Mr. McNaught turned and stomped out of the hut.
“It is for your own good,” she called even though he would certainly disagree with her.
Mr. McNaught stopped, turned and marched back to the hut.
“I decide what is for my own good. Not you!” he informed her. “What do you have against rum? Have you even seen me slightly drunk or incapacitated?”
She blinked at him, not certain what to say.
“No. You have not,” he answered for her. “What turned you against rum, anyway?”
Well, she did not really want to tell him because it was something she would like to forget.
“I am not against rum. I am against excess drinking of spirits because…well…because…Our safety depends on you being sober.” That was all she would say. He did not need to know her past of encountering gentlemen often invited to her father’s home in Dominica, and usually amiable, but there were a few who had drunk too much at a dinner, then thought to press their advances on her. They had not succeeded, as she could defend herself, but those few experiences left her weary of men who indulged and as she did not know Mr. McNaught’s character well enough, it was best to keep him sober for the sake of her sisters.
Five
The last time someone told him that it was for his own good was when he’d been at Eton and he did not like it anymore now than he had then. “I am sober. I have been sober!” He narrowed his eyes and waved a finger at her. “I will find it and then I will hide it from you.”
Rhys clomped down the steps of the terrasse, his irritation and anger higher than it had been since they arrived only to find the children standing and staring at him. No doubt they heard the argument. “What are you looking at?”
“Nothing, Mr. McNaught,” Nicoll said and ushered the children away while he went to his hammock to enjoy his meal and biscuit.
She took his rum!
What kind of woman took a man’s rum?
Miss Driscoll must be one of those Saints or Evangelicals he had met in England. Strict and pious and no fun whatsoever. They would take a man’s bottle of rum because it violated their strict moral code. It was a wonder any of them had children since they were so strait-laced. And, if they did go about begetting an heir, he was certain that they did not allow themselves to take any pleasure in the procreation, just something that must be done.
He settled into the middle of the hammock and looked out to the sea while he peeled his orange.
Miss Driscoll and her sisters had to go. Not only had they disrupted his peace but it was dangerous. The French could come back at any time and they could not be discovered. It was already common knowledge that he lived somewhere along the beach so no one would think it odd if he was found. They would question why there were also females and while he could explain a ship had gone down, they may link it to the one intentionally sunk, and once they had their surname…
For the next two days he avoided Miss Driscoll and the girls. He only went to the hut when he wanted food and a change of clothing. They were cool and polite to the other, and there was certainly no warmth. In fact, the tension was heavier than the humidity.
During the day, he remained alert for the return of the soldiers and scouted the area for signs that anyone else had been around and at night, after the lamps and candles had been extinguished inside the hut, he slept on the terrasse to protect them and always left before they awakened.
He also contemplated fixing the boat. It may be needed, or it may not, but at least it gave him something to do while he waited.
He also wondered if he shouldn’t go back into Fort-de-France and gather further information. The longer he had to wait for a messenger to return, the more likely that his most recent information was no longer correct.
What if there were more soldiers at the fort than he realized? What if the French had managed to drop supplies on another beach under the noses of the Royal Navy?
The blockade was to weaken the island, their defenses and help encourage the people to surrender when the time came. It was also the reason why he had only been able to buy what could be grown or made on the island.
On the third day, Rhys finally decided to fix the boat and while Miss Driscoll and the girls broke their fast, he entered the hut, took something to eat for himself then retrieved a hammer and the nails that had been stored before he returned to the terrasse and began taking up planks.
Rhys still wasn’t certain if they would serve his purpose, but he was going to try.
“What are you doing?” Miss Driscoll demanded after he had removed three of the boards.
“Fixing the boat,” he answered.
“With terrasse?” she asked in surprise.
“It is wood, is it not?” He then gathered up the planks, hammer and nails and marched off, leaving a gaping hole for them to avoid. It was at the edge, not right outside the door, so at least he was somewhat considerate.
He then pulled the boat from the water and turned it upside down so that it could dry and spent the rest of the time measuring and cutting. After that he retrieved a saw, and was able to make the planks fit into the space, but he had no means to seal the boat, waterproof it so that it didn’t sink.
