Bolitho 19 - Beyond the Reef (29 page)

Adam ignored him and turned towards a solitary brass candlestick where the flame was always kept burning for the tapers of customers wishing to light their pipes.

The crash of the shot brought shouts of alarm and screams from the kitchen. The flame had gone, but the candle was still intact. Before thrusting the pistol beneath his coat he asked quietly, “Who told you these things?”

A coach guard stood in the doorway, a blunderbuss in his hands, but even he fell back when he saw the gleaming epaulettes of a naval captain.

The man hung his head. “Some young blade, sir. I should’ve guessed he were a liar. But he said he was connected with the family.”

Adam knew instantly. “Named Miles Vincent? Yes?”

The man nodded unhappily. “In the market, it were.”

“Well. We shall just have to see, won’t we?” He walked from the silent parlour and paused only to put some coins in the landlord’s fist. “Forgive me.”

The landlord counted it at a glance: it was a large amount. The ball had smashed into the wood panelling. He smiled. He would leave it there, and perhaps put a little plate above it to tell its story for the benefit of customers.

The girl was waiting beside the coach, while passengers bustled past averting their faces, in case they too provoked some violence.

Adam took out a gold coin and said, “Live your life, Sarah. And don’t sell yourself cheap.” He slipped the coin between her breasts. “For a place that sells no brandy, you certainly know how to fire a man’s spirits!”

The coach was long out of sight and its horn almost lost in distance as it approached the narrow bridge and the road for Liskeard before anyone spoke in the inn parlour, where the pistol smoke hung near the low ceiling like some evil spirit.

The man protested, “How was I to know?” But nobody would look at him.

Then the landlord said, “By God, Seth, it was nearly your last hour!”

The girl Sarah plucked the coin from her bodice and gazed at it intently, remembering the touch of his fingers, the easy way he had addressed her. She had never been spoken to like that before. She would never forget. She carefully replaced the coin, and when she stared down the empty road her eyes were filled with tears.

“God keep you safe, young cap’n!”

The landlord ambled from the inn door and put his arm around her shoulders. “I knows, my dear. There’s not many d’ think much o’ they hereabouts, and what they risk every time they do leave harbour.” He gave her a squeeze. “I’d not care to fall afoul o’ that fiery young master!”

Aboard the Plymouth Flier Adam stared out of the dusty window at the passing countryside. Whenever he glanced at his travelling companions they were all either asleep or pretending to be. But sleep was denied him, and in the window’s reflection he seemed to see her face. The girl with the long, beautiful hair: the girl with moonlit eyes, as his uncle had once called her.

He had been a fool back there at the Royal George. Post-captain or not, he would have been ruined if he had killed the other man in a duel. It would have meant disgrace for his uncle yet again. Was it always to be so?

… Miles Vincent. Yes, it would be. Perhaps his mother had put him up to it. Adam doubted it: the motive was too obvious. Hate, envy, revenge … his fingers tightened around his sword and he saw a flicker of apprehension cross the face of the man opposite him.

He thought suddenly of his father. He had heard from an old sailing-master who had known Hugh that he had been violent and quick-tempered, ready to call any one out if the mood took him: the memory of him still hung over the old house at Falmouth like a storm-cloud. I will not make the mistake of following in his wake.

Watery sunlight played across the sea for the first time in this journey.

He thought of his Anemone, daughter of the wind. She would be his only love.

Bryan Ferguson sat at the kitchen table of his cottage and surveyed his friend, who was standing by the window. He wanted to smile, but knew it was far too important a moment for amusement.

Allday plucked at his best jacket, the one with the gilt buttons, which Bolitho had given him to mark him as his personal coxswain. Nankeen breeches and buckled shoes: he was every inch the landsman’s idea of the Jack Tar. But he seemed troubled, his deeply-sunburned features creased with uncertainty.

“Lucky I didn’t lose this on that damned Golden Plover.” He tried to grin. “Must have known there was something wrong with that little pot o’ paint!”

