Drinkwater shrugged. 'True. I can't be certain, of course, but I don't believe we shall be kept long on station.' Drinkwater smiled and was rewarded with a reciprocating grin.
'I apologize, sir ... for my conduct the other night.'
'Let us put the matter behind us; do you just deal with our problems on a day-to-day basis.'
Marlowe rose. 'I shall go and have a look in the hold, sir,' he said, 'and thank you.'
"Tis nothing.'
Marlowe nodded over Drinkwater's shoulder and out through the stern windows. 'There's more blue sky showing now, sir.'
'Yes, it may yet prove a fine day'
Marlowe stood uncertainly, for a moment he strove to speak, then gave up the attempt and made to leave. Drinkwater called him back. 'Mr Marlowe, would you be so kind as to show the midshipmen the method of determining longitude by the chronometer?'
'Yes, of course, sir.'
'And just ignore Ashton.'
Marlowe nodded. 'Yes. Yes, I will.' He paused again, then blurted out, 'what made you come below and see me last night, sir?'
'I'm not sure,' Drinkwater replied. 'Concern for you, concern for the ship, concern for myself.' He paused and smiled. 'Anyway, why did you come on deck this morning?'
'Because you came to see me last night, sir.'
CHAPTER 9
A Sea Change
Drinkwater's forecast proved accurate. By noon the wind had again swung into the north-north-west, dropped to a fresh breeze and swept aside the cloud cover, leaving only the benign white fluffs of fair-weather cumulus. The depression moved away to the north and east, following its predecessor into the chops of the Channel. The sea now reflected this change in the atmosphere, losing the forbidding grey of the true Western Ocean, and wearing the kindly blue mantle of more temperate latitudes. And, indeed, when Birkbeck, emerging from the hold, found Captain Drinkwater ready to observe the culmination of the sun on the ship's meridian, their southing was substantial.
Things were less optimistic below decks. The working party in the hold had failed to locate the source of the ingress of water, though some credence was given to Marlowe's hypothesis by evidence of water entering the well from the starboard side. In the wardroom Lieutenant Ashton sulked, much to the annoyance of Hyde, who, when distracted from his amusements sufficiently to notice, began to conclude that Ashton was far from being the amiable fellow he had first assumed. Indeed Hyde inclined towards Mr Frey who, it began to emerge, was an officer of some talent with a paintbrush.
Having endured a degree of persecution from brother officers in the past, Frey was inclined to conceal his love of drawing and water-colour painting, but Hyde caught sight of a small picture he was working on, which showed the Royal Sovereign flying the Bourbon standard, accompanied by Andromeda, Impregnable, Jason, Polonais, Gremyashchi and the Trinity Yacht. Artistic achievement impressed Hyde, and he was driven to confess that he regretted his inability to play an instrument or, indeed, even to sing, let alone draw or рaint.
This polite exchange with Frey was overhead by Ashton who was driven to make some mean sarcasm about Hyde's success at playing being assured, provided he tried to play no more than the fool. Hyde, who had been oblivious to Ashton's presence until that moment, spun round.
'What's that you say?' he demanded.
'That should you decide upon playing anything, my dear Hyde, confine it to being a fool.'
For a moment Frey, fascinated by this encounter, thought Hyde would take the remark lying down, but it seemed the marine officer's indolence extended even to govern the timing of his outbursts of temper. In fact, his momentary silence appeared to discomfit Ashton, judging by the expression on the sea-officer's face as he regarded Hyde.
'The fool, sir?' asked Hyde. 'Did you suggest I might be a suitable candidate to play the fool?' There was a note of controlled menace in Hyde's voice that Frey found quite unnerving, despite the fact that it was not directed at himself.
Ashton's face paled. 'A joke, Hyde, a joke.'
And then Hyde had closed the distance between the flimsy door to Frey's cabin and the third lieutenant with a single stride and thrust his face into Ashton's. 'A joke, d'you say, sir? Well, well, a joke ... A joke to make a fellow laugh, eh? Ain't that what a joke's for, eh Josiah? Well ain't it? Say yay or nay. You crack 'em: you should know all about 'em.'
