He discussed the christening with Catherine, and felt even more that something was wrong.
She had come to nestle at his feet, her hair hiding her face as she had said, “Val is so excited about it. He wants to invite all his friends, all those who are in the country at the time.” He heard the hesitation as she had added, “Including Adam.”
“That is unlikely, Kate. Anemone is very short of hands, I gather. He will likely search further afield for replacements. A frigate captain is at his best when at sea with no admiral to trouble him!”
She had said quietly, “Then I thank God for it.” She had looked up at him. “I know you love him like a son, and I feel like a traitor when I tell you these things. But tell you I must. We swore there would be no secrets from the very beginning.”
Bolitho had listened without interruption: what she had seen in Adam’s face at the wedding in Zennor; how she had heard of his visits to the house and Falmouth, and of an outburst in some coaching inn when Adam had called out a complete stranger for insulting the Bolitho family, but had satisfied his anger by shooting out the flame of a candle in a room full of witnesses. Zenoria had told her that Adam had even visited her recently, had ridden all the way from Portsmouth where Anemone was taking on stores.
Bolitho had stroked her hair to calm her but his mind had been in turmoil. What was the matter with him that he had not noticed something on the long haul back from the Caribbean? Did he see only what he wanted to see? His nephew had always been a restless one, from the very first day he had joined his ship as a skinny midshipman. He had never thought of him as being much like his brother Hugh. And yet . . . Hugh had always had a quick temper and could not hold down a grudge without showing it. Captain James, their father, had referred to it as bad blood, but surely there was more to it than that.
Catherine had exclaimed, “Zenoria needs to have a house of her own, somewhere she can be herself. She is young, dear Richard, but her experiences have given her an eagerness for life that Keen’s family do not understand.”
The day of the christening arrived, and as promised they had driven down to the great house, where many friends both local and from London came to pay their respects to the child named Perran Augustus, the latter after Keen’s father. There was not enough room to accommodate everyone in the small village church but there was food and drink in the grounds of the house to serve a regiment.
Bolitho had promised to give no hint to Zenoria that he knew part of her secret. If Valentine Keen ever discovered the truth, or even some twisted rumour of it, there was no telling where it might end.
There were several incidents, trivial in their separate ways, but enough to make them glad they had decided to drive back to Chelsea on the same day. The first had occurred at the laying-out of the many presents brought by well-wishers, some of great value or handed down in a family, others notable for their warmth, like the fine carved hobby-horse, its card written in Ozzard’s pinched hand to show it was a gift from Allday, who with Bolitho had been introduced to the gathering by Keen as “The two men who saved my life when I thought all was lost.”
It had happened before they had all gone to the church, and the room’s door had been ajar so that Bolitho had not been able to ignore the angry voice of Keen’s father.
“Sometimes I think you are a damned fool! A King’s captain and a brave one you certainly are—but sense? You don’t have the sense you were born with!” Catherine had pulled at his arm, but Bolitho had heard the voice continue. “Why not wait to see how the boy develops, eh? I’d like to think his name might follow mine in the City, or in the profession of law. I don’t want to see him on the roll of killed or missing!”
The cause of his anger was Keen’s gift to his tiny son: a beautifully fashioned midshipman’s dirk “to wear one day with pride.” When Keen had shown it to them Bolitho had seen the shaft of despair on Zenoria’s features, had seen her quick glance at Catherine, perhaps her only true friend.
His disturbing thoughts continued. He recalled when he had found Adam drinking heavily in the cabin when they had been homeward bound. Was that only two months ago? I should have known, challenged him myself.
Another incident, perhaps to be expected. A woman had approached Bolitho and after a defiant glance at Catherine announced loudly, “I took tea with your wife some days ago in London, Sir Richard. Such an enjoyable occasion!”
Two bright patches of colour had burned on her cheeks as Bolitho had answered quietly, “For you, I daresay it would be.”
