|
The young man who sat in the back of the
inn playing cards at the rickety old table, with its faded felt top, was
known to the establishment as Jack Street. His claim to fame was his
uncanny ability to evade the press. He had only been caught once as a boy
becoming employed in His Majesty’s Navy as a powder monkey, and ever
since had avoided their grasp by using all manner of ruses and guises.
Jack joked that he had played enough parts to be thought of as a
proficient actor. He
peered
over the cards in his grubby little hand at his opponent, who tried to
avoid the penetrating stare from those deep brown eyes.
“Aren’t you going to make a move,”
queried Jack, “Scared are we?”
“Of you Street? Nah,” replied Ben Kitt,
arching his thick black eyebrows. He laid his cards on the table, “I
think you’ll find I’ve won.”
“Jumping the gun again are we, my
friend,” said Jack as he showed his cards.
“I don’t believe it,” exclaimed Kitt,
a look of incredulity washing over his weather-beaten features. “What
about best of ten?”
“You’re going to be in debt for the
rest of your life if you carry on. We’ve already played seven games.”
Kitt was just about to protest when the
long thin fingers of the landlord’s daughter, Dorothy Harvey, pulled
back the heavy green curtain, which separated them off from the rest of
the patrons of the Red Rose. She entered accompanied by two men
her, one was an old man modestly dressed in a black waistcoat and jacket,
and the other was an officer in his uniform. There was a sharp intake of
breath from the two card players as the officer entered, not only because
of their fears of impressments, but also that the visitor looked uncannily
like Jack. Even their own mothers wouldn’t have been able to tell the
difference between the two brown eyed, flaxen haired young men.
“Two more players to join you,”
announced Dorothy as she showed the others in, adding, “If you want
anything just shout.” Before disappearing back round the curtain.
“Hello gentlemen,” said Jack, his voice
betraying his apprehension, “Whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?
I'm Jack Street, by the way,” Ben went to open his mouth to introduce
himself, but Jack got their first, “and this is Kitt.”
“Lieutenant Francis
Lane, and our other
player is Mr Gannet,” replied the officer, shaking Jack’s outstretched
hand.
“What are we playing then gentlemen?”
asked the older man, as he nervously fiddled with his neckerchief
revealing his discomfort.
Jack was a trifle suspicious of the old
man’s obvious unease in the present company. He wondered who Gannet was
working for and why, whether he was a stool pigeon of some kind or just a
criminal afraid of being recognised. Jack decided he would be careful what
he spoke of in front of the two strangers as he nonchalantly shuffled the
cards in his hands replying, “Well I think we should let you two choose.
What will it be then Hazard, Cent, or is it Whist you officer types like
playing?”
“Whist is fine with me,” replied Lane.
There was an awkward pause then he asked, “Do you concur Mr Gannet?”
“Yes, sir,” replied the old man, trying
to avoid eye contact with the lieutenant.
“I have no objection, and neither has
Kitt so we’ll be a starting then,” replied Jack dealing out the cards.
***
“I think that makes me the
winner…again,” stated Jack.
“That’s impossible,” declared Mr
Gannet.
“It seems not,” Jack replied with a
grin. “If you would like to hand me over my winnings I’ll be mighty
grateful.”
“Damn it man! Your not getting a penny
out of me, you’re cheating coward,” snapped Lieutenant Lane, his fist
hitting the table in anger.
“Are you accusing me of cheating?” said
Jack getting to his feet, with a grim look on his face.
“I certainly am,” replied Lane, as he
stood up to face Jack. “I saw you swap the card with the one up your
sleeve.”
“Me! Cheat? I won’t take any insult
like that from some stuck up fool of an officer,” growled Jack, throwing
the cards down, and pushing the table over.
On hearing the commotion Dorothy came to
see what had happened. With her hands firmly on her hips, she asked,
“What do yer think your doing breaking the furniture, ay Street?”
“He,” said Jack pointing to Lane,
“Accused me of cheating and called me a coward. You can’t expect me to
sit back and take that kind of insult do you?”
“Madam I w-,” started the Lieutenant,
before being interrupted by Dorothy.
