Betrayal tk-13 Read online

  Popham reached for one, then paused. Without looking round he hurriedly stuffed it into his waistcoat. ‘Er, you’ll have my earliest word, of course. Goodbye.’

  They joined the others in a waiting calesa, which ground off down the steep road. Cheerful conversations started up, but Kydd was disturbed to see Popham’s set face and to note his unusual quiet. At the seafront the captains took boat for their commands but Kydd was ushered into Diadem’s barge, Popham still serious and thoughtful.

  Kydd kept his silence until they were alone in the great cabin, then said, ‘A good day’s work, if I might remark it. But Ocean is “mislaid”?’

  ‘Never mind Ocean, we’ve more pressing concerns, damn it.’

  This was not like Popham. Hardly believing his ears, Kydd blurted, ‘Lost at sea, three hundred souls! How can you possibly-’

  ‘I said forget it. There’s a pretty moil we must deal with right at this time.’

  ‘Forget it? How, in God’s name, can you-’

  ‘Ocean’s safe,’ Popham snapped irritably. ‘I told Audley to take her direct to the River Plate. Now let’s-’

  ‘Safe? You knew all the time?’

  ‘What better can you think of to prise troops from Patton?’

  ‘A trick – a ploy!’

  Popham sighed. ‘Dear fellow, we’ve secured four hundred more troops in the assault. Nearly a third of our force. Don’t you think it worth the harmless subterfuge? The higher cause is our expedition, and for that I’m prepared to use anything that presents itself as a means. Wouldn’t you?’

  Kydd was unable to reply. There was no illegality, no moral issue at stake – but was this the action of a noble commander?

  ‘I’m sure you would if you’d given it thought. Now, down to more serious business. Much more serious – and I don’t mind confessing that the services of a friend would be of infinite value to me at this time.’

  Kydd stiffened awkwardly, still unsure.

  ‘A friend. As will hear me and test my words,’ Popham pressed, his features tight with worry.

  Kydd made up his mind and replied stoutly, ‘As I can help, Dasher.’

  Popham hesitated, then brought out the newspaper. ‘Pitt’s dead,’ he said simply.

  Kydd reeled. This was the prime minister who’d been at the helm of state since the very first day of the war, when Kydd had still been a perruquier of Guildford. The man who’d scorned the slaughter of the French Revolution while Spain and most of Europe had allied against him. And until now had been locked in a lethal struggle with Napoleon Bonaparte, who stood astride his conquests like a colossus.

  ‘There’s a new government – Grenville,’ Popham added.

  Kydd remembered dimly that he was a statesman of the Whig Party, implying an administration radically different from Pitt’s Tory government. Then he understood. Popham’s expedition was a resumption of a plan agreed with Pitt and his ministers, especially the first lord of the Admiralty, Melville, and then Barham. These now being out of office, he could count on no supporters in high places, and conceivably there would be those who might see it in their political interest to oppose any Pitt-inspired operation.

  ‘Of all times to choose to leave this world …’ Popham said bitterly.

  ‘We’ll have to turn back, of course.’

  Popham looked up sharply. ‘That is not in my thinking.’

  ‘The Grenville government might act differently about the strategics, Dasher. We must wait for new orders.’

  ‘I’d have thought you of stronger mettle, Kydd.’ He forced a smile. ‘I didn’t mean it to come out like that, but you must agree that nothing has changed. Not a single iota. The Spanish are occupied in the north, their navy is reeling in defeat after Trafalgar, we still have surprise – and our armada is gathered and ready. If we turn back now, all this is wasted. Any new orders will only confirm the preparations, but we will have lost our moment.’

  Kydd was torn. All that Popham had said was true, but where did their higher duty really lie? A change of political alignment to be allowed to destroy a daring initiative that could alter the entire direction of the war, or the prudent awaiting of instructions before proceeding any further?

  Damn it, here was a man who was willing to risk everything for the sake of his country’s future. ‘For what it’s worth, Dasher, this is what I feel. As a patriot and an Englishman, I can think of no greater cause before me at this moment than South America. But as a professional naval officer I find that we’re sailing a mort close to the wind, at peril of disobedience to the wishes of their lordships.

