‘Sweet heavens, how you have changed!’ he exclaimed in astonishment and, despite himself, looked down at the shapely swell of full breasts under her bodice.
‘As you have, Tom. What happened to your nose?’
He touched the end in embarrassment. ‘It was broken.’
‘Poor Tom.’ She made a face of mock sympathy. ‘But it suits you well enough. Oh, Tom, it’s so good to see you.’ She linked her arm through his and led him down the track towards the town. Aboli fell in behind them at a respectful distance.
‘I heard your voice when you were shouting at Guy. I could not believe it was yours, although I recognized it immediately.’ She gave him a roguish sideways glance. ‘So I listened outside the door. Guy would have beaten me if he had caught me at it.’
‘Does he beat you?’ Tom bristled protectively. ‘We will see to that.’
‘Oh, shush, don’t be a booby. I can look after myself. But let’s not waste time talking of Guy. I can only stay a moment. They will miss me, and send the servants to look for me.’
‘Sarah, there is so much we have to discuss.’ Tom felt strangely bereft at the thought of parting from her so soon. Her arm through his was strong and warm. There was a light fragrance around her, like an aura, that stirred something deep inside him.
‘I know. I heard you talking to Guy about little Dorian. We all loved Dorian. I want to help you.’ She thought quickly. ‘There is an old ruined Jesuit monastery near the south point of the island. I will meet you there tomorrow, at two bells in the afternoon watch.’ She laughed at him. ‘You see? I remember all the sailor’s things you taught me. Will you be there?’
‘Of course.’ She released his arm, turned back to Aboli and embraced him. ‘Do you remember how we used to play horsey, Aboli? You carried me on your back.’
A smile lit Aboli’s face, transforming it. ‘Miss Sarah, you have grown beautiful!’
She took the reins from him. ‘Hand me up!’
He cupped a huge palm and when she stepped into it he boosted her easily onto the mare’s back. She flashed a last smile at Tom. ‘Don’t forget!’ she warned him. She wheeled and slapped her heels into the mare’s flanks.
Tom watched her gallop away. ‘No,’ he said softly. ‘I won’t forget.’
‘Effendi, my master the Sultan is indisposed. He is not able to receive any visitors, not even those as important as your exalted self.’ The vizier sneered at Tom. The harbour was filled with the ships of the Franks, all of their captains clamouring for an audience with his master, all seeking favours, licences to trade, permission to visit the forbidden territories further to the north.
‘When will he see me?’ Tom demanded. The vizier pursed his mouth with disapproval at such a crass, unsubtle question. He knew that this young infidel commanded a tiny vessel that could carry little in the way of goods for trade, and he did not have the smell of gold about him. He was hardly worthy of serious attention. Yet he was unusual: he spoke good intelligible Arabic, and understood the etiquette of business – he had offered suitable gifts to smooth the path to the Sultan.
‘That is in the hands of Allah.’ The vizier shrugged gracefully. ‘Perhaps a week, perhaps a month, I do not know.’
‘I will be back here tomorrow morning, and every day thereafter until the Sultan agrees to see me,’ Tom assured him.
‘And I will wait for your return each day, as the drought-struck earth awaits the rains,’ said the vizier blandly.
Aboli was waiting for him at the gates of the fort, and Tom raised an eyebrow in reply to his unspoken question. He was too angry and frustrated to speak. They retraced their steps through the spice market, where the air was filled with the aroma of cloves and pepper, past the whipping-block in the slave market where some incorrigible woman was chained with the flesh of her back hanging in bloody festoons, down the street of the gold merchants, to the stone quay of the harbour where the longboat waited.
As he took his seat in the stern sheets Tom glanced up at the sky to judge the angle of the sun, then pulled the silver Tompion watch from his pocket and flipped open the cover. ‘Row me around to the south point of the island,’ he ordered. He had checked his chart the previous night, and found that the ruins of the old Jesuit monastery were marked upon it. A small cove close by should provide a landing.
As the rowers pulled down the channel, close in to the coral reef that showed its teeth through the snoring surf, Tom felt his ill-humour evaporate in the gay sunshine at the prospect of his rendezvous with Sarah.
