Ramage and the Renegades

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

A rather embarrassed Ramage, after carefully adjusting his stock, walked nearly naked along the corridor and, knocking on each door, repeated like a litany: 'This is Captain Ramage, of the Calypso frigate: you are all free now, but please do not go up on deck.'

Several people called their thanks; he heard one man begin a prayer in a firm, clear voice. He turned after knocking at the last door and walked back towards the cabin, which was now a cell containing seven bound prisoners guarded by three Calypsos who, armed with cutlasses, were sitting on chairs just inside the door.

As he went to pass the next to last door on his right, it opened and a woman in a gown came out, her face hidden in the shadow thrown by a lace scarf over her head.

'You must be cold,' she said, 'and still damp. Come, I'll get you some dry clothes.'

She held his arm and opened the door of her cabin.

'Can we borrow that lantern?' she pointed to the one back on its hook, now that the Calypsos in the cabin had their own. He walked over and lifted it down as she asked: 'Where is everyone? It sounded as though there were scores of you!'

'Most of them are up on deck now. The privateersmen are tied up and under guard in that cabin opposite.'

She led the way into her cabin. 'And no one was wounded?'

'None of my men. One of the privateersmen was killed.'

'Good,' she said, without bitterness. 'They are truly wicked men. They were going to murder us.'

'Well, only if we tried to rescue you!'

'No,' she said quietly. 'Several days before you arrived, they decided there was no hope of getting ransom from us. Or, rather, it would take too long. So they decided to kill us on the day they took all the prizes away. When you arrived they realized they could use us as hostages to stop you capturing them.'

Suddenly Ramage realized the cunning of Tomás and Hart, and he hoped that Aitken and his men would have the same difficulty as Rossi. As though she guessed what he was thinking she asked, as she unlocked a trunk: 'What about the passengers in the other ships?'

'I hope by now those in the Amethyst have been rescued by some of my men.'

'And the rest - in the Heliotrope and the Friesland?'

'We tackle them tomorrow night. Tonight, I mean.'

'Do you mean to swim across to them?' She stood up and looked at him, but the shawl still threw a shadow over herfeatures.

'Yes. Obviously we'd be seen if we used boats.'

'But surely you have done enough, saving us.'

Deliberately misunderstanding her, he said: 'The Earl of Dodsworth is merely one of four with passengers, although the other privateer - yes, there is a second one - may bring in more any day.'

'No, I didn't mean that,' she said. 'You said one of your lieutenants was dealing with the Amethyst. I meant, cannot more of your lieutenants go to the other two ships? Is it usual for a frigate captain to swim around naked doing everything?'

'I am not naked,' he said stiffly, 'and you offered ...'

'Of course!' she lifted the lid of the trunk. 'Forgive me, I know nothing of naval ways and was curious. The colonel commanding a battalion is not expected to lead every patrol, that I do know.'

'You have the advantage of me there,' Ramage said ironically. 'I know nothing of how the Army goes about its business.'

'Well -' she tossed a pair of breeches across to him, and followed it with a shirt and a uniform jacket which was of a very dark colour, difficult to distinguish with the lantern, probably green, with heavy frogging across the front '- you are going to look like a soldier for the rest of the day. It will all fit. Do you want shoes? They're in another trunk. Hose, a clean stock - I don't imagine you will want to continue wearing your own - and do you want to try a hat? No? It would have suited you.'

He had put the lantern down on a table as he caught the garments she threw to him. That deep, vibrant voice: one did not hear it with the ears alone, and as he watched her he was thankful he could hold the bundle of clothes in front of him.

'You seem - er, knowledgeable, about men's wear, "Miss for now".'

'Yes.' She was not being unpleasant; it was a matter-of-fact agreement with what he had just said. She shut the lid of the trunk. 'Now, to see if some shoes fit you. Come and sit on this trunk; the other one is here next to it.'

She unlocked it and by the time he was sitting she had selected a pair of shoes which, he noticed, had heavy silver buckles already fitted. Half a dozen other pairs, which she had taken out and put down on the deck, also had the buckles fitted. The owner must be a wealthy man; most people transferred the buckles when they changed shoes.

'These fit comfortably.'

'They look rather large.'

'They'll be just right once I am wearing hose.'

'Of course,' she said, obviously irritated with herself for forgetting and moving Ramage to search through the first trunk. 'Well, have we forgotten anything else?'

'No, I'm now well equipped. Will you please thank the owner for the use of part of his wardrobe?'

'That won't be possible, so you can thank me. I'll leave you this cabin as a dressing room. I shall be next door. Perhaps you would knock when you've finished.'

