“Yes, sir.”

“But you don’t trust my sailors. You know they will break through its lock in a matter of seconds.”

“They would too,” Sharpe said.

“But they will not dare break into my chest!” Cromwell declared, gesturing beneath the table where a vast iron-bound teak chest stood. “I want you to yield me your treasure now, Mister Sharpe, and I will sign for it and I will store it, and when we reach our destination you will be given it back. It is a normal procedure.” He at last removed his hand from the gun and reached onto the bookshelf, taking down a small box that was filled with papers. “I have some money belonging to Lord William Hale in that chest, see?” He handed one of the papers to Sharpe who saw that it acknowledged receipt of one hundred and seventy guineas in native specie. The paper had been signed by Peculiar Cromwell and, on Lord William’s behalf, by Malachi Braithwaite, MA Oxon. “I have possessions of Major Dalton,” Cromwell said, producing another piece of paper, “and jewels belonging to the Baron von Dornberg.” He showed Sharpe that receipt. “And more jewels belonging to Mister Fazackerly.” Fazackerly was the barrister. “This”—Cromwell kicked the chest—”is the safest place on the ship, and if one of my passengers is carrying valuables then I want those valuables out of temptation’s way. Do I make myself plain, Mister Sharpe?”

“Yes, sir.”

“But you are thinking that you do not trust me?”

“No, sir,” Sharpe said, who was thinking just that.

“I told you,” Cromwell growled, “it is a normal procedure. You entrust your valuables to me and I, as a captain in the service of the East India Company, give you a receipt. If I were to lose the valuables, Mister Sharpe, then the Company would reimburse you. The only way you can lose them is if the ship sinks or if it is taken by enemy action, in which case you must have recourse to your insurers.” Cromwell half smiled, knowing full well that Sharpe’s treasure would not be insured.

Sharpe still said nothing.

“Thus far, Mister Sharpe,” Cromwell said in a low voice, “I have requested you to comply with my wishes. If needs be, I can insist.”

“No need to insist, sir,” Sharpe said, for, in truth, Cromwell was right in suggesting that every sharp-eyed sailor in the ship would note the badly hidden jewels. Each and every day Sharpe was aware of the stones, and they were a burden to him and would stay a burden until he could sell them in London, and that burden would be lifted if he yielded the stones into the Company’s keeping. Besides, he had been reassured by the fact that Pohlmann had entrusted so many jewels to the captain’s keeping. If Pohlmann, who was nobody’s fool, trusted Cromwell then Sharpe surely could.

Cromwell gave him a small pair of scissors and Sharpe cut the hem of his coat. He did not reveal the stones in his waistband, nor in his boots, for they were not obvious to even a searching glance, but he did place on the table a growing heap of rubies, diamonds and emeralds that he stripped from the red coat’s seams.

Cromwell separated the stones into three piles, then weighed each pile on a small and delicate balance. He carefully noted the results, locked the jewels away, then gave Sharpe a receipt which both he and Sharpe had signed. “I thank you, Mister Sharpe,” Cromwell said gravely, “for you have made my mind easier. The purser will find a seaman who can sew up your coat,” he added, standing.

Sharpe also stood, ducking his head under the low beams. “Thank you, sir.”

“I’ve no doubt I’ll see you at dinner soon. The baron seems fond of your company. You know him well?”

“I met him once or twice in India, sir.”

“He seems a strange man, not that I know him at all. But an aristocrat? Dirtying his hands with trade?” Cromwell shuddered. “I suppose they do things differently in Hanover.”

“I imagine they do, sir.”

“Thank you, Mister Sharpe.” Cromwell tucked his keys into a pocket and nodded to indicate that Sharpe could leave.

Major Dalton was on the quarterdeck, reveling in the gun practice. “No one’s matched your marksmanship, Sharpe,” the Scotsman said. “I’m proud of you! Upholding the honor of the army.”

Lady Grace gave Sharpe one of her disinterested glances, then turned back to look at the horizon. “Tell me, sir,” Sharpe said to the major, “would you trust an East India captain?”

“If you can’t trust such a man, Sharpe, then the world is coming to an end.”

“We wouldn’t want that, sir, would we?”

Sharpe gazed at Lady Grace. She stood beside her husband, lightly touching his arm to keep her balance on the swaying deck. Dog and cat, he thought.

And he felt like being scratched.

The boredom on the ship was palpable. Some passengers read, but Sharpe, who still found reading difficult, obtained no relief from the few books he borrowed from Major Dalton, who spent his time making notes for a memoir he planned to write about the war against the Mahrattas. “I doubt anyone will read it, Sharpe,” the major admitted modestly, “but it would be a pity if the army’s successes were not recorded. You would oblige me with your best recollections?”

Some of the men passed the time by practicing with small arms or fighting mock duels with sword and sabers up and down the main deck until they were running with sweat. During the second week of the voyage there was a sudden enthusiasm for target practice, using the ship’s heavy sea-service muskets to fire at empty bottles hurled into the waves, but after five days Captain Cromwell declared that the fusillades were depleting the Calliope’s powder stores and the pastime ceased. Later that week a seaman claimed to have spied a mermaid at dawn and for a day or two the passengers hung on the rails vainly searching the empty sea for another glimpse. Lord William scornfully denied the existence of such creatures, but Major Dalton had seen one when he was a boy. “It was exhibited in Edinburgh,” he told Sharpe, “after the poor creature had washed ashore on Inchkeith Rock. It was a very dark room, I remember, and she was somewhat hairy. Bedraggled, really. She was very ill-smelling, but I recall her tail and seem to remember she was very well endowed above.” He blushed. “Poor lass, she was dead as a bucket.”

A strange sail was sighted one morning and there was an hour’s excitement as the gun crews mustered, the convoy clumsily closed up and the Company frigate set her studdingsails to investigate the stranger, which turned out to be an Arab dhow on course for Cochin and certainly no threat to the big Indiamen.

The passengers in the stern, the rich folk who inhabited the roundhouse and the great cabin, played whist. Another group played the game in steerage, but Sharpe had never learned to play and, besides, was not tempted to wager. He was aware that large sums were being won and lost, and though it was forbidden by the Company rules, Captain Cromwell made no objection. Indeed he sometimes played a hand himself. “He wins,” Pohlmann told Sharpe, “he always wins.”

“And you lose?”

“A little.” Pohlmann shrugged as though it did not matter.

Pohlmann was sitting on one of the lashed guns. He often came and talked with Sharpe, usually about Assaye where he had suffered such a great defeat. “Your William Dodd,” he told Sharpe, “claimed that Sir Arthur was a cautious general. He isn’t.” He always called Dodd “your William Dodd,” as though the renegade redcoat had been a colleague of Sharpe’s.

“Wellesley’s bull-headed,” Sharpe said admiringly. “He sees a chance and snatches it.”

“And he’s gone home to England?”

“Sailed last year,” Sharpe said. Sir Arthur, as befitted his rank, had sailed on the Trident, Admiral Rainier’s flagship, and was probably in Britain by now.

“He will be bored at home,” Pohlmann said.