‘No, thank you,’ he said absently, squinting at the horizon and then looking back at his notes. ‘Why not lay out the food and we’ll eat? Have a look over there—’ He waved towards an outcrop of tumbled rocks. ‘There might be a good view on the other side of those. I’ll be along in a minute.’
Clemence gathered up her satchel and made for the rocks. She had been wondering how to discreetly slip away and find a rock to shelter behind to make herself comfortable; Nathan was being very tactful.
As Clemence disappeared around the heap of rocks Nathan pulled a mirror, the size of his palm, from his pocket and angled it to the sun, moving it in a jerky rhythm. ‘LLook this way, damn you,’ he muttered. The frigate still rode beside the merchantman, its flag hoists inactive. Somewhere out on that blue expanse was the fishing boat that had been dogging their steps and had signalled ahead when they entered the channel last night. It was gratifying that they had second-guessed McTiernan’s movements, set the first decoy up at the right place.
Appear to leave, stay close, use second decoy, he signalled, over and over. Finally a dark dot appeared against the white canvas, struggling up towards the to’ gallants. He put the mirror back in his pocket and raised the telescope.
Acknowledged. Stand by. Two days. Two more days eyeball to eyeball with McTiernan and Cutler. This had better be worth it, although just at the moment he was coming to the conclusion that simply getting out with a whole skin was the most he could hope for. A whole skin and Clemence.
Nathan scrubbed a hand through his hair. It was bad enough having those clear eyes judging him for being a pirate, let alone a turncoat pirate. The temptation to justify himself to her was strong, but if she knew the truth it would only put her in more danger than she was already. He would just have to add her disapproval to the other burdens of the situation.
With the telescope tucked under his arm, Nathan went to see what she had managed to find for their picnic. ‘A whole chicken? How in Hades did you manage that?’ It was small and scrawny, but even so, a chicke
n was a chicken.
‘I snivelled a bit. Said you’d hit me and I wanted something to put you in a good mood,’ she confessed with a grin. ‘Mr Street had just fished three birds out of the pot. He said I had probably deserved a good thrashing because all boys were the spawn of the devil, but he was smiling, so I grabbed a chicken and a loaf and some of the butter and things.’ She gestured at the spread.
‘You’d make a very promising conman, young Clem.’ Nathan hunkered down and began to tear the fowl apart. ‘What would Miss Clemence be doing now, assuming your uncle hadn’t turned out to be such a villain?’
‘Oh, managing the household, sewing, meeting friends. I’ve got a nice garden.’ Something about the way she was so focused on the food and so off-hand with her brief description made him suspicious.
‘Courting a handsome local lad?’
‘No!’ That was very vehement. ‘I know them all too well—it would be like courting my own brother.’
‘Dashing naval officers, then?’ Nathan settled down, propped himself on one elbow, and began to gnaw at a chicken leg. ‘I hear the uniform attracts the ladies.’ I know damn well it does—that and a fat purse of prize money.
‘Don’t you know from your own experience?’ she asked, looking up, her eyes very green in the sunlight. The scruffy urchin had vanished and in his place was a young lady regarding him from beneath haughtily lifted eyebrows.
‘I was at sea a lot of the time,’ he said, treading cautiously, unsure whether she was testing his story or simply showing feminine curiosity about the women in his life.
‘Oh, yes, I recall you telling me about your career. You obviously had far more exciting things to be doing than courting gentlewomen.’ Clemence lobbed a chicken bone over one shoulder into the undergrowth, the young lady vanishing again. ‘No, I never found the naval officers very tempting, either. They were so determined to see how far their flirtations would get them before they could escape again to their ships, leaving a trail of broken hearts in their wake.’
‘Did you go to receptions at the King’s House?’
‘Oh, yes.’ Clemence spread butter on a crust with a lavish hand. ‘Goodness, I’m so hungry—it must be the sea air.’ She tucked a lock of hair back behind her ear and waved the crust for emphasis. ‘I don’t know about England, but here virtually the entire white population is on visiting terms and is invited to receptions by the Governor.
‘Society is so small that the social divisions almost disappear. Visiting ladies always say that balls and routs are complete romps and turn up their noses at us when they find themselves sitting next to an attorney or a shopkeeper at a dinner party, but it would be ridiculous if society were confined to a handful of leading planters and the richest merchants.’
‘So, no young man to deliver you back to,’ Nathan mused, realising he was not finding that thought displeasing.
‘It is a trifle premature to think about getting back safe to Kingston, is it not?’ Clemence asked.
‘Perhaps. I like to plan ahead. What’s your surname, Clemence?’ he asked, realising that she had never told him. Now why not?
‘Browne.’ The response was so quick, he should not have been suspicious, but there was something about the way she held his eyes, as though daring him to challenge her, that told him she was lying. No, she did not trust him, not wholly. Sensible woman.
He nodded and she leaned against a rock, apparently sated, and tipped her face up to the sun. The shaggy hair fell back, giving Nathan a clear sight of her face. The swelling had gone down, the bruises were turning yellow. Soon the disfigurement would be gone, any lingering traces disguised by a healthy tan. How easy would it be to hide the fact that she was a girl when that happened?
Two days to survive before this all came to a head. Nathan shifted uncomfortably. Lying around felt wrong, even though there was nothing he could do now. He had gone into this deception knowing there was a good chance he would not come out of it. At the time, the gains had seemed worth the risk and he had always been ready to play the odds, especially when he did not much care about his own skin. Now he was responsible for Clemence and there was no one he could rely on to protect her if the worst happened. He had to stay alive—which might not be something he had much control over.
Although there were the men in the hold. Would they be in any condition to fight if he could free them? It would shorten the odds, although the timing would be critical.
‘You look grim,’ Clemence observed, head on one side. ‘And tired. Are you sleeping at night?’
‘Yes, I’m sleeping.’ And dreaming. His dreams seemed to be full of smoke and blood and the rattle of that disgusting bundle of rotting bones at the masthead. He woke every time feeling as though he’d just fought a ship action. It was curiously pleasant to have someone to worry about him.
‘Good.’ Clemence closed her eyes again and he sat and watched while she dropped off. Her mouth opened a little, her breath came in foolish whiffles and her long limbs relaxed into an endearing, graceful sprawl. Nathan wanted to crawl over, put his head in her lap and sleep, too, perhaps to wake and find she was stroking his hair. Instead, he sat up and thought, long and hard.