With that she was gone, and he still had very little idea of what she looked like. A definite sense of humour - she was enjoying telling him nothing about the ownership of these clothes and she neatly evaded any hint that they belonged to a husband or a brother. A young man, he noted, glancing at the waistband of the breeches. Not her father nor an uncle. He examined the buttons on the jacket. They had a curious design carved into them - were they ebony? Anyway, not the usual number indicating one of the foot regiments, yet the sword he had seen in the second trunk was not a cavalryman's sword. Well, he had all day to find out more about her . . .

Breakfast brought the first crisis. Stafford lit the galley fire at the regular time noted by Southwick, sunrise, while Rossi searched everywhere for food for the passengers. Ramage and Orsini were planning to serve them with an elaborate meal to celebrate their release, and Aitken had already signalled that he had taken the Amethyst.

But no food. When an embarrassed Rossi reported that he could find only seamen's fare, Ramage realized that he would have to go below and ask 'Miss for now'. He had purposely remained under the halfdeck, out of sight from any other ships, because his Army garb was unmistakable and Southwick had never reported seeing anyone being exercised in such a uniform. He had intended meeting the passengers formally after they had breakfasted and the tables in the great cabin had been cleared.

By now daylight was penetrating below, making the lanternlight weak and yellow. The wind had not come up yet and he found the air below was still and stale, thick with the sooty smell of burning candlewicks.

He felt self-conscious in his strange uniform. The Calypsos were already dressed in their usual shirt and trousers - a bag on the raft (already hoisted on board out of sight) had been used as a travelling trunk by the seamen who, Ramage thought ruefully, had had more foresight than himself. He nodded to the men guarding the prisoners and knocked on her door, expecting to wait for a few minutes while she dressed. She would be hard put to try to hide her face now, he thought, but he had persuaded himself that the reason for the shawl over her head had been because she knew she was plain, and was enjoying the unexpected and brief flirtation with the captain of the frigate. She would have a long, horsy face, straight hair, a large bulbous nose that went red in cold weather, and a mouth with thin lips. She would smile readily, of course, in that eager-to-please way of an elderly woman's companion . . .

By now the door had opened and the face smiling at him was beautiful. It was as if he was standing within inches of a Lely portrait, the doorway being the frame. It would be called La Belle Inconnue.

'You should not stare,' the voice said.

'I'm not staring, I'm stunned,' Ramage said without feeling any connection between his voice and the words. 'Breakfast,' he added lamely.

'Oh, you are hungry? It's Mrs Donaldson's turn with me this morning. It takes about half an hour to prepare.'

Ramage pulled himself together and gave a brief bow. 'Ma'am, you -'

' "Took me unawares",' she supplied.

'- took me unawares,' Ramage repeated gratefully and grinned. 'I came to ask "Miss for now" where my men can find the food to prepare the passengers' breakfast.'

'In a "John Company" ship the passengers supply their own victuals.' She obviously enjoyed using such professional words. 'And dress visitors, too, when necessary,' she added mischievously. 'I'll collect Mrs Donaldson. I'm afraid your unexpected arrival has upset the routine we had to start when the pirates took all the crew ashore.'

'On shore,' he could not help teasing her. 'People go on shore; only ships go "ashore", usually accidentally.'

'Captain, you must give me lessons in the nautical language; it will be invaluable when I return to the land of drawing room chatter.'

And the devil of it was that he did not know if she was serious or teasing him. She smiled and walked past him along the corridor to tap on a door and call: 'Mrs Donaldson . . . it's our turn to prepare breakfast, and we have a guest.'

'Three guests,' Ramage called, remembering Martin and Paolo. As she waved to acknowledge that she had heard he thought of Gianna, and suddenly she seemed even more distant in both time and space.

The great cabin of the Earl of Dodsworth was impressive. Athwartships, in front of the sternlights, was a long table with a smaller one at each side of the cabin running parallel to the centreline and leaving a hollow square between for stewards using the big sideboard at the forward side of the cabin.

As Ramage walked through the door, Martin and Paolo behind him, he saw that half a dozen people were sitting at the big table - clearly 'the captain's table' - while six more sat at one side table and two couples at the other. He saw her walking across the cabin towards him, obviously acting as the hostess.

The light from the stern windows was behind her. She was wearing a light mustard-coloured morning dress, nipped in at the waist and tight across the bust, but flaring out from the hips. Her hair was not quite blonde - tawny perhaps - but the light reflecting on it showed it was brushed out loosely, not braided.

He was deliberately avoiding looking at her face: he had seen every man and woman in the cabin was watching him and the men were rising - and yes, the women were clapping gently!

