So Near So Far Read online

  “Why not? Tell him that you have had to change your plans. For that matter, you can tell him the truth.”

  “The difficulty is, sir, that wagers have been laid on the result and that my promising to take the helm has naturally affected the odds. I cannot, in fairness, go back on my word.”

  “Really, Delancey, I am disappointed in you. When so much else is at stake—a lady’s hand in marriage—a possibly distinguished career—you think that wagers in a sporting event are more important. I cannot applaud your decision and I incline to congratulate my sister-in-law on avoiding what could have proved an unfortunate connection. Good day, Captain Delancey, and do not look to this government for patronage.”

  Delancey bowed and withdrew. He paid a call next day at the Markhams’ house, asking for Mrs Farren, only to be told that she was not at home. So that, he concluded, was the end of that. His next problem was to discover the whereabouts of Fiona Sinclair. On that subject Colonel Barrington had been perfectly right. If she was not playing in London she would be playing somewhere else. Acting was her trade and she had no private means. There were theatres everywhere. Had he to visit them all? On the day after his repulse from the Markhams’ door he walked towards Printing House Square. Would someone connected with the press be able to advise him? No London newspaper, he realised, would find space to comment upon a provincial theatre. But provincial news must somehow reach London. He decided that his best plan would be to dine that day at the Cheshire Cheese, wherever that might be. It was the inn, he had been told, at which hacks and scribblers were usually to be found, and he was there in time to have the “ordinary” meal and a pint of ale. There presently sat opposite him a tall man of pale complexion with a long nose and inky fingers, who praised the steak pie and launched almost at once into an attack on the government.

  “You look to me, sir, like a seafaring man and I hardly need to tell you that this peace will be of short duration. We shall be at war again, depend upon it, within the next year or two. Why, you ask? Because, in the first place, the terms of the peace treaty would be impossible to carry out even if either side chose to observe them. Malta, you will recall, was to be restored to the Knights of the Order of St John, and who are they? The younger sons of the French and German nobility, each with an income from the family estate. The effect of the French revolution has been to sweep away these estates and all the revenues on which the Order used to depend. Nobody, sir, could restore the Order because the Knights would be penniless. So further war is inevitable. Now, when the last war ended it was the French plan to invade this country, using numberless small craft, flats and barges, to ferry their army across the Channel. This flotilla still exists and their invasion plan is already drawn up. Can it succeed? The admirals say that it cannot. I say that it can!”

  A number of other newsmen were now listening to this speech and one of them now ventured to point out that the Royal Navy was a possible obstacle.

  “Bah!” said Longnose. “The Royal Navy can be swept aside. By what force, you ask? By the use, I reply, of gunboats!”

  “What is a gunboat?” asked a timid man who had just been served with a suet pudding.

  “What is a gunboat, my friend? You do well to ask that question and all too few people know the answer. A gunboat is a large undecked vessel, propelled by oars and mounting a single cannon in the bows—a cannon, it may be, of large calibre. Now, I’ll freely admit that gunboats must be confined to coastal waters. We must not expect to meet them in mid-Atlantic. But they pose a real threat to our Navy in the Channel and on our coast. Now you will ask what we should do—and what indeed we should have done—to counter this menace?”

  Longnose looked around for a response and a young man replied: “I suppose we should build up our own gunboats to match theirs?”

  Longnose nodded approval. “Exactly, sir! We should beat them at their own game!”

  The discussion became more general and Delancey found himself in conversation with some sort of editor who sat on his right. “Our talkative friend has overlooked some facts which do not suit his argument,” said the older man. “He said nothing about the fate of a gunboat when hit!” Delancey agreed that this was a point which had been overlooked, adding “Nor did he comment upon a gunboat considered as a steady gun-platform.” They went on to talk of other matters and Mr Elton, his neighbour, turned out to be a man of intelligence.

  “Am I right, sir,” asked Delancey, “in thinking that you are connected with The Times?”

  “I have that honour,” replied Mr Elton, not without a touch of pride.

