'I believe Mr Pascoe may be in trouble, sir.'
'You what?' Herrick stared at him. 'Spit it out, man!'
'He was officer of the watch, sir. I relieved him when he asked permission to go ashore. He said it was urgent.' Speke gave a brief shrug. 'Young he may be, but he is more experienced than many of our people. I did not question his reasons.'
'Go on.'
Herrick forced himself to sit down, to display calm as he had seen Bolitho do so many times.
'There was a freshwater lighter alongside for most of the day, sir. When it cast off it appears that one of the working party went with it. Deserted. Mr Midshipman Penels was in charge of the party. just a handful of landmen. And after a quick muster I discovered the missing one is Babbage, whose punishment was stood over by you, sir.'
Herrick studied him grimly. 'You are suggesting that the midshipman helped Babbage to run?'
Speke met his gaze complacently. 'Yes, sir. He admitted it. But only after Mr Pascoe had gone ashore. He was so ashamed at what he had done, he thought he should own up to Mr Pascoe. The young fool. Babbage will be caught and run up to the mainyard anyway. As it is…'
'As it is, Mr Speke, the third lieutenant has gone ashore to recover the deserter, to bring him back before anyone discovers he is missing?'
'Correct, sir. But for Penels…'
'Fetch him here.'
Herrick shifted in his chair, his mind thrashing about like a snared fish. It would be just like Pascoe, he thought. What Bolitho would have done. Wrhat I would have done. Once.
Speke thrust the terrified boy through the door and closed it behind him, saying angrily, 'You can thank your miserable stars it was I and not-the senior who found out. Mr Wolfe would have torn you in halves!'
'Easy!' Herrick's tone silenced him. 'What did you arrange with the man Babbage?'
'I – I just thought I could help him, sir. After all he did for me at home.' Penels was sniffing and close to tears. 'He was so afraid of being hurt again. I had to help him, sir.'
'Where was he going, did he tell you?' Herrick felt his patience draining away. 'Come on, boy, Mr Pascoe may be in danger. And he tried to help you, remember?'
Herrick hated the shame and despair he was causing but knew there was worse to come.
In a small voice Penels whispered, 'He said he would find a place called The Grapes. One of the old hands had spoken of it.'
Speke groaned. 'A truly foul place, sir. Even the press would not go there without a full squad.'
Penels, lost in his misery, continued, 'He was going to wait until I could get some money. Then he was hoping to return to Cornwall.'
Herrick looked at the tankard. It was empty and his throat felt like dust.
'My compliments to Major Clinton. Ask him to see me.'
Speke hurried away and Herrick said, 'Well, Penels, at least you had the wit to tell Mr Speke what you had done. It is not much but it may help.'
The marine entered and said, 'Can I assist, sir?'
Clinton did not even glance at the wretched midshipman, and Herrick guessed Speke had told him what had happened. It was probably over the whole ship by now.
'Mr Pascoe is at The Grapes, Major. Does that mean anything?'
Clinton nodded. 'A lot, sir.' He added, 'With your permission I'd like to go ashore without delay. I'll take Mr Marston and some of my lads.'
'Thank you, Major Clinton. I'm obliged.'
Moments later he heard the twitter of calls and the grating latter of tackles as a boat was swayed up and over the gangway. Then boots, as some hand-picked marines hurried to obey Clinton 's unexpected summons.
Herrick regarded the sniffing midshipman for several seconds.
Then he said, 'I agreed to take you aboard as a favour to an old friend. What this will do to him, let alone your mother, I cannot imagine. Now take yourself below and report to the senior master's mate.'
As Penels groped blindly for the door Herrick said quietly, `While you are in your berth, think on this. One day you would have had men depending on your judgement. Ask yourself if you think that is right.'
Yovell entered as the midshipman departed.
'Bad, zur.'
Herrick glanced at the round handwriting, the place below for his signature.
'I shall want to send a message to my wife. I'll not be ashore tonight, I'm thinking.'
He listened for the sound of the boat but it had already left the Benbow's side.
Pascoe strode along yet another narrow street, his boat-cloak billowing around him in the stiff wind. He did not know Portsmouth very well, but the officer of the guard had explained where The Grapes was situated. The officer had suggested that Pascoe should stay away from such 'a hell-hole, as he had described it. Pascoe had told him he was to meet a party of armed seamen nearby in the hope of seizing some likely recruits. It had been surprising how easily the lie had come. The officer of the guard had not even been interested. Anyone foolish enough to hope for pressed_ men in Portsmouth would have to have more than luck.
One street seemed very like the next. Narrow, squalid, but never empty of movement. In doorways and beneath arches, at windows, or merely in the form of sounds. Drunken laughter, shrieks and terrible oaths. As if the miserable dwellings and not their occupants were giving voice.
Once a girl reached out to touch his shoulder as he passed. Even in the gloom he could tell she was no more than fourteen or fifteen.
Pascoe thrust her away and heard her shrill voice pursuing him around the next corner.
'You bloody bastard! I 'ope the Frogs spill yer guts from you!'
Quite suddenly it was there. A square, sombre building, protected on either side by smaller houses, and the street was littered with filth which stank like a sewer.
Pascoe had once been used to poverty, and as a midshipman had seen and suffered hardship in plenty. But all this unnecessary filth seemed needless, disgusting.
He stared up at a flaking board above the main entrance, feeling the rain bouncing on his hat and face. The Grapes.
Beneath his cloak he loosened his hanger and then banged on the door with his fist.
A panel flew inwards, as if the man had been poised there, waiting.
'Yes? Who is it?' Two white eyes swivelled back and forth across Pascoe's shoulders, but seeing no armed seamen or marines, seemed satisfied. 'A young gentleman, is it?'
Even the man's crooning voice made Pascoe feel sick.
'Cat got your tongue, has it? Ah well, we'll soon sort that out for you!'
The panel snapped shut; and seconds later the great door swung inwards and Pascoe stepped inside. It was like being swallowed up. Suffocated.
It must have been a fine house once, he thought. Big staircase, now damaged and covered in dust. Carpets, too, once rich and thick, were full of holes and covered in stains. A merchant's house perhaps, when Portsmouth had been busier for commerce and not plagued by the French and the privateers which were too close for comfort.
An immense woman stepped from a room. She was tall,. muscular and without any femininity. Even her piled hair and the great red slash of a mouth made her look like a ploughman dressed for a village play.
The doorkeeper said in a wheedling voice, 'He's an officer, ma'am!'
She moved towards Pascoe, her deepset eyes fixed on his face. Like the house, she seemed to engulf him. He could see the skin of her partly bared bosom, feel her power. He could even smell her. Gin and sweat.
'Are you with the press, young fellow?' She put her hand under his chin and looked at him searchingly. 'Pretty boy. No, you're here for some fun, eh?'
Pascoe said carefully, 'I believe a man is hiding here.' He saw her eyes flash dangerously and added, 'I want no trouble. If I can get him back to the ship he will have nothing to fear.'
She chuckled, the sound rising through her great body until it broke into the hall like a guffaw.
'Nothing to fear? That's a bloody good one that is, eh, Charlie?'
