The Rafael Sabatini Megapack. Rafael Sabatini

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      “We sail tomorrow morning,” his lordship announced.

      Blood was startled.

      “And Colonel Bishop?” he asked.

      “He becomes your affair. You are now the Governor. You will deal with him as you think proper on his return. Hang him from his own yardarm. He deserves it.”

      “Isn’t the task a trifle invidious?” wondered Blood.

      “Very well. I’ll leave a letter for him. I hope he’ll like it.”

      Captain Blood took up his duties at once. There was much to be done to place Port Royal in a proper state of defence, after what had happened there. He made an inspection of the ruined fort, and issued instructions for the work upon it, which was to be started immediately. Next he ordered the careening of the three French vessels that they might be rendered seaworthy once more. Finally, with the sanction of Lord Willoughby, he marshalled his buccaneers and surrendered to them one fifth of the captured treasure, leaving it to their choice thereafter either to depart or to enrol themselves in the service of King William.

      A score of them elected to remain, and amongst these were Jeremy Pitt, Ogle, and Dyke, whose outlawry, like Blood’s, had come to an end with the downfall of King James. They were—saving old Wolverstone, who had been left behind at Cartagena—the only survivors of that band of rebels-convict who had left Barbados over three years ago in the Cinco Llagas.

      On the following morning, whilst van der Kuylen’s fleet was making finally ready for sea, Blood sat in the spacious whitewashed room that was the Governor’s office, when Major Mallard brought him word that Bishop’s homing squadron was in sight.

      “That is very well,” said Blood. “I am glad he comes before Lord Willoughby’s departure. The orders, Major, are that you place him under arrest the moment he steps ashore. Then bring him here to me. A moment.” He wrote a hurried note. “That to Lord Willoughby aboard Admiral van der Kuylen’s flagship.”

      Major Mallard saluted and departed. Peter Blood sat back in his chair and stared at the ceiling, frowning. Time moved on. Came a tap at the door, and an elderly negro slave presented himself. Would his excellency receive Miss Bishop?

      His excellency changed colour. He sat quite still, staring at the negro a moment, conscious that his pulses were drumming in a manner wholly unusual to them. Then quietly he assented.

      He rose when she entered, and if he was not as pale as she was, it was because his tan dissembled it. For a moment there was silence between them, as they stood looking each at the other. Then she moved forward, and began at last to speak, haltingly, in an unsteady voice, amazing in one usually so calm and deliberate.

      “I…I… Major Mallard has just told me.…”

      “Major Mallard exceeded his duty,” said Blood, and because of the effort he made to steady his voice it sounded harsh and unduly loud.

      He saw her start, and stop, and instantly made amends. “You alarm yourself without reason, Miss Bishop. Whatever may lie between me and your uncle, you may be sure that I shall not follow the example he has set me. I shall not abuse my position to prosecute a private vengeance. On the contrary, I shall abuse it to protect him. Lord Willoughby’s recommendation to me is that I shall treat him without mercy. My own intention is to send him back to his plantation in Barbados.”

      She came slowly forward now. “I…I am glad that you will do that. Glad, above all, for your own sake.” She held out her hand to him.

      He considered it critically. Then he bowed over it. “I’ll not presume to take it in the hand of a thief and a pirate,” said he bitterly.

      “You are no longer that,” she said, and strove to smile.

      “Yet I owe no thanks to you that I am not,” he answered. “I think there’s no more to be said, unless it be to add the assurance that Lord Julian Wade has also nothing to apprehend from me. That, no doubt, will be the assurance that your peace of mind requires?”

      “For your own sake—yes. But for your own sake only. I would not have you do anything mean or dishonouring.”

      “Thief and pirate though I be?”

      She clenched her hand, and made a little gesture of despair and impatience.

      “Will you never forgive me those words?”

      “I’m finding it a trifle hard, I confess. But what does it matter, when all is said?”

      Her clear hazel eyes considered him a moment wistfully. Then she put out her hand again.

      “I am going, Captain Blood. Since you are so generous to my uncle, I shall be returning to Barbados with him. We are not like to meet again—ever. Is it impossible that we should part friends? Once I wronged you, I know. And I have said that I am sorry. Won’t you…won’t you say ‘good-bye’?”

      He seemed to rouse himself, to shake off a mantle of deliberate harshness. He took the hand she proffered. Retaining it, he spoke, his eyes sombrely, wistfully considering her.

      “You are returning to Barbados?” he said slowly. “Will Lord Julian be going with you?”

      “Why do you ask me that?” she confronted him quite fearlessly.

      “Sure, now, didn’t he give you my message, or did he bungle it?”

      “No. He didn’t bungle it. He gave it me in your own words. It touched me very deeply. It made me see clearly my error and my injustice. I owe it to you that I should say this by way of amend. I judged too harshly where it was a presumption to judge at all.”

      He was still holding her hand. “And Lord Julian, then?” he asked, his eyes watching her, bright as sapphires in that copper-coloured face.

      “Lord Julian will no doubt be going home to England. There is nothing more for him to do out here.”

      “But didn’t he ask you to go with him?”

      “He did. I forgive you the impertinence.”

      A wild hope leapt to life within him.

      “And you? Glory be, ye’ll not be telling me ye refused to become my lady, when.…”

      “Oh! You are insufferable!” She tore her hand free and backed away from him. “I should not have come. Good-bye!” She was speeding to the door.

      He sprang after her, and caught her. Her face flamed, and her eyes stabbed him like daggers. “These are pirate’s ways, I think! Release me!”

      “Arabella!” he cried on a note of pleading. “Are ye meaning it? Must I release ye? Must I let ye go and never set eyes on ye again? Or will ye stay and make this exile endurable until we can go home together? Och, ye’re crying now! What have I said to make ye cry, my dear?”

      “I…I thought you’d never say it,” she mocked him through her tears.

      “Well, now, ye see there was Lord Julian, a fine figure of a.…”

      “There СКАЧАТЬ