Second to None (22 page)

She whispered, ‘No. Please don't.'

He held her away and studied her face, feature by feature.

‘Come with me on this last duty, Catherine. Then I will know.' He tried to smile. ‘And so will the Prince Regent!'

Again it came to her. When she had met Richard at Antigua, so long ago, it seemed, she had told him that he needed love,
as the desert craves for rain.
She had been describing herself.

She thought of all the rare, precious times they had spent together. As one. And the endless waiting in between. And the finality.

Don't leave me.

But there was no reply.

John Allday rested against the iron railings at the top of the jetty, so well-worn throughout the years that they were quite smooth, and stared across the crowded anchorage. One of the local carriers had given him a ride into Falmouth; he would doubtless be calling at the inn later on for some free ale.

Allday was glad he had come. It was something he could not explain to Unis, to anybody. It was probably bad for him, holding on to the past. Was it that . . .?

She was a frigate of some thirty-eight guns, although he had noticed that some of her ports were empty, as if her main armament had been cut down for some reason. She was named
Kestrel,
and even without a glass he had seen her figurehead, the spread wings and curved beak. As if it were alive. He did not know the ship, and that troubled him. Before long, there would be many more ships coming and leaving which were strangers to him, in name and reputation. No reminders.

He studied the frigate with a critical eye. A fine-looking vessel, freshly painted, and her furled or brailed-up canvas all new from the sailmakers. There were few local craft around her, so she was not in Falmouth to take on stores. He had heard someone say that
Kestrel
was already armed and provisioned, in readiness for a long voyage. Not Biscay or the Mediterranean this time; somewhere far away, perhaps. There were scarlet uniforms at the gangways and forecastle; her captain was taking no chances on last-minute desertions. A change of heart caused by the news of more advances across the Channel, the end finally in sight.

But the navy would still be needed. And there would always be deserters.

He heard some old sailors discussing the ship, their voices loud, as if they wanted to be noticed. In a moment they would try to draw him into it.

He moved a few paces along the jetty, and looked down at the water lapping over the stone stairs which had seen so many thousands arrive and depart. It was as if his life had begun here, when he had been taken aboard Bolitho's frigate
Phalarope
. With Bryan Ferguson, and some others who had not been quick enough to avoid a landing party. An unlikely way to begin something so strong. It was not as if he had been a green recruit; he had served in the fleet before. He frowned and glanced down at his good blue coat with the buttons which Bolitho had had made for him. The Bolitho crest, for an admiral's coxswain. He sighed.
And friend
.

Unis was doing all she could to make his life comfortable. She gave him encouragement, and she gave him love. And there was little Kate. He recalled how pleased Lady Catherine had been when she had heard their decision to name her Kate. The same name Sir Richard used for her.

And now she was gone from the old grey house. It seemed so empty without her; even his best friend Bryan had said as
much. He went there when he could, if only to share a wet with him, or to yarn about old times.

There was talk that Sir Richard's widow might return. No one seemed to know anything for certain. Lawyers and snotty clerks, what did they understand about this place and its people? Even the smell of it. Paint and tar, fishing nets hung to dry in the June sunshine, and the sounds. Winches and hammers, local dealers haggling with some of the fishing skippers who had come into the harbour earlier than usual. And always the sea.

He touched his chest, but the pain hesitated, like a warning at the door. Fallowfield was quiet, and usually peaceful. He knew that Unis got worried when sailors came so far out to the Old Hyperion. He had seen her watching, caring.

‘Oars!'

The order rang out sharply, but a little too shrill for the occasion. Allday turned as a jolly-boat thrust around the jetty, the bowman scrambling to his feet to seize a boathook. There was a smart-looking midshipman by the tiller, his hat tilted against the sunlight.

‘Up!'

The oars rose as one, like white bones, while the midshipman brought the hull against the wooden piles with barely a shudder.

Allday nodded. Rakishly done. So far. You never knew with the young gentlemen, ready to listen and learn one minute, tyrants the next.

