Stand Into Danger (21 page)

Dumaresq watched each in turn, like a hunter. “It is our purpose. But some duties are more rewarding than others.” He turned away. “To see Garrick taken is all I ask, damn him. Too many have died because of his greed, too many widows are left by his ambitions.”

Palliser cupped his hands. “Take in the forecourse.”

Dumaresq's calm was slipping as he snapped, “God damn his eyes, Mr Palliser, what
is
Lovelace doing up there?”

Palliser peered up at the mainmast cross-trees where Midshipman Lovelace sat precariously balanced like a monkey on a stick.

Egmont forgot Bolitho and his wife as he picked upon the captain's changed mood.

“What is worrying you?”

Dumaresq clasped and unclasped his strong fingers across the tails of his coat.

“I am not worried, sir. Merely
interested.
”

Midshipman Lovelace came sliding down a backstay and landed on the deck with a thud. He swallowed hard, visibly shrinking under their combined stares.

Dumaresq asked mildly, “Must we wait, Mr Lovelace? Or is it something so stupendous you cannot bear to call it from the mast-head?”

Lovelace stammered, “B-but, sir, you told me to c-count the vessels yonder?” He tried again. “There is only one man-o'-war, sir, a large frigate.”

Dumaresq took a few paces back and forth to clear his thoughts. “One, y'say?” He looked at Palliser. “The squadron must have been called elsewhere. East to Antigua to reinforce the admiral perhaps.”

Palliser said, “There may be a senior officer here, sir. In the frigate maybe.” He kept his face immobile. Dumaresq would not take kindly to being outranked by another captain.

Bolitho did not care. He moved closer to the quarterdeck rail and saw her put her hand on it.

Dumaresq shouted, “Where is that damned quill-pusher? Send for Spillane at once!”

To Egmont he said, “I must discuss a few trivial matters before we anchor. Please come with me.”

Bolitho stood beside her and briefly touched her hand with his. He felt her tense, as if she shared his pain, and said quietly, “My love. I am in hell.”

She did not turn to look at him but said, “You promised to help me.
Please,
I will shame us both if you continue.” Then she did look at him, her eyes steady but just too bright as she said, “It is all wasted if you are to be unhappy and your life spoiled because of something we both value.”

Palliser yelled, “Mr Vallance! Stand by to fire the salute!”

Men ran to their stations while the ship, indifferent to all of them, continued into the bay.

Bolitho took her arm and guided her to the companionway. “There will be a lot of smoke and dust directly. You had best go below until we are closer inshore.” How was it possible to speak so calmly on unimportant matters? He added, “I must talk with you again.”

But she had already gone down into the shadows.

Bolitho walked forward again and saw Stockdale watching from the starboard gangway. His gun was not required for the salute, but he was showing his usual interest.

Bolitho said, “It seems I am at a loss when it comes to finding the right words, Stockdale. How can I thank you for what you did? If I offered you reward, I suspect you would be insulted. But words are nothing for what I feel.”

Stockdale smiled. “You bein' 'ere for us all to see is enough. One day you'll be a captain, sir, an' grateful I'll be. You'll be needin' a good cox'n then.” He nodded towards Johns, the captain's own coxswain, smart and aloof in his gilt-buttoned jacket and striped trousers. “Like old Dick yonder. A man o' leisure!” It seemed to amuse him greatly, but the rest of his words were lost in the controlled crash of gun-fire.

Palliser waited for the fort by the anchorage to reply and then said, “Mr Lovelace was right about the frigate.” He lowered the telescope and glanced grimly at Bolitho. “But he failed to note that she is wearing Spanish colours. I doubt that the captain will be greatly amused!”

Bulkley said anxiously, “I think you should rest. You have been on deck for hours. What are you trying to do, kill yourself?”

Bolitho watched the clustered buildings around the anchorage, the two forts, each well placed at either side like squat sentinels.

“I'm sorry. I was thinking only of myself.” He reached up and gingerly touched the scar. Perhaps it would be completely healed, or partially covered by his hair before he saw his mother again. What with her husband returning home with one arm, and now a disfigured son, she would have more than enough to face up to.

He said, “You did so much for me, too.”

