FIFTY-NINE

“I MUST SAY YOU ARE A VERY POOR PATIENT, NICO,” SAID BEAUTY. “Colquist tells me you are getting up and moving about against his expressed orders. He’s very afraid you will pop your stitches.”

It had been several days since Rascal had anchored and Beauty had seen Fallon’s condition improve significantly over that time, though he had no business getting up.

“Yes, he’s being a bit of a nanny,” said Fallon with a smile. “But I am feeling stronger and I’m quite bored out of my mind.”

“Well, perhaps this will relieve your boredom,” she said. “Lord Keith would like an audience with your highness. He sent word this morning and will come to you to talk.”

“What do you think that’s all about?” asked Fallon.

“You won’t have too long to wonder,” said Beauty with a grin. “Unless I’m mistaken I just heard his coxswain call out so the admiral’s gig must be alongside.”

Beauty left to thump up the companionway and welcome Lord Keith aboard. The work was going full tilt on deck to return Rascal to her usual condition but the masts were still out of her and would be until the yard sent word they were ready to swing two new ones aboard. But here was the famous Lord Keith coming through the channel.

“You must be Beauty McFarland, first mate on Rascal, I believe,” he said warmly. “I have heard wondrous things about you, not least your ability to charm crusty army officers into doing your bidding. But that is our secret and should stay in Gibraltar.”

Beauty smiled and blushed simultaneously.

In moments she led Lord Keith down the companionway to Fallon’s cabin and found him sitting upright—against Colquist’s orders—in a chair by the stern windows.

“Captain Fallon,” said Lord Keith, “don’t attempt to get up I implore you. Your surgeon would have both our necks if those stitches I hear you have should open. I am content to sit on the stern cushions and I promise I will only be a few minutes.”

With that, Lord Keith sat down and Beauty discretely left the cabin.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, my lord,” said Fallon. “I have heard so much about you over the years. Your exploits reach Bermuda, where I am from.”

“And I have heard a great deal about you, captain,” said Lord Keith. “Admiral Davies speaks very highly of you, as does Sir William and, well, everyone seems to have something interesting to say about you.”

Fallon laughed and shifted uneasily in his chair.

“No doubt Captain Jones has filled you in on his trip across the Atlantic to return Sir William to the Mediterranean. He even took a French frigate on the way, and without a shot! Now, I will take you into my confidence as to why that trip was necessary. The Admiralty believes Bonaparte is attempting to enlist the dey of Algiers in a scheme to blockade Gibraltar. Presumably the siege would mean Bonaparte would have free rein over this sea that he seems to covet. Sir William is now endeavoring to find out how far along the plans are but the threat is real. Sir William’s sources tell him that the dey is supportive of the idea, if only to enrich himself, though he has demanded proof of Bonaparte’s sincerity. I believe there is to be a down payment to show good faith.”

Fallon took a moment to absorb the information Lord Keith shared. It didn’t take much imagination to visualize Gibraltar under siege from French ships-of-the-line and the dey’s corsairs, with Britain unable to muster a strong defense.

“How many ships do you have at your disposal, my lord?” asked Fallon, getting right to the nub of the matter.

“I have four frigates and my flagship, captain,” said Lord Keith, and he thought he could hear Fallon’s mind working. “Two of the frigates are on station in Genoa to help the Austrians and the other two are here. I believe you met Captain Elliott of Mischief?”

Fallon only nodded, not wanting his face to give away his feelings about Elliott. Lord Keith watched him closely.

“I am here because Admiral Davies sent word that you might be helpful in this situation,” continued Lord Keith, “and now perhaps doubly so since I understand you were a prisoner of the dey’s before making a remarkable escape. The story is up and down the waterfront.”

If Fallon was moved by Lord Keith’s flattering words he didn’t show it; instead, his eyes were fixed on an unseen horizon beyond the stern windows. Lord Keith looked at those eyes now, and they seemed brighter than when he’d first entered the cabin. What Lord Keith couldn’t see or, obviously, sense was the hair standing up on Fallon’s arms, as well.

“Lord Keith,” Fallon said softly after a few moments, “you know what I would do if I were you?”

Sir William sat at Fallon’s desk with quill and paper as Fallon dictated, in French, from his chair by the stern windows. Fallon chose his words carefully; they needed to be firm and utterly convincing and, hopefully, hidden between the lines, a hint of outrage. As Sir William wrote, a thin smile crossed his face.

For a Bermuda privateer, Fallon was really very good at this sort of thing.