Bolitho must have felt it all the while in his blood. Why he h left the old sword behind. He must have known. Allday felt a ch run down his spine. I should have guessed. God alone knew had happened to others.
They all stared up as the foremast lookout, forgotten un now, yelled down, ”Sail to the nor’-east, sir!’
Bolitho gripped his fingers together behind him. The the corner must have run down on them while every eye was on other strange sails.
He said, ”Get aloft, Stephen! Take a glass!”
Jenour paused just a few seconds as if to fix the importance the urgency of the moment. Then he was gone, and was s swarming hand over hand up the foremast shrouds to join the lookout on his precarious perch in the crosstrees.
It felt like an eternity. Other hands had climbed up to the tops or merely clung to the radines to stare at the eye-searing horizon.
Bolitho felt a lump in his throat. It was not Hyperion. Her masts and yards would be dearly visi able by now.
Jenour yelled down, his voice almost lost amongst the clatter of blocks and the slap of canvas.
”She’s English, sir! Making her number!’
Parris climbed on to one of the poop ladders and levelled his own glass on the pursuers.
”They’re fanning out, Sir Richard. They must have seen her too.” He added savagely, ”Not that it matters now, God damn them!”
Jenour called again, ”She’s Phaedra, sloop-of-war!”
Bolitho felt Parris turning to watch him. Their missing sloopof-war had caught up with them at last, only to be a spectator at the end.
Jenour shouted, faltered, then tried again, his voice barely audible. But this time it was not only because of the shipboard sounds.
”Phaedra has hoisted a signal, sir! Enemy in sight!” Bolitho looked at the deck, at the blackened stain where a Spanish sailor had died.
The signal would be being read and repeated to all the other ships. He could picture his old Hyperion, her men running to quarters, clearing for action again to the beat of the drums.
Parris exclaimed with quiet disbelief, ”The Dons are standing away, Sir Richard.” He wiped his face, and perhaps his eyes. ”God damn it, old lady, don’t cut it so fine next time!’
But as the Spanish topsails melted into the sea-mist, and the smart sloop-of-war bore down on the treasure-ship and her sole escort, it soon became obvious that she was quite alone.
The ill-assorted trio rolled in the swell, hove-to as Phaedra’s youthful commander was pulled across in his gig. He almost bounded up the high rumblehome, and doffed his hat to Bolitho, barely able to stop himself from grinning.
”There are no others?” Bolitho stared at the young man. ”What of the signal?”
The commander recovered his composure very fast. ”My name is Dunstan, Sir Richard.”
Bolitho nodded. ”And how did you recognize me?” The grin came back like a burst of sunlight.
”I had the honour to serve in Euryalus with you, Sir Richard.” He looked at the others with exclusive pride. ”As a midshipman. I recalled how you had used that deception yourself to confuse the enemy.” His voice trailed away. ”Although I was not sure it might work for me.”
Bolitho gripped his hand and held it for several seconds.
”Now I know we shall win.” He turned away and only Allday saw the emotion in his eyes.
Allday glanced across at the eighteen-gun Phaedra.
Perhaps after this Bolitho, would accept what he had done for others. But he doubted it.
CHAPTER EIGHT
A Bitter Departure
The Right Honourable the Viscount Somervell looked up from the pile of ledgers and eyed Bolitho curiously.
”So you accepted Captain Haven’s explanation, what?” Bolitho stood beside a window, his shoulder resting against the cool wall. The air was heavy and humid although the wind which had stayed with them all the way to English Harbour remained quite firm. The small breakers near the harbour were no longer white, but in the sun’s glare sighed over the sand like molten bronze.
He could see the great ship dearly from here. After the tumultuous welcome when they had sailed into harbour, the rious work of unloading her rich cargo had begun immediately.
Lighters and boats plied back and forth, and Bolitho had never seen so many redcoats as the army guarded the booty every yard of the way, until, as Somervell had explained, it would be transferred and divided amongst several smaller vessels as an extra precaution.