She gave a little curtsy and said: 'Because I am the only person who has really met you .. .' She paused for a moment and Ramage glanced up: there was no mistaking her meaning. '... I have been given the task of introducing you - all three of you,' she corrected herself, 'to everyone present.'

Ramage took Paolo's arm. Now he would hear her name! 'May I present Lieutenant Martin and Midshipman the Count Orsini.'

Paolo took her hand and kissed it.

'Ah, we have been reading about the Count's exploits in a recent copy of the Gazette,' she said and no one but Ramage seemed to notice that she had not offered her name.

She led the way to the top table and introduced him first to the elderly man who had come from the next cabin, and the grey-haired woman sitting next to him, a woman whose fine-boned face still had an almost haunting mature beauty.

'The Marquis of Rockley, the Marchioness: may I present Captain Ramage, Lieutenant Martin and Midshipman the Count Orsini...'

Rockley? Somewhere in Cambridgeshire. Friends of the Temples and of Pitt. As he went through the ritual of being introduced, Ramage tried to place the couple more exactly, but in a few moments he was being introduced to the next couple. He recognized the name as belonging to a Kentish landowner active in Parliament. The last man was an officer in the military service of the Honourable East India Company, and Ramage apologized for his borrowed uniform, admitting to be uncertain to which regiment it belonged. The man laughed a little too loudly at the idea of a naval officer in a soldier's uniform, but the woman with him looked embarrassed.

Ramage managed to glance at 'Miss for now' but she was looking away, deliberately it seemed. What was unusual about this uniform?

Finally, with the last introduction completed, and before the woman had shown them to their chairs, the old Marquis stood up and tapped a glass with a knife to get everyone's attention.

'If I may have a moment... you all know the identity of the gallant captain who gave us a sleepless night and at dawn presented us with our freedom. I know you want me to give him our thanks, and ask him to thank his officers and men as well. We know he and his men have more work to do tonight, and our prayers will be with them.'

No reply was needed and amid clapping and hearty 'Hear, hears' Ramage sat at the head of the table, finding the Marquis on his right and 'Miss for now' on his left. Just as he noted the white cloth and napkins and was wondering what was going to happen next, Rossi marched in carrying a huge silver tea urn, followed by Jackson and Stafford with trays of various dishes.

She was smiling at his bewilderment. 'A surprise for you: we hatched it up while slaving round the galley fire!'

'I don't get such service in my own ship,' Ramage protested mockingly. 'I have one incredibly slow steward...'

'The terms of the peace treaty,' the Marquis said. 'Could you give me some idea . . . ?'

Ramage, realizing that this would be the first information from anything approaching an official source that the Marquis had heard, apologized for not having mentioned it earlier and told him all he could remember.

'A sad business,' the Marquis commented. 'We won the war and now we've lost the peace. Still, Bonaparte will try again. Now tell me what brings your ship to this strange island?'

Ramage described the omission in the Treaty and the British government's intention of taking advantage of it. The Marquis nodded. 'I should not care to be one of the garrison,' he commented.

A few moments later he asked: 'Do you know India, Ramage?'

Ramage shook his head. 'Their Lordships have kept me in the West Indies and the Mediterranean, I'm afraid.'

'Breakfast tends to be a more social occasion out there than in England. It is not unusual to have guests arriving unexpectedly for breakfast.'

'It is not unknown in the Ilha da Trinidade,' 'Miss for now' said, laughing easily.

'I hope you have made our apologies for not sending out the proper invitations, Sarah,' the Marquis said, smiling.

'His Lordship hasn't left cards yet, father.'

She was watching him and he saw that she was a woman who could smile with her eyes. And talk, too, and at this moment her eyes were saying: 'There - now you know my first name, and you have met my parents, but you wonder about that uniform you are wearing.'

It all passed in a moment and Ramage said in a humorous apology: 'My card case is in another uniform, which I forgot to bring with me.'

'Think nothing of it,' the Marquis said, pushing his cup towards Rossi, who was unused to wrestling with a large urn and its two taps. 'We half expected you. In fact your arrival has cost me a guinea.'

Ramage raised his eyebrows questioningly and Sarah said: 'My father didn't think you could rescue us before the pirates cut our throats . . .'

'The guinea?'

'Oh, I bet him a guinea you would find a way.'

'Obviously you are an optimist! If he won he could hardly collect!'

She shrugged her shoulders as though dismissing any such thoughts of losing. 'After all, you did find a way.'

Her matter-of-fact acceptance of it all irritated him; too much was being taken for granted.

'We shan't know if we've been successful until nightfall.'

The Marquis was quick to spot that Ramage had not spoken out of pique. 'In what way, Captain? After all, we're free and our former guards are your prisoners.'

