Beyond the Reef

by Kent, Alexander

  He had lost his temper when his son had added insult to injury by telling him that he and his bride had been offered work and security across the Western Ocean in America.

  “Life’s fresher, different over there.” He had exclaimed angrily, “A new chance—somewhere we can raise a family without a war raging at our gates year in, year out!”

  Allday swallowed another wet of rum and swore under his breath. “We had to fight them buggers once, my lad, and by God we’ll be doing it again one o’ these days, you just see!” He had left their cottage with one last shot. “You, a Yankee? An Englishman you was born, an Englishman you dies, an’ that’s no error!”

  The rum and the warm air were making him drowsy. He shook himself and began to refill his pipe. Young Adam’s Anemone would be under way by now. She would make a fine sight when she tacked around Pendennis Point. He grinned, impatient with himself. Must be moonstruck or something. How could he still get excited at the sight of a rakish frigate after all the things he had seen?

  He thought suddenly of Lady Catherine. He did not know how she had done it but during the long haul from Portsmouth she had brought some light back to Bolitho’s grey eyes again.

  It would be strange to be sailing with them . . . just as well Ozzard and Yovell were going too. All mates together. Who would have thought it could ever happen to him? His head lolled and his pipe fell across the rum bottle and broke in pieces.

  His skull grated against the rough wall and he struggled up into a sitting position again.

  The sea was still bright and empty, and the gulls as querulous and noisy as before.

  Then he was on his feet, his head bent like an old dog as he strained his ears, ready for when it came again.

  Not gulls this time. It was a scream. A woman terrified for her life.

  Allday loped along the wall, his head down, cursing himself for being unarmed without even a toy dirk.

  There was a loose piece of slate, heavy and sharp, like some ancient axe-head; he seized it as he passed.

  The scream came again. Allday clambered over the wall and stared down at the narrow lane that wound towards the bay like a little gully.

  There were two men, and they did not even hear him. A cart loaded with boxes and personal possessions drawn by a small donkey was stopped in the lane, and the woman was being held by one of the men, a tall, bearded ruffian who was twisting her arms up her back while she struggled. The other one, who had his back to Allday, was equally rough and dirty, but there was no mistaking his intentions as he said harshly, “Now let’s see what else she’s got, Billy!” He began to pull at the front of her clothes while his companion twisted her arms still further, so that she screamed again.

  “Not now, matey!” Allday waited until the man swung round, judging the exact moment. The heavy piece of slate hit the man’s forehead just above the eye and Allday heard the bone crack like a rotten nut. He had a vague picture of the other man taking to his heels while the woman tried to cover her breasts, her eyes wide with terror and stunned disbelief.

  “S’all right, m’dear.” He bent over the inert shape and hit it again. “Gallows bait.” But it was not all right. The pain thrust through his chest like red-hot iron, so that he could neither breathe nor cry out.

  Suddenly she was bending over him, lifting his shaggy head on to her knees while she gasped, “ What is it? I must help!”

  He wanted to calm her, to make it safe for her. Of all times. His mind cringed as the pain stabbed again, worse than before. He could see it as if he was still there on that bloody island. The Spanish sword, and Bolitho trying to fight off his attackers.

  Not here. Not this way.

  He looked up at her. A nice face. A real woman. He tried to speak again, but the pain tightened its grip. She repeated, “I must get help!”

  He lifted one hand and watched it come to rest on her shoulder. She was trembling. Then he heard himself mutter, “Behind that wall . . .” To his own ears he sounded quite as usual, but he was not, and she had to bend right over him to hear. She smelled of lilac, he thought stupidly. “Rum.”

  She backed away, avoiding the body with the outflung arms.

  Allday tried to stare at the sun. The Cap’n must not know. He would make him come ashore, leave him on the beach while he went off somewhere.

  She was back, and he felt her bare arm under his head, lifting him. Her eyes were anxious, unsure.

  Allday swallowed hard and she dabbed his mouth with the hem of her dress. “Better,” he managed to murmur. “A nice wet. Nelson’s blood, they’re calling it now.”

