by Dudley Pope
The steps of the companionway creaked, and as he crept down Ramage felt that the ship was suddenly holding her breath and listening: she had stopped her gentle pitching so that there were no groans from the hull and spars to mask the sounds they made.
The lantern below was burning steadily, the air having the faint sooty smell of untrimmed wick. Glancing down the line of doors he saw that all the keys were now missing except for the first on each side. The key was still on the outside of the cabin in which the 'Miss for now' had been sleeping. He knew the shape of one bare breast; he had not the faintest idea whether she was ugly, plain or beautiful. An intriguing voice, a good sense of humour, and very self-possessed in an emergency. She was probably coming home from India after being a teacher, or some old woman's companion. But for the 'Miss' he would have assumed she had been sent out to India to find a husband, succeeded and was now on her way home again . . .
Why the devil was he thinking about her at a time like this? He unhooked the second lantern and turned to Orsini and waited while Riley crept to the door and reached out for the key with his right hand, holding the brass knob with his left and glancing over his shoulder to make sure he would not bump into anything as he flung open the door.
Ramage checked the men behind him: Martin, Jackson, Rossi, Stafford and then the seamen not specifically chosen for the cabin. The cutlass blades shone dully in the lantern light; he noticed Orsini was using his dirk in his right hand but had a long, thin dagger in a sheath at his waist. Jackson had a cutlass and a knife - he had developed Paolo Orsini's liking for a main gauche.
He found himself staring at the grain in the mahogany door. 'Miss for now.' The passengers were in for a rude shock in a few moments: the bellowing of his men would echo in this confined space, although no one outside the ship would hear. How was Aitken getting on with the capture of the Amethyst? At least he had heard no shots . . .
He pointed at Riley, who turned the key with a loud click and flung back the door with a bang. Ramage plunged into the black space as the men behind him started shouting. In a moment the lantern showed hammocks slung from the deck beams at various angles, bulging like enormous bananas.
He slashed at the lanyards of the nearest one on his right, took a pace to one side to avoid the body that slid out of the canvas tube as it suddenly hung almost vertically, and reached across to cut the lanyards at one end of the next one. Orsini, cheated out of a hammock, crouched over the body of the first man, managing to hold up his lantern while pointing his dirk at the privateersman's throat and shouting bloodcurdling threats down at the staring eyes.
Ramage's man, caught up in the folds of the canvas, began swearing and obviously thought his shipmates were playing a joke on him until the point of Ramage's cutlass prodded the fleshy part of his right thigh.
From the left hand side of the cabin he heard above the yelling an angry shout end in a liquid gurgle, as though someone's throat had been cut. The noise made Ramage's victim try to scramble up, attempting to pull something from the folds of a blanket he had been using as a pillow. Ramage gave him another jab with the cutlass. 'Keep still, or you're dead!'
The man gave a grunt of pain and flopped back flat on the deck. 'Wha's going on?'
The yelling was dying as the last of the hammocks was cut down, but the thud of a cutlass blade being driven into the deck was followed immediately by a scream of pain, which cut off as sharply as it began.
Ramage's lantern was too dim to show him what was going on, and all he could do was to wait for his own men to report. To encourage them he called: 'Calypsos - have we secured them all?'
'I've got your man, sir,' said Martin.
'I've got mine, sir,' Orsini muttered. 'Alive,' he added, 'at the moment.'
'This stronzo here, I have to kill him,' Rossi grunted. 'He have a pistol in his hammock.'
'Prisoner, sir,' Jackson said, followed by Stafford's ' 'Ad to prod my fellah, sir, but 'e'll live.'
'Prisoner, sir,' Riley said and added, raising his voice in warning, 'a dead prisoner, if 'e don't keep still.'
Ramage turned to Orsini, who was nearest the door. 'Get your man out into the corridor where the others can secure him.'
The privateersman yelped as the midshipman prodded him to his feet. 'Ow! You'll do me 'arm,' the man complained.
'Yes, I just want an excuse!'
'You're just a bloody murderer!'
'You were ready to kill the hostages,' Orsini said, and to judge from the short, sharp scream the man gave, he must have punctuated his remark with another and stronger prod.
Ramage watched as Orsini, lantern held up, followed his prisoner through the door, where the man was seized by eager Calypsos.
'Now you, Jackson . . .' The American coxswain had an armlock on his prisoner, so the man lurched out of the cabin bent double. 'Rossi, you wait a minute. Stafford, are you ready?'
'Aye aye, sir. Up, you murderous bastard. No, you're not,' he said in answer to a muttered complaint Ramage could not quite hear, 'that was only a prick. Get movin', or I'll spit you like a suckin' pig ready for the fire!'
Riley followed with his prisoner and by then Ramage's man was scrambling to his feet, assuring Martin and Ramage that he too had surrendered, and his pistol was still in the folds of his hammock.
Outside, in what was in fact a lobby, Ramage saw several prisoners lying crumpled on the deck and before he could say a word one of the Calypsos had landed Martin's prisoner a savage punch that drove him to his knees, as though praying for mercy. A moment later a second punch sent him sprawling.
Ramage stood and watched. Eight guards captured and only one of them killed. He knew that every one of the Calypsos was filled with a fierce hatred for the privateersmen because they knew the eight men were on board the Earl of Dodswonh for one reason only - to murder the hostages if they thought it necessary. Men who could murder women in cold blood, Jackson had commented hours ago, should not expect too much mercy when their turn came . . .
A Calypso hurried down the companionway, dragging the end of a rope. 'Here, cut off what lengths you want: the rest of the coil's on deck - it'll kink if I pitch it down.'
It took about five minutes to tie up the men. Ramage was just going to call to the passengers that all was well and they could leave their cabins if they wished, when they remembered the dead man.
'Rossi - take a couple of men and get your privateersman up on deck. Wrap him in a hammock so you don't spill blood everywhere.'
'When we have him on deck, sir?'
'I'm not reading a burial service over a man waiting to murder women,' Ramage said bluntly.
'Si,va bene; - capito Commandante.'
'Orsini, take three or four men and bring down those two privateersmen stowed under the guns. Jackson, drag these men back into the cabin as soon as they're secured: we'll use it as a cell for the time being. Martin, unhook the ends of those hammocks and collect up any pistols you find. I'll hold this lantern so you can see what you are doing.'
The cabin was a strange sight: six hammocks, each suspended at one end but with the other hanging down on the deck, looked like sides of beef suspended from hooks in a slaughterhouse - an effect heightened by the large black stain surrounding the body lying among them, and which Rossi was beginning to turn over.
Suddenly Ramage began to shiver, his body feeling frozen although he had only just wiped perspiration from his brow and upper lip.
'It's cold, sir,' Jackson commented conversationally, and Ramage realized that several of the men were also shivering. The long swim, the excitement, the relief that now it was all over? Ramage began chafing his body with his hands; it was enough that they felt cold; the devil take the reasons.
'The Amethyst...'
'Yes, sir, I was wondering about her,' Jackson said, and Ramage realized he had spoken his thoughts aloud. 'If anything went wrong, I think we'd have heard shots by now. Nothing else for us to do tonight. Let's hope tomorrow night goes as well as this.'
CHA
PTER 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 hungr
y? 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.
