Quarterdeck Read online

  Quarterdeck

  By

  David O’Neil

  W & B Publishers

  USA

  Quarterdeck © 2014. All rights reserved by David O’Neil

 

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any informational storage retrieval system without prior permission in writing from the publisher.

  W & B Publishers

  For information:

  W & B Publishers

  Post Office Box 193

  Colfax, NC 27235

  www.a-argusbooks.com

  ISBN: 978-0-6922803-8-6

  ISBN: 0-6922803-8-3

  Book Cover designed by Dubya

  Printed in the United States of America

  Chapter 1

  Spymaster

  London 1808

  The house was silent and for the moment time seemed to stand still. For Captain Sir Martin Forest-Bowers KB, a sad homecoming.

  The maid took his hat and sword. “How is my lady?” He asked.

  Rebecca, the maid, said sadly, “She lives, and we hope and pray, Sir.”

  Martin sighed and made his way up the stairs to Jennifer’s bedroom in the room that overlooked the garden at the rear, away from the noises of the street.

  There was still sunlight in the room which also carried the odour of sickness.

  He hesitated before the doorway, preparing himself for facing his beloved wife, who had wasted away over the past weeks.

  To his surprise Jane, his adoptive mother, and Jennifer’s mother was there sitting beside the bed. He stepped over to the bedside. Jane was not looking well. She had spent her time and energy watching, and helping tend to, her sick daughter. Now she turned to Martin. She looked puzzled then smiled. “Dear Martin,” she said. “Come see.” She turned back to the bed. Martin looked at his wife. Her eyes were open.

  “She woke for the first time and the Doctor is on his way.” The tears in Jane’s eyes told the story. This was good news.

  Martin hardly dared hope. When the doctor arrived he was cautious, but allowed a thin glimmer of hope.

  Rear Admiral Lord Charles Bowers, Martin’s adoptive father, came home later that day to receive the news, there had been a change. None of the family could bear to believe that it was possible that Jennifer would recover. After the months of her illness and the lack of any real hope the doctors were prepared to offer, it was safer not to expect anything.

  After that day, when Jennifer opened her eyes for the first time in several days, the fever seemed to have lessened. The feeling of cautious optimism was beginning to creep into the house. Jennifer, Martin’s wife, had been pregnant with their second child when things had started going wrong. She lost the baby, but had been ill ever since with blood poisoning. The fever that followed had apparently confused the doctors since they had tried all they could think of and still apparently had no real answer to her condition.

  Martin had been recalled from the West Indies by Sir Anthony Watts, the mysterious ‘plain Mr.. Smith’, as he chose to known. His department in government was not widely advertised, its function being the gathering of intelligence and the protection of the secrets of the nation from enemies. From time to time, over the past years of Martin’s service in the Royal Navy, he had been called upon to work with the agents and couriers working for Mr.. Smith. The demands of this secret service had irritated the Admiralty, not least because they could do nothing about it. When Mr.. Smith called, the Navy responded and, on this occasion at least, it enabled Martin to be with his wife at this most desperate of times.

  He had been home for the past week but there had been no change until now. The next few days saw her rally, and while the family held their breath, she continued to make progress. The doctor agreed that it seemed she had finally turned the corner, and could expect to recover.

  The weekend, four days later, found Jennifer sitting propped up on pillows and taking nourishment. The miracle had happened. Martin gradually allowed himself to believe that his beloved wife would survive now her fever had broken. She was going to live.

  The doctor was clear. There would be no more children. The damage during the loss of her child had made that certain. But he was cautiously optimistic that in all other ways Jennifer should recover completely and be able to live a full life thereafter.

  There was celebration in the household that weekend. Considerable weight was given to the fact that it was Martin’s presence which had ensured Jennifer’s recovery.

  ***

  On Monday the following week Martin presented himself at ‘plain Mr. Smith’s’ (Sir Anthony Watts’s) residence as requested.

  “I am delighted,” said Smith, “To hear that you were returned in time to be with your wife at such a difficult time for you both. I do hear that she is responding to treatment and returning to health.”

  “You hear correctly, sir, and I thank you for making it possible to be here at this time.”

  Sir Anthony Watts waved his hand, in acknowledgement. “Perhaps we can discuss business now. I fear this is a matter that cannot wait..

  Martin seated himself and gave Watts his attention.

  “I will not bore you at present with too much detail, but it has been increasingly difficult to keep secrets from slipping through to the enemy. On two occasions recently we have had boats ambushed. On one of these occasions my agent was captured. His tortured body was found floating in the channel only two days ago.

  “What I would like you to undertake is the organisation of a team of small craft, to collect and disburse information along the channel coast. At the same time, I think it vital to capture the traitor who is actually passing the information about my agents. He must be a member of my staff somewhere. To capture him would give me an advantage that I could use to keep one step ahead of the French.

  “Is there anyone you suspect of your present staff?”

