There was no time to lower the boats in orderly fashion. Rob’s men pulled out the oars and added them to the pile of wood on deck, then launched the boats over the side with great plumes of spray. By the time the first one was in the water, a dozen prisoners had come up from the hold and been ushered over the gunwale at the point of a boarding pike. None tried to resist. One look at the tinder around the mainmast made them desperate to be off the brig.

  Rob checked their progress again. The sight of men disembarking into the boats while the ship was under full sail had caused consternation on shore. Meanwhile, one of the small boats that had rowed out to greet them was off their bow.

  A man dressed in fine clothes, with a blue cockade in his hat, stood unsteadily in the stern and hailed the brig.

  ‘What news?’

  ‘A great victory!’ Rob shouted back, trying to mimic the flat vowels of the Americans. ‘We gave King George a taste of his own medicine.’

  Huzzahs sounded in the little boat. But the man in the back was frowning.

  ‘If it was a victory, why are you abandoning ship?’

  ‘We were holed below the waterline,’ Rob said, though the brig was riding high. ‘The pumps cannot keep up.’

  But it was impossible to maintain the lie. The American sailors in the boats had overheard every word, and they started a furious protest.

  ‘He’s lying!’ they shouted. ‘The British took the ship. They mean to burn her.’

  Rob had no more time. There were still twenty or thirty American sailors on deck, waiting to climb into the boats. If they took it into their heads to fight, now they were in sight of safe harbour, he might lose the ship.

  ‘Throw the others overboard!’ he shouted.

  Without hesitation, the British sailors drove the Americans to the side. Any who hesitated were encouraged with a sharp kick to the backside, or the flat of a cutlass across their shoulders. Some shouted that they could not swim, but Rob didn’t worry about that. They would find their way to the boats or be picked up by their comrades. His own men were in far greater danger. The Americans knew the brig had been taken. It would not take them long to launch an attack.

  A shrill shriek drew his attention to the main deck. It sounded like a girl’s voice.

  ‘Is this the gallantry of British sailors, to throw a defenceless girl overboard?’

  Three civilians had appeared on deck: two men, and a young woman of about seventeen wearing an emerald-green dress. She had lost her bonnet, so that her raven-black hair streamed around her shoulders.

  Even in the midst of battle, surrounded by the enemy and with the ship primed to explode, she had a face to make every man on deck forget his work and stare at her.

  ‘Where did these people come from?’ Rob asked, astonished.

  One of the sailors knuckled his forehead. ‘I found ’em in one of the cabins below when we took the ship. Locked ’em in the hold with the others.’

  Rob crossed the deck to the passengers.

  ‘Who are you?’

  The shorter of the two men drew himself to his full height. He barely stood five feet tall. He was enormously fat, with sagging jowls, a florid nose and a powdered wig which had slipped askew in the commotion.

  ‘Thank God you are here,’ he said. ‘My niece and I feared these rebel vagabonds would cut our throats.’

  Rob stared in surprise. The man had a strange accent, neither properly English nor American, but a sort of slurred drawl.

  ‘You are not one of the Yankees?’

  The man’s face flushed with outrage. ‘Indeed not. I am a loyal subject of King George. Hezekiah Bracewell is my name.’ He indicated the other two. ‘My niece, Miss Sophie Bracewell – and my clerk, Mr Crow.’

  Rob glanced at the other man. Bracewell had called him a clerk, but he looked more like a bare-knuckle boxer than a secretary. His shoulders strained against his short jacket, his arm muscles bulged and he had a deep scar carved down one cheek. He caught Rob’s gaze and returned it with a menacing stare.

  ‘How did you come to be here?’ Rob asked Bracewell.

  ‘I was on my way to my estates in Jamaica when this brig overhauled my sloop and took us captive. I need not describe the horrors we apprehended at the hands of these ruffians, especially touching my niece’s virtue.’

  His niece, Sophie, averted her face, as if the horrors he alluded to were too great. For some reason, Rob had the feeling she wasn’t frightened at all.

  The last of the American sailors had entered the water with cries and splashes. The unexpected passengers were the only three remaining. Belatedly, Bracewell looked around and noticed their course, their speed, and the pile of combustibles stacked around the mast.

