“He wasn’t in the sun, Olivia. He wasn’t on deck for more than a few minutes.”
“But where was he, then? He must have been forward, where you couldn’t see him.”
“I do hope he wasn’t,” said Margaret, hating himself for his deception. The words “Mrs. Inigo” rose to his lips; but he kept from uttering them. “I ought to have prevented all this. I might have. I ought to have kept them apart till—— She ought not to be fretting.” He bit his lips at the thought of his negligence.
“I’ll come down at once, Olivia,” he said. “Oh, Olivia,” he added, his voice growing tender and moving, “you look so white and worried. I’ll look after Stukeley. Won’t you lie down and rest? It’s much too hot for you in the sun here. And then the excitement.”
“Oh, never mind me,” she said hurriedly, almost gaily. “I’m not in the least ill. It’s Tom.” As women sometimes will, in moments of emotion, she acted impulsively, laying her hand on his arm, sending the blood to his temples.
“Come on down, then,” he said thickly. “We’ll see. We’ll see your husband.” He glanced over the side again, biting his lips, his face turned away, as she took his arm. In that glance he saw the slip below the battery, with its green piles, barnacled, clucked about by the tides, mounted with tarpaulined cannon. Cammock stood upon the slip end, his gig’s crew, their oars tossed, just below him. Townsmen were talking to him; but he stood unheeding, looking at the Broken Heart, waving his hat. Margaret waved his hat in answer, to show that he saw; then, breathing a deep sigh, he led Olivia below.
“Why. What makes you sigh like that?” she asked.
“Why do I sigh? Captain Cammock was signalling to me. I was afraid we might be quarantined. But it’s all right now. He’s signalled that it’s all right. I’m relieved.”
“Charles,” she said, pausing in the alleyway, “I sometimes feel that I’ve given you pain by coming with you like this. Have I?”
“No, Olivia,” he answered. “How could you?”