Ahead of the longboat he saw the swells of the open sea beating with more force on the unprotected south point of the island. When he stood up and studied the shore ahead, he could pick out the course of the freshwater stream marked by lush green vegetation as it ran down into the lagoon. There was always a pass through the reef where the sweet water inhibited the growth of the coral. As they came level with the stream he made out the deeper water of the pass and steered through it. The beach was deserted and there was no mark of a keel upon it. Tom jumped from the bows onto the hard white sand without wetting his boots. ‘I will be back in an hour or so,’ he told Aboli. ‘Wait for me.’
He found an overgrown path that ran beside the stream, and forced his way along it, moving inland until it came out into the open groves of the palm trees. He saw the ruins of the monastery ahead. He increased his pace, and as he came under the tumbled walls he called out sharply, ‘Sarah? Are you there?’ There was a shriek as a flock of parakeets exploded out of the upper branches of a bo tree, whose roots were embedded in the tumbled stone blocks, but no other sound.
He continued on around the base of the walls, then heard a horse whinny just ahead of him. He ran forward, unable to restrain himself from showing his eagerness, and found the mare tied in the fallen gateway. Her saddle was stacked at the base of the wall, but there was no sign of her rider.
He was about to call again but thought better of it, and went on cautiously through the gateway. The building was roofless, overgrown with weed and newly germinated palm shoots from fallen coconuts. Blue-headed lizards scurried away among the stones, and butterflies with brilliant wings floated above the tops of the flowers.
He stood in the centre of the ancient courtyard, and placed his hands on his hips. He remembered her mischievous ways from long ago. It was clear that she had not improved, that she was hiding from him.
‘I am going to count to ten,’ he shouted, as he had when she was just a shrimp, ‘and then I am coming to get you.’ Once that threat had been enough to send her and her sister squealing for cover. ‘One!’ he counted, and her voice came from high above him. ‘Guy says that you ravish young virgins.’
He spun round and saw her perched high on the arch of the gateway, her long legs dangling over the edge, her calves exposed beneath the hem of her skirts and her feet bare. He had walked right underneath her.
‘He says that no decent Christian girl is safe when you are on the prowl.’ She put her head on one side. ‘Is that true?’
‘Guy is a fool.’ Tom grinned up at her.
‘Guy does not like you very much. No brotherly warmth in his heart.’ Sarah started to swing her legs, and he stared at them. They were smooth and shapely. ‘Is Christopher truly yours?’
Tom almost reeled at the directness of her question. ‘Who told you that?’ He tried to recover his composure.
‘Caroline did,’ she replied. ‘She hasn’t stopped crying since she saw you yesterday.’
Tom stared up at her, and all she had told him in those few sentences left him in confusion. He could think of nothing to say.
‘If I come down, will you promise not to pounce on me and give me a baby also?’ she asked sweetly, and stood up.
He felt a tremor of concern as she balanced easily on top of the rickety wall, and found his voice. ‘Have a care. You will fall.’
As if she had not heard, she ran along the narrow top of the wall, jumping down from tier to tier until she could hop down the last
few feet to the ground. She was as nimble as an acrobat. ‘I brought a picnic basket for us to share.’ She walked past him further into the ruins, and he followed her to one of the ancient monks’ cells, which although roofless and open to the sky was shaded from the slanting sun. She pulled out the basket from where she had hidden it under a pile of palm fronds. She seated herself, twisting up her legs beneath her in that double-jointed feminine attitude that he found so appealing. She arranged her skirts artlessly, giving him another heart-stopping glimpse of those lovely calves.
She opened the basket and, as she set out the contents, she asked, ‘Did you go to see the Sultan?’
‘He refused me.’ Tom sat down facing her, leaning his back against one of the blocks and crossing his legs.
‘Of course! Guy sent word to him to warn him you were coming.’ She changed the subject with bewildering rapidity. ‘I helped myself to a bottle of wine from his cellar.’ She held it up like a trophy. ‘It’s French, and came on the last ship from home.’ She read the label. ‘Corton Charlemagne. Is that good?’