  ‘What the devil is going on?’ he demanded. ‘What manner of rescue is this?’

  ‘You are not yet out of danger,’ said Rob. He could not afford to risk civilians in his plan. He turned to Angus. ‘Put them over the side with the others.’

  With a cry, the girl collapsed to her knees and threw her arm around Rob’s legs. Her angelic face stared up at him imploringly.

  ‘I beg you, sir, do not condemn us to such a fate.’

  ‘They will not let you drown.’ Rob did not sound as sure as he meant to. Her blue eyes had a hypnotic quality that cut through his defences. ‘The sailors will take you to shore in their boats.’

  ‘But if we fall into rebel hands, who knows what they will do to us? To me.’

  Her hand clasped his thighs. Such was her distress, she didn’t seem to realise how close her fingers reached towards the crotch of his trousers. Rob hoped her uncle hadn’t noticed.

  ‘I would do anything to be spared such a fate.’

  Rob had no time to argue. Nor, he found, did he want to.

  ‘Go to the stern.’

  He pulled himself away from her grasp. While they spoke, the brig had continued bearing down towards the frigate in the harbour. No one on shore could doubt their intentions now. Rob could see the carpenters and riggers lined up on the frigate’s side, staring at the ship rushing towards them. A few sailors on the anchored ships had climbed into the rigging to get a better view. None of them had thought to man their guns.

  Rob stared at the harbour, the unfinished frigate and the water between them, constantly calculating speed and distance. It was time.

  ‘Load the guns,’ Rob said. ‘Plenty of powder and double-shotted. Then set the fire and let us be away.’

  The men did as he ordered. They lashed the brig’s wheel in place, braced her sails and let down ropes over the stern into the cutter. Angus lit one of the bundles of kindling, threw it onto the pile of wood and ran aft. It smoked for a moment, then ignited with a puff of flame as the powder caught.

  At the stern rail, Bracewell was staring aghast at the cutter in the water below.

  ‘Do you expect my niece to climb down there like a common tar?’ he demanded.

  ‘Either that or burn.’

  Smoke from the fire was blowing over them. Before Bracewell could react, Angus lifted Sophie by her waist and threw her over his shoulder. One-handed, he vaulted over the rail and let himself down by the rope into the cutter. Bracewell had no choice but to follow, puffing and cursing. He slid down heavily, skinning his hands. Crow the secretary followed, surprisingly nimble for such a heavy man.

  One by one, the rest of the crew clambered into the cutter. Rob was the last to go. He took a final look at the brig and felt a pang of regret. He had only commanded her an hour or two, but she had been his. It would be hard to go back to being a master’s mate aboard the Perseus, dodging Coyningham’s traps and answering to pimple-faced midshipmen.

  If you delay any longer, you will not have to worry about Coyningham ever again.

  The flames were rising up the mast, catching the lower edge of the sail. Rob leaped off the rail and dropped heavily into the waiting cutter. The moment he landed, Angus gave the command and the men bent to their oars as if the Devil himself were lashing their backs. The cutter bounded through the water.

  Rob took his place with the other men, working an oar as hard as any of them. Looking back, he saw panic overwhelm the harbour. Some of the ships were trying to get under way. Others, too hasty, had cut their anchor cables and were drifting out of control.

  None of them could stop the brig. Like a bright burning angel, she bore down on the harbour, straight at the unfinished frigate. The flames licked from her masts and yards, making a pyramid of fire two hundred feet in the air. Her sails had already turned to ash, but momentum carried her forwards. Booms sounded from within her hull as the fire touched the cannons Rob had primed. They fired as if manned by a ghostly crew, cutting random swathes through the nearby vessels and scattering the crowds on the quay.

  She rammed the frigate so hard her bow collapsed with the impact. The new-built ship’s timbers were dry, and her rigging dripped with fresh tar. Her deck was strewn with sawdust and rope-ends. She went up in flames like a beacon. The fire climbed still higher, burning so hot Rob could feel it from across the water.

  ‘Keep rowing!’ he yelled above the din of the conflagration. ‘We are not safe yet. We must be away before the magazine blows.’

