The tall man in the plum-coloured coat turned to face Hector, who found himself looking into the pale eyes of Sir Henry Morgan, lieutenant governor of Jamaica.
'Lynch, did you say?' Sir Henry's voice was surprisingly thin and high pitched. He spoke with a slight slur, and Hector realised that the lieutenant governor was tipsy. He also looked very unhealthy. The whites of his eyes had a yellowish tinge, and though he must have been in his late forties, he did not carry his years well. Everything about him was gaunt — his face, shoulders and legs, yet his belly was bloated and jutted out unnaturally, straining the lower buttons of his coat. Hector wondered if Morgan was suffering from some sort of dropsy, or perhaps the effects of regular heavy drinking. But the eyes that looked him over were bright with intelligence, and speculative.
'Byndloss, did you hear that?' Morgan was speaking to his military-looking colleague, evidently a drinking companion to judge by the familiar tone. 'This young fellow is Sir Thomas's nephew. We must make him welcome to Llanrumney.'
'Didn't know Sir Thomas had any more nephews,' grunted Byndloss rudely. He too was drunk. His complexion was on its way to matching his red uniform jacket. Hector sensed a stir of unease from Coxon beside him.
'A junior branch of the family,' the buccaneer captain explained swiftly. His tone was obsequious. 'His father, Stephen, is the youngest of Sir Thomas's brothers.'
'Then how come he's not been out to visit us before? Some Lynches must think themselves too grand for us?' observed Byndloss petulantly. He took another drink from his glass, spilling a few drops down his chin.
'Don't be so prickly,' Sir Henry Morgan chided his friend.
'This is the Christmas season, a time to put aside our differences, and of course for families to get together.' Turning to Hector, who had still not said a word, he added in that high voice, 'Your family will be delighted by your arrival. I am pleased that it should have taken place under my roof.' From his greater height he looked out over his guests, and called out, 'Robert Lynch, where are you? Come and meet your cousin Hector!'
Hector could only stand helplessly, paralysed by the certain knowledge that his deception was about to be exposed in public.
There was a stir at the back of the gathering and a young man shouldered his way forward through the crowd of onlookers. Hector saw that Robert Lynch was about his own age, a round-headed, pleasant-looking fellow dressed fashionably in a brocade vest tied with a buckled girdle. His freckles and round grey-blue eyes gave him a remarkably boyish look.
'My cousin Hector, did you say?' Robert Lynch sounded eager, yet puzzled.
He stepped into the circle surrounding his host, and looked closely at Hector. He seemed baffled.
'Yes, yes. Your uncle Stephen's son ... he landed unexpectedly just this morning, with Captain Coxon.' Morgan answered, and turning to Hector asked, 'Where did you say you are from?'
For the first time at that gathering, Hector spoke. His false identity was about to be exposed, and he knew he couid no longer maintain the deception. 'There's a misunderstanding . . .' he croaked. His throat was dry from nerves.
Morgan checked, his eyes narrowed and he was about to speak, when Robert Lynch announced in astonishment, 'But I don't have an uncle. Two aunts, yes, but no Uncle Stephen. No one ever said anything about a cousin Hector.'
For a long, unpleasant moment, Sir Henry Morgan said nothing. He stared at Hector, then switched his gaze to Coxon, who was rooted to the spot. Hector and all those in earshot tensed, awaiting an outburst of rage. Instead Morgan let loose a sudden, ringing neigh of laughter. 'Captain Coxon, you've been taken in! You've swallowed the gudgeon, every last morsel. Sir Thomas's nephew indeed!' Beside him, Byndloss let out a guffaw and, waving his glass, added, 'Are you sure that he's not Sir Thomas's son and heir?'
A wave of sycophantic laughter washed around them as the crowd of onlookers joined in the mirth.
Coxon flushed crimson with embarrassment. He clenched his hands by his side and swung to glare straight at Hector. For an instant the young man thought that the buccaneer, his face working with anger, was about to strike him, but Coxon only snarled, 'You will regret this, you little swine!' and turned on his heel. Then he stalked out of the room, followed by the hoots of laughter, and someone calling out over the heads of the crowd, 'He's Sir Hector, you know.'
Like a good host, Morgan turned back to his friends who were still smirking at Coxon's humiliation, and they took up their former conversation. Pointedly, Hector was ignored. Awkwardly he stood there in his borrowed clothes, uncertain what he should do next. He feared to follow Coxon in case the buccaneer captain might be waiting for him outside the door.
While he stood there hesitating, a sharp rap on his elbow made him jump, and a female voice said playfully, 'I would very much like to meet my new cousin.' He turned to find himself looking into the mischievous smile of a young woman in a light evening cloak of turquoise satin. She was a couple of inches shorter than himself, and no more than seventeen years old. Yet the shape of her body was accentuated by a tight bodice whose low neckline was only partially covered by a lace-trimmed gorget to reveal the curves of full womanhood. Involuntarily Hector found himself reflecting that women ripened in the Jamaican climate as early and seductively as the island's exotic fruit. Her dark brown hair was arranged so that it tumbled down to her shoulders, but she had left a fringe of curls to frame the wide-set blue eyes which now regarded him with such amusement. In her hand was the fan which she had used to attract his attention. 'I am Susanna Lynch, Robert's sister,' she told him in a light, attractive voice. 'It's not often that a relation appears from nowhere.'
Hector found himself blushing. 'I'm sorry,' he began, 'I meant no disrespect. Lynch truly is my family name. The deception was forced upon me to protect myself and my friends . . .'
She interrupted him with a quick grimace. 'I don't doubt it. Captain Coxon has a reputation as a ruthless man, always eager to advance himself. In him you have made a dangerous enemy. Someone you had best avoid in future.'
'I know almost nothing about him,' Hector confessed.
'He's a ruffian. He used to consort with Henry Morgan in the days when harrying the Spanish was permitted. But that's against government policy now, largely thanks to the efforts of our "uncle".' Here she smiled teasingly. 'Men like Coxon still hang around on the fringes, waiting to snap up anything that has been overlooked. There are plenty who would help him.'
'I gather that sometimes includes Sir Henry.'
She gave him a sharp glance. 'You are quick on the uptake. I heard Morgan say that you only landed this morning in Jamaica, yet you've already sniffed out a few truths.'
'Someone told me that Sir Henry Morgan's preferences still incline towards his former buccaneering friends.'
'Indeed they do,' Susanna said casually. Hector had to admire the young woman's self-confidence, for she did not bother to drop her voice. 'Henry Morgan is still as gold-hungry as ever. But he is now on the governing council and a very powerful man. He's someone else you should be wary of.'
With every moment Hector found himself appreciating much more than Susanna Lynch's self-confidence. The way she stood before him, with her eyes boldly seeking his, left no doubt that she was deliberately calling for his attention. She was a very alluring young lady, and knew it. With a pang, Hector realised that he had never before had an opportunity to engage closely with a young woman so obviously on display. He realised that he was succumbing to her good looks and, without wishing to, falling under the spell of her provocation.