Chapter 3
Old Coffin-Face
The ride to Burlington-street seemed to last for hours, though it must have been thirty minutes at most. Contrary to my expectations, Lord Ruthven showed no interest in questioning me. Instead, he kept his conversation to subjects that were as dull as they were irrelevant.
He began with news of the latest scandals and affairs at court, which had me clenching my teeth and pretending amusement whilst my nerves gnawed at my insides.
After a time, he turned from social to political gossip. I was reliably informed that Walpole and Hervey were "quite out of favour", Carteret had "made a mess", and the other ministers could not form a new government, though they squabbled like geese over scattered corn.
By the time we arrived, I was ready to jump out the nearest window, so eager was I to quit the coach.
To my dismay, Lord Ruthven seized the door handle and resisted the footman's attempt to open it. With a disarming smile, he said, "Lately, the King has taken a keen interest in international diplomacy."
"Has he?"
He nodded, but his smile faded to a look of regret. "Unfortunately, this often undermines the careful efforts of his ministers."
"I see." What did he expect me to say? Everyone knew that His Majesty and his ministers were at odds with each other, but my Messenger office was bestowed through regal authority alone. Was Ruthven sounding out my loyalty?
He let go the handle and I approached the front door of number 31 wondering what sort of interrogation awaited me within.
- o -
We were admitted to a richly panelled front hall with a marble floor of red and white squares arranged like a chessboard. To my right was a magnificent oak staircase whose ample handrail and lower steps ended in a sweeping curve. A gilded chandelier lit the area, and one corner held a life-sized bronze statue of a fashionably dressed gentleman bearing some sort of torch or sceptre.
While we waited to be announced, Lord Ruthven tapped his fingers briskly against the head of his walking stick. At last he gave an exasperated sigh and threw open a door to his immediate left. "Go and wait in there," he said. "I'll fetch him down."
One would have thought he was master of the house, rather than visiting the home of his superior and patron, but I did as he told me. He shut the door, and I surveyed Lord Hervey's reception room, wondering if this was where the proposed interview was to take place. I own that I was curious about Hervey and hoped that the room might reveal something of his character.
The walls were panelled in white with touches of gilt to match the elaborate architraves atop the room's three doors. I glanced up and caught sight of the classical fresco that covered the ceiling.
"Daedalus and Icarus!" I whispered. The two mythological figures were shown in flight, with Icarus' wings losing a few feathers as Daedalus reached out in vain to save his son.
I crossed the soft Aubusson carpet to warm my hands at the marble fireplace. Above it hung a portrait of six fashionable gentlemen in a pastoral landscape. I laughed under my breath, thinking of Defoe's efforts to portray his pirates in a like manner.
Looking closer, I recognised Lord Hervey, but no one else. Lord Ruthven was certainly absent. Hervey looked twenty years younger, sweet-faced and graceful. He must have cut quite a figure at court. In his hand was a paper that might be a plan of this very house.
Did the image of that happy time comfort Lord Hervey or make him melancholy, after the world had disappointed him?
The hallway echoed with two voices, a trace of sharpness in each one. Ruthven and Hervey seemed to be approaching the reception room; however, their talk grew fainter and was followed by the noise of a door shutting. They must have gone into a room next to the one I occupied.
After a few moments of muffled sounds, Lord Ruthven opened a connecting door through which I saw a study. He flashed an encouraging smile. "Mistress Bitter," he said, "please join us."
- o –
Hervey's study was as sumptuous as the reception room, with all blue hangings and crimson furniture. A fire crackled merrily beneath a chimney piece adorned with a frieze of three female masks and a grinning satyr head. Lord Hervey was seated in an armchair near the fire, wrapped in a silk robe de chambre of gold brocade and deep blue velvet cuffs.
It had been five years since I last saw him. His once pleasant features were now pinched and sour, as though he would spurn all society. Failing health could only account for a portion of his demeanour; he affected an air of ennui that suggested contempt and disappointment with life itself.
