picking a better name for herself, and she was smiling as she hurried Juba from the cabin with a gentle slap and a push.
Clinton must have had some idea of the exchange, for he was buttoning his shirt as she turned back to him, and looking embarrassed.
She drew a deep breath, folded her arms and began. Captain Codrington, I have thought unceasingly of the great honour you have done me by inviting me to be your wife. 'However, Clinton forestalled her, and she faltered, the prepared speech forgotten, for her next word would indeed have been, 'However'. Miss Ballantyne, I mean Doctor Ballantyne, I would rather you did not say the rest of it. ' His face was pale and intense, he really was beautiful now, she thought, with a pang. 'That way I can still cherish hope.'
She shook her head vehemently, but he lifted a hand. I have come to realize that you have a duty, to your father and the poor unhappy people of this land. I understand and deeply admire that.'
Robyn felt her heart go out to him, he was so good and so perceptive to have understood that about her.
However, I feel sure that one day, you and I shall. .
She wanted to spare him pain.
Captain, she began, shaking her head again. No, he said. 'Nothing you say will ever make me abandon hope. I am a very patient man, and I realize that now is not the time. But I know in the depths of my soul that our destiny binds us together, even if I must wait ten or fifty years.'
A time-span of that magnitude no longer frightened Robyn. She relaxed visibly. I love you, my dear Doctor Ballantyne, nothing will ever alter that, and in the meantime I ask only your good opinion, and friendship. 'You have both, she said, with truth and relief. It had een a great deal easier than she had expected, yet strange that a shadow of regret lingered.
There was no further opportunity to speak privately, for Clinton was fully occupied with bringing Black joke into the treacherous channel, with its shifting banks and uncharted shoals guarding the mouth. The channel meandered twenty miles through the mangrove forests to the port of Quelimane on the northern bank.
The heat in the delta was rendered scarcely bearable by the humid qeffluxion of mud and rotting vegetation that rose from the mangrove forests. The weird shapes of the mangroves fascinated Robyn and she stood by the rail and watched them slide past. Each tree stood clear of the slick chocolate-coloured mud on its pyramid of roots, like the multiple legs of a grotesque insect reaching up to join the thick pulpy stern which in turn extended upwards to the roof of poisonous green foliage.
Amongst the roots skittered the purple and yellow fiddler crabs, each of them holding aloft a single disproportionably huge claw, and waving it in menace or ponderous greeting at the passing vessel.
Black joke's wake spread across the channel, flopping wavelets on the mud banks and startling the small green and purple night herons into laborious flight.
Around a bend in the channel the decaying buildings of Quelimane came into view, dominated by the square towers of the stucco church. The plaster was falling away in unsightly chunks and the whitewash was streaked and splotched with grey and green mould, like a ripening cheese.
This port had once been one of the most busy slave ports on the entire African coast. The Zambezi river had acted as a highway to the interior for the slave-masters, and the Shire river, its major tributary, led directly to Lake Marawi and the highlands which had been the mother lode from which hundreds and thousands of black slaves had poured.
When the Portuguese, under British pressure, had signed the Brussels Agreement, the barracoons at Quelimane and Lourenq Marques and Mozambique Island had been closed down. However, the slaving dhow that Black Joke had intercepted proved that the abominable trade still flourished covertly along the Portuguese coast. That was typical of these people, Clinton Codrington thought.
Clinton curled his lip with distaste. In the many hundred years since their great navigators had opened up this coast, the Portuguese had clung to the narrow unhealthy strip of the littoral, making only one halfhearted effort to penetrate the interior and since then, lying here like their disintegrating buildings and crumbling empire, content with the bribes and extortions of petty officialdom and their seraglios of women, tolerant of any crimes or evil as long as there was a little dash or profit in it.
As he worked Black Joke in towards the quay, he could see them gathering already, gaudy vultures, in their fool's motley of uniform, tarnished gold braid and ornate swords sported by even the lowliest customs officer.
There would be endless forms and declarations unless he was firm, and always the open palm and the leering wink. Well, this time there would be none of that. This was a ship of the Queen's Navy. Mr. Denham, Clinton called sharply, 'issue pistols and cutlasses to the anchor watch, and nobody comes aboard without the express permission of the officer of the watch. He turned away to shake hands briefly with Zouga; they had found little in common during the voyage and the parting was cool.
Never thank you enough, sir, ' said Zouga briskly. Only my duty, Major. ' But already Zouga's eyes were following Sergeant Cheroot as he assembled his men on the foredeck. They were in full marching order, eager to be ashore after the tedious voyage.
I must see to my men, Captain, Zouga excused himself and hurried forward.
Clinton turned to Robyn and looked steadily into her green eyes.
I beg a small token of remembrance, ' he said quietly.
In response to his request she reached up and took one of the cheap paste earrings from her lobe. As they shook hands, she slipped the little ornament into his palm, and he touched it briefly to his lips before slipping it into his pocket. I will wait, ' he repeated, 'ten or even fifty years.'
Black Joke had come up-channel on the flood, unloaded the mountainous stores of the Ballantyne Africa Expedition on to the stone quay during slack water, and two hours later thrown off her mooring ropes and swung sharply across the ebb, pointing her high bows down the channel.
From his position on the quarterdeck, Clinton Codrington stared across the widening gap at the slim, tall figure in long skirts standing on the very edge of the quay.
Beyond her, her brother did not look up from his lists as he checked the stores and equipment. Sergeant Cheroot stood armed guard with his little pug-featured Hottentots, and the idlers and watchers kept well clear.