Ferguson said, “Look, John, just go and see the lady. If you don’t, others will. She’ll be a rare catch if she gets the Stag on its feet again.”

Allday said heavily, “An’ what have I got to offer? Who wants a sailor? I reckon she’d have had a bellyful o’ that after losing her man in Hyperion.”

Ferguson said nothing. It would either blow over, or this time it would be in earnest. Either way, it was so good to have Allday back again. He marvelled at the fact that Grace had never lost faith; she had earnestly believed that they would be saved.

Allday was still talking himself out of it.

“I’ve no money, just a bit put by, nothing for the likes of her …”

Ozzard came through the door. “You’d better make up your mind, matey. Young Matthew’s brought the cart round to drive you to Fallowfield.”

Allday peered at the looking glass on the kitchen wall and groaned. “I don’t know. I’ll make a fool of myself.”

Ferguson made up his mind. “I’ll tell you something, John. When you and Sir Richard were said to be lost, I went over to the Stag.”

Allday exclaimed, “You didn’t say nothing, for God’s sake?”

“No. Just had a stoup of ale.” He prolonged it. “Very good it was too, for a small inn.”

Allday glared at him. “Well, did you?”

Ferguson shook his head. “But I did see her. Done wonders for the place.”

Allday waited, knowing there was something else.

Ferguson said quietly, “I’ll tell you another thing. She came all the way into town just to be at the memorial service.” He grinned, the relief still evident on his face. “The one you missed!”

Allday picked up his hat. “I’ll go then.”

Ferguson punched his massive arm. “Hell, John, you sound as if you’re facing a broadside!”

Ozzard said, “Her ladyship is coming.”

Ferguson hurried to the door. “She’ll want to see the books. ‘Tis a fair tonic to have her here again.”

Ozzard waited for him to bustle away and then, secretively, laid a leather bag on the table. “Your half. Sounds as if it might come in useful.”

Allday opened the string and stared with disbelief at the glittering gold inside.

Ozzard said scornfully, “You didn’t think I’d throw good gold to the sharks, did you? I sometimes wonder about you, I do indeed.” He relented. “Lead pellets made just as much of a splash, or so I thought at the time.”

Allday looked at him gravely. “Anything I can ever do for you—but you knows that, don’t you, Tom?”

Ferguson came back, puzzled. “Lady Catherine wasn’t there.”

Ozzard shrugged his narrow shoulders. “Probably changed her mind. Women do, you know.”

Allday walked out into the pale sunlight and climbed into the little cart, the one used for collecting wine or fresh fish from the harbour. Young Matthew, too, took particular notice of Allday’s smart appearance, but like Ferguson he decided not to risk making any sort of joke.

When they reached the little inn, with the Helford River showing itself beyond the trees, Matthew said, “I’ll be back for you later.” He looked at him fondly, remembering what they had once seen and done together, the “other life” Lady Catherine had once wanted to learn about, which she had now so bravely shared.

“I’ve never seen you like this afore, John.”

Allday climbed down. “Hope you never do again.” He strode towards the inn and heard the cart clatter away before he could change his mind.

It was cool inside the door, a smell of freshness, the simple furniture scrubbed and decorated with wild flowers. There was a lively fire in the grate, and he guessed it would be getting cold earlier in the evenings so close to the river and the sea.

He tilted his head like an old dog as he caught the aroma of newly baked bread and something cooking in a pot.

At that moment she came through a low door and stopped dead when she saw him. With one hand she tried to wipe a smudge of flour from her cheek, while with the other she swept a loose lock of hair from her eyes.

“Oh, Mister Allday! I thought it was the man with the eggs! Seeing me like this—I must look an awful sight!”

He crossed the room carefully as if he were treading on something delicate. Then he put down his parcel on a serving table. “I brought you a present, Mrs Polin. I hope you like it.”

She unwrapped it slowly, and all the while he was able to watch her. An awful sight. She was the dearest woman he had ever laid eyes on.