He had seen the expressions and sensed the nudges among the guests, but others from the villages had shown genuine pleasure at meeting them together for the first time.
“Don’t you let him go back, my dear! Let some of the others do their dirty work instead!”
An anonymous voice had called from the rear, “Huzza for our Dick an’ ’is lovely lady!”
Obviously a sailor, probably one who had served with Bolitho at some time. It was like a ghost calling out for all the others who would never see his face again.
In the carriage again with Allday sitting opposite, fast asleep and smelling strongly of rum, Catherine asked softly, “Shall we know soon?”
Bolitho squeezed her arm. She did not have to explain. It was always there like a threat, while they made each hour of every day their own.
He said, “I think so. Sir Paul Sillitoe has spoken of a new flag lieutenant, so I suspect he knows more than he is prepared to tell.”
“Will you take his nephew?”
“I’m not sure. Sometimes it is better not to know people too well, to care for them in a way which can hurt, even harm.” He hesitated. “We have discussed the Indian Ocean too much for coincidence. A quick campaign to cut out further attacks on our shipping.”
“That will mean returning to Cape Town?”
They both fell silent, each reliving the nightmare of the shipwreck.
He said, “It will be in a King’s ship this time. We shall stand well clear of the Hundred-Mile Reef!”
She pressed closer and said, “I wish I could be there, wherever they send you.”
He watched the houses passing in the red glow of sunset and wondered how many sailors and would-be admirals had rolled along this very road.
“A friend at the Admiralty told me that Adam’s ship will sail under orders very soon. He thinks it will be to Gibraltar.”
He thought of Adam’s face when he had remarked, “On my birthday last year I was kissed by a lady.” He ought to have realised what he had meant, when in response to his question Adam had said that he did not think anyone really knew the lady. It had been tearing him apart even then. How much worse it would become if he could not learn to control his feelings.
He added, “I will speak with him, Kate. Whenever I think it prudent.”
But she had fallen asleep against his shoulder.
Three days after the christening Bolitho received his expected summons to the Admiralty.
Catherine had insisted that she should accompany him, and he was surprised that he had made no protest. If they were to be parted in the name of duty, he wanted—needed—every possible moment with her.
The day was fine and warm with some of those who walked and loitered in the tree-lined squares wilting in the dusty sunshine.
Bolitho watched as she descended the staircase with Sophie hovering behind her.
She looked directly into his face. “Well, dearest of men? Will it suit?” She wore a gown of deep blue which almost matched his own coat, with facings of gold lace. “The admiral’s lady, or his woman in any case!” She flicked open the fan he had brought her from Madeira to hide the lower half of her face, so that her eyes seemed overpowering. Beneath the fan only the shadow between her breasts moved to show her true emotion.
He took her shoulders. “I have never been more proud.”
At the Admiralty he was conscious of the eyes watching them, and he felt suddenly reckless and defiant.
He bent his he
ad and kissed her on the neck, and spoke only one word. “Together.” Then he replaced his hat and walked up the steps.
There was no delay and he was met by the same elegant lieutenant. It was pointless to ask why he had not told him about Baratte’s release when he had first greeted him here. An oversight, or was someone afraid he might make trouble about it?
The acting Controller of the Navy, a big florid-faced admiral, and two other lords of admiralty with Hamett-Parker and his secretary sat at one end of the table. As he had anticipated, Bolitho saw Sillitoe seated slightly apart from all the others, his face set in an impassive mask.
Hamett-Parker raised his eyebrows questioningly, a habit he had displayed at Herrick’s court martial. “You are very prompt, Sir Richard.”
One of the other admirals who was unknown to Bolitho said, “On behalf of the board I must thank you for your patience and your invaluable help since you came to London. Your experience, not merely in the art of war but also in your past dealings with the military, make you an obvious choice for this appointment.” They all nodded soberly except Hamett-Parker. He continued, “We understand from Sir Paul Sillitoe that you were thinking of a force of perhaps eight frigates? That, of course, would be out of the question.”