Although I had not been summoned to give my opinion on his house, an unexpected stab of pity prompted me to compliment him. "I have been admiring the painting of you and your friends above the fireplace," I said.
"By Hogarth." He spoke as if pleasantries annoyed him. "My colleagues and protégés."
"You won't find me among them," Ruthven remarked. "It was long before my time."
The corners of Hervey's mouth twitched. "I suppose you saw Icarus on the ceiling?" he asked me as if changing the subject. "He is about to reap the fruits of his pride and ambition. He wouldn't listen to Daedalus."
"No, he wouldn't," Ruthven said. He had moved to a desk and begun sorting papers.
I kept silent, having suddenly recalled that Lord Ruthven's middle name was Icarus.
Hervey sighed. "Prudent master and vaunting protégé. It was ever thus."
I couldn't see Ruthven's face but his words were clipped. "Oh, come now. Icarus knew the man who built the Labyrinth was a sly and conniving old master of deceit."
"But I seem to recall he was right, wasn't he?" Hervey murmured.
Ruthven glanced at me. "Please take a seat Miss Bitter. Small talk notwithstanding, we do have business to attend." He waved me to a chair and unfolded a document I recognised as my report. Our interview commenced in earnest.
He studied the report for a few moments. A faint line appeared between his eyebrows as he looked up. "A general question first, merely so I understand your arrangement. What is your connection with the pirates who rely on you for their pardons – Barbossa, Teague, and, ah-" he consulted another paper "-Jack Sparrow?"
"They were able to be of service in a past venture I undertook for His Majesty. That is the substance of our connection. His Majesty may choose to reward them by issuing pardons, but that is his prerogative and none of my concern."
Ruthven raised his eyebrows and leaned back in his chair. "All the same, I think you'll allow that it is curious, since His Majesty gives out favours as reluctantly as he parts with money."
I looked down at my hands. "I suppose the King can deal with whomever he chooses."
"Don't let my questions discomfit you," said Lord Ruthven. "I myself have used pirates from time to time. Dangerous friends are better than useless friends, are they not?" He shot a quick glance at Hervey as he said this, and the older man bristled slightly.
"Perhaps," I replied. "But faithful friends are best of all, whatever their mode of living. Did you fare well with the pirates you employed?"
"To a degree." He lowered his eyes to the desk, masking his expression. "But the last one disappointed me and has disappeared."
I stifled a gasp. Was he speaking of my missing husband? Determined to show no particular interest, I replied, "You don't say. How vexing for you."
"Pas du tout," he said lightly. Something made me think it was a topic which he perhaps regretted opening.
"Now," he said, taking up my report. "On to your prisoner exchange. You say Mr Norrington recovered a tablet. Were you able to see this artefact? What more can you tell us about it?"
"Mr Norrington carried it under his overcoat. Beyond the fact that it was small and light enough for him to do so, I observed nothing of the tablet."
"Not during his fight with the Spanish priest? Not afterwards?"
"No. I looked to my own weapons during the fight, being afraid for my life. As soon as Mr Norrington fell, the crew seemed to go mad with gold fever. They swarmed everywhere, shouting, threatening, striking down any who opposed them. I begged to be spared, so they threw me into a longboat and left me to perish at sea."
Ruthven's eyes flicked up briefly from my report. "Yes. We'll come to that presently," he said. "Mr Norrington's ship was sunk by a Spanish man o' war. Did you see anything of this?"
"No. I heard it from Captain Sparrow."
"Ah, yes. The pirate Sparrow, who rescued you."
"Yes. Captain Sparrow."
"His ship is the Black Pearl? This is the ship that brought you back to Tortuga? A voyage of some days, I should imagine."
"Yes, my Lord."
He laid my report on the desk, then slid it carefully to one side. It seemed to me that his eyes were a bit keener. "Tell me-what sort of maps did Sparrow have?"
I shrugged. "Charts of the Caribbean Sea, other parts of the Indies – the usual assortment most ships carry, I suppose."
