Lieutenant Cockburn wasted no time in taking over the captain’s cabin and he invited a shorn and washed Dover to join him, along with Jack, Bethany and a few of the officers. It was the first time Jack had been in the captain’s cabin and he was surprised by how large it was compared to the quarters endured by the rest of the crew and how splendidly it was furnished.
With a Turkish carpet on the deck and original oil paintings hanging between the canvas-shrouded carronades, the cabin revealed Captain Edwards’ artistic tastes, while the crystal decanters and silver cutlery that adorned the splendid oak table showed his wealth.
‘We had to douse the galley fires during the action,’ Cockburn explained, ‘so there can be no hot food this evening, I am afraid, but we can make do with cold ham and chicken and a duff made from ship’s biscuits.’
The ham was well salted, and the duff still contained fragments of weevils, but Jack noticed that Bethany did not complain. Lieutenant Cockburn waited until the quiet steward had poured generous measures of brandy into the glasses before he started the conversation.
‘That was an excellent action, gentlemen, and I believe congratulations are in order.’
The officers looked at each other. Used to Captain Edwards’ morose leadership, this openness was obviously something new. Midshipman Wetherall – stocky, freckled and irrepressible – grinned. ‘Thank you, sir.’
Lieutenant Cockburn then addressed Dover: ‘And now, sir, we are all agog with curiosity. We would dearly like to know who you are and why the French wanted your company so badly.’
‘All in good time, sir,’ said Dover, giving a small bow across the table. ‘First, I would dearly like to know more about this most attractive woman.’ He nodded to Bethany, who smiled in return.
‘Oh, I am Mrs Tarver,’ Bethany told him, ‘and you are too bold by half, sir.’
‘Or just bold enough, perhaps.’ Dover sipped at his brandy, his eyes challenging her over the rim of the glass.
Jack took a deep breath; he could not allow this exchange to continue. ‘You are bold enough to insult my wife, Mr Dover, but are you bold enough to face a man?’
Bethany said nothing, as every officer present concentrated his attention on her husband.
Dover gave a sudden grin. ‘You are a civilian, sir, with no knowledge of me, yet you are challenging me?’ He shook his head. ‘You are a brave man, Mr Tarver, but I am sure that Mrs Tarver will appreciate your company for a little longer. For that reason, I will ignore your most natural indignation.’ Turning to Bethany, he bowed again: ‘Well, now, Mrs Tarver. Now that the pleasantries are over, I can tell you what I was doing on that French ship, if you are really interested.’
‘I believe we are all interested, Mr Dover,’ Lieutenant Cockburn said. ‘Once you have apologised to Mr and Mrs Tarver, you are free to inform us.’
Dover’s grin broadened. ‘I apologise most humbly and freely, Mr Cockburn, both to Mr and to Mrs Tarver.’ Turning once more to the newly married couple, Dover asked, ‘I believe you are an engineer, sir?’
‘I am, sir,’ Jack agreed. He was not quite sure if he should accept the apology or insist on meeting this man over the barrel of a pistol, but he hoped the former was the correct course. He was anything but an expert with the barkers, while this Mr Dover seemed very sure of himself. ‘And pray tell us all what exactly you are, sir?’
The grin faded slightly. ‘All in good time, Mr Tarver, and when I have explained myself perhaps you could tell me why a King’s ship is acting as a ferry to an engineer?’ Dover barked a short laugh.
Lieutenant Cockburn gave Dover a look that would have brought his junior officers to instant heel. ‘The private affairs of a lady will always be respected on this ship, and I will thank you all to remember that. But now, Mr Dover, we are all agog to learn why the French appear to dislike you so intensely?’
Sipping his brandy, Dover shook his head. ‘You will have surmised that I am not an ordinary civilian and you will understand that I cannot say much, Lieutenant Cockburn. For that I must beg your indulgence and forgiveness. However, I can say that the work on which I am engaged is of vital importance to our position in the Mediterranean, and perhaps for the continuance of the Third Coalition.’
‘Oh?’ Bethany arched her eyebrows. ‘It would seem that you failed then, Mr Dover. If Lieutenant Cockburn had not captured that French ship after a most gallant action, then your oh-so-vital work may have ended on the guillotine.’
