The Stuart Sapphire Read Free Page B

securing the throne for a grandson of his own dynasty.
    ‘It’s sinking, Sire. Only minutes now…’
    ‘It’s going down…’
    A panic-stricken rush to the clerk’s carriage with hands eagerly waving promissory notes ensued. The prince rewarded, to his gleeful satisfaction, with a baleful glance from Brummell who had just lost 100 guineas, gave permission for a return to the Pavilion.
    Back to bed? His thoughts returned with little enthusiasm as he remembered how early morning light could render exceeding tawdry the naked, bejewelled body of Sarah Creeve eagerly awaiting his return.
    He sighed deeply, in sore need of a devotion less demanding as from the direction of Steine House, home of Mrs Fitzherbert, candles gleamed in the upstairs window. Maria Fitzherbert, commoner and Roman Catholic, twice widowed, whom he had married secretly in 1785 and whom he still regarded as his legal wife with undying affection, although not with undying faithfulness . Maria had never reproached him, always aware that a dynastic royal marriage was inevitable, and she pretended, at least, to understand that gratification of lust had little to do with impeding the course of his true love.
    Another glance towards that inviting candlelit window and with a whisper to his equerry, a cloak thrown over his uniform, he could still hear the cheers for the lost ship echoing as his carriage headed across the Steine.

    ‘It’s going down,’ shrieked the boy.
    It was indeed. Tam shouted: ‘Hang on, whatever you do.’
    A mile offshore and Tam, aware of the deadly danger, was using the one remaining oar to steer their tiny boat out of the path of the sinking ship.
    They were too close. If it hit them they were doomed. They would go under with it. And avoiding that, as it sank the swell in its wake would break their frail craft like matchwood and carry them to the bottom of the sea.
    Where was its crew? Dead or drowned, for its deck seemed deserted of all life. Then with an almighty tearing sound, the groan of a dying giant, sails ripping, a shriek of timbers, the masts were ripped from their moorings.
    Tam and the boy hung on grimly as the wreck vanished beneath the waves. Seized as if in some sea-monster’s relentless fist, helpless, they watched as an enormous wave sped towards them, lifting the boat, heaving them up into the air, holding them on its crest before hurling them back down again into the sea.
    Gasping for breath, Tam surfaced first, looked for the boy. Saw a white face, a thin arm and grabbed it.
    ‘Hold on!’
    A piece of mast, strong and sturdy, surfaced and drifted by.
    ‘Seize it!’
    As the boy did so, Tam’s worst fears were realised.
    That boiling frothy sea in the momentum of the ship’s last moments had carried them further away from the distant shore, where pinpoints of light were now barely visible.
    There was only one solution. He pointed. ‘Swim for it! You can swim, I take it.’
    He wasn’t sure whether the answer was yes or no, so he shouted: ‘Hang on to the spar, it’ll carry you in. It’s not far off.’
    ‘Look! There’s another ship!’ shouted the boy.
    Turning his face from the shore, Tam saw a small cutter rocking across the waves towards the spot where the ship had gone down.
    ‘We’re saved!’ And the boy so saying began to wave and shout for help.
    Tam could see figures on board, leaning over, watching. They certainly seemed to be looking in their direction.
    A fishing boat – what a piece of luck, he decided as it turned towards them.
    ‘We’re saved,’ the boy sobbed. As the cutter loomed above him, Tam realised that while he would be glad to have seen the lad to safety, the more dominant part of his mind demanded, what next?
    After having helped him escape from the dreaded hulk and transportation, and the worse fate of near drowning, once they were set ashore on dry land together, would conscience allow him to abandon this youngster without a qualm to take his own chances of survival?