A Sea Unto Itself (42 page)

“It’s none of your concern in any event,” Charles asserted brusquely. “If you will excuse me.” He shouldered his way past.

Almost before he reached the quarterdeck he was approached by Bevan. “Have an enjoyable afternoon?”

“I do not wish to discuss it. It’s a private matter,” Charles answered in a tone to end any further commentary.

“It’s not private anymore,” Bevan said agreeably. “We’ve all been watching. I could have charged good money for the use of the telescopes. I watched myself. She’s quite a handsome woman.”

Charles flushed. He knew he and Teresa had been within view of the ship, but had
 
no idea they’d been watched so closely. “It’s nothing, Daniel,” he said. “I’ve been invited to supper tomorrow is all. She’s just someone I can talk to.”

“Sure, I can well believe that,” Bevan said. “I’m certain it’s all quite innocent. Let me ask you this: What does she want?”

“Only the pleasure of my company,” Charles answered.

“Of course that must be the reason. But with her looks, I’d have thought she could do better. As for your dalliance with this person, child-like friendship though it may be, I will say only that I’ve never known you to do anything more than your workaday stupid, Charlie. My advice is, don’t start now.”

The next morning Charles busied himself with his usual shipboard routine. Bevan sent two of the ship’s boats to Massawa’s aqueduct to refill empty water casks and another with a wooding party further inland to collect fuel for the galley stove. The jollyboat ferried off-duty seamen back and forth to the quayside where they might examine the town. As the day wore on, he found himself with little to do and a growing edge of anticipation toward the evening’s arrangement. As the time drew near, he washed and shaved carefully, then dressed in a fresh shirt and stock. At the end of the first dog watch he requested the jollyboat to take him across.

“A word, if you please,” Bevan said as Charles was about to climb down into the boat.

“If you’re going to start up again about my possible wanderings,” Charles began.

“No,” Bevan said seriously. “I want you to take two marines with you to stand guard. They can wait outside the entrance.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I’m not comfortable. There’s something about this place I don’t trust. I’ve already spoken to Ayres. There’s two of them in the boat.”

Charles looked over the side and saw two redcoats with their muskets in the bow, as well as the boat’s crew with his steward at his accustomed place. “Did Winchester put you up to this?” he asked. “I’m surprised he didn’t offer to come himself.”

“No, it was my idea. He agrees that something’s amiss. We just can’t put our finger on what it is.”

“I’m sure I’ll be perfectly safe,” Charles said. “I’ll keep the marines. If nothing else, they’ll provide Augustus with company. If you’re so concerned, perhaps you should post extra sentries around the ship.”

“I already have,” Bevan said.

Charles went across in the boat, the sweltering heat beginning to cool with the coming of night. He studied the neatly aligned rows of European buildings behind the stone wharf. How had these people, refugees from Napoleon, found their way here? There was something odd about it, improbable. He dismissed the notion. The Italians were friendly enough, or at least Teresa was. Stranger things had happened in the world, all with perfectly logical explanations.

At the quay ladderway, Charles climbed up, followed by Augustus and the marines. He had not actually ordered Augustus to accompany him, but he would have been surprised if he hadn’t. “I’ll have the boat wait, if you please,” he said to Malvern. “I don’t expect to be more than a couple of hours. The crew may loiter along the waterfront. Don’t let them stray too far.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” the coxswain replied.

Charles started across the nearly empty flagged surface, his steward beside him, the two marines marching in step behind. He thought there was an air of the ridiculous about paying a call on a woman with a military force in tow. He saw the house she had pointed out to him with a small garden in front behind a low wall. He stopped by the gate, made sure his hat was on straight and adjusted his sword. “You will wait here. I’ll call if I need anything.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” said the senior of the marines. Augustus stood silent.

“You have nothing to worry about,” he said to his steward.

Augustus nodded.

Charles approached the solid wooden entrance, took a breath, and knocked. The door swung back to reveal a thin, rather tall African woman and a room beyond. “Signore Capitan Inglese,” she announced. Teresa appeared at once. Charles stared, then caught himself. She had dressed in a fetching blouse, as a peasant woman might wear to a village festival, with flowers embroidered in the edging around the neck and sleeves. It stretched across her chest, below her shoulders on both sides, scooped low to reveal a large amount of rising cream-colored chest and an impressive cleavage. Rich dark tresses curled down to rest on bare flesh.

“Mio Carlo,” Teresa greeted him. “I am so pleased to receive you.” She stepped forward to lead him inside and saw the marines with Augustus by the gate. “Why is this?” she said.

“A precaution,” Charles answered. “In the event I require protection.”

“From me?”

Charles appraised her with an admiring expression. “Possibly,” he said. He removed his hat and stepped inside. The door closed. It was a clean room with spartan furnishings: a table, several chairs, a dresser, a cupboard, and a bed in an alcove. It was about the same size as his own cabin, he realized. A doorway led to a room beyond.

“You will pardon my poor house. We are not so wealthy here,” Teresa said, taking his hat from him. “Here, give me your sword. You must be at your ease. I will not attack you. I promise, I will cross my heart.” She did so and Charles broke into a sweat. She laid his hat and sword on the bed. “And your coat. It is too warm.” He did not protest.

The table in the room’s center was laid for two with pewter dishes, knives, forks, and wine goblets. He noticed a bottle wrapped in straw on the cupboard. “And now you must to sit. I have small business first, then we may eat,” she said. She wrinkled her nose prettily to indicate the subject of business was distasteful to her. Charles helped her into a chair and then sat himself across the table. Teresa spoke to the maid in Italian, of which he understood the word vino. He had an impression that she was nervous, ordering and directing things to cover it up. It was possible that the presence of the bed accounted for that. Glancing at it made Charles nervous as well. The maid unstoppered the wine and poured it out, a rich, dark-red, almost purple liquid. A single candle flickered on its stick in the middle of the table.

