By Degrees

Jamie was pleased to see the sun. Endless weeks of grey skies, heavy and close, had flattened his spirits. The air carried a rare freshness this morning; it would be hours yet before the midday heat coaxed the usual foul miasma from the river. Gulls wheeled overhead, their strident cries cutting through the din of voices along the dock.

As he walked along the wharf, light broke through a gap between warehouses, casting a pale shimmer across the water. A dark shape balanced on a distant piling, a cormorant holding its wings open in a crooked pose. Unbalanced and awkward, it stood there unmoving against the slow pull of the tide, waiting for the light to reach its wings.

Jamie had come to deliver letters and could not linger, but whenever time allowed, he came here to watch the ships come into dock. They carried the wider world into the heart of the city.

Today there was a ship he had never seen before. It was not a grand warship, but a mercantile vessel, lean and polished from countless journeys. Her name was The Minerva, which made him smile. The Roman goddess of wisdom and war. It was an ambitious name.

On deck, a man issued orders to the crew as cargo was carried down the gangway. His voice rang out with the confidence of a general. He was the captain. Tall and imposing, his red coat stood out like a beacon, impossible to ignore.

The coat was not like those worn by men in the city, but a soldier’s garment, salvaged from a war that had ended a generation ago. The brass buttons glinted like gems in the sun. His hair was long and out of fashion, tied back with nonchalance. He seemed to belong to no age in particular.

Who was he? A pirate, perhaps. A rogue. Or a hero from some tale made suddenly real.

His dark eyes followed the procession of crates with calculating attention, but now and then they drifted towards the horizon, as though, having only just arrived, he longed to escape again.

A fashionably dressed man shouted a greeting from the dockside, and the man’s face broke into a wide, bright smile. There was something mischievous in it, a private joke played on the world.

The rising sun emerged from behind the church steeple, its bright rays striking full into Jamie’s eyes. He lifted a hand to shield the glare. When he lowered it again, the man was gone.

Jamie’s gaze fixed on the empty deck, held there in a brief trance, willing the man to return.

For the first time in his nearly twenty years, he wanted another man to notice him.

This is foolish. I should return to work.

***

It was unusual for Harris to meet the ship; Cameron had not expected to see him until tomorrow.

“Accompany me to the office. It appears you have news that could not wait.”

Harris nodded. “And you are not going to like it.”

“Are you certain of this? Does she take me for a fool?”

“It is not an idle rumour. She has indeed invested in the next voyage of The Providence, and a tidy sum as well, according to what reaches me at the coffee house.”

Harris’s greatest talent lay in knowing whom to listen to, and in keeping those people close.

Part gentleman, part highwayman. The pulse of the docks flowed in his veins. He had been in Lord Cameron’s pay for nearly a decade and was invaluable on land, just as The Minerva’s crew were at sea.

When Cameron was at sea, Harris was free to act as he pleased, so long as it did not run counter to his employer’s interests. At home, he was an ever-present shadow.

“Well,” Cameron said mildly, “I suppose it is time to pay Miss Anne Taylor a visit.”

Cameron had rebuilt his family’s fortunes not through Parliament or inheritance, but through captured prizes and the quiet ruin of other men’s ships.

Now that peace had settled, he no longer sailed under a letter from the Crown. The voyages were less profitable, but no less dangerous.

One thing Cameron protected without compromise was his reputation. His favour demanded respect in return.

He had made allowances for Anne once.

He would not do so again.

***

The following morning, Cameron reluctantly made his way to The Bell.

The tavern was not yet open. The windows were shuttered, the door bolted fast. He would have to wait.

He paced along the cobblestones.

He was angry, though he had not yet decided what he would say to Anne.

They went back a long way, to a time when they were both young and hungry. When he had been a penniless Scottish noble in need of allies, and she had been sharp, cunning, and entirely untroubled by sentiment.

His steps carried him towards the narrow alley beside the inn, and he stopped.

A young man sat perched atop a coal bin, legs folded beneath him. The morning sun, just cresting the rooftops, caught him full in the light.

He was very fair, his hair so light it seemed almost colourless in the glare. Features fine enough to suggest good breeding, though his clothes did not.

He was so absorbed in his book that he did not notice Cameron watching. He shifted slightly, angling his face towards the warmth, his eyes closing for a moment as though committing the words on the page to memory.