‘A fact for which both I and the country will be eternally grateful.’ Dover bowed across the table to Cockburn. ‘And you, Mr and Mrs Tarver? You still have not explained why the navy is giving free passage to jobbing engineers.’
‘We are bound for Malta,’ Bethany replied, closing a hand over Jack’s arm. ‘Where my husband is to build a road.’
‘I see.’ Dover looked up sharply, and then looked away as if uninterested. ‘Your husband is to build a road? A very worthwhile occupation, I’m sure.’ His tone of voice suggested the opposite of his words.
‘And where did the French capture you, Mr Dover?’ Once again Lieutenant Cockburn ignored the by-play between Dover and Bethany. ‘If it was at sea, it may be of concern to the navy.’
Dover shook his head. ‘On land, Lieutenant. I was working in Calabria.’
‘Calabria?’ Cockburn frowned. ‘I was unaware that we had forces there. Have we landed on the Italian mainland while the Rowan has been on passage from Gibraltar?’
Dover shook his head. ‘I must ask you all not to repeat what I have just said. No, sir, we have not returned to southern Italy. Our army remains in Sicily, guarding the Straits of Messina, but …’ His glance at Bethany was significant. ‘I think I should refrain from further explanation – there is a lady present. And a road builder.’
Two of the officers laughed as Bethany coloured, but again Lieutenant Cockburn stepped in. ‘Your caution may be for the best, Mr Dover. We should not expose Mrs Tarver to such dangers as excess information may cause.’
Bethany’s curtsey to the lieutenant was as much an acknowledgement of his tact as his courtesy. They smiled to each other, like co-conspirators or old friends, as Jack glowered at Dover, who met his eyes, quietly musing, and saluted him with his brandy glass. Jack did not trust the half-amused smile on his mouth. He half wished he had pressed for a duel. Nevertheless, he might have had the satisfaction of seeing Dover along the wrong end of the barrel of a pistol yet, he mused.
The great bastions of Valletta welcomed them with a blast of reflected heat as the sun bounced from the pale limestone.
‘Don’t you feel proud, Jack?’ Bethany asked, pointing to the white ensign that fluttered above the tricolour of Avanture. The Russian brig, jury rigged but afloat, limped in a few cables length astern, with her hull showing signs of her recent battle and her pumps working ceaselessly to discharge the water she had taken on board.
‘Oh!’ Bethany jumped, as the first of the Rowan’s cannon bellowed. She put a hand on Jack’s arm for support.
‘It’s all right, Mrs Tarver,’ Lieutenant Cockburn explained, sparing time for a wide smile and a slight bow. ‘We’re just saluting the fortress. There is no ball in the guns.’ He stepped closer. ‘I would never dream of doing anything to cause you any alarm.’
‘I see,’ Bethany replied, rewarding him with a brief curtsey, but she continued to cling to Jack as she enjoyed her first sight of Malta. ‘Does this not look very exotic, Jack? It is quite different from Hereford, or even Wales.’
Jack nodded. Bethany had used these exact words when they had put into Gibraltar with dispatches. He wondered, uncharitably, if she was going to say that every foreign port was exotic, before he shook away his own ill temper. He did not know why he felt like this when he was on the verge of what promised to be a lucrative period of employment, for the terms Admiral Blacklock had outlined were generous indeed, if he only completed the road in time. Perhaps he felt so disconsolate because Mr Dover was on board; the man had an unsettling presence.
The capture of the French frigate had been the only incident in what had been an enjoyable voyage, and Jack had used any time not spent with Bethany in learning all he could about road building, for it was a branch of engineering about which he knew very little.
According to the packet that Admiral Blacklock had given him, he was to engineer a road from a harbour on the south coast of the island to the central town of Mdina. The technical difficulties would be interesting, but Jack had little doubts about his professional ability. If it was possible for a road to be built, he could build it, given enough time and sufficient labour.
The time factor was important, however, as Admiral Blacklock had insisted the road should be built before winter set in. He had a mere six months to survey and lay out the road, then hire labourers to complete the construction.
