But there was, and Holt was determined they must go about it. The matter with the maidens had cost a good two hours, and at the very briskest pace, he said, they could not reach London till well past midnight, even given clear roads and no more excitements. Their horses would be rested, they were fed and full of inner comfort from the glass, and they must off. He added, with a strange shyness, that he had collected William from his home to join him to a ship in Deptford, where they would indeed be shipmates.
"Then how well I know you, Sam," said the baronet. "For I wagered that you'd go, whatever blandishments I tried to offer. You will not take your horses, they are blown, so Tony has prepared two for you from my stable. Young man, be so good as to tug that bell-pull, will you?"
"But, sir, our hacks," William began, to be silenced with a gesture. He jerked the bell-pull.
"There is a coach-inn five miles away," Sir Arthur said. "Your hacks can go there in the morning, and you can lodge mine at the Bear's Paw near the bridge, you'll go to Deptford down the river, yes? I'll have a man or two in London in the week, it's normal traffic in my line. What ship is she? The one you're going to?"
Involuntarily, the young men swapped a glance, and on the instant Will Bentley understood at least some part of Samuel's reticence. He did not want to name the vessel because, quite clearly, he thought Sir A would know her and her line of duty. Like William, it now became apparent, he felt it keenly as a sort of shame. Strangely, this reaction reassured Will. New warmth towards his friend-at-arms coursed through him.
However, Samuel did not shirk for long. He turned a clear eye on Sir A, although his lips were tight.
"She is called the Biter, sir. Lieutenant Richard Kaye, commanding. He is expecting us by the hour."
Sir Arthur Fisher may have looked askance, but William did not know his face with sufficient intimacy to read his thoughts from it. There was a pause though, a thinking pause; then he made a hum.
"Mm. The Impress Service, eh? Well, boys very necessary, very. These bloody, bloody wars. Samuel, how find you Kaye? I know of him."
Holt's answer was slow coming, and Sir Arthur turned a polite look on William.
"I have interests in the ship direction," he said. "Mayhap Sam has told you?" He chuckled, not with clear humour in it. "I have some certain dealings with the Press, from time to time."
"I find my captain ..." started Sam. "I find him as a midshipman should. We have as yet seen little action. I have been on board of her but seven week."
"Seven weeks? No action? Hhm."
"She has been at the dockyard, sir, for some of it. She is ... not a young ship, sir."
"Press tenders rarely are. The Biter was a collier, unless I mistake me. North-eastern built, on cat lines. Big and slow and roomy. Well."
"Aye," said Samuel. "Well. But beggars can't be choosers. Can we?"
It had got uncomfortable, but they passed it off. Tony took them to the horses shortly, with Sir A making his farewells from his fireside, tall and dignified and full of kindness and good words for the road. Outside it was dry, although still cloudy, and their outer riding clothes were warm and fire-steamy. Tony had already tied Will's dunnage next his saddle his chest was due to come up later with a carter but before they kicked off he handed each a narrow canvas bag. Horse pistols, with powder horns and balls.
"From my master," he said, in his country accent. "There'll be a lot abroad up London way, Mister Sam. You can shoot the buggers, can' tee
He laughed and smacked a rump. The horses, wistful at leaving home so late at night, set off without enthusiasm.
Four
William thought of Deborah, while Samuel thought of Jod knew what. For the first half-hour he did not even stay close to his companion, making it quite plain that talking was not his pleasure or intent. A pity, William found that, for he was keen to explore the attitude to being in the Press that he figured had been hinted at in Sir Arthur's parlour. To Samuel, earlier, it had seemed a laughing matter, to be spoken lightly of in the manner seamen had when talking of their ships. With Sir A, though, Will had sensed a touch of shame.
The knowledge that the ship he'd been put down for was a tender had filled him with a heavy gloom, when the news had come. His mother, even, had responded with excuses, and a delighted 'la' that had spoken little of delight. His father, with whom William spoke hardly anything on Navy matters, had merely grunted.
"What does it mean?" had trilled little sister Martha. "The Impress Service? The Biter is a fine name for a fighting ship though, Will!"
"Hah!" had said his father, quietly. "A fighting ship indeed."
"Lord, sir!" had said his mother, lightly. "It is a ship! You're off to sea once more, William. You will make the best of it, as you always do."
His older sister Lal, who was exceeding sharp, had winced imperceptibly at this, and touched his hand.
"Near waters, though," she'd put in gently. "If she lies at Deptford, where will you .. . ply your trade? Surely not far from London River? We will see you home sometimes. Why, perhaps you will even come into Portsmouth. Then we shall all go on the ship and visit him, Martha! Won't that be fine?"
"What is the trade, though?" asked Martha. "Won't wobody tell me? It sounds ... impressive. William! Lal! Mama! It sounds impressive. A jeu de mot!"
They had laughed, save father, who had left them for his study when the news was fairly broke, and it eased the matter till William, too, could escape the womenfolk to stand at his open window and watch the light across the home copse trees. Later, both girls had sought him out alone, and cried, but not because he was in the Impress Service, just because he was going to leave. Lal, further, because she feared for him. She could still remember her brother before he'd gone to join her uncle's ship. Bright, bumptious, uncaring and a joy. While he had recovered afterwards, in his bed, she had often come to sit with him, and talked, and talked, and never seemed to mind the lack of answers.
Out of the blue, breaking his reverie, Samuel spoke. He had slowed and dropped astern, with William hardly noticing. He muttered, gruff and bitter, but it came through pretty clear.
"If wishes were horses, beggars would ride," he said. "And here we are on horseback, eh? What made you of Sir Arthur Fisher, Will? My benefactor?"
There was a pause before the 'benefactor'. Holt's voice was loaded with a type of aggravation.
"Sam, I do not know the man," said Will, most carefully. "I stood and steamed for him in his fine parlour, but that is all. He is rich, he is courteous, and he is very kind we ride his horses, do we not? Am I to leap to condemnation?"
They jogged along quite fast. The highway was wide hereabouts, well made, and the blackness of the night had diminished as the clouds had faded, although the moon was almost down. Will hoped they could not be far from London's villages, at least.
"Nay," said Samuel, after some thought. "Nay, not condemn him. Sir A is a good man, I believe, a very good one. It is just oh, somehow he oppresses me, I almost hate him. Beggars can't be choosers, I said to him just now, and I know he had my meaning. He saved me from despair and poverty, without him I should be a tinker now myself, like that man Dennett, or more likely a cadaver, in an unmarked grave. My father went to Virginia, I have told you that already, I believe. My mother and two small boys died shortly after him, of scurvy or the bloody flux, and I was left with Christ's, a pauper-scholar and scarce enough to dress myself. One day he visited, not grand but kind, and took me up in some way." Holt paused, looking across between the horses, his expression neutral. "Not for my arse hole neither, which is what a lot of gentlemen expect for such advancement. Nay, it was my mind Sir A was after. Let's say my soul."