'Yes, but supposing a boat comes from the Lynx and they find they have neither guards nor hostages now in this ship or the Amethyst

'What will they do?' the Marchioness asked.

'I can only guess, ma'am. Certainly raise the alarm, which will mean the hostages in the Heliotrope and Friesland will be murdered, then probably the Lynx will try to escape.'

'Will she succeed?' Sarah's voice was almost a whisper.

'I doubt it. My second lieutenant, now in command of the Calypso, has his orders.'

'But has he enough experience?'

Her question was so harshly spoken that her father murmured: 'Sarah!'

Ramage suddenly found he had lost all appetite for breakfast. 'All my officers have been in action many times. The two left on board the Calypso have been in battle more times, I imagine, than the people in this cabin have seen a full moon rise. Now, if you'll excuse -'

He put his hands on the table and began pushing back his chair. She touched his left hand with her fingertips and murmured: 'I'm sorry: please stay. Don't spoil our first breakfast.'

'Our only one,' Ramage muttered, 'and I feel none too comfortable in these absurd clothes.'

She was the only one to hear him, and she went pale, withdrawing her hand. 'That was unworthy of you.'

The Marquis, sensing currents he did not understand, turned to talk to his wife. Ramage then realized that to leave the table now would puzzle or embarrass everyone present, quite apart from taking him away from the immediate presence of the one woman he wanted to be with at the moment. What made him behave like this? Normally he did not take offence at what were obviously intended as ordinary remarks. Why now, he asked himself. The answer was almost stunningly simple: he was behaving like a spoiled child because he had thought that, however obliquely and however mildly, Sarah was criticizing him. Not even that - almost questioning his judgement. Not even that, he had to admit, repeating the phrase as though deliberately nagging himself: because she knew nothing of the way a ship of war was run, and nothing of the Calypso's officers (except himself and Paolo, whose name must have lodged in her memory). She did not know, and could not know, that Wagstaffe and Southwick were more used to being in battle than in a drawing room.

'Am I forgiven?' she asked quietly, and the tone of her voice showed it mattered to her.

'There's nothing to forgive, but I forgive you twice, so that you have two in reserve, like Papal dispensations.'

She smiled with her eyes. 'We are making progress from our first meeting!'

Quite involuntarily Ramage glanced down at her bosom: the scene of the first meeting, he thought to himself, is now modestly covered. He looked up to find her blushing slightly. Her eyes flickered down to his left hand, as though she had momentarily lost control of them, and he knew she was thinking the same, and the memory was not as displeasing as it might have been.

Stafford came round with a napkin-covered basket of hot rolls. 'Bit 'ard, sir and madam,' he apologized, 'but they're yesterday's bake, 'otted up. No time to make fresh this morning.'

'Thank you, Stafford,' she said with a smile that made Ramage feel unreasonably jealous of the Cockney, who went on to the other tables.

'You know Stafford?'

'Oh yes - remember, we were all slaving away in the galley: Jackson, Rossi and Stafford. They're very proud of themselves, too.'

'Oh? In what way?'

'They were boasting that they had served with you longer than any of the others in the Calypso. They were telling Mrs Donaldson and me how they helped you rescue Midshipman Orsini's - is she his aunt, the Marchesa di Volterra?'

'Yes, aunt,' he said, his voice as neutral as he could manage.

'I had the impression she was much younger. And very beautiful.'

'She is young. Only a few years older than Paolo.'

'And he is her heir?'

'At present, yes.'

'You mean, if she doesn't marry and have a son of her own.'

'Yes,' he said. 'A son or daughter. If she dies childless.'

'Is that likely?'

'She left England recently to return to Volterra, so I don't know what she's doing.'

'Travelling through France? Isn't that dangerous? I wouldn't have thought Bonaparte...'

'We tried to warn her.'

'But noblesse oblige.' It was a comment, an acknowledgement rather than a judgement.

'Noblesse hardly obliges you to put your head in a noose,' he said sourly.

'Perhaps the Marchesa knows her own people best.'

'No, she has yet to learn Non ogni giorno e festa.'

'My Italian is sketchy but from Latin, "Not every day is a festa"?'

'Yes, now try, Non ogni fiore fa buon odore.'

'Hmm . . . "Not every flower makes a good odour"?'

' "Not every flower smells sweet" - yes, it's impossible to make direct translations, but she trusts Bonaparte's treaty.'

'Your Italian sounds fluent.'

Was she changing the subject from Gianna? 'It should be: I was brought up there as a child.'

'And you love the country.'

'Yes, that helps, too. But my French and Spanish are good enough, although at the moment they are not my favourite peoples.'