Leaning over the bulwarks, Jack watched the cannons of the fortress continue to blast their salute. This was not quite the beginning of his marriage as he had intended, but he had a host of memories at which to smile. He looked sideways at Bethany, admiring her shape as the offshore wind thrust the simple muslin dress against her body. Since their marriage he had become far more aware of her curves and feminine charm. She was so much more than just the interesting companion and lively mind of their youth, and he would remember this voyage for the rest of his life.
All the same, he was looking forward to being back on land after the confinement of the ship. He would also be glad to ease Bethany away from Lieutenant Cockburn, who had paid her far too much attention, particularly since the death of Captain Edwards. He was a tall, good-looking and exceptionally charming man, with a hint of Scottish fire and a touch of the devil-may-care that Bethany seemed to find exceptionally attractive. Extremely aware that marriage had awakened Bethany’s sexuality as much as his own, Jack was equally conscious she could also magnetise other men.
But what if she preferred them? He reflected on his own personality. He felt that he had little to offer: no money, no fount of anecdotes, certainly no dashing personality. Jack sighed, shaking his head. How could he keep Bethany’s interest when she met men such as Lieutenant Cockburn? How could he retain such a beauty when he did not even know his own background? Bethany had gleefully told him that Cockburn was the younger son of a Scottish earl, so he was a man used to the best that life could offer, a man with boundless confidence in himself and his abilities. How could he compete?
‘Is this not the most beautiful place you have ever seen in your life?’ Bethany broke into his introspective uncertainties. ‘Just look at all the colours, Jack! It is like a picture, except alive.’
As the white smoke from Fort St Elmo cleared, HMS Rowan glided past Ricasoli Point under topsails only and entered the Grand Harbour, with its surrounding high walls and magnificent palaces. Bethany was correct: from the brilliant blue of the sky to the sparkling azure seas and the pale limestone buildings, the harbour was a palette of perfection.
‘And look at these strange vessels. I’ve never seen the like!’ Fastening the tie of her sun hat, Bethany nodded to the multicoloured boats with the high curved prows and straight sternposts that lay secure in the protection of the fort and the Royal Navy. ‘Are they not exotic?’
Jack nodded, but he was more impressed with the safe anchorage, right in the heart of the Mediterranean. By snatching the island from Bonaparte’s claws and holding onto it despite his threats, Great Britain had acquired what was unquestionably an exceptionally fine harbour.
Bethany surveyed the skyline, with its towers and domes. ‘This is Valletta,’ she told Jack, ‘once the home of the Knights of St John. Is it not romantic? Are you not glad that we are here, Jack?’
‘I am indeed,’ Jack agreed.
‘You don’t appear to be glad. Indeed, you look as if all the world has used you ill with that Friday face you are wearing!’
Jack forced a smile, for he had no need for sorrow. He was with his wife, in a new and fascinating place, and on the verge of an honourable and lucrative position. He had every reason for satisfaction, and none for gloom. Chasing his fantastic concerns away, he pulled her close. ‘I am always glad when we are together, Mrs Tarver.’
‘And so you should be, Mr Tarver.’ Her smile held no subterfuge and he tried to dismiss his fears. This was his Bethany and his fantasies were foolish.
They stood hip to hip as Lieutenant Cockburn shouted orders that saw the hands frantically reducing the canvas and then taking it in completely. As the Rowan eased to a halt, the anchor splashed into the depths, with the cable rumbling after. They had arrived.
‘Exactly eight weeks out from London,’ Jack said. Even as he looked around, more orders sent the crew of the captain’s gig pattering across the deck, while the small boat was already being lowered into the flat water of the harbour. The sun battered down on them, a warning of the summer that was to come.
‘Mr Tarver! Mrs Tarver!’ Lieutenant Cockburn doffed his hat and gave a low bow. ‘I apologise for the formality, but, as you see, we have arrived in Malta. Now, I fear, this pleasant voyage has come to an end and our ways must part.’ He replaced his hat and straightened it so the peak was on line with his slightly prominent nose. ‘As is the way with the service, things happen quickly.’ He smiled directly at Bethany. ‘I have taken the liberty to order that your dunnage be taken on deck and loaded onto the gig. If you would care to gather what is in your cabin, I will give you passage ashore.’
‘What, this minute, James? Lieutenant Cockburn?’ Bethany looked at the small boat that lay slowly rising and falling in the deep blue water. ‘With so little time to prepare?’
