Grace’s heart and assured her she had nothing to fear from these rough, stinking men: he kissed Robert Inman on the forehead. ‘Thee is a sailing master fit to fight another day.’
‘No. No.’
‘Aye, lad. No argument now. We’ll see thee again in Nantucket.’ The man—he must have been a Quaker—transferred his gaze to Grace. ‘Keep him safe, miss.’
‘I will. I promise,’ she whispered.
She rocked back on her heels, ready to stand, when she heard the prisoners in the passageway hissing again. The warden with the cudgel reappeared, followed by a very concerned-looking Mr Selway and other marines carrying a stretcher.
Mr Selway sighed with relief to see her safe and looked at Rob Inman. Grace held her breath. In the gloom of the stall and his obvious eagerness to be gone, would he notice?
He didn’t. Mr Selway motioned to the stretcher bearers, who were none too gentle as they picked up the sailing master and plopped him on a stretcher marked with yellowish stains. Inman groaned and opened his eyes, reaching out for his mates, who gave him three feeble cheers and sent him on his way. Grace looked at the Quaker. ‘Thank you for doing that,’ she whispered. ‘I could not have thought so fast.’
‘Nothing to it,’ he whispered back. ‘Dartmoor sharpens the intellect.’
She had to smile at that. And England thinks to defeat these men, she told herself. Think again, Johnny Bull. ‘I wish I could help you,’ she whispered.
He indicated Rob Inman with his eyes. ‘Thee has.’
There was nothing more to say, not with Mr Selway looking at her with such a worried expression, and the prisoners starting to shift about, as though wishing her gone, and with her, their sailing master. I’m sorry we were too late to save your son, Lord Thomson, she thought, near tears. ‘Let us leave this place now, Mr Selway,’ she said.
She experienced momentary terror when the warden made them stop at Captain Shortland’s office again. ‘Can’t we just leave?’ she asked Mr Selway.
‘You have to sign the document releasing Captain Duncan,’ the solicitor said. ‘I signed when I was in here earlier.’
Anything, anything to get away, she thought, glancing at Rob Inman on the stretcher. He had shielded his eyes against the glare of the sun. She looked around quickly; everyone looked alike: thin, yellow-smocked, with hollow cheeks. She doubted the governor of the prison could tell any of them apart. Still…
She willed herself calm. ‘Mr Selway, do get… Captain Duncan in the chaise. The light is bothering his eyes.’
She held her breath. Surely no one would have any need to examine Rob Inman closely. To her relief, the solicitor indicated the post-chaise and addressed the marines. ‘Lads, help the captain into the chaise.’
Grace hurried up the stairs to the governor’s office. Handkerchief still to his nostrils, Captain Shortland stood at the window, watching the marines deposit Inman in the chaise. He returned to his desk, his lips tight together with every evidence of displeasure.
He pointed to where she should sign. ‘He’ll be nothing but trouble to you, I warrant, although he looks harmless enough now. Damned Americans.’
Grace signed her name, wondering if she would end up in a place like Dartmoor if anyone got wind of her deception. She signed more documents, the last of which the governor folded into a pouch. ‘This is the parole,’ he told her. ‘You are to keep your eyes on this man at all times. If he escapes or leaves Quarle without you, he will be shot on sight.’ The governor breathed deeply of the handkerchief. ‘One less rascal for me.’
He handed her the parole with a short laugh. ‘One less, but now we can turn our full attention to the United States. What with Boney soon to be exiled, this prison may harbour more of those damned Americans!’
Please, God, no, Grace thought, alarmed. They are already so mistreated. She opened her mouth to tell the prison governor precisely that, but closed it. He didn’t seem like someone concerned with the death of Americans.
He turned to a clerk, handing him the documents she had falsified by carrying out Captain Duncan’s death wish. What will come of this? Grace asked herself, as the clerk took the papers to his own high desk in the next room. Thank the Almighty no one knows Rob Inman from a watering can.
It wasn’t until they dropped off the marine at the final stone gate that Grace drew a regular breath. She could not help the sigh that escaped her.
‘I’m sorry you had to be there, Grace,’ Mr Selway said. ‘Well, the worst is over. Captain Duncan, lean forwards and I’ll cut those bonds.’
‘No need, sir,’ the man said, as he worked the knot with an expert’s skill and slipped his thin wrists out of the rope. ‘Marines may sail on ships, but no one said they can tie a sailor’s knot.’
Grace couldn’t help smiling. Rob Inman watched them, alert, his blue eyes sunken, but glowing with fever.
Impulsively, Grace leaned forwards and touched the back of her hand to his dirty forehead. ‘You’re burning,’ she said. She looked at the solicitor. ‘Mr Selway, perhaps we should stop here in Princetown and get some—’
‘No!’ Inman interrupted, his voice weak but emphatic. ‘Drive on. I want out of this damned cold valley more than I want fever powders, miss. Just drive on. Please.’
Mr Selway nodded. ‘Good enough, lad,’ he murmured.
With a sigh of his own, Inman leaned back. He wrapped his arms around himself, shivering despite his fever. Without a word, Grace took her lap robe and covered him. Eyes serious, he nodded his thanks. In a moment, he slept.
‘I’ll summon the physician as soon as we have the captain in bed in the dower house,’ Mr Selway whispered to her. ‘That is, if Lord Thomson—bless his tiny, atrophied heart—has thought to return the beds and linens.’
Leaning against the side of the chaise, Inman had slept. He opened his eyes now and then, looking around in surprise each time. Grace had watched his hands. For a good hour, he kept them balled into tight fists. After one time when he opened his eyes, his startled expression unmistakable, Grace covered one fist briefly with her hand. He looked into her eyes as an abused pup would, wondering what she would do to him. When he closed his eyes this time, she noticed that his hands opened and he relaxed.
‘We mean you no harm, Captain,’ Grace murmured.
As soon as they had left the bowl-like valley cupping Dartmoor Prison, the sun shone again. The grass even seemed greener and hawthorn hedges sprouted white blossoms all along the highway. This place is so evil even spring stays away, Grace thought, with a shudder.
The coachman stopped by a river, shady and overhung with branches already leafing out. ‘Time to water t’horses,’ he called down to the occupants of the chaise.
Inman opened his eyes no more than part way, as if even that much exertion was nearly beyond him. As Grace watched him, he gazed with growing interest at the stream. In mere seconds, the parolee shrugged off the lap rug and threw open the door. He was a tall man and did not need the step to be lowered to hurtle himself from the chaise.
‘I
