‘Well damn me,’ cried an indignant Sergeant King, pointing. ‘Look at that, if you like!’
Jack and Gwilliams followed the line of the finger.
There stood Harry Wynter, on the quay, surrounded by trunks and chests. He was dressed in a tall black stovepipe hat, still shining with newness. A black frock coat was on his back, covering what appeared to be a frill-fronted white silk shirt. He was wearing black leather gloves, carrying a gold-topped cane, and his shoes gleamed below the pinstriped trousers. Harry Wynter looked every inch a gentleman.
‘Wynter!’ roared Sergeant King. ‘I hope you’ve got a good explanation for this!’
The gentleman turned and grinned with an ugly visage.
‘Oh, Sarge? ’Ow’s it swinging? And sir? An’ not forgettin’ the bloody Yankee corporal. Whaddya think, eh?’ He opened his coat and did a twirl for them on the edge of the dock. ‘Not bad for a private.’
Jack suddenly saw the light. He grinned. ‘You inherited your brother’s fortune, Wynter?’
‘S’right, Captain. Lock, stock and barrel. Rich man, me brother. Now it’s all mine. I’m off back to good old England, on this ’ere ship. No more army for me. I’m packin’ it in while I still got one good eye and some hair on me head, even though both of ’em are white. Good luck, Corp. Fuck you, Sergeant. And, Fancy Jack, if I don’t never see you again, it won’t be too soon, which I’m sure you’ll understand.’
‘There’s a lot of trunks and chests here, Wynter – have you been shopping?’
‘Nah, not so much. It’s stuff me brother owned. See that big one over there? Guess what? It’s a Joseph Bramah pan closet toilet, that’s what. Sat on it only this mornin’ afore it was packed. Marked me territory, so to speak. All gleamin’ brass an’ steel an’ a lovely warm beechwood seat so’s you don’t get a cold arse while you’re crappin’. Not bad, eh, for a fellah ’oo only the other day had to go behind a bush and use a fistful o’ rye grass for the wipin’ away?’ Something else seemed to occur to the rich man. ‘Oh, an’ by the by, Captain. That little bit o’ gold what was lost when I brought in the loot from that robbery? It was found in a barn. An’t that some-thin’? It must ’ave still bin in the donkey’s saddlebags and ’ave dropped out into the straw when I weren’t noticing.’
‘You returned the gold you stole from that cache.’
Wynter winked and smirked. ‘No point in gettin’ hung for a miserable bit o’ yellow when I got all I need, now is there?’
With that Private Wynter began pushing his way up the gangplank to board the vessel, despite the annoyance of the disembarking passengers who were trying to come down. He barged past one lady, but on seeing that she was a little distressed, he turned and apologized. Her beauty was obviously not lost on the ex-private, for he lifted his tall black hat and bowed as low as he could, given the circumstances.
‘S’cuse me, ma’am,’ he said. ‘Don’t mean to be a roughneck. It’s what the army does to you, but I’m recently out of all that. Nowadays I’m tryin’ to be a gentleman.’
‘I’m glad to hear it,’ replied the woman, smiling at the delivery of this speech. ‘I forgive you.’
Down on the quayside, Jack looked up, startled, on hearing the lady’s voice, having been lost in his contemplations of Wynter’s – and his – good fortune, for they had both got rid of each other in one fell swoop.
‘Jane?’ he said, his brow clearing. ‘Jane, darling. You’re here.’
Kiwi Wars Page 26