Signal Close Action (34 page)

Outhwaite appeared in the door. 'Sir?'

'Captain Herrick is returning to his own ship.'

The frogface was expressionless. 'By whos
e order, sir?' Farquhar smiled li
ghtly. 'Mine.'

As Herrick made to leave he added, 'One thing. I'll need a good signals officer. I will keep your sixth lieutenant.' 'Yes, sir.'

Herrick sighed. At least Pascoe would be spared. Although he suspected that Farquhar's was no mere gesture of confidence. More one to advertise his humanity in saving Pascoe from a wasted death.

He strode out beneath the poop and into the sunlight. The news of his leaving was already making itself shown. Glum faces, curious stares followed him as he strode towards the entry port. Perhaps they would miss him after all.

Outhwaite hurried along with him. 'I'll have all your gear and chests sent across, sir. Your cox'n is already in the barge.' He held out his hand. 'I doubt we'll meet again, sir. But I'd not have missed it.'

Herrick studied him, suddenly very calm. 'Nor I. It taught me a great deal. Which was intended.'

'It
did,
sir?' Outhwaite was surprised.

'Yes. About people. Mostly about myself.'

He touched his hat abruptly and walked to the open port.

Outhwaite waited until the boat had thrust away from the side and then snapped, 'Turn the hands to, Mr. Guthrie. We'll have no slackness.'

He thought of Herrick's face in those last few moments. He had half-expected to see humility but had found only pity. For him perhaps. When he glanced across the wide quarterdeck he was strangely troubled. It no longer seemed like the same place.

*

Herrick stood motionless by the open stern windows looking down into the swirling water below the counter. He could see the stars reflected there, and by leaning slightly over the sill he could also see the solitary lantern by his head and the line of bright windows from the wardroom below his feet. The ship was unusually quiet, as if holding her breath. There had only been one break in the stillness, and that had been when he had returned aboard, some two hours ago.

An unknown voice had begun it, and then, as if at a signal, and despite Gilchrist's anger, the ship had burst alive with cheering. The noise had drowned out the calls and the marine drummers completely, and even old Grubb had removed bis hat and had waved it in the air, his ruined face scarlet with his, ' 'Uzza, lads! The cap'n's come back!'

He walked away from the windows and glanced momentarily at the empty sword-rack on the bulkhead. Bolitho had been unwilling to take the sword with him. Ozzard had told him that. Perhaps he had foreseen something. A warning.

He sighed. Farquhar had kept his word, and the wording of
Lysander's
orders made it perfectly clear where the blame would he if Herrick acted wrongly. Herrick told himself that Farquhar was correct. That he would have done the same. But the doubt was there.

There was an uncertain tap on the door. It was Pascoe, his hat under his arm. Even in the light of a solitary lantern Herrick could see the strain on his face, the brightness in his eyes.

‘
Yes?'

Pascoe said, 'Mr. Manning is come aboard, sir. He has a lady with him. They came to say goodbye to Captain Farquhar, as they are leaving for Gibraltar in
Harebell
as soon as a wind returns.'

Herrick nodded. There was no wind at all. And it added to the sense of brooding despair.

He said quietly, 'Tell Ozzard to bring more lanterns. Then show the visitors aft. I'll explain about Captain Farquhar.'

He thought of his orders again. Signed
Acting-Commodore.

Pascoe said, 'I'd like to stay in
Lysander,
sir.'

'I know.' He faced him. 'But you must transfer to
Osiris
at first light tomorrow. It is probably for the best. I'd like to think you at least were here if
...'

Pascoe asked, 'Are you going to Corfu just to show that you believe he is right, sir ?'

'Yes. It is all I
can
do now.'

He crossed to his side and added, 'Take care, Adam. A lot may depend on you now.'

Pascoe's eyes were wide. 'You speak as if he were already dead?'

'I'm not sure. Not any more.' Herrick looked around the quiet cabin. 'But I am certain of one thing. People in England who do not understand as we do will try to smear his name.

It is a common custom with our country's heroes, and hero your
uncle is, and never forget it!
' His voice was loud but he could not bottle his thoughts any longer.
‘I
met his father once, did you know that ? Your grandfather. A fine man, from a proud tradition. You'll have a lot to live up to, and many will try to splinter your defences with envy and hate. So just you remember this day, Adam, and treasure it.'

He swung away. 'Now bring those damned visitors aft.'

He heard Pascoe's footsteps retreating, and felt the pounding of his own heart matching them.

Light flooded around him as Ozzard hung fresh lanterns, and with a start he realised that Manning was in the cabin door, a lady in a dark boat cloak and hood at his side.

Manning said stiffly, 'I regret the intrusion, Captain. It now seems I have wasted time and effort and will have to take a boat to the
Osiris'

Herrick tried to smile. But his face felt numb. 'I am sorry, Mr. Manning.' It was typical of Farquhar of course. 'I expect you would have been told of the new arrangements in the morning.'

Manning searched his face and replied dryly, 'Indeed, I would like to think so.'

To the lady, who had remained silent, he said, "We will go over to
Osiris
right away. I have some matters to discuss with Captain Farquhar before you leave.'

Herrick said, "There'll be no wind before dawn. You can rest assured of that.'

‘I
see.' Manning seemed irritated. 'This is my sister, by the way, Mrs. Boswell.'

She threw back the hood of her cloak and gave a quick smile.

