‘I think they wanted to take us to Brazil. But there was a storm, and they were driven far north. The ship almost sank. Many died.’

  ‘Your mother?’

  Phoebe shook her head. ‘She died before we left Cape Town.’

  Rob thought of the story Tawny Cornish had told, of seeing the slave ship in Cape Town throwing dead captives overboard to the sharks. To think it might have been Phoebe’s mother . . .

  ‘The ship arrived in Jamaica. The Portuguese decided to sell us, so they could repair their ship. They took us to the slave market like animals. Bracewell found us there. He said he couldn’t use a child, but the slavers offered me for free if he would take twelve other slaves. So he took me. He gave me to his niece as a plaything.’

  ‘A playmate?’

  ‘A plaything. She did what she liked with me – like a doll. She dressed me up and undressed me, she braided my hair, she fed me titbits from her table and took me into bed with her. And when she was angry, she beat me and tried to twist my arms off.’

  Rob thought of the way Sophie took pleasure in inflicting pain. It excited her. He had thought it was part of a game. Now, imagining her having that power over a human being, to do exactly as she wanted, he could see it was no game at all. It chilled him to his core.

  He felt a surge of shame and anger.

  ‘I wish I could have saved you.’

  ‘You were not there.’

  There was no bitterness in her voice, no blame. Only surprise that Rob might think he had had a chance to change things. He took no comfort from it. He burned with the injustice of the world, longing to prove her wrong.

  There was one other question he had to ask.

  ‘And Scipio? Is he your husband?’

  Phoebe eyed him curiously. ‘Scipio is not my husband. Miss Sophie would never let me marry.’

  ‘I meant . . .’ Rob tried to find words that would not be crude or insulting. ‘Like a husband.’

  She could see his embarrassment. She laughed. A low, husky sound he instantly wanted to hear again.

  ‘He is nothing like a husband. He is my brother.’

  ‘But he is Ebo and you are Qwabe. Your homes are thousands of miles apart.’

  ‘He was married to my sister.’

  ‘Your brother-in-law?’

  ‘Yes. She died two years ago.’

  Rob felt he had been holding his breath for a very long time, like swimming underwater, and had finally broken the surface. He felt dizzy, dazed by a rush of conflicting thoughts. Against the terrible suffering Phoebe had endured, what did it matter if she had a husband or not? It was the height of selfishness to let his desire intrude on her tragedy. And even if he dared name what he felt for her, in what world could he ever act on it?

  Yet from the moment he had seen her, he could not take his eyes off her. When she spoke, all he wanted was to listen. He knew nothing, except that he had to be with her.

  Phoebe was still watching him.

  ‘Why do you care if I am married?’

  Rob did not know what to say. And because he was young and foolish and ignorant, and there were no other words, he said, ‘Because I love you.’

  He knew he was being impulsive, his emotions spilling over like a drunk unable to hold his glass of ale. He did not regret it. After Boston, he had thought he loved Sophie Bracewell, but now he saw that had been nothing more than lust, an animal hunger that overrode all reason. What he felt for Phoebe was entirely different, a sort of inner radiance that she drew out of his soul. All he wanted was to be close to her.

  She started to laugh again, then stopped as she saw the awkwardness on his face.

  ‘Do not say such things. Even if I . . .’ She shook her head, as if trying to clear it of a dream. ‘It is impossible.’

  ‘I could buy your freedom.’ He couldn’t hold back.

  ‘Miss Sophie would never sell her favourite toy.’

  ‘Steal you away, then. I could work my passage to Cape Town, then find a ship to take us up the coast to Nativity Bay. We would be back where we belonged. We could walk in the thorn trees, and graze cattle by the river. You would be free.’

  The hope on her face was almost too painful to see. She stared at him, but in her eyes she was looking at the landscape of her childhood, her home.

  ‘It is impossible,’ she said again, but less certainly.

  Rob barely knew her. How could he make such reckless promises? Yet he meant them from the depths of his soul.

  As if an invisible hand had taken hold of him, he leaned forwards to kiss her. She didn’t resist. His lips met hers, as soft as the peaches that Louisa grew in the garden at Fort Auspice. He breathed in her scent.