A sudden smell of hot food made him turn, and he saw his three seamen placing covered dishes on the sideboard. Jackson came over and whispered to Ramage, who spoke to Sarah. She nodded. 'We always do help ourselves. It all smells delicious.'

Rossi came up the companionway to the halfdeck holding several shirts in one hand. He saluted Ramage and said: 'For the "guards", sir. I took the brightest the prisoners were wearing, so they'll be seen from the Lynx.'

Ramage gestured to the five Calypsos who would be pretending to be guards while exercising the hostages, 'I hope they're watching from the Lynx, so that your acting won't be wasted. And by the way: you are supposed to beprivateersmen. Don't hit any of the "hostages" but don't behave in a friendly fashion either. Keep two or three yards away from them.'

He tried to remember the wording of Bowen's report on the days he had spent watching the Earl of Dodsworth. Eight women walking the deck for half an hour, followed by eight men for half an hour. They used the after companionway. The guards had cutlasses and Bowen presumed pistols, though they were too far away for him to see.

The sun was high over the island now and beginning to heat up the deck. Ramage could see half a dozen tropic birds soaring over the northern headland and the shadows were shortening on the western side of the hills. The Earl of Dodsworth's decks had not been scrubbed for many days, and her captain would be shocked if he could see the stains where the guards had been swilling rum and spitting tobacco juice. He went down the companionway and called for the women to go on deck.

He could see that to an onlooker everything was normal in the Calypso: the two boats used by the surveyors were anchored off the beach and he had watched the men, tiny ants in the distance, start their long climb into the hills. The boat making the soundings was slowly crossing the bay, stopping every few yards for a man to heave the lead. The bosun would be commanding Martin and Paolo's boat today, dressed up in officer's breeches, coat and hat. Some time this morning the boat would, apparently by chance, pass close to the Earl of Dodsworth, in case there were messages to be passed.

Sarah was as good as her word, calling instructions to the Calypsos. 'One of you should spit over the side - well, not exactly spit. . . they delighted in trying to embarrass us.'

'Spurgeon,' Ramage called. 'Relieve yourself at the larboard entryport.'

'Well, sir... I... er, well, I don't think I can, sir, I just went a'fore the ladies...'

'Pretend,' Ramage growled.

After a few minutes, Sarah walked past where Ramage was waiting in the lee of the halfdeck. 'As soon as we spread out, the guards would get excited and make us bunch up together.'

Riley had heard her words and began shouting: 'Come on, you women! Keep together; this ain't a parade to church, yer know!'

'Perfect,' Sarah said. 'That's just the sort of thing they used to say.'

Jackson suddenly called urgently: 'There's a boat leaving the Lynx!'

It had to happen, Ramage thought bitterly, pulling off his uniform jacket. A man in a white shirt could be a guard because the bulwarks hid his breeches. He stared at the Lynx through the gunports, using a telescope he had found in the binnacle drawer. Four men at the oars, a couple of men sitting in the sternsheets. Not Tomás, nor Hart. Nor was the boat in any rush: whatever she was doing and wherever she was going, it was something routine. If she came to the Earl of Dodsworth ...

With the exception of the Marchioness, who was sitting in a chair right aft, the women were in a bunch, Sarah being closest to him. She had very quickly worked out a way of talking to him.

'Er, Captain...'

He turned, lowering the telescope.

'Yes, "Miss for now"?'

'Lady Sarah, actually, Captain...' Ramage recognized the querulous voice of Mrs Donaldson, a big-boned woman who was the wife of the owner of jute factories in Madras. 'Her father is a marquis, you know.'

'Forgive me, Lady Sarah,' Ramage said, and from the impatient shake of the head knew he had not added to his knowledge of her. As Lady Sarah she could be the unmarried daughter of the Marquis, but if she had married someone without a title, she would still be Lady Sarah. Only if she had married someone with a title of his own could she have become 'Lady Blank'. But. . . the devil take it, he could not even remember the Rockleys' family name!

'Is the boat coming here?' demanded Mrs Donaldson.

'To us or the Commerce. I can't tell yet because the Commerce is almost between us and the privateer.'

'The hostages in the Commerce - your men have not rescued them yet?'

'The Commerce has no passengers, as far as we can make out.'

'What happens if the boat comes here?'

'If the men come on board, then we have lost the game.'

'Why? How ridiculous! There can only be a dozen men in that boat!'

'Half a dozen,' he could not resist correcting her, particularly since the number had no relevance.

'Well, you have two dozen! You can easily capture them,' Mrs Donaldson declared. 'Why, we women could deal with them!'

'I'm sure you could,' Ramage said gently. 'And having killed or secured them, then what happens?'

