Murray said curtly, “The best sound I’ve heard since we up-anchored!”
Jago said, “I’ll wait here, Cap’n,” and picked up Adam’s coat from a chair and held it out for him. “So she’ll know.”
Murray opened the door. “She’s in my cabin.” Impatient or apprehensive; it was hard to know. Adam had already heard about the cabin: Vincent had told him. It would be quieter, safer.
One of Murray’s loblolly boys was sitting outside, and he got to his feet as they appeared in the narrow passageway. Murray’s cabin adjoined the sick berth, but was not a part of it.
Murray murmured something and the man shook his head.
“We cannot stay too long.” Murray paused. “She may have changed her mind.” He regarded Adam steadily. “Trust me.” He opened the door.
There was one small light but, like the sick quarters, everything was painted white. It was enough.
She was lying on a cot covered by a sheet which she was holding closely beneath her chin. One arm was bare, the linen bandage around her wrist livid against her tanned skin, hiding the rope burns where she had been tied and dragged. She turned her head toward the door, eyes open and unblinking.
Murray said, “I’ve brought the captain to see you, Claire. Remember how we talked about it. Only a short visit. Then perhaps you’ll go to sleep.”
She turned her head away slightly, her profile in shadow.
Murray repeated, “Captain Bolitho. He commands here.”
Her lips moved as if they were forming the name. But her eyes were shut.
Adam saw the dark hair was clinging to the pillow. Still damp; it had been washed. And on the one visible hand the nails were clean. When he had seen her carried aboard they had been black with dried blood, probably from the face of one of her attackers.
She said, “Bo-lye-tho.” Her eyes were open again. “I wanted to see you.” There was another pause.”To thank you. He said you would come.”
Adam glanced at Murray and saw his almost imperceptible nod. She was talking about her father.
She tried to twist her head to gaze at him again, but pain seemed to prevent it. The sheet had slipped from her shoulder, where he saw another bandage.
“Bless you for what you did. I know you gave him to the sea. He’ll be safe there.”
Murray’s eyes told Adam that it was time to leave.
She reached out suddenly as if to seek his hand, and he clasped it instinctively. Murray did not protest.
She said, “Thank you, Captain Bolitho. I shall never forget.” A tear ran unheeded over her cheek. “Or forgive!”
Adam stood up, gently releasing her fingers, and saw her grope for his hand again. “Try to rest, Claire. We shall anchor tomorrow, and then …” Her fingers gripped his with unexpected strength.
“No!” The damp hair spilled across his sleeve. “No, not there! Later!”
Murray took the hand and felt the pulse discreetly.
“She must rest now,” and when he had pulled the door to behind them, “I’m glad you came. And so is she.”
They stood in the passageway and Murray lowered his voice. “She wants to remain aboard with us until we return to Freetown. She has friends there. That was as much information as she gave me.”
Adam said, “Send somebody to call me if I can help,” and looked at Murray directly. “At any time.”
The surgeon touched his forehead, sketching a salute, but it was more than that. “Aye, aye, sir!”
His cabin door was still partly open and Murray thought he heard her call out, a little more strongly now. He turned, but the passageway was empty. Bolitho had gone on deck, and not aft to his own quarters.
He was the captain again.
Squire closed the telescope and slung it over his shoulder. With the sun almost directly overhead and the heat oppressive, it was hard to concentrate, and he was bone-weary. After the bustle and excitement of their final approach and anchoring off New Haven, the ship seemed strangely still and quiet. It was the afternoon watch, but except for those required on duty most of Onward‘s people were asleep, and deserved it. There was a lingering aroma of rum in the air, an extra tot from the captain. His way of saying thank you, Squire thought. Probably why Bolitho had gone immediately ashore: to pay his respects to the governor while his gig’s crew were still smart and sober. Onward had anchored a cable’s length from the elbow of land Julyan had described, which shielded the anchorage beyond.
It had been an unusual experience. With the sun so intense and the inshore water so clear, it was possible to see the frigate’s shadow full-length as she passed over some of the sandbars.
Squire moved into the welcome shadow of the mizzen mast and glanced at the wheel. It gave some hint of the current, jerking slightly as if controlled by invisible helmsmen.
The anchorage was like a mill-pond, and seemed a safe mooring, but he knew two rivers converged here and emptied into the sea. When the rains came it must be a real challenge for any master.
He had seen a few boats paddling out to investigate the frigate, one or two coming close enough for those aboard to wave or hold up baskets of goods for sale or barter-pottery, vegetables and carvings for the most part. But they kept their distance, discouraged by seamen or marines stationed at intervals along either side.
Bolitho had made it quite clear. No one was to be allowed aboard. This was an official visit, and Squire had seen the sealed package handed down to the gig before it had shoved off.
Greetings from the admiral at Freetown. Although Squire had heard there was no love lost between Rear-Admiral Langley and the governor here. No doubt Langley would be more concerned by Onward‘s failure to appear within the time expected, and if not, his flag lieutenant would soon remind him, if he valued his own future.
He felt his shoe stick to the deck seam. The ship had been washed from beakhead to counter when they had altered course to enter the anchorage. Now even the scuppers were as dry as tinder. He heard footsteps and turned to see the surgeon crossing the deck toward him, avoiding the softened seams.
“I’m afraid the captain’s still ashore, Doc. Not returning till the last dog, as far as we know. Is something wrong?”
Murray was hatless and holding one hand across his eyes to shield them from the sun, but the strain seemed to have fallen from his long face like a cloud.
“This time it’s you I came to find.” He glanced incuriously toward the shore, as if he had not seen it before. “Experience or instinct: I often ask myself, where do we draw the line?” He turned his back on the land, dismissing it. “She wants to see you, although at this stage it might destroy any progress she has made. Such as it is.”
Squire said uncertainly, “I didn’t realise she knew my name.”
“She did not. But her description was enough!” Murray paused. “Will you see her? It might do more harm than good.”
Squire muttered, “I don’t know. After what she went through-” and said nothing for a moment, recalling her anguish and the brief moment of peace and communion when he had given her his coat to hide her shame from those trying to help her. “It might bring it all back when she sees me.”
Murray shrugged. “I don’t know what the purser will say, but I raided his slop-chest for some clothing. Not what she has been used to, but it’s fresh and clean. It might make a difference.”
Squire waved to Lieutenant Sinclair who was speaking to some of his marines. “Bob, call me if I’m needed”-and indicated the surgeon-”You know where I’ll be.”
Sinclair raised a hand and Squire thought he had forgiven him for choosing his sergeant for the landing party instead.
It was cooler below deck, but not much, despite the hastily rigged windsails. Squire hardly noticed. Claire Dundas might be feeling stronger, safer, but one sight of him and it could all be torn apart.
They reached the cabin door and Murray exchanged a few words with one of his assistants, who was rolling and repacking bandages like those they had carried in the cutter. Then to Squire he said, “Not too long. And don’t touch her,” before tapping at the door. “Claire? Me again!”