'What? What?' Lanken cried, swishing his cutlass. 'Mr Hilton has a fever,' Collie pronounced.
'A fever?' bawled Lanken. 'Fright, doctor. Fright.'
'Indeed, sir,' Collie said, 'the same thought occurred to me when I first observed the symptoms. They are similar to your own.'
'What, sir? What?'
'So I investigated further. Indeed, Captain Morrison, I recommend that this young man be placed in a blanket, and separated from the other passengers. He has malaria.'
'Malaria?' the captain cried. 'Here? How did he get malaria on my ship?'
'Who can say, sir? Who can say? First we must be sure what causes the dread disease. But informed medical opinion, sir, suggests it arises from noxious airs, filling the lungs and thence impregnating the system. Oh, it is highly dangerous.'
'And contagious?'
'That is certainly possible. Rest, and cool, and isolation, that is the ticket.'
'Balderdash,' Lanken declared.
Dick felt like sitting down. He certainly felt very weak, and quite cold, on a sudden.
'There,' Collie said. 'He is shivering. A blanket. Mistress Marjoribanks. And quickly.'
'I am here to fight a duel,' Lanken insisted. 'Not to receive a lecture on medicine.'
'You cannot fight a sick man, Captain Lanken,' Morrison pointed out. 'Perhaps, indeed, it was the onset of the fever drove him to his act of madness. No doubt he will apologize.'
'Oh, willingly,' Dick said. He wanted to shout for joy. And sheer relief.
'And I do not accept your apology, sir,' Lanken said. 'Malaria, by God. You'll be well again, sir, and be sure I'll be waiting.'
'But. . .' Collie wrapped the blanket around Dick's shoulders.
'Well, then, sir, it would be a shame to disappoint your ardour,' Tony said. 'Will you
not accept a substitute? I am a
Hilton, sir. I am a man, sir. And if you will have it, I have also sampled your wife's charms, sir.'
There was a moment of utterly scandalized silence.
'Wretch,' cried Joan Lanken from the poop.
'My dear lady,' Tony said, smiling at them all, 'your husband is determined to have his duel. Why should we disappoint him?'
'Gad, sir,' shrieked Lanken, catching his breath. 'I'll have you, sir. I'll. . .' He waved his cutlass, and they all had to leap back to avoid injury.
'Captain Lanken, sir,' Morrison protested. 'You cannot behave so.'
'Give me that,' Tony snapped, and wrenched the cutlass from Dick's fingers. 'Ha, sir,' he called, facing Lanken.
'Gad, sir, Gad,' Lanken bellowed, charging across the deck, blade carving the air in front of him. And to Dick's horror, Tony scarce moved, remained directly in front of the whistling cutlass, brought up his own weapon. There was a clash of steel which sent sparks arcing through the air and raised a scream from Mistress Marjoribanks, then the rasp seemed to become a scream itself, and Tony jumped back, his own weapon still presented, while Lanken's clattered to the deck at Morrison's feet, leaving the captain staring at his empty fingers in consternation.
'Gad, sir,' he muttered.
'Will you continue, sir?' Tony inquired. 'Pick it up, man. Pick it up.'
'Gad, sir.' Lanken gazed at Morrison, then up at the poop, where his wife looked down, a peculiar expression in her face.
'Enough,' Morrison declared. 'I am sure honour has been satisfied. You have crossed swords, and there is all that is needed. Mr Ratchet, stow these weapons.'
'And now, sir, bed,' Collie said, putting his arm around Dick's shoulders.
'Aye,' said one of the crew, standing close enough to be overheard. 'Best place for him.'
'But the other one had some guts, though, eh?' remarked another.
Dick looked up at Joan Lanken; her expression had now definitely settled into a sneer.
'I think the poor chap can get up now,' Tony said, leaning on the bulkhead and looking down at his brother. 'Don't you, doctor?'
