She laughed softly and her muscles contracted around him as she did so. ‘Why, ’Arry. You are just like a young boy.’
He was about to apologise, to plead long abstinence, when she pushed him violently onto his back. She looked down into his eyes, still smiling. ‘Boys recover quickly, I’m told. And when they do, they are extremely patient. You will be patient too, ’Arry?’
She kissed the nape of his neck. Then her lips drifted down to encircle the nipple on his breast. She didn’t linger for long. Her tongue next flicked in and out of his navel, before drifting down, slowly and deliberately to replace her hand, which had been busy from the very beginning, trying to arouse him again so that she too could experience the pleasure she so patently craved.
She lay, face down, her hips arched as Harry entered her for the third time. The slight groan she emitted spoke equally of pleasure and anticipation. As he began to move within her she murmured words he couldn’t understand and raised her hips further until his penetration was complete. She licked his finger before slipping it greedily into her mouth. Then she started to moan softly, her whole body rotating to increase the pleasure.
He pushed harder, raising his head as he did so. The shadow on the wall, caused by the moonlight, made him stop abruptly, bringing a soft protest from the woman beneath him. He turned his head, then his body quickly, but the figure had ducked out of sight, leaving just the sound of a hurried scuffling as evidence of reality. He would have gone to investigate if Lelia di Toraglia had not pushed him backwards, straddling him urgently and using her hand to place him back inside her.
Her hands rubbed his chest and her whole body rocked back and forth, with her loose hair swinging as she tossed her head. The moans were not soft now. They increased in volume and in frequency. Harry responded as her pulsating muscles gripped him, thrusting upwards to meet her. One last cry and she fell forward, her mouth covering his. He rolled her over onto her back, still inside her, feeling her teeth sink gently, and gratefully, into his shoulder.
The slight scuffling sound woke him. That and her fingers pressed on his lips. The count stood framed in the doorway, the light from the moonlit gallery silhouetting his body. His voice was husky as he spoke.
‘You should not have let me fall asleep, my dear. What will Captain Ludlow think of me as a host?’
Her fingers pressed a little harder on Harry’s lips. He looked sideways at the count’s shadow on the opposite wall, the knot of fear in his stomach easing as he realised that it was an entirely different shape to the one that had appeared there before.
‘You were weary, Alfonso, it seemed for the best,’ she replied softly.
‘You saw to our guest?’
She smiled at Harry before replying. ‘Yes, Alfonso.’
‘Thank you, my dear. He seems an excellent fellow. Less barbaric than the last of his fellow countrymen we had as a guest. I shall retire again. You have given instructions when I am to be woken?’
‘Of course. Now go to bed, Alfonso. You must get all the rest you can. Do you wish me to help you?’
‘No. I can manage. Goodnight, my dear.’
He left, using the walls to guide him. Harry lay as rigid as a board, doing all he could to avoid contact with her naked body. Either she sensed this or she was sated. She removed her hand from his lips and lay down without a word. He waited until her breathing was even before getting out of the bed and gathering up his clothes. He stood, conjuring up in his mind the image of that first shadow. Not the count. A woman by the long hair, perhaps? Yet in truth the vision had been so fleeting that he could not be sure what he saw. He gave her a last, wondering look, so beautiful in this light, with her black hair spread across the white bedding. Then he turned and made his way back to the room he had been given when he arrived.
‘You seem rather silent this morning, Captain Ludlow.’
They were back in the sedan chair, jogging along in the early morning light of the pre-dawn. Harry was silent because he was trying to justify his behaviour to himself. He could easily forgive Lelia di Toraglia, excusing her actions as those of a woman frustrated by the need to live with such a sick man. In truth, you could go so far as to praise her discretion in the way that she kept such longings from her husband. But that did not justify his behaviour, and as soon as the count spoke he was back to thinking himself the worst kind of scrub.
‘Forgive me, Count Toraglia. I was merely running everything through my mind to ensure that nothing is forgotten.’
‘Then I shall not disturb you, my friend.’
