He signed his name and reached for the third. "Cooper's affidavit to Leakage of Beer" - 120 gallons of small beer had leaked from two casks "as mentioned in the survey hereunto annexed". Ramage checked - yes, the second page was the survey to which the cooper was swearing the affidavit. Ramage signed and reached again.
"Vouchers for slops purchased" - the Calypso's purser had been restocking: now the frigate was in a cold climate the men would want to buy warmer clothes. For a year they had been wearing duck and many of them spent most of the day without shirts. Ramage read through the list. "Jackets, one hundred, at 10s. - £50; waistcoats, one hundred at 4s. 3d. - £215s. 0d.; shirts, one hundred, at 5s. 3d. . . ." He noted that trousers were 3s. 2d. a pair now, shoes 5s. l0d. and stockings 3s. ... He signed and wished he did not feel so drowsy. The unaccustomed lack of movement of the ship and the noises of a big anchorage, with guard boats rowing round all night, prevented him from sleeping properly. The noise and, he had to admit, worry about the trial . . .
Yorke should be along very soon. Ramage had conducted Divine Service an hour earlier and although in port he usually tried to brighten up the morning with a short sermon, today he had fallen back on the Articles of War. By regulation they had to be read aloud to the ship's company once a month, and most captains used them instead of a sermon, or homily. Ramage had been startled by the fervour of the men in singing the hymns. The way the men sang hymns was always regarded as a good yardstick for measuring how contented they were, but Ramage had never had to wonder whether or not he had a contented ship's company. Anyway, today the men bellowed the hymns, and it was clear they were hurling defiance at the port admiral, Rear-Admiral Goddard and anyone else connected with the trial. There was nothing Ramage could do to make them sing in a more restrained fashion and, damnation take it, he did not want to. But this display of loyalty left him worrying about Sarah: feeling empty when he puzzled about her fate, yet thankful she was not sharing the doubts and fears of the trial. He knew he had better not trust either his own voice or choice of words in a brief sermon, and he had ploughed through the Articles of War in a completely neutral voice. Even then he had been startled by the men's low murmuring, little more than the noise the wind made in the rigging, or the faint sawing of a yard when the ship rolled at anchor, as he read the Articles under which he was charged.
One more page, one more signature. He scribbled a signature and reached for the piece of cloth to wipe the pen. Suddenly, without any call by the Marine sentry, the flimsy door of the cabin was flung open.
CHAPTER TWENTY
She came into the cabin shyly and closed the door behind her. "Nicholas," she said, "forgive me: I waved to the sentry at the gangway and to Mr Kenton not to announce my arrival, and Mr Kenton came down and told your sentry to stay silent. Was I very naughty?"
By now he had recovered enough to stand up and move towards her and before either of them knew quite what was happening, Ramage found himself patting her head (she was smaller than he realized: the top of her head was below the top of his shoulder) and she was crying as he murmured: "No, no, of course not; everything will turn out all right; you mustn't upset yourself ..."
Then she stood back, trying to laugh away her tears while tidying her windswept hair. She smiled uncertainly but the effect was spoiled by her sobs.
"Alexis . . ." Ramage began tentatively, "you shouldn't have gone off to London like that. . . you upset and tire yourself ..."
She was pale and the golden tan of the Tropics was now yellowish, because of the obvious weariness, and there were dark smudges under her eyes.
"We did the journey in well under five days," she said, her voice now becoming excited. "We changed horses many more times than the coachmen said was necessary, but we kept them galloping ... Through the nights as well, and how lucky we were that there was a full moon ... oh, but we were so tired."
"We" - she kept referring to "we". Not "we" meaning her and the coachmen because she had mentioned them separately.
"Who are 'we'?"
"Oh dear, I'm so tired that I'm muddled -"
Ramage suddenly realized that they were both standing in the middle of the cabin. "Sit down - you know that old armchair. Sidney should be coming on board in half an hour or so for dinner. Do you want to stay and see him here, or shall I send you to the King's Arms in the cutter with Jackson? Is - er, well, I can't come with you because I'm under arrest and have to stay on board -"
"Oh Nicholas, that's what I'm trying to tell you. It's going to be all right. I have the witness that you want, and a member of the Board is here in Plymouth and will attend the trial tomorrow - but you're not to say anything until the trial begins. I'll explain how ... oh Nicholas, I want to laugh and cry and giggle and faint and explain all at once . . ."
"So the best thing we can do is to sit here and wait for Sidney to arrive," Ramage said. "That way you won't have to tell the story twice, and you'll be more composed. Brothers like to see their sisters composed," he said, making a weak attempt at a joke.
She was obviously almost stunned with weariness, but she tried to smooth the creases in her skirt. "I feel so grubby," she said. "I must look a scarecrow - I haven't changed my clothes for two days, and the only wash I've had since breakfast time yesterday, is rubbing my face with a damp cloth."
"Alexis," he asked gently, "what made you bolt for London like that without telling us?"
"You thought you were beaten," she said simply, and her directness hit him like a blow. "I thought there was a chance, although I knew if I listened to you and Sidney, I'd be persuaded there was not. So I arranged for the coach, wrote a note to Sidney, and left before the mail coach. I knew Sidney would be late back to the inn and would go straight to his room."
He watched her as she sat in the low armchair, apparently concentrating on her creased clothes, and he felt ashamed: yes, he had felt defeated, and so had Sidney, and Southwick, Aitken and Wagstaffe, too, for that matter. Anyone thinking about it logically would know he was beaten, but this tiny girl did not bother with logic; she knew instinctively what was wrong and how to put it right. The famous Captain Ramage, he jeered at himself, could slash with a cutlass, or fire a pistol or bring his ship alongside the enemy and board in a cloud of smoke and survive it all, and be called a hero by people who did not know about these things, but he had surrendered at a time when this girl had only just begun to fight.
"I hadn't realized how far it was to London," she said. "Usually when Sidney and I visit the West Country, we come round in one of our ships. But oh dear, how dusty are those roads. The thudding of hooves and the rumbling of the wheels, too: it gives me such a headache, and it is hard to talk ..."
Talk? With whom? Was she not travelling alone? Well, apparently not, but, he told himself sternly, it was none of his business.
He heard Kenton shouting down through the skylight: "Boat bringing Mr Yorke will be alongside in three minutes, sir!"
Her face was tearstained. "Go through to the bed place," he said, gesturing to the cabin in which he slept. "There's a basin and a jug of fresh water. I'll find you a fresh towel."
A couple of minutes later, the Marine sentry called: "Mr Yorke, sir!" and a moment after Ramage replied, Yorke came through the door and stopped suddenly as he saw Alexis. "How the devil did -"