  She gripped his shoulder and whispered, “Horses.”

  Allday felt the tall shadows pass over him and saw the gleam of buttons. Authority. Two coastguards making their way to town.

  One of them dismounted and bent down on the dirt lane. “John, you old rogue, what’ve you been up to this time?” But his eyes were troubled. “Are you all right, ma’am?”

  She knelt beside him, staring at Allday’s face. “He saved me.

  There were two of them.”

  The coastguard observed her torn clothing and the laden cart with professional interest. “Footpads. Deserters most likely.” He loosened a pistol in his belt. “Ride to the squire’s house, Ned, it’s nearer. I’ll stay here in case that vermin comes back.”

  His companion watched from his horse as he stooped over the body.

  “Dead, is he?”

  His friend grinned. “No. The squire will be pleased. Someone else for him to dangle at the roadside!”

  The mounted man called, “There goes the Anemone, Tom. What a sight, eh?”

  It seemed to rouse Allday, and he gasped, “Must see. Must get up!”

  The other coastguard spurred his horse into a trot. “I’ll be off then.” He looked down at Allday as the fight went out of him. “And you, John Allday, behave yourself until someone comes. I’d not dare face Vice-Admiral Bolitho if owt happened to you!”

  The woman held up an apron to keep the sun from his eyes.

  “John Allday.” She sounded dazed. “I know of you, sir. My late husband served in your ship.”

  Allday sensed it was important. “What ship, ma’am? I expect I’d remember him.”

  But he already knew. The ship that would not die.

  In a small voice she said, “The one they still sing about. The old Hyperion.”

  Lady Catherine Somervell watched while Ferguson supervised the loading of chests and boxes into a carriage outside the front porch. By the cold fireplace Bolitho was scanning yet another official letter from the Admiralty, his features giving nothing away. She could watch him for hours, she thought, sharing his concern for so many things, the warmth of his company when they were alone together. His love for her above all else.

  She said, “The post-boys must be wearing out every horse between here and Whitehall.” She crossed to his side. “What is it?”

  He looked at her but his eyes were distant, absent in thought. “Thomas Herrick. It seems they have offered him an immediate appointment in the West Indies. It does not say exactly where, but they certainly wasted no time.”

  She slipped her hand through his arm. “That is good, surely. For him, I mean.”

  He smiled. “It is often said that a court martial will either make or break a man.”

  She heard Allday laughing in the courtyard. He seemed entirely changed, his earlier gloom dispersed, but as yet she did not know the reason for either of his moods.

  “Why did Herrick act as he did? I still cannot understand.”

  Bolitho recalled Captain Gossage’s slow, deliberate evidence, his apparent support for everything Herrick had done.

  He replied, “I believe it was Gossage’s revenge. To make Thomas live with his guilt, rather than see him destroyed, or allowed the peace only death could bring him.”

  He sensed her surprise and said gently, “He is not the man I once knew.” He looked up at the portraits. “Nor would I be, without you.” />
  She guided him to the window. “I shall miss this place, Richard. But it will be here . . . waiting for us. We shall not be separated this time.” She thought of her dismay when she had seen Adam walking with Zenoria, when they had finally reached Falmouth. She glanced at Bolitho’s profile and embraced his arm with hers; he still suspected nothing. Adam had left to rejoin his ship almost immediately. Now Keen was here, although she had barely seen him in any attitude of intimacy with his bride.

  Bolitho asked, “What is it, Kate? Are you troubled?”

  She laughed, letting it break the tension that these last days had given her. “I just want to be gone, my love. Before something else bursts in to disturb you!”

  Allday passed the door and saw them embrace by the window. He found Yovell checking one of his lists, making sure that nothing had been overlooked.

  “D’you recall a master’s mate named Jonas Polin?”

  Yovell peered over his small spectacles. “Yes, I do. I used to pass the time with him. A Devon man like myself.” He frowned. “Why does his name come to mind? He went down with the old ship.”