  “That’s the frustrating part. I cannot think of a single member who might betray me. As you must be aware, in this business security is paramount.”

  “Indeed, I see the problem. Perhaps I might be permitted to visit the offices you maintain for this purpose. I will need to know these people anyway, as they will need to know me.”

  Mr.. Smith stroked his chin thoughtfully. “I think a visit in plain clothes might be best in the first place. Your current celebrity could be an embarrassment at the moment, and it could invite interest where it would be better to maintain a low profile.”

  ***

  The following morning Martin attended the building used by the staff of Smith’s organisation. The villa was located in Bayswater, the village to the west of London proper, next to Hyde Park. The area was being built-up more and more by the wealthy, as a suburb less noisy and smelly than the more business/commercial areas of the City of Westminster.

  There were many more people involved in the work of espionage than he realised, Martin was intrigued to discover. He was able to recognise two of the people, who had been at times passengers on his ship. They made no sign of recognition, and he sensibly accepted their discretion, from his point of view.

  His guide on this occasion was Mr.. Smith’s personal assistant, a man named Hervey, whom he had met on several occasions when calling on Smith in the past. There were several men and three women here. In her-own office he found Alouette.

  Over the past few years he had come to know Alouette in more ways than one. Their friendship had been established through shared dangers. Each had saved the life of the other on more than one occasion, shared hazards and shared beds. Now it was the bond of friendship that survived. Alouette, the émigré Comtesse de Chartres, was beautiful, dark-hai
red slender and intelligent. Widowed at eighteen, she had since thrown herself into the work of espionage, having been discovered and her talent for the work recognised, by Sir Anthony soon after her arrival in England.

  She greeted Martin with a smile. Hervey left them together and went to deal with some other matters.

  “What brings you to this hotbed of intrigue?” She asked once she had seen him seated beside the desk.

  “A summons from your leader,” he replied.

  A knock at the door heralded a tray of tea and a plate of biscuits, and she paused while they were placed on the desk and the maid had left them alone once more.

  Alouette poured the tea and offered the biscuits. “Tell me, Martin. How is your wife? I understand that she is recovering from her terrible illness?”

  “As you say. Thank God she is recovering, showing signs now, according to the doctor, of complete, eventual recovery.”

  “I am so happy for you both. It must have been dreadful to have returned to discover that Jennifer was so ill.”

  “Of course it was a terrible shock, but her recovery, has made my fortuitous return a blessing.” For some reason Martin did not feel it necessary to mention the fact that Mr.. Smith had organised his return.

  Only then with a raised eyebrow, did Alouette invite a reply to her initial question.

  “Alouette, I am delighted to find you here. For I have been charged by our master to locate the spy in our midst. As well as to establish a regular service, to deliver and collect our agents on the Channel shores.”

  “I see. So how can I be of help?”

  “Now I have found you, I am reassured that I have a contact here which I can depend upon.”

  “Of course, I will help in any way I can.”

  “There is one matter I would ask your help with. I encountered three people in my work for the department, who had spent time in France, and had survived without harm.” He passed Alouette a piece of paper with the names written down.

  Once more he withheld the full facts. He had in his possession a scrap of paper. He was firmly convinced that the note implicated one of the three, but he would still give nothing away. He had been present when Alouette had been terribly mistreated in the hands of the French secret service. His suspicions were not directed at her. He mistrusted some of her contacts, and for the moment decided to keep what he knew to himself.

  Alouette looked at the names. “I know all of these people. What does this mean?”

  “I have met them all at one time or another, but I know nothing of their background or current circumstances. I was hoping I could ask you to let me know more about them, without the entire system finding out what I am expected to do.”

  Alouette leaned back in her chair. She smiled, the beautiful face showing the lines that were appearing around her eyes. The life she was leading was not allowing her to preserve her once smooth, innocent-looking, complexion. To Martin’s eyes it enhanced her natural beauty, showing a little of the strength and character that were so much a part of her nature.

  “Leave this with me and I will see what I can discreetly find out. Meanwhile, how do you plan to re-arrange the contact procedure with the French coast?”

  “I am going south to speak to friends of friends next week. I hope Jennifer will be well on the way to recovery by then, so that I may leave her with her parents for a day or so without imposing upon them too much.”

  “Martin, what will I do with you? You surely know that the Admiral and Lady Jane do not feel imposed upon. She is after all their daughter. They have clearly demonstrated that they do not consider it an imposition to look after her in your absence on duty. Please accept that fact.

  “I myself will be in the Mermaid Inn, in Rye, in 8 days’ time. We can meet there and I will inform you of my findings on these people, and you may freely discuss your intentions regarding the network you have in mind. I presume your aim will be to recruit smugglers for the task.”

  “Something like that.” Martin said. “I will be down on the South Coast by then and I will seek you out there. Until then, adieu.” He bent over to kiss her hand but she stopped him placing her face in his path. “Still friends, surely, Martin?” She murmured.

