Norton, Andre - Novel 08 (33 page)

 
          
 
Fitz laughed at so typical a welcome. "My
wardrobe is of a lady's choosing. And it may have saved my neck —so speak it
fair."

 
          
 
Jules had pushed in with the surgeon, and now
his floods of Breton-French drowned out all further questions.
Watts
grinned at Fitz.

 
          
 
"I gather from this storm that you are in
debt to this creature. I suppose that your purse is empty?"

 
          
 
"Just so.
He's
the mate of the privateer which brought me in from the Channel. I've been
informed I owe passage
money "

 
          
 
"More than you're probably worth."
Watts
began bargaining. Since he still believed
that raising his voice made his brand of French more intelligible, the room was
soon a bedlam, and Fitz, reduced to helpless laughter, was warm inside with the
peaceful feeling of having come home. Even Ninnes raised his head and listened
to the row with a quirk of true amusement about his lips.

 
          
 
It was the lieutenant in the end who settled
the business. Taking a purse from his pocket, he counted out a handful of coins
which he pushed across the table into Jules' eager grasp.
Watts
shook his head as the Malouin clattered
out.

 
          
 
"I fear you sadly overpaid that
score "

 
          
 
Ninnes cut him short. "On the contrary,
Doctor, I may still be in the fellow's debt." He looked to Fitz, and for
the first time there was no hostility in his gaze. "We can but reward the
one who returns our worthy commander of marines to the ship. I trust you have
something in that basket, sir, which will aid us to celebrate this joyful
occasion—this most fortunate reunion."

 
          
 
Watts
stood
by the table, and his searching eyes went from Ninnes to Fitz. A tiny line of
puzzlement etched itself between his brows. The doctor was no fool, but he also
knew when to hold his tongue and curb his curiosity. For he said nothing at
all, even when Ninnes picked up the pistol, inspected its charge, and put it away.

 
          
 
"Can I promote some credit at a
tailor's?" Fitz wanted to know after he had done more than justice to the
dinner provided by their pastry-cook landlord. "Somehow I do not feel that
my coat—or rather the lack of it—does anything for my dignity as a representative
of our august arms."

 
          
 
"But are you?" asked
Watts
with apparent seriousness. "A
representative of American arms, I mean? The last time we spoke on this matter
I thought you were still moved by the idea that the life of a marine, having been
forced upon you willy-nilly, did not altogether become you, and you were
panting only to return to some fitter employment—say a saddle in a company of
Light Horse."

 
          
 
"Aye," Ninnes was filling a pipe and
making something of a job of it, but doing it himself, "this is an
excellent time to make the change. Though our prize money is not yet in hand
you can borrow against your prospects and pay your passage home. There are a
number of America-bound ships which touch here from time to time. You have fulfilled
your part of the original bargain."

 
          
 
Fitz wrinkled his nose at the rank clouds of
tobacco smoke which both of his tablemates were contributing to the close
atmosphere of the room. They were right —too right. St. Malo was the end of the
road which had opened in
Baltimore
. He could no longer dally without leaving the Retaliation when she had
left him. None of them could guess how successful Crofts would be in his quest
for a new command. They only trusted in their captain's proverbial luck. And
the thought of Crofts' luck brought another question to his lips.

 
          
 
"How did the Captain get back here?"

 
          
 
Watts
puffed out a ball of smoke.
"Crofts?
Well, he
seemed to avoid your more spectacular exploits. He kept to the road that night,
made a coaching inn by morning, and had an uneventful trip to
London
. There he had no difficulty at all in
meeting your so-elusive Mr. Norwood, and was sent on his way overseas.
All in a very orderly and quiet manner, without any of the color of
your own attempts to set His Majesty's government by its outstanding ears.
Some of his luck must have rubbed off on you."

 
          
 
"Aye."
Ninnes tapped his pipe on the table.
" 'Tis
out
of a romance—the moor bell, your meeting with your grandfather—the press gang
"

 
          
 
Fitz was inclined to bristle at that, until he
saw that the lieutenant was not being ironic, but sincerely meant his comment
on the story which the Marylander had sketched out for them while they had
dined.

 
          
 
"So you had no liking for
Starr Court
? It is the famous show place I have heard
"
Watts
said slowly.

 
          
 
"And I am like to provide the show in it
if they lay hands on me again," Fitz pointed out. "I should like
mightily to
know "

 
          
 
"If you did deal permanently with
Farstarr?" the doctor interrupted. "It could be arranged. Crofts'
fly-by-night smuggling friends are only too glad to bring out suitable bits of
information for a guinea or two. We'll see what can be done in that
quarter."

