"Pope, Dudley - Ramage - Ramage and the Freebooters" - читать интересную книгу автора (Pope Dudley)

On the larboard side a well-padded settee made three sides of a square, its back against the forward bulkhead, the ship's side and after bulkhead. A table was fitted in the middle so that four or five people on the settee sat round three sides of it, leaving the fourth clear for the steward to work.

Walking aft into the sleeping cabin, Ramage found it was small and dark and airless: the hull was curving into the centre-line so sharply (the rudder was hung only a few feet farther aft) that mere was less than five feet headroom.

The long, open-topped box that was the cot, slung at head and foot by ropes secured to the beams above, had just enough room to swing with the ship's roll without banging the larboard side of the hull. On the starboard side there was a chest of drawers and an enamelled basin with a mirror above it. But the only light came through the open door: the skylight did not reach over this cabin.

Ramage returned to the main cabin and went to the desk, opening the leather bag and emptying out its contents as he sat down.

His commission, a new copy of the Signal Book for Skips of War, the letters for Admiral Curtis, Lord St Vincent, and Admiral Robinson, a small fiat parcel, and the copy of his orders from the Admiralty.

After locking the Signal Book and letters--the most secret items on board--in the top drawer of the desk, he opened the parcel. It was a small portrait in a plain gilt frame, and a good likeness--the artist had almost caught the unpredictability of Gianna's expressions--one moment so patrician, the next so impudent. And the way the light glistened in her jet black hair. And the small nose, high cheek bones and warm, expressive mouth.

Although the portrait was simply a head and shoulders, one could see the subject was small--barely five feet tall; and even a stranger could sense she was accustomed to rule. How long, he mused, before she ceased being a refugee and could return to her tiny kingdom of Volterra, with its 20,000 inhabitants, all of whom were now part of Bonaparte's empire?

She might be the ruler of Volterra and a wave of her hand might have dismissed her chief minister; but Ramage relaxed for a few minutes to relive their parting a few hours ago at Blazey House, in Palace Street. Since Gianna was living with his parents, she'd insisted on nursing him while he recovered from the head wound. Neither of them had been over-anxious to speed his convalescence.

The door of his bedroom would be flung open; a moment later Gianna would come in carrying a tray of food. She'd set down the tray, shut the door and run into his arms. He grinned to himself as he thought of the cold meals he'd eaten because the tray had remained on the table for so long before they remembered the ostensible reason for her visit to the sickroom.

When the time came to write to the Admiralty reporting he was fit for duty she'd been full of secret plans to prevent him getting an appointment; in fact his father had eventually --unknown at the rime to Ramage--warned her not to meddle. But, like Ramage himself, they loved her deeply; she'd become the daughter his mother always wanted. Yet when his mother had once hinted, when Gianna was out of the room, that she would make an excellent daughter-in-law, the old Admiral had pointed out that Volterra would be a turbulent state by the time Bonaparte was driven out of Italy; the spirit of revolution would linger. The people might be unwilling to return to the old, almost feudal system. Gianna might have a struggle to regain her place as Volterra's ruler, and a foreign husband would be a handicap. Grunts and the scuffling of feet on the companion ladder beyond the bulkhead interrupted his thoughts and told him the seamen were bringing dawn his trunk.

Stafford backed in first, holding one end, followed by the lanky Suffolk fisherman, Fuller, who was holding the other. Jackson brought up the rear with sharp but good-natured exclamations of 'Mind the table--steady, Fuller, you clodhopper I'

Ramage pointed to the after cabin. He'd have to find out if the captain's steward was on board; but for the moment, until he was sure of the man's loyalty, he didn't want him rummaging around.

After putting down me trunk both Stafford and Fuller relumed grinning, reminding Ramage of a pair of eager spaniels.

'Well, you two, I'm glad to see you again.'

' Twas a surprise, sir,' said Fuller; and Stafford's cockney face showed he meant it when he said, 'Never guessed we'd 'ave the 'onour o' servin' wiv you agin, sir!'

'From what I hear,' Ramage said dryly, 'it's an honour the rest of the ship's company don't wish to share.'

'Well, sir...' Stafford began, and Fuller's bony hands clenched and unclenched with embarrassment, the few yellowed teeth he still possessed showing as he opened his mouth to speak, but no words came.

'Very well,' Ramage said, and grinned. 'Carry on, Jackson, pass the word for Mr Southwick.'

'He's just coming, sir.'

Ramage heard shoes clattering on the ladder and as the three men left Southwick burst into the cabin.

'Heavens, I'm glad to see you, sir!' He shut the door. 'What a mess it all is!'

Ramage nodded. 'You've had an enjoyable leave?'

'Fine--though I'm glad to be back afloat again. And you, sir?'

'The same.'

'The Marchesa?'