  “I wonder, then, whether you can set my mind at rest upon a matter which has often puzzled me. Not all events take place in London. There can be unexpected incidents in other places—a fire here, a murder there, the collapse of a building somewhere else. You cannot have a representative everywhere. Do you take copies, therefore, of every local newspaper, and see from them what deserves your notice?”

  “We do indeed, sir. They come in by every coach and are studied as soon as they arrive.”

  “Would someone like myself be allowed to look through the files? I am trying to discover at what provincial theatre a certain player is now appearing and must assume that local newspapers would provide the answer.”

  ”Sir, you are welcome to study these files but I fear that you may have a tedious search. Theatres these days are very numerous, plays being shown in Edinburgh and Plymouth, in Chester and Dover. You may have days of work ahead of you.”

  “I accept your kind offer, nevertheless. I am a man of leisure and not without my share of obstinacy.”

  It took Delancey a day and a half before he discovered the Yorkshire Herald with its announcement of a current play at the Theatre Royal, York; one in which Mr Charles Matthews played the male lead opposite Miss Fiona Sinclair. He knew now where the girl had gone and his first instinct was to go north at once. He changed his mind about that, however, and decided to begin the action at long range. He had in prospect this yachting event on Windermere for which he would have to prepare by a great deal of rehearsal. He would go there first, as Ravenglass and Lowther insisted, and on to York afterwards. So he now wrote Fiona a letter in which he apologised for seeking her friendship at a time when he was all but betrothed to a lady well known in London society. He hoped that he might be forgiven. She might now be assured that his relationship with the lady in question was quite at an end, that her family disapproved of his political associations and that he was now perfectly free to pay his respect to any other lady who was not herself already engaged. His affairs would presently take him to the north. Would she consent to see him if he were to visit York? Her reply, dated 24 March from York, showed that her departure from London had set him a test and that his finding where she was had gone some way towards gaining her friendship.

  Chapter Four

  “WATER NYMPH”

  DELANCEY would never have wanted it known that his stay with Sir Roger Cartnel at Aysgarth Hall, near Bowness, was his first real experience of country life as known to the nobility and gentry. He had realised at the last moment that he would be expected to bring his own servant and finally did so, engaging an idle youth called Jenkins who at any rate looked the part. Sir Roger was far from being a leading figure in society but he was Commodore of the Windermere Yacht Club and it was in this capacity that he had offered hospitality to Ravenglass, Lowther, and Delancey. Colonel Manning and two of his friends were at the Old England Inn at Bowness, next door to the Yacht Club premises. Before leaving London Delancey had heard that the schooner Peggy was already on the lake but he found on arrival that this was not entirely true. She was at Haverthwaite, having been brought ashore below Penny Bridge, and her further progress was slow. She was being manhandled on rollers by shrimp fishermen from Morecambe who were available only when prevented from fishing. Manning finally paid them extra to work on Sunday, hoping that the clergy would not come to hear of it. The total distance on rollers would not be much over four
miles but the process was tedious and they did not have the road entirely to themselves. Sir Roger provided horses for his guests and Delancey rode with the others to see Peggy for the first time on the road beyond Newby Bridge. It was there that the two opponents, Manning and Delancey, were to meet. The Colonel was a man of indeterminate age, grey-haired, sallow-faced, with a permanently sad expression. He was friendly enough, as were his two companions, Major Forest and the Honourable Mr Stephen Fitch. Peggy was mounted on a cradle which rested in turn on six wooden rollers, four supporting the schooner at any given time, the other two rolled ahead and placed in position. There were 25 men in all, supervised by Mr Waller, Sir Roger’s Water Bailiff, who had once been a sergeant in the Marines.

  “He served in America during the previous war and saw how things were done around Lake Champlain,” explained Sir Roger, and Waller certainly seemed to know what he was doing. Delancey watched the team’s progress with interest but was still more intent on Peggy herself. She was a fine boat, there could be no doubt of that, undecked but in beautiful order, covered for the time being by a tarpaulin. Her mast, sails, and cordage had gone ahead by wagon to a point near Staveley where the vessel was to be launched again.

