Badge of Glory (1982) (5 page)

‘There is some small future for the steam vessel, but not in any true sense as a fighting ship. Beyond doubt, and entirely to my satisfaction, I believe that the fleet in being will remain under canvas and not be a victim of dirt and unreliability!’

He had turned on his heel and approached a young lieutenant who was holding hands with the mayor’s daughter.

‘Ah, my dear!’ He had taken the girl’s elbow and guided her aft towards the poop. ‘Come and talk with me.’ He had ignored the lieutenant completely.

Blackwood felt his half-brother move up beside him.

He asked, ‘Is everything all right, Harry?’

‘Yes, sir.’ The lieutenant’s eyes were searching among the crowd. ‘Did you see that girl?’

‘Which one?’ Again Blackwood sensed his own stupid resentment. He knew well enough which one.

Harry Blackwood replied, ‘The dark-haired beauty. Sir Geoffrey Slade’s niece.’ He rubbed his gloved hands together. ‘She never smiles, but I’d lay odds I could make her.’

Blackwood saw Ackworthy beckoning to him. ‘She’d have you for breakfast, you young ass!’

He heard Harry call after him, ‘Her name’s Davern Seymour, sir.’ He could almost hear him stifling a laugh as he added, ‘
Miss.
’

Ackworthy said, ‘The boats are leaving now, Major.’ He glanced at the sky and at the dark tracery of rigging and spars overhead. ‘Went well, I thought.’

It was a question, not a statement.

Blackwood watched the first of the visitors being assisted down into the various boats. There had been a plentiful supply of wine for everyone, and the
Audacious
’s own brand of punch had grown steadily stronger with each topping up by the admiral’s steward. One or two of the guests looked as if they might have fallen into the sea and barely noticed it.

He said, ‘They all enjoyed themselves, sir. By the time some of them sleep it off we’ll be aweigh on the tide.’

He glanced across the nettings towards the other ships of the squadron. Their reflections glittered on the water as the sunlight faded, with coloured lights and the long lines of open gunports to make this last night a memorable one. Some would despair at seeing their husbands and sons depart on one more commission. Others would be secretly grateful
and pray that the next reunion might be delayed. Grief, happiness, ambition and ignorance, none meant anything to the ships themselves.

Blackwood realized with a start that Ackworthy was speaking again.

‘I never thought that I should be off on another campaign like this, Major.’ He was talking almost to himself. ‘I thought I should end up like the dockyard captain, the one who . . .’ He did not finish it.

So Ackworthy had also seen the admiral vent his anger on the man.

He continued, ‘But maybe when we get some sea-room things will seem different.’

Blackwood felt suddenly sorry for Ackworthy. Of all the officers in his ship he probably felt safe to speak his mind only with a marine who shared yet was quite apart from his chain of command.

Blackwood tried to draw him from his gloom. ‘Sir Geoffrey Slade. Is he sailing with the squadron, sir?’

The captain shook his head, his mind already elsewhere. ‘No, he’s going ahead in a fast mail-packet. Don’t like the smell of it. The Service and politics don’t mix, not in my book.’

Some violins struck up, and the remaining guests moved aft towards the poop and the beckoning music.

Most of the screens in the admiral’s quarters had either been removed or hoisted up to the deckhead to give as much space as possible. Tables of glasses and yet more punch to fill them lined the sides, and right aft in the great cabin itself Ashley-Chute’s table had been fully extended to seat his guests in lavish comfort. Silver candlesticks were placed at measured intervals, and there was hardly an inch of its polished surface which was not filled with food, gleaming cutlery and flowers.

Ashley-Chute stood with his friend Slade and watched his guests’ reactions with barely concealed satisfaction.

Pelham, the flag-lieutenant, glanced nervously around the
laughing, chattering throng and consulted his list of names and where each guest would be seated.

Blackwood took a glass from one of the temporary cabin servants and tried to remember how many drinks he had taken. This was no time to get drunk. The thought made him smile to himself. Ashley-Chute would probably put him ashore and Harry would be made to take over command of the marines in his place. ‘Mother’ would be pleased.

‘Something amuses you, Captain Blackwood?’

He turned, startled, and saw her looking directly at him. She was even more striking close to, with the candlelight and deckhead lanterns making her dark ringlets shine against her bare shoulders.