  He had hoped for five minutes before the fire reached the powder magazine in the bowels of the ship. But he had not counted on the combined impact of two ships on fire. The shock of the collision had opened the brig’s timbers all along her side. Air rushed through the gaps, feeding the flames to a greater frenzy.

  The magazine exploded. The blast seemed to shake the sea itself. Thousands of pieces of burning debris were thrown into the air, falling in a rain of fire over the other ships. A sloop that had cut her anchor caught fire and drifted into another, setting it ablaze in the mouth of the harbour.

  The men in the cutter whooped and cheered themselves hoarse. Rob could not stop grinning. They passed the boats they had dropped earlier with the American crew and sang raucous songs of victory. One of the men climbed up on the thwart and dropped his trousers to show them his bottom.

  ‘You may kiss my arse, you Yankee scoundrels!’ he shouted.

  No one gave chase. There was not a ship left in Newport that could put to sea. Even if there had been, the approach to the harbour was blocked by burning vessels. It would be weeks before they could clear the hulks, months to replace all the shipping they had lost.

  Rob ordered the crew to step the mast. The men stowed the oars and sat back as the wind filled the sail. The cutter heeled over eagerly, her hull skimming the surface like a racing yacht.

  Men shifted aside as Hezekiah Bracewell and his niece made their way aft. Bracewell thumped down on the bench opposite Rob, while Sophie spread her skirts beneath her and perched daintily beside her uncle.

  ‘Damn fine work,’ Bracewell complimented Rob. ‘Those rebel pirates will think twice before they cross swords with King George’s navy again.’

  The girl twisted a dark lock of hair around her finger. She shot Rob a radiant smile.

  ‘My uncle and I are in your debt, Captain . . .?’

  Rob shook his head. ‘Not “captain”, miss. Just plain Mr Courtney.’

  His eyes met hers, and something seemed to tighten inside him. Her pale skin was unblemished, and her pert lips made a perfect Cupid’s bow. Her eyes sparkled with suggestive energy.

  ‘I am sure when they hear of your exploits in London, they will make you an admiral,’ she declared.

  Rob blushed. ‘I only did my duty.’

  ‘Then I trust you will be rewarded in some other fashion.’

  She leaned forwards, making it difficult for Rob not to see down her cleavage. Her dress was cut low and tight, pushing her breasts up into two soft globes.

  From three seats forward, Angus caught his eye.

  ‘Steady,’ he warned, trying to keep a straight face. ‘You may find there’s a bit of a swell.’

  They had left the bay, and the waves had grown larger. Rob scanned the horizon, but there was no sign of either the Perseus or the Rapace. They were alone.

  ‘What now?’ asked Bracewell. Even his voice sounded small against the ocean.

  ‘The nearest safe harbour is Boston, in Massachusetts colony,’ said Rob. ‘With the damage the Perseus took, that’s where she’ll head for. Especially if she has a prize in tow.’

  He left it unsaid that the Perseus might have been sunk, or taken by the French frigate. It would be a hard enough journey without worrying about that.

  Sophie clasped his hand in hers.

  ‘I am glad we have you to steer us, Mr Courtney.’

  T

  hey sailed into Boston three days later, aboard a sloop that had picked them up off the Rhode Island coast. The moment they entered the harbour, Rob scanned the shipping anxiously. His heart leaped. There was the Perseus, safely at anchor, her crew busy with hammers and paintbrushes repairing the scars the battle had left.

  ‘She survived,’ said Rob happily.

  They took the cutter back to the Perseus. Their arrival caused an almighty commotion: a thousand questions shouted down, and joyful reunions from men who thought they had lost their shipmates forever. Only Coyningham soured the mood. He gave Rob a ferocious glare, as if he could not bear to see him alive, and took him aft to Tew’s cabin at once.

  Tew was standing in front of a mirror, adjusting his dress uniform in preparation for going ashore. He did not look surprised at the intrusion, but merely cocked an eyebrow and said, ‘Mr Courtney. I did not think we would have the pleasure of your company again.’

  ‘How did the fight with the Frenchman end?’ Rob wanted to know. ‘Did you capture her? Sir,’ he remembered to add.