As Mrs Donaldson gave her views Ramage saw that Sarah had at last realized the problem: she bit her lower lip between her teeth, but Mrs Donaldson, in a patronizing voice, announced: 'Why, we add them to our prisoners and tell that horrible privateer man that now we have hostages, and if he doesn't go away we'll hang them all! Won't we, ladies!' She looked round her for agreement. A couple said, 'Yes, of course,' with the eagerness of nitwits, while the others were watching Sarah, perhaps unsure of what was making her doubtful but, after having her as a neighbour for so long, aware of Mrs Donaldson's intellectual shortcomings.

'I assure you, madam, that the privateer captain would not jib at the sight of a dozen of his men dangling by their necks from nooses: privateers are desperate men, and if only a few survive the action, it means their share of the spoils is bigger.'

'Don't you believe it, Mr Ramage -'

'Lord Ramage,' Sarah corrected, ignoring Ramage's request in her exasperation.

'Oh, indeed? One of the Blazeys, then? How interesting. St Kew, in Cornwall, isn't it? You must be the Earl of Blazey's son -'

'If that boat does not return safely to the Lynx, madam,' Ramage interrupted her, 'the privateer captain will give a signal which will result in all the passengers in the Friesland and Heliotrope being killed by the guards. Four men and four women in the Dutch ship, two men, two women and two children in the French.'

'Oh dear me, what will happen? You must do something, young man; do something at once!'

'He is trying to decide now, and he doesn't need your help,' one of the women said. 'Come on, leave the captain to his business.' With that the woman walked aft, followed by several of the others. Mrs Donaldson, however, stood where she was, twirling her parasol and tapping a foot.

'Young man, I demand to know what you intend doing!'

Ramage nodded to Rossi, who politely but firmly took Mrs Donaldson's arm. 'Signora, is down to your cabin now, the sun is too strong.'

'But I don't wish -'

'This way,' Rossi said, 'is dangerous, too much sun.' He took Mrs Donaldson's parasol and held it so low she could hardly see and, with her protesting that she liked the sun, the Italian had her almost trotting along the deck.

'I'm sorry,' Sarah murmured, 'I continually underestimate you.'

'Not now you don't; I've no idea what we do if that boat comes here. Kill or capture them to save ourselves, and kill the passengers in both the remaining ships - or surrender ourselves and save the others.'

'How many passengers in the Heliotrope and Friesland?'

'Fourteen.'

'Compared with sixteen here and how many in the Amethyst?'

'You have to balance twenty-six freed with fourteen still held hostage.'

'So you've already considered it from that point of view,' she said. 'Like a butcher weighing up meat.'

He sighed and lifted the telescope. 'I happened to know the figures; I've been living with them for the last few days. You were the first hostages to be released only because you were the nearest to the Calypso,' he added brutally, 'and the Amethyst was the next nearest.'

'I should have thought you would have considered it your duty to rescue the largest British ship first anyway,' she said, a cold flatness in her voice.

'I'm not rescuing any particular ship. My men and I are saving lives of innocent people - or trying to.'

'Don't say that to my father- he was the Governor General of Bengal.'

'I know - I remembered that at breakfast.'

'So that had no bearing on your rescuing us first?' Obviously she found it hard to believe.

He snapped the telescope shut with a vicious movement. 'You are at liberty to question my officers when you have the chance. We knew nothing of the identity of any of the hostages.'

'You mean the privateersmen said nothing to you?'

'Do they know?'

'Well, I'm sure they do. Someone must have told them!'

'I doubt it. I believe that they don't know for the simple reason that they could get almost a king's ransom for your father. A Governor General's ransom, anyway. How much would the British government pay to free him? Or the directors of the East India Company? They'd pay whatever was demanded.'

'Well, you've saved them the expense,' she said, it has cost you what must be a very irritating encounter with me. And if that boat comes here, I suppose everything is wasted anyway.'

'The boat isn't coming here.'

'How do you know?'

Ramage stared at her and then gave her the telescope. 'Give it to Mrs Donaldson when you've finished. The rectangular boxes they are lifting from the water are lobster pots.' He bowed and went down the companionway, knowing that his hands were shaking with anger but both surprised and pleased with himself for not showing it. Mrs Donaldson - thank goodness Rossi had understood that unspoken order. But Sarah - there was no way of lowering a parasol over her. He wondered what she looked like, lying naked on a bed. Well, he would never know, but one thing was certain: she could be damned annoying fully dressed on the upper deck.

