Chapter 16
"There's someone alive in there!"
Josh could hear it, too, as sparks poured into the air,
smoke and flame turning the whole night into a yellow amber confusion that smelled of unbreathable reek and burning flesh. Above the roaring of flame a man's voice shrieked, inhuman, desperate, and Josh broke through the line of prostitutes and their customers, passing pitchers and chamber pots of water from hand to hand from the well to the fire. He tore off his cravat, dumped it in a basin of water and, wrapping it round his face, he ran up the steps to number four Silk Alley and into its spacious reception hall.
Velvet curtains hung in rags of black ash against walls that smoldered beneath the plaster. The room was so full of smoke he could see the stairs only because they were burning, pulling away from the walls, threatening to collapse on the heads of the few men who had made it this far. At the top of the impassable staircase, the screaming grew raw, frantic and agonized. Josh tried to force himself onto the inferno that was the stairs, closed his eyes, ran for it, and was pulled back by powerful hands.
"Nothing we can do, cully." The man who had his right arm was a carpenter, and bizarrely, a man he had known in London. A silent look of recognition and complicity passed between them. "I hope the fucking bastards are proud of themselves, that's all I can say. C'mon before it gets us, too."
The man on his left looked up, just as the bestial, bubbling scream was mercifully cut off, and Josh was amazed to see that it was Adam Robinson, soot streaks through his blond hair and his eyes red with smoke.
Outside it felt cold. They joined the lines of folk laboring to quench the fire before it spread to the neighboring houses, and when the roof finally fell and the bonfire began to eat itself from within, Josh—moved by the impulse of shared danger—touched Robinson's arm and said, "Let's find some breakfast."
Robinson looked up at where the sun's early rays were turning the charred skeleton of building from the
overpowering monster of the night into a sad and sordid wreck. "I..." he said and coughed the racking early morning cough of a heavy smoker. Around them a hundred other people were doing the same. "I am not sure I..."
It was something of a comfort to Josh to find a man who seemed to be suffering even more than he himself was. Pleasant though it might have been to find all his cares resolved and his heartache mended, it was a good second place to feel that he might be of assistance to someone else. His sharp eye caught the frayed cuffs of Robinson's suit and the gauntness of his face, and he added quickly, "You must allow me to buy you breakfast, both for saving my life in there and in celebration of my good news."
The exaggeration made the man laugh, his anxious look becoming a smile of great charm. "I hardly saved your life, Lieutenant."
"I was fully determined to climb those stairs," said Josh, shivering at the memory. "You brought me to a consciousness of how foolish it would be. I have no doubt, that if you had not been there, I would have been consumed."
Partly
, b
ecause I would not have cared enough to live.
"Besides, sir, you mistake my rank. It is captain, now."
"No!" Robinson's surprise and unfeigned pleasure brought a smile to Josh's face, but he was conscious that it was not wise for either of them to be seen here. He tucked the man's arm under his own and began walking them both away, ducking into Aunt Peggy's and then up Old Maids Lane to the inn at the top of the hill. "A captain?"
Josh ducked his head and lied with the ease of long practice, "I was looking for a pretty strumpet to celebrate with when I saw the fire."
"Do you think it
was
the molly house of which Reverend Jenson spoke?" Robinson asked with a naivety that made Josh glad he had lied. "I thought it was a gambling den!"
"If it was, I'm still not sure how Christian it was to burn that man alive." Some of the nagging sense of injustice made its way unwisely out in that remark.
But Adam stopped on the steps of the inn and said, "You're right. I had not thought it, but to excuse murder in the service of God, well ... It's not what I was taught at my mother's knee."
The inn had been built in a native style, with many pillars and balconies. Cool air from the sea swept up into it, and the flagged floors were almost chill at this early hour. Josh's shouting for service brought out a yawning young woman from the kitchen, who looked at their soot stained faces and gave them a brilliant white smile, amused to see them looking as black as she was herself.
Later, washed and with the smoke brushed from their coats, they sat down to a meal of gammon and eggs, slabs of white bread spread with new butter, and ale drawn up cool from the cellar. Josh drank more than he ate, the beer soothing a throat he had not realized was so raw. But Robinson ate like a man starving and eyed what he could not eat with regret.
