Colours Aloft! (7 page)

Keen said quietly, “I have a great affection for her, sir.” He looked up, his eyes defiant as if he expected Bolitho to explode.

“I know that, Val. I think I knew that day when you went down to visit her, maybe even earlier.” He nodded. “That's settled then.”

Keen put down the empty glass although he had barely noticed what he was drinking.

“It's impossible! I am mad even to think of it!”

Bolitho said, “How old are you, Val? Thirty-five or six?”

“A year older than that, sir. And she is just a girl.”

“A
woman,
Val, so remember it, eh? As you get older the gap between you will lessen, not widen.” He put his head on one side and smiled at Keen's expression.

Perhaps he had done wrong by both of them. The senior officer or the Governor at Gibraltar might refuse to allow the girl to remain there.

But at least the truth was out and Bolitho found that he was surprisingly lifted by it.

Keen said, “I am deluding myself, sir.”

Bolitho touched his arm. “We shall see—” He glanced at the skylight as a lookout's cry floated down from aloft.

A minute later the midshipman-of-the-watch appeared breathless at the door.

“Beg pardon, sir.” He stared from Keen to his admiral. “Mr Paget's respects, and we have just sighted a sail, sir.”

It was Midshipman Hext, his eyes now moving around the great cabin, doubtless remembering it for another letter.

Bolitho smiled gravely. “And are we to be told where this sail might be, in due course?”

The boy blushed. “I—I'm sorry, Sir Richard. It bears to the sou'-east.”

Keen said, “My compliments to the first lieutenant. I shall come up.” He still sounded different, as if only half his mind was working on the news.

Bolitho said, “Signal
Rapid
to investigate.” His thoughts clung to that small moment of warmth they had shared and then he said, “Might be news of the French.”

Keen's eyes cleared. “Aye, sir.” Then he was gone.

But it was to be news of a graver sort.

As the other ship drew closer she was soon identified as the
Barracouta.
Bolitho took a telescope and joined Keen at the quarterdeck rail to watch as Lapish clawed his way to windward to draw closer to the squadron.

There were men at work on her yards and several of her sails were patched. Even as he watched Bolitho saw a great mass of cordage being hoisted aloft, the work not even faltering as the business of sailing the ship went on.

“She's been in a fight.” Keen nodded to his first lieutenant. “Prepare to shorten sail, Mr Paget.”

Bolitho kept his face impassive as the men around the quarterdeck stared at him. So it was beginning already. The momentary calm was over.

“You are right, Val. Captain repair on board immediately.”

An hour later Captain Jeremy Lapish sat in Bolitho's cabin. He seemed to have aged since he had left the squadron to carry despatches to Gibraltar.

He explained, “I sighted a schooner inshore and closed to see what she was about.” He took a goblet gratefully from Ozzard. “Before I knew where we were there were two French frigates coming around the point with the wind under their coat-tails.”

Bolitho saw the despair and misery on the young captain's face. Just what he had feared had happened. The schooner had been the bait and the two Frenchmen had almost run Lapish's ship onto a lee shore.

“I shall read your report later.” Bolitho eyed him sternly. “Did you lose any hands?”

Lapish nodded, his eyes dull. “Two, sir.”

Quite rightly Lapish had run from his attackers. Outsailed and outgunned, he had had little choice.

Would I have done the same?
Bolitho looked at him. “What of Gibraltar?”

Lapish shook himself from his thoughts. He had nearly lost his ship so soon after taking command. Almost as bad, he may have lost the confidence of his people.

He said, “Gibraltar is closed, sir.” He laid a heavy envelope on the table and they all looked at it as he added, “Fever. It has struck down half the garrison.”

Bolitho walked across the cabin and back again. The Rock was notorious for outbreaks of fever, but what a time for this to happen.

“There is no deadlier enemy.” He looked at Keen. “We shall have to stand offshore until we know what is happening.” To Lapish he said, “Return to your ship.” He wanted to share his pain, to commiserate with him. Instead he closed his mind and said sharply, “Think yourself fortunate to have a ship left to command.”

