Bedford Square - Anne Perry [32]
“Yes, I think I know.” Pitt recalled a dozen times when Cornwallis had hovered on the brink of candor and at the last moment retreated self-consciously. “A very private man.”
“Yeah. Well, I suppose if yer want ter be captain, yer gotta be. Make a mistake, show a weakness, an’ the sea’ll ’ave yer. Makes men ’ard, but makes ’em loyal too. An’ yer could always rely on Mr. Cornwallis. Bit stuck kind o’ by the book, ’e were, but honest to a fault.” He shook his head. “I ’member one time w’en ’e ’ad ter punish a feller wot done summink wrong, don’t rightly recall wot now. But it weren’t much, but regulations said ’e ’ad ter be lashed wi’ the cat … answered back the bo’sun or summink. Yer could tell Mr. Cornwallis din’t wanna do it. Bo’sun were a right bastard. But yer can’t break ship’s discipline or ye’re all lost.”
He twisted up his face, thinking back to the incident. “But Mr. Cornwallis, ’e made ’ard work of it. Paced the quarterdeck all by ’isself fer days, ’e did. Mad as ’ell. Then suffered like ’e were the one wot ’ad bin beat.” He took a deep breath. “Bo’sun got lost overboard an’ Mr. Cornwallis bust a gut tryin’ ter find if ’e were pushed.” He grimaced. “Never did find out, though.”
“And was he?” Pitt asked.
MacMunn grinned at Pitt over the top of his mug.
“Yeah, ’course ’e were! But we all reckoned as Mr. Cornwallis din’t really wanter know that.”
“So you didn’t tell him?”
“S’right! Good man, Mr. Cornwallis. Wouldn’t wanter make things ’ard fer ’im. An’ if ’e’d a’ know’d, ’e’d a’ ’ad the poor sod ’anged from the yardarm, no matter ’ow much ’e’d a’ felt fer ’im, an’ like ter ’ave pushed the bo’sun over ’isself.” He shook his head. “Got ’is imagination all in the wrong places. Feels for folk summink terrible, but takes everythin’ too exact, if you know wot I mean?”
“Yes, I think I do,” Pitt answered. “Would he ever take credit for another man’s act of bravery, do you think?”
MacMunn looked at him incredulously.
“More likely ’ang for another man’s crime, ’e would! ’Oo-ever said that’s both a liar and a fool. ’Oo is ’e?”
“I don’t know, but I intend to find out. Can you help me, Mr. MacMunn?”
“ ’Oo, me?”
“If you will. For example, did Captain Cornwallis have any personal enemies, people who were envious or who cherished a grudge?”
MacMunn screwed up his face, his tea forgotten. “ ’Ard ter say, if ye’re honest like. Nothin’ as I knows of, but ’oo can say wot goes on in a man’s mind w’en ’e’s passed over in the ranks, or w’en ’e ’as ter be told orff fer summink. Honest man knows it’s ’is owndoin’ … but …” He shrugged expressively.
But no matter how hard Pitt pressed, MacMunn had few practical suggestions to make, and Pitt thanked him again, and left him feeling considerably lighter in spirits, as if he had met with something essentially clean which had washed away the sense of oppression which had weighed him down after speaking with Durand. A fear inside him had eased.
The early afternoon found him in Rotherhithe with Able Seaman Lockhart, a taciturn man rather the worse for drink who gave him no information of value and seemed to remember Cornwallis as a man to be feared, but respected for his seamanship. He disliked all senior officers, and said so. It was the only subject upon which he would offer more than single-word replies.
By late afternoon, when the air was hot and still and a haze had settled over the City, the river winding below in a glittering ribbon, Pitt walked up the hill from the landing stage towards the Greenwich Naval Hospital to see the onetime ship’s surgeon, Mr. Rawlinson.
Rawlinson was busy, and Pitt had to wait in an anteroom for over half an hour, but he was reasonably comfortable and the unaccustomed sights and sounds held his interest.
When Rawlinson came he was dressed in a white shirt with the neck open and the sleeves rolled up, as if he had been hard at work, and there were bloodstains on his arms and several places on his body. He was a big man, well muscled, with a broad, amiable face.
“Bow Street police station?” he said curiously, eyeing