Bolitho half-rumed and glanced at him. Somervell had already forgotten his question about Haven. It was only yesterday morning that they had dropped anchor, and for the first time since he had met Somervell, Bolitho had noticed that he still wore the same clothes as when he had come out to the Ciudad de Sevilla. It was as if he could not bear leaving these detailed ledgers even to sleep.
They had met Hyperion and two of the brigs only a day out of Antigua. Bolitho had decided to send for Haven rather than shift to his flagship, where there must have been speculation enough already.
Haven had been strangely confident as he had made his report.
He had even presented it in writing to explain fully, if not excuse his action.
Hyperion and the little flotilla had closed with Puerto Cabello, and had even drawn the fire of a coastal battery when it had seemed they were about to force their way into harbour.
Haven was certain that the captured frigate Consort was still there, and had sent the brig Vesta under the guns of a battery to investigate. The Spaniards had rigged a long boom from one of the fortresses and Vesta had run afoul of it. In minutes one of the batteries, using heated shot, had found Vesta’s range, and the helpless onlookers had seen her burst into flames before being engulfed in one devastating explosion.
Haven had said in his unemotional voice, ”Other enemy ships were heading towards us. I used my discretion,” his eyes had watched Bolitho without a flicker, ”as so ordered by you, Sir Richard, and withdrew. I considered that you would have succeeded or pulled back by that time, as I had offered the diversion required, with some risk to my command.”
After what they had done in taking the rich prize it was like a personal loss instead of a victory.
Haven could not be blamed. The presence of a boom might be expected or it might not. As he had said, he had used his discretion.
Tetrarch, another of the brigs, had risked sharing the same fate to sail amongst the smoke and falling shot to rescue some of her companion’s people. One of the survivors had been her captain, Commander Murray. He was in an adjoining building with Hyperion’s wounded from the boarding party, and the remainder of the brig’s company who had been plucked from the sea and the flames, a sailor’s two worst enemies.
He said, ”For the moment, my lord.”
Somervell smiled as he turned over another leaf; he was gloating. ”Hell’s teeth, even His Majesty will be satisfied with this!’He looked up, his eyes opaque. ”I know you grieve for the brig; so may the navy. But set against all this it will be seen as a noble sacrifice.”
Bolitho shrugged. ”By those who do not have to risk their precious skins. In truth I’d rather have cut out Consort, damn them!’
Somervell folded his arms reluctantly. ”You have been lucky. But unless you contain your anger or direct it elsewhere, I fear that same luck will desert you.” He put his head on one side. Like a sleek, fastidious bird. ”So make the most of it, eh?”
The door opened an inch and Bolitho saw Jenour peering in at him. Bolitho began, ”Excuse me, my lord. I left word with -”
He turned away. Somervell had not heard; he was back again in the world of gold and silver.
Jenour whispered,’I fear Commander Murray is going fast, Sir Richard.”
Bolitho fell into step beside him and they strode across the wide, flagged terrace to the archway which led to the temporary hospital. Bolitho had been grateful for that at least. Men who were suffering from their wounds should not share a place with garrison soldiers who
died from yellow fever without ever hearing the sounds of war.
He glanced shortly at the sea before he entered the other building. Like the sky, it looked angry. A storm perhaps; he would have to consult with Hyperion’s sailing master.
Murray lay very still, his eyes closed as if already dead. Even though he had been on the West Indies station for two years, his features were like chalk.
Hyperion’s surgeon, George Minchin, a man less callous than most of his trade, had remarked, ”A miracle he survived this far, Sir Richard. His right arm was gone when they pulled him from the sea, and I had to take off a leg. There is a chance, but that had been yesterday. Bolitho had seen enough faces of it death to know it was almost over.
Minchin rose from a chair near the bed and walked purposefully to a window. Jenour studied the sea through another window, thinking perhaps that Murray must have been staring at it too, like a handhold to life itself.