Without looking up she said shyly, “My name’s Unis.” Then with a gasp of surprise she lifted out the model ship on which Allday had been working before leaving for the Cape of Good Hope.

He said nothing; but somehow she knew it was the old Hyperion.

“Is it really for me?” She stared at him, her eyes shining.

Then she reached out and took one big hand in both of hers.

“Thank you, John Allday.” Then she smiled at him. “Welcome home.”

13

… AND FAREWELL

JAMES SEDGEMORE, the Black Prince’s first lieutenant, paused in his endless pacing of the quarterdeck to take a telescope from the midshipman-of-the-watch. His face was reddened by the lively south-easterly wind, and he was very aware of the activity around him as the ship prepared to get under way. Lying to her anchor off Spithead, she was already responding, her masts and rigging shivering, while above the decks tiny figures swarmed like monkeys amongst the black tracery of shrouds and stays, halliards and ratlines.

Sedgemore trained the glass on the sallyport and saw Black Prince’s long green barge standing off the stairs, the oars pulling and backing to hold her clear of any damage in the choppy water. Tojohns, the captain’s coxswain, was in charge, and would make sure that everything was all right.

The whole ship was alive with rumour and speculation after some of the tales Tojohns had brought aboard with him. The shipwreck, a mutiny, man-eating sharks, and through it all, the admiral’s lady suffering and enduring with the rest of them.

A man gave a yelp of pain as a boatswain’s mate swung at him with his rope starter. It would be good to get the people out to some sea room, Sedgemore thought. The officers for the most part were as green as the bulk of the hands, half of whom had never set foot in a King’s ship before. They would soon learn, he thought grimly. He was not going to lose his chances of further promotion because of their ignorance or stupidity. He glanced at this same deck, where his predecessor had been cut in halves by a French ball. That was often how promotion came, and you never questioned it, in case the chance never offered itself again.

He thought too of his captain, so changed in manner from the time he had left the ship for some vague appointment in Cape Town: his temporary replacement had been swiftly removed after the ship’s unfortunate collision. That had been lucky for Sedgemore too. He himself had been ordered ashore with despatches for the port admiral, and was quite blameless.

It was good to have Captain Keen back. The other man had been so distant he had been impossible to know. Keen on the other hand had returned cheerful and confident, and apparently not even troubled too much by the large proportion of landmen and scum from the jails.

There had been one awkward moment however, when Black Prince had left her moorings and sailed through the narrow entrance of Portsmouth Harbour to anchor here off Spithead. The wind had been unusually strong, and Sedgemore had felt the hair rising on his neck as he watched the shallows beneath Portsmouth Point and its cluster of houses seemingly just a few yards clear. He had turned towards his captain, and had seen him smiling as men scampered to the braces, and extra hands had flung themselves on the great double-wheel. Looking back, Keen had shown a new, youthful recklessness, which had not been there when they had waited for Rear-Admiral Herrick’s court martial to begin.

Surviving the perils of an open boat, or returning to a young wife—it was probably a bit of both.

More men ran to loosen belaying pins in readiness to free the halliards, so that nothing would stick in the heavy drift of spray when the anchor broke free.

Sedgemore smiled to himself. Yes, it would be good to go. Not Portugal but the West Indies, it appeared. Where he would be out of reach of his creditors until his fortune improved. Sedgemore was ambitious to a point of devotion. A command of his own, then post-rank; it was like a mapped-out road of his own fate. But his weakness was gambling, and a spell safely in the Indies would keep him out of trouble … until the next time. And Sir Richard Bolitho would soon be aboard again. Surely with his experience and leadership, there would be even better chances for advancement.

He saw Jenour appear momentarily on deck with Yovell before they vanished beneath the poop. Jenour, previously such a lively young officer, full of experiences with which he had sometimes entertained the wardroom, of all those who had come back from almost certain death, seemed subdued and unwilling to talk. However, Sedgemore knew nothing would remain a secret from anyone after a few weeks at sea.