“Too?”
The surgeon's eyes twinkled behind his glasses. “I think I understand.”

“Mr Bolitho!” Palliser appeared through the companionway. “Are you fit enough to go ashore?”

“I must protest!” Bulkley pushed forward. “He is barely able to stand up!”

Palliser stood facing them, his hands on his hips. Ever since the anchor had been dropped and the boats put down alongside, he had been called from one crisis to another, but mostly down to the great cabin. Dumaresq was extremely angry, if the loudness of his voice was anything to go by, and Palliser was in no mood for argument.

“Let
him
decide, dammit!” He looked at Bolitho. “I am shorthanded, but for some reason the captain requires you to go ashore with him. Remember our first meeting? I need every officer and man
working
in my ship. No matter how you feel, you keep going. Until you drop, or are incapable of movement, you are still one of my lieutenants, is that plain?”

Bolitho nodded, somehow glad of Palliser's temper. “I'm ready.”

“Good. Then get changed.” As an afterthought he said, “You may
carry
your hat.”

Bulkley watched him stride away and exploded angrily, “He is beyond understanding! By God, Richard, if you feel unsteady I will demand that you stay aboard! Young Stephen can take your place.”

Bolitho made to shake his head but winced as the pain stabbed back at him.

“I shall be all right. But thank you.” He walked to the companionway adding, “I suspect there is some special reason for taking me with him.”

Bulkley nodded. “You are getting to know our captain very well, Richard. He never acts without a purpose, never offers a guinea which will not profit him two!”

He sighed. “But the thought of leaving his service is worse than tolerating his insults. Life would seem very dull after Dumaresq's command!”

It was almost evening by the time Dumaresq decided to go ashore. He had sent Colpoys with a letter of introduction to the governor's house, but when the marine returned he had told him that there was only the acting-governor in residence.

Dumaresq had commented sharply, “Not another Rio, I trust?”

Now, in the captain's gig, with a hint of cooler air to make the journey bearable, Dumaresq sat as before, with both hands gripped around his sword, his eyes fixed on the land.

Bolitho sat beside him, his determination to withstand the pain and the recurring dizziness making him break out in a sweat. He concentrated on the anchored vessels and the comings and goings of
Destiny
's boats as they ferried the sick and wounded ashore and returned already loaded with stores for the purser.

Dumaresq said suddenly, “A mite to starboard, Johns.”

The coxswain did not even blink but moved the tiller accordingly. From one corner of his mouth he muttered, “You'll get a good look at 'er presently, sir.”

Dumaresq nudged Bolitho sharply with an elbow. “He's a rascal, eh? Knows my mind better than I!”

Bolitho watched the anchored Spaniard as she towered above them. She was more like a cut-down fourth-rate than a frigate, he thought. Old, with elaborately carved and gilded gingerbread around her stern and cabin windows, but well-maintained, with an appearance of efficiency which was rare in a Spanish ship.

Dumaresq was thinking the same and murmured, “The
San Augustin.
She's no local relic from La Guaira or Porto Bello. Cadiz or Algeciras is my guess.”

“Will that make a difference, sir?”

Dumaresq turned on him angrily, and just as swiftly let his temper subside.

“I am bad company. After what you have suffered under my command, I can spare you civility at least.” He watched the other vessel with professional interest, as Stockdale had studied the other gun crews. “Forty-four guns at least.” He seemed to recall Bolitho's question. “It might. Weeks and months ago there was a secret. The Dons suspected there was evidence available as to the
Asturias
's lost treasure. Now it seems they have more than mere suspicions.
San Augustin
is here to mime
Destiny
's role and to prevent His Most Catholic Majesty's displeasure if we do not share our confidences.” He gave a grim smile. “We shall see about that. I have no doubt that a dozen telescopes are watching us, so look no more. Let them worry about us.”

Dumaresq noticed that the landing-place was only fifty yards away and said, “I brought you with me so that the governor would see your scar. It is better proof than anything else that we are working for our masters in Admiralty. Nobody here need know you gained so distinguished a wound whilst seeking water for our thirsty people!”