"So," he said, when at last he could not fit another mouthful in, "captain, eh?"
"In truth, only 'master and commander'," Josh clarified and found that—contrary to what might be expected—the inner pain hurt more now that the outer man was satisfied and at rest. "The
Macedonian
was bought into the service yesterday, and I am named her commander until someone more appropriate may be found. Or I prove myself beyond doubt— which ever comes first."
"Is that not extraordinarily rapid advancement?" said Adam, wiping his fingers with the tablecloth and looking away, down the hill to where the flat roof of the Summersgill house was visible, spiky palms and orange trees in pots on top of it, glowing against the sky. "Fortune smiles on you."
"It is Captain Kenyon's doing." Josh too looked down; to the small lodging house from which Peter had now removed himself. Peter's small terraced house was on the other side of St. George, and though it was less than five minutes walk away, it could have been the other side of the world. Josh had taken Mrs. Hodges' larger room despite everything, on the understanding that he could keep his own mattress. But already, less than a week later, the scent of Peter had faded from it, until he had to burrow into its center and draw the sheet over his head before he could catch the elusive comfort of it and fall asleep.
He looked back at the time before Kenyon, before love, as an age of innocence lost. It had all been so much easier then.
"He recommended me."
"And Captain Kenyon's voice is very much heeded where ever he should choose to speak," said Adam. It was a shock to Josh to find that the young merchant could be resentful, too, like reaching out to a fluffy pet dog, only to have it close its teeth on your fingers.
"Captain Kenyon has been a true friend to me," Josh said stiffly. "I was a midshipman with no prospects when we met, and through his influence I now have my own ship. I'm a poor Irishman with no family, and I'm fortunate to have acquired such a patron."
All of which was, of course, quite true and did not make one whit of difference. It should have been a comfort to retain Peter's friendship, but Josh was finding it difficult, at present, for every mention of the man was another tug on the hook and line that seemed to have embedded themselves in his chest, and he could not ask people to stop mentioning Peter while still feigning to be friends.
Josh took a few swigs of his beer, and that eased the constriction in his throat enough so that he could lean forward and say, "May I speak to you frankly, Mr. Robinson?"
"If you want me to stand aside, so that your friend may have unimpeded access to Miss Jones," said Robinson bitterly, pushing back his blond curls and scattering a small shower of soot on the table, "you have wasted your breakfast. I have already said goodbye to her, I must presume, for the last time."
Josh's heart fell. He told himself—again—that he was doing this from sheer disinterested friendship, but—again—he failed to convince himself. "You misunderstand me entirely, Mr. Robinson. To begin with, I know what it is to be hungry, and I know what it is to be in love with no hope of a return. I'm not trying to buy you off. I'm trying to help."
"Why? Why would you help me against your friend's interests when, as you say, you owe him so much?"
It was the question Josh had been asking himself since he saw Adam at the foot of the burning stairs; he could only give it the same answer. "Because I think you love her, and that she loves you. And Peter—he's flattered by her notice; he thinks she'd be
suitable
, but his heart is no more engaged with her than it would be with any other prize. You know I value him above all other men on this earth? You know I owe him everything? So, as his friend, I can say that the man is a blind fool to think she cares for him, and in my opinion, he deserves better than a wife who accepts him as a grudging second best, only to cuckold him at the first chance with the man she truly loves."
Adam threw down his knife with an angry clatter, half rose from his seat. "You impugn her honor if you think she would ever...!"
And Josh rose too, facing him down, eye to eye. "That's not the point, and you know it. Christ, man! Tell me why you've given up? If I were in your position, I'd be fighting still for what was
mine
by right! I don't understand you!"
While they had been eating, the room had filled, and there was now a general disapproving rustling of papers to indicate they had stepped too far for politeness and should either call for their pistols or back down. Choosing the latter, Adam sank back into his seat and put his head in his blistered hands.
"What can I do?" he whispered. "If I had only a little money, enough to offer her a house and a single servant, I know she would take me. But I have debts in the hundreds of pounds. Last night, Captain Andrews, you found me reduced to sponging a stake from my friends and looking for a card game in the hopes of winning just enough funds to finance
one
journey that I might hazard my future upon. And I could not manage to achieve even that."
