The Reaper

younger than Lord McKean. You’re not married are you, Gil?”

“Er-no sir,” replied Anthony, somewhat taken aback by the admiral’s frankness.

***

Once back on Drakkar, Anthony’s officers were jubilant over the news of his being appointed commodore.

“Yer broad pendant, sir. It’s about time,” Buck said.

Anthony looked at his first lieutenant and said, “Yes, but it would have been better if I could have had a captain under me. You know you would have been my choice.”

“Aye, Cap’n, but don’t worry. White ball below the pennant or no, we’ll show ‘em. And when we’re through you’ll be flying your own flag, and that’s no error.”

Once the excitement over Anthony’s broad pennant subsided, he, Buck and the master discussed his findings on the flagship. “Those blackguards are no match for us on the open sea. However, once we’re sighted, they make for the closest island, cay, inlet, or reef where we can’t follow. According to Captain Harvey, we’ve lost two brigs. Laid their keels open on a reef trying to catch the cutthroats.”

“Amateurs,” snorted Peckham.

Anthony cut a glance at the old master. “Well, amateurs or not, we’ll need those two schooners to use, not unlike a terrier after a rabbit.”

“How will we man them, sir?” Buck asked.

“We can have the survivors off those brigs I mentioned. There’s still a few of them around. The rest, Mr. Buck, I leave up to you. I’ll expect recommendations on the morrow.”

Anthony then turned to the master. “See what you can find in the way of updated charts. I’m sure the locals will have more accurate ones than these,” Anthony said. Disgusted, he tossed his calipers on the charts laid across the table before him.

“Now I’ll leave these problems in your capable hands. I’ll see what the island has to offer in the way of officer’s uniforms on my way to meet the dock-yard commissioner.”

***

Anthony looked at the envelope with the official seal on the back. “Mr. Markham passed it along, sir,” Silas reported. “I didn’t disturb you right away as you was plotting with Mr. Buck and the master.”

“Plotting?”

“Aye, sir. Ain’t that what ‘yews was about? Plotting on how to deal with them sea devils.”

Anthony smiled at Silas’s description of his meeting with Buck and the master. “Yes, we were plotting, Silas.”

The envelope held an invitation to a reception that was being given in Drakkar’s honor. The reception was to be held at the dockyard commissioner’s residence, Commodore Gardner. Anthony had paid the commodore his official call, but not before he’d acquired his new uniforms. Gardner was a nice enough official who Anthony took a liking to immediately. He’d given his condolences on the loss of Anthony’s father.

“We were friends,” he said, stating that they were together in Hawke’s squadron in ‘59. “Your father was in command of the Cambridge 80. I had been first lieutenant on the Edgar 64. The Edgar’s captain was killed and I was given command. It rained hell that day-pure hell. It was soon after that your father was given his flag”

***

There was a slight ocean breeze blowing when Anthony Buck, and Gabe got out of the coach. The rest of the officers-except those on watch-should arrive at any time, Anthony thought. A black servant dressed in finery for the evening’s festivities opened the coach’s door for them. The ground crunched beneath their shoes. Crushed seashells, long bleached white by the sun, had been used to line the path to the elegant white house. It was set just off the coast road atop a small hill. Anthony was sure it was built here to take advantage of these little breezes that they were now enjoying. Through the wide gates and up the white steps-they were taking it all in. The residence must surely belong to some rich merchant or ship owner and was on loan to the commodore. The commodore would not likely be able to afford such a residence. Anthony was certain the commodore would pass along to the owner any lucrative Royal Navy contracts that were available, thereby making it an advantageous situation for all parties.

Roses and gardenias were everywhere, their blossoms giving off a faint odor which seemed to drape across the light breeze. Another servant, a doorman, opened a pair of large ornate doors. As the three entered the room Anthony whispered, “Watch what you drink. These island brews will put a man’s ‘arse hole over tea kettle before he knows it.” Buck and Gabe nodded their acknowledgment, as each was wide-eyed at the splendid dwelling before them.

The room was awash in music and conversation until the door was opened. The sound hushed suddenly as another servant announced, “Lord Gilbert Anthony, Knight of the Bath, commanding his majesty’s frigate Drakkar.”

Anthony suddenly felt self-conscious, as if he were on public display. However, no sooner had the introduction been given than the room was roaring again. The commodore was coming to greet him. Gabe, he noticed, had already been encircled by a group of bare shouldered young ladies. No doubt he was calculating his chance of ridding himself of some pent-up humors.

Anthony turned and whispered to Buck before the commodore reached them, “I expect all officers to be back on board by four bells on the morning watch.”

“Aye, sir,” Buck replied.

Anthony introduced Buck to Commodore Gardner, and then allowed him to wander off in search of a possible “prize” for the evening. The air in the large room was hot and humid. The noise, candles, and body heat from all the mingling guests made it almost oppressive. No wonder the ladies all had small fans and were busily waving them.

Greta, Commodore Gardner’s wife, approached her friend, Lady Deborah McKean. She had been standing in a small vestibule taking in the festivities before her, but her eyes never wandering far before they returned to the British naval captain who commanded the ship which had rescued her.

Greta, watching her friend’s gaze, volunteered, “A striking man isn’t he? Not overly handsome but he is so commanding he makes you look twice. I felt my heart skip when we were introduced.”

Touching Greta’s hand, Lady Deborah seemed to tremble.

“A touch of humors,” her friend asked.

“No, it’s just that… that, well Greta, we’ve had no secrets between you and me. I don’t want to be disloyal to the memory of Lord McKean, but I feel like… like a young girl when I’m close to Captain Anthony. I think I’ve found the man I could love.”

Greta was touched by her friend’s admission, but not surprised. She had known the marriage between Deborah and Lord McKean had been an arrangement. Greta took the glass of wine from her friend’s hand and turned her so they were facing each other.

“Deborah, you listen to me. Lord McKean was a good man, but he’s dead. Life is short and out here in the islands it’s shorter still. You deserve some happiness in your life. Go to him. Let him know how you feel. We can’t be assured of tomorrow so live it for today and to hell with the rest. Besides, some other devilish imp will get her clutches on him if you wait. Now go to him now and let him know how you feel. I’ll help arrange a discreet meeting later.”

Anthony could not for the life of him remember half of the guests the commodore introduced to him. Never had he shaken so many hands or bowed to so many ladies in one evening. Nor could he remember drinking so much. Scarcely had his glass been emptied before it was refilled, or replaced. Anthony’s officers were all being entertained like conquering heroes. Much was made of the pirates murdering Lord McKean, and Drakkar’s