Keen left to see the crestfallen Lapish over the side.

Fever. Bolitho shivered. Just the word brought back the nightmare, when he had nearly died of it. It might still return.

He shook himself and tried to consider how the news would affect them. With Gibraltar closed to them he would have to decide for himself what to do.

He smiled grimly. He was no longer just an onlooker.

4
B
AIT

W
ITH THE
crash of a salute lingering in the air the small squadron came round into the wind and anchored in succession.

Bolitho stood by the nettings and saw the relief on Keen's face. The manoeuvre was executed well despite so many new hands throughout the ships.

He turned and looked up at the great towering mass of Gibraltar. In the past it had always been a refuge, a safe anchorage; now it seemed edged with menace.

There were few men-of-war present, and they were moored clear of the jetty near the other convict ship
Philomela
and some local craft. Several guard-boats plied slowly back and forth. Bolitho saw that they carried redcoats and each mounted at least one swivel. It was as bad as that.

“We call the other captains aboard today.”

He saw Keen training his telescope on one of the boats which was pulling towards the flagship. “Aye, sir. I think we have a visitor.”

The boat paused, the oars backing water below the mainchains while the crew stared up at the two-decker as if she was part of another world.

A post-captain stood in the sternsheets and squinted up at the quarterdeck.

“I cannot come aboard, Sir Richard! I have to tell you that the Governor has taken charge here; the admiral is ill.” He kept his voice unhurried and level as if well aware of the countless ears and eyes which were gauging the danger.

Bolitho walked to the entry port and stood looking down at the boat. Each man in it would probably give all he owned to be allowed on board, even though he might bring the fever with him.

The sunburned captain in the boat called, “I have sent a courier brig,
Firefly,
to Lord Nelson.”

It was strange that only Inch had ever met the little admiral and had rarely ceased to tell of it. Now Adam might meet him.

The captain added, “I understand that officers' wives are taking passage in your squadron, Sir Richard. I have to tell you that if they land, they must do so now. It is their right to be with their husbands if they so wish. But they cannot leave until this fever is broken.”

Bolitho saw the
Orontes
swinging to her anchor, a guard-boat idling nearby to deter anyone from trying to swim ashore.

It would require a lot of planning. Water, supplies, repairs. The squadron would need them all and more.

“I have despatches from the Governor, Sir Richard.” A satchel was being lifted to the main-chains on a boat-hook. Bolitho saw Carcaud, the lanky surgeon's mate, leaning down to seize it in a flannel bag. Tuson was taking no chances even with that.

Bolitho felt Keen watching him as he called, “All the ladies are astern of me in
Helicon.
I have one woman aboard my ship.”

The captain shrugged apologetically. “If she is not of the garrison, Sir Richard, I am ordered to inform you no other person can be landed.”

The boat began to move away, the oars stirring unwillingly. The captain raised his hat. “I shall collect the ladies now, sir!” The contact was broken.

Keen lowered his voice. “You did not tell him that the girl is a prisoner, sir?”

Bolitho watched the flannel bag being carried aft.

“I do not recall that he asked, Val.” He left a patch of shade and stared up at the Rock, its ancient Moorish castle shrouded in heat haze.

“The Governor might easily have shut her in a cell, Val. He has raised a state of seige here, one girl more or less would stand no chance.”

Keen stared after him, knowing that his lieutenants were waiting with their demands and lists.

Bolitho had to search through his despatches and compare them with his instructions from the Admiralty. It was a great responsibility to his ships and his men. But he had still found time to think about the girl named Zenoria. It was unnerving.

He turned and looked at his officers. “Well, Mr Paget, where shall we begin?” His face was quite calm; he was the flag-captain again. If one hint of this matter reached higher authority Bolitho's name would be smeared too. And yet he had not hesitated.