  Rapt in her story, in her face, he did not see the cabin door open behind her. Angus rose from where he had been sitting in the bow, carving a piece of scrimshaw. He opened his mouth to warn Rob.

  Rob had already sensed the movement, but too late. He pulled back from Phoebe, to see Sophie striding across the deck, wrapped in her gown. He had never imagined such a pretty face could twist itself into such an ugly fury. With her hair blowing loose, her mouth contorted in a snarl, she looked like one of the Gorgons his grandmother used to tell him stories about, who could turn men to stone with a look.

  ‘Get back to your place, you little whore,’ she hissed at Phoebe. ‘And you,’ she said, turning to Rob. ‘You tasted the sweetest fruit. If you prefer the company of slave trash, I will arrange it so you spend the rest of your days with them. A few weeks in the cane fields and your skin will be as black as theirs.’

  Rob rose. ‘I am not one of your slaves to command,’ he said. ‘I am an officer of His Majesty’s Navy. And as soon as we reach port, I will lodge a petition with the governor for the release of Phoebe, and all the other slaves, under the terms of the certificates we gave them at Seabrook Bay.’

  Sophie laughed. ‘And after the governor has dined with my uncle, his great friend, what do you think he will do with your petition?’ She tossed her head. ‘You are so naive.’

  ‘You are a monster,’ said Rob. ‘Like your uncle.’

  Sophie grabbed Phoebe and pulled her off the cannon so she fell on the deck. She grasped a fistful of Phoebe’s hair and started dragging her across the planking. Phoebe screamed with pain. Rob leaped up, took hold of Sophie’s arm and tugged it away. Her hand ripped off a clump of Phoebe’s hair.

  ‘If you touch Miss Sophie again, I’ll put a bullet through yer heart and drop you over the side like old Captain Tew,’ said a voice from near the mizzen mast.

  It was Crow. The glowing bowl of a pipe jutted from his mouth, and the steel barrel of a pistol glimmered in his hand, trained on Rob.

  The barrel moved a fraction. ‘Or I might make you watch yer darkie whore die first.’

  Rob let go of Sophie.

  Sophie stepped away, then landed a stinging slap across Rob’s cheek. Rob didn’t flinch.

  ‘You will pay for this,’ she hissed.

  She dragged Phoebe back to her cabin. Crow waited until she had gone. He took a lump of sugar from his pocket and crunched it noisily, but the pistol in his hand never wavered. Rob didn’t doubt that if he moved, Crow would put a bullet through him.

  When Sophie and Phoebe had gone inside, Crow moved back towards the cabin. But he did not enter. He sat on the deck by the door, his hat pulled low and the gun in his hand.

  Rob and Angus retreated towards the bow. Angus peered at Rob’s face, as if expecting to see a bruise spreading.

  ‘For a wee slip of a thing, she hits like a prizefighter,’ he observed.

  Rob touched his cheek. He remembered all the other bruises and scratches and bites Sophie had left on his body. He’d thought that was a sign of her love, an uncontrollable passion. Now he saw there was no love in her heart, only infinite cruelty.

  ‘She’ll get her revenge,’ Angus said. ‘You’re not safe, Rob. Her and Coyningham, they’re cut from the same black cloth. You’ve seen the way he follows her, cock in his hand. If she whispers in his ear, he’ll break you back to a fo’c’s’le hand and have you flogged down to your bones.’

  ‘I am an officer.’ Rob was trying to listen to his friend, but thoughts of Phoebe kept crowding his mind. ‘There are limits to what he can do to me.’

  Angus shook his head. ‘Take my word, they will find some way to hurt you. Her and him both.’

  A groan rose from the slaves in the hold, as if the ship itself was warning them.

  T

  he weather grew warmer, but the sun did not shine. Long clouds scudded across the sky, blown by a thick, sticky breeze that was worse than no wind at all. It left the men sweltering in their shirts. The stench from the hold grew worse every day, like a rotting corpse. Among the officers, only Coyningham kept his coat on. He had the sailmaker sew a strip of white lace on the sleeve, to give him a commander’s rank. He touched it frequently, his fingers rubbing the lace as he paced the deck.

  ‘He’ll wear a hole in it, if he’s not careful,’ muttered Rob.