‘I fear so, Mrs Tarver. Did you see that string of flags that rose from the battlements of St Elmo Fort? It was a message from the Admiral, giving me orders,’ Lieutenant Cockburn explained. ‘We are not staying here for long. We are dropping off dispatches to the Admiral, taking on food and water, and then we are away again.’ He then flashed the confident grin that Jack found so irritating but which seemed to captivate Bethany. ‘It would appear that the King of the Two Sicilies needs the Rowan’s help.’
Touching Bethany’s shoulder as a mark of ownership, Jack gave a formal bow. ‘Thank you, Lieutenant Cockburn. We shall be ready directly. Come, Bethany.’
‘Really, it’s too much,’ Bethany complained as she carefully packed all her cabin possessions into her single leather bag, while Jack did likewise. He glanced around the tiny space that had held their swinging hammocks; despite the memories, he would not miss the shipboard smells and sounds. It would be good to have a home that did not sway unpredictably, and where the ceiling was more than five feet high.
‘Lieutenant Cockburn could have given us more warning,’ Bethany continued, sweeping away the curl across her forehead. ‘He may well be the most dashing officer in the navy, Jack, but it appears he has little consideration for his passengers.’
Quite happy to hear Bethany rebuking the confident Lieutenant Cockburn, Jack did not point out that, as a naval officer, he would have had no choice.
With a last look around the cabin, he hurried Bethany up on deck, where the fierce heat nearly took his breath away. In their absence the seamen had been busy, raising their luggage out of the hold and stowing it in the gig. Lieutenant Cockburn had changed into full dress uniform, with prominent gold buttons and golden buckles on his shoes. He also appeared to have become more formal, as he bowed low and requested of them: ‘Pray make haste. The Admiral does not take kindly to tardy officers.’
Even when obviously under pressure, Lieutenant Cockburn still offered his hand to help Bethany down to the gig and ensured that she was sitting comfortably before he pushed off. Mr Dover and some Russian dignitaries had been ushered into the longboat, where they sat impassively as they smoothed across the harbour. The whole operation, from entering the Grand Harbour to leaving the ship, had taken barely half an hour; Jack was impressed again at the efficiency of the Royal Navy. He expected no less; after all, throughout his life he had heard only praise heaped upon the service. Now, he turned his attention to the city that they were rapidly approaching.
The instructions from Admiral Blacklock had been barely an outline of the task ahead, but he presumed there would be somebody on hand to give him more details. He looked eagerly ahead as the oarsmen propelled the gig over the flat water, passing the colourful Maltese craft and the various trading vessels that crossed the harbour. Valletta appeared old, crowded and, as Bethany had said, exotic. Presumably the countryside was less busy, he mused, but an island with this much history must have some sort of road network, so he would be able to check their system of engineering and see what worked.
‘Oh, Jack, is this not exciting?’ Bethany’s voice broke into his thoughts and he nodded absently.
‘Extremely.’
‘Is this your first time overseas?’ Lieutenant Cockburn asked.
‘It is, James … Lieutenant Cockburn,’ Bethany corrected herself. ‘And I am determined to grasp every opportunity offered to me.’ She moved closer, allowing him to point out the most interesting features of Valletta, as Jack continued to wrestle with the future.
Six months was not a great deal of time in which to build a road, even one of such a moderate length as this small island would need, so he would have to start as quickly as possible. To whom should he report? For a moment, he considered asking Lieutenant Cockburn, but the man was speaking to Bethany and concentrating on steering the gig as best he could, well aware of the telescopes that would be trained on him by the officers on the naval craft moored in the harbour. Anyway, Jack reasoned, he could not ask the lieutenant for advice in front of Bethany, who already held him in too high regard.
‘You have my thanks, Lieutenant Cockburn, and those of my wife,’ Jack said, giving a stiff bow, as a trio of tattooed seamen unceremoniously dumped his luggage at the Governor’s private steps. He winced at the thought of his delicate theodolite being treated in such a cavalier fashion. He would need this precious instrument intact if the road was to be perfectly level.
