'Be damned, Captain ...'
'Do you agree?'
Shaw grunted. 'Under protest, yes, I agree.'
'I bid you farewell, Mr Shaw, and I repeat my apologies that the harsh necessities of war compel me to this action. Perhaps in happier times…'
He had the door open and thrust Arabella through, followed her and pulled the door to behind them, then seized her hand.
'Beyond the trees,' he ordered, walking quickly down the wide steps and across the gravel. 'And hurry, I pray you. I do not want you to catch a fever. I am sorry for what has happened. No blame attaches to you and if your maid was at least loyal to you, then I think no great harm can have been done. Tell your father-in-law you confessed only that your brother no longer had command of the Stingray'.
They reached the trees as he finished this monologue and he let go her wrist. She turned and faced him.
'I am sorry we must part like this,' he ran on, 'as sorry as I was by the manner of our last parting.'
'Sir,' she said, drawing her breath with difficulty, 'I should hate you for this humiliation, but I cannot pretend ... no, it is no matter. It was guilt the last time, guilt and shame and the confusion of love, but it was better than this!' She almost spat the last word at him. 'God,' her voice rose, exasperation and hurt charging it with a desperate vehemence, 'had I not... damn you! Go, for God's sake, go quickly.'
'God bless you, Arabella.'
'Go!'
He turned and ran, not hearing her poor, strangled cry, wondering why on earth he had invoked the Deity. A moment later he cannoned into Caldecott.
'Damn you, Caldecott — is the boat ready?'
'Beg pardon. Aye, sir.'
Drinkwater looked back. There was a brief flash of pale silk and then only the trees and their shadows stood between him and Castle Point.
'Everything all right, sir?'
In answer to Caldecott's query the wild barking of dogs, the gleam of lanterns and shouts of men filled the night. Then came the sharp crack of a musket.
'Not exactly. Come on, let's go.'
CHAPTER 14
Cry Havoc ...
'What d'you make of her, Mr Sundercombe?'
'I’m not sure, sir, beyond the fact she's a native and determined to pass close.'
Sundercombe handed Drinkwater his telescope. The American brig had trimmed her yards and laid a course to intercept the Sprite as the schooner ran south to pass the Virginia capes and reach the open Atlantic. It was mid-morning and Drinkwater was bleary-eyed from insufficient sleep. He had trouble focusing and passed the glass back to Sundercombe.
'Send your gun's crews quietly to their stations, load canister on ball, but don't run 'em out. Tell them when they get word, to aim high and cut up her riggin'. You handle the ship, I'll give the order to open fire.' Drinkwater looked up at the stars and bars rippling at the main peak. 'Better pass word for my coxswain.'
'I'm 'ere, sir, an' I've got some coffee.'
'Obliged, Caldecott...' Drinkwater took the hot mug.
Sundercombe was already issuing orders, turning up the watch below and giving instructions quietly to his gunners. The Sprite mounted six 6-pounders a side, enough to startle the stranger if Drinkwater timed his bird-scaring broadside correctly. He sipped gratefully at the scalding coffee which tasted of acorns.
'Caldecott,' he said, 'I want you to stand by the ensign halliards with one of our cutter's crew. The moment I give you the word, that ensign aloft must come down and our own be hoisted, d'you understand? 'Tis a matter of extreme punctilio.'
'Punctilio — aye, aye, sir.'
Drinkwater grinned after the retreating seaman. He seemed suitably imbued with gravitas. Quilhampton had discovered him and sent him aft for approval, concerned that Drinkwater had himself found no substitute for old Tregembo. 'You must have a cox'n, sir. I can't spare a midshipman every time you want a boat,' Quilhampton had protested.
'Can't, or won't?' Drinkwater had enquired.
'You must have a cox'n,' Quilhampton repeated doggedly, the flat assertion brooking no protest.
'Oh, very well,' Drinkwater relented, 'have you someone in mind?' Half an hour later the stunted form of Caldecott stood before him. 'Have you acted in a personal capacity before, Caldecott?' Drinkwater had asked, watching the man's eyes darting about the cabin and revealing a bright and curious interest.
'I 'ave, sir, to Captings Dawson and Peachey, sir, an' I was bargeman to Lord Collin'wood in the old Ocean, sir, an' 'ad lots of occasions to be 'andling 'is Lordship's personal an' diplomatic effects, sir.'
'Matter of punctilio,' Drinkwater now heard Caldecott repeat to his oarsman and, still grinning, he watched the Yankee brig bear down upon them.
The sight combined with the coffee and the invigorating chill of the morning breeze to cheer him, making him forget his fatigue. His brief nap had laid a period of time between this forenoon and the events of the previous night. They might have occurred to a different man. He was filled with a sudden happiness such as he had not felt for many, many months, the inspiriting renewal discovered by the penitent sinner.
Was that why he had called upon God to bless Arabella last night? Did he detect the finger of the Deity or providence in that last encounter; or in the fortuitous natural abortion of the child their helpless lust had made?
It was, he realized, much, much more than that. Cerlainly their odd, mutual avoidance had been in some strange way a holding back in anticipation of the final parting which had now occurred. They were, he reflected without bitterness, not young, and though their affair had not lacked heat it had not been conducted without a little wisdom. Moreover, she had loved him as he had loved her, with the self-wounding passion of hopeless intensity. Such things happened, rocked the boats of otherwise loyal lives and sent their ripples out to slap the planking of other such boats, God help them all.
But there was also the timely confirmation of his hunch. The drunk and incautious Stewart had opened his mind and had put Drinkwater in possession of a key, not to the strategic planning of Madison and his colleagues, but to the freebooting aspirations of his commercial warriors, the privateersmen and their backers. Drinkwater was as certain of this as of the breeze itself.
Sundercombe approached and stood beside him. The brig was two miles away, a merchant ship by the look of her.
'There's a brace of sail hull down to the s'uthard,' Sundercombe volunteered.
'Hasty?'
'One of 'em perhaps, sir.'
The old sensation of excitement and anxiety wormed in Drinkwater's gut. They had nothing much to fear from the brig, he thought, any more than the brig had to fear from the schooner she was so trustingly running down towards. Unmistakably Yankee in design, the American ensign at her peak and approaching from the direction of Baltimore, the Sprite could be nothing other than a privateer putting to sea. He looked along the waist. The gunners crouched at their pieces, waiting.
'We've forgotten something,' Drinkwater said sharply. 'Have your men drop the fore topm'st stays'l. Contrive to have it hang over the starboard rail and cover our trail boards. Have the men fuss about up there, as though dissatisfied with something. Those men yonder may smell a rat if they know there's no Sprite out of Baltimore or the Chesapeake.'
With a sharp intake of breath, Sundercombe hurried off. He had large yellow teeth, like an old horse, thought Drinkwater. He suddenly craved the catharsis of action, knowing that in a few moments he would open fire on the defenceless ship. What else was there for him to do? He was a King's officer, bound by his duty. They were all shackled, one way or another, making a nonsense of notions of liberty.