Captain Rennie had met his wife Sylvia on an overnight
coach journey between Norwich and London. She was then
Sylvia Townend, a naval widow, and he had been able to
be of some service to her. They had later renewed their
acquaintance at Porstmouth, where she was staying with
her sister, and had grown fond of each other. There had
then occurred – not by his making – a diversion of their
paths. Subsequently, when he returned to his home at
Middingham in Norfolk, Rennie learned that she was
staying nearby, had at once sought her out and proposed,
and had been accepted.

At first glance, seen together emerging from the Marine
Hotel, or walking down the High, they did not make a
very likely pair. Rennie was spare, his face and forehead
were lined, he looked older than his thirty-six years, and
could not be described as handsome. His wife was very
comely, with a fine figure, and a hint of the voluptuous in
her eyes and mouth; she chose her dresses and bonnets
with care, and was always handsome in appearance. Had
he not been dressed in the uniform of a senior post captain,
Rennie could have been taken for a passed-over curate, or
an ageing clerk, faded, desiccated, resigned to his lowly
station, who had been permitted to walk beside the lady
a few moments to acquaint her with minor parish business,
or to convey a lawyer's message. Even in his naval
coat he did not look like a man with near connection to
his radiant companion. Closer scrutiny, however, revealed
an intimacy of glance, and conversation, and confidence,
that bespoke their condition of life. They were a loving
couple.

When he returned to the Marine Hotel from the port
admiral's office, Rennie went straightway to their rooms in
the expectation of finding his wife.

She was not there, and Rennie was disappointed. He had
missed her during the days of his absence in Dorsetshire,
and there was much he wished to say to her. He had thought
it prudent to make his report to Admiral Hapgood as soon
as he returned to Portsmouth, and had accordingly gone
straight from the George Hotel, where the coach had set
down its passengers in the afternoon, and climbed the stair
at the port admiral's office.

Now he set down his valise on the chair in the bedroom,
gave a penny to the boy who had carried it up, and took
off his coat. He called for an ewer of hot water, washed,
and shifted into a clean shirt. Then he went downstairs to
enquire about his wife.

'Mrs Hayter went out earlier today, sir.' The head porter.

'Ah. Ah. My wife did not say where she was going, did
she, by any chance?'

'Not to me, sir, n-ho. Perhaps she may have said something
to her maid ... ?'

'My wife did not bring a maid with her from Norfolk.'

'Ah, yes, sir. Most ladies do travel with a maid, and it
had quite escaped my memory that—'

'Yes yes, well well, never mind. I dare say I shall discover
my wife's whereabouts before long.'

'You are going out yourself now, sir?'

'Yes, I am. I have much to attend to at the dockyard.'

'And if Mrs Hayter should return whiles you are absent,
sir, shall I say that—'

'I will just write a note to her, and leave it with you.'

Rennie scribbled the note in pencil, folded it and left it
with the porter, and went away to the dockyard. When he
returned in the evening he found Sylvia there, and was
more profoundly glad and relieved than he had expected.
The visit to Dorset had affected him deeply, and he was
grateful not simply to be reunited with his wife, but for his
untroubled and purposeful life, aided and shored up by her
love.

We are such fragile creatures, you know, my love.'
Holding her.

What do you mean, William?' Curiously, pulling back
her head a little to look into his eyes.

And he told her about his friend's loss.

Weeks had passed,
Expedient
was now refloated, rerigged and
stored, her boats had been got into her, and her guns, and she
had been trimmed. And now most of her people – her required
complement of 260 souls, as per the scheme attached to Rennie's
commission – had been put on her books.

As in a previous commission her people had not been gathered
by Captain Rennie's efforts of recruitment, nor those
of his officers, but had been – as it were – produced out of
a hat. Tom Makepeace, Rennie's erstwhile second lieutenant,
now his first, said to his captain:

'I don't know where the order came from, sir, or how it
was managed, but they have come here, all properly provided
with conduct money, a few dozen at a time, from Woolwich
and Deptford and Chatham, all along the estuary – and assembled
at the Marine Barracks here at Portsmouth, all within
a week or two.'

