The doorkeeper tittered uncertainly. 'Yes, ma'am.'
Pascoe stood very still as the woman unclipped his boat-cloak and lifted it from his shoulders.
'I've two good girls for you, Lieutenant.' But she sounded defensive, as if even she was impressed.
Pascoe put his left hand on his hanger and very slowly drew it upwards and then fully out of its scabbard. Her eyes never wavered from his, and he knew there were other hidden watchers nearby, ready to cut him down if he attempted to use his hanger.
He turned it in his hand and turned the hilt towards her.
'See? Now I am unarmed.'
She tossed the blade carelessly to the pop-eyed doorkeeper and said, 'Come with me, dearie. A glass of Geneva while I think a bit. This man you are trying to help.' She could not repress a grin. 'His name?'
'Babbage.'
'And you'll be Mr…?'
A girl's grubby hand came out of the shadows and gave Pascoe a glass of gin.
He said, 'Pascoe, ma'am.'
'Damn me, I believe you!'
She walked from the room. 'Stay here, dearie. I'm not saying I know the man. But if he is here, without me knowing, of course, I will put your case to him.' She turned and stared at him boldly. 'Don't fret, pretty boy. He'll not run if I say different.'
It was warm in the musty-smelling room and yet Pascoe felt the sweat on his spine like ice. A stupid, crazy gesture. And for what? To help Penels, or to prove to himself that he could do it? His hanger was gone, and at any moment he might be rushed, his throat cut merely for the price of his clothes.
While he waited he became aware of the rest of the house. It was alive with furtive sounds and muffled voices. Every room must be occupied, he thought.
He looked at the girl who was holding the stone gin bottle to her breast. Thin, sunken-eyed, worn out and probably diseased to add to her misery.
She looked back at him and smiled, letting her shabby dress fall from one shoulder as she did so.
It made her look pitiful instead of provocative.
A door banged open and men's voices boomed down the stairs urgent and angry.
Pascoe walked from the room and looked up the stairway. There were three men at the top landing, and cowering against the wall was a fourth, Babbage.
The biggest of the men pointed at Pascoe and barked, 'That him?'
Pascoe noticed that he was wearing the white breeches and shirt of a sea officer and had probably been disturbed at his pleasure. Whatever the reason, it was a relief to know he was not entirely alone.
Babbage said huskily, 'Yes, sir. That's Mr Pascoe.'
The man came down the stairs slowly. He was heavily built and in his middle twenties, with thick, curly hair and a hard, aggressive face.
'Well, well, well.' He paused on the bottom stair and rocked back on his heels. 'I was going to meet you, Mr Pascoe, but I never thought you'd fall from the sky like this.'
'I don't understand?'
The big man turned and waved his arm to his companions. 'Though I suppose Mr Pascoe would be well at home here, eh, lads?'
They laughed, and 'one stooped to seize Babbage as he tried to crawl away. There was blood on his mouth and he had obviously been beaten.
'I order you to hand over that man to me, whoever you are!'
'He orders! This youth, masquerading as a King's officer, orders me!'
The woman of the house pushed past the others and placed herself between them and Pascoe.
She said angrily, 'Leave him be, damn you!, He means no harm.'
'Oh, I'm certain of that, Ruby! Mr Pascoe's own mother was a whore, and his bloody father a traitor to his country, so what harm could he do?'
Pascoe swayed on his feet, stunned by the man's grating voice. He could feel himself shivering, the anger and hate tearing at his insides like claws.
It could not be possible, was not happening. Not now, after all this time, the dreams, the pretence.
The woman was looking at him anxiously. 'You'd better be off. Lively now. I want no trouble here. I've that enough as it is.'
Pascoe brushed past her, seeing nothing but the towering, grinning face on the stairway.
'Well, Mr Pascoe?' He was enjoying it. 'Is your uncle still protecting his brother's bastard?'
Pascoe sprang forward and drove his fist into the man's face. He saw the shock and surprise, felt the pain lance up his arm from the force of the blow. But the face was still there, the unexpected strength of Pascoe's punch already bringing blood to his lip.
'Well now, you've struck me!' He dabbed his mouth, his eyes hidden in shadow. 'To be touched by the likes of you is like getting the plague! I think this can be settled, that is, if you have learned how to ape the gentleman?'
Pascoe met his challenge with sudden calmness, or was it resignation?
He heard himself say, 'Swords?'
'I think not.' The other man was still dabbing his lip, watching Pascoe, measuring his resistance, his hurt. 'Pistols I believe would be better. But before we part…'
He snapped his fingers and Pascoe found his arms being pinioned to his sides.
… I will give you a lesson in manners.'
He swung round, caught off guard, as Babbage darted past them, his head covered by his hands as he ran for the door. With a frantic gasp he dragged it open and was gone.
The big man drew back his fist. 'That's the last we'll see of him!'
Pascoe tensed for the blow which was aimed at his stomach. He was dimly aware of running feet, a sharp challenge and the sudden bang of a musket.
Major Clinton entered the doorway, swinging his black stick carelessly as he said, That was Babbage. My men challenged him but he ran.' He waited until the others had released Pascoe's arms and said, 'You were too late for him, Mr Pascoe.' He nodded to the man with the cut lip. 'But you were in time, I take it, Mr Roche?'
The man he had named as Roche shrugged. 'Just high spirits, Major. It is not forbidden for us to come here.'
Clinton snapped, `You are leaving now! And I do not care if you do serve on the admiral's staff. Your courage would not last for long in battle, I suspect!'
The three men retrieved their coats and left, but not before Pascoe had seen that Roche was a naval lieutenant, as were his companions.
'I am sorry to involve you, sir.'
Pascoe followed the marine into the wet street. Clinton 's lieutenant, Marston, and a file of marines were standing by a sprawled corpse. For Babbage at least it was over.
'I cannot discuss it further.' Clinton looked at his men. 'Get rid- of this body.' Then he fell in step beside Pascoe and added wearily, 'Roche is on the staff of the port admiral. He will never be promoted for he now has means of his own. He is a dangerous man. Did he provoke you into a challenge?'
'That is something which I cannot discuss, sir.'
Clinton remembered Herrick's face and thought otherwise.
13. Three Minutes to Live
Bolitho waited hesitantly in the neat London square and looked at the house. He had made himself walk from his temporary residence for several reasons. To exercise his leg and to give himself time to prepare what he was going to say.
He had asked Browne if he had seen Belinda Laidlaw when he had called to deliver the letter, but Browne had
