A Burial at Sea

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

“Known Mr. Billings since he were a boy in trousers, I have,” said Butterworth. “And it won’t be any of you sees to him. Uncuff him now, Lennots, do it.”

Hands raised, Lenox walked over to Billings and uncuffed him.

Billings stood and looked down the wardroom table, a warm, polished red, full of flickering light from the windows, and spat. “None of you is worth a damn. I killed ’em; I’d do it again.”

“You helped, Butterworth?” said Lenox quietly.

“Shut up.”

“How long have you been helping him?” Lenox asked. “Has he always been … this way?”

A pained look appeared on Butterworth’s face, but he only said, “Shut up,” again, and poked his gun into Lenox’s stomach. He looked at Carrow. “Get us up to a jolly boat, hey. We’ll take the Bumblebee. Else this one gets a bullet through him.”

Billings’s face was demonic. “Or I could get my penknife, Mr. Lenox. Can we make time for that anyhow, Butterworth?”

“Not now, young master. Now we must go. You come with us, Lennots. You’re to be our hostage. The rest of you sit on your bottoms and don’t breathe a word, or I’ll shoot this great toff.”

The walk to the deck seemed to take forever. Butterworth had the gun shoved into Lenox’s back, and the detective prayed that the man knew how to use it properly. An accidental shot would mean the end of his life.

“Cut the rudder,” whispered Butterworth to Billings. “Order the men away and do it.”

“I will. You have the provisions?”

“They’re with the Bumblebee.”

Billings raced ahead.

“You planned for this?” Lenox muttered, as all around them men went on with their work, oblivious.

“Ever since Master Billings rushed in, sleeves covered in blood,” whispered Butterworth. “Old Mr. Billings gave me a responsibility. Knew the boy wasn’t right.”

They were on the quarterdeck, only the two of them, seemingly in conversation, though a few men who passed by, seeing Butterworth in this unaccustomed place, gave him quizzical glances.

“You don’t have to protect him. You didn’t kill anyone.”

“Might as well have. Knew what he was capable of,” said Butterworth. He paused, then went on again, as if he felt a compulsion to explain. “The old Mr. Billings was like a father to me, you see.” He turned and looked Lenox in the eyes. “You may as well know, in fact. He was my father. I was a bastard born on the local whore. Dovie is my brother.”

Lenox’s eyes widened. “That’s why you were protecting him, then? Is that why you told me Martin was in all the cabins? And wrote on the picture Evers sent? You wanted me to come see you—so that you could mislead me!”

First Tradescant, and now Butterworth; it was the navy, he supposed, a convenient manner of disposition for unwanted children. Friends of his with bastards often put them into the guards, too.

Butterworth didn’t say anything. Suddenly the ship gave a great lurch.

“We’ve lost the rudder!” a voice shouted. “Captain!”

“Captain?” another said.

Billings was hacking off the ropes that lashed the Bumblebee to her gunwale, impatient to be off the ship. He turned toward the men on the decks, his eyes wild, breathless from exertion.

“We’re leaving now!” he said. “The three of us, aren’t we? The Lucy won’t move, and if any of you follow us in the boats we’ll shoot old Lenox here!”

There were gasps all over the deck, and then the Bumblebee fell heavily into the water. Lenox saw Carrow edging onto deck, gathering men around him.

“You first, your honourable,” said Billings, and shoved Lenox toward the gunwale. “Hope you like to row.”

They followed him down the outside of the Lucy. He had a terrible, alert feeling in his stomach, a knowledge that he might soon be dead regardless of whether he followed their directions.

They got into the Bumblebee and Billings thrust the oars at Lenox, who began to row slowly toward the direction of Africa.

Billings had a manic, wild energy now. His gentle, quiet manner had vanished. He kept looking back at the Lucy, whose rail was lined with bluejackets and officers.

It was Carrow who cried out, “Let him go! Bring him back! You can go!”

