Wake was astounded. How did he know that? “I was attending a dinner there, Commander. A Marine on guard duty thought I was trespassing, but he was wrong. A minor misunderstanding, that’s all.”
Laylock kept up his stare. “Yes, well, Lieutenant, I’m afraid your reputation precedes you. Of course, we have nothing around here for you to trespass upon so I’m sure they’ll be no misunderstandings at all.”
Wake didn’t like the tone. “Thank you, sir. By the way, the misunderstanding at Antigua was rectified by my captain and the governor.”
Laylock raised his eyebrows. “Oh yes, I heard about that too. Quite the story. Come on in and relax gentlemen.”
As they entered the main hall Wake saw Laporte grinning at him. “Yes, Mr. Laporte? Something funny?”
“Oh no, sir,” Laporte replied, losing the grin. “Just trying to concentrate on being on my very best behavior, sir. Representing my navy and country, and all that, sir.”
Wake caught the humor but was in no mood for it.
9
Her Majesty’s Royal Marine Light Infantry
The dinner was in a grandly paneled banquet room, larger than even the largest in Martinique. It was done in a massive Tudor style, dark wood illuminated by giant chandeliers containing hundreds of candles suspended from a ceiling thirty feet high. The heavy timbers framing the hall reminded Wake of a ship and the various coats of arms were something out of a fairytale book. Unlike all the other islands in the West Indies he had visited in his career, the stewards were second-generation white servants at the plantation and silently padded around serving the food and drinks with stoic faces.
The governor and his wife were seated in the center of the longest table Wake had ever seen, and the guests were arranged in appropriate descending rank away from them. The naval officers were near one end, which Wake was thankful for, since he was tired of the posturing expected when around the political and military elite at a social function. Commander Laylock sat across from him and next to Laporte, who had immediately taken the chair beside a charming French lady named Martineve. She was there alone and explained that her husband, the consul, was away in St. Martin. Laporte was using his basic French and making her laugh with phrases Wake couldn’t understand but hoped were polite.
The waiters were starting on the first course when a tall man in a scarlet red uniform, with the white cross-belt and insignia of a Marine, pulled out the chair to Wake’s right.
“Lieutenant Peter Sharpe Allen, Her Majesty’s Royal Marine Light Infantry, gentlemen. I presume this seat is not taken?” said Allen, using the left-tenant pronunciation that had always bewildered Wake.
“Not taken at all. Please sit down, Lieutenant,” said Laylock as he introduced the American officers.
Wake saw a glimmer of reaction when Allen heard his name, but nothing more.
“Lieutenant Allen, you are headed back aboard the Trinidad, correct?” asked Laylock.
“Yes, sir. Trinidad should be here tomorrow,” answered Allen with an easy smile. “And within a month or so I’ll be back with The Andrew in the Med. Admiral Drummond’s staff, I believe. Haven’t the foggiest what I’ll do for them.”
Wake knew that “The Andrew” was slang for the Royal Navy.
“Just what I thought,” said Laylock. “Say, I believe that you and Lieutenant Wake here will be shipmates on that voyage.”
Allen looked at Wake, his gray eyes showing no emotion as he nodded his acknowledgment. “That will make it far more tolerable then, sir. I’m disembarking at Genoa, I believe. What about you?”
“And me as well,” added Wake, wondering if it was coincidence or planned that a Royal Marine officer would be on the same ship, headed for the same area. He wanted to ask him if he had been stationed at Antigua, but thought better of it.
“Is this a routine change of duty, Lieutenant Allen?” he asked.
“Well, my West Indies duty was nearing its end, so it was not totally unexpected, Lieutenant Wake. Of course, when we Marines take the Queen’s shilling, then we must do the Queen’s bidding. I go wherever they send me.”
“Yes, we have a similar saying about Uncle Sam’s pennies.”
“I’m sure you do, Lieutenant,” observed Laylock as the French lady giggled at another Laporte attempt at her language.
The affair, which was not nearly as gay as the French one at Martinique, ended early, around nine o’clock. The local attendees filed out the door on their way home as the plantation’s overnight guests began to retire to their rooms. Wake and Laporte shared a bedroom on the third floor and as they ascended the stairs Wake saw the governor and Laylock ask several men, including Allen, into the study for cognac.
“Guess we’re not invited, sir?” said Laporte as they reached the first landing.
“No, only the Brits, evidently.”
“A big powpow, then. Just doesn’t seem like there’s much to powpow about on this island, sir.”
Wake thought about that. Laporte was right—there wasn’t much going on there. It was even more of a backwater than Antigua.
“I would imagine that they’re not talking solely about Barbados, Mr. Laporte. They’ve got a global empire that could keep them in conversation for the next hundred years.”
“Then I hope it’s going better for them out there than it is around here, sir.”
***
Laporte had to make do with a cot, but the feather mattress of the bed was decadently restful and Wake slept longer and sounder than he had for some time. Laylock and Allen joined them for a pleasing English breakfast of eggs and ham and toast, and soon the conversation evolved into sea stories from around the world. Laylock told of his service starting as a midshipman on a frigate bound for the East Indies forty years earlier and his adventures during the Opium Wars. He was now in a semi-retirement assignment and would head home for good to Yorkshire in six months.
Allen told of