Manning continued, 'Better be off then.'

She said, 'I
am sailing in the
Harebell,
Captain Herrick, but my brother is remaining in Sicily for the present.' She looked sadly at Manning. 'Though how the poor dear will manage, I cannot imagine.'

He glared at her and then snapped, 'Are you coming, Dulcie ?'

'No.' She walked further into the cabin, her boat cloak swishing behind her. 'I will have enough of cramped quarters and boats before I reach England again. And I have seen enough of Captain Farquhar anyway.' She gave Herrick a smile. 'I should like to remain here until you have finished your business, John. If the captain has no objections ?'

Herrick shook his head. 'No, Ma'am. My pleasure.'

She was a very pleasant looking woman, with the fresh cheeks and bright eyes of someone raised in the country. He wondered what she was doing out here. Perhaps her husband was like Manning, a man who served the King without wearing his coat.

Manning tutted and grunted and then said, 'Oh, very well. I'll be back in an hour.'

The silence closed in again, and Herrick felt as if he was too large to be in the cabin.

She watched him thoughtfully and then loosened her cloak before sitting easily in one of the chairs.

'So you are Captain Herrick. I have been hearing about you. One of your men told me you are sailing soon. I hope you have a safe voyage.'

Herrick looked at her, wanting to be left alone. Needing her to stay.

'Aye, Ma'am. There's plenty of talk in ships.' He changed the subject. 'I gather you are bound for England ?'

'Yes. We live in
-'
She dropped her eyes. "That is, my husband died two years ago. So I am returning to Canterbury. I have been dreading it in many ways. I came out to live with John. He has never married, poor lamb. But he insists that the war is getting closer each day.' She sighed. 'So home I must go.'

Herrick sat down opposite her. 'But, Ma'am, I come from Kent, too. My home is in Rochester.' He smiled awkwardly. 'Though I fear not as fine as yours will be.'

She watched him, her skin very pale under the-lamplight. 'That young officer who brought us to the cabin.' She lowered her eyes.
‘I
couldn't help hearing what you said to him.'

Herrick flushed. 'Ma'am, I do apologise.' He recalled his anger.
Bring
these
damned
visitors
aft.
'Had I realised.'

'No, Captain. Before that. You were deeply upset, as I believe that good-looking boy was, too.'

Herrick nodded slowly. 'He is the commodore's nephew. A fine young man.'

She said quietly, 'I've heard about your commodore. I was very distressed. I understand he was greatly liked.'

'Aye, Ma'am. None better. None braver.'" 'There's no hope ?'

'Not much. Your brother would have heard something by now.'

'Tell me about
yourself,
Captain. Do you have a family in England ?'

And that was how it all began. Herrick speaking his thoughts and memories aloud, while she sat quietly listening.

When someone cried a challenge and a boat surged alongside, Herrick could hardly believe an hour had passed so fast. He stood up anxiously.

'If I have bored you, Ma'am
...'

She patted his sleeve and smiled at him.
‘I
should like to call upon your sister, if I may, Captain. It will help to keep us both cheerful until
-'
She fastened her cloak. 'Until you return to Kent again.' She looked up at his face, her gaze level. 'I hope you'll not forget us.'

Herrick grasped her hand. It was small and firm and made him feel all the clumsier.

'I'll not forget your kindness to me, Ma'am.' He heard Manning's voice drawing closer. 'I'd like to think we might meet again, but - '

'No buts, Captain.' She moved back from him.
‘I
can now understand why your commodore is sadly missed. With friends such as you, he must have been a man indeed.'

Herrick followed her on to the quarterdeck where her brother was speaking with Major Leroux.

Pascoe called, 'Boat's ready, sir!'

Herrick said roughly, 'Go with this lady in the boat, Mr. Pascoe. My compliments to Commander Inch. Tell him to take good care of his passenger.'

She touched his arm. 'Inch? Another friend?'

'Aye.' Herrick guided her around the projecting humps of gun trucks and ring-bolts. 'You'll be in good hands.'

She moved her elbow gently in his grip. 'No better than now, I think.'

*

The nightmare was rising to another great climax. Leaping patterns of dark red, like solid flame, interspersed with cruder shapes, sometimes human, other times obscure and all the more frightening.

Bolitho wanted to get to his feet, to cry out, to escape the surging movement and encirclement. Once, against the molten banks of fire he saw a woman, deathly white, her arms beckoning him, her mouth calling silent words. When he had tried to reach her he realised that both his legs had gone, and a ship's surgeon was laughing at his rising terror.

All at once it was gone. Silence, and a darkness too unreal to accept, so that Bolitho felt himself drawing in his muscles and limbs to resist another terrible nightmare.

It was then that he realised he could feel his legs, his arms and the sweat which ran across his neck and thighs. Slowly, fearfully, like a man climbing back from the dead, he tried to assemble his thoughts, to separate reality from that which he had been enduring since
...
he struggled on to his elbows, staring at the darkness.
Since
when?

As his senses returned he noticed a sluggish movement beneath him, the shudder and tilt of a vessel under way. Blocks and rigging creaked, and he felt a new sensation, that of dread. He remembered the return of the fever, the signs he had known were there but had refused to recognise. Allday's face above him, lined and anxious, hands carrying him, the enfolding darkness.

He groped up to his eyes and winced as his fingers touched them. He had gone completely blind.