  Sophie Bracewell kept her place in her chair under the awning on the quarterdeck, still the centre of every man’s attention. But the midshipmen no longer found excuses to talk to her about the weather, and the warrant officers did not try to engage her on the pretext of explaining some point of seamanship. They feared Coyningham. He stood beside Sophie as often as he could, glaring at any man who glanced in her direction. He had his steward provide her lunch, and drinks. If she mentioned her book was in her cabin, or her fan, or her needlework, Coyningham would order them delivered.

  Sophie kept Phoebe in attendance, standing behind her so she was out of the shade of the awning. Phoebe wore a thin white dress and no corset. The damp fabric clung to her body in the heat, so that her dark flesh was visible through the gauzy material. Every curve and swelling was on display. She might as well have been naked.

  There was a raw, savage atmosphere aboard ship. Some looked at Sophie with such hunger Rob feared for her safety.

  It was Sophie’s revenge – laying Phoebe out like a piece of meat before a pack of slavering dogs. Standing hour after hour in the blazing tropical sun stripped her of all dignity. Rob feared Phoebe would faint. But her head never lowered. She stared ahead, meeting the men’s gazes with defiance so that many of them were forced to look away, ashamed.

  Rob sensed how much she must be suffering. He hated himself for being the cause of it. In the mid-afternoon, he filled a cup of water from the open cask by the mainmast, and carried it aft. Sophie looked up from her needlework and flashed him a razor-sharp smile.

  ‘For me? How kind. I declare, in this heat I am absolutely parched.’

  ‘It is for Phoebe,’ said Rob.

  Sophie’s face hardened. ‘I forbid it.’

  ‘She is thirsty.’

  ‘She will have to get used to standing in the sun where she is going, and working a great deal harder than this. When she is cutting cane in high summer, there will be no gallants to bring her water.’ Sophie giggled. ‘Of course, she has been a house servant all her life, so it will not be what she is used to. Her dainty hands will take some adjusting to heavy labour. But I am sure the overseers’ lash on her back will encourage her.’

  Rob wanted to throw the water in her face. He turned and offered the cup to Phoebe.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he mouthed.

  Phoebe reached for the cup. Her hand closed around it, clinging on so that her fingers were wound around Rob’s.

  Water splashed onto the deck as the cup was dashed from their hands. Phoebe pulled back with a cry. Crow stepped between them.

  ‘Miss Bracewell said you’re not to go near the girl,’ he growled.

  Rob met Crow’s eyes in a fury. He wanted to knock him down. But there was a pistol in Crow’s belt, and he could feel Coyningham’s gaze hot on his back. Rob was the second lieutenant, but he was powerless.

  He nodded to Phoebe. ‘My apologies, miss.’

  ‘One day, I will make Crow pay for what he does,’ Rob said to Angus when they were out of earshot.

  ‘He only does what Miss Sophie tells him,’ said Angus. ‘She’s the one to watch for. Be thankful she has done nothing worse to get her revenge.’

  Rob thought of Phoebe in a cane field, bent double, hands bleeding, the overseers’ whips raining down blows on her naked back. He had to save her before that happened. For now he agreed with Angus. It was best not to make things worse.

  But he had underestimated Sophie.

  Next day, as usual, she was sitting in her chair on the quarterdeck. Rob was inspecting the starboard guns when he heard her say to Coyningham, ‘So many men in such a tight space. Do you not fear for your life?’

  ‘Discipline is the key, miss. We keep them on a short leash. If any are tempted to impertinent thoughts, a taste of the lash brings them to heel.’

  Sophie’s eyes sparkled. Her glossy lips parted. She put a hand to her chest, her fingers cupping her breast.

  ‘Is it very painful?’

  ‘We must make it so,’ said Coyningham. ‘To teach them their lesson.’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Sophie. ‘There is nothing like pain to stiffen a man’s sinews.’

  Her eyes flicked to Rob. She smiled as she caught him watching her.

  ‘Wouldn’t you agree, Lieutenant Courtney?’

  ‘I find praise and a kind word usually serves better to motivate the men,’ he said. ‘Pain can make a man fear you, but it is heart you need when it comes to a battle.’

