But it was the boy Napier, his shirt soaked with spray, carrying his shoes in one hand.
“What is it?” Adam seized his wet arm. “Where have you been?”
Napier said quietly, “I-I thought I should call you, sir.” He swallowed, perhaps already regretting that he was here. “The lady-”
“Lady Bazeley? What’s happened?” His mind was suddenly quite clear. “Easy, now. Tell me-take your time.”
The boy stared at him in the swaying light. “I heard somethin’, sir. I was in the pantry, like you told me.” He stared out into the poop’s inner darkness. “She were out there, sir. I tried to help, but she wouldn’t move. She was sick, sir.”
Adam snatched his boat-cloak and said, “Show me.”
Once outside the chartroom the sound of sea and banging canvas was almost deafening. The deck was streaming with water, shipped each time Unrivalled ploughed into the heavy swell.
“Here, sir!” His voice was full of relief, that he had told his captain, that she was still where he had left her.
She was below the quarterdeck ladder on the leeward side of the upper deck; seamen on watch could have passed without seeing her. She could have fallen against one of the tethered eighteen-pounders, broken a rib or her skull. It happened even to experienced sailors.
Adam crouched under the ladder and gathered her into a sitting position. She felt very light in his arms, her hair hiding her face, her feet pale in the darkness. She was wet to the skin and her body was like ice.
“Cloak, here!” He held her again, feeling her shivering, with cold or nausea, it could be either.
He dragged the cloak round her shoulders, wrapping it with great care as more spray rattled against the ladder and drenched his shirt. He felt her body contract in another spasm and saw Napier with a sand bucket under the ladder.
“Easy, easy!” He did not realise he had spoken aloud. “I’ll bring some help.”
She seemed to understand then what he had said. Who he was. She tried to turn, to struggle round, one hand pushing the hair from her face. As he restrained her he felt the coldness of her skin. She was naked under the dripping gown.
She gasped, “No.” But when he pulled away she shook her head and said, “No! Don’t go.”
He said, “Get someone, fast!” But Napier had already disappeared.
Slowly and carefully, he began to drag the girl from beneath the ladder. At any second now someone would come, perhaps call Massie, who was in charge of the watch. And then Bazeley.
She lolled against him and he felt her grip his hand, pulling it against her, across her. She would remember none of it. The rest did not matter.
He felt someone kneel beside him, caught the rich tang of rum. It was Jago, the boy Napier hovering behind him like a nervous ghost.
Jago said between his teeth, “Trouble, sir?” He did not wait for or seem to expect a reply. “All women is trouble!”
They guided and half-carried her into the poop again, the sounds becoming muffled, insignificant.
The wardroom door was closed, and there was no sentry at the cabin screen. Jago muttered, “Just to be on the safe side, sir.”
They found the woman Hilda in a state of anxiety and disbelief.
Adam said, “Dry her, and get her body warm again. D’ you know what to do?”
She took the girl in her arms and led her to the couch which had been prepared in the sleeping cabin. There was no sign of Bazeley, nor were his clothes anywhere to be seen.
She said, “Too much wine. I tried to warn her.” She combed the wet hair from the girl’s face with her fingers. “You should go now. I can manage.” She called after them, “Thank you, Captain!”
Outside, it was as if nothing had happened. The sentry had reappeared at the screen, but stood aside as they passed. A ship’s boy was climbing the companion ladder, carrying a tarpaulin coat for one of the watchkeepers.
Adam stared at the deckhead, measuring the sounds of rigging and canvas. They would have to take in a reef if the wind did not cease.
“In for a squall.” He had spoken aloud, unconsciously.
Jago thought of the girl sprawled on the couch, the gown plastered to her body, hiding nothing.
Half to himself, he murmured, “It’ll be a bloody hurricane if this little lot gets out!”
Adam reached the chartroom and paused. “Thank you.” But Jago was already melting into the darkness.
He closed the door and stared at the chart, and then down at his shirt and breeches, dark with spray and probably vomit, still feeling the fingers, cold on his wrist where she had pressed his hand against her. She would not remember. And if she did, her shame and disgust would soon change to affront and worse.
He heard footsteps clattering on a ladder: the midshipman of the watch coming to tell his captain that the wind was rising, or it had veered, or it was lessening. And I shall deal with it.
He sat on the mattress and waited. But this time the footsteps scurried past.
He lay back and stared at the lantern. And just as they had left the great cabin he had heard the woman Hilda speaking quietly, firmly.
Lifeline or death wish, it no longer seemed to matter.
Her name was Rozanne.
Tomorrow, today, it would be all through the ship. And yet, he knew it would not.
A dream then, soon over, and best forgotten.
When Galbraith came aft to relieve the middle watch, he found his captain fast asleep.
The echoes of the gun salute rolled across the crowded harbour like dying thunder, the smoke barely moving while Unrivalled crept to her allotted anchorage preceded by the guard-boat, and let go.
Adam Bolitho tugged at his shirt beneath the heavy dress coat and watched the pale buildings of Malta ’s shoreline shimmering in haze like a mirage. How different from the brusque and fickle winds on their passage from the Rock, and the exhilaration of changing tack in time to outwit every trick.
And then, almost becalmed, they had crawled the last miles to this anchorage, with courses and topsails all but flat against the rigging.
The guard-boat was pulling for the shore now, to warn Bethune of his visitors, he thought. Bethune was welcome to this part of it.
He walked to the opposite side of the quarterdeck and saw a few traders already idling nearby, holding up their wares, probably the very same oddments they had offered Unrivalled on her first visit here.
Chests and baggage were already being hauled on deck, and cargo nets were laid out in readiness to lower them into the boats. Partridge and his men were swarming around the boat tier, doubtless speculating on their chances of getting ashore, being free from routine and discipline, perhaps to lose themselves in some of the island’s more dubious attractions.
He saw the cabin skylight open and remain so. Lady Bazeley would soon be leaving. He could see it now as it was, in its true perspective, as he might assess the evidence of some offender brought before him for sentence. He had scarcely seen her since that first night. She had been on deck once or twice, but always with the woman Hilda, and once the surgeon, for company.
She had remained for the most part in the great cabin, and had had all her meals sent there. Napier confided that very little had been eaten.
Their eyes had met only once, when he had been standing by the foremast discussing some final repairs with Blane, the carpenter. She had seemed about to raise her hand to him, but had used it instead to adjust the brim of her hat.
Bazeley had spoken to him hardly at all, and then only on matters relating to their progress, the ship’s time of arrival, and aspects of her routine. He had made no mention at all of his wife’s behaviour, or her illness. Galbraith had solved one mystery. Bazeley had been drinking with some of his companions in the warrant officers’ mess when she had left the cabin in her night attire, apparently the worse for drink.
Whenever Bazeley did mention her it was as though he were speaking of a possession. Like the hand on her shoulder that night at the table, it was deliberate. He could not imagine Bazeley doing anything on a whim.