  ‘As a man – why, with all there is to be gained, I’d a hundred times be hanged for doing something as doing nothing at all.’

  ‘Bravo, my friend!’ Popham cried, the worry melting away. ‘As I’d hoped you’d say! It’s my decision – and it’s to go forward with the enterprise.’

  Kydd grinned. ‘And we’ll see those politicking trimmers in Parliament change tack at the run, once they see what we’ve achieved for ’em.’

  ‘Damn them all for a parcel o’ rogues. They’ll see their way clear to consolidating us once we’ve done the initial hard work, of course. Now, there’s much we’ve to do, the chief of which is to find berths for our reinforcements.’ There was not a prayer of cramming any more men into their ships but it would be doubly ironic if they and their guns had to be left behind for lack of room.

  ‘It’s by way of a puzzler, Dasher,’ Kydd said cautiously.

  ‘Yes. But I’m leaving it entirely to you, old chap. I’m bound up for the next few hours in working up dispatches as will persuade the Admiralty that it’s to be their first duty to get those consolidating reinforcements to us as soon as they may. It has to go off before we sail.’

  Kydd gave a rueful grin. ‘So it’s my own good self who must conjure a way to get four hundred more men to Montevideo, it seems.’

  ‘As you can. And, by the way, we’ll keep it to ourselves, Mr Pitt’s untimely demise. Morale, of course.’

  ‘From the officers as well?’

  ‘I would think so.’

  Four hundred men. Close to double the number of a frigate’s entire complement. And their guns and impedimenta. It simply couldn’t be done – the ships had already been loaded to safe limits and, with every conceivable space taken up, they would be hard pressed to fight in such crowded conditions if confronted by an enemy.

  No – there was only one possible course: to find another ship. There were no naval vessels available but a co-opted merchant ship – if any could be found – would demand hire as a transport to compensate for lack of a commercial cargo, which would necessarily be at considerable cost as there was an empty return voyage to include. And where was the ready cash to come from? And what would they do with her existing cargo?

  There was no question of the Crown taking over a merchantman for the task. While the law looked on impassively as ships were stripped of their crews by a press gang, if a ship itself were taken it would be deemed nothing less than an act of piracy. In fact, in these matters there was an entire Board of Transport department of the Admiralty to deal with the intricate details. That the Board was hopelessly distant was no excuse.

  It was one of those unwritten naval laws: at the end of everything, and even to the end of time, there was always to be a due accounting.

  No ship, no precious troops. In despair Kydd looked about the James Bay roadstead. There was shipping aplenty but only one of size. What were the chances that it was going to South America? Or could be persuaded to render a loyal service to its country? There was only one way to find out and time was crucial.

  In the boat out there were only himself and the purser, Owen, with Curzon as a counter-signatory if they achieved a miracle. As to Kydd’s exact authority to incur expenditure, whether as ship’s captain or proxy for the commodore, the purser was hard put to establish a clear line and had wrung his hands in dismay: without the requisite form or written order from above there was no source of cre
dit against which to issue a note.

  Kydd noticed that the ship was high in the water, then spotted a lighter leaving from the opposite side. Transshipping cargo – was that a good or bad sign? But she was a sturdy, ship-rigged vessel that would not need nursing in the ocean crossing.

  ‘Go about her stern,’ he ordered. He saw that Justina was of British registry, a considerable advantage.

  The three boarded amidships by the wooden-runged pilot ladder. The hold was open, displaying a nearly empty cavern, and they were quickly confronted by a suspicious individual with a deeply lined face. ‘Hardiman, master,’ he growled.

  Conscious of eyes on them and the need for privacy, Kydd introduced himself in a friendly manner, adding, ‘Not the press, sir, but I’d be obliged for five minutes of your time, if you would.’

  The master gave him a piercing look, then grunted and took them aft to his cabin.

  ‘Could I ask where you’re bound?’ Kydd began.

  ‘Cape Town for orders.’

  ‘Not so profitable therefore. Captain, I’ve a proposition to make to you, as will be to your advantage.’ Nothing could be learned from the man’s stony expression so he pressed on.