By the boat tier Allday peered up at the green-painted barge and frowned. It would not be lowered, here at Gib anyway. He climbed up to peer into the sleek hull, biting his lip as if he expected the hot pain to surge through his chest again. The boat was half filled with water. The seams would not open in the sunlight. He glanced down at Bankart and grinned.

“You've made a good start, lad.” He was pleased although still dazed by the change of events which had given him a son. That was the strange thing. They spoke a lot with each other, but apart from Bankart's dead mother they had nothing in common except the Navy. But he was a pleasant lad and did not abuse his small authority of second coxswain as some might.

Allday dropped to the deck and said, “Time for a wet. We'll not be needed just now.” He glanced aft. “The admiral's too busy for chatter.”

Bankart ducked beneath a gangway and asked, “What is he like? I've heard tell you've been with him since—”

Allday eyed him fondly. “Since around the day you was born, I reckon. A fine man. Brave, an' loyal to his mates.”

He thought of the girl in midshipman's clothing. All bloody hell would break if Keen wasn't careful. He had heard some of the seamen laying odds on whether the captain had had his way with her. “All right for the officers, eh, lads? Poor Jack is the one to suffer!” Allday had silenced that one with his fist, but there would be plenty more who thought as much.

He said, “I'll take you with me to the house when we gets home. It's a grand place, but they found room for me like one o' their own.”

The mention of Falmouth made him suddenly uneasy. He had seen Bolitho's dismay change to resentment over something Lady Belinda had said or done.

Allday would back Bolitho anywhere against all odds, but he felt sympathy for his lovely wife. It could not be a smooth passage to follow in Cheney's shadow. Bolitho would have to accept this. There was no going back.

He shook himself out of his mood as he caught the heady aroma of rum.

“A good wet, that's what we need.”

The surgeon was standing just inside the door of the makeshift cabin, wiping his strong fingers on a cloth, as Keen appeared. Keen glanced at the Royal Marine sentry and saw that his blank face was wet with sweat, for despite the hastily rigged windsails to every hatch the air felt hot and sluggish.

“How is she?”

Tuson eyed him for several seconds. “I've removed the dressing, sir.”

Keen walked past him and saw the girl sitting on a stool, her hair released from its ribbon and covering her shoulders.

He asked, “Does it still hurt very much?”

Her eyes lifted to his. “It is bearable, sir.” She moved her shoulders warily beneath the shirt and winced. “It feels stiff.” She seemed to realize that her borrowed shirt had fallen open and dragged it together quickly.

Then she said, “I heard what happened today. About me.” She looked up and he saw the anxiety stark in her eyes. “Will I be sent to that ship again, sir? I'll kill myself before—”

Keen said, “No. Don't speak of it.”

Tuson watched from the door. The tall, elegant captain and the long-haired girl on the stool. Miles apart and yet there was something like a shaft of light between them.

He cleared his throat. “I'll fetch some ointment for that scar, my girl.” He looked at Keen and added quietly, “I shall be about ten minutes, sir.” Then he was gone.

She asked, “Would you like to sit with me, sir?” She gestured to a heavy chest. Then she smiled. It was the first time Keen had seen her smile. She said, “Not what you're used to, I'm sure.” Her sudden confidence left her and she added huskily, “I am sorry.”

“Don't be.” Keen watched her hands in her lap and wanted to hold them. “I wish I could make you more comfortable.”

She lifted her gaze and watched him steadily.

“What is it you want of me?” She sounded neither angry nor frightened. It was as if she had been expecting him to demand freely what she had already been brutally forced to give.

Keen said, “I want to take care of you.” He looked at the deck. He thought she would call for the sentry or, worse, laugh at him and his clumsiness.

Without a word she moved from the stool and knelt down against his legs and rested her head on his knees.

Keen found that he was stroking her long hair, saying meaningless words, anything to prolong this impossible moment.

There were footsteps on a companion ladder and outside the door the sentry dragged the butt of his musket across the deck. Tuson was coming back.

