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In Dangerous Company: The Dorset Boy Book 4 Page 5


  Marty saw Matai just as Blaez barked and pulled extra hard on his lead. He was propped against a wall and didn’t look in a good way at all.

  Tom and Antton went to him straight away and checked him over for wounds.

  Matai’s eyes opened and he grinned at Blaez.

  “Knew you would find me boy,” he said as the dog pushed at him with his head. Then he looked at Marty.

  “They are in that boat out there in the estuary. The one with a single mast and cabin. I followed them after they left. They thought I was dead.”

  “You damn nearly were,” Tom told him. “If this knife wound was half an inch to the left, he would have done fer you.”

  “Lucky me then,” Matai smiled.

  “You lead a merry chase.” Detective Winter said as he puffed up to them.

  Marty looked over the wall and assessed what he could see. Then he gave orders for someone to get a cart or a carriage to get Matai and Blaez back to the house.

  He sat down with his back against the wall.

  Winter made to say something, but Tom stopped him with a hand on his arm and a shake of the head.

  Marty sat there, head back, eyes closed for close to ten minutes. His eyes opened and he looked around at the men he had available to him. It was enough.

  “Detective,” he opened, “your men have found a lead that the men who kidnapped my wife and child are hiding in a warehouse about two hundred yards over there. He pointed downstream. You will carry out a raid just after dusk on it today and make a lot of noise and start a fire.”

  “But we haven’t . . .” he started to say when Tom leaned close and said.

  “It’s a diversion matey. The boss wants their eyes lookin’ in that direction.”

  “Oh! I see.”

  “The rest of us will split into two groups and will approach the boat from upstream. The tide goes out at seven o’clock.”

  “Fishin’ sculls?” John asked.

  “Punts preferably, but anything that’s really low to the water will do.”

  “On it!” replied Tom and disappeared around the corner dragging Garai with him.

  “I want a constant watch set on that boat. I want to know how many are on there, when they take a piss and which ones are moving around.”

  A chorus of ‘Aye aye skipper’ came from the rest of the team.

  Marty looked over at the Detective and said.

  “Are you still here?”

  As the sun went down and dusk settled over the estuary two dark shapes could be seen pull out from the shore a mile above where the kidnaper’s boat was moored. They looked like typical Indian fisherman’s rafts with a single man on the sculling oar at the stern. Each had a pile of nets and a single lantern suspended from a pole at the front.

  As they got to a couple of hundred yards from the moored boat, there was the sound of a commotion on shore and shooting. As they drifted down on the current slowly closing on the bow, there was an explosion and a fire lit the sky. Three men came out of the cabin and stood at the stern rail and watched the flames. They didn’t notice the rafts, or the lights go out.

  Five shapes slipped over the bow. They wore dark clothes and their faces were blackened.

  One of the men at the stern turned away from watching the fire and went forward to check the mooring rope. As he cleared the back of the cabin, he disappeared behind it with an odd jerky motion.

  The larger of the two men looked around as if he heard something but then shrugged and went back to watching the fire.

  Inside the cabin Caroline was sitting propped up on the single bunk with her young daughter in her arms. She had just got the youngster asleep when she heard a faint tapping on the bulkhead behind her head. She smiled as she tapped back.

  “What was that?” asked the man who she identified as Stinky due to his aggressive body odour.

  “What was what?” she asked back.

  “That tapping.”

  “Death watch beetle,” she replied.

  There was a thud from outside the door and a splash.

  Stinky grabbed a pistol and pointed it at her his eyes wide.

  “Smithy! Smithy!” he called, “you all right out there?”

  There was a groan from the other cot where the man she had shot as he entered her bedroom was laid out. She had shot him through the gut, and he was dying in terrible pain.

  “He needs your help,” she said, “he is in pain.”

  Stinky was obviously torn between going to find out what was going on outside and his friend.

  “Look I will help him if you want to go and check outside. I can’t get out there’s only one door.”

  “Stay there,” he said making up his mind.

  He went to the door and stuck his head out. There was a crack and he fell to the floor.

  The door opened and a familiar figure stuck his head around the jamb.

  “Hello missus,” he said.

  “Hello husband,” she replied. “Took your time.”

  “You weren’t easy to find.”

  “Are Christo and Matai alright?”

  “Matai will mend but Christo and one of the servants didn’t make it.”

  Marty stepped over and took her in his arms as she started to weep.

  She took a breath and asked.

  “Did you kill the bastards who did this?”

  “Not all of them. The leader and two,” he looked down at the wounded one, “make that three will hang for it.”

  “Smith said he was doing this to get even with you. He said you ruined his life and he was going to ruin yours,” she told him. “I think he planned to give you a ray of hope by asking for money to free me and then kill me anyway.”

  “Did he know you were pregnant?”

  “Yes, he thought that was even better.”

  Chapter 7 No Good Deed

  The judge had no hesitation in pronouncing sentence on the three survivors. The fourth died halfway through the trial.

  William Smith, Reginald Cox and Fredrick Sloan were all sentenced to death for kidnap and the murders of Christo and the Indian servant. They would hang at dawn the next day.