A small group was waiting for the boat to manoeuvre to the landing-place, some red uniforms amongst them. It was always the same. News from England. Word from the country which had sent them this far, anything which might maintain their precious contact.

Bolitho asked, “Will the Egmonts be allowed to go, sir?” He lifted his chin, surprised at his own impudence as Dumaresq's gaze fastened on him. “I should like to know, sir.”

Dumaresq studied him gravely for several seconds. “It is important to you, I can see that.” He untangled the sword from between his legs in readiness for climbing ashore. Then he said bluntly, “She is a very desirable woman, I'll not argue.” He stood up and straightened his hat with elaborate care. “You need not gape like that. I'm neither completely blind nor insensitive, you know. If I'm anything, it's most likely envious.” He clapped him on the shoulder. “Now, let's deal with the acting-governor of this seat of empire, Sir Jason Fitzpatrick, and afterwards I may consider your problem!”

Grasping his hat in one hand, and supporting his sword in the other, Bolitho followed the captain out of the boat. Dumaresq's casual acceptance of his feelings for another man's wife had completely taken the wind from his sails. No wonder the surgeon could not face the prospect of a quieter and more predictable master.

A youthful captain from the garrison touched his hat and then exclaimed, “My God, gentlemen, that is a bad wound!”

Dumaresq glanced at Bolitho's discomfort and might even have winked.

“The price of duty.” He gave a solemn sigh. “It makes itself felt in many ways.”

12 PLACE OF
S
AFETY

SIR Jason Fitzpatrick, the acting-governor of St Christopher's, looked like a man who lived life to excess. Aged about forty, he was extremely fat, and his face, which had seemingly defied the sun over the years, was brick-red.

As Bolitho followed Dumaresq across a beautifully tiled entrance hall and into a low-ceilinged room, he saw plenty of evidence of Fitzpatrick's occupation. There were trays of bottles set around, with neat ranks of finely cut glasses close to hand, presumably ready for the acting-governor to slake his thirst with the shortest possible delay.

Fitzpatrick said, “Be seated, gentlemen. We will taste some of my claret. It should be suitable, although in this damnable climate, who can say?”

He had a throaty voice, and incredibly small eyes which were almost hidden in the folds of his face.

Bolitho noticed the tiny eyes more than anything. They moved all the time, as if quite independent of the heavy frame which supported them. Dumaresq had told him on the way from the water-front that Fitzpatrick was a rich plantation owner, with other properties on the neighbouring island of Nevis.

“Here, master.”

Bolitho turned and felt his stomach contract. A big Negro in red jacket and loose white trousers was holding a tray towards him. Bolitho did not see the tray or the glasses upon it. In his mind's eye he could picture that other black face, hear the terrible scream of triumph as he had hacked him down with a seaman's cutlass.

He took a glass and nodded his thanks while his breathing returned to normal.

Dumaresq was saying, “By the authority entrusted in me, I am ordered to complete this investigation without further delay, Sir Jason. I have the written statements required, and would like you to furnish me with Garrick's whereabouts.”

Fitzpatrick played with the stem of his glass, his eyes flitting rapidly round the room.

“Ah, Captain, you are in a great hurry. You see, the governor is absent. He was stricken with fever some months back and returned to England aboard an Indiaman. He may be on his way back by now. Communications are very poor, we are hard put to get our mails on time with all these wretched pirates on the rampage. Honest craft sail in fear of their lives. It is a pity their lordships of Admiralty do not put their minds to
that.
”

Dumaresq was unmoved. “I had hoped that a flag-officer would be here.”

“As I explained, Captain, the governor is away, otherwise . . .”

“Otherwise there'd be no damned Spaniard anchored here, I'm certain of that!”

Fitzpatrick forced a smile. “We are not at war with Spain. The
San Augustin
comes in peace. She is commanded by
Capitán de Navio
Don Carlos Quintana. A most senior and personable captain, who is also entrusted with his country's authority.” He leaned back, obviously pleased with his advantage. “After all, what evidence do you really have? The statement of a man who died before he could be brought to justice, the sworn testimony of a renegade who is so eager to save his own skin he will say anything.”

Dumaresq tried to hide the bitterness as he answered, “My clerk was carrying further documents of proof when he was murdered in Madeira.”