 
          
 
And so right was the surgeon, that some two
months later Fitz received a dirty scrap of paper bearing a single scrawled
sentence which informed him that, in spite of his efforts to the contrary, he
had not fought a fatal duel. The heir to Starr still remained above ground to
disgust the wide circle of his enemies.

 
          
 
Through the days which followed, Fitz did not
make up his mind about the future, avoiding that problem as long as he could,
even in his own mind. Instead he threw himself into the business of the others,
joining
Watts
in checking supply lists and prowling the
waterfront taverns with Ninnes in search of news of a suitable ship and crew.

 
          
 
While Fitz knew that close friendship might
never be possible between them, Ninnes and he slipped without any words into a
sort of workable relationship, so that if they became shipmates ever again they
would form a crew, willingly and amiably. Ninnes ignored his missing hand now,
acting as if the loss did not matter, practicing to get along without it. He
was a demon for work and drove himself and Fitz about the streets of St. Malo
as if by their united efforts alone they could set Crofts afloat once more.

 
          
 
Late one evening, when the heavy heat of the
town had driven the three of them out onto the ledges of the open windows, and
they sat, their shirts unbuttoned to let in any breezes which might exist, Fitz
asked a question.

 
          
 
"Will the Captain try Channel cruising
again?"

 
          
 
Watts
pulled at his lower lip reflectively. "I don't think so. He had another
bee buzzing about his head when he rode off to
Paris
."

 
          
 
"The Indiamen," Ninnes broke in.
"He is thinking of striking south—down off the Canaries—and catching the
homebound Indies fleet. There's a fortune waiting for the ship that can do
that."

 
          
 
"More gold than Frankie Drake pulled out
of
Panama
no doubt,"
Watts
drawled. "Of course, the brace or two of frigates on patrol around that
fleet will be as dust on our sleeves. Any tub we pick up in this port to take
us to sea won't be the Retaliation. We'll be lucky if we can waddle out into
the ocean without starting every seam under her water line. The French aren't
going to give anything really good to a parcel of out-at-the-elbows foreign
adventurers "

 
          
 
"If the Captain wants a ship, he'll get
her." The old half-worshiping confidence was warm in Ninnes' voice.

 
          
 
"Thank you for those kind words." The
voice came out of the dark room behind them where they had left the candles
unlighted.

 
          
 
Ninnes slewed around with a little cry. But
Fitz was already on his feet as the newcomer struck light and put it to the
nearest wick on the table.

 
          
 
"Welcome home,"
Watts
had not moved from his perch on the ledge.
"If you've had a dry ride, both these young Ganymedes are alert to cherish
you. It isn't the nectar of the Gods, but it may wash down some of the road
dust "

 
          
 
Fitz poured wine into the glass Ninnes produced
and set it down at Crofts' hand. The Captain was powdered with fine white dust
which clung to his face and hair and filmed his coat. He raised one eyebrow at
the sight of the marine, but he drank instead of asking questions until he set
down an empty glass and sighed gustily.

 
          
 
Watts
left
his window and came lounging over to the table. With professional skill he
stooped, unfastened Crofts' coat, eased him out of it and unhooked the
Captain's tight stock.

 
          
 
"Cherish me indeed," Crofts smiled
at them win-ningly. "Because I've news, boys—we've a ship to put under us
again!"

 
          
 
"What kind—her name—where is
she "

 
          
 
At the rain of questions from the three of
them Crofts shook his head and looked around for the bottle.

 
          
 
"She's a brig at
Bordeaux
—the Eastern Queen— brought in as a prize
two months ago. That's all I know. For the rest—we shall have to do the best we
can. Matthews posted straight down to her from
Paris
while I came here for you. Ninnes, you get
together the men you have selected.
Watts
, how
about supplies? Can we ship them coastwise on one of these fishing smacks? And
Lyon
," he turned to Fitz, "I promised
you a full lieutenancy in the marines. It's yours now for the taking if you
have a mind to it!"

 
          
 
Fitz glanced from one face to another of the
three gathered in the candlelight.

 
          
 
Ninnes, once his enemy,
now—well, half his friend.

 
          
 
They had come to change their estimates of
each other during those long hot days in St. Malo—learning that each had
strengths the other lacked.

 
          
 
And
Watts
—Dr.
Watts was a man he would always be proud to serve with. He wanted nothing
better in life than to be able to meet the surgeon's eyes full and square
always.

 
          
 
That brought him to Crofts. The Captain's
striking good looks were wilted by
fatigue,
there were
lines and shadows carved in the face which had seemed almost too young when he
had first sighted it in
Baltimore
. Crofts and his luck, his belief in himself and what he could
accomplish—his confidence which would draw other men after him all his life—Crofts
the born leader, Crofts whom he could not withstand now—nor did he wish to.