Ruthven exchanged a look with Hervey before he continued. "Did you see any maps in addition to these? Not necessarily charts, but any document resembling a map? I have information that he possesses an unusual map."
Sao Feng's map. I might have expected this. Now I understood the point of my interview. Professing ignorance would only take me so far-I would have to invent a story to cast doubt on the existence of any such map.
"I didn't see anything of that sort," I said, then assumed a look of growing awareness. "But... now I think of it, I did hear something."
Both men stared at me intently as I began a yarn as preposterous as Jack's sea turtles.
"One night, Captain Sparrow, being the worse for drink, boasted of having a legendary map. I asked to see this wonder but he became rather coy about it. After consuming more rum, he allowed that there was no such map, but he found that the rumour of it enchanted many ladies. At that point, he made the most loathsome advances." I pressed my lips into a tight line of disgust. "I was forced to draw my weapon to discourage him." I hoped that if word reached Jack, he would forgive my outrageous lies.
Hervey shook his head. "Most regrettable," he sighed.
"Agreed," said Ruthven. "But we cannot rule out the map just yet." He turned back to me. "When you disembarked in Tortuga, did Sparrow indicate where he might go next?"
I brightened. "Yes, he did! Captain Sparrow left me in the care of a doctor, and made straight for a tavern called The Faithful Bride, where he said he would remain until his gold ran out."
Ruthven made a note. "And have you heard any more from him?"
"No. I've been occupied with my own matters in Cornwall."
Hervey and Ruthven exchanged another look. "Be frank with her," said Hervey with a shrug.
Lord Ruthven stood up and, holding his hands behind him, began pacing the room. "Since the death of the Queen," he said, "His Majesty is increasingly interested in eccentric ventures."
"Eccentric ventures?"
With a single blink, he brought his gaze from the floor to my face. "Yes, I would call a search for a magic fountain 'eccentric', though you may disagree?"
"No indeed." My stomach was slowly tying itself in knots, and I strained to keep still in my chair.
Hervey endeavoured to explain. "These harmless fancies occupy him, allowing his ministers to act with less... interference than if he had no other amusements. We therefore indulge him."
So as not to appear an idiot, I ventured a question. "May I assume that this mythical fountain was the object of Mr Norrington's expedition?"
"You may," Hervey replied.
"I'm sorry he did not confide in me. Two heads are almost always better than one. Perhaps I could have been of more use to him." More lies, but both men seemed to accept them.
Ruthven had stopped pacing and was looking out the window now, his back to the room. "I did have one other operative working on it," he mused, "but he has grown less… reliable lately."
"Another Messenger?"
He faced me. "An operative, in any case." His voice was pleasant, but guarded. "And so you never heard Sparrow speak of a quest for the Fountain, Mistress Bitter?" he asked with a smile. "Just to be clear."
"No, not at all."
"Then you feel I would be justified in telling the King that these possible leads have gone nowhere?"
"Most assuredly." It was a dead end and they knew it. Surely they would release me now. I pressed my shoulder blades back to relieve the tension in my neck.
"I appreciate your dedication and discretion," said Ruthven. "We are almost finished here. Are you ready for your next commission?"
I froze. "So soon?" Bracing for an argument, I quickly explained. "It's only that I've taken in my cousin's child and hoped to deliver him to family in the West Indies."
Ruthven's countenance creased into a cheerful smile that made little lines at the corners of his eyes. "How fortunate! That is exactly where you are wanted. You are now working – as a Messenger, of course – for me. I am interested in any news you hear of Sparrow or the Black Pearl, whether direct or indirect."
I exhaled. Perhaps everything would work out. "Yes, my Lord."
He was making notes again. "You will keep me informed. Although this is a royal commission, it is vital that you discuss it with no one else."
"I can't withhold information from King George," I stammered.
