nimble yacht came alongside the battered Spanish ship of the line, riddled from stem to stern with shot, masts gone. Announcing himself, and perhaps more valuable, announcing he had medical help with him, Able called for the Spanish deckhand to throw out a rope ladder. From a yacht to a ship of the line was a long climb.
The deck was disaster. In the tangle of ropes, sailcloth, body parts and splintered wood, a Spaniard in a familiar-looking surgeon’s apron knelt by a writhing man. His hand firm on Davey’s shoulder, Able threaded their way between the ruins of men and ship. He spoke in rapid Spanish and the surgeon listened with relief. In no time at all, Davey knelt beside his own patient.
In the near darkness, Able turned to see an officer holding out his sword. “I am Rafael de Villavicencio, commanding the Firme, a su servicio,” the Spanish captain said, his eyes lowered by the humiliation of surrender.
Able took the sword with a bow of his own, acknowledging this courtesy of war for the first time, wondering at the events in his life that had taken him to this point. He handed the sword to Smitty and stepped close to the defeated captain. They chatted in Spanish until the man relaxed and lost the humiliation in his eyes. “I did my best,” he said finally, still unwilling to maintain eye contact.
“I know you did,” Able replied. He looked over his shoulder to see Royal Marines clambering over what remained of the railing. “Let me interpret for you here until everyone understands what is going on.”
“I would greatly appreciate it, capitan.”
They had been standing in twilight that gradually faded to black. The lieutenant of Marines brought over a torch and changed Able’s life.
“Lieutenant, may I introduce…”
He got no farther. Capitan de Villavicencio stepped back in surprise. “It cannot be,” he said softly and crossed himself.
“What is the matter?” Able asked.
“It cannot be,” the captain repeated. He shook his head to clear it, as though the events of the afternoon could somehow be dislodged. “Ha…have you relatives in Spain, sir?”
How to answer that? “You recognize me,” he decided on. He felt the constant clamor in his brain go silent, everyone in there listening.
Villavicencio stared. Courteous Spaniard that he was, he apologized and calmed himself. “I do recognize you,” he said finally. Able heard all degrees of amazement in the man’s voice.
“How, sir, if you please?” It was Able’s turn to shake his head. In his surprise he had spoken in French. “I mean, Como, capitan, si por favor.”
“Come with me.”
Capitan Villavicencio walked him to the starboard side of the now-listing vessel, the lee side facing Cape Finisterre in the distance. “My confession, sir,” he began, his voice low. “I was ordered to keep you talking on the port side so a certain Conde de Quintanar could escape in a pinnace back to the Argonauta, flagship of Federico Gravina. If I may be so bold, you resemble the count to a remarkable degree.”
The chatter in Able’s head began again as he saw the portrait that had so intrigued Captain Hector Rose at Trinity House, the portrait that now hung in Able’s sitting room.
What could he say, except, “Damn me, sir. P’raps we’ll meet again, this count and I.”
Chapter Fifteen
Meridee Six discovered, to her chagrin, that Able at sea produced a different feeling in her that she hadn’t experienced with Able across the street at work or Able in London doing Trinity House business. Now she woke in the middle of the night to pat the empty, cold space beside her, and wonder where he was and how he did.
She found herself in the kitchen in the pre-dawn hours, the first time quietly hunting for something to eat, anything to take her mind off the hole in her heart. She hadn’t reckoned on Mrs. Perry possessing such sharp ears, not after her years sailing with her husband and hearing cannon booming. On Meridee’s subsequent trips to the kitchen, Mrs. Perry had a pot of tea and hot bread or biscuits, and even better, companionship.
“I shouldn’t be rummaging around in the pantry and waking you up,” Meridee said the first time food appeared.
Mrs. Perry popped a biscuit in her mouth. “There’s been a Rat or two down here to rummage, now and then.”
“I thought they were beyond that.”
“Some are.” She tilted her head and observed Meridee, as if wondering if she should speak. “Your husband came down here, especially after Ben was born.”