There was a pause. Will saw it still, but the clarity was of a different kind. Sam wet his lips more noisily. Will smelled sweat.
"But sir," said Sam. Hopeless, and he knew it. Oxforde quelled him with a look. "The officer was on the deck," he said. "His leg was twitching, he had been shot. Lieutenant Kaye was standing over him, with his pistol. He had fired it."
Lieutenant Kaye's mouth moved as though he was going to open it, but he changed his mind.
"Whose pistol? Who had fired it?"
"Lieutenant Kaye had them both," said Sam. "He had fired one, his own, short barrel and a heavy calibre, a Leyden Callender I think. He had the other pistol also. Big, horse pistol type of animal. It had not been fired."
By the crashing on the decks, the sound of tramping feet, the shore gang were unrigging her. Inside the cabin a long silence fell.
"You are an expert then, I see." Oxforde's voice was pleasant. "Who says it was not fired? You were not there to see if the man was on the deck already, were you?"
"Lieutenant Kaye said it had not been, sir. He said he had shot his gun. He said the man was primed and cocked, but..."
"But what? Do you say he's lying?"
This was so direct that Bentley's stomach clenched. Kaye had had the action covered when Sam and he had gone into the cabin. He could have cocked it himself, then showed it cocked before he spoke of it. "See, it is cocked," he'd said.
"Well?" asked Captain Oxforde. "Was it primed and cocked, midshipman? You have eyes, did you not see it? Was it primed and cocked? You are the expert, you know guns. The truth, sir; now!"
The smug look in Kaye's eyes was back, Will saw that in a glance. The tilted nose spoke of confidence restored. Sam was being challenged to say the unsay able and damn himself to hell. He could not do it.
"Aye, sir," he said. "It was cocked. I later saw Lieutenant Kaye blow the pan out."
"So it was primed?"
The slightest hesitation.
"It was primed, sir."
"With your permission, sir?" said Kaye. "Thank you. Now Holt, now Bentley; did I not say this? That the villain drew a sight on me, and made to fire? That I lifted my gun first as Holt says, sir, small, fast and powerful, a masterpiece of Mr. Callender's and shot him down? Is that not correct in every detail? Would he not have killed me, had I not? Mr. Bentley? You have not deigned to speak, I see."
The captain raised a hand, as if amused. But he made no rebuke to Kaye, just smiled at Bentley.
"Well, sir? Have you aught to add? Or do you agree with Mr. Holt in every detail? You both seem circumspect, somehow, I might say, overawed. We are not so grand as all that, we old fighting men!"
To Will, the heartiness rang false as hell. The smell of sweat from Sam was powerfully bitter, and his own cheeks and teeth were clenched. He was surer than he'd ever been that Kaye had cocked the pistol to prove a threat that in life had not existed but he did not know. He did not know, and he could not voice suspicions. To call a man a liar was an awful thing, and to do so without hope of any proof was at the very least stupidity. Fact was, he did not know. Kaye, to him, was a charlatan, whom he would not trust for anything. But did he really think he was a murderer in cold blood?
"Sir," he said. "When I saw the action, it was ..." All eyes bored into him. He had seen the action covered first, and he did not trust Kaye. It came to him with bright clarity that he should not say this, as he could not add to it. He gestured feebly. "It was cocked. Later, like Mr. Holt, I saw him blow the pan. Lieutenant Kaye told us he'd been threatened."
He caught the eyes of the post captain for a moment, and thought he saw a flash of understanding there. But probably it was illusion. Oxforde then nodded, satisfied.
"Good," he said. "Well, Mr. Kaye, 'tis as you said in every detail. You went into the cabin, you were attacked, and shot the man in self-defence. Mr. Palmer? Have you any questions more?"
The lawyer, scratching underneath his wig, paused to shake his head in negative. The clerks made play with horns and pen, Slack Dickie beamed in satisfaction. Sam Holt and Bentley looked for a sign, of dismissal or invitation to the higher company, but ignored soon cleared their throats significantly, then slid away. An hour afterwards, as the only officers or gentlemen left save Kershaw, and the ship a swarm of dockyard men who judging by the flares and preparations were due to work all night, they packed small bags and hailed a waterman. Even the slack-tide stench of the foul Thames struck William, poetically, as sweeter than the air had been in Biter's cabin.
It was the lateness of the hour Sam gave as his excuse for seeking Dr. Marigold's rather than getting hacks for Langham Lodge, but William needed neither excuse nor much persuading. He knew that by the time they had reached London the yeomen from Hertfordshire would have got their weapons back and been sent home, and that the Navy's ranks were closed for ever against any suggestion the first mate's death had been improper. He and Sam, between them, had had the only chance of setting up a doubt, and both of them had felt they could not do it. They sat in the stern sheets of the wherry, silent for the most part, and both felt guilt and hopelessness. No one, because of them, would be able to point a finger at Richard Kaye on this incident, ever again.
"We would not get to Langham Lodge till the early hours," said Sam, at one point. "We've been away for a week and more, so half a day won't make no difference. Quite honestly, Will, I ain't sure I could face..."
He did not finish, but Will was there with him. Events were like a grindstone, crushing them, wearing them down. Will looked across the dark roofs and buildings pressing to the river and longed, strangely, for the open sea. He recalled that when he'd started, as a boy, the Navy life had been such a fresh and open one, with him and his fellow officers dedicated to a fine and noble calling, to Englishness, Englishmen and England, the jewel of all the world. Now he felt dirtier than the Thames itself.
They paid the river men and walked up towards the Fleet and Dr. Marigold's, but even alone they did not talk much of what they'd seen and how it fell to them. Sam made it clear as soon as he crossed the threshold that he had Annette in mind as his best drug, but Will, left alone with Mrs. Margery, could not be tempted by her tales of bright new maids, nor yet of 'coddling' by those of more experience. She had judged his mood exactly though, because he was deep in need of comfort divorced completely from the world of men. They did not mention Deb by name, but she talked of girls who did not whore, but came to live at Marigold's out of necessity to find a place, maybe of refuge, maybe just to string their lives together, to earn enough in services unspecified to see them through a time of hardship that they could some day end. Young men like Sam, she said, wanted one thing only from a maid and none the worse for that but 'we can succour too, both maids and bloods. Look at yourself. I have work to do, always there's work, but I have time to talk to you, and here I am. No charge, free, gratis, and I'm glad of it."
Will almost told her about Deb's disaster, but feared it would upset them both, for nothing. He almost told her about the Katharine's first mate, asked 'if you saw a young man killed, and knew that it was wrong, then what?" But as the words formed in his mind he knew it was impossible, so stopped. When more men came for custom Will backed off into shadow, then she led him to a bedroom and left him, with a glass of port. He stripped completely, splashing himself with water from a jug, then lay in the bed and blew the candle out, hoping for sleep. It did not quickly come, and he thought afterwards he'd stared upwards to the ceiling until dawn or so. But it was Sam who woke him, a Sam refreshed and in a better spirit, who forced him to a very early breakfast and then to the yard, where he had horses saddled up and waiting. Not long after first light, they were gone.