Alex Beecroft False Colors (pdf)

[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

gentleman, and maybe you doesn t drink anything proper?
John perched on an overstuffed chair, feeling obscurely
threatened by all the frippery, and said, You are remarkably well
informed, Mrs. Shaw. I wasn t aware my antecedents were so
generally known.
FalseColorsInt 2.qxd:new template 2/25/09 12:23 PM Page 226
226 FALSE COLORS
Oh lor bless you, sir, Mrs. Shaw laughed, and encouraged
Millie a black girl who might have been slave or servant into
the kitchen with a glare. All the Britannias knew everything
about you in moments. We took a friendly interest in you, like.
Finding you like that.
I m very glad you did. Find me that is. John relaxed a little.
She had, after all, seen him at his worst, and despite the over-
feminine surroundings, she was a shipmate and a potential ally.
No need to stand on ceremony. I ll have tea, if you please.
What brings you ere then, Lieutenant, as if I don t already
know?
Mr. Donwell.
Aye, poor lad, it s a shame. Ain t it always the way, though.
Them what has money and rank behind them gets away with it.
The rest of us don t.
Mrs. Shaw, I ll be honest with you, for I recently became
aware that the observations of an intelligent woman are worth
those of five men. I am not willing to allow Mr. Donwell to be
hanged without a fight, and I believe you may know where I may
find ammunition for that battle.
Well, now& . Mrs. Shaw beamed until the ruddy light of the
fire gleamed off her shiny cheeks. She waited for the tea tray and
then poured him a dish, setting it in front of him with great sat-
isfaction. By the time she had repeated the procedure with a cold
slice of plum duff he was itching with impatience and unable to
scratch. I do have a couple of names for ou. Me and the rest of
the Britannias, we don t want to be known for running no molly-
ship, and it ain t our Mr. Donwell what s bringing us into disre-
pute. You want to speak to that Dr. Berkeley and Bert Driver.
Accuser and prime witness they are. Ginger them and the whole
thing falls apart. I ll do the rest.
In there, sir. Price-Milton gave a self-satisfied grin, jerking his
head to the side to indicate the hovel from which emerged the roar-
ing laughter of men at play. Spending his money like water, and the
FalseColorsInt 2.qxd:new template 2/25/09 12:23 PM Page 227
ALEX BEECROFT 227
clothes on his back too.
They watched the door together for a while until a louder
howl and an outbreak of clapping was followed by the lurching
exit of a disappointed sailor with a dead cockerel swinging from
his hand. Price-Milton sucked in a thoughtful breath through the
gap where his front teeth had been lost to scurvy and said, It
ain t true, what they re saying about the captain. Is it?
John paused for a moment, looking the boy up and down, un-
sure whether this was na�vet� or jest. He was a typical midship-
man of His Majesty s navy, with the cheerful air of having already
lived through more perils than a landsman might see in a life-
time. And a slouching habit of standing that will instantly get him
caned by any new captain, John noted idly. That s for the court
martial to decide, Mr. Price-Milton, he said, with automatic op-
pressiveness. But he passed the boy a shilling nevertheless. Take
your hands out of your pockets and keep them out. Lord Lisburn
may have tolerated such slovenliness, but the same cannot be
said for the rest of the fleet.
Aye, aye sir! Price-Milton gave a huge gappy smile, knuck-
led his forehead in salute, and darted away, back up the coast
road towards Kingston where he could spend his new bounty on
rum, or creamed ice, depending on the depravity of his tastes.
John spent five minutes screwing up his courage, then elbowed
his way into the tiny room.
Bert Driver was indeed inside, sitting on the edge of the pit,
with a red cockerel under his arm, examining the steel blades on
the bird s legs. Bert s ridiculously handsome face was lined with
suspicion and anger. His gentlemanly clothes a dove-colored
suit and yellow silk waistcoat were spattered with blood, and
his white stockings covered in a motley of stains, some distinc-
tively foot-print shaped where he d been kicked. In front of him,
on a new handkerchief, his watch and fob lay, with a pile of loose
change and a promissory note.
John wiped spilled kill-devil rum and blood from the side of
the ring and sat down. A word with you, Bert.
FalseColorsInt 2.qxd:new template 2/25/09 12:23 PM Page 228
228 FALSE COLORS
Not now.
They did not belong to the same ship, so it could be taken for
mere insolence, not mutiny, but still John slammed his hand
down on the poor little fortune, leaned forward, letting the three
uniform buttons on his coat sleeve make the point: Do not force
me to see you flogged, because I will do so without hesitation or
regret.
I was told you gave yourself airs because of your& standing
with Captain Lord Lisburn. I see it s true. I will speak with you,
Bert. Here or in private. The choice is yours.
Bert flinched, his slate blue eyes almost contriving to look
pitiable. Sorry, sir. Didn t& didn t recognize you at first. Getting
up, he passed the cockerel to a scrawny fellow in a long leather
apron and gauntlets. Nah, they was on right. He won fair and
square. Take the watch and the coin, you ll get the rest later.
Wiping the blood from his fingers on to his handkerchief, Bert
passed that over too, then walked out to the narrow, dusty street.
The smell of sewage came up from the sea, but overhead the first
stars poked out their glittering needle points.
Bert was a big shadow, silhouetted against the glimmer of the
horizon, and John, his heart hammering, clenched his hand
around the hilt of his sword for reassurance, the twisted wires of
the grip pleasantly rough against his palm. This is a strange way
to honor the memory of your captain, he began softly, by de-
stroying his reputation. Do you not owe him your silence?
I don t owe him anything. Bert snorted through his nose,
scornful, not quite loud enough for a laugh. Fuckin old sod. He
got what he paid for.
Your transactions were entirely monetary then, no affection
involved? It wasn t that John had no experience of this frame of
thought, but that his opinion of whores had been fixed in his
youth. He found the idea of selling something so intimate as one s
own body frightening, and also perplexingly sad.
Affection? Bert did laugh this time, the sound echoing be-
tween the lines of poor cottages and warehouses. A dog half way
FalseColorsInt 2.qxd:new template 2/25/09 12:23 PM Page 229
ALEX BEECROFT 229
down the street lifted its dripping muzzle from the gutter at the
sound, its eyes gleaming gold for a moment before it returned to
whatever it was eating. Hoo! You sound like a preacher. Nah.
I ve expensive tastes, me, and
Who s paying you now?
The sidelong look Bert gave him almost made his head ache.
The man was so handsome John found himself constantly as-
suming that he must also be good. It jarred him on a deep, irra-
tional level, to see such a perfect face express such imperfect
thoughts. Dr. Bentley, Bert said. But not enough. Why? You
here to make a better offer?
I m here to deliver a warning. John stepped back into the
shade of the cock-pit s roof. It was easier to threaten and black- [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

Pokrewne