‘I – I’m sorry. Just something which might have spoiled an otherwise happy occasion.’

He watched for some break in her guard. Harry was right, she did not smile. But she had lovely skin, like cream in the reflected lights, and her eyes were dark, possibly violet, he thought.

He asked, ‘How did you know my name?’

‘Does it matter?’

Her directness took him off balance.

‘Not really. I know yours, Miss Seymour.’

She looked away, but made no attempt to move. ‘I hate these gatherings. So much talk. Too much.’ She looked at him again. ‘Actually, my uncle pointed you out to me. You were involved in the Maori War, I believe.’

Blackwood was getting out of his depth. There must be a great deal more to Slade than he had realized if he had kept note of the marines’ part in the Maori War, especially that of a lowly lieutenant. Unless Ashley-Chute had said something. A warning clicked in his mind like a pistol hammer.

‘I was there, yes.’ When she said nothing he added, ‘Straightforward landing operations. What we’re trained for. It had to be done.’

‘You don’t sound so sure, Captain Blackwood.’ She
watched him gravely, her gown rising and falling to her breathing.

Blackwood shrugged. ‘I’m sure.’ It was like listening to Harry all over again.
What is it really like?

He looked down at her. God, she was lovely. He could smell her perfume. Like a part of her.

He added, ‘We go where we’re ordered, Miss Seymour. No country can survive without strength, but you must know that, surely?’

She shook her head, the dark ringlets barely touching her shoulder.

‘I think it’s wrong to oppress people. No matter who they are. Some folk seem to take a delight in power, at any cost. Greed and power usually go hand in hand.’

Blackwood retorted, ‘I wouldn’t know about that.’ He had spoken sharply but could not help himself. She had got under his skin and he felt confused by her candour and her confidence. ‘I do my –’

She nodded very slowly. ‘Your duty, were you going to say?’

Lieutenant Pelham called in his reedy voice, ‘Ladies and gentlemen! Dinner is about to be served!’

Blackwood found himself alone as the others moved eagerly to their allotted places. She had been laughing at him, had made him feel a fool, like a common foot soldier.

Pelham brushed his elbow. ‘There, sir. Next to the lady mayoress.’

He was almost grateful to be submerged in a torrent of conversation and the din of eating and drinking.

The candles flickered across the bright gowns and the officers’ epaulettes, and beneath the laden table Blackwood felt the ship stir as if made uneasy like himself.

The girl named Davern Seymour was seated at the head of the table with Ashley-Chute and her uncle. Occasionally he heard her laugh, but it was a controlled sound, and not once did she look in his direction.

The lady mayoress had had a great deal to drink and was leaning against him by the time the table was rearranged for a special pudding which had been prepared by the admiral’s cook.

She said huskily, ‘My father was a sailor, y’know.’

She had difficulty in focusing her eyes on Blackwood’s face, but none at all in pressing her knee against his under the table.

Blackwood regarded her despairingly. She was sixty if she was a day. It would serve her right. He took another swallow of wine and dabbed his face with a napkin. What was the matter with him? Had that girl unsettled him so badly?

The lady mayoress seemed to take his silence for encouragement and he felt a hand on his thigh.

There was a sharp tap from the head of the table, and Blackwood thought for an instant that someone had seen what was happening.

Vice-Admiral Sir James Ashley-Chute rose to his feet and stared at the table until he had their full attention.

‘Before the ladies retire, God bless ’em,’ his eyes moved restlessly along their faces, ‘I would like to say a few words on behalf of the squadron,
my
squadron, which is soon to quit these shores.’ He tucked one hand inside his coat and continued, ‘We are all living in stirring times. An age of discovery, the founding of trade and colonies the length and breadth of the globe. There will soon be no land worthwhile where the Union flag does not fly with authority. Our mother country will surely benefit and continue to do so.’ Some of the gravity was thrust aside as he added, ‘But I am a simple sailor. I leave such matters to others. Unlike some . . .’ he paused and glanced coldly at Captain Boyd of the
Argyll
who was said to have a woman in Southsea, ‘. . . I am content to serve my country and take the ocean as
my
mistress.’

Somebody gave a nervous laugh.

The admiral stared into the distance, the lights shining on his iron-grey sideburns.

