Ramage's Trial Read Online Free PDF Page B

were immortal: bereavement was what happened to other couples.
    He suddenly realized that for two or three minutes there had been a steady knocking at his door, and the Marine sentry’s call was now being reinforced by the agitated calls of Aitken and Southwick.
    â€œCome in!” he called and the door flung open, Aitken almost sprawling as he rushed through, crouched so that his head did not hit the beams. He stared at Ramage sitting at the desk but jerked as Southwick, head down, bumped into him.
    Aitken was quick to recover. “Sorry, sir, but you didn’t answer.”
    â€œI was thinking,” Ramage said lamely, “but come in and shut the door.” He saw both men were pale under their tans, and although Aitken might be satisfied with the explanation, Southwick certainly was not: the old master had served with him so long that his role had slowly changed to – well, what? A benevolent grandfather dependent on his grandson’s largesse? Anyway, the old man was now standing over him, a puzzled look creasing his face. “Are you sure everything is all right, sir?”
    Ramage thought for a moment. If he did not tell them now, he would have to keep the news to himself all the way to England, like a man nursing a guilty secret, so now was the time. He held up the First Lord’s letter. “If you can’t read the signature, it’s from Lord St Vincent.”
    Southwick sighed, as though he knew from long experience that letters from such heights never carried welcome news, and sat down, giving the page a shake to straighten it out. As he read, Aitken said quietly, by way of explanation: “When you came back from the Queen , sir, your face was white as a sheet. You seemed to be trembling. We thought you’d been struck by one of these sudden fluxes.”
    Ramage shook his head and nodded towards the letter that Southwick had just finished reading. The old man’s features were frozen as he handed the letter back to Ramage without a word. Ramage gave it to Aitken, who took the precaution of sitting on the settee first: he had seen the effect on Southwick. He read it through twice, folded it and gave it back to Ramage without comment, but the skin now seemed too tight on his face.
    Then Ramage remembered Jean-Jacques. The Count had been entranced by Sarah. And the four Frenchmen, Gilbert, Louis, Auguste and Albert, who had come to serve in the Calypso after helping to capture the Murex brig: they regarded Sarah as a woman among women for the part she had played.
    He was bewildered; he pulled himself together enough to realize that. But the news of Sarah had torn a piece of himself away: the part that had feelings, that told him what to do…
    He then remembered the second enclosure in the packet which was still lying on top of his desk. He opened the seal, more to take his mind off St Vincent’s news than because of any curiosity about new orders. For that was what they were.
    They were signed, as usual, by Evan Nepean, the Secretary to the Board of Admiralty, and began in one of the time-honoured fashions, “I am directed by My Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty to acquaint you…” which told Ramage at once that whatever the orders were, they would not be radical: new orders usually began: “You are hereby requested and required to…”
    Ramage glanced quickly through the copperplate writing and, having assured himself there was no petard smouldering among the sentences, waiting to hoist him into more trouble, read through again, more slowly.
    For a bizarre moment he pictured Their Lordships sitting solemnly round the long polished table in the Boardroom with a box in front of them full of slips of paper on which was written the word “whereas”. While dictating their instructions to Nepean they would, every minute or so, skim another “whereas” slip across to him, to insert in the letter he was drafting.
    Anyway, whereas