'Are there any Expedients among them, Tom?' Meaning,
were any of the gathered men former members of the ship's
crew.

'Not that I have been able to discover, sir. All of them are
faces new to me. But in course I was not with you on the
Jamaica cruise.' Referring to
Expedient
's second commission,
when by a muddle of communication he had been left behind.

'I am nearly certain that none of them has served with me
before.' Rennie, a sniff. 'No, a person behind has arranged
this crew for us.'

'A person behind, sir?' Puzzled. 'D'y'mean, at the Admiralty?'

'No no, not exact, Tom, not exact. Never mind, they are
right seamen, by the look, and they will do. Must do, we
have no more time.'

Since gaining this commission Rennie had been puzzled
by other things. At first there had been a certain urgency
about it, and he had come to Portsmouth full of bustling
energy. Then there had been the inevitable delays of bringing
a ship out of Ordinary, examining and refitting her, &c.,
then a curious hiatus while he waited, and the port admiral
waited, for his final instructions, his sailing instructions, to
be delivered from the Admiralty in London.

Rennie knew only what had been mentioned in his preliminary
instructions. That
Expedient
was to make a general
survey of the coast of France. No other details had been
vouchsafed him. Why not? He had enquired at the port
admiral's office. Admiral Hapgood had shaken his head in
pretended misunderstanding:

'Ain't the word plain to you, Captain Rennie?'

'If you mean—'

'Survey, sir. Survey.'

'Aye, sir, it is plain enough I suppose. But nothing else is
plain.'

'What else should be made plain?'

'I was once required to make such a survey of Jamaica,
you know, but in the end the duty was quite other.'

'Eh? Other?'

'Well well, I should not speak of – it is of no matter, sir.
All I meant was that I wish to understand whether or no I
am to be thrust into something other than a duty of survey,
now.'

'Thrust? Other? I do not understand you, Captain Rennie.
If I was you, sir, I should do exactly as I was told. When
your sailing instructions arrive, I will tell you. Good day to
you.'

'Yes, sir. Thank you.' Coming away entirely unenlightened.

* * *

Rennie's two junior lieutenants had joined the ship.
Lieutenant Merriman Leigh, RN, was a pleasant fair-haired
young man from Suffolk. He was the youngest son of a
retired admiral, and both of his brothers were in the service.
Lieutenant Leigh had not spent more than a month or two
on the beach in the last several years, due to family interest.
His last commission had been as fifth in the
Caesar
, 74, in
the Channel Fleet. In all his service he had managed to avoid
duty in West Indies, where three of his former middy shipmates
had died of yellowjack. It was clear to Rennie that his
second was a man protected, destined for high things in
his future.

His third was Lieutenant Renfrew Souter, RN, a Scot from
the Borders. Rennie was not quite sure about Mr Souter.
He was a taciturn young man of one-and-twenty, with auburn
hair and a certain dourness of demeanour. He had until now
been without a commission, having passed his Board two
years ago, and lived at home on half-pay ever since. Certainly
Rennie had Mr Souter's papers, with details of his service as
a midshipman, but he knew nothing else about him, and
decided to ask. He sent for him.

In the great cabin, in the smell of new paint:

'Mr Souter, thank you for attending so prompt.'

Mr Souter stood very correct, back straight, hat under his
arm, the buttons of his undress coat gleaming clean.

'Sit down, Mr Souter, sit down. I wished to speak to you
informal, so to say, and since we have not yet begun to give
dinners in the ship, I felt this was our best opportunity. Will
you drink a glass of wine?'

Thank you, sir, I do not take alcohol.' Sitting down opposite
Rennie at the cabin table.

'Not? Ah.'

Light glanced and danced on the deckhead timbers,
dazzling through the stern gallery windows as the ship eased
on her mooring cables.

Rennie sniffed in a breath, and:

'Now then, Mr Souter. Tell me something of your experience
of the sea, will you?'

'D'ye mean when I passed my Board, sir?'

