Frenchman's Creek

He would not recognise her. It would be impossible. For then she was in shirt and breeches, her face and hair streaming with the rain. She got up, and began to dress, her mind still busy with the news that Harry had given her. The thought of Rockingham here at Navron, bent on mischief, was a continual pin-prick of irritation, for Rockingham was no fool. Besides, he belonged to London, to the cobbled streets, and the playhouses, to the overheated, overscented atmosphere that was St. James's, and at Navron, her Navron, he was an interloper, a breaker of the peace. The serenity of the place was gone already, she could hear his voice in the garden beneath her window, and Harry's too, they were laughing together, throwing stones for the dogs. No, it was done with and finished. Escape was a thing of yesterday. And La Mouette might never have returned after all. The ship might still have lain becalmed and quiet off the coast of France, while her crew took the Merry Fortune into port. The breakers on the white still beach, the green sea golden under the sun, the water cold and clean on her naked body, and after swimming, the warmth of the dry deck under her back, as she looked up at the tall, raffish spars of La Mouette stabbing the sky.

Then there were knockings on the door, and the children came in, Henrietta with a new doll that Harry had brought her, and James stuffing a rabbit into his mouth, and they flung themselves upon her with small hot hands and generous kisses. Prue curtseying in the background with anxious enquiries for her health, and somewhere, thought Dona, as she held them to her, somewhere there is a woman who cares for none of these things, but lies upon the deck of a ship and laughs with her lover, and the taste of salt is on their lips, and the warmth of the sun and the sea. "My doll is nicer than James's rabbit," said Henrietta, and James, jigging up and down on Dona's knee, his fat cheek pressed against hers, shouted "No, no, mine, mine," and taking his rabbit from his mouth hurled it in his sister's face. So then there were tears, and scoldings, and reconciliations, and more kisses, and a finding of chocolate, and much fuss and chatter, and the ship was no more, and the sea was no more, but Lady St. Columb of Navron, with her hair dressed high off her forehead, and clad in a soft blue gown, descended the stairs to the garden below, a child in either hand.

"So you have had a fever, Dona?" said Rockingham, advancing towards her, and kissing the hand she gave him. "At all events," he added, drawing back to look at her, "it was a most becoming fever."

"That's what I say," said Harry. "I told her so upstairs, she's got a tan on her like a gypsy," and bending down he seized the children, bearing them high on his shoulder, and they screamed delightedly, the dogs joining in the clamour.

Dona sat down on the seat on the terrace, and Rockingham, standing before her, played with the lace at his wrists.

"You don't appear very delighted to see me," he said.

"Why should I?" she answered.

"It's some weeks since I saw you," he said, "and you went off in such an extraordinary way, after the escapade at Hampton Court. I suppose I did something to offend you."

"You did nothing," she said.

He looked at her out of the corners of his eyes, and shrugged his shoulders. "What have you been doing with yourself down here?" he asked. Dona yawned, watching Harry and the children as they played on the lawn with the dogs. "I have been very happy," she said, "alone here, with the children. I told Harry, when I left London, that I wanted to be alone. I am angry with the both of you for breaking my peace."

"We have not come entirely for pleasure," said Rockingham, "we are here on business as well. We propose catching the pirate who seems to be giving you all so much trouble."

"And how do you propose doing that?"

"Ah, well… we shall see. Harry is quite excited at the idea. He's been getting bored with nothing to do. And London in midsummer stinks too much, even for me. The country will do us both good."

"How long do you propose to stay?"

"Until we have caught the Frenchman."

Dona laughed, and picking a daisy from the grass, began tearing off the petals. "He has gone back to France," she said.

"I think not," said Rockingham.

"Why so?"

"Because of something that fellow Eustick was saying yesterday."

"The surly Thomas Eustick? What had he to say?" said Dona.

"Only that a fishing craft from St. Michael's Mount had reported seeing a vessel in the early hours of yesterday morning, making towards the English coast."

"Slender evidence. Some merchantman returning from abroad."

"The fisherman thought not."

"The coast of England goes a long way, my dear Rockingham. From the Land's End to the Wight is a precious stretch to watch."

"Yes, but the Frenchman leaves the Wight alone. It seems he leaves everything alone, but for this narrow strip of Cornwall. Rashleigh will have it that he has even visited your Helford river here."