Then she looked up at him and he saw that her eyes were streaming with tears, could feel them wet through his white breeches.

“You
mean
it, don't you?” The words were torn from her.

Keen stood up and raised her to her feet. Without shoes she barely reached his chest.

He touched her face, and then very carefully as if he was handling something precious and delicate he lifted her chin with his fingers. “Believe it. I have never meant anything so much.”

Then as Tuson's shadow moved between them he stepped back through the door.

Tuson watched them, surprised that he could still feel so emotional after what his trade had done to him. It was like sharing something. A secret. But it would not remain one for long.

Ozzard and his assistants had brought extra lanterns to the great cabin so that the windows overlooking the harbour seemed black by comparison.

It was the first time that all the captains of Bolitho's squadron had been gathered together like this. There was an air of good humour and perhaps some relief that they were staying away from the fever.

Keen waited until all the goblets had been filled and then said, “Pay attention, gentlemen.”

Bolitho stood by the windows, his hands tucked behind him under his coat-tails.

A landsman would be impressed, he thought; his little band of captains made a fine sight beneath the slowly spiralling lanterns.

Francis Inch was the most senior, his long face empty of anxiety or concern about anything. Keen, the only other post-captain, looked tense as he glanced at his companions.

His mind was still turning over what had happened between him and their passenger. One good thing had occured, Bolitho decided. A Jamaican girl, one of the servants who had been travelling with the garrison wives, had pleaded not to be sent ashore. In view of the Governor's order this seemed a suitable solution for a companion for Zenoria Carwithen. It would not stop the speculation but might halve the gossip.

Philip Montresor of the
Despatch
was a young, eager-faced man, who was not in the least daunted by the solitary epaulette on his right shoulder. Next to him, Tobias Houston of the
Icarus
looked old for his rank and had indeed gained it by a roundabout route through John Company and later the Revenue Service. He had a round, hard face like a weathered nut, and a mouth little more than a slit.

Commander Marcus Quarrell was leaning across to whisper something to Lapish, who had commanded his brig
Rapid
before him. Quarrell was a lively, friendly man from the Isle of Man. But his humour was failing with Lapish who still looked sunk in gloom.

Lieutenant Hallowes of the cutter
Supreme
was also present and quite rightly, he was as much a captain as any of them. For the present anyway.

They were a mixed bunch, Bolitho thought. The whole fleet must be like this as their lordships tried to produce ships and men for a war which even an idiot should have expected.

He looked over their expectant faces, the gold and blue of their uniforms, the confidence he had heard in their voices.

He said, “Gentlemen, I intend to sail with a minimum of delay. In his despatches the Governor has informed me that an East Indiaman will be arriving any day now to take passage around the Cape of Good Hope. With her trained company and heavy artillery she will be able to offer a suitable escort to the two convict vessels until they are clear of French interference. I am sure the Governor will be able to
persuade
the grocery captain.”

They all laughed. The HEIC was not known for losing time on a fast passage no matter for what reason.

It hid Bolitho's relief. He had been afraid that the Governor might demand one of his ships for the task; there were too few already without that.

He continued, “This is unlike the blockades of Brest and the Bay. There, foul though it is for the ships involved, they can be relieved and sent to England for restoring or repairs in a couple of weeks. In the Mediterranean there is no such relief. Toulon is our main cause of anxiety; to watch the enemy and discover his intention will need constant vigilance. But where can we go for our supplies and, even more important, our fresh drinking water? Gibraltar is eight hundred miles from Toulon, and Malta about the same. A ship sent from Malta might be away from her admiral for over two months.” He smiled wryly. “Pleasant for her captain maybe,” he saw them grin, “but in the meantime the enemy could be away on the wind. I have no doubt that Vice-Admiral Nelson has already found a possible solution. If not, I intend to act independently.” He could see the captains of the seventy-fours considering what he had said. Each ship carried fresh water for only ninety days, and that was on a restricted ration. They had to find a source of water above all else.