  By coincidence Arthur Wellesley had ridden into Bombay at the head of a brigade of cavalry the day before and he was present for the sentencing.

  Marty, Caroline, Arthur and the boys were present the next morning to witness the sentence being carried out.

  The official navy method was to hoist the condemned up by the neck, strangling the victim to death. That took about twenty minutes. The courts method was the short drop. The condemned was stood on a platform that was hinged at the back. The front was held up by a support that could be kicked away.

  If they were lucky their neck broke and they died instantaneously, if not they strangled to death. It depended on how the knot was set. If it was set to the side, under the ear then there was a 50:50 chance of the neck breaking. However, if it was set at the back the neck would not break and they would strangle.

  The three condemned were brought out, a priest walking with them. They were taken up to the platform and stood under individual hooks fixed to the ceiling.

  Marty stepped forward.

  “If the court will indulge me,” he asked, “but I made a promise to Billy Smith.”

  “And what was that my Lord?” asked the judge who was overseeing the execution.

  “That I would hang him myself if he crossed me.”

  The judge looked at the young man in front of him and saw determination in his eyes. He then looked at his wife. She just looked back at him with no emotion on her face at all.

  “Very well. It is irregular but there is no rule against it.”

  Marty took the steps up to the platform and walked over to Billy Smith.

  “You should have gone back to Réunion when you had the chance,” he said quietly as he slipped the noose over his head and tightened the knot, so it sat at the back of his head. “There,” he said, “Navy style.”

  Billy said nothing.
He was too frightened to speak.

  When all three were fitted with their halters. Marty walked down the steps and picked up the rope that removed the support. He looked up at the judge who asked the men if they had any last words. They didn’t.

  He nodded to Marty who took a big breath and let it out slowly.

  He took up the slack. ‘For what you are about to receive I am eternally grateful.’

  He jerked the rope towards him, and the support came out from under the platform.

  Billy Smith’s bladder and bowels evacuated as he dropped, and he lost consciousness six and a half minutes later. He was pronounced dead twenty minutes after that. His co-conspirators fared no better.

  Chapter 8 Pune

  Matai and Blaez had recovered nicely from their wounds and the whole team were sat on the terrace of their bungalow enjoying the evening breeze.

  It was early June 1802 and their new ship, The Caroline, had left with a cargo of top-quality tea and spices for Britain in January. She was on her way back with a cargo of fine wine and brandy. The sea trial of the new ship, an adaption of the Baltimore Clipper design, had gone so well they had commissioned two more from the same shipyard. The first was almost built and the keel of the second had been laid down.

  Caroline was very close to term in her pregnancy and was increasingly bothered by the heat and snippy.

  Marty was going through a pile of letters and newspapers that had arrived on the fast packet the evening before. A headline caught his eye and he unrolled the broadsheet to read it better.

  “Good god, they’ve only gone and done it,” he exclaimed to Caroline who was opening her letters and blurted out.

  “They signed a peace treaty with Napoleon in March!”

  “Really?” Caroline asked standing to look at the paper over his shoulder. Marty glanced at her, then at the rest of his team who were looking at him expectantly and put the paper on the table so all could read it if they were able.

  The Treaty of Amiens, as it was called, was signed on March the twenty seventh by Britain, Spain, The Batavian Republic and France. It was lauded by the government spokesman as an historic act that would finally end the conflict between Britain and France.

  “Bloody fool.” Marty grunted.

  Notable omissions in Marty’s opinion were the lack of any reference to what would happen to Belgium, Savoy and Switzerland or what would be the impact on trade with Europe.

  France got back most of the territories they had lost during the war. ‘So much for all the blood and sacrifice by the British military, bloody politicians.’ Marty thought.

  Britain kept Trinidad and Ceylon. France would leave Naples and the Papal states. Egypt would be given back to the Ottoman Empire and Malta back to the Knights of Saint John.

  There were other statements, but Marty was too depressed to read them.

  “The politicians have sold us out,” he sighed sadly and went back to reading the rest of his letters.

  One from Hood cheered him up. He told him that the initial evidence was that Napoleon was using the peace to reform and rearm his army. The down side was that the politicians had ordered the Navy and Army to reduce their numbers, setting many experienced crews and soldiers on the streets with no work. Hood predicted the war would start again in a year.

  A week later and Caroline went into labour. It was mercifully short, a matter of twenty hours and she only told Marty she hated him twice before he was unceremoniously kicked out of the bedroom so the midwife could do her work.

  A hearty wail announced the arrival of the latest addition to the Stockley clan. James Charles Stockley had arrived. He weighed in at a healthy seven pounds.

  Knowing that it would only be a matter of time before he was recalled Marty and Caroline agreed they needed to set up their trading and shipping business as soon as possible.

  They set about interviewing people who could act as their agent and run their concerns in India. They chose a middle-aged Scott, Dougal McDonnel from Dumfries, who spoke softly but had evidenced real business acumen. He would source the cargos for the ships. Spices, Silks, precious stones and tea were all on his list.

