She looked back as she followed after them. Past the spot where
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she had landed on San Lucas, the Spanish were putting up more tents for themselves, apart from those for the women. Two hundred yards of white beach stretched between the two colonies of rude tents. Catherine stopped short, as the men in front of her did.
"This is my tent?" she asked.
One nodded. "This, and the next one, madam."
They were the last two tents in the straggling line.
"Where do you want these boxes?"
She indicated two boxes. "Please put them in the first tent, and my things in the smaller one, at the end."
They left her then, in the bare tent. The sand was trampled with footmarks of the men who had put it up. She sat down on one of the boxes, weakly. She still had her gold and jewels. Then she got up and flung open the lid of a box, extracting a blouse and skirt that she often wore while painting. She put them on quickly, kicked off her shoes and went outside.
Master Pretty entered Cavendish's cabin at eight that morning. He said good morning to David, who had evidently been helping himself to some food left on Cavendish's tray; David's mouth was full as he answered Pretty's good morning.
"All jewelry and gold were taken from the passengers before they were disembarked, sir," Pretty said, as he laid down a small box.
Cavendish nodded. Cosmos knelt at his feet, putting on his boots.
"Only royalty have oriental pages, sir," David said, chewing lustily.
Cosmos rose to his feet, taking the tray from under David's nose. David made one last snatch at an orange, and began to toss it in his hand.
"Well, Pretty?" Cavendish asked, as the door closed on Cosmos.
"And this box, sir," continued Pretty, who had been diverted as usual by David, "contains all of the Señora de Montoro's effects - ten pieces of gold and a few trinkets."
He and David, both standing, looked at Cavendish as he opened the box and drew out the gold locket. Cavendish snapped it open.
"She is most clever," he said, as he studied the miniature inside. "Her daughter," he said.
"May I see it?" David asked.
Cavendish handed it over. His eyes went over the contents of the box, as his fingers moved the pieces of jewelry. They were few.
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Pretty said, "I felt sorry for the señora."
Cavendish said, "It never hurt your conscience before to take Spanish gold. You're developing quite a tenderness. That's all, Pretty."
Pretty went out, and closed the door. David said slowly, "I've always had a conscience."
Cavendish held out his hand for the locket. David closed his fist over it. "Let me purchase the señora's things, Captain," he said.
"No," said Cavendish.
"I want to make her a gift of them," David went on. "You do not."
"Give me the locket, David," Cavendish said, getting to his feet.
The two men stood eye to eye. Cavendish was heavier than David across the shoulders and in the powerfully muscled arms. Faced with him, David felt the uncertainty closing in on him.
"I want nothing from her! She has so little!"
Cavendish looked amused. "Surprisingly little," he said, his eyes on an emerald that lay carelessly on the table. "Is she saint or mother to you, David?"
David dropped the thin locket down beside the gleaming emerald. "I'm going to—" he began and then stopped, for it was always the same. His brother had seemed to forget that he was talking at all. Cavendish was busy buckling on a sword belt.
"Do we go ashore now, sir?" he asked, distantly, matching Cavendish's dismissal of the subject, looking down at the locket as though it were far away.
Cavendish nodded. "And wear a sword," he said. "We've put their women out on the beaches; tension may be high this morning."
David asked grimly, "Just this morning?"
"They'll get used to it, in time," Cavendish said.
"Aye, aye, sir," David said.
He joined Cavendish in the stern sheets of the Captain's own longboat. It pulled toward shore, with both of them silent, Cavendish looking ahead at the beach. He stepped out onto the sand. David and Moon jumped out behind him, and then fifteen English seamen. Cavendish stood looking around, while the whole camp grew silent and stared at the English Captain.
Cavendish appeared not to notice that the group of Spaniards, who were unloading the latest boat from the Santa Anna with its cargo of hammocks for the women, had stopped working; he turned
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to look at them and they began again to unload the boat. Then he looked up the beach where fifteen Spaniards were putting up more tents for themselves.
Cavendish started away, at a walk, going forward to look at the tents for the women. Moon followed him with his eyes, tense, as Cavendish brushed past Spanish seamen who stood aside for him. David stayed where he had been left, at Moon's side.
Cavendish stopped short, his arms hanging loosely at his sides. Then he turned back to David.
"Take charge of unloading the boats, as they beach, sir," he said, and started to walk up the beach toward the line of tents ahead of him.
The thirty tents had been neatly put up. He passed close to them, close enough to hear a woman weeping, and the murmur of a man's voice as he tried to comfort her. Cavendish walked past; he entered the last tent in the row.
He found Catherine bent over a heavy box. And she, startled by footsteps, whirled to face him, and the first emotion she knew was joy.
He was wearing soft leather boots, and a broad gold-studded belt around his waist. His white shirt was unlaced at the neck, and he dominated the small tent. His eyes took her in.
"You look like neither saint nor mother," he said.
She was conscious of her bare feet. She held a pearl-handled short knife in her hand. She stepped back a little from him.
"You knew where to find me?"
"I did," he said.
She was aware of aloneness with him—the awareness was sharp. And she knew that he was responsible for her being alone. Other women had to share tents.
"What are you going to do with that knife?" he asked, lazily, coming closer.
She stood her ground, digging her heels into the sand. "Cut pine branches for beds," she said.
"No," he said. "Use the hammocks. Don't sleep on the ground. And don't stab anyone with that knife."
Catherine hardly heard what he said. He was near enough to touch, and his blue eyes met hers. It was quite clear to her that she was falling in love with him; perhaps it was clear to him too, and he was expecting a quick conquest. It flashed through her
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mind that he most likely intended to share this tent with her tonight. She said lightly,
"If I had a duenna, I should call her to put you out, Captain. I have a deal to do and I cannot receive you here."
He looked impatient, as if she were putting him off needlessly. "Why have you no duenna, then?"
"Because I cannot pay her," Catherine said.
"'Tis most unusual, señora," he said.
She raised one eyebrow. "Dios, señor," she said, "do you think I am a loose woman?" She laughed. "I am but poor."
"Give me your little knife," he said.
She drew a long breath. She thrust it out at him, in a sudden gesture, shining blade first. He took light hold of the sharp blade.
"My hands are dirty," he said, casually. One box stood open. He used the haft of the knife to lift a thin white shift edged with lace. He held it on the knife for a moment; then it slipped off the knife, back into the wooden chest.
"That was a trifle heavier than it should be," he said. "I imagine there were at least three gold pieces in it."
"I'm sorry you found it," she said, steadily.