Harry cursed under his breath, wishing that his companion would speak so as to interrupt the train of uncomfortable thoughts that chased each other through his mind. But the other man kept his peace, gazing straight ahead with his sightless eyes, his face wearing a contented smile. He sat, fingering the key in his pocket as the silence lengthened. Harry could abide it no longer and, in a bid to take his mind off his behaviour, pulled the key out and asked the count about the provenance of his heraldic crest.
The count, rather surprisingly, laughed. ‘It is an ancient device, of course. But there is, it seems, a great deal of difference between the intention and the impression. Family folklore has it that the bird of prey that you see is really rescuing the poor creature in its talons. That is supposed to denote the protective nature of my distant ancestors.’
He laughed again and leant forward to touch Harry on the knee, his voice dropping to a confidential tone. ‘I rather think that is an invention to suit these gentler times. The history of my family may be pure in recent ages, with the Levantine and Black Sea trade to sustain the family fortunes. But, if one goes back far enough, they achieved prominence for the very reason that they, as strong men, preyed upon the weak. So I think my arms, when they were created, served as a warning to beware of the house of Toraglia.’
Harry was examining the device closely. He could see no gentleness in the bird’s hooked beak. And the animal in its claws looked to be in distress. He was thinking of his own father, who’d shown an acquisitive tenacity that had shocked some of his contemporaries, though he’d never allowed avarice to interfere with his proper duty.
‘I dare say we’d all blush with shame at our families’ exploits, if we had any inkling of the truth.’
‘Truly, Signor Ludlow. I comfort myself that they were no different to the ancestors of anyone else with a noble name.’
They came out onto the cobbled quayside, and Harry pulled the curtain back, craning his neck to get a view of the ship. The Principessa was like an anthill, with a steady stream of men marching aboard carrying stores, while other items, like water casks, were being hoisted aboard with whips from the yard. Buckets of shingle, the extra ballast that would keep the vessel trim, were being hauled out of the hold and dumped on the quay, where men with barrows stood ready to take it away. The rigging was full of topmen, making perfect the things that they had rigged hurriedly the day before. All thoughts of Lelia di Toraglia left his mind at the sight.
It was only then he realised that Sutton hadn’t turned up outside the villa with the other hands, but his thoughts on this were interrupted by the sound of bellowing. Lubeck stood in the middle of the deck, issuing a stream of orders, keeping half a dozen different activities under control. Harry led Toraglia up the gangplank, and placed him in the chair by the stern-rail, his mournful servant now taking station behind him. He saw Sutton coming up the gangplank, a cask on his shoulder. He’d obviously decided being a servant was beneath his dignity, and had taken to work to avoid it. Or perhaps the German giant had collared him. Whatever, it was none of Harry’s concern.
Brown, having extracted a fair price from him, had hired extra men, and by the time the sedan chair arrived the loading of the ship was nearly complete. Coat off, Harry was up in the tops in a flash, checking that the blocks wouldn’t foul and that the pulleys were well greased. He tried the chains which held the yards, hauled on ropes to see they were secure. He had slowly made his way up to
the crosstrees, above the topmast yard, when he spotted something interesting in the busy harbour.
He called down for a telescope, and one of the more nimble topmen raced up the shrouds to fetch it to him. There is a clarity to the light of early morning, especially in a hot climate, that quickly fades with the heat of the day. He blessed this as he adjusted the telescope, for what he saw clearly now would have been a hazy blur in an hour. The French sloop, large in his glass, was a fair way off. A hooded figure had just gone through the entry post, hunched over, to be greeted by the much taller figure of Tilly. They made quickly for the cabin before Harry could see the identity of the cloaked visitor. But he’d been followed aboard by two men clad entirely in black, and they lingered on at the side of the deck, still in sunlight. One of the men turned and leant over the rail. Harry’s heart gave a little jump as he saw the fellow was wearing a matching black bandanna wrapped round his head in the same manner as the man he’d killed two nights ago. He wondered what he might find aboard, if he did manage to take the sloop. But if he’d had any doubts about the desirability of attempting to do so, they completely evaporated now. Harry was grinning from ear to ear as he slid down a backstay to the deck, which earned him a suspicious look from Lubeck. But now was not the time to tell them of his plans, not with visitors aboard.