  ‘We were damned lucky to escape,’ said Tew. ‘She had the better of us. If we had not got a lucky hit on her mainmast, we would not have been able to escape.’

  Rob could see the frustration in his eyes. Tew was a brave and honourable officer: it must have hurt to break off the engagement without victory. But he had been short-handed, and his ship had taken a terrible punishment. Closing with the Frenchman would only have killed more of his crew, and probably they would still have lost.

  It took a certain kind of courage to sail a ship into battle. Now Rob saw it took just as much to know when to withdraw.

  Coyningham had less sympathy.

  ‘We could have taken her, if you had not derelicted your duty,’ he sneered. ‘In the heat of battle, you sailed away and abandoned the fight.’

  ‘The wind was against us, the ship was crippled and we were on a lee shore,’ Rob said, more calmly than he felt. He had guessed Coyningham would hardly welcome his return, but he had not expected quite so much vitriol. ‘We could not return to the battle.’

  Tew drummed his fingers on the hilt of his sword.

  ‘What of the second lieutenant? Or Midshipman Evans?’

  ‘They died in battle, sir,’ said Rob. ‘I was in command. I take full responsibility for what happened.’

  ‘And the prize?’ said Coyningham. ‘Since you returned with nothing more than our own cutter, I presume you contrived to lose her, too.’ He jabbed his finger accusingly at Rob. ‘You know what happens to a commander who loses his ship. You will take full responsibility for that, too.’

  Rob tried to keep his temper.

  ‘I lost the brig because I sailed her into Newport harbour and used her as a fire ship against the Americans. We must have burned a dozen or more of their ships, including a frigate they were building. So, yes, I do take full responsibility for that.’

  Silence gripped the cabin. Coyningham and Tew stared at him with scarcely contained disbelief: one in fury, the other in wonder.

  ‘So it is true,’ murmured Tew.

  ‘How do we know that?’ Coyningham’s face had gone red; he sounded almost deranged. ‘We only have Courtney’s word for it.’

  ‘All the men aboard will swear to what we did.’ Rob remembered the Bracewells. ‘And the prisoners we rescued.’

  ‘Of course it is true,’ said Tew. ‘We had the news from Newport yesterday. The reports are scarcely credible, but there can be no doubting the truth of it. The damage you have done to the rebels is incalculable.’

  Rob was not sure if he was expected to respond. Tew was staring up at the skylight, lost in thought, while Coyningham glared at Rob.

  ‘With Lieutenant Verrier dead, there is a vacancy to fill,’ said Tew. ‘I will need to speak to the admiral, of course, but I am confident he will approve my decision.’

  Coyningham started to protest, but Tew silenced him with a withering look. He held out his hand. Rob shook it, not sure what it signified.

  ‘Congratulations, Lieutenant Courtney.’

  E

  ven before the promotion was announced, the news spread through the ship. Rob’s shipmates poured him double measures of grog, slapped his back and cheered him until their voices were hoarse.

  Angus raised his mug. ‘To Lieutenant Courtney,’ he toasted. ‘There’s not many pressed men as earn an officer’s commission.’

  ‘I will not forget where I came from,’ Rob promised.

  Angus downed the last of his grog. ‘Of course not. You’ll need us watching your back when Coyningham comes for you.’

  The men around them laughed, but Rob did not share in it. Through the haze of too much rum, he could feel an awkwardness spreading through him. This might be his last time with his messmates on the gun-deck. When his promotion was confirmed, he would move to the gunroom and an officer’s cabin. He would dine from china plates, and drink claret instead of grog. If a sailor talked of mutiny, even in jest, Rob would have to see him flogged.

  Angus misread his mood.

  ‘Are you thinking of her? Miss Sophie Bracewell, the girl from the brig?’

  Rob hadn’t been thinking of her, but the moment Angus said her name he saw her in his mind as clear as day.

  ‘She’s hard to forget.’

  ‘I suppose she’s gone to Boston,’ said Angus.

  ‘Her uncle took her ashore the moment we anchored.’

  ‘No doubt to stop her having her heart stolen by some dashing tar.’ Angus winked at Rob. ‘He probably saw the way you looked at her.’