‘I don’t know,’ Tom admitted, ‘but it sounds impressive.’
‘Guy says it’s superb. My brother-in-law fancies himself a great connoisseur. He is terribly proud of it. He would be furious if he knew we were drinking it. I am allowed only half a glass at supper. Will you open it?’ She passed it to Tom, and set out platters of pies and cold meat. ‘I was truly sorry to hear about the death of your father,’ she said, and her face was sad suddenly. ‘He was so kind to me and my family on the voyage out to Good Hope.’
‘Thank you,’ Tom replied, as he popped the cork out of the bottle, turning away to hide the shadow that passed across his face.
She sensed his sorrow and smiled to cheer him again. ‘If my own father hadn’t arranged the post of consul for Guy, he would still be a clerk in Bombay. He isn’t such a Lord High and Mighty as he imagines he is.’ She put on a solemn expression that was so faithful an imitation of his brother that Tom’s mood changed and he grinned, as she mimicked Guy’s pompous tone and inflection. ‘“I am the youngest consul in the service of His Majesty. I shall have a knighthood before I am thirty.”’ Tom guffawed. She was a delight to be with.
Then swiftly she changed again and became serious. ‘Oh, Tom, what are we going to do about poor little Dorian? Guy doesn’t really care. All he worries about is the Company’s trade with the Arabs, and Lord Childs in London. He won’t do anything to offend the Sultan and the Prince.’
Tom’s expression again became grim. ‘I will not let Guy or the Omani divert me. I have a fine, fast ship, and if they force me to it, I shall use it.’
‘I know exactly how you are suffering, Tom. I feel as though Dorian is my own brother. I will do everything I can to help you. But you must be careful. Guy says that the Prince has forbidden any Christian ships to go further north than Zanzibar, under penalty of seizure. He says that the Arabs will sell the crews into slavery if they transgress this decree.’ She leaned across and placed her hand on his forearm. Her fingers were long and tapered. They felt cool against his skin. ‘It will be terribly dangerous. I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you, dear Tom.’
‘I can look after my ship and my crew,’ he assured her, but her touch was distracting.
‘I know you can.’ She withdrew her hand, and sparkled at him. ‘Pour Guy’s wine.’ She set out two pewter cups. ‘Let’s see if it is as good as he boasts.’
She took a sip. ‘Mmm!’ she murmured. ‘You had best keep the bottle beside you. Caroline says that ravishers ply their innocent victims with strong drink before having their way with them.’ She widened her eyes. ‘And I don’t want a child like Caroline. Not today, at least.’
She had a way of keeping him off-balance. The blouse she wore had slipped down to expose one shoulder, but she did not seem to have noticed. ‘Agnes has a baby now too. She married a Captain Hicks in the Company army at Bombay. It seems both my sisters are brood mares. It may run in the family, so I have to be very careful. You aren’t married, are you, Tom?’
‘No.’ His voice was husky. The skin on her shoulder and arm was smooth and sun-gilded and there were colourless hairs on her forearms, fine as silk, that caught the sun.
‘That’s good. So what are we going to do about Dorian? Do you want me to spy on Guy and find out everything I can? I don’t think he will tell you much himself.’
‘I would be most grateful for your help.’
‘I can go through all his correspondence and eavesdrop on his visitors. There is a hole in the wall where the ropes for the fan go through. It makes a fine confessional.’ She looked mightily pleased with herself. ‘But, of course, we will have to meet here regularly so that I can report to you.’
Tom found that prospect far from distasteful. ‘Do you remember the concerts we used to have in the evenings on board the Seraph?’ she asked, and burst spontaneously into the chorus of ‘Spanish Ladies’. Her voice was true and unaffected, and Tom, tone-deaf as he was, was stirred by it. The hair on the back of his neck prickled and he was sorry when she stopped.
‘What happened to Master Walsh, our teacher?’ she asked. ‘He was such a funny little man.’
‘He is with me on the Swallow.’ And he went on to tell her about all the crew she remembered from the Seraph.