“Indeed I am genuinely sorry about that, Captain. But to cast a slur against the name of so influential a gentleman as Sir Piers Garrick without evidence would be a criminal act in itself.” He smiled complacently. “May I suggest we await instructions from London? You may send your despatches on the next home-bound vessel, which will probably be from Barbados. You could anchor there and be ready to act when so instructed. By then, the governor may have returned, and the squadron too, so that you will have senior naval authority to uphold your actions.”

Dumaresq snapped angrily, “That could take months. By then, the bird will have flown.”

“Forgive my lack of enthusiasm. As I told Don Carlos, it all happened thirty years ago, so why this sudden interest?”

“Garrick was a felon first, a traitor second. You complain about the flocks of pirates who roam the Main and the Caribbean, who sack towns and plunder the ships of rich traders, but do you ever wonder where they find their own vessels? Like the
Heloise,
which was new from a British yard, sent out here with a passage crew, and for what?”

Bolitho listened entranced. He had expected Fitzpatrick to leap to his feet and summon the garrison commander. To plan with Dumaresq how they would seek and detain the elusive Garrick, and
then
wait for further orders.

Fitzpatrick spread his red hands apologetically. “It is not within my province to take such action, Captain. I am in a temporary capacity, and would receive no thanks for putting a match to the powder-keg. You must of course do as you think fit. You say you had hoped for a flag-officer to be here? No doubt to take the responsibility and decision from
your
shoulders?” When Dumaresq remained silent he continued calmly, “So do not pour scorn on me for not wishing to act unsupported.”

Bolitho was astounded. The Admiralty in London, some senior officers of the fleet, even the government of King George had been involved in getting the
Destiny
here. Dumaresq had worked without respite from the moment he had been told of his assignment, and must have spent many long hours in the privacy of his cabin pondering on his own interpretation of his scanty collection of clues.

And now, because there was no naval authority to back his most important decision, he would either have to kick his heels and wait for orders to arrive from elsewhere, or take it upon himself. At the age of twenty-eight, Dumaresq was the senior naval officer in St Christopher's, and Bolitho found it impossible to see how he could proceed with a course of action which might easily destroy him.

Dumaresq said wearily, “Tell me what you know of Garrick.”

“Virtually nothing. It is true he has shipping interests, and has taken delivery of several small vessels over the months. He is a very rich man, and I understand he intends to continue trading with the French in Martinique, with a view to extending commerce elsewhere.”

Dumaresq stood up. “I must return to my ship.” He did not look at Bolitho. “I would take it kindly if you would accommodate my third lieutenant who has been wounded, and all to no good purpose, it now appears.”

Fitzpatrick lifted his bulk unsteadily. “I'd be happy to do that.” He tried to hide his relief. Dumaresq was obviously going to take the easier course.

Dumaresq silenced Bolitho's unspoken protest. “I'll send some
servants
to care for your wants.” He nodded to the acting-governor. “I shall return when I have spoken with the
San Augustin
's captain.”

Outside the building, his features hidden in the gloom, Dumaresq gave vent to his true feelings. “That bloody hound! He's in it up to the neck! Thinks I'll stay anchored and be a good little boy, does he? God damn his poxy face, I'll see him in hell first!”

“
Must
I stay here, sir?”

“For the present. I'll detail some stout hands to join you. I don't trust that Fitzpatrick. He's a local landowner, and probably as thick as thieves with every smuggler and slaver in the Caribbean. Play the innocent with me, would he? By God, I'll wager he knows how many new vessels have fetched up here to await Garrick's orders.”

Bolitho asked, “Is he still a pirate, sir?”

Dumaresq grinned in the darkness. “Worse. I believe he is directly involved with supplying arms and well-found vessels for use against us in the north.”

“America, sir?”

“Eventually, and further still if those damned renegades have their way. Do you think the French will rest until they have re-kindled the fires? We kicked them out of Canada and their Caribbean possessions. Did you imagine they'd put forgiveness at the top of their list?”

Bolitho had often heard talk of the unrest in the American colony which had followed the Seven Years War. There had been several serious incidents, but the prospect of open rebellion had been regarded by even the most influential newspaper as bluster.