  “I lost the toss,” said Manning, “and have to race in Lowther territory against people who know the lake.”

  “We shall need some advantage,” replied Delancey, “if we are to keep level with Peggy. And you will have two local men in your crew.”

  “I know that I am allowed two local men but I shan’t have them. My crew have worked together for four years and I should be loath to leave any of them ashore. They are at Bowness now, using a borrowed craft so as to get the feel of the lake.”

  After dinner that afternoon Sir Roger spread a map on the dining table and explained how the race would be sailed.

  ”The lake divides almost equally into north and south, Belle Island forming the narrows here opposite Bowness. The probable course is from a start line just south of Belle Island to a flag buoy which you must round opposite Town Head, up the whole length of the lake to the Waterhead flag buoy below Ambleside, and so back again to the Ben Holm flag boat which is just north of here and marks the finish.”

  “What is the total distance?” asked Delancey.

  “Eighteen miles,” replied Sir Roger. “We can do it in about two to three hours, given a fair wind. I believe the record stands at one hour and twenty-two minutes but that was under ideal conditions. We seldom race as early in the year as this, the club matches being sailed in June or July, often with a large crowd to watch the finish from the shore just north of Bowness. To race in April is to gamble on the weather but I know that you have a taste, Lord Ravenglass, for games of chance.”

  Ravenglass was a fair-haired man endowed with good looks and a large fortune, extremely well-dressed but with an inadequate supply of brains. He had been coached as a yachtsman by the Honourable Stephen Lowther (always called Tim), who was a young relative of the Earl of Lonsdale and had known Windermere since childhood. They were boon companions, these two, gamblers both and destined later to become friends of the Regent. As the older of the two, Tim took the lead and more especially on this occasion in that Water Nymph was his own dearest possession and the fastest yacht on the Lake. He had not been nearly as successful with racehorses, which made him all the keener on yachting.

  “You were saying, Sir Roger,” said Ravenglass, “that you have crowds here in summer. These are mostly visitors, I should suppose?”

  ”Well, you know what the effect of the recent war has been. Folk who would previously have gone on tour to the Rhineland and Italy were unable to land on the Continent with any safety. They made Westmoreland a substitute for the Alps. Then this fellow Wordsworth came to live at Grasmere about three years ago—”

  “But he was born here, surely?” Lowther interrupted.

  “He was born at Cockermouth in Cumberland. Then comes this other fellow Coleridge—heaven knows where he comes from—and the Lakes are made fashionable. Now I say nothing against these poets. They are not my sort but it takes all kinds of folk to make the world we know and I am as broadminded as the next man—”

  “Nobody more so,” said Lowther.

  “But I could wish that these scribblers would leave us alone and write about Ireland or the Hebrides. Perhaps, however, the peace will encourage them to live in France or Holland and lead other people to go there as well. I can’t say that the peace had made much difference as yet. Keswick is a place I hardly recognise these days!”

  “I should imagine,” said Delancey, “that Windermere is subject to sudden squalls, to gusts of wind between the hills.”

  “That is so,” replied his host, “and more especially in the spring. A storm can blow up in a matter of minutes and end as suddenly within the hour. But Tim here knows all about it and will be able to warn you.”

  “I know as much about it as anyone,” said Lowther, “but will be just as surprised as a stranger when the yacht is suddenly on her beam ends. One needs to be alert, by God!”

  “It looks to me,” said Delancey, “as if you will seldom have occasion to beat to windward.”

  ”Very true,” replied Lowther. “Winds are usually from the west or east, only rarely from the north or south. With a strong northerly wind you could not pass the narrows at all, not in a yacht of any size.”

  “And certainly not in Water Nymph,” Delancey agreed. “I look forward to trying her paces but Peggy looks to me a formidable opponent. She has beautiful lines and must be a pleasure to handle.”

