A Burial at Sea

“First, let me ask a question, if you would permit, Captain.”

“Go on.”

“Mr. Carrow, you are Evers’s watch captain, are you not?”

“I am, but to suggest that I had any role, whatsoever, in—”

“And you discovered both bodies, I know.”

“Yes, that was my misfortune. The first time I was in the company of—”

“Of nobody, sir,” said Lenox. “My nephew, Teddy, went down to the gun room to rest, ill, on his first night aboard the ship. Nobody else was on the poop deck at that time.”

Carrow looked disconcerted. “Well,” he began, but Lenox interrupted.

“Do you deny that you were alone?”

Now the second lieutenant’s face turned defiant. “I don’t deny it. I suppose I am at fault for attempting to protect the reputation of your nephew, Mr. Lenox. The other lads would have been merciless with him.”

Lenox stood. “Captain,” he said, “the crux of my case is a man’s hands. A sailor’s hands. Yours, for instance, have all the traits of a sailor’s, do they not? Perhaps I might show these gentlemen what I mean.”

“Look here,” said Carrow, standing again, “if you mean to imply that I killed either Halifax or, the Lord forbid, my own captain, you’ve lost your senses, Mr. Lenox.”

“Let him speak,” said Billings. “Hands, you were saying, Mr. Lenox?”

“May I see yours?”

Lenox’s heart was beating rapidly. Billings held out his hands, and with a quickness of movement of which he had no longer believed himself capable, Lenox had a pair of shackles out and clasped over the captain’s wrists.

Billings’s face, at first puzzled, showed an instant of pure, terrifying rage. Then the captain composed himself. “What’s the meaning of this?” he said. “What demonstration is this?”

“None at all,” said Lenox. “Merely a ruse. Mr. Carrow, I must add you to my list of apologies, and Mr. Billings, I’m afraid I must take yours back. For this man, gentleman, your captain—though I hope not for much longer—is the monster who murdered Mr. Thomas Halifax and Mr. Jacob Martin.”

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

“Of all the bloody nerve!” said Billings. “Unlock me at once! I’ll hang you for treason, on the same rope as Evers!”

“Mr. Evers is innocent. There was no true mutiny among the men of the Lucy. It was never likely, given their loyalty. Mr. Pettegree, perhaps you would fetch Evers up. The welt he gave himself was an excellent touch, I must say, but alas, it was all arranged between us.”

Pettegree didn’t move, and the other men looked wary, understandably. Mitchell went so far as to say, “He’s a madman.” It wasn’t clear to whom this condemnation referred.

“You had better explain yourself,” Carrow said. “How can you possibly be so sure?”

“I wasn’t, I confess,” said Lenox. “But the relief in your eyes yesterday, Mr. Billings, when I told you I suspected Mr. Carrow—and again I must apologize, sir—was unmistakable. You hid it well, but that was the final piece of evidence I needed. Confirmation.”

“This is an outrage,” said Billings. “The Lucy is my ship—my ship, you understand! I’ve worked too goddamn long to be robbed of her by the likes of you!”

“Watch your language, surely, Captain,” said the chaplain, his face anxious.

“To hell with your language,” said Billings. “Unshackle me, Lenox, you bastard!”

“You had better start explaining why you suspect our captain, sir,” said Lee, more serious than Lenox had seen him look before. “To cuff him like a criminal at the table here, on what is now his own ship—it has been badly done.”

“I wanted Mr. Billings under our guard, and shackled. A captain can be a dangerous thing, free on a ship. He could have any of us hanged, or put in brig, if he liked. The men would take his word over his lieutenants’. That was why I led him to believe that his plan had worked, and that I believed Mr. Carrow guilty. I wanted you relaxed, Mr. Billings, and unsuspecting. And I wanted to gauge your face as I spoke to Evers. You’ll excuse the charade, gentlemen.”

Lenox rose, and took a glass of water from the pitcher that stood on the sideboard.

“Do you remember, Mr. Billings, after we discovered Mr. Martin’s body, and you said to me, that I would likely find your watch chain, or Mr. Carrow’s, about his body? I began to suspect you then. Nobody other than Mr. Martin, Mr. McEwan, and Mr. Carrow knew about the medallion found beneath Halifax’s body.”

“Martin told me,” said Billings.

“I doubt it. He understood the importance of secrecy. No, I think you put the medallion near Halifax’s body, hoping to make it seem as if it had been torn from his breast in the fight. Was that why you stole it back, too? To shift my suspicion onto Carrow?”

“This is preposterous.”

“Then there was Mr. Mitchell’s tie chain, an object that was closely associated with him. Left by you, to further muddy the waters, I assume?”

“Is that where the damn thing has gone?” Mitchell said. “I’ll have it back, thank you.”

Lenox waved an impatient hand. “Later, later. Tie chain or no tie chain, Billings, it was always Mr. Carrow you hoped I would arrest, wasn’t it? I wonder whether you slipped my nephew something, to make him ill. No? Too far- fetched? At least consider, then, our discussion about Mr. Bethell, who was once the ship’s second lieutenant. You saw that I suspected Bethell’s death might be related to Halifax’s, and pitched me a story about Carrow and Bethell having a falling-out, just before the man’s death.”

“Did you say that, Billings?” asked Carrow, his voice throaty. “You know he’s the closest friend I’ve ever had at sea.”

“I never did,” said Billings.

“Mr. Quirke, you were there too, I believe.”

“I was,” said Quirke. “You did say so, Mr. Billings, I remember. I had never heard of a falling-out between them, but there seemed no reason not to believe it.”

There was a silence now, and Lenox began to feel the tide of belief turn, ever so slightly, in his favor.

“What’s this business of mutiny, Mr. Lenox?” said Lee at last. “I mislike your use of Evers. Was he involved?”

“He was only an actor, I promise. Mr. Pettegree, I really do think it would be best to free him.”

The purser nodded and left.

“No,” said Lenox, “the so-called mutiny was another piece of misdirection from you, Mr. Billings. You were on deck when the shot was rolled, were you not?”

“Yes, along with dozens of other men.”

“And yet only one other officer. At first I thought perhaps it was directed at you; now I believe you rolled it.”

“But how on earth is this anything but a suspicion?” said Carrow, plainly discomfited.

Lenox felt in his breast pocket. “Here’s the note that was left in Captain Martin’s cabin,” he said. “You’ll know better than I that few sailors on the ship can write or read.”

“Several can,” said Mitchell.

“There is a simple expedient I can think of to discover the truth,” said Lenox, who suggested it because he had tried it the evening before, when he had stolen into Billings’s cabin. “Perhaps you, Mr. Tradescant, might fetch a piece of paper, anything with writing on it, from our captain’s cabin.”

“I call that an outrageous violation,” said Billings, whose tone was almost too cool, too controlled.

Several of the officers looked as if they might agree.

“It’s not quite cricket,” said Lee.

“If I’m wrong, I’ll apologize—grovel—before Mr. Billings. What can be the harm in comparing his handwriting to the note’s?”

Tradescant shrugged, rose, and made for Billings’s cabin.

Billings shot up then, and shouted, red-faced, “No! You cannot do that!”