influential newspaper as bluster.
“All these years Garrick has been working and scheming, using his stolen booty to best advantage. He sees himself as a leader if a rebellion comes, and those in power who believe otherwise are deluding themselves. I have had plenty of time to mull over Garrick’s affairs, and the cruel unfairness which made him rich and powerful and left my father an impoverished cripple.”
Bolitho watched the gig approaching through the darkness, the oars very white against the water. So Dumaresq had already decided. He should have guessed, after what he had seen and learned of the man.
Dumaresq said suddenly, “Egmont and his wife will also be landed shortly. They are outwardly under Fitzpatrick’s care, but post a guard for your own satisfaction. I want Fitzpatrick to know he is directly implicated should there be any attempt at treachery.”
“You think Egmont is still in danger, sir?”
Dumaresq waved his hand towards the small residency. “Here is a place of safety. I’ll not have Egmont on the run again with some mad scheme of his own. There are too many who might want him dead. After I have dealt with Garrick, he can do as he damn well pleases. The quicker the better.”
“I see, sir.”
Dumaresq signalled to his coxswain and then chuckled. “I doubt that. But keep your ears open, as I believe things will begin to move very shortly.”
Bolitho watched him climb into the gig and then retraced his steps to the residency.
Did Dumaresq care what happened to Egmont and his wife? Or, like the hunter he was, did he merely see them as bait for his trap?
There were two or three small dwellings set well apart from the residency, and which were normally used for visiting officials or militia officers and their families.
Bolitho assumed that these visitors were rare, and when they came were prepared to supply their own comforts. The building allotted to him was little more than the size of a room. The frames around the shutters were pitted with holes, made by a tireless army of insects, he thought. Palms tapped against the roof and walls, and he guessed that in any heavy rainstorm the whole place would leak like a sieve.
He sat gingerly on a large, hand-carved bed and trimmed a lantern. More insects buzzed and threw themselves at the hot glass, and he pitied the less fortunate people on the island if the governor himself could be struck down by fever.
Planks creaked outside the loosely fitting door and Stockdale peered in at him. With six other men, he had come ashore, to keep a weather-eye on things, as he put it.
He wheezed, “All posted, sir. We’ll work watch an’ watch. Josh Little will take the first one.” He leaned against the door and Bolitho heard it groan in protest. “I’ve put two ’ands near the other place. It’s quiet enough.”
Bolitho thought of the way she had looked at him as she and her husband had been hurried into the next dwelling by some of the governor’s servants. She had appeared worried, distressed by the sudden change of events. Egmont was said to have friends in Basseterre, but instead of being released to go to them, he was still a guest. A prisoner, more likely.
Bolitho said, “Get some sleep.” He touched the scar and grimaced. “I feel as if it happened today.”
Stockdale grinned. “Neat bit o’ work, sir. Lucky we’ve a good sawbones!”
He strolled out of the door, and Bolitho heard him whistling softly as he found his own place to stretch out. Sailors could sleep anywhere.
Bolitho lay back, his hands behind his head, as he stared up at the shadows above the lantern’s small glow.
It was all a waste. Garrick had gone from the island, or that was what he had heard. He must be better informed than Dumaresq had believed. He would be laughing now, thinking of the frigate and her unwanted Spanish consort lying baffled at anchor while he…
Bolitho sat up with a jerk, reaching out for his pistol, as the planks outside the door squeaked again.
He watched the handle drop, and could feel his heart pounding against his ribs as he measured the distance across the room and wondered if he could get to his feet in time to defend himself.
The door opened a few inches and he saw her small hand around its edge.
He was off the bed in seconds, and as he opened the door he heard her gasp, “Please! Watch the light!”
For a long, confused moment they clung together, the door tightly shut behind them. There was no sound but their breathing, and Bolitho was almost afraid to speak for fear of smashing this unbelievable dream.
She said quietly, “I had to come. It was bad enough on the ship. But to know you were in here, while…” She looked up at him her eyes shining. “Do not despise me for my weakness.”
Bolitho held her tightly, feeling her soft body through the long pale gown, knowing they were already lost. If the world fell apart around them, nothing could spoil this moment.
How she had got past his sentries he could not understand, nor did he care. Then he thought of Stockdale. He should have guessed.
His hands were shaking badly as he held her shoulders and kissed her hair, her face and her throat.
She whispered, “I will help you.” She stood back from him and allowed the gown to fall to the floor. “Now hold me again.”
In the darkness, somewhere between the two small buildings, Stockdale propped his cutlass against a tree and sat down on the ground. He watched the moonlight as it touched the door he had seen open and close just an hour ago and thought about the two of them together. It was probably the lieutenant’s first time, he thought comfortably. He could have no better teacher, that was certain.
Long before dawn the girl named Aurora slipped quietly from the bed and pulled on her gown. For a while more she looked at the pale figure, now sleeping deeply, while she touched her breast as he had done. Then she stooped and kissed him lightly on the mouth. His lips tasted of salt, perhaps from her own tears. Without another glance she left the room and ran past Stockdale, seeing nothing.
Bolitho walked slowly from the doorway and stepped down on to the sun-hardened ground as if he was walking on thin glass. Although he had donned his uniform he still felt naked, could imagine their embrace, the breathtaking demands of their passion which had left him spent.
He stared at the early sunlight, at one of his guards who was watching him curiously as he leaned on a musket.
If only he had been awake when she had left him. Then they would never have parted.
Stockdale strolled to meet him. “Nothin’ to report, sir.”
He eyed Bolitho’s uncertainty with quiet satisfaction. The lieutenant was different. Lost, but alive. Confused too, but in time he would feel the strength she had given him.
Bolitho nodded. “Muster the hands.”
He went to raise his hat to his head and remembered the scar which throbbed and burned at the slightest touch. She had even made him forget about that.
Stockdale stooped down and picked up a small piece of paper which had dropped from inside the hat. He handed it over, his face expressionless.
“Can’t read meself, sir.”
Bolitho opened the paper, his eyes misty as he read her few brief words.
Dearest, I could not wait. Think of me sometimes and how it was.
Beneath it she had written, The place your captain wants is Fougeaux Island.
She had not signed her name, but he could almost hear her speaking aloud.
“You feelin’ weak, sir?”
“No.”
He re-read the small message once again. She must have carried it with her, knowing she was going to give herself to him. Knowing too that it was ending there.
Feet grated on sand and he saw Palliser striding along the path, Midshipman Merrett trotting in his wake and hard put to keep up with the lanky lieutenant.
He saw Bolitho and snapped, “All done.” He waited, his eyes wary.
Bolitho asked, “Egmont and his wife, sir. What’s happened?”
“Oh, didn’t you know? They’ve just boarded a vessel in the bay. We sent their luggage across during the night. I’d have thought you would be better informed.”
