And there was the Calypso's cutter, with Jackson standing at the top of the slippery steps ready to help him down. What did Jackson think? And Stafford and Rossi and all those other men who had fought beside Ramage and who never cared whether he was right or wrong, but only that he was their captain?
If their captain was in danger of his life in a French prison, they would be ready to follow Aitken and Southwick and the others in whatever desperate rescue attempt they decided to make. Now their captain was in deadly danger from his own people: from the very senior officers whom these seamen were supposed to respect.
As he said good morning to Jackson, and commented on the fine weather, the sun and the calm sea, he felt he wanted to do something violent: words had failed them all. He realized that he could watch Goddard fall into the sea and flounder around and drown, and his only emotions would be contempt and relief, in that order.
When Yorke arrived on board the Calypso and was met at the entryport by Ramage he was startled to find him grinning and obviously in high spirits, even though today was Sunday and tomorrow the trial was due to open again on board the Salvador del Mundo. There was one thing he had long ago learned about Nicholas, going back to those days when they were together on board the Post Office packet (which was when he first got to know and appreciate men like Southwick and Jackson). When a situation became what most men would regard as desperate, Ramage was likely to become ribald. Danger seemed to rouse him so that he brought zest to even the most routine activities. Loading a pistol, laying a sword blade on the wheel of a grindstone, all these became for Ramage not the prelude to some desperate adventure likely to put a term to his life but the bouquet which would bring a contented smile to a wine connoisseur. His modesty was not false: when he did something brave it genuinely embarrassed him to be congratulated because an action that seemed normal to him would be heroic for most other men.
"You have that contented look, mixed with excitement, of the cat that has stolen all the fish from the pantry and still has some left!" Yorke said.
"If she'll forgive the expression, our cat seems to have arrived!"
Yorke looked puzzled and Ramage led him below to the cabin, sat him down in the battered armchair, and gave him the letter which had been lying opened on the desk.
Yorke saw from the superscription that it was from the commander-in-chief, dated and timed earlier that morning, and telling Ramage:
I have received instructions from my Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty to postpone your trial for one week, and you are hereby informed that your trial will therefore be resumed seven days later at the same time in the morning . . .
"What do you think that means?"
Ramage shrugged his shoulders. "It could mean that Goddard has been taken ill with the colic, or the commander-in-chief wants to prepare the great cabin of the Salvador del Mundo so that his wife can give a vast first-of-the-season ball in my honour ..."
"It could," Yorke agreed, "or perhaps the dockyard has run out of quills and ink so that Jenkins cannot delete evidence from his minutes, but I think there might be some other explanation. When did you get this?" he asked, waving the letter.
"The provost marshal brought it out an hour ago."
"Well, tell me; I'll never guess what it's all about."
"Alexis," Ramage said. "Obviously she's arrived in London."
"Alexis? What on earth has she got to do with this letter? She'll be in London in a day or so, yes, but this letter was written here in Plymouth."
"Ah, you're probably not the first brother who underestimated his sister. But let me tell you what I know, then we can speculate about the rest. The provost marshal (you met him, that young Lieutenant Hill) has been sitting behind me for the whole trial and he realized what Goddard is trying to do, so although officially he is my jailer, Hill is secretly on my side.
"Early this morning he was ordered by flag signal hoisted on Mount Wise to report to the commander-in-chief. He hurried on shore and was given this letter to deliver to me.
"Being an enterprising young fellow, he had a gossip with the commander-in-chief's secretary, who was somewhat ruffled and only too glad of a chance to describe how he had been called from his bed shortly after dawn - on a Sunday, too! - by a messenger who had ridden with an urgent signal from Portsmouth for the admiral.
"Apparently the Admiralty had sent a signal to Portsmouth by the telegraph - taking a matter of minutes - with orders that a messenger should immediately ride with it to Plymouth and deliver it to the commander-in-chief. The poor fellow has been riding for hours and has had a devil of a job getting fresh horses. Luckily there has been a moon, so that he could keep to the road at night.
"When the secretary - roused out when the messenger arrived - saw the instructions on the outside of the letter, signed and sealed by the port admiral at Portsmouth, he called his lord and master from his bed. The admiral read the signal, expressed his displeasure, and dictated that -" Ramage pointed at the letter, "- to the secretary, giving him precise instructions for getting it delivered to me. They're all the facts I know."
"So now we speculate, eh?" Yorke grinned cheerfully. "You start, because you know more about the bureaucracy than I."
"Well, why should the trial be postponed for another week? Goddard has already delayed things for a few days, because of the Coronation anniversary, and he wanted to square his own yards with the captains forming the court, and perhaps he also wanted to have a quiet chat with the commander-in-chief."
"Then, why the delay?" Yorke asked.
"I'm asking the question, not answering it! The question is whether or not the delay ordered by the Admiralty is the result of something done by Goddard or by ..."
"Alexis?"
"Yes. I'm putting my money on Alexis and the Admiralty. I think she reached London earlier than we expected, and has been harrying authority on my behalf."
Yorke nodded his head slowly. "Yes... but why a week's delay? What happens at the end of that week?"
Ramage laughed. "One thing, for sure: Alexis will have arrived back here with her brace of pistols!"
"Yes," Yorke said seriously, "but surely the Admiralty wouldn't delay anything for even seven seconds because of Alexis. I love my sister and have great faith in her abilities, but let's be realistic!"
"They may not be delaying anything for her but perhaps they're delaying the trial because of something she's done."
"Like seeing Lord St Vincent, or perhaps even Addington?"
"Or blowing up Parliament or attending a levee and complaining to the King,"
Yorke gave a dry laugh. "You can joke about it, but I can see her doing one of those things. All of them, even."
"I wasn't really joking, either," Ramage said. "I can see her, prodding with her parasol. I seem to attract women who can flatten mountains by pointing at them."
"When you get women under your spell, they're inspired to do wild things."
"Oh, that's it, is it? Pity I can't do the same to admirals."
"Ask Alexis to point at Goddard: perhaps she can flatten him too."
"Why the delay, though?" Ramage mused. "A week. Seven days. What can happen a week from tomorrow that can't happen tomorrow?"