'No no, I meant – your time in ships. Your experience in
ships.'

'D'ye mean generally, sir? Or d'ye wish to know about
particular ships?'

Was he being deliberately dense? wondered Rennie. The
brogue was not obtrusive, but there was a disconcerting
austerity of pronunciation. Rennie felt in need of refreshment
before he tried again. Only yesterday his former
steward had returned destitute and in rags to the ship, and
Rennie had not had the heart to turn him away. He
summoned him now:

'Cutton! Colley Cutton!'

His steward appeared. His appearance had been transformed.
He was fresh-shaved, his hair had been combed flat,
his shirt was clean, and his breeches – and he was carrying
something in a wicker basket.

'Bring me a bottle of Madeira wine.'

'Yes, sir.'

'What is in that basket?'

'It is a person of your acquaintance, sir.'

'A person of my—'

A plaintive miaow from the basket.

'Good God.'

The steward placed the basket on the decking canvas, and
opened the lid. A small, delicate creature, all black but for
a patch of white over one eye, jumped out on the squares,
and fell to cleaning its fur with quick nodding movements
of its head.

'Dulcie.' Rennie, in delighted astonishment. 'I thought she
was lost after our last commission.'

'Mr Adgett found her, sir, and has kept her fed, like.'

'Mr Adgett? Why did not he say something to me?'

'Don't know, sir.'

'Well well, no matter. She is here, she is restored to me.'
Adopting a soft, ingratiating tone: 'Dulcie ... Dulcie ...'

The cat ignored him.

'... Dulcie ... ?'

The cat stood, stretched, padded away to the stern gallery
windows, sprang up easily on the bench, curled up in the
corner and shut herself away in sleep.

'She don't know me ...' Rennie, chagrined.

'Hit will take her a day or two to come round to you, sir,
I expeck.'

'Come round to me?'

'Well, sir, cats is very particular about neglect. They do
not like it.'

'Damnation, how am I guilty of neglect? I believed the
creature lost. I wished to take her home with me, but she had
disappeared. What was I to do?'

'No, sir, yes ... but she don't ezackly see it in the same
hillustration, sir. As a cat.'

'Ah? Does she not? Ah. Madeira, Cutton. Jump, now.' A
breath. 'Mr Souter, I beg your pardon. Where were we,
exact?'

*

A further week, and
Expedient
was ready for the sea, except
in one – vital – component part. She lacked a surgeon.

In her first three commissions
Expedient
's doctor had been
Thomas Wing, the diminutive disciple of Dr Stroud of the
Haslar Hospital at Gosport. Rennie had liked Thomas Wing
from their first acquaintance, when he came into the ship as
surgeon's mate, and had come to know him, and trust him,
better than almost any other man on board. Now, in spite
of letters, and other urgent enquiry, Dr Wing could not be
found.

Rennie had tried at Gosport, making two journeys there
to consult Dr Stroud as to Thomas Wing's whereabouts.

'He ain't here, Captain Rennie,' Dr Stroud had told him,
on the first occasion. 'I have heard nothing from him these
last few months. Has he gone abroad, I wonder?'

'Abroad? Why should he go abroad?'

'He has been abroad with you, has not he?' Mildly.

'I do not know that I would call attachment to a ship
"going abroad", you know. He was my warranted surgeon,
and extremely valuable to me.'

'May not he have become attached to another ship?'

'In the Royal Navy, d'y'mean? No no, I should certainly
have heard of it. We had always agreed between us that he
would come with me in any subsequent commission. He
would not desert me, I am certain.'

'He would have to gain the appointment to you by warrant,
though, wouldn't he? From the Sick and Hurt?'

'Yes yes, Doctor, but that in course is a mere formality.'

Rennie had fretted, written further letters, and grown
anxious that Wing had been lost to
Expedient
now, and that
he would have to ask for another, inferior, man.

'Perhaps he has died, sir,' suggested Lieutenant Makepeace.

'Died?' A fierce glare.