The gangplank was inboard, and the command ‘stand by to unmoor ship’ rang out. The warm wind was swooping down from the hills, steady in the open, but rushing through the narrow alleys that ran every twenty paces from the quayside up into the town. They braced the reefed topsails round to catch it, and swung the rudder. The Principessa hauled away from the quay on her own. Harry took the wheel, and with a man in the chains, yelling a furious warning to any boat silly enough to get in their way, he conned the ship out of the harbour without assistance. Even at this snail’s pace he could feel that she answered her rudder well, the slightest turn on the wheel altering her course. They were out past the mole, into clearer waters. Harry nodded to Lubeck, who yelled out the orders to drop the courses.
Lubeck was shouting commands, getting the last bales and casks off the deck, to tidy up badly looped falls, and generally to turn the Principessa from a mess into what it should be, a sleek fighting ship. Harry glanced over his shoulder at Alfonso di Toraglia. His head was arched back, with his nose in the air, as he sniffed the wind. The flag behind him, which his servant had rigged, showed his coat of arms on a red and white background. With the wind nearly dead astern, the flag whipped forward over his head, and the sound of it flapping no doubt added to the patent joy apparent on his face.
The ship was pitching slightly now in the increasing swell of the outer roads. Harry trimmed the yards, and brought her round so that the wind was more on her quarter. He could feel her through the wheel, as he spun it over to hold his course. The ship was vibrating ever so slightly, not an indication of any danger, more a sign of life flowing freely. He handed the wheel to Lubeck.
‘Would you care to take the wheel, Count Toraglia?’
The man positively leapt up, and his servant led him over. Harry wanted to give him the wheel, for they were sailing easy, with not much set, and courtesy demanded he offer some time. Later, if this wind stayed true, they would have a whole suit of sails aloft, and the Principessa would be racing along, her deck canted like a pitched roof, with more than one man needed on the wheel to hold her course.
Toraglia was delighted. Harry stood behind him, issuing the odd quiet instruction to take them round some of the shipping still waiting in the outer roads. Lubeck, without waiting for order, yelled at the hands to trim the yards as necessary, pushing those suffering from sea-sickness to their stations, despite their feeble protests.
They were clear now, with only the odd fishing boat to bar their way. The sun shone, the wind held a steady topgallants breeze, and the land, with its smells, was fading behind them. The tang of the sea filled their nostrils, and it seemed to Harry, just by looking at Toraglia’s face, that a few more trips like this would return him to health in no time.
CHAPTER TWENTY
WITH LAND out of sight, Harry detailed two of the more willing hands to steer, while he, trumpet in hand, called the orders to make more sail. Nothing sudden, for he wanted to see the effect of each addition on the ship’s performance. And what he saw he liked. Every new sail gave a little something extra. He shook the reefs out of his courses and topsails, set his staysail, and brought the Principessa round a touch more so the wind was coming in slightly further forward. The yards were braced round, sheets and tacks adjusted to take the best advantage of the steady breeze.
Then it was topgallant yards aloft and the sails bent on, while the outer and flying jibs were made ready. ‘Stamp and go’ came the order, and these too were up. Harry watched the masts carefully, for they had been out when the ship had been refitted. If they were not properly seated in the kelson, this was the moment he was going to find out. The wind was singing through the taut backstays, music to his ears.
It would have been wonderful to send the royal yards aloft, and rig extra booms to carry studding-sails. But this was not the day for such things. Not that it mattered, for she flew along. Harry took the wheel again, and felt that she was jibbing a bit. The hurried stowing of the hold was to blame, since that, affecting her trim, manifested itself more at speed. And speed it was, though Toraglia was not impressed by the nine knots that they read off the log. Harry sailed on through the morning, mixing the combination of sails, and logging in his mind how the ship behaved. The glass turned for the umpteenth time, and the hands were looking to their new captain to be fed, so he brought her up into the wind and hove to.