She wept when he told her how Big Daniel Fisher had died, and he wanted to take her in his arms to comfort her. Instead he changed the subject, and told her about how they had captured the Swallow, and about the long voyage out.
She listened raptly, wiped away the tears, and applauded his courage and ingenuity. Soon she was chatting easily again, flitting from subject to subject, as though she had stored up a hundred questions for him in the years they had been apart.
Tom was intrigued. The longer he studied her face the more he decided that his first appraisal had been in error. Perhaps her features were not pretty, her nose and mouth were too large, her jaw too square, but put together with the animation and spirit that lit them he decided she was almost beautiful. Her eyes crinkled when she laughed, and she had a little trick of lifting her chin when she asked a question, which he liked.
The shadows moved out across the courtyard as they talked. Suddenly she broke off in the middle of a hilarious description of her family’s arrival in Bombay, and their reaction to the unfamiliar, exotic new world. ‘Oh, Tom, it’s late. The time went so quickly. I have stayed too long.’ Hastily she gathered up the plates and empty wine cups. ‘I must go. Guy will be furious if he even suspects where I have been.’
‘Guy is not your master.’ Tom frowned.
‘He is the master of our household. My father placed me in his care when Mother died. For Caroline’s sake, I have to humour him. He takes out his ill-temper on her.’
‘Are you happy living with Guy and Caroline, Sarah?’ He felt that even in the short time they had spent together he knew her well enough to ask such a delicate question.
‘I can think of other circumstances which would please me better,’ she said, almost inaudibly, without looking up from the picnic basket. Then she pulled on her discarded shoes and jumped to her feet. Tom picked up the basket and she placed one slim hand on his arm as if she needed to steady herself over the uneven ground. It was only a short time ago, though, that he had seen her dancing along the top of the high wall.
‘When will you come again to give me report of what Guy is doing?’ Tom asked, as he lifted the pannier basket onto the mare’s back.
‘Not tomorrow, I have promised to help Caroline with Christopher, but the next day, at the same time.’
He placed his hands on her waist and lifted her up into the saddle. He hoped she realized the strength that that simple act had required for she was no delicate lily of a girl. Today she was riding side-saddle.
She hooked one leg around the horn, and he helped her arrange her long skirts. Then she looked down at him as he stood by her stirrup. ‘Oh, Tom,’ she said impulsively, ‘it’s been suc
h fun. Life on the island is so restricted and boring. Guy won’t even let me go into the town on my own. I cannot last remember when I enjoyed myself so much.’ Then she seemed overcome by embarrassment at her lack of restraint. Without waiting for his response she urged the mare away, and raced off down the sandy path through the palm groves. She sat tall and regal in the saddle.
As Tom came up the causeway from the harbour and passed below the portcullis of the fort, he saw two men coming towards him, deep in conversation. He caught a snatch of their words as they passed him, enough to be sure that they were speaking English, and he turned back after them. ‘God love you, gentlemen,’ he called, ‘it’s good to hear the Christian tongue spoken in this heathen land. May I introduce myself? Robert Davenport.’ He used the pseudonym he had chosen to protect himself from the murder warrant that he knew must follow him. The two Englishmen turned to face him, their expressions guarded. Only then Tom recognized them as the captain and one of the officers from the East Indiaman in the harbour. He had seen them rowed ashore from the ship earlier in the day. ‘I hope you have enjoyed a good voyage thus far?’ Tom asked, when they had reluctantly introduced themselves and shaken hands, still stiff and reserved. ‘I presume that you are coming from an audience of the Sultan?’
‘Yes.’ The captain nodded curtly. He did not volunteer further information, and Tom had to fish again.
‘What is the fellow like? This will be my first meeting with him. Does he speak any English?’
‘He speaks only his own God-forsaken lingo,’ the man replied. ‘I wish you luck in your dealings with him. He is a crafty devil, and you will need all the luck you can muster.’ He bowed. ‘And now if you will excuse me, sir . . .’
Tom strode into the fort, his anger bubbling over. He now had proof of what Sarah had told him. At the instigation of Guy, his own brother, the vizier was fobbing him off.