He could just make out the first stars in Orion's Belt as they rose over the hills, and he glanced across at the black shape which was the Heliotrope. It was going to be a long swim tonight: the Heliotrope was much farther from the Earl of Dodsworth than the East Indiaman was from the Calypso, and his own job was going to be a lot more difficult because he would be warning French passengers. Still, he spoke good enough French to deal with that. Much worse was the problem facing Aitken, who had to board the Friesland and warn a number of Dutch men and women.

It was so peaceful - and so improbable that Captain Ramage, commanding the Calypso frigate, should be sitting here on number four gun, starboard side, in a John Company ship anchored off an Atlantic island so small few had heard of it. And thinking so many random thoughts his head seemed to be a mill stream in flood.

His fingers traced the 'GRII' cast into the gun between the trunnions. Not a new gun, by any means, but not used enough times to make a gun from the previous reign less useful. Well cared for, of course; he could feel the smoothness revealing many coats of gun lacquer, and in daylight he had seen that the ropes of the breeching, side and train tackles were in good condition: one could tell that without twisting the rope to see if the heart was still a golden brown, even though the outside had weathered grey.

It was a still night. The current kept the ships heading west of north as though they were half a dozen compass needles, but each one's heading was slightly different, so it was easy to see how the current came round the northern headland and curved into the bay with a scouring movement before meeting the southern headland and running out again.

That faint scent, crushed nettles and yet containing the muskiness he associated with the East he had never seen, and then the rustle of silk and the voice he knew he would never forget. 'You sit there with head bent like Atlas carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders,' she murmured.

He reached out and took her hand in a movement which seemed quite natural. 'The weight of my world, and that's quite enough!'

'We haven't made it any lighter - people like Mrs Donaldson and me. "You must do something at once." ' She mimicked Mrs Donaldson. 'I shudder every time I think about this morning.' She gave a curious start, like a suppressed hiccough.

'You've been crying, too. Not about that, surely?'

He felt her fingers let go of his hand but he held on. 'Answer me, "Miss for now".'

'Yes, I've been weeping like a silly young woman, but not over that.'

Ramage suddenly remembered the military uniform he was wearing. Had the sight of someone about the same size as its owner provoked sad memories? Of a distant husband, a dead lover - or what? Was she a widow mourning her husband or had she gone to India with her parents to marry a fiancé who had died of one of the East's many diseases?

He twisted round on the breech of the gun so that he could look at the dark shadow which was Sarah, and he held her hand in both of his. In a few hours he would say goodbye and probably never see her again, but he needed to know.

'Over what then? It's not vulgar curiosity that makes me ask.'

She gave a muted, unhappy laugh. 'Captain Ramage,' she said, with almost mocking formality, 'I met you only eighteen hours ago. We have not even been formally introduced. My mother would have a fit if she knew I was up here alone with you. . .'

'Would your father?'

'I... well, I doubt it. He has a wider understanding of... problems.'

'We have known each other eighteen hours; in three more we shall say goodbye - if you stay up that long. So you can answer my question without worrying about blushing when you meet me at breakfast tomorrow, because for us there is no tomorrow.'

She lowered her head and gave another dry sob which she tried to disguise with a laugh. 'It was a silly reason and of no possible interest to you.'

'You could say possibly no concern of mine, but certainly I am interested, or I wouldn't have asked.'

'Please, Captain Ramage, forget it.'

'My name is Nicholas.'

'I've been thinking of you as Nicholas; I suppose because you finally called me Sarah.'

'Finally... it took long enough. We wasted so many of those eighteen hours, "Miss for now". But tell me the reason.' He could not prevent himself from returning to the question but she shook her head.

He let her hand go and said, without trying to hide the sudden bitterness he felt: 'It must be important if you wish to keep it secret. Anyway, I can guess it, I think.'

She looked up suddenly and he thought he had shocked her.

'What have you guessed ?'

'This uniform you lent me - it belongs to someone of whom you are fond and it brought back memories.'

'It brought back memories,' she said, 'but the trunks are in my cabin only because the purser was afraid that if they were stowed below the rats might damage the clothing.'

He thought for a moment. Had she answered his question? He shook his head, as much to try to make his brain work more clearly as a sign of disbelief, but she said in a small voice: 'The uniform has no significance; I would never have given it to you if it had.'

'We met under unusual circumstances...'

'Yes, I was naked and we were not formally introduced,' she said unexpectedly. 'And for that matter you were almost naked, too.'

'I've thought about it many times since.'

'You are trying to embarrass me.'

'It was dark. I didn't see your face for hours. Anyway, why were you crying?'

'Oh, don't keep harping on that. I was unhappy. Now I am going to say goodbye and leave you here thinking of the beautiful Marchesa. My father has already thanked you again for having saved us. I can only repeat his words. Thank you, Nicholas.'