  “As ever.” Martin said, kissing her gently on the lips.

  ***

  With Jennifer getting better by the day, the house in London was now a more cheerful place. The shadows around Lady Jane’s eyes disappeared as she was now able to sleep at night. Little Jane was enjoying the lighter atmosphere and she could be heard playing in the garden with her nurse, and now Jennifer was demanding to be allowed to sit in the garden when the sun was on that side of the house.

  Martin was in attendance at the Admiralty to arrange for his temporary attachment to Mr.. Smith’s control. The time factor of one year maximum had been imposed by their lordships. Smith smiled wryly at this but had accepted the arrangement regardless.

  Martin made arrangements to meet certain people at the headquarters of the revenue department responsible for the prevention of smuggling on our coasts. It had occurred to him that they were probably the best source of information regarding the smugglers on the south coast.

  At the headquarters near the Tower of London, Captain Albert Mainland, a former Naval Officer, had been seconded to command the preventative service. It had become evident that the war had allowing smugglers too much freedom for the illegal import of brandy and tobacco. From Mr.. Smith’s point of view, the existence of the trade permitted the landing and recovery of agents, without advertising the fact. The loss of revenue from the taxes evaded seemed to be a matter of supreme indifference to him.

  Captain Mainland was looking pleased with himself when Martin called. “What can I do for you, sir?” He asked. “T’aint often I get a call from the Royal Navy, not recently at all. So what will it be?” This was delivered in a West Country accent with great good humour.

  “I am here, sir, to pick your brains, if I may? I am Captain Martin Forest-Bowers, at your service.”

  “I know who you are, Sir Martin. I get the Gazette. Why don’t you sit yourself down and tell me what you’re after and I’ll see what I can do. Hey, Harold, bring in some o’ that latest batch for us to try. Better bring glasses too. The Captain is a gentleman.”

  The manner and attitude of Captain Mainland, robbed the comment of any offence. Martin, who liked the look of his host, guessed they would get along.

  Harold was a big Hampshire man, six foot at least, maybe forty years old. There was a streak of grey in his thick, dark hair. He had a peg replacing the foot and ankle below his right knee. Mainland introduced him, “This is Harold Watts. Lost his foot at Copenhagen, stormin’ the forts.”

  Martin nodded. He had been told of the bloody landing and attack which had cost the lives of many of the men involved. He stood and shook the hand extended to him. “I’m proud to meet a survivor of that bloody event. How do you manage with the peg?”

  “Proud to meet you too, sir. I manage fine now. The surgeon used his head instead of that bloody saw, and he managed to save most that he could. He did a good job with the stump too.”

  He placed a bottle and three glasses on the table. There were no marks on the bottle, but the golden colour of its contents suggested it was not water.

  “I thought Harold should join us, because I have the notion that we might need his specialised knowledge.” With this cryptic comment he picked up the bottle, which was not stoppered, and poured three generous measures of what turned out to be remarkably good brandy. “Now, sir. What can we help you with?”

  Martin sampled the smooth liquid and nodded his appreciation. “I need to set up a system of boats to deliver and collect agents across the water. Obviously, I do not want them stopped or bothered by officers at either end. While I realise that smuggling, as such, is against the law, I really think that it is from the ranks of smugglers I will be able to recruit the people I need.

  Mainland nodded seriously, and turning to Harold h
e said, “I guessed it might be something of the sort. Harold, you know pretty much who might be of help. What do you say?”

  Harold scratched his head for a few moments. “You know what I’m going to say, sir. ’Tis Peter Vardy you would need for this, and—as you well know—he will be going away for a hangman’s noose—if we allow it.”

  Albert Mainland looked at Harold. “Why did I know that would be what you would say?” He turned to Martin. “Do you have enough influence to get a man out of prison?”

  “If it is the right man, I think I can. Who is this Peter Vardy?”

  Harold said, “He’s a cousin of mine. He was taken at Mudeford, in Hampshire, down by my old home. At the time, the dragoons who took him found his boat empty. They took him anyway because their officer’s wife fancied Peter, and he fancied her. Major Moore was a local landowner. I understand Peter met them when he found the odd cargo lying about and brought it ashore. It was all well for a while until Peter met Mrs. Moore one day when the Major was out. Seems he caught them canoodling.

  “Now he is in prison. They found nothing on his boat, so they put things there, including some documents addressed to people in France. He’ll hang at the end of this week.”

  Martin looked at the two men in front of him. “Where is he?”

  Mainland said, “Portsmouth!”

  “Who is this Major Moore? Where can he be found?”

  “Marsden Hall, just outside the village of Christchurch. The dragoons were raised as militia to begin with. The Major struts around the area as if he owns it all. No-one has managed to stand up to him for long.” Harold said bitterly.

  “Young bastard has been spoilt rotten, always talkin’ about waiting for a call from Horse Guards to join Sir John Moore in the Mediterranean. Fat chance of that. I reckon he would piss his pants if that happened.”