Ramage's Prize (35 page)

The
Arabella
was a pretty ship: nice sheer, graceful yet powerful. Sad to think of all that rot aft, hidden under the paint. I hope that damned rudder holds, he thought to himself …

Forty yards to go. He turned to Gianna and grinned. “Soon be home!” She squeezed his hand and smoothed her hair.

Suddenly there was a deep bellow: “What ship?”

“
Triton!
” A startled Ramage shouted in an automatic answer to the time-honoured challenge from a King's ship; a reply indicating the Captain was in the boat. He realized his mistake just as Gianna nudged him and as he shouted, “Belay that—
Lady Arabella!
” a couple of dozen faces suddenly appeared along the bulwark: grinning and freshly shaven faces topped by hats carefully squared and hair neatly combed: the faces of Tritons—and Frenchmen. And Southwick, Kerguelen, Yorke, Bowen and Wilson looking down at them from the gangway …

As he helped Gianna on board, whispering that Yorke and Kerguelen must have hurried back to prepare a surprise, a bosun's call trilled and a moment later Kerguelen stepped forward, sweeping off his hat in a graceful bow: “M'selle—welcome on board the
Lady Arabella!
”

Ramage introduced the Frenchman, and then Yorke, Bowen, Much and Wilson, and Gianna was very much the cool Marchesa. When she saw there were no more strangers to meet she turned to Southwick and as the Master stood awkwardly, obviously uncertain whether or not to salute, she stepped up to him, put her hands on his shoulders and kissed him on the cheek.

The privateersmen, delighted onlookers, cheered heartily and a moment later the Tritons joined in.

“Mr Souswick,” she said, and Ramage remembered she always had trouble pronouncing the name, “you look five years younger!”

“Thrive on trouble, ma'am, and I want to say how glad we are to see you.”

“Because I am more trouble, eh, Mr Souswick?” The Master went red as Gianna laughed, and she cut short his explanation. “I don't believe a word you say—Nicholas has spent half the morning telling me what a nuisance women are on board a ship.”

She looked round. “Jackson! Stafford! And you Rossi!
Sta
bene? Piu grasso—
you eat too well in the Royal Navy!”

Within a minute or two Gianna's tiny figure was hidden by a throng of former Tritons, all eager to add their quota to the welcome she received, and as Ramage turned to speak to Kerguelen he was startled to see three burly Frenchmen hoisting the trunk on board, cheerfully cursing and speculating in their broad Breton accents how many yards of smuggled French lace had gone into making the gowns inside.

Kerguelen slapped him on the shoulder. “You never expected to see a crowd of French cut-throats acting as Cupid's assistants, eh?”

“And you never pictured yourself as Cupid,” Ramage said with a grin, “but thanks. Whose idea was the reception committee?”

Kerguelen shrugged his shoulders. “Yorke and I decided to come back early and have a cabin tidied up ready. I freed all your men, incidentally. Then—”

“How did you know she would be sailing with us?”

“Even an Englishman couldn't be so unromantic as to let her return in the
Princess Louise,
” Kerguelen said sarcastically. “Anyway, by the time the cabin was ready, Southwick and that American were so excited they started holystoning the decks, and then my men asked what was going on. When I explained that your—ah, fiancée—was coming on board, they joined in, and as soon as the ship looked tidy they all vanished below, and half an hour later they were shaven, hair tidied and rigged in clean shirts and trousers.”

Kerguelen moved closer and lowered his voice. “All except the original packetsmen. You've noticed they're not on deck?” When Ramage nodded, the Frenchman said, “Keep your eye on them, my friend; I saw more than you give me credit for when we captured this ship …”

With that he went down to his cabin, saying he had to get ready to return to Chamberlain's house to collect the money.

Ramage saw Yorke, Bowen and Much watching him.

“Haven't seen you look so happy for months,” Yorke said.

“Wouldn't you?” Bowen exclaimed. “She's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen!”

“All of that,” Much said. “Acts like a real queen,” he added. “Is it true she's a queen, sir?”

“Not exactly,” Ramage said. “She's the ruler of Volterra—that's a small state in Italy. Or she was, until the French invaded. She escaped just in time.”