'Oh, indeed,' Collie agreed. 'H
e is looking much better. A total recovery, I would say. Besides Jamaica is in sight.' He smiled at Dick. 'That'll complete the cure, eh?' He left the tiny cabin originally occupied by Mr Ratchet, but utilized as a sickroom for the past week.
'Jamaica?' Dick sat up.
'We sighted it last evening,' Tony said. 'But I did not wish to excite you. We are entering Port Royal at this moment.'
Dick threw back the covers, peered through the port; the cabin looked aft, and he could see nothing but water. Yet the sea itself had changed, the great rolling waves had disappeared, and this ocean was so quiet it might almost have been painted into place.
'And I'll be right glad to get off this tub, I'll tell you that.' Tony said. 'And to get off in one piece.'
'I don't see how I'll dare leave.' Dick sat down again. He had been confined to the cabin s
;
nce the duel, and had been happy to stay here, for all that it had been at once hot and boring, with only Tony and the doctor, and occasionally Mrs Collie, for company. At least he had finished his book on sugar. Not that he understood a great deal of it.
'Ah, bah. The whole thing was a nine day's wonder,' Tony declared. 'Why, I'd wager even Joan has forgiven you by now. She'd be ready for another tumble, if you'd take the risk.'
'I'd need my head examined for bumps,' Dick said. 'If only you'd told me what you planned.'
Tony sighed patiently. They had been through this almost every day. 'Then you wouldn't have acted so surprised. And you were obviously totally surprised. Everyone could see that.'
'But to bribe Collie Do you not think he will put it about?'
'He'll not. if he has any sense. I've told him he'll answer to me. Do get on with it.'
Dick pulled on his clothes. 'Yet will they all know that I was afraid to face him.'
Tony smiled at his brother. 'And weren't you?'
'Well. . .' Dick sighed. 'I was more afraid of making a total fool of myself, by sheer ineptitude. Would you believe that?'
'I
would,' Tony said, gently. 'But then, I know you.'
'And you,' Dick said miserably. 'I was afraid for you. I never had any idea you could handle a sword like that.'
Tony winked. 'You think I spend
all
my time gambling and whoring? I practise with the best, Dickie boy. But how was I to tell the old lady? Or even more the old man?'
'But if you intended to fight Lanken anyway, and admit to bedding Mistress Lanken anyway,' Dick said in bewilderment, 'why did you not just do it from the start?'
'Ah, but it was necessary to gain the sympathy of Morrison first, and of the crew. Don't you see?'
‘I
suppose so,' Dick said. But he didn't.
'And it worked like a charm,' Tony said. 'And you think I'm good with a sword? You should see me with a pistol.'
'Aye,' Dick said. 'Maybe you should teach me. Although what Uncle Robert will say . . .'
'From what I've heard of that devil, he'll approve. I'll teach you, Dickie lad. And we'll keep quiet about the voyage, eh?' He cocked his head. 'There's the anchor.'
Jamaica. The very name sent Dick's blood pounding through his veins. He had heard so much about this island, differing opinions, from both Mama and Father. He had read so much about it. And it was his birthplace, on top of everything else. He ran into the main cabin, and up the ladder, for the moment forgetting his circumstances, clung to the rail, and stared at the low curve of beach which half enclosed the magnificent natural harbour; this was lined with bending coconut trees, but the mainland which formed the northern arm of the bay rose very rapidly from a house-fringed shore into splendid mountains, higher than any he had seen, save for the glimpse of the peaks of the Negro-held island of Haiti they had passed a few days before.
But the scenery, at once green and lush and brown and dramatic, suggestive of a wet heat—which already had his shirt sticking to his chest, for all that the sun was drooping towards the western horizon—was not half so exciting as the myriad ships which rode to their anchors in the translucent green water, or as the bumboats, manned by black men, which were already swarming around the
Green Knight,
or indeed as their clothing, which was scanty in the extreme, scarcely more than drawers for the blacks, while the whites who came on board, if they added a shirt and occasionally a handkerchief knotted around the neck to absorb the sweat, wore the same calico, and were in the main unarmed, although several carried heavy whips dangling from their equally formidable leather belts. And above all there rose into the still afternoon air a babble of what was mainly English, but spoken with such a variety of accents, such a failure of punctuation, and such a delightful brogue, it was impossible to catch more than a word or two.