‘We have a young queen on the throne, a fleet to be proud
of, and a future that holds no fears for those resourceful enough to
seek
and
win
!’

Captain Boyd of the
Argyll
, still flushed with anger at the admiral’s pointed comment, muttered, ‘God, you’d think we were going to fight a war!’

The lady mayoress slumped back, and Blackwood saw the girl watching him from the end of the table.

Ashley-Chute was saying, ‘Loyalty and duty are the foundations of my faith.’

Blackwood watched the girl’s mouth quiver very slightly. She was laughing at him. Goading him.

The admiral broke off and snapped, ‘Well, what
is
it, Pelham?’ He seemed irritated by his flag-lieutenant’s sudden gestures. ‘I am still
speaking
, man!’

But he listened none the less and then motioned for Pelham to relay his news to Captain Ackworthy.

Strangely ill at ease in his own ship, Ackworthy rose to his feet, his hair almost brushing the deckhead.

‘I beg your pardon, ladies and gentlemen, but the master has sent his respects and apologies and insists that a squall is rising from the sou’-east. Under the circumstances, it might be in the interests of safety for visitors to return to the shore without delay.’

Ashley-Chute gave a fierce grin. ‘Any lady still aboard will
remain
so, hmm?’ He walked briskly to the cabin door to bid his guests farewell.

Blackwood said to the flag-lieutenant, ‘A bit sudden, surely?’

The man shook his head wretchedly, probably visualizing all those hundreds of miles to Africa.

‘Sir James is bored or tired, I’m never certain which. He
ordered
me to pass that message to him. There’s no squall. It’s an old trick of his.’ He glanced at the long-armed lieutenant who was the admiral’s son. ‘I feel sorry for
him.
For all of us.’

‘Come along, Pelham.’ Ashley-Chute’s voice was like a father speaking to a backward child. ‘See that the ladies are escorted to the gangway.’ He glanced at Blackwood and
nodded curtly. ‘So your brother is aboard, eh? A bit of string-pulling at the Admiralty, hmm?’

He turned aside to speak with his special guest.

The girl was waiting for him, her body concealed from her throat to her toes in a boat-cloak.

‘Good night, Captain Blackwood.’ She eyed him thoughtfully. ‘I hope you are not
too
troubled by duty.’ She did not offer her hand from the protection of her cloak.

Blackwood bowed from the waist. ‘I look forward to our next meeting, Miss Seymour.’

She gave a brief smile. ‘I fear that may be a long way off.’

She curtsied to the admiral, the movement taking her through the door and into the shadows like a trained dancer.

Blackwood walked out into the cool damp air and drew deeply on the tang of salt. Boats were already thrusting away from the ship’s side, and he could hear laughter and muffled cheers as the occupants waved to the watching seamen on the gangway.

‘How did you get on, sir?’

Blackwood swung on the scarlet blur of Harry’s coatee in the gloom.

Then he shrugged. What had he expected anyway? That a girl like her would swoon into his arms merely because he was going overseas?

He said wearily, ‘I survived, Harry.’ He touched the lieutenant’s sleeve, suddenly glad of his company. ‘Come below and take a glass before you turn in.’

The admiral’s quarters were already quiet, the screens replaced, a sentry planted beneath a lantern like a toy soldier.

Then, as Blackwood thrust open his cabin door they both heard Ashley-Chute’s voice cutting through the screens and all else like a saw.

‘What the
hell
were you thinking of, Ackworthy? Some of those servants were like ploughmen, more used to the dung in the fields than to civilized people!’

Ackworthy must have mumbled something and the admiral’s voice rose even higher.

‘It was a bloody shambles! I was humiliated by it! By God, Captain Ackworthy, you’ll live to regret it if you repeat such incompetence!’

Harry Blackwood stared at his half-brother with astonishment.

‘What was
that
?’

Blackwood glanced at the quiet cabin, the bottle and goblets where Smithett had placed them in readiness. He never needed to be told anything.

‘I fear, Harry, that the party has just ended.’

‘Begin the salute.’

The crash of the first cannon shattered the afternoon silence and drove a cloud of gulls soaring into the sky in screaming protest.

Moving very slowly at the head of the squadron, the flagship
Audacious
headed purposefully towards the anchorage, beyond which the impressive slab of Gibraltar loomed up in the mist.