"Well, they're not exactly denying everything, sir," Aitken said. "I noticed that more often than not they told us to ask Captain Shirley about it. They shifted the responsibility for an answer on to him."
Ramage shrugged his shoulders. "Yes - which is the same as them dodging the responsibility."
"I'm more interested in the death of the surgeon," Bowen said. "Most unfortunate that they don't have a surgeon on board. His views would have been very significant."
Aitken waved a deprecating hand. "Don't you believe it. If he knew anything of the slightest use, he'd have bleated about medical ethics. But he wouldn't have noticed anything - he was one of those bleed-and-purge chaps. Started as a surgeon's mate in a John Company ship."
"Probably knew some sovereign remedies for belly aches brought on by too much curry," Southwick said, unable to resist teasing Bowen. "Anyway, as far as a court-martial in Plymouth is concerned," he said, a practical note in his voice, "all we know is that the Jasons deny firing at us, and we heard the shot whistling over our heads, and we had some holes, since patched, in our sails and some rigging cut, all of it since replaced."
"That's it," Ramage said. "So it's up to you now, Bowen."
"Don't expect too much from my report, sir," Bowen warned. "A walk across Parliament Square or down Whitehall is enough to prove that there are more madmen walking around than sane ones, simply because the mad are usually very cunning."
Sidney Yorke shook Ramage by the hand. "Alexis wanted to invite you to dinner again but I told her we must observe the formalities. Now, Jackson knows -" He watched as the cutter's painter was led aft, so that the boat trailed astern like a dog on a lead. "Ah yes, he knows," he said with a smile as the American led the boat's crew forward. "I told the cook to make them up something with cold cuts."
"That's why they like coming over," Ramage said. "All the food is boiled in the King's ships. You look well. How is Alexis?"
"Come below now and see her or she'll get impatient. Is everything arranged to your satisfaction?" he inquired ironically, waving towards the Calypso, which was now stretching along a couple of cables to windward of the Emerald. "It's a good idea of yours to take a turn round the convoy occasionally: I've never seen such good station-keeping. You scared them at the convoy conference!"
Alexis, wearing a high-waisted morning dress of white cambric, sprigged muslin and yellow morocco slippers, was sitting in Yorke's day cabin, and when Ramage kissed her hand she smiled up from the settee. "I thought you'd decided to leave us when you suddenly headed for Africa! And then that frigate began shooting at you, although she seems to be on our side!"
"We needed the exercise," Ramage said teasingly. "I for one was feeling quite jaded."
"You should come over and see us, then," Yorke said, "and bring any of your officers who can be spared."
He pushed forward an armchair for Ramage. "It's a hot day. Rum punch or lemonade - or lime, or orange?"
"Lemonade, please," Ramage said and Alexis commented: "I thought you'd prefer a rum punch."
She blushed as first Yorke and then Ramage laughed, and Ramage quickly explained: "It's an old joke between your brother and me: he knows I hate rum."
"Alexis hates it too," Yorke said. "She nearly faints away when a planter leers at her and then whispers sweet nothings through a smokescreen of rum fumes."
"You certainly know how to put our guests at ease," Alexis told him crossly. "Now the poor man is worried in case I don't like the smell of lemons!"
"I doubt it," Yorke said. "He's not about to give you a planter's leer."
Seeing Ramage's eyebrows raised questioningly, Alexis laughed and explained: "And that's an old joke between Sidney and myself. The ladies out in the islands - wives of the planters, merchants and soldiers - tend to have shrivelled up minds and figures, so that . . ."
She broke off in embarrassment, having started off on an explanation without considering where it might lead her.
Yorke rang a small silver bell for the steward as he finished her sentence. "So that the husbands, bored and boring, flock round a beautiful woman like moths round a candle and singe their wings with what they think is wit but is simply bawdy, almost barrack-room humour."
"Actually the wives are worse," Alexis said unexpectedly. "You men never notice it but they're so jealous they're very, very polite, yet everything they say has hidden implications."
"Implications?" Yorke exclaimed. "What implications? Most of them are so stupid they couldn't distinguish an implication from an imprecation!"
"Oh, they imply that I'm trying to run off with their husband or have come out to the islands looking for a husband."
"Wasn't that the idea?" Yorke asked with feigned innocence. "A handsome husband, ten thousand a year and 20,000 acres no further north than the Trent?"
"It might have been your idea, so that you could get rid of me, but it wasn't mine. I must admit," she added sharply, "I was looking for a wife for you: it's high time you married. Nicholas -"
She broke off, her face flushed with embarrassment as she realized what she was about to say.
"You are quite right," Ramage said quickly, "it's high time he married. I have just the sort of woman in mind. I can recommend some names."
Alexis was clearly intrigued. "What sort of woman?"
Yorke shook his head: he had known Ramage too many years to have much doubt about the well-cushioned little trap into which Alexis was walking.
"Well, first one has to assess what Sidney has to offer. He's wealthy, and even if he proves an incompetent shipowner, you'll be there to keep an eye on him. He's not very handsome - but his fortune compensates for what his features lack. A poor card player - that's a great advantage because wives can get very resentful if their husbands constantly beat them at quadrille. He's hopeless at backgammon, which makes him an even better prospect. He has good taste - he's always in the company of one beautiful woman, his sister..."
"Oh, do go on," Alexis urged, laughing at Sidney.
"Well, this woman should be a widow, because while a widow understands marriage, I'm not at all sure that Sidney does. A mature widow, and preferably the late husband should have been a dull fellow who left her verging on debt, so that Sidney dazzles her with his wealth. You see," Ramage explained to Alexis, hard put to keep a straight face because she was concentrating on every word, "his money can make up for some of his shortcomings."
Alexis was nodding in agreement. "Yes, but did you see anyone suitable in Barbados, for instance?"
"No, I didn't go on shore. But London - I know of several in London. The advantage there is that their tipple is likely to be gin, not rum, so their breath won't trouble you."
At that she glanced up warily, saw Yorke grinning and told Ramage crossly: "You are an unfeeling brute: I thought for a moment that you really cared about Sidney's happiness."
"I do," Ramage assured her. "I care enough not to interfere. One day he'll meet the right person and he'll recognize her, and it won't be someone we've discreetly introduced into the family circle."
"You seem very certain. Anyway, it won't be anyone we approve," she said, with a trace of bitterness in her voice. "But it hasn't happened yet."
"Sidney and I are the same age," Ramage said gently. "I married only a few months ago and I met my wife on board a John Company ship anchored off a tiny island in the South Atlantic that few charts even show. Until fairly recently, everyone expected me to marry a woman I met in Italy."