Easton by Paul Butler Page B

for a moment obscuring his smile.
    Whitbourne clears his throat and gives a short blustering laugh.
    “Of course, sir, I understand that you mean no harm to our colonies,” Whitbourne says, reddening, “I never would have implied—”
    “But what of other colonies, Admiral,” Easton interrupts. “I believe I heard a former comrade, an officer of mine, has set up in a place with a most unpromising name. Is it Mosquito?”
    “Indeed, an offshoot of the Cuper’s Cove colony. The old comrade to whom you refer must be Mr. Gilbert Pike.”
    Easton stares for a moment, his eyes dark and glassy as though he is dreaming. Then he speaks as though suddenly roused by his own silence. “That’s the man. Gilbert Pike. And there was a young lady from a French convent who we rescued from a Dutch pirate ship. A beautiful young girl if I remember correctly. A Sheila O’Connor.”
    “Yes they are married and live happily in the settlement. The lady is of high Irish birth as you may recall. She is known locally as
Nagueira
, which I believe is Irish for ‘the beautiful.’”
    “Indeed, sir,” Easton says sighing and leaning back in his chair. “I believe it was I who first named her so.” There is an unhappy pause. “An Irish noblewoman,” Easton continues sullenly, “educated in France, living in a hovel on the shores of New-found-land. It hardly seems appropriate. Don’t you agree, Admiral?”
    Whitbourne is for once speechless, at least for a moment. He shifts in his chair. “We all have to come to terms with the most grievous of changes when we leave our own shores, it’s true.” The admiral smiles pleasantly and looks at George as though for support.
    “Indeed, it seems to be part of the deal,” George offers.
    “Changes and hardships are one thing,” Easton responds with a sigh. “But for nobility to degrade itself is quite another.” He smiles. “But I can see that both of you are of the noblest and most understanding of natures and that you see hardship as virtue. I honour you for it.” He gives a little bow.
    The faintest sound of a baby’s cries reaches them from below.
    A knock on the door of his cabin takes George by surprise. He springs up from his chair and calls “Come!” in a single reflex.
    The door opens and Whitbourne enters.
    “Oh, Admiral,” George says scratching his head nervously, “do come in.”
    Whitbourne takes another step into the room and stares at George with penetrating eyes. “You seem disappointed,” he says.
    “No, no. Why should I be?” George responds, offering Whitbourne the chair. He sits himself on the side of the bed.
    Whitbourne, now seated, continues staring at him.
    “Perhaps you could tell me what is going on?” he asks in neutral tones.
    George shakes his head.
    “Admiral, I have no idea what you are talking about.”
    “Don’t lie, sir!” Whitbourne barks, his sudden anger taking George entirely by surprise. “Do you think I am deaf?” His voice reaches such amazing pitch and sharpness that George’s ears are singing. Then, in a more hushed tone, the admiral continues, “Do you think these walls are thick enough to erase the sounds of an argument?” Although his words are quieter, Whitbourne’s eyes show tiny blood vessels of anger.
    “You mean...”
    “Yes, sir, I know you have been conversing with the slave. And I have expressly told you not to do so. I have also noted the surreptitious glances you exchange even in Easton’s cabin.”
    “You noticed that?” George asks, worried. If he noticed then perhaps Easton did also.
    Whitbourne doesn’t answer.
    “And perhaps you could explain why the title page of Easton’s Bible is missing.”
    George frowns deeply and feels his face burn.
    “Title page?”
    “Oh come, sir, your blushes betray you.”
    George thinks for a moment and decides he has no choice but to take the plunge.
    “She was trying to warn us. Both of us. She reads and writes, you know,” he adds eagerly. “She’s just