  Allday sat on a chest while Ozzard forced down the lock.

  “I met his widow yesterday. A trim little craft, an’ no mistake.”

  Yovell eyed him severely. “I heard about you going to someone’s rescue on the cliff lane. Tom the coastguard was full of it. They caught the other man, by the way—the dragoons ran him to earth. He told me something else too, John. About you.”

  “If you dare to squeak a breath of it to Sir Richard, I’ll . . .” He grinned, knowing that Yovell would say nothing about his collapse on the road.

  “Tell me about poor Jonas Polin’s widow.”

  Allday said, “She was going to Fallowfield. Don’t know it meself.”

  Yovell smiled. “I’m the foreigner here, and I’m the only one who seems to know where places are!” He folded his arms across his rotund body and looked at Allday thoughtfully. This was special. Serious too.

  “It’s on this side of the Helford River, near Rosemullion Head. Tiny place, just farm folk and a few fishermen. Why would she be going there? Old Jonas was a Brixham man, good Devon stock.”

  Allday said cautiously, “Nice little inn in Fallowfield, the Stag’s Head, to all accounts.”

  “Was, more like. The place has been almost derelict for a year or so.”

  “It won’t be no more, Daniel. She’s bought it. Going to bring it to life again.” Her words still echoed in his ears. You will always be welcome, Mr Allday.

  Yovell folded his list and put it in his pocket. “She could do that. It’s a long, long march to the Royal George in the next village.” He seemed to make up his mind, and to Allday’s surprise he crossed over to him and gripped his hand.

  “I wish you luck, John. God knows you’ve been hurt often enough, and I don’t necessarily mean by the Frogs.”

  Ozzard looked up from his knees, but he said nothing and could not smile. The thought of a woman’s body brought the memory back instantly, its horror as stark as ever. The room in Wapping. The screams, the blood: hacking and hacking until there was only silence.

  Ferguson left them to it and went back into the house, wiping his forehead with his sleeve. He had seen Keen crossing the garden alone, and turned away to avoid him. He kept telling himself it was nothing to do with him, or with anyone else, but the thought only made him feel more guilty.

  A little later Tojohns, Keen’s own coxswain, came through the door and touched his hat to Bolitho.

  “Beg pardon, Sir Richard.” He avoided glancing at the admiral’s lady and swallowed hard. Being here in the same house, sharing it all with the two people who were the talk of London and most seaports, was like being with royalty. “Word’s come from the town. The ship is about to anchor in Carrick Road.”

  Bolitho smiled. He was suddenly excited, sharing it with her, like some midshipman with his heart on his sleeve.

  “We shall board her tomorrow. Ask Stephen to deal with it.”

  He looked round as Keen climbed the worn stone steps. What was he thinking? Was he already regretting handing over Black Prince to another? Was he measuring the value of promotion against leaving his young bride here in Falmouth?

  Bolitho said, “Tomorrow, Val.”

  “I’m ready, Sir Richard. A captain without a ship, but still . . .”

  “Did someone say that the ship is here?” Zenoria came in from the library. Her eyes immediately went to her husband.

  Bolitho said kindly, “It will not be forever. But I think Val is doing the best for his future, and for yours. A hard choice.” He looked at Catherine. “But it always is. Only the unhappy find no pain in parting.”

  Zenoria stared from one to the other. “I am sorry, Sir Richard, but I did not know it was his choice. I thought my husband was under orders to take this appointment upon himself.”

  Bolitho said, “It is the navy’s way, Zenoria.” To break the sudden tension he said to Keen, “Will you walk with me a while, Val? I have had more news from the Admiralty.”

  When they were alone Catherine put her arm around the girl’s shoulders, and said softly, “Try to love him as he loves you. He needs to know, to be told. All men do. He is a good man, decent and trusting . . . he must never have that trust tarnished.”

  Zenoria said nothing but faced her. There were tears in her eyes. “I am trying, Catherine. I have tried so hard . . .”