Bolitho thought of Godschale. One cannot do everything.
He leaned his elbow on one arm of his chair and touched his eye. He had not been to see the surgeon again. Had he accepted that it was hopeless?
“The army is gathering its strength in Cape Town, Sir Richard. You are senior enough to assist but not necessarily conform to their strategy, for it is the intention of His Britannic Majesty’s government to invade and overthrow the French island of Mauritius. But before that we must seek out the enemy’s naval strength in that ocean and destroy it.”
Bolitho said abruptly, “Nobody could do that without ships.”
Hamett-Parker commented, “Frigates, and perhaps some smaller vessels?”
Bolitho looked at him. “Yes. Otherwise . . .”
Hamett-Parker snapped, “There is a new frigate, Valkyrie. She has been accepted into the fleet and now lies at Plymouth.” He gave a small smile. “She is captained by one of your fellow Cornishmen, no less!”
Bolitho had heard something of the new frigate. She had been designed originally as an experiment, to compete with the enemy’s larger frigates, which in turn had been copied from the latest contenders in the new American navy. Bigger than any other frigate in the fleet, Valkyrie carried 42 guns, but was said to be faster and more manoeuvrable than even 38 -gun ships like Anemone.
Hamett-Parker continued, “Captain Aaron Trevenen, d’you know him?”
“I know of him.”
Hamett-Parker pressed his fingertips together. He was enjoying it. “Another of your curt summings-up of a proud man’s achievements?”
Sillitoe said, “Many, many months ago—it feels like years— we met at Godschale’s house by the Thames. You may recall that Lady Catherine Somervell scolded me for . . .”
Hamett-Parker snapped, “We require no personal references here, Sir Paul!”
Sillitoe ignored him but raised his voice slightly. “Scolded me for sending you, Sir Richard, to yet another demanding appointment. I protested that we could send no other, there was none better or so qualified for the task. After the terrible experiences she shared after the loss of Golden Plover, I am certain that she would not disagree with me again.”
Hamett-Parker swallowed his anger. “I will send orders to the Valkyrie. You and your staff can take passage in her as Trevenen will be the senior officer of our eventual flotilla. I shall let you know what I think will be required when and if . . .”
Bolitho said, “If I am to command this enterprise against Baratte . . .” He saw two of them start with surprise. Did they really not know what was happening, and what to expect? “Then I will inform you, Sir James.”
He bowed his head to the table and walked to the door. Sillitoe followed him as he knew he would.
Outside the door Bolitho said, “I appear to have talked myself into something I would have wished to avoid.”
“I meant what I said. The sailors respect you, and you have their hearts. They will know that you will not betray them merely to satisfy some crude craving for glory, nor will you sacrifice their lives for no good purpose.”
He watched Bolitho’s profile, the arguments matched only by the sensitivity on his sunburned face.
Sillitoe persisted, “If it can be done, you will do it. If not, we shall have to think again.” He added indifferently, “By which time the King will be raving mad and, more to the point, there may be those not afraid to mention it!”
They paused by a tall window on the stairs. Sillitoe looked down and said, “How I envy you, Richard. For nothing else but her.”
“If anything happens to me . . .”
Bolitho saw her shading her eyes to look at the window, almost as if she had heard his words.
Sillitoe laughed. “Do not think such thoughts.” The mood left him and he said smoothly, “Now, the matter of your new flag lieutenant.”
Bolitho barely heard him. “We are returning to Falmouth.” He shivered. “How I hate this place, where men’s minds are frozen in time.” He looked at him steadily. “Send him to me at Falmouth with a letter of introduction.”
Sillitoe was watching him curiously. “Is that all? Then I will attend to it.”
He gazed after Bolitho as he descended the stairs, and he thought he saw him stumble at one shadowed corner.
He called down, “When you find Baratte again, do not hesitate. Kill him. ” Then he was gone.