The stillness of the scene struck Cameron. The alley was filthy, rank with refuse and stale smells, yet the boy sat within it, untouched, as though the world had briefly failed to intrude.

Cameron found himself watching longer than he intended.

The boy’s eyes widened as he read. He drew a sharp breath, worrying his bottom lip as he turned the page. The care with which he handled the book unsettled Cameron more than it should have.

The response was unmistakable. Desire, immediate and uninvited.

A girl’s voice cut through the moment.

“Jamie. Anne is looking for you. Hurry inside. She is in a right state.”

He closed his book reluctantly and held it to his chest. With a faint sigh, he slipped back into the shadows of the building.

Cameron exhaled and straightened.

The boy had not noticed him at all.

“That is damned inconvenient,” he muttered, adjusting his trousers. He did not have time for distractions, no matter how they presented themselves.

***

“Bring some wine,” Anne bellowed, “and not that watered piss from the bar either. A good bottle from the cabinet in my room. And proper glasses. The crystal ones. I will be in the small parlour.”

Jamie wondered whom she was expecting, and why his usually composed mistress was so visibly unsettled. He did not ask. It was better for him to know as little of Anne’s business as possible.

He went upstairs to fetch the bottle.

Cameron was not pleased to be kept waiting. Had he not been distracted by the man in the alleyway, he might already be kicking at the door. Eventually he was ushered into a small parlour.

Anne sat alone at a table in the centre of the empty room. If she was afraid of him, she gave nothing away. That was one of Anne’s greatest talents. Emotion never darkened her face.

She was as beautiful as the day they met. One of those women fortunate enough not to betray their age, her golden hair still lustrous. The bloom on her cheeks, now gone, was skilfully revived by rouge. It was easy to see how she bewitched men, but Cameron had always been proof against her charm.

“You are either very foolish, Anne, or very brave.”

A knock on the door punctuated his words.

“Come in.”

A young man entered, carrying a silver tray with a bottle of wine and two glasses. Cameron recognised him at once. It was the same boy he had seen reading in the alley. Jamie, was it? His face, stripped of sunlight and distance, ought to have appeared plainer. It did not.

Good God. He is beautiful, Cameron thought. What is he doing in this place?

The boy’s hands trembled slightly as he set the tray down.

Cameron took the bottle from the tray and glanced up. The young man would not meet his eyes.

“Allow me,” Cameron said, gently relieving him of the corkscrew. He examined the label as he drew out the cork.

“A fine vintage,” he said. “Expensive. Rare.”

Anne watched him carefully.

“It appears you are doing well for yourself,” Cameron said, pouring out two small measures. He did not intend to linger long.

“The difficulty, Anne, is that you seem to have forgotten who made that prosperity possible.”

Anne made a small gesture towards the door, and Jamie withdrew at once.

As he hurried out, Cameron’s eyes followed him.

“I have no idea what has got into him,” Anne said mildly. “His manners usually rival those of servants in fine houses.”

“Perhaps he is afraid of me,” Cameron replied. “If you were wise, you would be as well.”

Outside, Jamie’s heart thundered so loudly in his ears he could scarce hear anything else. He slumped against the rough wood of the frame, hoping it would hold him upright.

What was that man doing here, and what business did he have with Anne?

Their voices carried from the parlour, and Jamie, in spite of himself, could not bring himself to move away.

“I have been away a long time,” Cameron said. “Were you hoping I was dead?”

Anne shrugged.

“I doubt even the devil himself could end you so easily.”

“Investing my money in a rival vessel takes a great deal of cheek. And it is my money, or have you forgotten?”

“I see Harris’s spies wasted no time seeking you out upon your return,” Anne replied.

“Had you been away another three months, it might have gone unnoticed.

“I would have come out ahead. Your money, plus some of my own.”

Cameron laughed, not kindly.

“The rule with gambling, my dear, is never to stake more than you can afford to lose. Even if the venture succeeds, I will see you ruined before you see a single copper.

“You have one month to return the money. All of it. Interest included. Fail, and I will foreclose on this place. You will be destitute once more, and you may return to the life I found you in, living off the mercy of men.

“You should have considered what was at stake before you decided my reputation was worth risking.”

Cameron slammed the door behind him, dislodging one of the glass panels. A sharp crash echoed through the hall as it shattered on the floor.

Cameron’s mouth curled into a wide smile. He could not have played his departure any better.

He strode towards the river, then slowed, irritated by the sense that something had been left unresolved.