Epilogue
Bolitho's home-coming was more than he had dared to hope for during the long months he had been away. In other ways it was sad, as he knew it would be. The farewells at Plymouth were as moving as the welcome when the scarred and battered Achates had dropped her anchor, her prize, the Argonaute, given immediately into the hands of the dockyard.
It must have been Old Katie's finest hour, Bolitho thought, with her pumps going as they had every hour of the day since that terrible battle. Even her ill-matched jury-rig had somehow managed to look rakish with his flag fluttering at half its proper height. She had brought crowds to the Hoe which few could remember.
Adam had watched Bolitho's grave features as he had walked from beneath the splintered poop to say good-bye to those who had become so familiar to him since they had sailed from the Beaulieu River a year ago.
Scott and Trevenen, Hawtayne and young Ferrier. And Tuson, the surgeon, who had removed a metal splinter from Keen's side the size of a man's thumb. And little Evans, who in his own way had become a man.
Bolitho had been thinking of those he would not see again, who could not share in the home-coming.
The captured seventy-four would be under the British ensign in a matter of months, a very valuable addition to the depleted fleet. But Achates had taken the battle badly. It was unlikely she would ever feel the blue waters of the Caribbean again, and would probably end her days as a hulk.
It had been a slow and painful passage up the Channel, and they had sailed so near to the Cornish coast that Adam had shinned aloft to the mizzen cross-trees with a glass to see it for himself.
When he had returned to the deck he had said simply, 'I saw part of the house, Uncle.' It had seemed to bring to him then and there how near he had been to not seeing it again. 'There are crowds on the headland, all the way to St Anthony.'
So slow had been their progress in the warm spring airs that a carriage had been sent to Plymouth in time to meet him.
He was thankful Belinda had not come herself. He had made her promise because of Allday, and if she had seen the ship, listing and blackened, she would have been deeply distressed.
Keen had accompanied him in the barge for the last time. The crowds on the waterfront had cheered and thrown their hats in the air, and women had held up their babies to see Bolitho. The news of his victory had preceded him like a rainbow. He had noticed there were few young men in the crowds.
Once again England was at war with the old enemy, and the press-gangs would be quick to snatch any suitable hands left over by the recruiting parties.
He had also said good-bye to Tyrrell. That had been harder than he had expected. But Tyrrell's dogged independence forced them apart.
Tyrrell had grasped his hands in both of his own and had said, 'I'll be lookin' around for a while, Dick. Just to discover if I like what I see.'
Bolitho had persisted. 'Come to Falmouth soon. Don't forget us.'
Tyrrell had slung his bag over his shoulder and had said, 'I never forgot you, Dick. Nor will I. Ever.'
That had been a week ago. Now, as Bolitho stood by a window and looked out across the flowers and shady trees, he could still scarcely believe it.
Their first meeting had been one of joy and tears.
Belinda had pressed her face into his coat and had whispered, 'I made Ferguson take me to the headland. I saw you sail past. That poor little ship. I was so afraid, and yet so proud.' She had looked up at him, searching out the strain on his face. 'There were people everywhere. They began to cheer. You couldn't hear them of course, but they seemed to want you to know they were there.'
Bolitho saw Allday speaking with the groom, making the man laugh with one of his yarns. That was another memory fixed in his mind.
When Allday had walked from the coach, worried and trying not to drag his feet up the stone steps.
She had gone to him and had put her arms round his neck and had said quietly, 'Thank you for bringing my men home, Allday. I knew you would.'
She had given him life, as she had this old house, he thought. Her very presence here had made its mark.
How quickly the week had flashed past and yet they had not left the grounds. Her gentle understanding after what he had endured, her passion which she gave without restraint, had brought them closer than ever.
He thought too of his first meeting with their child. He smiled as he recalled the exact moment.
The way Belinda had laughed at him and had cried at the same time when she had said, 'She won't break, Richard! Pick her up!'
Elizabeth. A new person. Belinda had chosen the name herself, like she had managed everything else during his absence.
Nothing seemed to matter now beyond here and his family. Rivers had gone to London in the same coach as Jobert. The French admiral would be exchanged eventually, but Rivers' fate was less certain.
He looked from the window again but Allday had gone. It was hard to think there was a war again. What had happened to the peace?
The door opened and she entered carrying Elizabeth. Bolitho took her and carried her to the window while the child's hands tugged at his gilt buttons.
It was all perfect, and he felt he should be ashamed when so many had nothing, and so many had died.
Adam entered the room and looked at them. He belonged here. They had made it possible.
Allday hurried towards the outer doors and Bolitho heard him say to one of the maids, 'Quick, girl, here's a courier!'
Belinda's hands went to her breast. In a mere whisper she said, 'Oh no, not now, not so soon!'
Bolitho heard her despair and held the child more tightly to his body.
In this very room his father had once said to him, 'England needs all her sons now.' That had been another war, but the same was just as true today. It was here that his father had given him the old sword, and the last time he had seen him alive.
Adam strode from the room and returned a few minutes later with a heavy, sealed envelope.
He said, 'The courier's not from the Admiralty. He is from St James's in London.'
Belinda nodded without understanding. 'Please read it, Adam, I am too afraid . . .
Adam opened the envelope and read it in silence.
Then he said, 'Thank God.'
Allday hovered by the door with Ferguson at his side as the young lieutenant handed the imposing letter to her. As he watched her surprise and happiness he said, 'Well, Allday, you must have influence in the right places. It's what you wanted.'
Allday stared as Belinda moved to the window and kissed her husband on the cheek, her arms round him and their child.
Adam smiled and said softly, 'I think my uncle is content with the reward he is holding!'
But Allday did not hear him, and his eyes were far-away as he said, 'Sir Richard Bolitho.' He nodded firmly, the old gleam back in his eyes once more. 'Not before time, an' that's no error neither.'
Success to the Brave - Bolitho 15 Page 27