“Southwick was telling us about that,” Bowen said. “You had a romantic meeting!”

“She was pointing a pistol at him,” Yorke commented for Much's benefit, remembering Ramage's reference a few days earlier.

“Nothing would frighten that lass,” Much said emphatically. She finally left the group of Tritons. “Ah, it's like old times! I hope we have some excitement on the way back!”

“Let me show you your cabin,” Ramage said hurriedly. “Oh, leave the trunk to the French fellows, Jackson; they hoisted it up and I think they'd like to finish the job!”

Gianna's arrival made the
Lady Arabella
's last few hours in Lisbon a bizarre and festive occasion. It began with Yorke's suggestion that they invite Kerguelen to dinner, whereupon Gianna demanded that Rossi be allowed to help her prepare the meal. While those two were busy in the galley, Kerguelen returned from his visit to Chamberlain, but his privateersmen seemed far more interested in the barrels he brought with him than the canvas bag which obviously held the money. The Frenchman explained that he had brought some wine for his men to celebrate with, and a case of champagne as a present for Ramage.

By midnight, when the
Arabella
was officially handed over, former Tritons and privateersmen were toasting each other with mugs of wine and singing raucous songs on the foredeck while Ramage and Kerguelen toasted each other with champagne on the quarterdeck, watched by Gianna, Yorke, Southwick, Bowen, Wilson and Much.

“A speech, a speech!” Wilson insisted drunkenly. “Got to have a speech!”

“Let's hear the Marchesa,” Yorke said enthusiastically. “I'm so tipsy I can see three of her, an' I don't know which one's the loveliest!”

Kerguelen took out his watch and held it close to the lantern. “Two minutes past midnight,” he said solemnly, “and the
Lady Arabella
begins a new life. What more appropriate than a few words from you, Mademoiselle?”

Gianna nodded and put her glass on the binnacle. “Yes, I will make a speech. The last time I saw a Frenchman, he shot me in the shoulder. I had hoped never to see another one until long after this hateful war ends. But I was curious to meet the Frenchman that Nicholas respected, and pleased to find when I met him that he respected Nicholas. I shall pray,” she lowered her voice and spoke slowly, so that they should not miss the significance of what she was saying, “that you will never meet again until after the war is over …”

Then she looked round and said gaily, “But I am jealous of all you men: you have had Nicholas's company for so long, while I have been waiting for him in England.”

“You haven't missed anything, ma'am,” Southwick said unexpectedly. “Very snappish he's been most of the time, an' all because he missed you.”

“Well spoken,” Yorke said. “I wasn't going to say anything. But …”

At that moment they heard the many bells of Lisbon's churches as they struck midnight.

Kerguelen took out his watch again and looked at it ruefully. “Well, now I can afford to buy a new one!” He stood still for a moment, his stance indicating a change of mood. “Everything is yours, Lieutenant,” he said softly. “Will you all wait a moment?” With that he went below.

Yorke glanced at Ramage, who shrugged his shoulders. There was little Kerguelen could do: most of his men were drunk on the foredeck. The Frenchman returned in a minute or two with three swords under his arm. “A ceremony,” he said, glancing round to make sure Southwick and Captain Wilson were present.

“Lieutenant Ramage—it gives me great pleasure to return your sword!”

With a flourish he extracted Ramage's and presented it to him. “Mr Southwick—I believe this is yours. And Captain Wilson …”

It was a gracious gesture, and Ramage felt he ought to say something.

“On behalf of your former prisoners, Captain, I want to thank you for being such an amiable captor, and …” Ramage broke off: Kerguelen knew what he was trying to say, and the two men shook hands.

By dawn, with the last of the privateersmen taken on shore, the
Arabella
's boat was hoisted up and Ramage, having moved into the captain's cabin, sent for Much and Southwick to discuss the merits of the various packetsmen before Southwick drew up a quarters, watch and station bill. Ramage's first surprise was Much's warning that no trust should be put in his own son, Our Ned.