  ‘We have need to ship a parcel of soldiers to South America and were wondering if you-’

  ‘Not possible. M’ papers say we’re cleared for Cape Town and be sure that’s where we’re going.’

  ‘A cash profit on a straightforward voyage? I’m surprised you refuse even to hear me.’

  ‘South America – you’re off t’ some war or other. No.’

  ‘Not even if you’ll render a great service to your country, sir?’

  Hardiman gave a cynical grunt, then got to his feet abruptly. ‘I’ll see you off.’

  Kydd felt a rising anger. ‘Be so good as to ask your supercargo to join us, Captain,’ he said, with a touch of steel. His single voyage as master in the merchant service had taught him many useful wrinkles. A supercargo was there to look after the interests of the freighting party against that of the ship.

  ‘He won’t-’

  ‘Please.’

  The master gave him a foul look but leaned out of the door and bellowed orders to send for a Mr Maycock. After some delay a flustered little man came in. ‘This’n wants t’ talk with ye,’ Hardiman said coldly.

  ‘Ah, Mr Maycock, Captain Kydd. Sorry to have interrupted you, but I have a proposition for your principals. Should I offer you a cargo this very day for a quick voyage to the River Plate, as will be a bareboat charter party, would you be willing to talk?’ If it was taken up, the master would most surely find himself overruled.

  There was an unmistakable gleam of interest. ‘Cargo?’

  ‘Soldiers is all.’

  ‘A transport.’

  ‘Of sorts. We must move very quickly on this, Mr Maycock.’

  ‘Ah. With a return voyage empty, I’d think a sum of … let me see …’

  Kydd had only one card to play, and he gave it all he had. ‘Before we discuss rates, there’s a little proposal I’m authorised to make.’ This was not quite true for he had only just thought of it, but he knew Popham would back him.

  ‘I can say to you in confidence that we are on an expedition to Montevideo to join with rebels in overthrowing Spanish rule in the viceroyalty, which we have every confidence will be achieved rapidly. If you feel able to assist us, then the leader of the expedition states that, when the port of Buenos Aires is thrown open to free trade, this ship will be given the status of preferred vessel. This means that with the merchants there starved of export, all other shipping present must nonetheless first wait for you to take your pick of any cargo you desire, bound for anywhere to your best profit.’

  It was irregular, if not downright illegal, but was within Popham’s power to carry out simply by forewarning Justina of dates and times ahead of any declaration. The pickings to be had would be princely, vastly outweighing any considerations of delay in reporting to Cape Town for orders.

  He was rewarded with a quick intake of breath. ‘I understand you, Captain. We accept your offer.’ He rose, offering his hand. Kydd took it, suppressing a surge of elation.

  The act was revealing: Maycock was not expecting anything written down that could later be used against either of them.

  ‘Be damned to it, an’ you can’t do that, mister!’ Hardiman snapped triumphantly. ‘Justina’s voyage insurance is t’ Cape Town only.’

  Kydd hadn’t thought of this. It was no trivial point: the value of a well-found merchantman this size must amount to something like his annual salary for fifty years or more; even if the premium could be renegotiated it would certainly not cover an act of war.

  Maycock looked at him pointedly and waited.

  ‘Very well. She’ll sail uninsured.’

  Maycock kept a polite silence.

  ‘You’ll have my note of hand to say you’ll be reimbursed for her loss if the worst happens,’ Kydd said. There was no help for it. The risk was all his – the Navy would never agree to what he was proposing, and if the vessel was wrecked or captured, they would wash their hands of him.

  He ignored Curzon’s look of appalled bewilderment and hoped his winning smile was convincing. ‘Excellent. We have an arrangement. An officer of the St Helena’s Infantry will be aboard directly to supervise your fitting for troop accommodation. Good day, gentlemen.’

  The expedition sailed in two days with Kydd worried. Popham had approved of his move but had carefully ignored the mention of personal risk. The estuary of the River Plate was notorious for shoals and reefs, and when they sailed, Justina was not with them. She was still frantically being outfitted and stored and would follow when she could, easy prey to anything hostile, Spanish or French.

