‘Frightened?’
‘Boarding a vessel you had found derelict at sea… laying your head in quarters the last occupants of which had disappeared in such a mysterious way. Had contagion been aboard, for instance, you could have contracted it.’
‘I am not a superstitious man,’ said Lund. ‘And I know of no illness that would have caused a complete abandonment of a vessel. There would have been bodies about.’
‘There would indeed, sir. Unless the contagion was humanly inflicted. With the advantage you had of spending so much time aboard the Mary Celeste, were you able to discover anything which might assist this enquiry to a conclusion about what befell the people aboard?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Did you see the sword which Mr Deveau found?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Weren’t you interested?’
‘Not really. Mr Deveau thought nothing of it. The presence of such a souvenir is not unusual aboard ship.’
‘Ah,’ said the Attorney-General, as if suddenly enlightened. ‘Evidence to which we have become so accustomed. You determined it a souvenir, along with all the others?’
‘Yes.’
‘The rigging was in disarray, we have heard?’
‘Yes, sir. Some broken, more lying where the wind had cast it. The peak halyards were broken and gone.’
‘Where the wind had cast them,’ repeated Flood, to emphasise the remark. ‘Did you encounter any evidence that something other than the wind might have caused this damage?’
‘No, sir.’
‘So positive! I must infer from that response that you suspected there might have been something else and that you made a special examination?’
‘No. But we had to repair the rigging, before we could right the vessel and make towards Gibraltar. We were involved with the ropes nearly all of one day. Had they been cut, for instance, I’m sure I would have noticed. The others would, also.’
‘But you didn’t. And neither did they?’
‘No.’
‘How bad was the damage?’
‘Considerable. There were sheets and braces hanging over both sides. As I said, the peak halyards were broken and gone.’
‘I must put to you a question I have put to every witness so far, although I suspect I already know the answer. Having sailed in the Mary Celeste for the period you did and having come upon her in the condition you did, what conclusion did you reach as to the cause of her abandonment?’
‘The weather, sir. It must have been the weather.’
‘A response, Mr Lund, delivered with the spontaneity of a child learning its lessons by rote,’ said the Attorney-General, sitting down.
It had been a good day, he decided. And tomorrow it would be better. Then he could start to introduce his own evidence, to assemble all the suspicions in the testimony of an accredited expert and then call others to support it. It would be interesting to see how Pisani and Cornwell and Stokes took it. And perhaps even more intriguing to witness the reaction of Captain Winchester and the crew of the Dei Gratia.
The Attorney-General rose obediently at the registrar’s demand, allowed the chamber to empty, and then dawdled to his robing room, in expectation of the nightly invitation from Cochrane. He had come to welcome the sessions.
After twenty minutes, he emerged, curious. The building seemed empty and deserted. He found Baumgartner in his office, preparing to leave.
‘Early night?’ he said casually. It would be ill-fitting to make an open enquiry about the judge.
‘Coming to need them,’ said the registrar. ‘These proceedings are taking longer than I anticipated.’
‘I warned you I would extend them as long as I thought it would take to come to the truth of the matter.’
‘You did that,’ remembered the official. He gathered his papers into his briefcase.
‘And I believe we’re uncovering a strange state of affairs,’ added the Attorney-General.
‘There are some strange aspects,’ conceded Baumgartner. He seemed to hesitate, waiting for Flood to continue the conversation, then said, ‘I am afraid you must excuse me.’
‘Of course,’ said Flood, ‘I’ll walk with you to my carriage.’
‘The judge wanted to get away early tonight,’ offered Baumgartner, falling into step. ‘So he won’t be very pleased.’
‘Pleased?’ queried Flood.
‘By the request from Mr Pisani for an application in chambers.’
‘No,’ agreed Flood immediately, perfectly concealing any reaction. ‘I’m sure he won’t.’
Thirty minutes later he was sitting, as was his custom before dinner, upon the balcony of his home overlooking the Spanish mainland. Tonight he was unaware of the view, immersed in thought. What application was Pisani making in the privacy of the judge’s rooms? And on a day when, for the first time, the objections to cross- examination had remained strangely muted? There could only be one logical explanation, decided the Attorney- General. The man had become unhappy with his clients’ case. And was attempting to preserve his integrity by communicating that unhappiness to the man heading the enquiry. His reflections were interrupted by the arrival of a messenger, carrying the transcripts of the day’s hearing. Flood sat gazing down at them, musing. If his surmise was correct, it made it even more important to send his account as quickly as possible to London, to show the authorities, just how astute he had been from the very beginning in recognising the falsehood. He took up the evidence, hurrying to the study in which, so very recently, he had been confronted by Dr Patron’s stupidity. Now that seemed almost immaterial.
He had been working for almost an hour when there was movement at the door and he looked up at the housekeeper, who announced that dinner was ready.
‘I’m not eating tonight. Too busy,’ he said hurriedly.
‘A tray?’ enquired the woman.
‘Nothing,’ said the Attorney-General, curtly. He had more important things to attend to than food. Far more important.
There had been a brief lull, insufficient even to launch the boat to examine the splintering to the hull, and then one of the worst gales they had experienced set in, casting the ship about in such seas that it had been almost impossible to steer. The whole crew had had to turn to, so that it had been impractical to hold their customary Sunday prayer gathering, which Briggs had regretted. He had spared himself for a few moments from the deck just before Sarah had retired and they had prayed together, Briggs not thinking his wife over-dramatic for choosing as their hymn ‘For Those in Peril on the Sea’. He knew how concerned she was about the baby.
‘If anything happened, you’d save Sophia, wouldn’t you?’
He stared at her:
‘Happened?’
‘You know what I mean.’
‘Nothing is going to happen. It’s just a bad voyage, that’s all.’
The strange conversation had surprised him because he had believed her anxiety was over, now that Sophia had got her sea legs. The sickness had stopped and for the past two days she had been able to extend her diet to eggs and boiled fish. The weather had confined her to the cabin, but she was still weak and had not so far complained. Briggs was sure her health as well as her spirits would improve once they reached the warmth and shelter of the Mediterranean.
At first light, Sarah’s hymn proved more apposite than Briggs had imagined. Goodschall, who was standing watch, saw the other ship first, more than a mile to the lee and carrying far too much sail for the weather.
Richardson had summoned the captain, to approve the change of course, and for over an hour they had