Josh wondered how far he should go with this fellow feeling. How many separate pieces of the puzzle he could afford to give Robinson before the man put the evidence together and condemned him. But it felt good to be able to alleviate someone's misery, to change a fate so like his own. "Is that all?" he said. Calling for the kitchen maid to bring him pen and paper he wrote down an address and a few words of recommendation.
"Take this to the timber factory on Penno's Wharf and ask to speak to Mr. Jack Clarkson. He runs a highly successful timber and fur business and is always looking for more ships. If you mention my name, I'm sure he will be delighted to finance a voyage, for the usual commission, of course."
Mr. Jack Clarkson was another man Josh had known from Mother Clap's molly house in London. The constant threat, the need to identify allies, to know where to run to in case of exposure had ingrained in him the habit of keeping track of such contacts. Though he was reluctant to use them except in great need, he soothed his doubts by telling himself that Adam's need was great enough. Clarkson himself might see it more in the light of Josh putting fresh business his way rather than a request for help. And should Adam ever find out about his employer's vice, and somehow connect that with Josh in his mind, it was always possible that obligation and gratitude would keep him silent.
It was certainly a less ridiculously suicidal thing to do than to decide to visit St. George's only molly house while the repercussions of Reverend Jenson's sermon were still roaring around the town. If Josh had not particularly cared about his survival then, why should he do so now?
He picked up the piece of paper with address and introduction on it, and offered it to Robinson, who took it with all the awe suitable for handling a new hope. Adam read it, shocked, disbelieving. "He will take me on? Give my men a wage? And me?"
"Yes, for my sake. He is a ... reclusive, private sort of man; you must promise not to press him or pry for more than he is willing to tell you."
"Oh!" There was a small moment of revelation on a face that had become so radiant it might have modeled for a Greek statue, had it been a little less thin, and Josh realized that Adam thought he had been put in contact with a smuggler and was willing to keep silence about it. It might not actually be that far from the truth. Josh had taken care never to inquire.
"Captain Andrews!" said Robinson, rising and shaking Josh's hand. "I ... God's blood, sir, you are a messenger of Providence. Your kindness leaves me unable to speak, but if the prayers of two loving souls now given new hope are of any practical benefit, you will be showered with blessings. What may I do to repay you? I can scarcely restrain myself from flying out the door and running all the way there now, but tell me first what your dearest wish is, so that should ever the chance come my way, I can return to you the hundredth part of this obligation."
Despite everything, Josh could not help laughing at this enthusiasm. It did help—and not at all, he told himself, just because it delayed the inevitable day when Peter wed and was out of his reach forever.
"I need nothing, sir," he said. "Pray do not trouble yourself in the slightest. But cherish a little more kindness for Captain Kenyon in future, perhaps. For my sake."
* * * *
As Josh stood at the Inn's door, watching Adam run down the steep hill like a deer, all slender, gaunt grace and legs, another small dot came toiling up the road towards him. Within five minutes it had resolved itself into the youngest of his new midshipmen, Hal Tucker, hatless and coatless, scarlet as a tomato and breathing like a bellows.
Chapter 17
Commodore Dalby's office was small and filled to bursting with three captains and the commodore himself. The commodore, trying to unroll a large map on the small deal table looked up with a grunt when Josh entered. Josh bowed, to him, to Peter, and to Captain Joslyn of the
Asp.
"
Macedonian
ready to sail, Andrews?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good." Dalby looked down again. "We've received a report of a French ship of the line—possibly the
Indomitable—
cruising up the coast of America. She has not come to the aid of any of the French privateers nor has she taken part in any action against British troops on the ground. I've also had reports of strange sail from Fort Albany. Call it an intuition, but I suspect the French are trying to take advantage of our distraction in order to break the treaty and retake Hudson Bay.
"The three of you should be a match for a three-decker. You'll proceed to Hudson Bay in company with and under the command of Post Captain Joslyn and deal with whatever you find there. Understood?"
"Understood, sir."
* * * *