  Popham had not felt able to deplete his main force to offer escort, and the thought of the vulnerable merchantman thrashing along alone in their wake was hard for Kydd to bear. Despite his nature he grew surly and snappish, swearing when Oakley’s bawling out of the afterguard on the open deck above broke into his dark thoughts.

  The next land raised would be the enemy coast and the climax of the expedition, when they would be entirely alone and their best-laid dispositions would be tested to the full. Would they be good enough? Their knowledge of the viceroyalty was sketchy at best, the charts commercial ones of a previous age and by no means to the technical standard he was used to. Furthermore, details of the military deployments to be faced were based on rumour only.

  When he and Popham had prepared the operation orders, he had been dismayed by the generalisations and assumptions they had been compelled to employ to cover for lack of intelligence. Before Blaauwberg they had been equipped by ships that had regularly touched at the Cape with vital knowledge of the terrain and enemy strongholds. Here the Spanish had kept away all but their own ships and smugglers, who were not about to make free with their information.

  And with barely a quarter of the troops and a handful of guns. In the cold light of day it was beginning to seem more an ill-conceived impertinence than a decisive military assault. His disquiet about the entire conception and its implementation was growing.

  L’Aurore, with her relatively shallow draught, would no doubt be the one ordered to conduct an early reconnaissance and he felt the responsibility keenly. Poor charts and hostile waters were by no means unknown to the Navy – feats of seamanship were performed regularly by the heroes on blockade off the French coast with never a complaint. He recalled Captain Hurd, an officer, like himself, from before the mast. In a humble sloop in fearful conditions he had conducted a secret hydrographic survey of Brest under the very noses of the enemy.

  He couldn’t let the Navy down. Besides which-

  ‘If I’m intruding, I’ll come back later, brother.’ He hadn’t noticed Renzi hovering.

  ‘No, no, m’ friend. You’ve every right.’

  ‘Well, I …’

  Kydd looked up and saw that Renzi was carrying a sheaf of papers.

  ‘You’re
sore pressed, I know, but you did say you’d take a look. Do give me your opinion of its worth – as a regular-going reader, in course. I’m now half done, you know.’

  ‘I did say that, but I have m’ worries, Nicholas, as are taking attention. It might not be a fair judgement, is all,’ he finished lamely.

  Renzi’s face fell and Kydd held out his hand. ‘Let me have ’em and I’ll tell you when I’ve read through.’

  ‘Things aren’t going so well for you?’

  ‘Just your usual mullygrubs afore an action, nothing to worry on.’

  He had not told Renzi about Pitt’s death and his increasing unease that they were sailing without Admiralty orders. By now the gunroom would be agog with the tale from Curzon of how their captain had cozened passage for the reinforcements and there would be considerable speculation as to why it had been necessary to go to such lengths.

  Renzi hesitated, as though he was about to say something, then left quietly.

  Kydd put down the sheaf of paper. Damn it all to blazes! This was the final act of what should be an historic occasion and it was turning into a nightmare. And if anything happened to Justina, most surely he’d be ruined financially – would he then be expected still to play his full part?

  Mind full of worry, he picked up Renzi’s manuscript. Anything was better than being left alone with his thoughts. The paper was well used, crossings-out and tiny insertions everywhere, but in Renzi’s strong, educated hand it was easy to read. He focused on the first page, remembering with a sigh the awkward delivery the first time he had read it. He determined, however, to persevere for at least an hour.

  Within minutes he was gripped. It was so different! The first scene was not the father’s study, it was the milking shed. And without any elaborate setting out, the action opened quickly with the hero, Jeremy, tiptoeing into the dark, playfully whispering for Jenny, the milkmaid, who finally emerged pouting from the shadows. It went on from there in startling detail until the closing act of the chapter when the doors were flung wide and they were discovered.

  It was extraordinary! The flow was quite different as well – instead of a modest first-person telling it was now a confident invisible observer drily chronicling the vigorous adventurings of a young man learning about life. Kydd read on; the succeeding chapter in which Jeremy was rusticated to a country academy was unexpectedly pathetic and noble by turns, Renzi’s device of standing outside the character yet at the same time in intimate connection with thoughts and desires nothing short of masterly.