The ride to London, although long, went without a hitch. They took the letters first to Bobby Beaumont Lord Wodderley, as he turned out to be whose house was just off Seething Lane and who greeted them as valued messengers from a valued friend. While he read he snorted, then called for tea and pike lets to restore them while he scratched out some missives of his own. The Biter, his servants ascertained, was back by the receiving hulk, and Lieutenant Kaye could be with her, or at the Lamb, or 'any bloody where, how should I know? Heh? Heh!" If they found him, good, if not no matter any bloody way, the order was specific. Five days' leave of absence on a special mission, 'no questions asked or answered!" It occurred to him, he said, that they should not even bother to seek Kaye out, but let a man take the orders down, as 'old Sir Arthur says despatch is of the essence'. But this would not be courteous, he agreed with Will who felt daring just to hint at contrary opinions to a lord and offered them one of his pinnaces and a crew, which Sam accepted with alacrity.
Kaye was not on board the dark and silent ship, nor her owner master Gunning, nor any of her people, at first sight. She lay to piles not far from the hulk, with only one small boat tethered to her boom. They left the pinnace crew to wait, and climbed quickly over side There was a watchman one leg, one arm, one eye, but very fierce! and when they'd told him who they were, he gave tit-for-tat with information that there was an officer somewhere aft. This turned out to be Kershaw, whom they found sitting reading by a lamp, hunched far forward, they supposed, to bring his eye to bear. He greeted them with his usual nervousness, then asked if he should have a bottle brought.
"By whom?" said Samuel. "Do you have servants now?"
Kershaw almost smiled not quite and said Black Bob was in the captain's berth, but would do things for him if asked. But Sam and Will, obscurely, wished to be away. The Biter empty was a bonus they did not wish to risk by hanging on. They showed the sealed missive from Lord Wodderley, with the letter from Sir Arthur Fisher to explain his need, and told Kershaw he must pass on their apologies as well. An explanation, Bentley said, would have to wait until they should return.
"It is in the best of causes, that is certain," he added. "I confide that he will understand entirely."
"I am sure," said Kershaw, drily. "Aiding the Customs will please him. As it would your Uncle Daniel Swift."
There was something in his voice beyond the distaste for the other service that was expected of a Navy man, but nothing in his expression that William could read. Sam was prepared to probe.
"You don't think Lieutenant Kaye will appreciate our mission, then? Why so? Come, spit it out, sir!"
As well ask this odd, crippled man to dance a jig. He shrugged the shoulder he had movement in.
"He was ... aggrieved, a little. By the manner of your parting, and your failure to return. He questioned Behar and Tilley closely on the matter."
"Those two," said Sam. "No sign of Shockhead, then? Eaton, boatswain's mate?"
Kershaw shook his head.
"Those two and the ratty one. They waited for you on the shore, they said. You did not return."
"The buggers split and left us," Sam said bitterly. "Did not return, indeed!"
"However," Will said, "Kaye knows from them three that we got away, and now we're off again, without a by-your-leave. Mr. Kershaw's right, Sam. Aggrieved won't be the half of it."
"And to aid the Customs once again into the bargain! Then good!" said Sam. And then, remembering maybe this man was there to watch over William, even to inform, he coughed, to fudge it. "Nay, apologies to the good lieutenant of the very humblest, an' you please," he added. "Tell him we shall return with all despatch."
Dropped back by the pinnace at stairs near where they'd liveried their horses, Sam wondered if they should take some food and drink themselves before their ride to Surrey and Sir A's. The thought of his distress, however, the fate of Yorke, weighed on them both so much they paid their charge and rode. Their conversation as they went through Southwark and out into the country blackness was stilted, but by an hour's time they were back on the comfort of the general, ranging over Tilley and Behar's behaviour, the fate of Eaton, the whereabouts of the good captain and the drunken Gunning, and that 'infernal odd fish his Uncle Swift had foisted on them, the ghost-like Kershaw. Will ventured that he had begun to like the man, or see some value in him rather, most difficult to put a finger on, and to his relief Holt agreed. They mused on what had crippled him, what he made of the Navy's 'most outrageous ship and overlord' (Sam's phrase), what he made of the uncle's nephew if it was indeed his place to make some comment in the future. They both admitted there was more to him than they had guessed.
The time passed easily enough, with the weather chill but far from unpleasant to be abroad in, without alarms from passers-by or lurking ne'er-do-wells. It was gone midnight by the time they approached the gate lodge, by which time William had fallen into an introspection once more. They had not made a detour to go past Chester Wimbarton's, although the urge to do so had been strong on him, but his mind was back to Deb and raw regret. He was pulled round by a note of surprise from his companion, who pointed at the lodge.
"Lights," he said. "What's afoot? Sir A don't normally keep it manned these times, at night."
As they came closer, men emerged, and they were armed. Tony was in the centre of them, looking tired.
"Well met, Tony," said Sam. "What's all the pother? Have the Frogs invaded us at last?"
The steward took his bridle for a while.
"Men abroad," he said. "Not seen them for some hours, but not the sort you'd wish to share a dark street with, sir. Sir Arthur thought they might be troublesome to us, although there appears no reason they should think she's here that I can fathom."
Will Bentley's heart rose straight into his throat and almost strangled him.
"What?" he choked out. "Who?"
A knowing grin lit across Tony's broad face.
"Why, the maid," he answered, disingenuously. "She came running here this afternoon. A maiden in distress. She's battered, sir but has got all her ivories!"
But Will had not waited for the end; and his friend was in a very hot pursuit.
Twenty-One
The tale Deborah told Sir Arthur was harrowing, but it was not entire truth. When she had arrived at Langham Lodge she had been in a state of terror and exhaustion, having found it more by luck than memory and in mortal fear that Jeremiah and his men would have set out in pursuit. She had no connection with Sir Arthur that they knew about, she hoped, but a general hue and cry might pick her up on roads, so she kept to fields and woods and by-ways. The mountebank had been very good at picking across country, and had taught both her and Cecily how to spot and memo rise for which she had been grateful on at least one flight before. The thought of gratitude and Marcus Dennett was an odd congruence though, so she decided she was grateful he was dead.
Her main fear when she skirted the gatehouse and flitted up beside the tree-lined avenue was of what the lord might say when she arrived. He had been a kindly man, but she and Cec, assured that they were safe and would be kept so, had stolen an ass and some food, and would have taken money if they'd known where to lay their hands on any. The house had offered them the milk of human kindness, and they'd spit in it. She was trembling and hungry, with her bare feet ragged from the woodland paths, and she caught herself hoping she was an object of sufficient pathos to be forgiven for her trespasses. Blasphemy again, she thought, oh help me, help me God, and please forgive me, I know not what I do. In her light-headed state, she felt like Mary Magdalene, whom her Stockport parson had told them was a blessed whore. I'm in a shift, thought Deborah, and it's so torn parts of me hang out. Oh please forgive me though, Sir Arthur. Please.