The Darkening Sea

by Alexander Kent

  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 head 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 forty-two guns, but was said to be faster and more manoeuvrable than even thirty-eight 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, Si
r 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.

  ‘I have been serving as second lieutenant of the Canopus, Sir Richard.’ He had a low resonant voice with only a faint accent. West Country, probably Dorset.

  He was trying to relax, muscle by muscle, but could not restrain his curiosity, as if he were still surprised to be here.

  ‘Canopus needs a good deal of refitting, Sir Richard. Rot and blockade have taken a toll of the old lady.’

  ‘And before that?’

  Bolitho recognised the pain, the sudden look of hopelessness as Avery answered, ‘I was in the schooner Jolie, a prize taken from the French two years earlier. We were serving off Biscay when we came upon a Dutch trader working right inshore. We had often used those tactics because she was French-built and usually roused no suspicion.’ He said bitterly, ‘With our little pop-guns what could we do anyway?’ He seemed to recall where he was, and went on quietly, ‘I was second-in-command, and the captain was another lieutenant. I liked
him but …’

  ‘But?’

  Avery looked directly at him and Bolitho saw that his eyes were tawny, very clear like a wild cat’s.

  ‘I thought him reckless, Sir Richard.’

  Bolitho touched his eye without noticing it. Jolie. It did not mean anything. Perhaps he should have read Sillitoe’s letter after all.

  Avery had paused, expecting an interruption, a rebuke even, for criticising his commanding officer no matter how junior at the time.

  He said, ‘We put two shots across the Dutchman and he came up into the wind. The master probably imagined that there was more than one of us.’ His face stiffened. ‘There was. The other one was a French corvette. She came around a headland under full sail. We had no chance. We were already close-hauled and on a lee shore, but all my captain said was, “Two for the price of one.” They were the last words he uttered on this earth. A ball cut him in half even as he waved defiance to the enemy.’ He was silent for a moment, then he continued. ‘The corvette raked us from bow to stern. Men were falling and dying. I still hear the screams, the pleas for mercy. Then I was hit. As I lay on the deck I could see our people pulling down the flag. If they had fought on, they would all have been killed.’

  Bolitho said, ‘If you had not been wounded, would you have ordered them to fight on?’ Again he watched the pain. It was probably a question Avery had asked himself many times.

  Avery said, ‘It was about the time of the Peace of Amiens, Sir Richard, when I was taken prisoner. As I was wounded I think the French were glad to release me.’ He paused. ‘Then I had to face a court-martial.’

  Bolitho could see it as if he had been there. The Peace of Amiens had been an excuse for the old enemies to re-arm and lick their wounds. Nobody had expected it to last. So, to prepare the fleet for whatever lay ahead, a scapegoat, no matter how lowly, had to be found.

  Avery said, ‘I was found not guilty of cowardice or hazarding the ship. But Jolie had struck her colours, so wounded or not, I was reprimanded.’ He began to rise from his seat. ‘I knew it would be hopeless. I am only sorry that I had to waste your time.’