“You mentioned some business?” Charles said when they were alone. He sipped at his wine and found it full bodied and rough. It burned its way down to his stomach. He began to relax.

Teresa settled herself and smiled warmly. “Si, I am to tell you that the food we are to send to you is a little delayed. It must come from the farms in the mountains, you understand. All is arranged; it will be assembled in some few days.” She reached across and touched his hand as was her customary way when speaking to him. “But there is no hurry, no? You can wait, your ship, perhaps to visit with me?” A fingernail scratched lightly across his skin, leaving a thin white trail.

In spite of himself, Charles’ pulse quickened. “A few days?” he said. “It may be possible.”

“Good,” she said. “Now we may eat. I have prepared this myself, speciale for you.” She clapped her hands. The maid soon reappeared with a bowl of steaming pasta, a plate of greens, and another with some kind of fish. There was a tub of butter, a small bowl of salt, and a quantity of grated cheese.

Charles paid little attention to the meal before him. They ate, mostly in silence with short exchanges of conversation. She filled his plate herself and kept his wine glass full. He watched her while they ate, her lips as she chewed, her lowered eyes, the movement of her hands, and the tops of her breasts as she sliced her portions and raised them to her mouth. Despite the wine, he felt the tension in the room rise until it became stifling. She was a desirable woman, firm and soft at the same time, and enchantingly attractive. He allowed himself to imagine what she would be like on the bed, her inhibitions gone, her bare breast against his own . .

“Basta cosi, enough,” Teresa said at length, putting down her utensils and dabbing a cloth to her lips. “But you have eaten nothing. You will be too thin.”

Charles glanced at his plate, about half of his serving remaining. “I’m satisfied, honestly,” he said and pushed his chair back from the table to stretch his legs. “It was a fine meal. Thank you.”

Teresa rose and moved toward him. Charles watched every step; he thought to rise himself. “Stay,” she said, placing her hand on his shoulder. She lowered herself into his lap, her arm around his neck. “Cara mia,” she breathed, her face close to his. His arms went instinctively around her, strands of hair brushed through his fingers. Her lips parted, close, closer, until they were on his. Charles pressed his mouth against hers, he breathed her breath, warm, sweet, moist.

 
Teresa responded with passion. “We have so little time, my heart, my lover. Please, you may stay one night, two nights, a week only that we may be together. I am so alone in this place.” She kissed his lips, his eyes; her breath now in his ear. Her teeth pulled on the lobe, hard enough for pain, exquisite pain. Charles’ mind churned with a confusion of racing emotions. He knew himself to be as aroused as he had ever been, a fact of which she must certainly be aware. He struggled to suppress a thought that would not go away. He couldn’t. Well, he could; he wanted to; God knew he wanted to. Of its own volition, his hand found her breast and caressed its fullness, her nipple under the thin cloth. Teresa’s fingers opened the buttons of his shirt, pulled the garment up, its shirttails free. Her nails raked his bare skin, her lips again on his. Charles found it difficult to think, or even breathe. Who would know? No one would know. He remembered that Augustus waited outside the door with the marines. He would have to be sent back to the ship. He remembered Winchester’s icy disapproval that Charles had even sat alone with the woman outside on a bench. Everyone would know.

Another image came into his head, unbidden, unwanted: Penny’s face, clear in every detail to the tan flecks in her clear gray eyes; fine strands of fawn-colored hair wind-blown across trusting lips. She might never know, but Charles knew that he would know. He could not lie to her, even if she never asked. He couldn’t.

“No,” he said. “It’s not possible. All right, it’s possible, but I can’t. I’m sorry.” He removed his hand, pushing her gently back.

Teresa stared at him in bewilderment, then hurt. “No? But why? We would . . .”

“I have a wife and a child at home.”

“Oh, it is nothing to me. She is so far away,” she said, attempting to pull him close. “There is no need for her to know.”

“No,” he repeated more firmly. He removed her arms.

“You cannot be serious.”

“I assure you, I have never been more serious, nor regretted it more deeply. I wish the circumstances were otherwise.”

Teresa’s eyes hardened, her mouth a tight line. She rose to her feet, her face flushed. “I am sorry you do not find me attractive. Bastardo Inglese, you are not a man.”

Charles stood, dismayed at her sudden change in attitude. He had assumed, to the extent that he had thought about it at all, that she would be more understanding. “I’d better go,” he said.

“Yes, you go.” She began an uninterrupted string of shrill Italian which he was grateful he did not comprehend. Quickly, he retrieved his things from the bed. Without waiting to put them on, he made for the door. She picked up his half-empty plate and threw it at him, which struck the wall with a loud clatter. Charles yanked on the door latch in time for the second platter to sail past, out into the night. He hurried through and closed the panel behind him. Something substantial, possibly the butter tub, crashed against its other side.

The two marines stood by the gate staring at him. Augustus retrieved the dinner platter from the pathway. “You all right, Cap’n?” he said.

“Yes. Fine,” Charles answered. “You may leave that by the entrance. A small disappointment, is all.”

“Yes, Cap’n. I know that kind of thing myself.”

“Do you?” Charles said. “We can discuss it another time. I think it best we return to the ship for now. Possibly we should hurry.”

Winchester stood stiffly by the entry port as Charles came onto the deck, his expression cast in a rigid scowl. The sight of his brother-in-law caused him a moment of guilt at what he had almost done, wanted so badly to do, that he reacted angrily. “For Christ’s sake, Stephen,” he snapped. “Nothing untoward happened. I am disappointed that you would even entertain such a suspicion.” He hurried past toward the quarterdeck. He found Bevan standing under a lantern hung from the mizzen.