Ruthven stopped writing and looked up, unsmiling. "Bear in mind that His Majesty's fanciful ideas, although harmless in themselves, should not receive undue encouragement which might be deleterious to his health. I, not you, will relay all necessary reports to the King. If you prefer not to accept this assignment, we can stop here."
How could I not accept the assignment? If they wanted Jack's map, then they wanted the Fountain. Whether the King, Lord Ruthven, or both were interested parties, I had to ensure that their venture failed. But it would be a mistake to appear too eager.
I shrugged. "My acceptance depends on the quid pro quo. What are you offering in return?"
Lord Hervey was keeping quiet, but I saw a flicker of his old smile.
Ruthven said quickly: "Five hundred guineas now. More if you find Sparrow or his ship."
I nodded. "I shall scour the Caribbean for any sign of him." And I would report that neither he nor his ship could be found. But at least I would have a bit of coin in my pocket and I could look for Hector.
Ruthven's good humour returned. "Excellent," he said. "Now, there is one more thing you must comprehend precisely. There is a remote possibility that you may chance upon a person or persons who are seeking Sparrow just as you are, and claim to be under my orders. However"-he went to a chessboard set up near the window-"it is you alone who are acting in my interest."
Selecting a single pawn, he placed it on a square near the board's centre.
I stared at the pawn, wondering about the "person or persons", but decided further enquiries would be unwelcome. "I understand you," I said.
Ruthven drew a key from his pocket and went to fetch the money from his strongbox.
As soon as he was gone, Hervey cleared his throat. "Since you show a modicum of wit, here is a piece of advice: the friends he alludes to-" he indicated the door where Ruthven had exited "-are not your friends."
I hoped he would say more, but Lord Ruthven came straight back in with a heavy leather purse and a warrant for my services. "There is a sedan chair waiting at the door for you, to guard against footpads."
As soon as we said our adieux, Ruthven saw me out of the house. Before handing me into the sedan chair, he remarked: "So now you've seen what's left of Lord Hervey. What do you make of old coffin-face?"
"I'm sorry to see him so out of health."
"Yes, well, this too shall pass." The twilight might have concealed a smirk on Ruthven's face. "For my part, I expect the Messenger Service will shortly be entrusted to me alone."
Before I could enter the sedan chair, he put a restraining hand on my shoulder. "Did he say anything when you were alone with him?" he asked, then laughed softly, fondly. "He loves to interfere with ladies' business, you know."
I smiled and removed his hand from my shoulder. "Oh, I'm hardly a court lady, Lord Ruthven. And I dislike interference in my business." Then I took my seat in the sedan chair and left him standing at Lord Hervey's door.
- o -
Later that night, I sat near the settle, watching Matthew sleep. He looked peaceful enough now, having poured out his energy in a fit of temper when I said Tyler could not sail with us. He argued as close as a lawyer against all my objections, but when he learned there was a dog on Shipwreck Island, his vehemence lessened a bit. Happily, I would soon have my father's help in managing this wild colt of a lad.
Our luggage lay heaped by the door, ready for our departure in the morning. I had packed for a long absence, even taking the journal Defoe had kept for me. One look had assured me that it was exactly what I thought – the second volume of Ponce de Leon's log. I would find time to study it at Shipwreck Cove.
I tucked in Matthew's bedclothes without disturbing him. He slept so soundly only a cannon blast could have awakened him. Did I ever sleep this deeply as a child? I smoothed his hair, and noticed how like Hector he was-the same long eyes, and perhaps something about the cheekbones. Just then he moved in his sleep, and the resemblance faded. Still, in certain attitudes I always caught a glimpse of his father.
As I lay abed, I could find no posture or arrangement of pillows that suited me. The question of how would I find Hector kept me wakeful and distressed. If Jack could not find him using his compass, what was I to do-and what welcome I could expect if I succeeded?
At last I determined to put all my trust in Edward Teague; my father would surely know what to do. Yet when I finally drifted to sleep, I dreamt of neither Hector nor my father, but of the black-haired man in the water, swimming round a fearsome ship and laughing triumphantly.