Bolitho sat beside the bed. ”I’m here .. !” He remembered the young commander’s name. ”Rest easy if you can, James.” Murray opened his eyes with an effort. ”It was the boom, sir.” He dosed his eyes again. ”Nearly tore the bottom out of the poor old girl.” He tried to smile but it made him look worse. ”They never took her though - never took her Bolitho groped for his remaining hand and held it between his shall see that your people are taken care of.” His words sounded so empty he wanted to cry out, to weep. ”Is there anyone?”
Murray tried again, but his eyes remained like feverish slits.
”I - I - ,” his eyes were clouding over. ”My mother - there’s nobody else now....” His voice trailed away again.
Bolitho made’himself watch. Like candles being snuffed out.
He heard Allday outside the door, Jenour swallowing hard as if he needed to vomit.
In a remarkably clear voice Murray said, ”It’s dark now, sir. I’ll be able to sleep.” His hand bunched between Bolitho’s. ”Thank you for....”
Bolitho stood up slowly. ”Yes, you sleep.” He pulled the sheet over the dead man’s face and stared at the hard sunlight until he was blinded by it. It’s dark now. For ever.
He crossed to the door by the terrace and knew Jenour was going to say something, to try and help when there was none to offer.
”Leave me.” He did not turn. ”Please.”
Then he walked to the terrace wall and pressed both hands upon it. The stone was hot, like the sun on his face.
He raised his head and stared again at the glare. He could remember as a small boy seeing the family crest, carved in stone above the great fireplace at Falmouth. He had been tracing it with one finger when his father had entered and had picked him up in his arms.
The words below the crest stood out in his mind. Pro Liberta Patria. For my country’s freedom.
What young men like Murray, Dunstan and Jenour all believed.
He clenched his fists until the pain steadied him.
They had not even begun to live yet.
He turned sharply as he heard footsteps to his left and seemingly below him. He had been staring so hard at the glare that he could see nothing but a vague shadow.
”Who is that? What do you want?”He twisted his head further, unaware of the edge to his voice or its helplessness.
She said, ”I came to find you.” She stood quite still at the top of some rough stone steps which led down to a small pathway- ”I heard what happened.” Another pause, which to Bolitho seemed endless, then she added quietly, ”Are you all right?”
He looked at the flagstones and saw the image of his shoes sharpen as the pain and mist in his eye slowly withdrew.
”Yes. One of my officers. I barely knew him — He could not continue.
She remained at her distance as if afraid of him or what she might cause.
She said, ”I know. I am so sorry.”
Bolitho stared at the nearest door. ”How could you marry that man? I’ve met some callous bastards in my time, but...” He struggled to recover his composure. She had done it again. Like being stripped naked, with neither defence nor explanation She did not answer directly. ”Did he ask about the second treasure galleon?”
Bolitho felt the fight draining from him. He had almost expected Somervell to ask him just that. Both of them would have known where that might lead.
He said, ”I apologise. It was unforgivable of me. I had no right to question your motives, or his for that matter.”
She watched him gravely, one hand holding a lace mantilla in place over her dark hair as the hot wind whipped across the parapet. Then she stepped up on to the terrace and faced him.
”You look tired, Richard.”
He dared at last to look at her. She was wearing a sea-green gown, but his heart sank when he realised that her fine features and compelling eyes were still unclear. He must have been halfcrazy with despair to stare at the sun.Mc surgeon in London had declared it to be his worst enemy.
He said, ”I hoped I would see you. I have thought of you a great deal. More than I should; less than you deserve.”
She flicked open her fan and moved it in the wind like a bird’s wing.
”I shall be leaving here quite soon. Perhaps we ought never to have met. We must both try...”
He reached out and took her wrist, not caring who might see, conscious only that he was about to lose even her, when he had lost everything else.
”I cannot try! It is hell to love another man’s wife, but that is the truth, in God’s name it is!”
She did not pull away, but her wrist was rigid in his grasp.