'A joke, yes.' Ashton was cornered, wary. He shot an embarrassed glance at Frey.
'To make us laugh, eh? Eh?' Hyde was relentless; he began to move forward, forcing Ashton backwards.
'Yes.' Ashton appealed mutely to Frey who remained silent.
'Good,' persisted Hyde. 'Since we're agreed on the purpose of a joke, perhaps you'd like to share one with me, Josiah. Listen; if there is a fool hereabouts, it is you. What you hope to achieve by your attitude towards poor Marlowe is your own affair, but whatever it is, or was, you were unwise to make it so public. The man has suffered a humiliation and has, by all the signs this morning, reinvigorated himself. I should scarce have believed it possible had I not seen it for myself. If you have any sense, you will throw yourself on another tack.'
Ashton began to rally under this verbal assault. 'Why you damned impertinent bugger ...'
'Mr Ashton!' Frey broke in, 'Hold your tongue, sir! I'll not countenance any further discord.' Frey looked at Hyde and observed the marine officer had said his piece. He relaxed and turned away, but Ashton was not prepared to accept advice.
'Oh, you won't, won't you? And what will you do, Frey? Toady to the captain?'
'What the devil's the matter with you, Ashton?' Frey asked, but Hyde broke in, sensing a real quarrel in the offing.
'For heaven's sake, Josiah, stow your confounded gab and leave us in peace.'
'Damn you, and don't "Josiah" me. The pair of you ...'
'Are what?' snapped Frey, suddenly and ferociously intense. The gleam in his eye seemed to restrain Ashton who swung away, muttering, flung open the door of his own cabin and disappeared, slamming it with such force that the entire bulkhead shuddered. Frey and Hyde looked at each other.
'What the devil was that all about?' asked Hyde in a low voice.
'Just a squall,' said Frey, subsiding, 'but he wants to watch that tongue of his, or it'll land him in trouble.'
Both officers, aware that the flimsy partition failed to provide the conditions for private speculation, let the matter drop. Neither wanted the discord to persist and both had served long enough to know the benefits of silent toleration in the confined world of a frigate's wardroom.
For Drinkwater, the remainder of that day was spent quietly. Having observed the improvement in the weather and determined Andromeda's, latitude at local noon, he went below to enjoy a nap. Woken by Frampton at eight bells in the afternoon watch, he sat and wrote up his journal, indulging himself further with a little self-congratulation.
It was clear, he wrote, that Lieutenant Marlowe's indisposition was some form of self-abasement consequent upon his unfortunate experience off the Wight, and it occurred to me that his lack of confidence must spring, not from a general incompetence, but some past event. I have observed poor Frey much affected by the loss of Jas. Quilhampton and the subsequent ordeal of his court-martial.
Drinkwater stopped for a moment and stared into the middle distance. Poor Frey; the damage to the little cutter Kestrel had resulted in her being abandoned in Norwegian waters. As the senior surviving officer, Frey had had to be judged by a court-martial to determine the extent of her damage in action and the justification for her loss to the naval service. That it had been Drinkwater himself, supported by a survey by Birkbeck, who had pronounced the cutter in an unfit state to withstand the rigours of a passage across the North Sea and ordered her to be abandoned, ameliorated Frey's situation. Nevertheless, the experience of reliving the events in the Vikkenfiord, from which he had been striving to distance himself, revived those feelings Frey had hoped to forget. Not normally given to outward displays of passion or temperament, Frey had become even more introspective. Drinkwater had blamed himself for much of this. It pained him greatly both to have lost his oldest friend and to see another in such poor spirits. He, himself, bore a deep guilt for Quilhampton's death and Frey's grief. The consolation of knowing that he, and they, had done their duty, wore thin to an officer who had been doing his duty for a lifetime. Frey was no less wounded than had been James Quilhampton, when he had lost a hand at Kosseir.