To emphasize his spirit of camaraderie, he set Hamilton back on the floor with a thud that jarred the mild little servant from his heels to his head. The frightened, stricken face turned helplessly from Dirk to Jeremy and back again. He found neither consolation nor comfort from the expression of either, and without another word he turned and fled toward the pantry. Dirk, at a nod from Jeremy, followed and remained close behind him. A time of ordeal had begun for Hamilton and one of waiting for Jeremy Stone, now too far gone in his adventure to turn back. He showed no signs of regret as he lifted a small glass from a bookshelf, blew out the dust, and poured a small amount of sack from the jar. Terence Bartlett's sleepy, befuddled eyes followed his movements, and there was just enough sense left in the man for him to grin vapidly and then reach greedily for the jar.
Jeremy lifted his glass in a toast. 'To you, my host—my alter ego," he said softly. "Long may you prosper—in my person. May you be successful in all of your endeavors, and may you win fortune and fame, distinction and honor— through me. Yes, and may I cover your name—our name— with glory." He finished off the glass in one swallow.
A bleak winter sun gave light but no warmth, and a fresh snowfall made the rutted street of New York Town wet and slippery. A considerable crowd was converging on the Phillips Brothers' Wharf on Hudson's River, for although ships sailed almost weekly for England and European ports and the rich tropical islands of the Indies, this was the first time a royal duchess had ever departed from the colonies, and the people had a rare opportunity to see a member of the house of Stuart in the flesh. Caroline of Glasgow had made remarkably few public appearances during her stay, and partly in order to compensate for the aloofness she had shown, today had been declared a public holiday. Schoolboys and apprentices, merchants and waterfront harlots, trappers and woodsmen, sober citizens and lighthearted, all flocked to the dock to watch the sailing of the Bonnie Maid with her distinguished passenger.
As Jeremy Stone rounded a corner and saw the brig riding at anchor, his heart began to pound, and some measure of the guilt he had been feeling for the past few days began to dissipate. The necessary but distasteful terrorization of Terence Bartlett's manservant had been the least pleasant of his activities, but he knew he had been wise to move into the rooms at Van der Voort's Ordinary, for two messages, each advising him of slight changes in sailing plans, had arrived for him there.
He and Dirk had alternated in keeping watch on Hamilton through every hour of day and night, and just before leaving the inn they had tied the manservant securely and had gagged him as an extra precaution. He would be in no real danger, however, for when the sodden Bartlett next awoke from a stupor he would find his sack under lock and key and would eventually become sober enough to cut his servant's bonds. Bartlett himself had been no problem at any time, for he had been in a constant state of drunken inertia. Jeremy's conscience was clear in one regard: he had left most of the remaining money the Duchess had given him in return for the clothes he had taken from his "host," and he drew considerable satisfaction, too, from the knowledge that his wardrobe would be as complete as that of any gentleman in Caroline's party.
He glanced obliquely over his left shoulder as he strode down the street and smothered a grin. Dirk was trudging behind him at the three-pace lag required of good servants; the big man shouldered a large sea chest bearing Terence Bartlett's initials, and the wood and brass sparkled in the sunshine. Dirk, who was beginning to lose his qualms about the scheme, winked broadly and drew his face into solemn lines only when Jeremy scowled.
The Bonnie Maid was directly ahead now, and Jeremy settled his hat at a more rakish angle, flung open his silk-lined cape, and let his gauntlet-gloved hand rest lightly on the hilt of his sword. The crowds around the wharf were thick, and he pushed his way through them with difficulty. Vendors of roasted chestnuts and dried, spiced fruits were doing a heavy business, swarms of children and dogs were underfoot everywhere, and the odors of human sweat, alcoholic beverages, and soft yellow soap were all-pervading despite a faint sea breeze.
Out of the comer of his eye Jeremy could see a group of apprentices from Smith's foundry, shepherded by two journeymen gunsmiths. At the moment they were not looking in his direction but were watching an argument between a tall, buckskin-clad man and a burly sailor in a stocking cap, a heated exchange that threatened to become an open fight. Increasing his pace, Jeremy pushed on; he knew that he was risking recognition until he was safe aboard the brig, and he had decided to brazen his way through any uncomfortable scene should the need arise. But the best way to avoid trouble was to put distance between himself and the possible sources of it.