'Ah, it's a place, Jamaica,' remarked Captain Morrison, at his elbow. 'You'll want to be ashore, Mr Hilton.'
Dick turned in surprise. 'The other passengers . . .'
'Can wait. I'm to apologize. Until your brother spoke up yesterday none of us had any idea who you really were. Robert Hilton's nephews. God, sir, there's a compliment to my ship. I'm right sorry about that set-to the other day, Mr Hilton. But between you, you and your brother emerged with credit. Oh, indeed.'
'You mean Tony emerged with credit,' Dick said.
Morrison flushed. 'Ah, well, Mr Hilton, 'tis a fact that not any of us knows how he'll react to a given situation. Your brother tells me you'd no knowledge of weapons. You'd have been a fool not to be scared. And he acted the right part in stepping in, even if he had to practise a subterfuge. Now sir, here's your gear, and the boat is waiting.'
Dick hesitated, glanced at Tony, who had returned to the deck, carrying their bags. Then he thrust out his hand. 'You're a friend, Captain. If I can ever assist you . . .'
Morrison winked. 'I'll call, Mr Hilton. Indeed I will.'
Dick went down the ladder into the waist, gazed at the assembled passengers, who flushed, and averted their eyes. Except for Joan Lanken, who stuck out her tongue at him, and moved it round and round, in a most suggestive fashion, before hastily tucking it away again as her husband noticed her.
'He should beat her more often,' Tony said, and joined him in the boat, where the sailors waited to thread their way through the bumboats towards the wooden dock. 'Quite a place, eh? Christ, what heat. I'd forgotten the heat.'
'And 'tis cooling now, Mr Hilton,' said the coxswain. 'Come noon, why, a man can't hardly breathe.'
The boat nosed into the dock, and Tony jumped ashore, turned to assist his brother. They stood on the somewhat shaky timber, waved to the boat as it returned to the ship, and then gazed up a dusty street, lined on either side by what appeared to be shops of various descriptions, all fronted by wide verandahs beyond which doors and windows stood open. The noise and the bustle was intensified here, as they were surrounded by a crowd of men, white and black, offering them assistance.
'Park Hotel, massa, best in town.'
'You come with me, sir: I have girls. Good clean blacks, fresh from Africa. Make your hair curl.'
'You going up country, massa? Me massa got mules, easy for ride.'
'You'll want to spend the night, gentlemen. Mistress Easy's is the place for you. Good food. Hot water. No bugs. You come with me.'
'Man, you ain't want to listen to he. You got for . . .' 'Hold on,' Tony bellowed, waving them back for their breaths were as acrid as their bodies. 'We seek Mr Robert
Hilton. Of Hilltop.'
His words acted like a pistol shot.
'Hilton?' asked one of the white men. 'Of Hilltop?'
'We are his nephews,' Tony said, importantly. 'And would acquaint him of our arrival.'
'Hilton?' cried a fresh voice, and the crowd parted to admit a sallow young man, dressed in a caricature of a London clerk, although sweat had sadly soiled his cravat, and his trousers were thick with dust. 'Not Mr Richard Hilton?'
'I am Richard Hilton,' Dick said.
'Ah, thank God, sir. Thank God. I have met every arrival this past month, hoping to find you, sir. You'll come with me, Mr Hilton. Oh, bring your friend. You, there . . .' He snapped his fingers at one of the Negroes. 'Fetch that bag. Quickly now.'
'Are you my uncle's man?' Dick fell into place beside the young man, already hurrying up the street.
'Oh, no,' he replied. 'I am Reynolds' clerk. Reynolds the lawyer, you know. Oh, no, no. We act for Mr Robert Hilton. Or I should say, we did.'