I heard a faint moan, which reassured me he was still alive, but he remained unmoving.
The boat heaved on a swell and ran hard down its other side. The sky above us was mostly clear, thankfully, but wind could churn up the sea in a bad way. Our little boat might founder, and I doubted either of us would make it to back to land in that case.
After a long time of lying still, during which I nearly fell asleep, I pried myself up on my elbows. My legs were well wrapped, my boots gone, though they’d let Bickley keep his. My walking stick, needless to say, was nowhere in sight.
The bottom of the boat held no tools—they’d have cleared out any such useful items as hooks, fishing poles, the oars. A few old boards lay there, which looked as though they’d come off the hull.
I lifted a piece of board, splintery and rotted, and wedged it beneath the ropes that held my legs. I grimaced as I dug in, my trousers ripping as well as the skin beneath them. Grenville’s tailor had designed this suit for me, and I imagined the tailor’s anguish upon seeing its tatters.
I pulled and squirmed, fought and kicked, until the ropes loosed enough for me to begin unwinding them. I had to cease and rest from time to time, my injuries hurting like fury.
Once I finally freed myself of the ropes, I gathered them up and coiled them carefully—I might need them later.
I crawled the short distance to Bickley. He lay on his back, skin wan, but his ragged breathing told me he was alive.
I patted his face, trying to wake him, then tugged at his bonds. I was not gentle, I confess—he’d caused me the devil of a lot of trouble.
When Bickley finally opened his eyes, he blinked in confusion. Then awareness flooded him, and he tried to scramble away from me.
“Are you more afraid ofmethan our circumstance?” I asked in amazement. “God’s balls, Bickley. I can’t decide whether you are a coward or a fool.”
“Both.” His words were barely audible. “A sinner and a weak man.”
“You may flagellate yourself later. First, I’d like to decide how we’ll reach shore.”
Bickley summoned enough strength to peer over the gunwale. He took in the empty sea then groaned and dropped back, defeated. “It is fitting. I will fall into the deep and be eaten by a sea creature, like Jonah.”
“Let us hope,” I said. “Jonah was belched out after three days, none the worse for wear.”
“Because he was one of God’s chosen. I never will be.”
“I was taught as a lad that despair is a sin.” I worked as I spoke, not really aware of what I said. “It shows no gratitude for Christ bothering to die in such a horrible way. Which never made sense to me. Why shouldmyway be paved to heaven because the Romans crucified a man?”
“Those are unworthy thoughts,” Bickley whispered.
“I am not an unbeliever, simply skeptical of interpretation,” I said. “God has looked out for me before, and I hope we can prevail upon that good will again. In the meantime, it would be wise to discover where we are.”
I dragged the last of Bickley’s ropes from him and coiled these as well.
Around us rolled a sea full of whitecaps, the boat skimming up the crest of one wave and dropping into the trough of another.
“We can’t have gone far,” I reasoned. “What say you? You’ve lived on the south coast all your life, haven’t you?”
Bickley cast another fearful look at the water and ducked down again. “I have never been in a boat.”
“Never?” I asked incredulously. “I grew up on the coast of Norfolk. I was out into the North Sea many a time with the fishermen around our village. I longed to be a fisherman myself, but of course my father beat that notion out of me. Not the profession of a gentleman.”
Bickley only stared, uncertain I hadn’t run mad. He did not know me well enough to understand that I used bluffness and irritating humor when I was in danger, to keep myself from giving way.
“A fact our fancy gentlemen did not count on,” I continued. “They know me only as the interfering cavalry captain—a thick-headed, gullible one, in their opinion. The perfect man to fit up for a murder of a colonel who’d grown inconvenient.”
“I do not know why they wanted to kill him.” Bickley regarded me pathetically. “They did not take me into their confidence.”
“Because he knew too much, of course. Isherwood was beholden to Armitage for paying off his debts, yes, but he might have been growing a conscience. Especially when he had a popular son who was swiftly rising in his career. What Isherwood did at Salamanca, at Armitage’s instigation was, quite simply, treason. Desjardins egged Armitage and Isherwood into it, wanting to tell Bonaparte—if Bonaparte prevailed—what he’d done to help. Both Grenville and Brandon told me that Desjardins tries to play all sides of the game. But Bonaparte is gone, Desjardins wishes to remain comfortably in England, and treason is not the charge either a lordship or a wealthy emigre want to answer to.”
I gazed at the horizon as I spoke. West was obviously where the sun was sinking. The coast of England had to lie to the north. If we drifted too far east or south, we’d end up in France, not so bad a thing, if we could survive the journey. West would take us to Cornwall, or, if we were unlucky, out into the Atlantic.
With no food or water and a boat that already had too many holes in it, I did not much like our chances.