Cockburn gave a deep bow, then smiled at Bethany and nodded to Jack. ‘If you will excuse me, I must make my report to the Admiral. It is all haste today, I fear.’ He raced long-legged up the steps, straightening his bicorn hat and adjusting his sword. Some Admirals might not take kindly to a lieutenant bringing news of his captain’s death, but a share of the prize money from the captured French frigate would surely sweeten the pill. Once again Jack cursed at his lack of funds, for he knew that Lieutenant Cockburn’s quarter share of the value of the frigate would significantly add to his wealth, and all for a slice of luck and a few moments’ madness. The Admiral, Sir Alexander Ball, who was also the Civil Commissioner of Malta, would rake in his eighth of the frigate’s value without having been within gunshot.
‘We appear to be on our own,’ Bethany said, as the seamen followed their lieutenant. Dover and the Russians had vanished on some mysterious mission of their own. ‘What on earth do we do now, Jack?’ Removing her canvas hat, she fanned her face, eyes wide and questioning. ‘Was somebody not meant to meet us here?’
They stared at each other for a long moment, while the heat mounted and the water lapped slowly on the steps behind them.
‘Do you have any suggestions, Jack?’ Sighing, Bethany perched herself on top of her leather bag. ‘It is a long way to come merely to be abandoned.’
‘If you wait here, Bethany, I will find somebody,’ Jack said, looking around him. Save for a few naval officers, this section of Valletta seemed destitute of human life.
‘I certainly shall not wait here on my own, Jack Tarver! It is hardly ladylike to sit on a bag while strange seamen gawk at me. Either we stay together or we leave together!’
‘Jack Tarver?’ The shout came from above them. A tall, thin man bounded down the stairs two at a time while simultaneously clicking the fingers of both hands. ‘Jack Tarver the engineer?’
‘That’s me!’ Jack acknowledged, waving a hand more in relief than welcome.
‘Is that Jack Tarver who designed the Hereford Canal?’
‘It is,’ Jack agreed, glancing towards Bethany.
‘Good God, man! How good to see you out here in Malta. This is the last place on God’s earth, this. Full of flies and mosquitoes and such like. Welcome, by the way.’ The man reached out a hand that seemed far too large for the slender wrist that supported it, adjusted a floppy hat so it did not fall over his long face and beamed again. ‘Jack Tarver! Well, I never … out in Malta.’
‘And you are, sir?’ Jack took the hand, surprised by the strength of the man’s grip.
‘Oh,’ the man shoved back his hat and blinked in the strong sunshine. ‘Did I not say? I am Thomas Egerton. I am the other engineer here, and we’ll be working together. The Governor – that’s what we call Sir Alexander Ball, by the way – said that I should concentrate on the harbour and have somebody else do the road. That’s why you’re here, I think.’ Opening a wide mouth, he laughed. ‘I knew nothing about your arrival until an hour ago, when Sir Alexander sent me a note about you.’
‘Are there two of us working together, Mr Egerton? I know nothing about that.’ Ignoring most of the words that cascaded from Mr Egerton’s mouth, Jack fixed on what seemed an important fact. ‘I was only informed that I would be engineering a road from a harbour to the town of Mdina …’
‘Ah yes,’ Mr Egerton nodded. ‘That you are, Mr Tarver, but, you see, the harbour is not quite built yet.’
‘Not quite?’ Jack prompted. ‘I thought it would be established.’
‘Ah,’ Mr Egerton laughed again. ‘I am afraid you were ill informed, Mr Tarver. Yes. You see, I have yet to complete it.’
‘I understand,’ Jack nodded. Admiral Blacklock had stipulated that he had six months to build his road and he wondered if the completion of the harbour would hamper his timescale. If he was late, he might not earn the remuneration he was promised, which was worrying. ‘Pray tell me, Mr Egerton, just how far you have progressed.’
‘Well, I haven’t quite begun it,’ Mr Egerton admitted. ‘I’ve drawn the plans, of course, but there is trouble with the labour force … they don’t want to work, you see. So I’m glad that you’re here.’ He looked around Grand Harbour, ‘There is so much of interest here, don’t you think? There are the old fortifications, the architecture and the archaeology. Do you, by chance, have an interest in archaeology, Mr Tarver?’
‘Archaeology?’ Tarver shook his head. ‘I have not the slightest interest in archaeology, Mr Egerton.’
