The Scent of Corruption (The Fighting Sail Series Book 7) Read Online Free PDF

the new man's spine as he realised his question had overstepped the mark. Even when an officer, Ross had known that few seamen thought beyond their immediate world. He hurried to make amends. “No reason,” he said. “Other than she's fresh from dry, yet we seem to have a deal to do in putting her straight.”
    “But those dockyard mateys never were up to much,” Flint said soothingly, and the tension eased. “And since Old Jarvie started messin' with them, they gone a whole lot deeper.”
    “Aye, bent as a fiddler's arm, they were,” another seaman added. “But at least you knew where you was with them. Now they still robs you blind but no one can tell how or where.”
    The last man to speak was a round faced cheerful sort with remarkably few teeth: Ross remembered him from the previous night, but could not recall his name. He knew the words to be true, though; it was hardly two years since he himself had been supervising Wakeful 's commissioning. And he didn't need any reminding of the corrupt ways of those in power.
    “Well that's as maybe, but you still got a foredeck to caulk,” the boatswain's mate interrupted. “And the sooner you're up on deck, the sooner you'll finish. There's rain expected later, and we don't want to get all wet now, do we?”
    * * *
    T he picture was an incredibly good likeness. It had been sketched by the rector's wife in crayon but, although smartly framed and with a generous border, was still almost too small to display. It also showed his son in baby clothes, whereas John was almost a lad now, and would soon be in britches. But as Sir Richard Banks walked about the great cabin, so much larger and more comfortable than the captain's quarters in a frigate, he quickly found the ideal place. It was by the transom knee, where it would hang well enough next to the slightly more professional portrait of Sarah, his wife. He held the sketch up and nodded to himself noting, with approval, that there was even space for further pictures should it be required.
    He placed the sketch back on the already cluttered table, and peered once more into the wooden packing case. It was one of many his wife had sent down from their Hampshire home and seemed to contain mainly personal effects. Some he was familiar with, and had already accompanied him to sea for many years: others were purchased by Sarah at his request, with the remainder being small gifts apparently included on her initiative.
    He picked out his old velvet housewife, bought when he was first commissioned as a lieutenant, and laid it to one side. In it would be his tortoiseshell comb, various brushes, scissors and a somewhat bent tooth pick. Next there was a brightly polished wooden box, which must be the new razor he had requested. He opened the lid and glanced inside; there were actually seven matched blades, one for every day of the week, and each set in identical carved bone handles. They were smart, and obviously of a very high quality, but a box of razors was an unnecessary extravagance as both he, and his body servant, were perfectly capable of maintaining an edge.
    Glancing into the crate again, he scowled slightly, before bringing out a succession of small bottles. Most were hair oil, scent or other such potions and clearly Sarah's attempt at seeing he was well cared for. Banks placed them in a neat line: he had never used perfume or powder and, even though he was now a senior captain, had no intention of starting.
    At the bottom of the case was a collection of books; he picked up several and skimmed the titles before dropping them back. Novels and poetry: whatever had she been thinking of? Sarah had sailed with him in the past and really should know that diversions or amusement of any kind had no place in the life of a fighting officer.
    Then Banks remembered he had been resting for over a year, and possibly his wife now saw a different side to him. It had been his first extended time ashore both as a husband and, latterly, a