'Men do die, sir, after all. Just because Thomas is a
doctor – albeit a very fine one – don't mean that he is
immune to—'

'That will do, Mr Makepeace.'

'I merely suggested it as a possibility, sir, that—'

'Be quiet, sir!'

The day following that conversation with Lieutenant
Makepeace, Rennie had formally requested another surgeon
for his ship. And on that same day, shortly after the noon
gun, Dr Wing appeared. He had himself rowed out to the
mooring by a ferryman, and brought his dunnage aboard.
Rennie, working on innumerable vexing lists in the great
cabin, was informed of his arrival, and at once went on deck.

'Dr Wing! Thomas!'

'Captain Rennie!'

They shook hands warmly.

'You got my letters, then? I had thought—'

'Eh? Letters? No. I heard nothing about the new
commission until I came to Portsmouth late yesternight.
And naturally – faithful to our understanding – I have
rejoined the ship.'

'You had received none of my communications? Nothing
came to your London address?'

'My dear Captain Rennie, I have not been in London since
last year.'

'Not in London? Oh.'

'No, I have been – elsewhere, on private business.'

'Private, hey? Are you wed, Thomas?'

'Matrimony was no part of the matter. The farthest thing
from my thoughts.'

'Well well, I will not pry into your private affairs, Thomas.
Let us get ye berthed, and so forth, and your dunnage stowed.'

'Thank you, sir. I ...' Hesitating.

'Yes, Doctor?'

'I am not in possession of my papers, I fear. That is, I
was so taken up with the business just mentioned that I
thought of little else, and I have come to the ship without
any official—'

'Pish pish, Thomas. A mere formality. I know who you
are, good God, and that is all that's required for me to put
you on my books.' Quite forgetting the formal request he
had made for another man. 'When you have settled in
comfortable, come to the cabin, will ye?'

Later, in the great cabin, as they drank tea together,
Dr Wing:

'I see that you are inundated with documents, sir.'

'That is the price we pay for going to sea, alas. Every last
nail and length of twine must be entered, checked and signed
for, and—'

'Surely that is your clerk's work, ain't it?'

'Alan Dobie, d'y'mean?'

'That is his name. I had forgot it. Alan Dobie. Yes.'

'Well, Dobie was my clerk in
Expedient
, yes. But then he
joined John Company as a clerk when we paid off our last
commission, and was sent away to India. I have not been
able to find a comparable man to replace him.'

'May I interpolate?'

'Eh?'

Dr Wing, with the careful enunciation of the autodidact:
'May I make a suggestion as to his replacement?'

'You, Doctor?' Rennie raised his eyebrows.

'I would not wish to overreach myself, sir, but I believe I
do know of a person that would suit.'

'As my clerk?'

'Indeed, sir, as your clerk.'

'Well well ... who is this "person", Thomas?'

A knock at the cabin door. Rennie frowned, and:

'Cutton! Cutton, there! See who that is, will you.'

A further knock, and Colley Cutton came hurrying from
his spirit kettle in the quarter gallery, and opened the slatted
door.

Mr Loftus, the sailing master, stood waiting. Rennie
beckoned him in:

'Come in, come in, Mr Loftus. Look who is here.'

'Why, good heaven, it is Dr Wing! I am right glad to
see you, Thomas!' Dr Wing rose from his chair and was
little taller than when he had been seated, but he wished
to shake hands. Mr Loftus came to the table and pumped
the surgeon's hand with enthusiasm. 'Right glad, indeed.'

'You wished to see me, Mr Loftus?' Rennie, when the
greetings had been dispensed with.

'Yes, sir. There has been a late delivery of casks by a hoy.
I am not entirely certain where they may be stowed.'

'What casks? I know of nothing that has not been stowed
days since.' Rennie, getting up on his legs.

'Beer, sir. And a hogshead of wine.'

'No no, Mr Loftus.' Coming round the table, his coat
brushing and dislodging sheafs of lists, which now tipped
and scattered on the canvas squares. 'The hoy has clearly
mistook us for another ship. We have our full allowance of
beer—'