Darkening Sea (8 page)

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 took 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.”

Not guilty, but condemned to be a lieutenant until he was discharged or killed.

Bolitho asked quietly, “Do you have any family?”

He did not seem to hear for a moment. Then he said, “There is nobody. Apart from my uncle, whom I barely know.”

Bolitho saw Catherine's shadow beyond the open door.

He said, “Falmouth is not London, but there is a highly respected tailor here, Joshua Miller, who has served my family through several generations. See to it that you obtain the necessary clothing as befits a flag lieutenant.” He could not bear to see Avery's expression. Astonishment, gratitude, disbelief: it was all and none of them.

He added, “My own nephew was once in the same demanding role. It will not be an easy one for you. You will see my secretary, Mr Yovell, and he will drill you in your duties. Where is your gear?”

Avery tried to control his thoughts. “In the inn yard, Sir Richard. I would have taken a room there, but I never thought—”

Bolitho said, “Have someone bring it to the house. It will be easier for you to find your feet here, and to know the little crew who work with me.”

“I do not know what to say, Sir Richard! I can only promise . . .”

“Promise nothing! It is wiser in the long run.” He hesitated and said, “If it helps, I once threw down my sword to save the life of one very dear to me.” He thought of Allday falling to the Spanish blade, the terrible wound which still rendered him helpless if he was unprepared for it. “I hope I would be strong enough to do it again.”

When he turned again the tall, gaunt lieutenant with the streaks of prematurely greying hair had gone, as if he had been the spirit of someone past.

Catherine was in the room, her arms outstretched until she had thrown them around his shoulders.

He kissed her neck. “Did I do right, Kate?”

She could barely speak for a few moments. “He is a good man. I will never forget his face when he left you.”

He hugged her, wanting to make light of it. But all the time the lieutenant had been blurting out his story he had seen only himself.
It might have been me.

Later in the evening light, with a faint mist coming in from the sea, they walked together along the track to the stile, beyond which was the cliff path. They watched the sea as it hissed among the rocks where a few gulls bobbed up and down on the swell, but they could have had the world to themselves.

She said suddenly, “I want to come with you to Plymouth, and be at your side. Until the last moment.”

He held her against him, her loose hair blowing into his eyes. That day when
Anemone
had sighted the shores of Cornwall their time together had seemed infinite, reaching out ahead of them with so much promise. Now, in days perhaps, they would be parted, and her letters and his memories would have to sustain him.