I’ll sleep on deck, all the same, since there’s just me to keep watch.” He remembered Mr. Tudeley had been given some rum for his toothache, and wondered if there was any left. “Pardon me, ma’am.” He edged past her and opened Mr. Tudeley’s cabin, and thrust the lantern in.
Mr. Tudeley’s trunk was standing open, his clothes and books strewn everywhere. John grimaced at the untidiness. “Landlubber,” he muttered. He spotted the wooden tankard to one side and picked it up, but even before he opened the lid he could tell it was full. He tilted back the lid and peered in, and his mood brightened at once.
So he carried the rum up on deck, and sat there a while sipping it, looking up at the stars. He heard music coming from across the water, and sounds of raucous merriment from the little buildings with their yellow lights. It put him in a sentimental mood. He fell to thinking about Mrs. Waverly, and the way she’d wept for Tom Blackstone. He wondered whether any woman would weep for him when he should meet his end, whether he met it in battle or drowning in the green sea, or dying at a decent age in his brickyard…
He heard Henry Morgan’s voice in his head, then, telling him sharply that he was becoming self-pitying sodden drunk. “Aye, sir,” John said. He sighed, sitting upright and closing the lid of the tankard. He carried it belowdecks and set it back where he’d found it, in Mr. Tudeley’s cabin. Then he thought he’d better get his hammock, so he edged down the passage and went into his cabin.
Preparing to unfasten the hammock, he took out the roll of folded sailcloth he’d been using as a pillow and tossed it on the deck. It landed with a hard sound, a sort of rattling tinkle; several objects spilled out of it. John peered down, surprised. Then he grabbed the lantern and held it down to see better.
There was a little pearl-handled knife. There was a ring. There was a sort of doll made of a carved nutshell, with a body of ribbon scraps and rags. There were three parrot feathers bound together with gold wire. There was a piece of heathen money with a hole in it. There was a whistle carved from a bone. All hidden in his pillow…
John heard his heart beating. His mouth was dry. Stone cold sober, he turned and opened the door.
Mrs. Waverly stood there, looking at him with narrowed eyes. He grabbed her hand and pulled her into the cabin.
“What’s this, then?” he demanded. “What’s this stuff doing in my gear? It was you took it, wasn’t it, and hid it in my gear?”
She looked into his eyes a long moment, her gaze unfathomable; then she turned away and lifted her arm to hide her face. “Oh, God,” she moaned, with tears choking her voice. “It has begun again. Oh, poor dear Mr. James, forgive me, please forgive me!”
John lessened his grip on her hand a bit. “What’re you talking about?”
“They’re only trifles. I meant no harm. I can’t help myself—” Her tears were coming in full flood now. “Oh—Mr. James, I must—must throw myself on your mercy!”
John evened his breath, trying to calm himself at least. “First thing we got to do is put all this back,” he said. “And it’s a good job everyone else is ashore. Come on.” He stooped and swept everything back into the pillow.
They went into the crew’s quarters, with Mrs. Waverly whimpering and sobbing the whole while. She mastered herself enough to point mutely at each particular sea-chest, as John held up first one oddment and then another, so he could stow them back where they belonged. The whole time he listened hard, fearful of hearing footsteps creaking overhead that meant some of the crew had come back early. Once or twice he nearly told Mrs. Waverly to stop her noise, but gritted his teeth and forbore, realizing that rough treatment would only make her more hysterical.
When they were finished putting everything back, John took Mrs. Waverly by the hand and led her up on deck. “Now,” he said,
Mr. Tudeley’s trunk was standing open, his clothes and books strewn everywhere. John grimaced at the untidiness. “Landlubber,” he muttered. He spotted the wooden tankard to one side and picked it up, but even before he opened the lid he could tell it was full. He tilted back the lid and peered in, and his mood brightened at once.
So he carried the rum up on deck, and sat there a while sipping it, looking up at the stars. He heard music coming from across the water, and sounds of raucous merriment from the little buildings with their yellow lights. It put him in a sentimental mood. He fell to thinking about Mrs. Waverly, and the way she’d wept for Tom Blackstone. He wondered whether any woman would weep for him when he should meet his end, whether he met it in battle or drowning in the green sea, or dying at a decent age in his brickyard…
He heard Henry Morgan’s voice in his head, then, telling him sharply that he was becoming self-pitying sodden drunk. “Aye, sir,” John said. He sighed, sitting upright and closing the lid of the tankard. He carried it belowdecks and set it back where he’d found it, in Mr. Tudeley’s cabin. Then he thought he’d better get his hammock, so he edged down the passage and went into his cabin.
Preparing to unfasten the hammock, he took out the roll of folded sailcloth he’d been using as a pillow and tossed it on the deck. It landed with a hard sound, a sort of rattling tinkle; several objects spilled out of it. John peered down, surprised. Then he grabbed the lantern and held it down to see better.
There was a little pearl-handled knife. There was a ring. There was a sort of doll made of a carved nutshell, with a body of ribbon scraps and rags. There were three parrot feathers bound together with gold wire. There was a piece of heathen money with a hole in it. There was a whistle carved from a bone. All hidden in his pillow…
John heard his heart beating. His mouth was dry. Stone cold sober, he turned and opened the door.
Mrs. Waverly stood there, looking at him with narrowed eyes. He grabbed her hand and pulled her into the cabin.
“What’s this, then?” he demanded. “What’s this stuff doing in my gear? It was you took it, wasn’t it, and hid it in my gear?”
She looked into his eyes a long moment, her gaze unfathomable; then she turned away and lifted her arm to hide her face. “Oh, God,” she moaned, with tears choking her voice. “It has begun again. Oh, poor dear Mr. James, forgive me, please forgive me!”
John lessened his grip on her hand a bit. “What’re you talking about?”
“They’re only trifles. I meant no harm. I can’t help myself—” Her tears were coming in full flood now. “Oh—Mr. James, I must—must throw myself on your mercy!”
John evened his breath, trying to calm himself at least. “First thing we got to do is put all this back,” he said. “And it’s a good job everyone else is ashore. Come on.” He stooped and swept everything back into the pillow.
They went into the crew’s quarters, with Mrs. Waverly whimpering and sobbing the whole while. She mastered herself enough to point mutely at each particular sea-chest, as John held up first one oddment and then another, so he could stow them back where they belonged. The whole time he listened hard, fearful of hearing footsteps creaking overhead that meant some of the crew had come back early. Once or twice he nearly told Mrs. Waverly to stop her noise, but gritted his teeth and forbore, realizing that rough treatment would only make her more hysterical.
When they were finished putting everything back, John took Mrs. Waverly by the hand and led her up on deck. “Now,” he said,
Similar Books
