The Launching of Roger Brook (73 page)

When he came to, a few minutes later, his hands and feet were tied with stout cord and a handkerchief, its ends tied behind his head, gagged his widely stretched mouth. His attacker was kneeling above him softly cursing in French
as he thrust his hands into one after the other of his victim’s pockets.

Finding nothing he undid the top of Roger’s waistcoat and, with a cry of triumph, pulled out the little roll of parchment. As he severed the string he muttered to himself: ‘Praises be that my instinct was right. By tomorrow morning I’ll have earned me more than two years’ income from this.’

Roger was still only half conscious and incapable of movement. As the man left him he strove to collect his wits, but only one coherent thought flickered in his bemused mind. In some utterly inexplicable manner he had been beaten at the post, and that with the loss of the document his best hopes of saving his country had been shattered.

Roger’s head felt as though it was splitting. Both its back and the side on which he had received the first blow, hurt intolerably. He heard the clopping of a horse’s hoofs as his attacker led one of the animals out of the stable and a faint light filtered in through the doorway. Then the door closed, the darkness became pitch again; there came the faint clink of the horse’s shoes on the cobbles of the yard and, after a moment, silence.

Making an effort he jerked at his bonds; but each time he did so a spasm of pain shot through his head; so that he was forced to give up and lie quite still for a while, until the throbbing of his temples gradually eased. At length the stabs became less insistent and gave way to a dull ache.

Wriggling up into a sitting position he tried again to free first his hands, then his feet; but both seemed to have been tied by an expert. The thin, tough cord bit into his wrists and ankles arid all his efforts failed to loosen its painful grip.

Forced to give up he relaxed and fell to wondering who it could conceivably have been that had attacked him. The
expert knotting of the cords that bound him made him suspect one of the sailors from the barque. He could not imagine how any of them had managed to get ashore and trace him to his home, yet that seemed the only possible explanation.

One thing was plain; for the best part of two hours that evening, since his landing at Lymington, he had held a trump card for preventing disaster to his country firmly in his hand. He could have taken it straight to the Mayor, or one of the local justices, for safe keeping and had a sworn copy made; and now he had lost it. Yet he could not feel himself to blame, since, having once stepped ashore, he had had not the remotest reason to suppose there was any risk of having the document taken from him.

Its loss was all the more infuriating in that he had, after all, made good time in reaching England. The journey from Paris had taken him just under six days. It was still only the 3rd of September, and the Dutch Republicans were not due to rise until the 10th, so had he been able to get the letter to Whitehall by the following morning the Government would have had ample time to act. Whereas now, without the letter to verify his statement, it was a hundred to one that they would lose their opportunity while seeking confirmation from other sources of his seemingly incredible story.

He wondered how long he had been lying there, and thought that it must be at least an hour, although it seemed much longer. Then he heard the ring of iron horseshoes on the cobbles again. The stable door was pushed open, the starlight filtered in, and he saw two shadowy forms come through the opening.

At first they did not see him and, since he was tightly gagged, he could not cry out. One of them groped for the lantern and swore at not finding it in its accustomed place. After a moment the flint was struck and a dim glow from the tinder revealed the lantern lying smashed upon the floor.

The figure swore again, picked it up and lit the candle. As he did so the light flickered on Roger’s bound feet.

‘Hell’s bells!’ exclaimed his father’s voice. ‘Jim! There’s a man here and he’s trussed like a fowl. What in thunder’s been going on here in our absence! ’Tis as well we met at
the gate. Hitch the horses’ bridles to the door latch, and take this lantern while I cut the fellow free.’

As the Admiral got out his pocket knife Jim Button raised the lantern so that it shone on Roger’s face.

‘Swelp me, Bob!’ he cried suddenly. ‘I believe he be Master Roger!’

‘Shiver my timbers!’ bellowed the Admiral, ‘so it is!’

With swift, sure strokes he severed the cords that bound Roger, then undid the knot of the handkerchief that gagged him. Roger lurched to his feet but his mouth was so sore that he could not speak for a moment. His father caught his arm and said:

‘Steady, boy! Take it easy! Yours is the strangest homecoming that ever was. But, by God, your dear mother will be mightily pleased to see you. Let’s to the house.