“All these years Garrick has been working and scheming, using his stolen booty to best advantage. He sees himself as a leader if a rebellion comes, and those in power who believe otherwise are deluding themselves. I have had plenty of time to mull over Garrick's affairs, and the cruel unfairness which made him rich and powerful and left my father an impoverished cripple.”

Bolitho watched the gig approaching through the darkness, the oars very white against the water. So Dumaresq had already decided. He should have guessed, after what he had seen and learned of the man.

Dumaresq said suddenly, “Egmont and his wife will also be landed shortly. They are outwardly under Fitzpatrick's care, but post a guard for your own satisfaction. I want Fitzpatrick to know he is directly implicated should there be any attempt at treachery.”

“You think Egmont is still in danger, sir?”

Dumaresq waved his hand towards the small residency. “Here is a place of safety. I'll not have Egmont on the run again with some mad scheme of his own. There are too many who might want him dead. After I have dealt with Garrick, he can do as he damn well pleases. The quicker the better.”

“I see, sir.”

Dumaresq signalled to his coxswain and then chuckled. “I doubt that. But keep your ears open, as I believe things will begin to move very shortly.”

Bolitho watched him climb into the gig and then retraced his steps to the residency.

Did Dumaresq care what happened to Egmont and his wife? Or, like the hunter he was, did he merely see them as bait for his trap?

There were two or three small dwellings set well apart from the residency, and which were normally used for visiting officials or militia officers and their families.

Bolitho assumed that these visitors were rare, and when they came were prepared to supply their own comforts. The building allotted to him was little more than the size of a room. The frames around the shutters were pitted with holes, made by a tireless army of insects, he thought. Palms tapped against the roof and walls, and he guessed that in any heavy rainstorm the whole place would leak like a sieve.

He sat gingerly on a large, hand-carved bed and trimmed a lantern. More insects buzzed and threw themselves at the hot glass, and he pitied the less fortunate people on the island if the governor himself could be struck down by fever.

Planks creaked outside the loosely fitting door and Stockdale peered in at him. With six other men, he had come ashore, to keep a weather-eye on things, as he put it.

He wheezed, “All posted, sir. We'll work watch an' watch. Josh Little will take the first one.” He leaned against the door and Bolitho heard it groan in protest. “I've put two 'ands near the other place. It's quiet enough.”

Bolitho thought of the way she had looked at him as she and her husband had been hurried into the next dwelling by some of the governor's servants. She had appeared worried, distressed by the sudden change of events. Egmont was said to have friends in Basseterre, but instead of being released to go to them, he was still a guest. A prisoner, more likely.

Bolitho said, “Get some sleep.” He touched the scar and grimaced. “I feel as if it happened today.”

Stockdale grinned. “Neat bit o' work, sir. Lucky we've a good sawbones!”

He strolled out of the door, and Bolitho heard him whistling softly as he found his own place to stretch out. Sailors could sleep anywhere.

Bolitho lay back, his hands behind his head, as he stared up at the shadows above the lantern's small glow.

It was all a waste. Garrick had gone from the island, or that was what he had heard. He must be better informed than Dumaresq had believed. He would be laughing now, thinking of the frigate and her unwanted Spanish consort lying baffled at anchor while he . . .

Bolitho sat up with a jerk, reaching out for his pistol, as the planks outside the door squeaked again.

He watched the handle drop, and could feel his heart pounding against his ribs as he measured the distance across the room and wondered if he could get to his feet in time to defend himself.

The door opened a few inches and he saw her small hand around its edge.

He was off the bed in seconds, and as he opened the door he heard her gasp, “Please! Watch the light!”

For a long, confused moment they clung together, the door tightly shut behind them. There was no sound but their breathing, and Bolitho was almost afraid to speak for fear of smashing this unbelievable dream.

She said quietly, “I had to come. It was bad enough on the ship. But to know you were in here, while . . .” She looked up at him her eyes shining. “Do not despise me for my weakness.”

Bolitho held her tightly, feeling her soft body through the long pale gown, knowing they were already lost. If the world fell apart around them, nothing could spoil this moment.