“I won’t have brawling in the Red
Rose. If you have a quarrel you can take it outside,” she said,
opening the back door that led to the ally, which ran beside the inn.
“Don’t be too hasty, Street,” warned
Kitt.
“Yes, why don’t you listen to your
friend and leave it alone, like the coward you are,” said Lane with a
sneer.
“That’s it fella’,” growled Jack,
grabbing hold of the lieutenant by his lapels, “You’re asking for it
now.”
“Oh my, I'm trembling with fear at your
empty threats,” taunted Lane.
“I said if you want to fight GET OUT!”
shouted Dorothy. Both men decided to do as she said. The lieutenant picked
up his cloak before following Jack out the door, which she slammed shut
behind them.
***
“All right then put ‘em up,” demanded
Jack, holding his fists up, “You picked the wrong person to fight with.
I'm a bare knuckle boxing champion I am.”
“Really Mr Street can’t we come to an
arrangement rather than resorting to such uncouth forms of fighting,”
replied Lane standing his ground.
“Whose the coward now!” shouted Jack,
taking a swing at the lieutenant, who dodged it admirably and swung a
punch back at his opponent hitting Jack on the jaw sending him reeling
back. Jack quickly got back on his feet and feigned to his left as
Lane’s second punch missed its target. Jack moved in closer and threw a
hard jab at the lieutenant’s face. It made contact with a loud crack,
and Lane fell back his head banging against the brick wall of the narrow
ally. The lieutenant slumped to the ground, a trickle of blood leaking
from the cut on his forehead.
Jack stood over him, “Get up,” he bent
down and shook Lane’s shoulder asking this time more urgently, “Come
on. Wake up.”
Jack began to panic, scared he’d
killed the lieutenant and afraid of the consequences. He stood up and
walked down to the end of the dark ally hoping maybe to find some help, a
doctor perhaps, but instead he spotted something that made him tremble.
The Press. And they were getting closer. He ran back down the ally and
tried the door, but it was stuck, locked maybe. He was cut off from his
usual bolthole. Jack looked around for something to force the door with,
but there was nothing suitable. That’s when he spied the lieutenant
still slumped against the wall and had a flash inspiration. The solution
was staring him in the face. Jack quickly replaced his dirty, yellowing
shirt, brown britches and leather waistcoat with Lanes pristine uniform
and put his grubby clothes on the unfortunate lieutenant. Then placing the
hat firmly on his head and making sure the cloak was wrapped around him
enough to disguise his features yet open to show the uniform so as not to
be targeted by the press. Jack strode out of the ally and down the road
trying to give off an air of confidence.
**************************
Chapter 2: In
which both combatants find themselves in the wrong shoes
When Lieutenant Francis
Lane came to, he noticed that other than possessing a tremendous headache,
that he was laying in a cot onboard a vessel. He instantly recognised the
unmistakable sounds and smells of the ship as it coursed along, cutting
through the waves. He slowly opened his eyes, letting out a groan as a
shot of pain raced through his head. Lane heard shuffling footsteps, then
the most hideous face appeared obscuring his view of the beams above his
cot.
“Argh!” cried out
Lane in surprise, and disgust at seeing the figure with his long unwashed
hair and disfigured face.
The man turned his head
and called out with a heavy accent, “Doctor. Y’re patients awake.”
He sniffed and wiped his nose on his grubby sleeve, muttering under his
breath, “Lost another damne crown.”
There was some more
footsteps, Lane turned his head and soon regretted it as his headache
flared up again. Approaching was a thin, grey haired old man, with a
powdered periwig perched on his head. He peered at the lieutenant through
the glasses perched on the end of his aquiline nose with an evaluating
eye.
After making a few
tutting noises, he spoke, “Yes you’re right their Scribbings. I told
you he had a strong constitution. Now pay up.”
The doctor held his hand
out expectantly. Grumbling Scribbings pulled his shoe off took a coin out
of it and placed it into the waiting palm. The doctor cringed as he took
the coin tutting, “Really now. That is most… unhygienic.” He put it
in his pocket then took out a handkerchief and furiously wiped the hand he
had taken the coin with.
