"The expression of Your Majesty's kindness is enough."
The Emperor made no mention of a flying coach which waited outside. "But paths will be smoothed for you. You have our interest," he added. He coughed a little, and reached for his handkerchief. The American was so full of vigor. Joseph knew he would not live much longer; he gave himself less than the nine years he was going to have. But he could wish passionately for a son like this man; and he had no children. He held Elise's hand tightly.
"You were kind to Madame Roche." He looked up at Barney and Barney was sure that there was a sudden twinkle in his eyes under the bushy brows. "She is very dear to me. She tells me that, after many years abroad, you wish now to return to your own country, that is so young. And you, you are so young, Captain."
"I am twenty-six. Your Majesty."
Joseph was silent a moment. He had been impressed by Barney's career, by the audacity of his last escape. He was impressed by the man himself. "When the war is over," he said, "seek our favor. Goodnight, sir."
"I appreciate Your Majesty's kindness, more than I can say."
He started to back away. The Emperor was still musing that he could use this man. "Seek our favor," he repeated.
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"Your Majesty, you are kind."
Outside, in the hall, Barney walked along at Elise's side. She stole a glance at his face. "Now that you have what you want." she said softly, "you do not know whether you want it."
Barney nodded.
"You are leaving Europe." She opened the door to the anteroom they had talked in so briefly a few moments before. Barney followed her absently. After she had closed the door, he looked at her steadily.
"I've been here so long," he said. "Perhaps I am not an American any more."
She smiled. "I think you are."
"I have not been home, except for intervals of a few months, since I was thirteen. Five years ago I bought a small house in Philadelphia."
"You are wondering if you will like it now. I think you will."
He said suddenly, "Damn it, Elise. Are you glad to see me go?" He pushed open the door into her sitting room.
A lazy fire burned in the marble fireplace, for these stone houses in Holland and Belgium held the cold over from winter, their inhabitants complained. Over the mantle hung an original Rembrandt. The delicate chairs were imported from France; the crystal candelabra from Austria. He repeated his question to her.
It suited her. It was what he was leaving. If there was corruption, it was covered with beauty and elegance and spice of sparkling wines, intrigue and the lovely French tongue.
"You are so lovely," he said. "Before I leave—Bachels will watch the door."
She shook her sleek black head. "No."
There was danger in staying with her long. It heightened his desire for her. He seized her quickly in his arms, bending her body back so he could look down at her face. He put his lips to the white throat. "Once more, Elise," he said.
Chapter 9
THE WIND WAS BLOWING STRONG. The South Carolina, new nervous maiden that she was, strained against her anchors.
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She was lying about a league from the port of Texel, outside the jurisdiction of the port. Her rigging sang loudly, waves slapped and shook her brave paint, and the wind swept over her decks and made talking almost impossible. On the quarterdeck Captain Gillon paced and watched the shore line.
In the waist, in the shelter of one of her big guns, Douglass Harris and the American painter, John Trumbull, shouted at each other. Trumbull had just come aboard, along with two other Americans. Only he had dared the deck.
"Why didn't you bring him with you?" Douglass asked.
"We couldn't find him," Trumbull roared. "He said he was going to eat six pounds of Dutch steak and comb the waterfront for his cronies."
A cry from the lookout echoed over the deck. Aloft, he leaned over and shouted down to Gillon, "That's Captain Barney, sir! They just signaled with an oar."
Douglass caught her cloak and stood on tiptoe. Over the choppy water she could see a boat poised on the top of a wave. It disappeared and then rose into sight again.
Meanwhile Captain Gillon was losing no time. The "South Carolina" could not lie at anchor much longer, not with this increasing wind. He snapped a command to his first officer, who in turn bellowed, "All hands on deck!" which was rather unnecessary since most of the watch were already on deck or aloft. Nevertheless, the boatswain thought one sailor was too slow; as he went by the boatswain gave him a well-placed kick that hurtled him forward. The sailor spun round, the boatswain laid a warning hand on a belaying pin, and the sailor slouched on. Douglass and Trumbull watched and then they heard Barney's voice across the water.
"Ahoy, the 'South Carolina'!"
Gillon strode to the rail. Barney was standing in the stern of a longboat, waving an oar. Gillon didn't bother to answer him. Instead he roared, "Anchors aweigh!"
His voice was almost drowned out by the shouts and cheers of the men as Barney swung up the ladder and dropped onto the deck like a cat. Then he straightened up, waved his cap, and grinned widely. The first officer, regardless of Gillon, ran to greet him.
"Captain Barney!"
Barney offered his hand. "Fine ship you have here, sir."
Gillon shouted from the quarterdeck. "Mr. Smith!"
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Smith turned and went aft hastily. Barney saw Douglass and Trumbull.
Trumbull yelled, "I'm your cabinmate, Captain!"
Barney bowed to Douglass, the action contrasting with his unshaven face, for a night's beard was very evident. "Keep to leeward of me, Mistress Harris, or you'll smell me out."
Douglass made a face. "Tobacco and wine."
"Dutch beer," corrected Barney. "Why are the two of you braving this windy deck?"
"It's bad below," Trumbull said. "So damned noisy. Excuse me, Mistress Harris."
Barney looked at the yellowing sky and water. He almost sniffed the air. "It'll be worse," he said.
Douglass' grey eyes were half closed against the wind. She was looking up at the mainsail, which the wind tore at suddenly. Its yards shook madly; the sailor on the footropes swayed with it, swinging there between sky and water and deck.
"American crew," said Barney. He yawned. Then he looked at Douglass. "I think you'd best go below, Mrs. Harris." A great wave punctuated his words, and spray flew over the side. All three wiped off their faces. Barney took Douglass' arm.
Trumbull followed them. Douglass said, "Aren't you going to stay on deck?"
Barney didn't answer till they were going down the hatchway. "I'm going to sleep, Mrs. Harris. I've been up all night."
Her lashes were stuck together with the wetness of the air. "All night?"
"You should know a sailor doesn't sleep his last night ashore. Is this your cabin?"
She had stopped. "Yes."
He said positively, "You could not stay on that deck." A thudding roar accompanied his words.
She stiffened. "What was that?"
A wave hit the deck. "Haven't you ever heard that before?"
"No."
Barney said, "Gillon is doing right. There's nothing for it but carry sail and lay her head into the northeast. The coast of Holland is under our lee, and British warships in the channel." He smiled. "But stay below."
Her eyes were fastened on his face and the broad shoulders. Bar-
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ney saw she was not only afraid but she was looking to him for safety. He leaned down and opened her door. "Those are timbers groaning," he explained. "In heavy weather the very deck planking will open and shut from the strain. It should. A stiff ship is—" he put his hand under her chin. "What's the matter?"