Caribbee (32 page)

Afterwards, when normally the wardroom would relax into comfortable reminiscence, there was only an awkward silence. There were wary looks about the table, one or two comments on the dishes and then nothing.

‘Damn it!’ Griffith burst out. ‘Is no one going to speak?’

Eyes turned to him.

‘Clear the cabin o’ the serving staff!’ he snapped. ‘And send away the sentry.’

This was unprecedented. In effect the first lieutenant was reducing those present to the wardroom officers of
Hannibal
only.

‘No one to leave! Who’s the officer-of-the-watch?’

‘Mason,’ someone said nervously.

‘Right, we’ll do without him. So we’re all in this together – agreed?’ he snapped.

‘What can you mean by that, sir?’ gasped Jowett, the second lieutenant.

‘What I say, sir,’ Griffith ground out, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial quiet, ‘is this. It can’t go on and, whether we like it or no, we’re the ones to suffer in the end.’

The third, Briggs, had no qualms about an opinion. ‘He’s mad, of course. Anyone who’s passed by the Bedlam hospital knows what to look for.’

‘And what’s that?’ growled Maitland, the sailing master.

‘Does it matter?’ said the Captain of Marines. ‘We all know he’s beyond reaching.’

If the Royal Marines were no longer prepared to stand with their captain, it was a matter of desperate gravity.

‘Here’s my view, and it’s one that I sorrow to hold.’ Griffith regarded them gravely. ‘We have to declare him mad, unfit to command.’

‘And then?’ Jowett gave a dry laugh. ‘I’d not like to be the one who tells him. I have it from my man that Tyrell carries a pair of pocket pistols on him wherever he goes.’

Bowden spoke up quietly: ‘It’s a nice point, though. If we do nothing and there’s a meeting with the enemy, I have m’ doubts the men will fight for him, and we’re a liability in the line-of-battle. If we
do
take steps we could be each and every one damned for the rest of our careers …’

‘I don’t know why you’re all so gib-faced,’ Griffith said bitterly. ‘It’s down to my account who’s the “leader” in this … rising.’

‘Talking of rising,’ Briggs said strongly, ‘we should bear it in mind that if we do indeed make such a move, the ship’s company will see it in their best interest to drop any ideas they may have for a mutiny, or similar.’

‘That’s a good point. We’re only a couple of dozen against six hundred,’ muttered Maitland, staring into his glass.

‘Against?’ Bowden asked, with irony.

‘We’ve only to hang out a signal to the fleet and—’

‘Don’t be a looby,’ Jowett sneered. ‘They’ll never let us, and they’d have to wait only for nightfall to be off to wherever they’re carrying the ship. Anyone watching won’t have a clue what’s happening, and if it’s night, well …’

‘That’s as may be,’ Griffith said, with finality. ‘I’m to demand that before we leave this cabin we’ve decided on our course.’

‘To take
Hannibal
from Captain Tyrell or no,’ Bowden said levelly.

‘To prevent a rising of the hands and carrying of the ship over to the enemy.’

‘I say we take it to a vote!’ Briggs put in.

‘Now hold on, young ’un,’ Maitland said in alarm. ‘We’re not ready f’r that, like!’

Bowden tapped twice on the table with a spoon. ‘Let’s not lose sight of our options,’ he said, flashing an apologetic smile at the first lieutenant for his interruption. ‘First we have to be sure things can only be resolved by the captain’s, er, removal. This is a step with no going back. And if we do, then is it to be by main force or another way?’

‘Another way,’ Jowett said forcefully. ‘Simple – the doctor declares the man insane, we put him to bed and all is sweet for us.’

‘It does have the merit of being quick and sure,’ agreed Griffith. ‘Doctor, you’ll do this for us?’

The surgeon shrank from him in fear. ‘I c-can’t!’

‘Why not, pray?’

‘It’s that … Well, I’m not qualified, am I?’

‘Damn it!’ exploded Griffith. ‘If you’re not, who is?’

‘I know why he won’t,’ Jowett said with venom. ‘He’s worried that if he certifies Tyrell mad and Surgeons’ Hall won’t have it, he fears he’s to be cast in damages.’