“No father would like to admit it,” the mate said apologetically, “but though Our Ned's a smart seaman he's a bad lad. I'm going to warn him, Mr Ramage, just as soon as you give me the word; but he's not to be trusted, no more than the bosun, nor
any
of the
Arabella
's men!”

Ramage stared at him. “
Any
of them?”

“Mebbe one or two, but ignore ‘em. Best rely on the Navy men. Your own men.”

“But I can't keep the packetsmen prisoners!”

“No, but if ‘twas me, I'd make sure each Navy man was told to keep an eye on a particular packetsman. Just in case.”

Ramage felt his elation at the prospect of commanding the
Lady Arabella
slowly vanishing like sugar dissolving in warm water. Would anything in his life ever be straightforward? With Stevens out of the way and the packet back in British hands was it asking too much that the voyage home would be free of complications?

“As bad as that, Mr Much?” he asked.

“As bad as that, Mr Ramage.”

“Will you work with Southwick to draw up a new quarters, watch and station bill?”

The mate nodded. “What about your men, sir?”

“Jackson could have been rated bosun, but that'd cause more trouble with the present one. For the rest—my men are all steady and handpicked: I've taken them into action several times.”

The answer seemed to satisfy Much, who said, “What is my position now, sir?”

“Well, now the
Lady Arabella
is a King's ship—or she will be within the hour—I shall be in command, Mr Southwick the Master, and Bowen the Surgeon. You, Mr Yorke and Captain Wilson will be passengers—along with the Marchesa, of course—but I'd appreciate any help you can give. The packetsmen will be mustered as part of the ship's company: their Protections are withdrawn.”

After Much and Southwick left to draw up the watch bill, Ramage relaxed for a few minutes to finish a cup of lukewarm coffee. Well, the packet was almost ready to sail. Kerguelen had kept his men busy during the last few days filling water casks, and according to Much there were enough provisions. Damn, there was the rot in the transom to be examined. As soon as Southwick and Much had finished their present task, they could survey it and draw up a detailed report. It wouldn't affect the
Arabella
leaving Lisbon as soon as possible; but it might be important later, since the Admiralty was taking over the ship.

Was taking over?
Had
taken over at midnight, to be exact, and it was high time he read himself in: at the moment he had no legal authority in the ship, and although Southwick and Much would not appreciate being interrupted while doing the watch bill, it was high time he completed that formality.

He stood up, more than conscious he had a nasty headache, and went out to tap on Southwick's door. “Muster the ship's company aft, if you please, Mr Southwick.”

Back in his cabin he washed his face again in the hope that it would freshen him up, and as soon as he heard the men assembling on deck, put on his sword, set his hat square on his head and picked up the Commission he had received from Nepean.

By the time he emerged on deck the ship's company was drawn up fore and aft, a dozen on each side of the binnacle, with Southwick, Bowen, Yorke, Much and Wilson by the taffrail. He was thankful Gianna was probably still asleep: her presence at the moment would be an unnecessary distraction. Yet, he noted grimly, just about everyone—particularly Wilson—looked so bleary-eyed that they might well not notice if a pasha marched on board with a dozen dancing girls. Well, what he had to tell them would soon wake the packetsmen …

Automatically he noted the wind was light from the northeast, the ship was beginning to swing as the tide turned, the sun was weak but had some warmth in it and the clouds told of fairly settled weather—for a day or two, anyway. Patches of smoke over the city showed its inhabitants were awake and lighting fires while wives were probably filling pots to prepare their husbands' favourite food. For a moment he envied those husbands; they knew what would be happening to them tomorrow, and next week, and next month … There would be no sudden alarms and dangers for them …

He looked round at the men. His new command. The first had been the
Kathleen
cutter, and he had lost her as she was smashed under the forefoot of a Spanish ship of the line at the Battle of Cape St Vincent; then he had been given the
Triton
brig, now wrecked on a reef east of Puerto Rico, pounded by the waves and slowly rotting, her battered bulwarks a perch for pelicans. Now the
Lady Arabella
… He hoped he would hand her over to the Commander-in-Chief at Plymouth without the need for writing anything in the log and his journal apart from the usual navigational and weather entries and such descriptions of the regular daily routine as “ship's company employed as the service required.”