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 Safety
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 Capitan 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 rekindled 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
