Squire still hesitated. For a moment he thought Murray had left another one of his assistants here while he was on deck. She was dressed in white, the shirt probably a midshipman’s, fastened to her throat, and breeches which had clearly been taken from the slop-chest. She was sitting upright in Murray’s armchair, facing the door.
Murray said, “Don’t keep the lieutenant too long, Claire. He’ll be wanted on deck shortly,” and gestured to another chair. “Call me if you require anything. I have to pull out someone’s tooth-but it will not take long.” It sounded like a warning to Squire.
She said, “It was good of you to come,” and turned to watch Murray depart: he left the door open. A lock of dark hair fell aside slightly and Squire saw the bruise on her forehead.
“I wanted to see you. I’ve been wondering about you, ever since …” He said nothing more, recalling Murray’s warning. “You look wonderful.” He moved to the other chair and saw she was staring at the door again. This was a mistake. He had wanted to tell her he had thought of nothing else since she had been carried aboard.
She said softly, “I wanted to see you. To explain.” Her eyes were restless, flickering around the cabin. “To … thank you.” She looked at him suddenly. “After the way I treated you. And the risks you took for us … for me.”
Squire stood up and saw her tense as he took a small package from his pocket.
“I wanted to bring you this.” He opened it carefully, not looking at her; perhaps he had already made things worse. “It was in my old coat.” He laid the bracelet on the table beside her. “I thought you might be looking for it.”
She reached out, her lips moving, but he heard no words.
Her hand faltered. “I thought they’d taken it.” Then she shook her head, heedless of the hair falling over her face. “No. I remember putting it in your coat when you tried to help me.” She fumbled with the bracelet. “He gave it to me.”
She was sobbing harshly, but there were no tears.
Squire wanted to help her, but he heard the surgeon’s warning. She was fumbling at her cuffs, one after the other, and he saw the thick bandages around her wrists.
He said carefully, “I can put it in the strongbox, until …”
She stared at him with that unnerving directness.
“You keep it for me. It will be safe with you.” She thrust the hair from her face. “Until I leave the ship-Lieutenant Squire.” She laid the unfastened bracelet on the table, and he could see her shoulders beginning to quiver. “What … do your friends call you?”
“Friends?” He wanted to smile, make a joke of it, but nothing would come. “Jamie.”
She touched the bracelet, and almost dropped it.
Instinctively, Squire did not move. But the restraint cost him more than Murray would ever guess. He felt her fingers on his as she laid the bracelet across his callused palm.
The door was slightly ajar, and Murray’s voice said from beyond it, “I think you’re needed on deck.”
He came in, glancing somewhere between them. “And it’s time you had a rest, young lady.” He was holding a pair of felt slippers. “But first try these on for size. Tilley, the sailmaker, made a few alterations. I made a sketch for him.”
She leaned down and slid one onto her bare foot. “How wonderful. Please thank him for me, will you?”
She picked up the second slipper; they were the kind worn by powder-monkeys whenever they were ordered to the magazine. Maddock, the gunner, was never without a pair himself. To forget could invite disaster, where one spark from the sole of an ordinary shoe might explode into an inferno.
She touched her cheek with the back of her hand. “So kind. I don’t know what to say.”
Murray turned and deliberately slipped his arm through Squire’s, but did not look at him. “We’ve not forgotten what it feels like to be young. Have we?”
A warning, between friends. Murray wanted to stop him from making a fool of himself, before it was too late.
Squire said, “If I’m wanted on deck …” but could not help looking back. “I’ll put the bracelet in the strongbox. Just in case.”
She stared at him, and nodded slowly. “I understand.” She did not smile. “Thank you, Lieutenant.”
Like a door being slammed shut.
Adam Bolitho shifted slightly on the hot thwart to gaze at the full expanse of the anchorage as the gig pulled past the headland. Plenty of eyes must have observed Onward‘s slow and cautious approach; he had seen sunlight blinking from telescopes ashore and afloat most of the way.
A longboat had come out to meet them, perhaps surprised that Onward did not anchor closer to the shore, with its scattering of buildings and long, ungainly pier. The boat had signalled for them to follow, a uniformed figure standing to wave aside any dugout that hovered too closely.
The main fortification was timber-built, with a stockade and a battery of small cannon. In stark contrast, the flag that flew above them, making a brilliant splash of colour, was the same as the one hoisted at Onward‘s own jackstaff when her anchor had been secured. Maybe Freetown had begun like this, and other footholds in wilderness that Rear-Admiral Langley would dismiss as the encroachment of empire.
Jago said, “‘E’s turnin’, Cap’n.”
The other boat was losing way, its oars in confusion. The man in uniform was on his feet again, bowing and baring his teeth in a grin. At one end of the pier were more uniforms, and bare-backed figures who were apparently repairing the lower structure close to the water.
Adam said, “You must stay in the boat this time, I’m afraid.” He glanced along the slow-moving looms, at the faces he knew so well. “I’ll send word if I’m delayed.”
He felt the body beside him stir suddenly; he had almost forgotten that Monteith was aboard. Tense, his sword gripped between his knees, still going over the events at the mission. Doubts, fears, it was not possible to tell. Yet.
Jago called, “Oars!” He may have glanced at Monteith, but he did not wait. Monteith was, after all, in charge of the gig for this formal visit. When he had been piped over the side, one of the duty watch had slipped and allowed a coil of rope to fall across the gangway. At any other time Monteith would have yelled at him, and for far less.
Whatever it was, it must have happened ashore. Squire had said nothing, and Jago would keep it to himself as usual. Unless …
The oars were inboard, the bowmen hooked onto the pier. Another uniformed figure was peering down at them, head and shoulders silhouetted against the sky.
Adam stood up and reached for the thick envelope, the reason for this visit.
He looked at Jago. “Remember what we talked about, eh?” and Jago’s tanned face broke into a grin.
“Ol’ John Allday would never forgive me, Cap’n!”
Some of the bare-backed men on the lower pier had stopped work to look down at the gig and the newcomers. There was a shout, and the sharp crack of a whip. The onlookers vanished.
Adam glanced at Monteith, who had not moved. “Ready?” He did not wait for an answer. Monteith was probably recalling their talk. Leadership by example. He stared up at the pier, angry with himself. So do it!
He climbed up into the sunlight and felt the wood still wet under his hands. It must have been scrubbed in readiness for their arrival. Monteith was close behind him, perhaps relieved to be away from the gig, which must be the key to whatever memories were remaining in his mind. Adam straightened as he was confronted by a stocky man in an unfamiliar green uniform. The New Haven militia.
A smart salute, and a voice as English as one of his own seamen’s barked, “On behalf of the Governor, sir, I am to bid you welcome!” He waited for Monteith to join them. “If you will step this way, sir?”
Adam looked back at the gig and saw Jago nod. That was all.