Later, Bolitho thought it had sounded like something personal.
Bolitho stood by the open doors and looked across the garden to the orchard. The breeze from the sea that cooled his face filled the room behind him with the scent of roses.
A few more days, and then he would retrace the way to Plymouth. He could feel Catherine watching him from beside the empty fireplace. She had tried to hide her own preparations for their parting: new shirts from London, another store of wine from the shop in St James’s Street, which had been sent directly to Plymouth. Ozzard had been packing chests, checking every item, his features giving nothing away. He was always like that now, Bolitho thought, ever since the old Hyperion had gone down. A man haunted by something, and yet in the open boat after the shipwreck he had been surprisingly strong, tending a dying man, rationing out their wretched portions of food and water, his eyes searching secretly for the remaining mutineer who had been hidden amongst them.
“What about John Allday?”
Bolitho turned towards her. It was as if she had been reading his thoughts.
He said, “He’ll not stay ashore. So wedding, if wedding there is to be, must wait until we return.”
“I’m glad. I shall feel you are safer with him close at hand.” Her dark eyes were full of questions, as they had been when she had found him studying his packet of information from the Admiralty.
“Will it be difficult for you?”
Bolitho sat beside her and held her hand, the one on which she wore his beautiful ring of rubies and diamonds. He had slipped it on to her finger immediately after Keen’s wedding at Zennor in the little mermaid’s church.
“I shall have Valkyrie. I am being given Triton too.”
“That was Baratte’s ship?”
“Aye. It might drive him to do something foolish.” He touched the ring on her finger where she had once worn Somervell’s.
“I must ask, Richard. Do you dislike this Captain Trevenen? You may have to rely on him so much.”
He shrugged. “Our paths have crossed a few times. His father once served with mine—I suspect that has the makings of something. He is the kind of captain I might have expected Hamett-Parker to approve.” He looked up at her eyes, her mouth. “I will get Anemone also, if their lordships are good to me.” He saw her relief.
“He needs you, Richard.”
He smiled. “We shall see.”
There was a sound of voices and Grace Ferguson entered, unwilling as ever to disturb them.
“There is an officer to see you, Sir Richard.”
He saw Catherine’s hand go to her breast as she whispered, “From the Admiralty?”
Mrs Ferguson said, “A Lieutenant George Avery.”
Bolitho released her hand and stood up. “Sillitoe’s nephew.”
She asked, “Is it wise? May it not be a ruse to have an aide who will know all your secrets?”
He smiled at her. “Not all, dearest Kate. If he does not fit, I shall send him back to the Nore.” He added to the housekeeper, “March him in.”
Catherine said, “They will all miss you, Richard. They love you so.”
He turned away as the eye smarted again. “I cannot bear to think on it.”
The lieutenant came in and stared at them. He had obviously travelled by a series of coaches, and looked crumpled and dusty.
Bolitho saw his surprise as he said, “I am Richard Bolitho. This is Lady Catherine Somervell.” It must be rather a shock, he thought, they were probably far from what Avery was used to. The much-talked of flag officer dressed in an old shirt and breeches, looking more like a gardener than a vice-admiral, and a Knight of the Bath at that. “Please be seated, Mr Avery. I will see that you are given refreshment.” He did not even glance at her but heard her go to the door.
“I will arrange it,” she said.
“Sit down.” He turned slightly so that the bars of the afternoon sunlight should not irritate his eye.
Avery was not quite what he had expected, either. Tall, with thick dark hair which was touched with grey, he seemed old for his rank, older than Adam certainly. Sillitoe had sent the promised letter of introduction, but as was his custom Bolitho had left it to read after this interview. He would draw his own conclusions first.
“Tell me something of yourself.” He watched the lieutenant’s eyes move around the room, absorbing the history of the place, the portraits, the old books through the library door. His face was deeply lined, like that of a man who had suffered and not been able to forget.
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