‘Let’s keep our tempers, gentlemen,’ Bowden said, then asked, ‘Doctor, we have to take some kind of action. Is there a middle course, one that recommends he be retired immediately on grounds of ill-health, or some such?’

The surgeon shook his head mutely.

‘You’ll get no sense out of that lubber,’ Jowett growled. ‘We’ll have to do the business ourselves. Anyone knows the symptoms of mad?’

‘Hold hard, Mr Jowett,’ interposed Maitland. ‘You’re not reckoning on the consequences.’

‘What fucking consequences?’

‘If we declare him mad but the ship’s doctor declines, it’ll be taken as an act of open mutiny.’

The table fell into an appalled silence.

‘So we just carry on as before? I don’t think so,’ Griffith said slowly. ‘He’s getting worse, thinks there’s plots against him – he’ll one day likely up and skewer some poor wight he thinks is after his blood.’

‘Or worse,’ Briggs said morosely. ‘I’ve heard of things happening in Bedlam that would—’

‘Where did you …?’

‘When I was young, my aunt was taken to the asylum with the night terrors and shakes. We had to visit her as she got worse.’

His face fell sombre in recollection. ‘To see how she changed, why, it was—’

‘Yes, well. So, then, you’re the one to tell us the symptoms,’ Jowett said firmly. ‘What do we look for? What things say you’re a mad cove?’

‘Umm. Well, she used to write long letters to all us younkers and in the end the writing was so bad we couldn’t understand it.’

‘Bad writing!’ sniffed the purser, in an offended tone. ‘And that’s a thing. These days I send him papers, and get back scrawls I can’t figure and dursn’t ask.’

‘For Christ’s sake!’ snarled Griffith. ‘This has gone on long enough.’

He looked about the table significantly. ‘Whether we like it or no, whatever happens in the near future will be on all our heads, no escape for any. I’ve a notion to act now, do something before it all comes down on us in a way we won’t like.’

Encouraged by one or two nods, he went on, ‘So this is what I’m proposing. We draw up a list of all the crazy, strut-noddy things he’s done and said.’

His head whipped around to the terrified surgeon, as he snarled, ‘Then get our doctor to sign that he’s seen all this and thinks it the behaving of a cheerful, well-living cove. Or
not
– as the case may be,’ he concluded grimly.

‘I – that is to say, I, er—’ the surgeon stammered.

Griffith turned on him with savage intensity. ‘You’ll sign, Doctor. I take my oath on it.’

He went on more quietly, ‘In this way we can say that, while we’re no taut hands in the matter o’ lunacy, we’re standing down our captain for the good of the Service as being our judgement of his condition.’

‘Good idea,’ Briggs agreed enthusiastically. ‘And then—’

But the first lieutenant hadn’t finished. ‘Now, for this to save our skins it has to be all of us or none. Nobody to hang back. If it isn’t, we’re done.’

It didn’t have to be spelled out: in going behind Tyrell’s back to the admiral with their demand, they were in breach of every moral rule of conduct of a naval officer, and even if there were no legal consequences they would be tainted by the action for the rest of their careers.

Bowden froze. Everything in his being screamed at him to shy away from the awful chasm they were approaching, but if he did, this would be betraying not only his fellow officers but as well the countless seamen who had suffered.

‘So. How about it, gentlemen? Do we take a vote on it?’ Griffith’s eyes went about the table, to each man in turn. There was no escaping it – they were all in or …

‘Then here it is. Officers of
Hannibal
now assembled. Do you now accept and determine that Captain Tyrell is, um, not of sound mind as can continue in his position and must be declared unfit?’

No one dared speak. The moment hung interminably.

‘I’ll take a show of hands. Raise ’em if you’re in. Gentlemen?’

Bowden, his mind now resolved to an icy coolness, joined the rest as every hand was raised.

Griffith smiled in grim satisfaction. ‘Then we’re in agreement. We’re a day only out of Antigua. When we’re hook down, I’m going ashore with you at my back and we brace the admiral!’

