‘Well, he is not …’ Aymer hadn’t given much thought to Otto. He’d provided food. He’d sent for a physician. He’d set the fellow free. And that was that. The man would be, well, sleeping somewhere else by now and on his way to … Aymer didn’t know the names of any towns that could be walked to in a day. He’d done his duty and hadn’t considered that there might be consequences, repercussions. ‘Well, he is not,’ he said again, with some attempt at firmness.
‘Then, Mr Smith, you’d better turn about and find some place to hide unless you want a beating. For kidnapping. And dognapping. And soapnapping. And knapsacking. And walking out without your trousers on.’ Again there was much laughter, though not from George.
Aymer put his hand up to his mouth. What did the sailors know? What had they seen? Was he observed when he pulled back the bolt, when he was masturbating in the alleyway, when he was peeping through the curtains at Katie’s naked thighs? He coughed, and sniffed, but didn’t chuckle. ‘I cannot think,’ he said, ‘that this is any of my making …’
George put his lips to Aymer’s ear, and whispered, ‘You let that blackie go. You know you did. And, more’s the point, they know you did, those sailors standing there.’
Aymer didn’t dare to look. ‘What do those fellows want? Do they mean harm?’
‘They’ll not do any harm themselves. They mean to be spectators to it, though. It’s the captain who will break your bones.’
‘Captain Comstock?’
‘He’s the one. He is the only captain you’ve robbed, I hope.’
‘Well, yes … well … no!’
‘How many captains, then?’
‘Good heavens, George, do you mistake me for a highwayman? I am not guilty of a spate of crimes. Or any crimes at all. No one could wish to break my bones. Besides, the captain is a gentleman, or ought to be, if he is worthy of command. He would not strike me. What example might that set? If he has grievances then he should settle them by law. This is not America, I hope. The law is clear. We have emancipated slaves and habeas corpus here. He will not strike me in my native land.’
‘Who can tell what he might do? I just know this: you stick your bum in fire and you must sit on blisters. You interfere in someone else’s life, and there’s a price to pay. And that’s the truth, for captains and for gentlemen, no matter what the law might say.’
George put his arm round Aymer’s shoulder and led him into the blackness of a courtyard where they could not be watched or heard by the two Americans. Aymer couldn’t see his face, so couldn’t tell if there was any mockery in the new, honest tone to George’s voice. ‘The wisest thing for you is to let me find a horse and tackle, Mr Smith. Then hide yourself under my bed, or in the loft above the stables, until it’s dawn. And then it’s flesh and leather and you’re away back home and no damage done to you excepting saddle sores.’
‘I have no choice, you think.’
‘You have a choice. It’s blisters here, or saddle sores at home. If your backside’s got any brain it’ll settle for the sores. You put a sovereign in my hand to find the horse and it’s as good as done, and done so cheaply on account of my esteem for you, sir. For no one likes to see a fellow black and blue for meaning well but doing harm. One sovereign ought to settle it. Though two would put four legs beneath the horse, instead of three legs and a limp …’
‘Two sovereigns, George? I now begin to see your strategy …’
‘Save yourself two sovereigns then, and you’ll see this in’t no strategy. It’ll cost ten sovereigns for Fearful Phipps to set and mend your bones. Save yourself eight, Mr Smith, and do it quick because that is the captain I can hear and you’ll be caught.’
They stood on tiptoe looking over the courtyard wall into the lesser, sloping darkness of the lane. Twenty or so crewmen and Wherrytowners were descending, clustered round two lanterns on a pole.
Their path was steep and slippery and dark, and women had to hold strangers’ arms to stop themselves from falling in the snow. There was a lot of laughter, clutching, tumbling, apologies.
‘He’s there,’ said George, pointing, ‘and in good hands, poor man.’
The captain followed fifteen yards behind the rest, almost out of lantern light. But there was no mistaking his square build, nor Mrs Yapp’s oval one. She had her arm wrapped round the captain’s waist. Her bonnet was inclined towards his chest. They were too engrossed and, like the Norrises, too impassioned by the warming congruences of church to pay much heed to anything but how they’d seal the Sabbath with a little commerce of the flesh. She had the captain’s dollar in her hand.
‘Stay still,’ said George.
‘I will not hide myself. This is a public place, and I am well within the law.’ He was too frightened to stay still, or quiet. So Aymer Smith, with George and Whip on either side, stepped into the lane and stood beside the Belle’s fat mate and in the congregation’s path. He had no plan, except to keep his dignity, tell nothing but the truth, and hide behind the law. Shipmaster Comstock would benefit, in Aymer’s view, from some enlightenment. And some plain speaking.
Stand firm, he told himself. Though standing firm was difficult in his fine-weather boots. He’d put his feet too close together and too parallel. He lost his footing and he had to grasp the mate for balance. When he had regained his poise, he found himself surrounded by the crowd. The Wherrytowners amongst them raised their hats and said Goodnight; the Americans offered guffaws, whistles and expletives, and waited for their captain to arrive.
‘Good evening, Mrs Yapp,’ Aymer said, his voice uneven and a little high. ‘I understand you have my clothes and other things in your safe keeping. If this is so, then I’d be obliged if you could let me have them back, and ditto sheets, as I am tired and not a little feverish and would be glad to go to bed …’ He sniffed and coughed to illustrate his point.
‘Dear Lord,’ said Mrs Yapp. ‘A ghost!’ And burst out laughing.
Shipmaster Comstock let her go, and advanced to within a foot of Smith. Their gelid breaths made tiny, short-lived clouds, back-lit by lantern-light.
‘Good evening, Captain Comstock,’ Aymer said. ‘I trust you had a halfways decent day.’
A halfways decent day? What should the captain make of such effrontery? What should he say, with his crew stood by, and people from the town? He had intended to intimidate the man and then to thrash him. He clenched his fist. The nugget of his ring protruded from his finger. He’d knock Smith to the ground with just one blow. And then he’d stamp on him. But he was now discovering what Aymer had discovered moments earlier, that icy snow on sloping stone without a woman’s arm to keep you steady provides poor footing for a fight, or even for a dressing-down. He slipped, and Aymer had to — briefly — hold his hand. God Damn It that they had to meet like this, in public view, the captain thought. He’d like to hold on to the fellow’s hand and break all twenty-seven bones. He’d like to have him in his crew, and flogged for mutiny. Alice Yapp tugged at the captain’s coat: ‘Don’t get too wild.’ Aymer Smith had backed away. For the moment Comstock was reduced to words. ‘Good evening, sir,’ he said at last, attempting something out of character, a note of irony. ‘I understand you have my property in your safekeeping. I’d be obliged as well if you could let me have it back, as Mrs Yapp and I would like to go to bed.’