One of the old sailors on the jetty cackled, ‘Look at
'im
! Proper little 'ero, eh, lads?'

Allday frowned. The speaker would not be saying that if he was back in the
perfect
navy he was usually describing in one of the local taverns.

The midshipman was clattering up the stone steps, a shining new dirk pressed against his side. Allday made to move aside, but the boy, and he was little more than that, blocked his way.

‘Mister Allday, sir?' He was gazing at him anxiously, while the boat's crew looked on with interest.

Very new and very young. Calling him ‘mister' and ‘sir'. He would have to learn quickly, otherwise . . . It hit him like
the pain in his chest. His was a different world now. He did not belong any more.

‘That's me.' The midshipman reminded him of someone . . . A face formed in his mind. Midshipman Neale of the
Phalarope,
who had eventually become captain of a frigate himself. Neale had died after being taken prisoner of war. With Richard Bolitho. He felt it again.
And me
.

The midshipman breathed out with relief. ‘My captain saw you, sir.' It was as if he were afraid to turn towards the anchored ship, in case he was being watched.

‘He sends his respects, sir.'

Allday shook his head, and corrected roughly, ‘Compliments!'

The midshipman was equally firm. ‘
Respects,
sir. And would you come aboard, if you have the time?'

Allday touched his arm. ‘Lead on.' It was worth it just to see the idlers on the jetty staring down at them. The loud-mouthed one could put that in his pipe and smoke it!

He threw his leg over the gunwale and said, ‘So long as I'm not being pressed!'

Some of the oarsmen grinned.
Because they think I'm too bloody old
.

‘Bear off forrard! Out oars! Give way together!'

Then the midshipman turned to stare at him, and said, ‘Never fear, sir, they'll be up to your standard soon!' And he was proud of it.

Allday looked around, avoiding the eyes as the seamen lay back on their looms, unable to accept it. The midshipman knew who he was.
Knew him
.

Eventually he managed to ask, ‘And who is your captain?'

The boy looked surprised, and almost misjudged the tug of the tiller-bar.

‘Why, Captain Tyacke, sir! Sir Richard Bolitho's flag captain!'

Allday looked up at the fierce kestrel with its spread wings, at a seaman using a marlin spike but pausing in the middle of a splice to peer down at him. Captain James Tyacke. A face from yesterday. Or half a face, with that terrible disfigurement, his legacy from the Nile.

And the midshipman stood and removed his hat as the boat hooked on to the main chains, and Allday climbed up the
‘stairs' to the entry port. His mind was too crowded to record that he did it with ease and without pain.

It was like one of those things you think about, in a dream or a part-remembered story from someone else. A lieutenant greeted him, older than most for his rank, so probably from the lower deck.
Come up the hard way.
He had heard Tyacke speak of others like that. From him, with his qualities of seamanship and professional skill, there was no higher praise.

Beneath the quarterdeck, his mind trying to take in everything. Neat stands of pikes, and smartly flaked lines. The smell of fresh paint and new cordage. Just months since he had seen Bolitho fall, had caught and held him to the last. Tyacke had been there, too, but because of the close action he had been prevented from leaving his men. He nodded to himself, as if someone had spoken.
Yesterday
.

A Royal Marine sentry drew his boots together as the lieutenant tapped on the screen door. She could have been any ship . . . He almost expected Ozzard to open the door.

But it was Captain Tyacke. He shook his hand, waved aside all formality and guided him into the great cabin. Through the broad, sloping stern windows Allday was aware of Carrick Roads, stationary masts and moving patches of sails. But, in truth, he saw none of it.

Tyacke seated him by a table, and said, ‘I called at Falmouth in the hope that I might see Lady Somervell. But when I sent word to the house I was told that she is in London.' He looked at the skylight, and made no attempt, as he had used to do, to turn aside to hide the hideous scars.

Allday said, ‘She would have wanted to see you, sir.'