  He would be based in Bombay but would have a reach that covered the whole of India and would be free to recruit his own people. He would get a cut of the profits when the goods were sold in Britain and was very motivated.

  They also employed a factor who would take care of the import and distribution of the fine wines and brandies that were sourced by the Deal Boys from France. The Deal operation had ceased smuggling and had turned into legitimate importers for the duration of the peace, but Marty knew they were ready and willing to revert to smuggling when the peace ended.

  Setting up and establishing their import/export business kept them busy for most of the summer.

  Arthur Wellesley, Governor of Seringapatam and Mysore visited with some news.

  “Maharaja Holkar, who is not friendly towards the British, is preparing to attack Pune. He has rebelled against Daulet Rao Scindia who he calls a usurper and says he wants to free Peshwa Baji Rao from him. He has a point, as the Peshwa was put in power by the Maratha nobles led by Scindia and pretty much has to do what he is told,” Arthur was telling him as Caroline entered the room.

  “Holkar is already on the march with his army and is knocking over towns loyal to the Peshwa on his way. He is proclaiming his support for the Peshwa, but Baji Rao ordered the killing of Yashwant Rao's brother and is, understandably, not convinced Holkar has his good health at heart.”

  “Sensible man,” Marty commented.

  “Indeed, so the Peshwa has teamed up with Daulet Rao Scindia. It’s a case of its better to ally yourself to the devil you know. They are going to face the Holkar’s army at Hadapsar around the twenty-fifth or twenty-sixth of October. I don’t think they stand a chance.

  “What do you want us to do?” Caroline asked.

  “Now why would I want you to do anything?” he responded ingenuously with a sly smile.

  “Arthur you don’t just drop by for a social call and gossip,” she observed sardonically.

  Arthur laughed and responded.

  “Touché my dear.”

  “So, what do you want me to do? You aren’t telling me this for my entertainment mon amie,” Marty smiled.

  Caroline came over and sat on the arm of his chair and said coyly.

  “Marty, what on earth would Arthur want from us! Why he has the might of the Empire and East India company to call on.”

  Arthur raised an eyebrow in amusement at the teasing and snorted a laugh.

  “Well to be truthful we do have need of your special abilities.”

  He leaned forward.

  “We need to get the Peshwa out from under the thumbs of the Lords so we can get him to sign a treaty with us.”

  “And he will be in his palace at Pune after the battle?”

  “Yes, the Shaniwarwada. It’s a vast place built in the last century and is the seat of the Peshwas. It’s as much a fort as a palace. We expect them to lock the Peshwa up and hide the key once they lose to Holkar.”

  “If they do that we will know for sure where he is won’t we,” Marty observed and then asked. “Do we have the plans of the palace?”

  “No, but Ranjit has spent quite a lot of time there and can give you a detailed briefing,” Arthur responded.

  “If we can get them to lock him in his rooms. I can slip him out and get a good head start back here to Bombay before they realize he is gone.”

  “What about the locks?”

  Marty laughed.

  “Locks are not a problem. I doubt they have a lock that can hold me up for more than a few seconds.”

  “Really? How do you do that?” Arthur asked intrigued. Caroline chuckled at his naivety, stood and went to a drawer in the dresser. She returned with a Joseph Bramah padlock that was purported to be the most secure every made. She closed and locked it, gave Arthur the key and the lock to Marty.

  Marty took two pro
bes made of steel from a pouch he had in the inside pocket of his jacket. Five seconds later the lock opened, and he handed it to Arthur.

  “Good God! Nothing is safe!” he exclaimed. “Wickham told me in a letter that you and your team had ‘special skills’ but I never imagined . . . “

  Marty laughed and said, “Arthur would it affect our friendship if I told you we were experts in everything needed to achieve any mission Wickham or Hood throw at us?”

  Marty could see many thoughts and emotions pass across Arthur’s face. He knew what those old devils were up to and, in many ways, it went against his instincts as a gentleman, but he was nothing if not a pragmatist, thought he knew the young couple in front of him and understood they were loyal to the core. In the end he sighed and looked first Marty and then Caroline in the eyes.

  “You are the oddest pair I have ever come across. I know your heritage and how you came by your titles.” He held up his hand as both opened their mouths to respond. “That doesn’t bother me in the slightest, the damn aristocracy could do with an injection of new blood, but you keep surprising me with this other. . stuff. All I can say is – thank God you’re on our side.”

  He grinned at them and added, “I don’t suppose we could drink a glass of Madeira on that?”

  The wine was promptly ordered, and Arthur stood and said, “I propose a toast. To friends with many talents!”

  Two days later Marty was in his study with John Smith, Ranjit and Arthur. Ranjit was describing in as much detail as he could the layout of the Shaniwarwada, while John sketched it on a large sheet of paper. He had visited the main part of the palace many times and was able to describe the entrance and layout of the accommodation and entertainment wings. He had also visited the Peshwa in his rooms and had some idea about their layout and the route to them as well.

  Marty had sent Antton and Garai on a scouting mission to Puna to check out the routes to and from the palace. Their information would be added to the map when they returned.