“It’s the saf’s’t
place to keep me money. No one’s ever stol’ from me while I keep it in
ma shoe,” replied Scribbings looking hurt.
“Indeed. I can see why.
Go and tell the officer on watch that our patient is ready to perform his
duties,” replied the doctor, with a withering look.
Scribbings mumbled some
oath under his breath and shuffled off out of the surgeons’ cockpit.
The doctor turned to Lane
who up until now had preferred to stay quiet.
“Now do you think you
can sit up?”
“Yees,” replied Lane,
as he slowly levered himself up into a sitting position. “My head feels
like its been slammed against a wall, which it was, by that no good
cheating b-,” his sentence came to an abrupt end when he realised his
situation. Lane swung his legs over the side and got to his feet
supporting himself by grabbing hold of the cot. “I’ve got to get to my
ship. I was supposed to report aboard-. Erm what’s the date?”
“The twelfth of June
1800 …by the Gregorian calendar,” replied the doctor, as he took out a
neat pocked watch and glanced at the time, “and it’s nearly four
bells. I'm sure someone can find you your place and some task to be
getting on with.”
“I was supposed to be
there this morning,” he said ignoring the doctors’ remark, “You must
take me to the captain immediately. I must explain the situation, find
some way of joining my ship,” pleaded Lane.
“You won’t be going
anywhere, you’re in the navy now,” the doctor replied.
“But you don’t
understand, I have to get back. It’s my first commission,” replied
Lane, beginning to panic.
The doctor chuckled to
himself, and said, “I’ve heard some excuses in my time, but that takes
the biscuit.”
“Why won’t you
believe me?” asked Lane as he stood up as straight as the low ceiling
would allow and said in his best stern, officer-like voice, “I'm
Lieutenant Francis Lane of the HMS Chance and I demand to see the
captain of this vessel.”
The
doctor began to laugh, amused by Lane’s claim and the effect his mirth
was having on the fuming lieutenant. Lane’s face was going a deep red as
he tried to contain his anger and frustration.
When
the doctor finally stopped his chuckling he let out a sigh, “Oh deary,
deary me,” then wiping a tear from his eye he added, “That’s a
classic.”
“May
I ask what’s so funny?” asked Lane through gritted teeth.
“Your
already on the Chance and the lieutenant you claim to be reported
aboard early yesterday.”
“Impossible,”
Lane put his hand to his aching head, “Who could have taken my place?
And how?”
***
Jack was still
trying to figure out how he found himself aboard the HMS Chance. It
had all happened so quickly. Walking down the road away from the ally, the
officer who was accompanying of the press had ‘recognised’ Jack.
Presuming him to be Lieutenant Lane.
The
youth in officer's dress said to Jack, "The Chance is ordered to
leave
earlier than expected and the captain said that he was required to repair
to the shim immediately."
The
snotty twerp must have more connections than sense
thought
Jack, wondering who he was. He
was later to discover it was one Mr Collins, a midshipman recently of the Challenge
now of the Chance- who Jack thought must have more connections than
sense, informed Jack that the ship would be leaving earlier than expected.
Of course this meant nothing to him. He hadn’t a clue as to what
Lieutenant Lane was planning to do. Jack thought he’d blagged his way
out of trouble quite well, till only half listening to the midshipman’s
banter he agreed one to many times.
It was a surprise when
Collins said, ‘Oh then I’ll have your stuff taken to the ship
immediately.’ Which left Jack wondering why and what it was he had said
yes to. The next thing he was reporting aboard the Chance. Lieutenant
Lane had left all the relevant documents in his inside pocket and as they
said Jack was the unfortunate lieutenant everyone assumed he was, without
question Francis Lane.
Now Jack faced a
stint at sea, something he had been trying to avoid, and his prospects if
someone discovered his ruse did not bear thinking about. He did not know
how long he could fool everyone. Jack knew enough to bluff his way through
any questions for the moment, but it was putting a strain on even his
acting skills to maintain character for so long. He was constantly afraid
of slipping up and revealing his identity, and being constantly on guard
was totally draining. He was troubled by the thought that he would be
asked to read something or solve some complicated equation, a task the
practically illiterate Jack would find terribly difficult.
***
Coming Soon!
|