Tyacke held up his hand. ‘No rank here. I shall write to her. I am under orders for the West African station. But when I saw you through the glass just now, I had to speak with you. Chance, like happiness, does not come so easily.'

Allday said, awkwardly, ‘But we thought . . .' He tried again. ‘My wife Unis was certain that you were to be married, if and when
Frobisher
was paid off. I thought you might spend some time ashore.' He tried to grin. ‘You've earned it more ‘n most!'

Tyacke glanced at the adjoining sleeping cabin, glad that his
big sea chest had at last been taken below. His companion for so many years. Thousands and thousands of miles logged, icy gales and blistering heat. Guns and death. The chest had been standing near the door of Marion's house, waiting for men to come and take it to his new command. This ship.

He said, ‘I always thought I'd like to return to Africa. Their lordships were good to me, and granted my request.' He looked up at the skylight again; maybe he could see the mainmast truck from there. No admiral's flag any more. A private ship. His own.

Allday heard someone bringing glasses. He thought of Unis, how lucky he was to have her.

Tyacke was speaking again, with no discernible emotion in his voice.

‘It would not have worked, you see. The two children . . .' He touched his scarred face, reliving it. ‘I can understand how they felt about it.'

Allday watched him sadly.
No, you don't
.

Tyacke gestured to the unknown servant.

‘Nelson's blood, am I right?'

Allday saw the servant give him a quick glance, and was glad he had put on his best coat today. As if he had known.

‘It will do me good to get away from all of it. There's nothing for me here. Not any more.' Tyacke took a full goblet. ‘It's something we shared, were a part of. Nothing can alter that.' He swallowed some of his drink, his blue eyes very clear.

Then he said, after a silence, ‘He gave me back my
pride
, my hope, when I had thought them gone forever. I'll never forget him, and what he gave to me.' He smiled briefly. ‘It's all we can do now. Remember.'

He poured another generous measure of the rum and thought of Marion, her face when he had left the neat house, the children hiding in another room. Another man's home, another man's children.

Then he stared around the cabin and knew it was what he wanted. It was the only life he knew, or could expect.

Back to the anti-slavery patrols where he had been serving when he had first met Richard Bolitho. The trade was more extensive and more lucrative than ever despite all the treaties and promises; the slavers would have the pick of the ships
as soon as this war was finally ended. Like the ones which had been there that day. When he had seen him fall, and this big, shambling man with the goblet almost lost in one of his hands had held him with a tenderness which few could imagine. Unless they had shared it. Been there.
With us
.

He smiled suddenly. And he never had told Marion about the yellow gown which he had always carried in that old sea chest.

Later in the afternoon they went on deck. There was a hint of mist below Pendennis Castle, but the glass was steady and the wind was fair.
Kestrel
would clear harbour before most good people were awake and about their business.

Allday stood by the entry port, feeling the ship stir slightly beneath his fine shoes. He was surprised that he could accept it, without pain and without pity. He would never lose it, any more than the tall captain with the burned and melted face would forget.

The jolly-boat was already coming alongside, and the same midshipman was at the tiller. For some reason Allday was glad of it.

They faced one another and shook hands, each somehow knowing they would not meet again. As was the way with most sailors.

Tyacke waved to the boat, and asked, ‘Where to now, old friend?'

Allday smiled. ‘Goin' home, Cap'n.'

Then he walked to the entry port, and paused and touched his forehead to the quarterdeck, and to the great ensign curling lazily from aft. For John Allday, admiral's coxswain, it would never end.

He climbed down into the boat and grinned at the young midshipman. The worst part was behind him.

The midshipman eased over the tiller-bar and said shyly, ‘Will you, sir?'

Allday nodded, and waited for the bowman to cast off.

‘Bear off forrard! Out oars! Give way
together
!'

It would never end.

LUKE JAGO MADE
his way unhurriedly aft, his lean body angled easily to the deck.
Unrivalled
was heading west again, steering close-hauled on the starboard tack under topsails and topgallants, the wind light but enough to hold her steady.