  Catherine heard more footsteps as boxes were hoisted in readiness for loading into the carriage.

  “Go to him now. Care for your man as I care for mine.” Her fine dark eyes were suddenly blurred. I love him so much I fear for his every move. Those he has tried to help turn their backs on him, and his true friends are fathoms deep in one ocean or another. But it is his life, and so I knew when I gave myself to him. And yet . . . there are times when I awake and find him gone, and I think my heart will break . . .

  She saw Allday watching them and said brightly, “And what is this I am hearing about you? A secret love, the rescue of a maid in distress?”

  Allday grinned. He did not know how he knew, but he realised he had arrived at just the right time.

  Valentine Keen walked through the shadows, his shoes slipping on damp grass. There must have been a heavy dew overnight, he thought, but now the garden was alive with birdsong at every level. It would be dawn quite soon, whereas the land beyond this place was still hidden in mystery. He could smell the sea in the soft wind shaking the leaves around them, giving him a sense of urgency, even despair.

  He tightened his arm around Zenoria’s slim shoulders and thought of the night here, the last for some time in England. He thrust the other thought from his mind: what every sailor, admiral or common seaman, had to consider each time his ship weighed anchor. It could be the last, forever.

  A robin darting through the grass, revealed only by a swaying mass of daffodils, gave its lively, trilling call.

  Keen said, “It is almost time.” They paused at the old wall as if by some unspoken agreement. “You will take care while I am away? I leave you in good hands, I know, but . . .”

  She rested her head against his shoulder, and he drew her more closely to him. He said, “I love you so much, Zenoria—and I am so afraid of failing you.”

  In her eyes he saw the first faint daylight. “How could you fail me, after all that you did for me? But for you . . .” She fell silent as he touched her mouth with his fingers.

  “Don’t think of then. Think of now. Think of us. I need your love so desperately . . . and I fear that I might drive you away. I am so . . . clumsy. I know so little. I find you one moment, and the next you are gone and a gulf yawns between us.”

  She took his arm and turned him back along the winding path, her gown brushing against the stones, wet with dew.

  “It has been difficult for me also, but not through lack of affection for you. Don’t think of then, you said. But how can I not? It comes back, and I am in terror again.” She
hesitated. “I want to give myself, completely. When I see Sir Richard and his Catherine together I can hardly bear to watch them. Their love is something alive, beautiful . . .”

  “You are lovely too, Zenoria.”

  He laid his face against hers and felt tears on her cheek.

  “I cannot bear to leave you like this.”

  As if to mock his words, they heard horses being led unhurriedly from the stables. The carriage would be waiting.

  He tightened his hold, caressing her hair. The light was growing; there was a bright smudge out there, like a careless brushstroke. The first view of the sea beyond Pendennis Point.

  She whispered, “I want to please you . . . like the girl you once had in the South Seas.”

  Keen said, “I never touched her, but I did love her. When she died I thought I could never . . . would never be able to love someone again.”

  “I know. That is why I despair that I cannot give you my body . . . as you deserve.”

  Keen heard Allday talking with Ferguson. So, if the rumour was true, he had found a woman to love, or one who had treated him with kindness after what he had done.

  And I am losing mine.

  She said, “Please write to me, Val. I will never stop thinking of you . . . wondering where you are, what you are doing . . .”

  “Yes. I will.” More movement, the tread on stone steps he knew so well; he could hear him speaking with Catherine. Waiting for himself, perhaps.

  “I must go, Zenoria.”

  “Cannot I come to the harbour and see you leave?” She sounded like a child again.

  “A harbour is the loneliest place when you are being separated.” He kissed her, with passion and gentleness, on the mouth. “I love you so.”

  Then he turned and walked out of the garden.

  There was only Allday by the gate, looking at the land. Keen’s own coxswain had gone ahead to the vessel with Ozzard and Yovell. Ferguson came out of the dark doorway and held out his hand. “Good-bye, Captain. We shall take good care of your lady. Don’t stay away too long.”