It was true enough that, however either of them might have envisaged a reunion, neither had ever dreamed that it would occur in such extraordinary circumstances, and one which made it so natural that the Admiral should accept his errant son’s return without loss of dignity.

Roger ran his tongue round his sore mouth and muttered: ‘I’ve already seen her, Sir. I was about to saddle a horse and set out for London when I was attacked, an hour or so ago.’

‘What!’ boomed the Admiral. ‘Dost mean to say that having returned after all these years you meant to sheer off again without seeing me?’

‘I’d intended to return as soon as possible,’ said Roger warmly, giving his father’s arm a quick squeeze. ‘But I landed from France only at six o’clock, and must get with all speed to London on Mr. Gilbert Maxwell’s business.’

His father gave him a sharp glance. ‘Ah! That’s different: and ’tis good to hear that you put nothing before your duty, lad. But come to the house and tell me how it is I came to find you in such dire straits.’

Jim Button suddenly broke in. ‘The last time I seed ’e, Master Roger, was the day the Admiral come home from the wars. ’Tis good to see ‘e ag’in, an’ here’s hopin’ ’e’ll be with us for as long a spell as he.’

‘Thanks, Jim,’ Roger took the groom’s hand and shook it. ‘I’ll be back by mid-week, I trust; and we’ll have some great rides together. When you’ve watered the horses and
rugged them up, would you saddle my mare and bring her round to the front, so that I can get off without delay?’

‘That I will, Master Roger,’ came the cheerful response, and, with linked arms, father and son left the stable yard.

Lady Marie’s distress at Roger’s unexpected return in such a battered state was almost instantly overcome by her joy at seeing her two loved ones arm-in-arm like two long-lost brothers. Having quickly examined Roger’s head, she pronounced his injuries only superficial, but hurried off to fetch warm water, lint and bandages.

The Admiral was in a high good humour. He had dined well at Pylewell and his face was ruddy with port and good cheer. As the door closed behind his wife, he said, jokingly, to Roger: ‘Well, boy; hast fortune favoured thee on thy travels? Are thy pockets bursting with good golden
louis
?’

Roger laughed. ‘’Twould ill become me to complain against the dame; since for a year past I’ve enjoyed an income of two hundred and forty
louis
with all found, horses to ride and servants to wait on me, in the house of a powerful noble. But, through a twist of the wheel, I had to leave all that behind me and I return to you like the proverbial bad penny, a veritable pauper. So I’ll be dependent on your generosity for a month or two, till I can secure new employment.’

‘Think not a thing of that,’ smiled the Admiral, with a wave of his hand. ‘You did monstrous well to achieve such a position unaided. But you have no call to seek another. I’m a rich man now, my lad, and can well afford to support an only son. I can give you an income of three hundred and not miss the money.’

‘Have you come into a fortune, then?’ exclaimed Roger in amazement.

‘Nay,’ the Admiral grinned. ’Tis prize money, accruing from the sale of all the ships that I captured during the long years of war. Their Lordships were plaguey slow in paying it out; but what with Frenchmen, Spaniards, Dutchmen, and the rest, I’ve netted thousands; as have most other British Captains. You’ll not have noticed in the dark, maybe, but I’m building two more rooms on to the house; a fine, lofty dining-room, and an equally spacious bedroom above it for yourself.’

‘For me!’ Roger gasped. ‘That will be the meaning of the scaffolding I saw, then, as I entered the house with my
mother. But how could you know that I’d return, Sir?’

‘I knew you’d come back sooner or later,’ averred the Admiral. ‘I’ll not deny that your refusing to enter the Navy was a bitter blow to me. But since you had the spirit to go your own way, ’twas as good as certain that you’d not haul down your flag, and one day come sailing into port like a good mariner. I’d not encourage your mother to hope on that, but I’ve been waiting to splice the mainbrace with you this many a long day.’

Like King Charles II before him Roger could only marvel that he had been fool enough to remain away from home so long.

‘But tell me,’ went on his father. ‘What led to your abandoning your good position in such haste, and this dastardly attack upon you tonight?’

Roger had only just started to recount his Odyssey when his mother returned with the dressings. Having bathed the wounds she made a poultice of Grains of Paradise and bound it round his head. While she was doing so he continued with his story and brought it up to date.