‘Y
ou’re sure there’s nothing?’ Renzi asked, with a sinking heart. If the secret base was not here then it must be in Martinique, a much larger island, and there he would be without the advantage of a pair of eyes on the inside.

‘Guadeloupe is not such a big place. Any strange thing would be much talked about.’

‘Yes, that must be so,’ Renzi said, with a dogged expression. ‘We must get back to the ship for the rendezvous soon.’

‘Then we leave without your questions answered, I fear.’

Renzi nodded: the sooner they left before her presence was compromised, the better. ‘But I do thank you for your bravery, which I will never forget.’

Louise bit her lip. ‘There is one little mystery, but it does not concern Guadeloupe.’

‘Oh?’

‘Well, my
épicier
– my grocer, I think he has a
tendre
for me – he let slip he’s been doing very well lately. I ask him why his profits are so good. He says to me that if I promise not to tell anyone, he will let me know. I agree so he confides. It’s only that the Villa Tartu on Marie-Galante has been re-established by the old general and they’re asking him to supply so many foodstuffs he stands amazed.’ She paused. ‘Perhaps now he regrets talking to me. He may become suspicious and go to the authorities.’

Renzi snapped alert. ‘The island opposite?’

‘Yes, you can see it from here, but it’s only small,’ she said doubtfully.

Renzi’s mind raced. Such would be ideal for quarantining the existence of an operational base. But how was he to check it out? There was one thing that would impel it to a first-rank priority in his investigation – if he saw any of those who’d so comprehensively fooled him in Curaçao heading out to Marie-Galante.

‘Er, where do you catch a boat to the island at all?’

The morning sun woke him. Out of sight, high in the crook of branches in a tree overlooking the Porte de la Marina, he nearly tumbled out. He pulled himself back gingerly and took stock. In the night he had chosen well: the tall tree was quite close to the jetty and well within range of Louise’s opera glasses, safely folded in his waistcoat pocket.

He would have to remain in his hideaway until dark but
L’Aurore
would not be returning from her circumnavigation for some days yet. He had time.

At nine the first boat left, with the grocer’s produce heaped in the bottom. There were five passengers and Renzi could see them clearly as they waited by the jetty and boarded – but he recognised none.

The next boat did not depart until a little before noon, and again there were none boarding he knew. This was not good: it implied that there would be only one or two more crossings that day.

Dusk was drawing in when the last boat came into view. None of the three waiting was of interest, and Renzi looked about in vain for a figure hurrying up at the last minute. Then he saw that the approaching boat had passengers in it – obviously it was coming back from the island.

And there in the bow was Duperré.

He was unmistakable, with his dark features and heavy build, and behind him were two more he recognised. Renzi watched them step on to the jetty and stride away in the direction of Pointe-à-Pitre.

Impatience surged. But if he were seen by any of them or others somewhere in the town there could be only one fate for him.

He waited for dark before noiselessly dropping to the ground and making his way to the Vernous’. Louise was waiting with a candle in nightcap and gown, her eyes wide. ‘Well?’

‘It is here. On Marie-Galante.’

She hugged him impulsively. ‘I knew you’d find it! So, now you can go back and—’

‘No.’

Uncertain, she waited for him to finish.

‘I know it’s here but no one will believe me unless I find proof – something they can hold in their hands, trust in.’

After Curaçao it could be nothing less … and that meant only one thing.

‘You will have to go to Marie-Galante?’ she whispered in awe.

Renzi gave a wry nod, the evidence, whatever that could possibly be, was there. All up to this point was wasted unless he could lay hands on something that in itself would convince. If he left now he had nothing. There was no other course left to him. He had to go.

‘Um, yes,’ he agreed heavily. ‘But how?’

There was only one available method to get there: the passenger boat. And what were his chances of slipping through in daylight?

But could he ask Louise to go? She would, he knew, but he had already put her in much danger …

‘It is impossible, it would seem,’ he said, ‘with no—’

She stopped him with a hand on his arm. ‘There may be a way,’ she said shyly, ‘if it be we two together.’

‘We two?’