The Flying Squadron by Richard Woodman Page A

search of him.
    â€˜I believe you were looking for me, sir.’
    â€˜Oh, yes, but it don’t matter now. Carry on.’
    â€˜Aye, aye, sir.’
    Belchambers turned for the companionway when intuitioncaused Frey to call him back.
    â€˜What did the First Lieutenant want you for?’
    Belchambers stammered uncertainly, his eyes on the wardroom door and the sentry posted there. ‘Oh, er, er, a small . . . er, private matter, sir.’
    â€˜A private matter between you and the First Lieutenant, Mr Belchambers?’ Frey said archly. ‘You should be careful your private affairs are not capable of misconstruction . . .’
    Belchambers blushed to the roots of his hair. ‘I, er, I . . .’
    â€˜Did he win?’
    â€˜Sir . . . ?’
    â€˜Did the First Lieutenant win? I assume you had been summoned to tell him whether he had won or lost the bet you had placed for him.’
    Belchambers swallowed unhappily. ‘Sir, I was unwilling . . .’
    â€˜Don’t worry,’ said Frey, his voice suddenly sympathetic, ‘be a good fellow and just let Mr Porter know I am aware of the situation and I’ve promised a thrashing to anyone I find running a book.’ Belchambers caught the twinkle in Frey’s eye. He knew Mr Frey, he was a certainty in a shifting world. Mr Belchambers was learning that ships changed as their companies changed and though he respected Captain Drinkwater, the captain was too remote to know the miseries and petty tyrannies that midshipmen endured.
    Whilst Captain Drinkwater was unaware of Belchambers’ misery and knew nothing of the improper conduct of his first lieutenant as discovered by Mr Frey, he was troubled by the evident bad blood prevailing among his officers. There was little he could do about it, and at heart he was disinclined to make too much of it. They were bound on a specific mission, their cruise was circumscribed by the Admiralty’s special instructions and with the Royal Navy pre-eminent in the North Atlantic he privately considered it most unlikely they would see action. Not that he was complacent, it was merely that in weighing up their chances of meeting an enemy, he thought the thing unlikely. Anyway, if he was wrong,
Patrician
was a heavy ship with a weight of metal superior to most enemycruisers. Only a line-of-battle ship would out-gun her and she had the speed to escape should she encounter one.
    Nevertheless he knew that grievances, once they had taken root, inevitably blossomed into some unpleasantness or other. He would have to wait and see what the disaffection between Mr Metcalfe and his fellow officers produced. For himself, the company of Vansittart proved a welcome diversion. The younger man was pleasant enough, and well-informed; close to Government circles he gossiped readily, though Drinkwater formed the opinion that his own connections with Lord Dungarth proved something of a passport to his confidences. Vansittart knew when to hold his tongue; his present indiscretions were harmless enough.
    Mr Frey found his discovery of the secret wrestling match preoccupied his thoughts during the middle watch the following night. Metcalfe’s involvement was foolish, the more so since he had implicated Belchambers, who was otherwise an honest lad. It was clear there was nothing he himself could do, though Metcalfe’s unwise behaviour would, he felt sure, some time or another cause the first lieutenant to regret the impropriety of his conduct. Metcalfe was not easy-going enough to embroil himself with the dubious affairs of the lower deck. He had already had two men flogged for minor misdemeanours, and while Captain Drinkwater had been compelled to support his subordinate he had passed minimum sentences upon the men concerned.
    It was, Frey consoled himself, none of his business, but with that peculiar importance events assume in the small hours of the night, he