Near the far end of the pier a line of scarlet-coated sentries from the governor's own company of guards was lined up in a single file, musket butts resting in a uniform line on the oak planks of the dock, bayonets at precisely the same angle. A pink-cheeked young ensign, the cut of whose uniform indicated that he was an offspring of a wealthy family, took a step toward Jeremy, whipped out his sword, and saluted smartly.
"You're intending to board the ship, sir?" He glanced briefly at Dirk, who had failed to stop in time and had almost skidded into Jeremy's back.
"I am." Jeremy paused and drew himself up to his full height.
"May I ask your name, sir?"
"Bartlett. Terence Bartlett." The name came to his lips more easily each time he spoke it.
The ensign drew a sheet of paper from his pocket and began to study a list of names. At that moment a shout rang out from somewhere inside the cordon of soldiers. "Master Bartlett! Welcome!"
Without waiting for the young officer*s permission, Jeremy stepped through the fine of guards and swept off his hat. "Your servant, milord."
Lord Murray held out his hand and smiled. "Glad to see you, Bartlett. You'll be sharing a cabin with me. Colonel Martin and Captain Talbrice will be with us too. Is that your man? Good. He'll find a blanket in the fo'c'sle. Come aboard!"
The young Scots noble linked his arm with Jeremy's and started toward the Bonnie Maid. Standing on the quarter-deck was a burly man whose uniform indicated that he was the ship's master. Beside him was an extraordinarily pretty girl with flaming red hair. The young gunsmith noticed her, then was startled as he reaHzed that she was staring down at him with an expression of surprise on her attractive face. An instant later he forgot her; he and Lord Murray reached the end of the pier. Jeremy climbed aboard the brig, and as his feet touched the deck he knew that he was now truly about to lead a new life, the life of an impostor.
Chapter Three
BY THE time the starboard watch sighted the coast of Virginia, life aboard the Bonnie Maid had settled into a steady routine. Caroline of Glasgow and her suite, including Jeremy and Dirk, numbered twenty persons; the Duchess and her gentlemen never went below deck, while the men-at-arms, lackeys, and servants were of course quartered with the crew in the fo'c'sle. Complaints about the food increased among the landsmen when weevils began to appear in the daily ration of hard biscuits and the inevitable breakfast portions of oatmeal became sour and rancid, but the captain turned a resolutely deaf ear to the cavils, and in time even the most fastidious of Caroline's retainers became accustomed to their food. Jeremy Stone, enjoying a life of comfort and ease without responsibilities, found nothing on the Bonnie Maid that displeased him. His sole previous excursion on board a seagoing vessel had been his nightmare trip to New York from Plymouth, and he found the present experience a marvel of luxury by comparison. Instead of being forced to exist in a ship's foul, cramped hold, he shared a cabin with only Lord Murray and the two officers of Royal Guards assigned to Caroline; there were real sheets on the narrow bunks, and the tiny cell was blessed with a large, square window. Meals were taken in a large saloon located between Captain Groliere's cabin and that given to the Duchess, and although Caroline and Groliere each ate the majority of meals in solitary splendor, they occasionally saw fit to join the gentlemen and the Bonnie Maid's officers and surgeon at dinner. Most of the delicacies of the New World were spread on the table, and so far, at least, there was no shortage of fruits and vegetables. Dinner was usually served around two in the afternoon, and immediately afterward the nobles, officers, and gentlemen, numbering seven in all, were admitted to Caroline's cabin. There, dressed each day in a different dazzling gown which seemed incongruous aboard ship, she held court in miniature. The formalities of a Stuart household were rigidly observed in these sessions; weather permitting, the men remained on their feet throughout; Sir Ian was stationed at the Duchess's left, and whenever the conversation took a turn that was boring or that threatened to become embarrassing to her, she merely nodded to her chamberlain and he deftly introduced some new topic into the stream of talk. Such levees invariably lasted for two hours, and at the end of that time Lord Murray always thanked Her Grace for the privilege of having spent a portion of the day in her presence. Following this, the company withdrew.