“Not likely!” Billings shouted back. He laughed. “They’ll be hours on that rudder, the fools.”

Butterworth, less delighted, merely nodded.

“You’ve been with the family a long time?” Lenox asked as he rowed, trying to keep his voice composed.

“Yes,” said Butterworth shortly.

“Why did you cut them open, Mr. Billings?” said Lenox.

“Can I put my penknife in him, Butterworth?”

“No, Master Billings,” said the steward quietly.

“Let me.”

“No. Your father wouldn’t like it.”

“Did it start early?” Lenox asked. “Small animals? Then bigger ones?”

Butterworth was silent, but Billings, whose personality had received a kind of electric jolt from his exposure, was happy to speak. “You think you know my history, Mr. Lenox?”

“I cannot think why you cut Martin and Halifax open as you did, unless deliberate cruelty gives you pleasure.”

Billings shrugged. “There were animals. I remember when I was five, and my father was trying to make a proper gentleman of me, I saw the fox torn apart. The excitement of it—the thrill of it—there were animals, you could say there were animals. Little buggers. Got them with my penknife, didn’t I?” He was jabbering. “Cut them tidily, made them neat. Got them right. My father knew. Tried to beat me for wickedness, oh, ever so hard, when he drank. Sent me to sea, hoping to fix me. I’m still the same, though. You never change.”

“Are these the first humans you’ve killed, Billings?” said Lenox, slowing the pace at which he rowed. The Lucy was getting smaller. His heart was hammering in his chest.

“Except in battle. Wasn’t any different than the cats and dogs and squirrels,” said Billings with another shrug.

“And Butterworth? You can tolerate this?”

“I can tolerate anything in my family, Mr. Lenox,” said Butterworth. “Row faster. Master Billings, water?”

“Yes.”

“Why must you call him master? He’s a man grown.”

Nobody spoke, until Butterworth said, “Faster, I told you faster. Here, give me one of the oars.”

They sat and rowed, all exchanging looks, for ten, fifteen minutes. Lenox tried to speak and Billings raised the gun. Ten more minutes, fifteen. The Lucy was getting farther and farther now, Lenox realized with a surge of panic.

“Was it because they passed you over as captain?” Lenox finally said, increasing his pace slightly.

A transformation took place in Billings. The manic liveliness of the past hour gave way to the self-possession of the first lieutenant Lenox had thought he knew. “It was a damned travesty, I can tell you that.”

“Oh?”

“Halifax wasn’t a bad sort in the wardroom. Genial enough. He had no place at the helm of a ship, however.”

“And yet he had great interest.”

Billings laughed bitterly, but he still seemed to be the better Billings, the professional man. “You might say that. His grandmother gave birth to, oh, forty admirals or thereabouts.”

“The system is unfair.”

Suddenly the mad version of Billings returned. “Let me put my penknife in him,” he said to Butterworth. “Let me, Father.”

“No,” said Butterworth. “You, row.”

Lenox rowed on. The Lucy continued to recede from view, until he could no longer distinguish between the people on board her deck.

Some part of him wanted to plead for his life now; but another, resistant part forbade it. Foolishness, if it got him killed, but then men lived and died all the time by the peculiarities of their soul, which they could never expect one another to understand.

All he could manage was, “You really ought to let me go.”

“We’re going to keep you, deal with you on land,” said Billings, eyes demonic, purposeful.

Butterworth gave him an appraising glance. “You say that now.”

“You have my word, you will not be followed,” said Lenox.

“Let me put my penknife in him!” said Billings.

“No!” roared Butterworth. “Give us your shoes and your coat, Lenox. They look comfortable.”

“Please don’t kill me,” he managed to choke out.

Butterworth shook his head, and then gave Lenox a tremendous shove into the water.

As he emerged, he heard Butterworth say, “If you can make it back, you can live. It’s a fairer bargain than many a sailor I know has had.”