The Bomb Vessel

wish you'd not asked for my protection.'

If Edward had doubted his brother then, he had little cause to this morning. Graham, bosun's mate of the larboard watch, was giving him a taste of the starter as he hustled the new recruit aft to where Mr Lettsom sat on the breech of a gun waiting to give the newcomer his medical examination.

Drinkwater stopped his pacing at the poop rail. 'Is that our new man, Mr Lettsom?'

'Aye sir.' Lettsom looked up at his commander. Drinkwater studiously ignored his brother although he felt Edward's eyes upon him.

'I don't want that fellow bringing the ship-fever aboard. God knows what hole he's out of, but if he wants a berth aboard Virago he must formerly have been quartered in a kennel.'

Lettsom grinned with such complicity that Drinkwater thought his own performance must be credible. With an assumed lofty indifference he resumed his pacing as Lettsom commanded 'Strip!'

As Drinkwater paced up and down he caught glimpses of his unfortunate brother. First shivering naked, then being doused by a washdeck hose pumped enthusiastically by grinning seamen, and finally bent double while Lettsom examined him for lice.

'Well, Mr Lettsom?'

'No clap, pox or crabs, sir. Teeth fair, no hernias, though a little choleric about the gills. Good pulse, no fever. Sound in wind and limb. Washed from truck to keel in the German Ocean and fit for service in His Britannic Majesty's Navy'

'Very well. Ah, Mr Rogers…' Drinkwater touched his hat in acknowledgement of Rogers's salute.

'Good morning sir.'

'I have a new hand for you. Volunteered last night and I knew you were still short of men. God knows what induces voluntary service but a mad husband or a nagging wife may drive a man to extremes.'

'Not a damned felon are you, cully?' Rogers asked in a loud voice that started the sweat prickling along Drinkwater's spine.

Already ashamed of his nakedness Edward did not raise his eyes. 'N… No…'

Graham's starter sliced his buttocks and the bosun's mate growled 'No sir.'

'No sir.'

Drinkwater had had enough. 'Take him forward, Graham, the fellow's cold. Volunteers are rare enough without neglecting 'em. See he washes the traps he wore aboard and is issued with slops from the purser, including a greygoe. Oh, and Graham, get that hair cut.'

'Aye, aye, sir.'

Graham hustled Edward forward. Drinkwater had one last thought. Afterwards he thought the timing capped the whole performance. 'By the way, what's your name?'

'Waters, sir… Edward Waters.'

'Very well Waters, do your duty and you have nothing to fear.' The old formula had a new meaning and the two brothers looked at each other for a moment then Drinkwater nodded his dismissal and Graham led 'Waters' away.

Drinkwater resumed his pacing, aware that he was shaking with relief. When he had calmed himself he called for his gig.

Great Yarmouth is a town built on the grid pattern, squeezed into the narrow isthmus between the North Sea and the River Yare that flows southwards, parallel to the sea from the tidal Broadlands, then turns abruptly, as if suddenly giving up its independence and surrendering to the ocean. More than once in its history the mouth had moved and the population turned out to dig a cut to preserve the river mouth that ensured their prosperity.

The walled section of the old town had streets running from north to south between the quays lining the Yare and a sea road contiguous with the beach. At right angles to the streets, alleys cut east to west, from sea to river, and Drinkwater was hopelessly lost in these before he eventually discovered the Wrestler's Arms in the market place.

He walked past it three or four times before making up his mind to carry out his plan. The metaphor to be hung for a sheep as a lamb crossed his mind with disquieting persistence, but he entered the coffee room and called for a pot of coffee. It was brought by a pleasant looking girl with soft brown hair and a smile that was pretty enough to distract him. He relaxed.

'Be that all, sir?' she asked, her lilting accent rising on the last syllable.

'No, my dear. Have you pen, paper and ink, and would you oblige me by finding out if Lady Parker is at present in her rooms?'

The girl nodded. 'Oh, yes sir. Her ladyship's in sir, her dressmaker's expected in half an hour sir and she's making preparations for a gala ball on Friday, sir…'

'Thank you,' Drinkwater cut in abruptly, 'but the paper, if you please…'

The girl flushed and bobbed a curtsey, hurrying away while Drinkwater sipped the coffee and found it surprisingly delicious.

When the girl returned he asked her to wait while he scribbled a note requesting permission for Lieutenant Drinkwater to wait upon her ladyship at her convenience, somewhat annoyed at having to use such a tone to an eighteen-year-old girl, but equally anxious that the gala would not turn her ladyship's mind from remembering her deliverer in the Strand.

Giving the girl the note and a shilling he watched her bob away, her head full of God knew what misconceptions. She returned after a few minutes with the welcome invitation that Lady Parker would be pleased to see Lieutenant Drinkwater at once.

He found her ladyship in an extravagant silk morning dress that would not have disgraced Elizabeth at the Portsmouth Assembly Rooms. The girl's plain face was not enhanced by the lace cap that she wore. Drinkwater much preferred the French fashion of uncovered hair, and he could not but agree with Lord St Vincent's nickname for her: Batter Pudding. But somehow her very plainness made his present task easier. Her new social rank had made her expect deference and her inexperience could not yet distinguish sincerity from flattery.

Drinkwater bent over her hand. 'It is most kind of your ladyship to receive me.' He paused and looked significantly at a door which communicated with an adjacent room and from which the low tone of male voices could be heard. 'I do hope I am not disturbing you…'

'Not at all. Thank you Annie, you may go.' The girl withdrew and Lady Parker seated herself at a table. There was a stiffness about her, as though she were very conscious of her deportment. He felt suddenly sorry for her and wondered if she had yet learned to regret being unable to behave like any eighteen-year-old.

'Would you join me in a cup of chocolate, Lieutenant?'

He felt it would be churlish to refuse despite his recent coffee. 'That would be most kind of you.'

'Please sit down.' She motioned to the chair opposite and turned to the tray with its elegant silver pot and delicate china cups.

'May I congratulate you, Lady Parker. At our last meeting I had not connected your name with Admiral Parker's. You must forgive me.'

She smiled and Drinkwater noticed that her eyes lit up rather prettily.

'I had hoped, sir, that you had come to see me as a friend and were not calling upon me as your admiral's wife…'

The blow was quite sweetly delivered and Drinkwater recognised a certain worldly shrewdness in her that he had not thought her capable of. It further reassured him in his purpose.

'Nothing was further from my mind, ma'am. I came indeed to see you and the matter has no direct connection with your husband. I come not so much as a friend but as a supplicant.'

'No direct connection, Mr Drinkwater? And a supplicant? I will willingly do anything in my power for you but I am not sure I understand.'

'Lady Parker forgive me. I should not have importuned you like this and I do indeed rely heavily upon having been able to render you assistance. The truth of the matter is that I have a message I wish delivered in London. It is both private and public in that the matter must remain private, but it is in the public interest.'

She lowered her cup and Drinkwater knew from the light in her eyes that her natural curiosity was aroused. He went on: 'I know I can rely upon your discretion, ma'am, but I have been employed upon special services. That is a fact your own father could verify, though I doubt your husband knows of it. In any event please confirm the