The brand-new cutter was over the side and he had himself rowed round with Lubeck as the hands ate their dinner. The German had discussed restowing the hold with Toraglia, and was keen to take his advice. Harry agreed, for that would trim her more by the stern. Back aboard he gave instructions for the officers’ meal to be prepared, keeping just enough sail on the Principessa to control her drift. He made sure he had a man aloft as a lookout, for if a warship came on the scene he would not wait about to see its flag. Harry Ludlow would be off like a shot, heading back to Genoa and safety.
He set her under easy sail again once the hands were fed, and handing the deck over to the captain of the afterguard so that he too could get to know the ship, he took the count below to the main cabin. Toraglia’s nose twitched, for it still reeked of fresh varnish. To a sighted man the new bulkhead would have stood out like a sore thumb, but the blind Alfonso was content to accept Harry’s explanation, made out of earshot of his mute servant, that some dolt had tipped over some shellac that his brother used for his canvas.
Brown’s cook had prepared a wonderful spread. Toraglia’s servant tasted everything before his master, obviously a matter of long habit since Toraglia made no effort to explain, leaving Harry to wonder at the incidence of poisoning in this part of the world. The wines had been selected without tasting, and also without agreement on price, so Brown, a businessman before anything, had chosen to load him with some rare and expensive vintages. Harry looked at the list which had come aboard with his personal stores, and reflected that haste was proving expensive. The talk, convivial, was all of the Principessa, though not of the price, and Harry wondered if this atmosphere of cameraderie would still exist after they’d enjoyed a good haggle. Toraglia retired to the sleeping cabin after lunch.
Harry returned to the deck to see how she handled now that they’d shifted some of the water. The improvement would have seemed slight, or even non-existent, to a landsman, for the addition of half a knot on her speed was hard to spot. But Harry could feel that she moved through the water with much greater ease. She also answered her helm more readily and he knew that in stronger airs that would mean the difference between twelve knots and the fourteen claimed by its present owner, plus the ability to outsail most vessels afloat. Most important of all, it meant that he could run if he needed to, and more tel
ling, catch whatever he fancied, given a wind.
He changed course in mid-afternoon, and headed for home, sailing right into the wind. Now the yards were braced hard round, to an angle of twenty degrees to the keel. Harry pushed her head round as far as he could, pleased to see that she still answered a shade over six points free. They sailed on, tack upon tack, the working of the crew improving with each operation, sighting land as the sun dipped below the horizon.
He gave instructions to Lubeck to bring her back to the quayside, there to load the remaining stores, and to take her out of the harbour once that was completed. The cutter was over the side waiting to take them ashore, for conning the Principessa through the busy harbour once more would take an age. Sutton was nowhere to be seen when he called for the hands needed to carry the sedan chair, and he could not waste time searching for him. He had Toraglia lowered over the side in a chair, and they rowed ashore in darkness.
Harry would have preferred to talk about the price elsewhere, but Toraglia had asked that they do so at his house, insisting that since his wife was his true partner she too must be involved. Now that they had reached the point of discussing terms, Toraglia seemed more willing to talk of his reasons for selling the ship, putting himself at some disadvantage as he did so, for he admitted to certain financial constraints. Then he tugged with great force at Harry’s capacity for sympathy by alluding to his death, pushing aside the dismissive responses, insisting it could not be long delayed.
He wanted whatever he got from the sale to go to his wife. It seemed there were rapacious nephews in the offing, waiting to inherit his property. And it had become clear at the start of his illness that these nephews cared little for the future comfort of his wife, going so far as to hint that she vacate the property at the height of his illness. Harry blushed unseen when the count assured him that she would readily find another husband. But her case would be enhanced with a dowry. Since he’d recovered sufficiently to transact business on his own, they had been busy converting what assets they could, lodging the money with Guistianis in his wife’s name, against the day when she would be on her own, very likely turfed out of the marital home on the very day he died.
Dying Trade Page 26