  “Water Nymph will be in the water tomorrow,” rejoined Tim Lowther, “and she is the fastest yacht in this county. We have to win, moreover, because I can’t afford to lose. Manning is a man of wealth who dares to wager as he is said to have done. Should my yacht be beaten I shall have to borrow money at a high rate of interest. I shall be going, cap in hand, to the Jews.”

  Delancey was present when Water Nymph was launched from the slipway at Bowness and was duly impressed by her lines and by her excellent state of repair. Nor was he disappointed when he saw her with masts stepped, rigging set up, and sails bent. She was a beautiful craft and as easy to handle—and quite as fast—as he had supposed her to be. He spent a long day cruising in the upper lake with a fine breeze and returned to Bowness with a good opinion of the yacht and an enhanced opinion of his crew. Ravenglass might be amateur but Tim was skilful and the two hired men from Morecambe were very good seamen indeed. When they dropped anchor it was early evening but there was light enough to glimpse a distant sail to the south-east. Delancey raised his telescope and confirmed his first guess. Yes, it was Peggy all right and Manning was already exercising his crew near Storrs Hall. Delancey had the strong impression that the Colonel was a very good helmsman and one with considerable experience. They would see more of each other before the race took place. It was evident, moreover, that they would have the lake to themselves. As judge, Sir Roger would be afloat but in a much smaller craft, just large enough to mount a small brass swivel gun, the weapon which would start and finish the race. Delancey knew already that lakeland craft all mounted small guns. He could not imagine why but learnt presently that the object was to make an echo which would resound from the fells on either side of the lake. Even rowing boats carried a shotgun with blank cartridges and, as for Water Nymph, she normally bristled with artillery. She mounted none when racing, however, and Peggy’s armament had also, he heard, been left ashore. Watchers along the lakeside had been timing both yachts over a measured mile and the local odds were now about even. After three days of exercising in different states of wind and weather, Delancey came to the conclusion that Peggy was probably faster than Water Nymph. The odds now being offered were proof that other folk were coming to the same conclusions. There were to be three races on successive days beginning on 16 April, the winner the yacht which had the best result of three.

  The 16th began as a fine day with a south-westerly wind, the lake looking its
best with a gleam of sunshine. The two yachts were level and coming up to the line when Sir Roger fired his gun. Water Nymph, to windward, had a slight advantage over the southward run, holding nicely to the wind, but lost ground again after rounding the buoy. The two yachts were almost level off Bowness, Peggy slightly ahead at Ecclerig and still further ahead in rounding the Waterhead Buoy. It was about then that the sky darkened and the day seemed suddenly colder. Tim Lowther looked fixedly at the sky and gave it as his opinion that the wind would presently veer to the north-east. For the next half-hour the breeze was fitful, gusting from different directions and sometimes dying away to nothing. In these conditions Delancey contrived to gain ground and had even, at one time, a very slight advantage. Then the breeze steadied in the north-west and Peggy showed her speed with the wind abaft. By Elleray it was evident that the race was lost and Delancey, for one, was willing to admit that Peggy was the faster yacht. In the actual approach to the finishing line, however, the wind blew suddenly from the north-east, just as Tim had predicted. Seeing the darkening line on the water and warned by a shout from Tim Lowther, Delancey put the helm over and presented the yacht’s stern to the coming gust of wind. Water Nymph then came round again on course but Ravenglass pointed excitedly toward Peggy. Her jib had carried away as she heeled before the wind. To bend the jib again was a matter of minutes for Peggy’s experienced crew but the mishap could not have happened at a worse time. There was frantic activity as Water Nymph drew ahead and then, after about three minutes, Peggy was back in the race and overhauling her opponent. It was all too late, however, for Water Nymph was nearly at the finishing line. A gun boomed and the race was over, with Water Nymph the winner by a very narrow margin.

  At dinner that day Delancey had to confess that the final result was not in doubt.

  “There can be no question about it,” he concluded. “The Manx yacht is the faster of the two. We won today by sheer luck and through Lowther’s warning me about the coming change of wind direction. It is too much to expect that to happen again.”