‘Hmmph. Well, get it into the water – we haven’t all night.’
There was a muffled squeal of sheaves as the gig was lowered and voices aft as Madame Vernou was helped into the boatswain’s chair to be swayed down into the boat. Renzi came to assure Kydd of her safe embarkation but thought better of it and returned to board himself.
‘Push off, sir?’ Poulden asked laconically.
‘Er, yes, please do,’ Renzi said, distracted by the necessity of trying to read the boat compass in its awkward case. West-by-north would see them past the treacherous Caye Ronde and therefore the reciprocal course would be needed to take them back to L’Aurore.
The boat’s crew bent stolidly to their oars and all too quickly the frigate was lost in the darkness.
Louise sat quiet, not inviting conversation. Renzi could only guess at what was going through her mind at this return to her home after all these years and shied from the thought of the danger he was thrusting her into.
The passage in was not a concern. Nothing would be about – the French had no reason to have patrols out – but once she was ashore …
He shifted uncomfortably.
Out of the blackness ahead several lights shimmered dimly. This would be Petit-Bourg – their destination.
‘Not far, Madame.’
She nodded slowly, her eyes fixed on the shore.
There was a sudden bump and the gig was displaced to one side by some underwater obstacle. Reefs?
‘Easy, oars. Bowman, a pole in the water ahead.’
‘No matter,’ Louise said softly. ‘We’re past. Go to the right of the lights.’
They smelt the fish quay well before it loomed out of the darkness.
Louise went to rise, but Renzi pulled her down again. ‘Doud!’ he hissed.
The lithe topman sprang for the rickety ladder and, after pausing for a moment to listen, pulled himself up and over. He was soon back. ‘Clear!’ he whispered.
Her bundle was handed up first, then it was her turn. She did not hesitate and hauled herself up quickly. At the top, smoothing down her dress, she picked up her bundle and, without a single glance back, lifted her head and went off into the black of the night.
In the morning L’Aurore spread sail and continued on her patrol, a lazy circling of Guadeloupe, taking the inner passage between it and La Désidérade and the other islands, Marie-Galante and the legendary Saintes.
Four days later she hove to off Pointe-à-Pitre and that night prepared to pick up Louise.
Renzi insisted on going in the boat, and when they reached their position off Petit-Bourg, he tended the dark-lanthorn ready to signal the reply.
The men lay on their oars and waited. It was still and calm, the rippling of water along the boat the loudest sound, but the soft blackness remained inviolate.
The boat thwarts were hard and Renzi squirmed uncomfortably but never took his eyes off the shore.
An hour passed, another. The current was taking them gently away to the north and every so often the boat had to be brought back.
One by one the lights were disappearing on the land and by midnight they had all winked out.
And still nothing.
This was worrying: a moonrise was expected about two and they could not risk being seen so close inshore. What if …?
Dark thoughts crowded in. Renzi forced them aside and tried to concentrate. The men were, in the age-old way, lying across the boat yarning quietly together, the drone of their voices and occasional snicker getting on his nerves.
If indeed Louise had been taken up, there would be questions under duress – it was too much to expect that she could hold out against torture, and if that was the case, there was every chance that an armed launch was now on its way out to intercept them.
The first sliver of moon appeared. They had to leave.
‘Out oars, we’re going back.’
Kydd was waiting at the taffrail. ‘Where’s Louise?’ he demanded.
‘Shall we go below?’ Renzi answered wearily. ‘There’s something I have to tell you.’
In the cabin Kydd exploded: ‘You persuaded the poor innocent to go into Guadeloupe after your crack-brained secret base? Are you insane, Nicholas?’
‘It has to be logical. I’ve—’
‘Be damned to you! Have you any idea what you’ve done? She’s all alone in there, for God’s sake, probably at this minute in some stinking French prison waiting for … for …’
‘She went of her own accord, brother. Her choice!’
‘Of course she would! To please you, damn it! I can’t believe it of you – taking advantage of a tender-hearted woman like that for your own ends.’
Kydd’s eyes narrowed. ‘I’d never have thought it, Nicholas. You of all people, full of your morals and logic, you’ve no idea of what it is to be in the real world. Not stopping to think what you’ve—’