Bolitho glanced at him guardedly. Was that last remark a show of familiarity, a testing insolence because of their shared conspiracy? Maybe Spillane was nervous, eager to get it over with.
He said, “No. Thank you for telling me.”
Bolitho stood for a long moment, his body swaying to the motion, as he went over everything Spillane had said.
Later, he was still in the wardroom, sitting in a chair, the same shirt dangling from his fingers as he stared into the shadows.
A boatswain’s mate found him and whispered, “I see you don’t need a call, sir. The watch is musterin’ now. Fair breeze up top, but another blazin’ day is my guess.”
He stood back as Bolitho pulled on his breeches and fumbled around for a clean shirt. The lieutenant was obviously half asleep still, he decided. It was a cruel waste to don any clean garment for the morning-watch. It would be a wet rag by six bells.
Bolitho followed the man on deck and relieved Midshipman Henderson with the briefest possible delay. Henderson was next in line for lieutenant’s examination and Palliser had allowed him to stand the middle-watch on his own.
The midshipman almost fled from the deck, and Bolitho could well imagine his thoughts as he tumbled into his hammock on the orlop. His first watch alone. Reliving it. What had nearly gone wrong, when he had nearly decided to rouse Palliser or the master. The feeling of triumph as Bolitho had appeared, knowing the watch was ended without mishap.
Bolitho’s men settled down in the shadows, and after checking the compass and the set of the topsails he walked towards the companionway.
Midshipman Jury crossed to the weather side and wondered when he would get his chance to stand a watch unaided. He turned and saw Bolitho moving aft by the mizzen-mast, and then blinked as another pale figure glided to meet him.
He heard the helmsmen whispering together and noticed that the boatswain’s mate of the watch had moved discreetly to the weather gangway.
“Watch your helm there!” Jury saw the seamen stiffen at the great double-wheel. Beyond them the two pale figures seemed to have merged into one.
Jury walked to the quarterdeck rail and gripped it with both hands.
To all intents he was standing his first watch unaided, he thought happily.
10. A Close Thing
UNDER topsails, forecourse and jib only, the Destiny headed slowly towards the green humpbacked island. So gentle was the breeze that her progress was a snail’s pace, an impression which grew as she approached the small ridge of land.
The masthead had sighted it the previous day, just before dusk, and throughout the night-watches until the break of dawn there had been a buzz of speculation from wardroom to messdeck.
Now, in the harsh forenoon sunlight it lay across their bows and shimmered in a low haze, as if it might vanish at any second like a mirage.
It was higher towards its centre, where thick clusters of palms and other foliage were bunched together, to leave the slopes and the tiny, crescent-shaped beaches totally devoid of cover.
“Deep six!”
The hollow chant from a leadsman in the chains reminded Bolitho of the shallows nearby, the hint of a reef lying to starboard. A few sea-birds dotted the water, and others cruised watchfully around the topgallant mastheads.
Bolitho heard Dumaresq conferring with Palliser and the master. The island was marked on the chart but apparently unclaimed. The known survey was poor, and Dumaresq was probably regretting his impulse to touch land in search for water.
But the ship was down to her last barricoes of water, and the contents were so vile that Bulkley and the purser had joined forces in another plea to the captain for him to seek a new supply. Enough at least to take them to their destination.
“By th’ mark seven!”
Gulliver tried to relax his stance as the keel glided into deeper water. The ship was still standing two cables clear of the nearest beach. If the wind rose or changed direction, Destiny might be in trouble, with no depth at all to beat free of the land and out-thrust reef.
Every man but the cook and the sick ones in Bulkley’s care was on deck or clinging to the shrouds and ratlines, strangely silent as they peered towards the little island. It was one of hundreds in the Caribbean, but the hint of fresh, drinkable water made it appear special and priceless.
“By th’ mark five!”
Dumaresq grimaced at Palliser. “Hands wear ship. Stand by to anchor, if you please.”
With her sails barely flapping in the intense heat, the frigate turned wearily on the blue water until the order to let go was yelled along the deck. The anchor splashed down, pushing great circles away from the bows and churning up pale sand from the bottom.
Once anchored the heat seemed to force into the ship still more, and as Bolitho made his way to the quarterdeck he saw Egmont and his wife standing right aft by the taffrail, sheltering beneath a canvas awning which George Durham, the sailmaker, had rigged for them.
Dumaresq was studying the island slowly and methodically with the signal midshipman’s big telescope.
He remarked, “No smoke, or signs of life. Can’t see any marks on the beach either, so there aren’t any boats on this side.” He handed the glass to Palliser. “That ridge looks promising, eh?”
Gulliver said cautiously, “Could be water there, right enough, sir.”
Dumaresq ignored him and turned instead to his two passengers. “Might be able to stretch your legs ashore before we weigh.” He chuckled.
He had addressed both of them, but Bolitho somehow knew that his words had been aimed at the woman.
He thought of that one moment when she had come on deck to see him. It had been unreal but precious. Dangerous, and all the more exciting because of it.
They had spoken very little. All through the following day Bolitho had thought about it, relived it, hung on to each moment for fear of losing something.
He had held her close to his body while the ship had ploughed into the first misty light of dawn, feeling her heart beat against his, wanting to touch her and afraid he would spoil it with his boldness. She had freed herself from his arms and had kissed him lightly on the mouth before merging with the remaining shadows to leave him alone.
And now, just to hear Dumaresq’s casual familiarity towards her, his mention of stretching her legs, was like a barb, a spur of jealousy which he had never known before.
Dumaresq broke his thoughts. “You will take a landing-party, Mr Bolitho. Determine if there is a stream or any useful rock pools. I will await your signal.”
He walked aft, and Bolitho heard him speaking again with Egmont and Aurora.
Bolitho flinched. He saw Jury watching him and imagined for an instant he had again spoken her name aloud.
Palliser snapped, “Get a move on. If there is no water, we’d best know about it quickly.”
Colpoys was standing languidly by the mizzen. “I will send some of my fellows as pickets, if you wish.”
Palliser exclaimed, “Hell’s teeth, we’re not expecting a pitched battle!”
The cutter was hoisted outboard and lowered alongside. Stockdale, now promoted to gun-captain, was already detailing some hands for the shore-party, while the boat’s coxswain supervised the loading of extra tackle for the water-barricoes should they require them.
Bolitho waited until the boat was manned and then reported to Palliser. He saw the girl watching him, the way