  ‘We shall see about that, Lieutenant.’ She turned to Coyningham. ‘There is a small yellow purse in my cabin. It has my prayer book in it . . .’

  ‘Of course.’

  Coyningham went below at once. But when he returned, he was empty-handed, flushed and confused.

  ‘I could not find the purse,’ he apologised.

  ‘But I left it on my bed,’ said Sophie. ‘I am certain of it. You could not fail to see it.’

  ‘It is not there now,’ Coyningham assured her.

  ‘Where could it have gone?’ Her mouth made an O of surprise. ‘That prayer book was a gift from my poor late mother. It is all I have to remember her by.’

  ‘I will find it,’ said Coyningham.

  Sophie looked at him over the top of her fan.

  ‘I do hope . . . No – it is too terrible to contemplate.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You do not think that perhaps . . .?’ She paused, collecting herself. ‘I kept a sum of money in that purse. I hope one of your men was not . . . tempted by it.’

  Coyningham’s face went dark.

  ‘By God, if they have . . . Mr Leake!’

  The boatswain’s mate came scuttling up.

  ‘Search the ship for Miss Bracewell’s purse,’ Coyningham ordered him. ‘If any man has taken it, there will be two dozen lashes with the cat.’

  ‘So few?’ said Sophie. ‘For such an outrage?’

  ‘Four dozen,’ Coyningham corrected himself.

  The men assembled on deck, angry and bewildered. It was the dog watch, and most of them had been off duty. They did not care to have their leisure time interrupted. Bangs and crashes echoed out of the hatchway as Leake and his mates carried out a thorough search of their sea chests.

  Rob looked at Sophie. A curious smile played over her lips.

  What mischief have you planned? Rob wondered.

  Suddenly there were shouts from below. Leake came up the ladder, clutching a yellow silk bag in his fist. He presented it to Coyningham.

  ‘One of the men had took it. We found it in his things.’

  The crew on deck went silent. Four dozen lashes was close to what a man could endure.

  Coyningham gave the purse to Sophie with a bow. She clasped it to her chest.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, favouring Coyningham with a golden smile.

  Her mouth hardened. ‘Who was the vile thief who stole it?’

  Leake surveyed the assembled men. Most bowed their heads, praying his glance would not settle on them. A few, confident of their innocence, stared back. Leake raised a hand, moving it over the crowd.

  ‘Him.’

  His finger pointed accusingly. Rob felt as if he’d been punched in the stomach. At last he fathomed the depths of Sophie’s revenge.

  Leake was pointing at Angus. The sailors around him shrank back, as Leake’s assistants seized him. Angus remained calm.

  ‘I didn’ae do it,’ he said, loud enough to carry to the quarterdeck. ‘Someone’s done this to bugger me.’

  ‘Silence,’ roared Coyningham. ‘Put up the grating. Strip him down and assemble all hands to witness punishment.’

  Sophie sat up, her lips parted. Rob sidled close to her.

  ‘Please do not do this,’ he said in a low voice.

  ‘This is the captain’s decision. I cannot change his mind.’

  ‘A word from you and Coyningham will call it off. You know he is infatuated with you.’

  ‘I am glad not every man thinks me more loathsome than some darkie whore.’

  ‘If you wish to hurt me, I will take any punishment you choose. But do not take it out on my friends.’

  She looked at him over the top of her fan. Her eyes were hard as diamonds.

  ‘This is your punishment.’

  On the main deck, the grating had been lifted off the hatchway and leaned against the front of the quarterdeck. The marine drummer boys beat a staccato tattoo. Leake’s men brought Angus to the grating. They stripped him to his waist, spread-eagled him and tied his wrists fast with the seizings.

  Rob lined up with the other officers. He thought about forcing his way through, cutting Angus down and putting a blade to Coyningham’s throat. It was impossible. Even if the men doubted Angus’s guilt, or flinched at the harsh sentence, the bonds of discipline bound them to obedience. And there were the marine sentries, muskets loaded and tipped with bayonets, standing along the quarterdeck rail. They would stay loyal to Coyningham.

  Angus turned to Rob. He shook his head the merest fraction.

  ‘We’ll need you later!’ he called, loud enough that Rob could hear.