When he had done, the Admiral frowned, and said: ‘But who can this villain be, that attacked you? How could any of your enemies have known that they would find you here, and so lie in wait for you in the stable?’

‘’Tis a problem that utterly defeats me,’ Roger declared. ‘At first, from the efficacy of the knots that tied me, I inclined to think it one of the seamen from the barque. Yet I cannot now see how it could be. ’Twas certainly not Captain Rapenot, for he had a hook to his left arm and the man who pounced on me grasped my throat with two hands. Besides, I wounded both Rapenot and his second mate too seriously for either of them to venture such an undertaking.’

‘They might have sent the first mate or a member of their crew ashore,’ hazarded the Admiral.

Roger shook his head. ‘I don’t believe it possible, Sir. The barque sailed straight on to the west. While General Cleveland was bringing me ashore I watched her for more than an hour, and she neither lowered a boat nor showed any signs of dropping anchor.’

‘She might have put into Christchurch.’

‘Nay. If she had, there’d not have been time enough for one of them to get back here by half-past seven. Moreover,
although they guessed who I was, I had told them only that my home lay near Southampton. How could a foreign seaman have found out so swiftly where I lived. ’Twas not one of the men from the barque, I’m now convinced of that.’

Think you it might have been a vagrant, or perhaps an Egyptian from the forest come in to rob our hen-roost and, seeing you, thought he might snatch a purse as well?’

‘’Twas no vagrant, Sir. This fellow knew what he was after. I can hear his cry of triumph now as he came upon the letter, and he muttered to himself in French about collecting the reward.’

Then it must have been someone from France who caught the packet on Thursday afternoon, and sailed some twelve hours ahead of you.’

‘You’re right, Sir,’ Roger agreed. ‘’Tis the only explanation. Yet I am still foxed completely, for how could anyone in France have thought it probable that I might make for Lymington?’

‘The de Rochambeaux might have done so, and told M. de Crosne’s people.’

‘Athénaïs alone knew the situation of my home, and she would never have betrayed me. Her father and brother did not even know that I was an Englishman until a few hours before I left Paris.’

‘You told them your name, though; and that you were my son.’

‘True; and, knowing that, an agent, having got to London, might have obtained your address through the Admiralty. But that is no explanation in this case. In view of the storm no boat leaving a French port on Thursday afternoon could have entered a British harbour until the weather eased this morning. She would have been bashed to pieces on the piers in the attempt. My attacker cannot possibly have stepped ashore in England earlier than an hour after dawn today, and ’tis humanly impossible for him to have reached London, found out where we lived and got here by-seven o’clock this evening.’

The Admiral nodded. ‘Well reasoned, lad! Wherever he landed such a proceeding could not mean less than a hundred and fifty mile ride. Dick Turpin himself could not have done it in the time.’

‘’Tis an impenetrable mystery,’ Roger sighed, ‘and I fear we’ll never learn the solution to it; though I’d give de
Caylus’s sapphire to know the fellow’s identity, and for a chance to get even with him.’

Suddenly the Admiral slapped his thigh. ‘Damme! What in thunder are we thinking of, to be swopping theories like a couple of schoolmarms, when we should be about hunting the villain down.’

‘That will be no easy task, seeing how poor is the description I can give of him.’

‘’Twill be no easy task for him to get back to France, either; once I am gone into action. We know he’s a Frenchie, and tall, you say? What else can you recall about him?’

‘He had the thin hands of a well-bred man, though they were muscular. I think that he was clean-shaven; but of that I cannot be certain, since I glimpsed his face only as a pale blur. From his shadow I should say that he was wearing a coat or cloak with a heavy cape-collar, and his hat was in the modern style, a hard felt, flat-topped and conical-sided.’

While Roger was giving his description his father had snatched up a piece of paper and was swiftly making notes. When he had done, he said: ‘’Tis well! I’ll go up to the Mayor and have his constables circulate this description locally. The King of France is not the only man whose purse is long enough to offer five hundred guineas’ reward for a capture, and by morning all South Hampshire will be hunting for this dog. Meanwhile, ’tis no time to stand on ceremony. C.-in-C., Portsmouth, will bear me no grudge if I poach his territory in a case like this, and my signature as Rear-Admiral, Channel Squadron, will be honoured from Dover to Land’s End. ’Tis my intention to close the ports.’