was listless.
Dusk brought a cooling breeze, and the town came to life. Men gathered at the posadas to drink chicha beer, and among them Oscar found a fisherman willing to take Andrew out to the Isla Uvita without asking too many questions.
The Englishman returned disconsolate at dawn. There had been no response to his lantern waving.
Teresa made good use of the delay. She and Josefa went out to the little market behind the posada and purchased several yards of black cotton cloth. They retired to their chamber, which being upstairs caught the slightest breeze, and sewed on flounces to lengthen all Teresa's skirts. If Sir Andrew was willing to admit that a habit with a train was impractical for riding in the jungle, she was willing to admit that short skirts were inappropriate in public. Besides, the contrasting black was quite striking.
Even upstairs, the heat was hard to bear. When she went down to dinner, everyone was crotchety and no one commented on her improved appearance.
* * * *
Three miserable days passed. Each evening Andrew was rowed out to the island, each morning he returned more worried. The first week of July was past. If for some reason the ship did not make the rendezvous, it might take months to find other transportation and his reports were urgently awaited in London. It was too hot to sleep properly during the day and at night he dared not close his eyes lest he miss a signal.
On the fourth night, he nearly sent Rowson in his place. His man was just as able to wield a lantern. However, he could not expect the servant to talk the captain, if he arrived, into allowing the Danvilles on board. Not for the first time, Andrew wished heartily that he had not taken on the responsibility for seeing them to their destinations.
For the fourth time he disembarked on the island and climbed wearily up the hillside facing the sea. Setting his lantern on a rock, he checked his watch. Every hour, on the hour, he must swing the light three times, pause, and again three times.
At eleven o'clock, an answering spark showed briefly to seaward. It could have been a firefly, but no, there it was again: a triple flash, pause, and three more flashes.
Half an hour later, he was clambering up a rope ladder to the dimly lit deck of HMS Destiny .
"Sir Andrew Graylin?" The officer of the watch saluted. "Captain Fitch requests that you join him below, sir."
Down a steep companionway, between rows of half-seen hammocks, ducking his head beneath guessed-at beams, Andrew followed the cabin boy to the captain's cabin in the stern of the frigate. He had spent enough time afloat to adjust automatically to the uneasy motion of a ship at anchor.
The boy tapped on a door.
"Enter," called a thin, reedy voice.
Captain Fitch was a tall, skinny man with greying hair and the mournful, wrinkled face of an underfed bloodhound. He stood up from his chart table as Andrew entered his cabin, and shook hands with a preoccupied air. "Happy to have you aboard, Graylin. Excuse me while I give orders to weigh anchor."
"You mean to sail into Limón, then?"
"No, no. Mustn't let the Spaniards know what we're about. I need to find a quiet spot to take on fresh water and supplies." The captain sat down again and studied his chart anxiously.
"I fear we cannot leave immediately, sir. My servant and all my belongings are still ashore. And I promised to ask you if you would mind conveying to Jamaica a couple of young gentlemen of English descent..."
"Yes, of course, we shall find a spot for them to sling their hammocks."
"...And their sister."
Captain Fitch looked up in shock. With dropped jaw and raised eyebrows, his long, weatherbeaten face became a maze of furrows in which his horrified eyes nearly disappeared. "Females on my ship? Never, sir, never! Quite out of the question. Now, I don't suppose you know of any deserted cove where we might put in for water, fruit and a bit of fresh meat?"
Andrew
Dusk brought a cooling breeze, and the town came to life. Men gathered at the posadas to drink chicha beer, and among them Oscar found a fisherman willing to take Andrew out to the Isla Uvita without asking too many questions.
The Englishman returned disconsolate at dawn. There had been no response to his lantern waving.
Teresa made good use of the delay. She and Josefa went out to the little market behind the posada and purchased several yards of black cotton cloth. They retired to their chamber, which being upstairs caught the slightest breeze, and sewed on flounces to lengthen all Teresa's skirts. If Sir Andrew was willing to admit that a habit with a train was impractical for riding in the jungle, she was willing to admit that short skirts were inappropriate in public. Besides, the contrasting black was quite striking.
Even upstairs, the heat was hard to bear. When she went down to dinner, everyone was crotchety and no one commented on her improved appearance.
* * * *
Three miserable days passed. Each evening Andrew was rowed out to the island, each morning he returned more worried. The first week of July was past. If for some reason the ship did not make the rendezvous, it might take months to find other transportation and his reports were urgently awaited in London. It was too hot to sleep properly during the day and at night he dared not close his eyes lest he miss a signal.
On the fourth night, he nearly sent Rowson in his place. His man was just as able to wield a lantern. However, he could not expect the servant to talk the captain, if he arrived, into allowing the Danvilles on board. Not for the first time, Andrew wished heartily that he had not taken on the responsibility for seeing them to their destinations.
For the fourth time he disembarked on the island and climbed wearily up the hillside facing the sea. Setting his lantern on a rock, he checked his watch. Every hour, on the hour, he must swing the light three times, pause, and again three times.
At eleven o'clock, an answering spark showed briefly to seaward. It could have been a firefly, but no, there it was again: a triple flash, pause, and three more flashes.
Half an hour later, he was clambering up a rope ladder to the dimly lit deck of HMS Destiny .
"Sir Andrew Graylin?" The officer of the watch saluted. "Captain Fitch requests that you join him below, sir."
Down a steep companionway, between rows of half-seen hammocks, ducking his head beneath guessed-at beams, Andrew followed the cabin boy to the captain's cabin in the stern of the frigate. He had spent enough time afloat to adjust automatically to the uneasy motion of a ship at anchor.
The boy tapped on a door.
"Enter," called a thin, reedy voice.
Captain Fitch was a tall, skinny man with greying hair and the mournful, wrinkled face of an underfed bloodhound. He stood up from his chart table as Andrew entered his cabin, and shook hands with a preoccupied air. "Happy to have you aboard, Graylin. Excuse me while I give orders to weigh anchor."
"You mean to sail into Limón, then?"
"No, no. Mustn't let the Spaniards know what we're about. I need to find a quiet spot to take on fresh water and supplies." The captain sat down again and studied his chart anxiously.
"I fear we cannot leave immediately, sir. My servant and all my belongings are still ashore. And I promised to ask you if you would mind conveying to Jamaica a couple of young gentlemen of English descent..."
"Yes, of course, we shall find a spot for them to sling their hammocks."
"...And their sister."
Captain Fitch looked up in shock. With dropped jaw and raised eyebrows, his long, weatherbeaten face became a maze of furrows in which his horrified eyes nearly disappeared. "Females on my ship? Never, sir, never! Quite out of the question. Now, I don't suppose you know of any deserted cove where we might put in for water, fruit and a bit of fresh meat?"
Andrew
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