"Look at him," the governor general's lady continued. "He doesn't want to be reminded, Arthur. You can see that." She turned to Jeremy and smiled softly. "It isn't that your uncle doesn't remember your dear sisters, Terence," she explained. "He does recall them, very well. But he isn't adept at names, even of those he loves. However, we'll say no more about them or the plague, either. It's dreadfully hot out here, and I'll be happy to go beneath some shade trees somewhere, if there's no objection."
Relieved that he had escaped detection with such ease, Jeremy immediately plunged into the business at hand, the landing of the Duchess and the official reception. As they spoke. Sir Arthur took his arm and led him past the line of scarlet-uniformed soldiers of the honor guard. Within the Citadel's inner network of walls was a small garden, and here, beneath a towering, thick-trunked tree laden with streamers of moss, a tree Jeremy was later to come to know by the native name of gwango, he informed Sir Arthur of Caroline's wishes. Listening intently, the governor general interrupted now and again, then summoned a subordinate, to whom he issued a series of brief, crisp instructions. Jeremy was introduced to each of these officials, but the only one he remembered was Brigadier Sir Oswald Terne, highest-ranking military man in the Crown's employ residing in the Western Hemisphere and the man who would certainly lead the combined armies of the Indies and the North American colonies in the event that a new war should break out with Louis XIV of France. Sir Oswald impressed himself on Jeremy's mind because of his marked similarity to Colonel Eustis Martin, and it occurted to the young gunsmith that a lifetime in the army cast officers in the same mold.
As the trio sat drinking a fruit punch mildly flavored with rum, Jeremy learned that one wing of King's House had been made uninhabitable by a hurricane three months previous and that the repairmen were incredibly slow. This, combined with the demands of Caroline for herself, her lady in waiting, and her maid, left virtually no room at the palace for any other members of the party. Quarters would- be found for Sir Ian, and the officers could be housed at the army barracks nearby. But that left Lord Murray, among others, without a suitable bed. And Lady Bartlett was disturbed because there was no room for her nephew. She began to puzzle aloud on how she could rearrange her household, but Jeremy immediately declared that he would find a place for himself and his manservant elsewhere.
"No, dear Terence!" Lady Bartlett said firmly. "I will not allow our nearest of kin to lodge anywhere but under our roof!"
Her husband leaned toward her, patted her hand indulgently, then sat straight in his chair. "It is because he is our nearest of kin that we cannot keep him with us, Barbara," he said in mild reproof. "It is not fitting that Thomas Murray, a lord of the realm, be compelled to dwell elsewhere while we favor our own blood. We would be severely criticized for it, you know, and quite rightly, too."
Secretly relieved, Jeremy said loudly, "I agree with you. Uncle!" While he wanted to be as near to Caroline as possible, common sense told him that until he could unravel the mystery of why she was allowing him to continue in her employ he should not be too close either to her, to Sir Ian—or, for that matter, to Janine Groliere.
"I think," the governor general continued, "the most fitting spot would be the Golden Bucket. We can arrange for a suite there for Terence, and we'll reserve another for Lord Murray. The others "
"Not the Golden Bucket!" Lady Barbara Bartlett was vehement. "It Why, it is nothing but a cheap tavern, Arthur!"
"A tavern, yes," he responded dryly. "But not cheap. And certainly the best this benighted pesthole affords. I shouldn't worry if I were you, Barbara. It's the best solution, and Terence here looks as though he can take care of himself."
Jeremy was about to reply that he had learned swordsmanship from his father, but realized almost too late that he was speaking to people who would know instantly whether Terence Bartlett's father had ever held a blade in his hand. He swallowed the words that had come so close to tumbling out and was saved from further comment by a loud commotion from somewhere inside the Citadel. He heard a deep bass shout, "I tell ye, Friendly's m' name 'n' friendly's m' nature!" followed by a splintering crash.
On his feet instantly, Jeremy barely remembered to mutter, "By your leave," as he dashed into the heavy stone building toward the sound of the continuing altercation. Sir Arthur was at his heels, and several officers followed them along the arched corridor. They came unexpectedly into a large room overlooking the sea, a chamber containing several long tables of a hard native wood, with benches on each side. This was probably the mess hall for the garrison, and it was obvious there had been difficulties. Two of the benches were knocked over, a battered pewter mug had been flung across the hall and had spewn its contents on the stone flooring, and several glasses had been ground underfoot.
As Jeremy and Sir Arthur burst into the room, there was a remarkable quiet. A group of six or seven red-coated soldiers stood huddled together at the far end of the room, muttering softly. Beyond them was Dirk Friendly, who held still another soldier suspended in the air. Dirk's huge hand gripped him by the cross-belts on his uniform, and although the victim was struggling and kicking, his arms were not long enough for him to reach the big New Yorker. Just beyond Dirk was a window frame cut in the stone, and Dirk was gesturing toward it graphically with his free hand.
"Admit ye be wrong," he was saying in his most deceptively inoffensive tone, "or ye'll all be a-takin' a bath in the Caribbean out there, beginnin' with this one here."
Unable to decide whether to laugh or lose his temper, Jeremy at last found his voice. "Dirk!" he said sharply. "What's the meaning of this?"
The group at the window turned, and the soldiers stiffened to attention at the sight of the governor general. Even the man being held in mid-air tried to recapture some semblance of military dignity. But Dirk was unabashed, and his tone was aggrieved as he twisted his neck to face Jeremy, still holding his victim off the floor. "This here English dandy has been a-sayin' that folks from the colonies ain't as smart or clever or brave as somebuddy that comes from London," he declared in a hurt voice. " 'N' these other ones has been agreein' with him. But it ain't true. So I was just a-aimin' t' make 'em all see the error o' their ways."
Sir Arthur managed to keep a straight face with the greatest of difficulty. "I apologize to you on behalf of my regiments for their abysmal ignorance, young man."
Dirk noticed the Crown's viceroy for the first time, and he set the soldier down so hard that the man's teeth clattered. Unsure of whether to appear brazen or penitent, he grinned amiably. Sir Arthur's reserve broke, and he chuckled, then patted Jeremy on the shoulder. "We'd best go back to your aunt Barbara," he said. "We left her rather suddenly, and I'm sure she'll be relieved to hear that I've never uttered more truthful words than when I said you'd be safe at the Golden Bucket. With such a man as this—this giant to serve you, it's plain that all Port Royal will need protection from you"
It was ten o'clock at night when Jeremy arrived at the Golden Bucket tavern and took possession of the suite of rooms that had been held for him. He looked aroimd the small sitting room, modest bedchamber, and tiny servant's room and decided that, unlike Lord Murray, who had accompanied him back to the inn and had announced his intent of going straight to bed, he was too exhilarated to sleep.
The evening, in retrospect, had been a complete success. Both Sir Arthur and Lady Bartlett had continued to accept him without question as their nephew, and he had gleaned enough of family affairs to talk glibly of Terence Bartlett's sisters and other relatives. Caroline had been elated at the bond he had established with the governor general and had favored him with numerous firm declarations of her faith in him.