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you an indentured servant?”
    “No, ma’am. I was the daughter of one of their workmen, a carpenter. My name is Hester Lilbourne.”
    Glib. Too glib? “Don’t you have any letters, a character, anything from your employers?”
    “I did have, ma’am. They were in a box that was lost. Captain Boyce told me that when the box reaches Savannah he will find a way to send it on to Jamaica.”
    “Why do you wish to go to Jamaica?”
    The maid’s eyes lifted for one rather disconcerting flash, for Amity felt that those languishing brown eyes hid laughter. “To better my condition, ma’am.”
    “Oh, Amity, leave be,” China said. “You can retire, Hester.”
    “Yes, ma’am.” The maid’s brown skirts moved sedately out of the cabin and away.
    “Where is she sleeping?”
    “She’s got a little cabin! A cubbyhole really but too good for a servant.”
    “I don’t believe she’s ever been a nursemaid.”
    “Any woman can see to a child. You act as if you think she’s going to chuck Jamey out a porthole.”
    “No, I don’t think that,” Amity said slowly. In any event the woman Hester was aboard and going with them to Jamaica. She gathered her cloak around her.
    “Where are you going?” China sat upright, her eyes surprised.
    “On deck.”
    “But why? What for? Amity—”
    Amity closed the cabin door behind her.
    She didn’t really know why she wanted to go on deck. To say farewell to her homeland?
    A lantern now hung in the passage. There was a smell of tar. She made her way up the ladder and emerged on deck. White sails against a black sky now creaked and strained in the freshening wind. She avoided some boxes, some coils of rope and went to the railing. The ship was swaying now; there was a rush of water against her sides. Away off in the darkness she could see a faint string of lights which marked Savannah.
    She wondered where Simon was, amid those faraway lights. She wished that he had waited, only a moment there on the wharf, only until she was aboard the privateer. But that would be the act of a lover. And, to be fair, he was in haste, harried by chores and anxiety.
    “Amity,” a man beside her said.
    Her hand froze on the railing. Charles Carey’s hand came down upon it. “Amity, why did you marry him? You’re not in love with Simon Mallam.”
    She turned to face Charles.
    She could see him only dimly, silhouetted against the faint glow of a carefully shaded lantern. He had his hat in one hand; his trim, powdered wig set off his darkly handsome face. He wore a greatcoat and a froth of white lace escaped the wide collar. She thought that he was smiling down at her.
    “You shouldn’t have wed him. You knew it was a mistake when you did it. You managed to get rid of me and the Grappits, all of us, so we couldn’t stop you. Amity, how could you have done this? You know my—my love for you. It was all but settled between us—”
    “No, I—you—there’s never been anything! Nothing was settled.”
    “It would have been. I was only waiting for—faith, I don’t know what!”
    “Charles, you mustn’t say that. It isn’t true!”
    “Please, Amity. Please listen—” He caught her hand and then had to release her, for a sailor joggled clumsily against them, between them; his head in its knitted cap was bent over a coil of rope. Charles uttered an angry exclamation. “Take care, fellow! Clumsy gutter rat.”
    “Hush, he’ll hear.”
    “Scum like that should learn respect for their betters. What does it matter if he—wait! Don’t go—”
    She eluded his hand.
    “Charles, no—you’re not in love with me. I’m not in love with you. You know that’s the truth. And I did marry and—” She heard her own words to Simon, “I intend to be a good and faithful wife.”
    Charles seemed to study her face through the dim night light. “I see that you are determined to hold to what you consider your marriage vows—”
    “They are my marriage vows!”
    “It was an impulsive,