Ramage's Prize Read Online Free

passing the job to the captain of one of his 74-gun ships, and giving him three or four frigates as well. Or even choosing one of his favourite captains and sending him off with a couple of frigates. But …”
    â€œBut you can’t see why he’d pick a lieutenant who commands nothing more than a cabin trunk. Neither can I. This sheet of paper,” Yorke said, holding up the letter contemptuously, “does not tell a tenth of the story. When do you have to give your reply?”
    Ramage took out his watch. “In an hour’s time, and I’m damned if I know what to say.”
    â€œWhat’s in favour of accepting?”
    Ramage picked up one of the heavy knives on the table and balanced it horizontally on a finger. “Nothing really, except that it might be amusing to try to find out what is happening to the packets—assuming Sir Pilcher is merely being silly, not cunning.”
    â€œSuppose he is being cunning and there’s something else involved?”
    â€œI hope I’ll find out in time to get out of it.”
    â€œThat means you’ll accept?”
    Yorke spoke so sharply that Ramage glanced up in surprise. “You think I should refuse?”
    Ramage did not hide his disappointment when Yorke nodded. Despite the vagaries of the letter, he had hoped that somehow it would get him back to sea again. The heat and smell of Jamaica and the noise and bustle of Kingston were little to his liking. Moreover the heavy social pressures brought on eligible young officers by anxious mothers seeking matches for their dumpy daughters drove most young men to the rum bottle before long.
    But now Yorke was grinning. “Refuse—and then wait. See what else the old boy has to offer!”
    â€œBargain?” Ramage exclaimed, obviously horrified.
    â€œNow, now! Don’t use those nasty tradesmen’s words. There must be a good reason why Sir Pilcher wants you to undertake this job, when he has dozens of other officers to choose from. Once you know why he picked you instead of some post captain, you’ll be in a better position to make up your mind.”
    There was much in what Yorke said: he needed to know Sir Pilcher’s motives. “But supposing he’s being straightforward? It’s unlikely, but what then?”
    â€œUp to you,” Yorke said banteringly. “It looks as though we’re all stuck in Jamaica until the packets start getting through or a convoy assembles in a couple of months. If you want to go home in a packet you’d better solve the mystery!”
    Ramage glanced at his watch and said as he slipped it back in his pocket, “I’d better get along to Admiralty House.”
    â€œPresent him with an ultimatum,” Yorke said.
    â€œForce majeure,”
Ramage said, “it’s quicker and more certain than negotiation.”

CHAPTER TWO
    R AMAGE was thankful the large waiting-room at Admiralty House was cool and comfortably furnished; probably one of the coolest spots in Kingston since Jamaica was already sweltering in what promised to be the hurricane season’s hottest day so far. There was hardly a breath of wind, and Ramage pitied any captain under orders to sail—it would be a case of out boats and tow …
    The white-painted jalousies over the windows let in sufficient light while their slats threw striped shadows on the walls and kept out the sun’s harsh glare. The floors were cool marble and four rattan armchairs were grouped in the middle of the room round a small, highly polished baywood table whose legs stood incongruously in shallow, metal trays of water: part of the constant war waged against white ants in the Tropics.
    The ceiling was high, adding to the sense of coolness, and there was a large portrait in a wide, matching gilt frame, carefully hung in the precise centre of each of three walls. Ramage saw that the one opposite the window, like the centre panel of a triptych, was of Sir