Despite Markland’s dire warnings, it was still to Harriott that he owed his loyalty. He reported in full to the magistrate on his meeting with Charles Lamb, rehearsing the clerk’s stories of Johnson’s hidden discoveries within the East India Company’s ledgered innards. ‘What do you know of St Helena, Horton?’ asked Harriott. ‘I confess very little, sir.’ ‘The extent of my knowledge, also. I stopped there myself, on my return from India, but saw precious little of the island. I could barely walk at the time. An extraordinary prospect, though. Like a rocky fortress alone on the ocean.’ A look familiar to Horton passed over his magistrate’s face, like the shadow of a cloud on blue waters. An old seaman’s look, salty with memories. ‘I also spoke to Mr Markland last eve,’ Horton said, carefully. ‘He was much exercised with our visit to East India House. It appears that he is a Proprietor in the Company.’ The wistful expression disappeared from Harriott’s face, which immediately went an old and worrying shade of red.
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