‘No?’ Mr Egerton peered closer, with his eyes becoming sharper. ‘There are many archaeological sites in Malta, Mr Tarver, and many interesting artefacts to be discovered. Perhaps you would like to search for some? It is an interesting diversion when one is not engaged in engineering operations.’
Jack shook his head again. ‘I have no interest in archaeology, I am afraid, although I do believe that some old structures provide excellent material for buildings.’
‘So you have no interest at all, sir?’ Mr Egerton sought confirmation. He looked at Jack with narrow, suddenly shrewd eyes.
‘I believe my husband already said that.’ There was an edge in Bethany’s voice that told Jack she did not like the garrulous Mr Egerton. She reminded Jack of her presence with a sharp jab in his ribs. ‘Fascinating although this conversation is, I would like to be somewhere else. I would prefer to be out of this sun that will play havoc with my complexion.’
‘Oh,’ Mr Egerton looked at Bethany, and then at Jack. ‘Is this woman with you?’
‘This woman is my wife,’ Jack told him calmly before Bethany could reply with something more forceful.
‘Wife? Oh …’ For a moment, Mr Egerton looked confused, but then he shrugged in a most Continental gesture, one that Jack found vaguely irritating. ‘I suppose it will be all right to bring a woman with you.’ He looked at Bethany and gave a perfunctory and obviously reluctant bow. ‘It will be a hard and lonely life for you, Mrs Tarver.’
Bethany’s curtsey was as brief as Mr Egerton’s bow. ‘It will hardly be lonely, Mr Egerton, with my husband here.’
‘Yes, but he will be making a road, Mrs Tarver, while you will surely be in Valletta. There is no society elsewhere in Malta, and you will crave the company of other ladies …’
‘Where my husband goes, Mr Egerton, I also go. That’s what marriage means, you see.’
Recognising that the sweetness of her smile hid a rapidly rising temper, Jack again intervened. ‘Now, Mr Egerton, you know this country. Have there been arrangements made for somewhere for us to stay? And is there some transport for our belongings? A coach, say, or even a country wagon?’
‘A coach?’ Mr Egerton began to laugh, but when he saw the expression on Bethany’s face he stopped abruptly. ‘No, Mr Tarver. There is no coach, and even if there was, there is hardly a road fit for the name. That is why you are here, sir, to create such a thing.’
‘If there is no coach, sir,’ Bethany intervened, becoming impatient, ‘then pray point out the direction so we can at least walk to our destination. Or are we destined to remain stranded on these infernal steps for the duration of Bonaparte’s war?’
Bethany’s obvious anger must have spurred Mr Egerton, for he suddenly bowed low and apologised. ‘Of course, Mrs Tarver. Pray, forgive my poor manners. I just did not expect Mr Tarver to be accompanied by a wom … by his wife. Of course there will be arrangements in hand.’ He looked flustered for a moment, then nearly danced on the steps, snapping his fingers together and looking at the wide harbour, as if seeking inspiration.
‘I am pleased to hear of it!’ Bethany was hardly mollified. ‘And I would be obliged if you could inform us exactly what these arrangements are, so we can get out of this sun and into some shade.’
‘Oh …’ Mr Egerton snapped his fingers again. ‘I presume that Sir Alexander has that sort of thing all in hand.’
‘Sir Alexander?’ Jack asked. He realised that the Admiral’s name had been mentioned twice. ‘Why would Sir Alexander Ball be interested in the arrival of an engineer? Surely he has more important matters on his mind?’
‘Did I not say?’ Mr Egerton gave a nervous giggle. ‘That’s what the note he sent me said. I am to escort you into His Excellency’s presence, and with all speed and dispatch too. Sir Alexander ordered.’
‘But my clothes …’ Bethany looked down at the travel-stained dress she wore, and then smiled, as her practical side took control. ‘Oh well, I suppose that Sir Alexander realises we have just come off the boat.’
‘Sir Alexander did not mention a woman …’ Mr Egerton began, but closed his mouth as Bethany threw him a look that would have cooled even Malta’s ferocious summer heat.
‘What in heaven’s name would Sir Alexander want with us?’ Jack wondered aloud.
Mr Egerton shrugged, obviously glad of the distraction from Bethany’s expression. ‘I suggest that you visit him and find out, Mr Tarver.’