She answered without hesitation, ”Hell? You can never know what that is unless you are a woman in love with another woman’s husband!” Her voice threw caution aside. ”I told you, I would have died for you once. Now, because you seem to think your chosen life is in ruins you can turn again to me! Don’t you know what you’re doing to me, damn you? Yes, I married Lacey because we needed one another, but not in a fashion you would ever understand! I cannot have a child, but then you probably know that too. Whereas your wife has given you a daughter I believe, so where’s the rub, eh?” She tore her arm away, her dark eyes flashing as loose strands of hair broke from under the mantilla. ”I shall never forget you, Ri chard, God help me, but I pray that we never meet again, lest we destroy even that one moment of joy I held so dear!’
She turned and almost ran through the door.
Bolitho walked into the adjoining building and received his hat from a footman without even noticing. He saw Parris walking towards him and would have passed without a word had the lieutenant not touched his hat and said, ”I have been supervising the last of the treasure-chests, Sir Richard. I can still barely believe what we went through to get them!’
Bolitho looked at him vaguely. ”Yes. I shall note your excellent behaviour in my report to their lordships.” Even that sounded hollow. The aftermath. Letters to Murray’s mother and Dalmaine’s widow, arrangements for prize-money to pai to the dependents of those others killed or discharged. His despatch would at least guarantee that.
Parris eyed him worriedly. ”I did not speak to you for praise, Sir Richard. Is something wrong?”
Bolitho shook his head, and felt the wind in his face, just as he could still sense her wrist under his fingers. In hell’s name, what had he expected?
”No. Why should there be? It will be known as a noble sacrifice, I am given to understand, so be grateful that you serve and do not command!’
He walked away and Parris turned and saw Allday striding out into the angry sunlight.
”Sir Richard will require the barge, Cox’n.”
Allday shook his head. ”No, he’ll walk a piece. When lies wore himself out, then he’ll want the barge.”
Parris nodded, understanding perhaps for the first time. ”I envy the both of you.”
Allday walked slowly to the balustrade that overlooked the main anchorage. The sea was getting up right enough. He bit on an apple he had obtained from the commodore’s cook. Bloo
dy good job. Blow some of the bitterness dean out of sight.
He saw his barge standing off from the jetty to avoid scraping the paintwork as lively catspaws spattered the stone stairs with spray. Bolitho was all aback, just when he had believed things were getting better. Bloody women. He had said as much to Ozzard when they had returned in triumph with the treasureship. Ozzard had made one of his defensive remarks and Allday, too tired and angry to care, had exclaimed, ”What the hell do you know? You’ve never been married!”
Strange how it had upset the little man. Allday had decided he would give him one of his precious bone carvings to make up for it. He tossed the apple core into the sun-dried grass and turned to leave. Then he saw her, standing on the terrace, watching him with those eyes of hers.
”That look could make a man rum to water.”
She met his gaze and said, ”Do you remember me? You are Mr Allday.” Allday replied carefully, ”Why, of course I remember you, Ma’am. Nobody could forget what you done for the Captain, as he was then.”
She ignored the unspoken suggestion in his voice. ”I need your help. Will you trust me?”
Allday felt his defences slipping. She was asking him to trust her. The wife of the high and mighty Inspector General, a man who needed watching if half what he had heard was true. But she had paid out her line first. She was the one who was taking all the risks.
He grinned slowly. A sailor’s woman. ”I will.” She moved towards him, and Allday saw the quick movement of her breasts beneath the fine gown. Not so cool and calm as she wanted to appear, he thought.
”Vice-Admiral Bolitho is not himself.” She hesitated; perhaps she had already gone too far. She had seen the grin fade, the instant hostility in the big man’s eyes.
”I - I wish to help him, you see -” She dropped her gaze. ”In God’s name, Mr Allday, must I beg of you?”
Allday said, ”I’m sorry, Ma’am. We’ve had a lot of enemies over the years, see.” He weighed it up. What was the worst thing that could happen? He said abruptly, ”He was nearly blinded!
Alexander Kent - Bolitho 17 Page 12
