AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Governor Warren, though, appeared to be made of tougher stuff than the usual regimental miscreant. Either that, or he had nothing to hide, Grey thought, watching him explain with tired patience that Ludgate had retired because of ill health, and that Perriman had inherited money and gone back to England.
No, he thought, watching the governor’s hand twitch and hover indecisively over the fruit bowl. He’s got something to hide. And so does Dawes. Is it the same thing, though? And has it got anything to do with the present trouble?
The governor could easily be hiding some peculation or corruption of his own—and likely was, Grey thought dispassionately, taking in the lavish display of silver on the sideboard. Such corruption was—within limits—considered more or less a perquisite of office. But if that was the case, it was not Grey’s concern—unless it was in some way connected to the maroons and their rebellion.
Entertaining as it was to watch Fettes and Cherry at their work, he cut them off with a brief nod and turned the conversation firmly back to the rebellion.
“What communications have you had from the rebels, sir?” he asked the governor. “For I think in these cases, rebellion arises usually from some distinct source of grievance. What is it?”
Warren looked at him, jaw agape. He closed his mouth, slowly, and thought for a moment before replying. Grey rather thought he was considering how much Grey might discover from other avenues of inquiry.
Everything I bloody can, Grey thought, assuming an expression of neutral interest.
“Why, as to that, sir . . .the incident that began the . . . um . . . the difficulties . . . was the arrest of two young maroons, accused of stealing from a warehouse in King’s Town.” The two had been whipped in the town square and committed to prison, after which—
“Following a trial?” Grey interrupted. The governor’s gaze rested on him, red-rimmed but cool.
“No, Colonel. They had no right to a trial.”
“You had them whipped and imprisoned on the word of . . . whom? The affronted merchant?”
Warren drew himself up a little and lifted his chin. Grey saw that he had been shaved, but a patch of black whisker had been overlooked; it showed in the hollow of his cheek like a blemish, a hairy mole.
“I did not, no, sir,” he said, coldly. “The sentence was imposed by the magistrate in King’s Town.”
“Who is?”
Dawes had closed his eyes with a small grimace.
“Judge Samuel Peters.”
Grey nodded thanks.
“Captain Cherry will visit Mr. Judge Peters tomorrow,” he said pleasantly. “And the prisoners, as well. I take it they are still in custody?”
“No, they aren’t,” Mr. Dawes put in, suddenly emerging from his impersonation of a dormouse. “They escaped, within a week of their capture.”
The governor shot a brief, irritated glance at his secretary, but nodded reluctantly. With further prodding, it was admitted that the maroons had sent a protest at the treatment of the prisoners, via Captain Cresswell. The prisoners having escaped before the protest was received, though, it had not seemed necessary to do anything about it.
Grey wondered briefly whose patronage had got Warren his position, but dismissed the thought in favor of further explorations. The first violence had come without warning, he was told, with the burning of cane fields on a remote plantation. Word of it had reached Spanish Town several days later, by which time, another plantation had suffered similar depredation.
“Captain Cresswell rode at once to investigate the matter, of course,” Warren said, lips tight.
“And?”
“He didn’t return. The maroons have not demanded ransom for him, nor have they sent word that he is dead. He may be with them; he may not. We simply don’t know.”
Grey could not help looking at Dawes, who looked unhappy, but gave the ghost of a shrug. It wasn’t his place to tell more than the governor wanted told, was it?
“Let me understand you, sir,” Grey said, not bothering to hide the edge in his voice. “You have had no communication with the rebels since their initial protest? And you have taken no action to achieve any?”
Warren seemed to swell slightly, but replied in an even tone.
“In fact, Colonel, I have. I sent for you.” He smiled, very slightly, and reached for the decanter.
THE EVENING AIR HUNG DAMP AND VISCID, TREMBLING WITH DISTANT thunder. Unable to bear the stifling confines of his uniform any longer, Grey flung it off, not waiting for Tom’s ministrations, and stood naked in the middle of the room, eyes closed, enjoying the touch of air from the terrace on his bare skin.
There was something remarkable about the air. Warm as it was, and even indoors, it had a silken touch that spoke of the sea and clear blue water. He couldn’t see the water from his room; even had it been visible from Spanish Town, his room faced a hillside covered with jungle. He could feel it, though, and had a sudden longing to wade out through surf and immerse himself in the clean coolness of the