With that she was gone: she was barefooted, he realized, and in a moment she was hidden in the shadows cast by the masts and rigging.

So she thought he was sitting here alone in the dark 'thinking of the beautiful Marchesa'. He began to feel guilty when it came to him that in the last hour he had not thought of Gianna at all. He cursed the boastings of Jackson, Rossi and Stafford. They had told a romantic story of a young naval officer rescuing the beautiful Marchesa from under the feet of Bonaparte's cavalry, but they had not mentioned - because they did not realize, or never knew - the other side of it. A man and a woman could fall in love - no one could stop that. But there was much that could prevent them from even thinking of living happily ever after.

At some point in the voyage to Trinidade, Ramage now saw as he sat on the gun, hoping that Sarah would return as quickly and silently as she had vanished, he had finally made up his mind about Gianna and the future. Without thinking about it openly, he had made the decision that mattered: he was not prepared to do something which made the twelfth Earl of Blazey, his son, as yet unborn, into a Roman Catholic, and forcing all the subsequent earls into a dual loyalty, to the British monarch and the Vatican.

His own father, the tenth Earl, had never mentioned the question of religion to him, even though he knew that at one time there was a question of marriage. The old Earl was very fond of Gianna: for the past few years, while Gianna was living with his parents, they had considered her more as a daughter than a refugee.

Unknown to himself, he had reached his decision. In her own way, Gianna had made a definite choice in deciding to return to Volterra. Did those two facts combined mean that the courtship, if that was the word, was over? In returning to Volterra, Gianna had obeyed the dictate of noblesse oblige. In turn, that meant that for reasons of state she would marry an Italian, a Tuscan whose family would be powerful enough to be a strong reinforcement for her own.

What about Paolo? For months Ramage had had the feeling that, perhaps without realizing it, Paolo was building his life round England and the Royal Navy. Yet he was Gianna's heir, and Ramage forced himself to think about it: if she was murdered by Bonaparte's agents, or even traitors among her own people, he would be the new ruler of Volterra. Paolo might be the ruler already, he told himself with a shiver.

Traitors and treason . . . there would be enough of both round the court in Volterra: the pro-French group would hardly welcome Gianna back. But had he been disloyal to her? Somewhere on the way from Chatham to Trinidade he had fallen out of love with her. His feelings in recent weeks, he realized, when he had worried about her safety, pictured her in a French jail, imagined her threatened by a Tuscan assassin, had been the anxiety a man would have for a much-loved sister; it was not the freezing fear for the safety of a future wife.

Had Gianna undergone this same change? It was not so much a change of heart as a change of direction. Had she begun to change while she was in England, so that this made it easier for her to return to Volterra? The more he thought about it the more it seemed he was using that as an excuse for himself. Gianna had returned because it was - as she saw it - her duty. He had tried to persuade her not to because - as he saw it - the war was not over, despite the Treaty, and it was her duty to remain in England until she could return to rule her people in safety, knowing that her work for them could yield results.

All very convincing, he told himself, and now you can think of very little else but a woman you have only known for eighteen hours and will never see again.

He slid down from the gun and, clasping his hands behind hisback, walked towards the fo'c'sle. Well, in at least one way Sarah had done him a good turn: she had, quite unwittingly, forced him to think clearly about Gianna, and the thinking about her had brought the knowledge that his feelings for her had changed. Not died, but changed. He now accepted, too, that since the walls of religion and their inheritances would keep them apart, there was no question of him going to his grave a bachelor because his love was forever out of reach. St Kew needed a landlord and his parents deserved a grandson.

Noblesse oblige again, of course! He had not thought of the phrase for years, but now Sarah had mentioned it in another context, did he want to be the eleventh and last Earl of Blazey, after his father died? It was one of the oldest earldoms in the kingdom. He was an only child and by not marrying and not having a son, did he want to see the end of it?

He turned and made his way aft. It would soon be time for him to start off alone for the Heliotrope, the rest of the men following later. They had prepared the raft, and Ramage pulled his stock from his pocket. It was dry now. Jackson was waiting with the cutlass and knife. The wind dropping had left a warm night, and as the excitement of the second stage of the operation began to seep through him, the uniform felt particularly hot and oppressive. He felt an irrational hatred for it - irrational because she had made it clear it had not belonged to anyone she loved. He stopped for a moment. Loved now, but could it have been someone she had loved?

The devil take it; he would never see her again. Jackson stepped forward and helped him out of the jacket, and then he sat on the breech of a gun to pull off the rest of his clothes.

Over in the Amethyst, Aitken would be preparing. The second stage... and if it was successful the third stage would be the last one. It was, he reflected, an odd way to survey an island.