It was almost dawn when Zouga climbed wearily out of the whaler on to Black joke's deck and booted the ninth Hottentot down the forecastle ladder. He started for his own cabin, red-eyed and irritable, aching with fatigue when it occurred to him that he had not noticed Sergeant Cheroot amongst the dark figures in the whaler, and his penetrating voice and biting sarcasm had been silent on the return from the beach.
Zouga's mood was murderous as he landed once again, and picked his way through the narrow filth-choked alleys to the mud and iron shack. The woman made up four of Jan Cheroot. She was a mountain of polished dark flesh, gleaming with oil, each of her widespread thighs thicker than his waist, her great mammaries each as large as his head, and Jan Cheroot's head was buried between them as though he was drowning himself in exotic and abundant flesh so that his ecstatic cries were almost smothered.
The woman looked down at him fondly, chuckling to herself as she watched Sergeant Cheroot's upended buttocks. They were skinny and a delicate shade of buttercup yellow, but they seemed to blur with the speed of movement, and the shock waves they created were transferred into the mountain of flesh beneath him, creating ripples and waves that undulated through the woman's belly and elephantine haunches, travelling up to agitate the pendulous folds that hung from her upper arms, and at last breaking in a wobbling heaving surf of gleaming black flesh around Sergeant Cheroot's head.
On the final return to the gunboat, Sergeant Cheroot sat, a small dejected figure, in the bows of the whaler.
His post coital tristesse considerably enhanced by the buzzing in his ears and the ache in his head. Only Englishmen had the alarming habit of bunching up a hand suddenly, and then hitting with more effect than a man wielding a club or hurling a brick. Sergeant Cheroot found his respect for his new master increasing daily. You should be an example to the men, Zouga growled at him as he hoisted him up the ladder by the collar of his uniform jacket. I know that, Master, Cheroot agreed miserably.
'But I was in love.'
Are you still in love? ' Zouga demanded harshly. No, Master, with me love don't last too long, Cheroot assured him hurriedly. I am a modestly wealthy man, Clinton Codrington told Robyn seriously. 'Since my days as a midshipman I have saved as much of my pay as I did not need to live by, and of recent years I have been fortunate in the matter of prize money. This, together with the legacy of my mother, would enable me to rare very comfortably for a wife.'
They had lunched with the Portuguese Governor at his invitation and the vinho Verde that had accompanied the meal of succulent seafood and tasteless stringy beef had given Clinton a flush of courage.
Rather than returning immediately to the ship after the meal, he had suggested a tour of the principal city of the Portuguese possessions on the east coast of the African continent.
The Governor's dilapidated carriage rumbled over the rutted roads and splashed through the puddles formed by the overflow from the open sewers. A raucous flock of ragged child-beggars followed them, dancing in their dirty rags to keep pace with the bony, sway-backed mule that drew the carriage, and holding up their tiny pinkpalmed hands for alms. The sun was fierce but not as fierce as the smells.
It was not the appropriate setting for what Clinton Codrington had in mind, and with relief he handed Robyn down from the carriage, scattered the beggars by hurling a handful of copper coins down the dusty street, and hurried Robyn into the cool gloom of the Roman Catholic cathedral. The cathedral was the most magnificent building in the city, its towers and spires rising high above the hovels and shacks that surrounded it.
However, Robyn had difficulty in concentrating on Clinton's declaration in these popish surroundings, amongst the gaudy idols, saints and virgins in scarlet and gold leaf. The reek of incense and the flickering of the massed banks of candles distracted her even though what he was saying was what she wanted to hear, she wished he had chosen some other place to say it.
That very morning she had been taken by a sudden spell of vomiting, and a mild nausea persisted even now.
As a physician she knew exactly what that heralded.
Before the courtesy visit to we Portuguese Governor'smouldering palace, she had tentatively decided that she would have to take the initiative. That attack of vapours had convinced her of the urgency of the situation, and she had pondered how she could induce Clinton Codrington to stake some sort of claim to the burden she was convinced she was carrying.
When Zouga had still lived at King's Lynn with Uncle William, she had discovered a cheaply printed novel of a most disreputable type concealed amongst the military texts on Zouga's desk. From a furtive study of this publication she had learned that it was possible for a woman to seduce a man, as well as the other way around. Unfortunately, the author had not provided a detailed description of the procedures. She had not even been certain if it were possible in a carriage, or whether anything should be said during the process, but now Clinton was obviating the necessity for experiment by a straightforward declaration. Her relief was tinged with shades of disappointment, after having been forced into the decision to carry out his seduction she had found herself looking forward to the experienceNow, however, she forced herself to assume an attentive expression and, when he hesitated, to encourage him with a nod or a gesture. Even though I am without powerful friends in the service, yet my record is such that I would never expect half pay appointment, and although it might sound immodest I would confidently look forward to hoisting my own broad pennant before I am fifty years of age.'
It was typical of him that he was already thinking twenty five years ahead. It required an effort to prevent her irritation showing, for Robyn preferred to live in the present, or at least the immediately foreseeable future. I should point out that an Admiral's wife enjoys a great deal of social prestige, he went on comfortably, and her irritation flared higher. Prestige was something she had always intended to win at first hand, crusader against the slave trade, celebrated pioneer in tropical medicine, writer of admired books on African travel.
She could not contain it longer, but her voice was sweet and demure. 'A woman can have a career as well as being a wife.'
Clinton drew himself up stiffly. 'A wife's place is in the home, he intoned, and she opened her mouth, then slowly closed it again. She knew she was bargaining from weakness, and when she was silent Clinton was encouraged. 'To begin with a comfortable little house, near the harbour in Portsmouth. Of course, once there are children one would have to seek larger premises-, You would want many children? ' she asked still sweetly, but with colour mounting in her cheeks. Oh yes, indeed. One a year, and Robyn recalled those pale drabs with whom she had worked, women with brats hanging from both breasts and every limb, with another one always in the belly. She shuddered, and he was immediately concerned. Are you cold? 'No. No, please go on.'
She felt trapped, and not for the first time resented the role that her sex had forced upon her. Miss Ballantyne, Doctor Ballantyne, what I have been trying to say to you, is that I would be greatly honoured if you could find it in yourself to consent to become my wife.'
