Sword of Honour

by Alexander Kent

  Sillitoe said, ‘I have put him in another room. I think it might be wise to see him.’

  She said, ‘I shall wait on the terrace, Richard.’

  But Sillitoe interjected, ‘This is my house and you are my guests. I see no reason to separate you.’ He touched her hand lightly. ‘To divide the legend?’

  His small secretary was hovering close by, and Sillitoe said, ‘I shall come and disturb you shortly.’

  One of Sillitoe’s men led the way to the library, and then into a smaller ante-room adjoining it. There was a chair by the fireplace. Catherine recognised it. As if it had never been moved since she had sat there that day, when she had come for Sillitoe’s help. When he had brushed past her, and she had felt him fighting the desire to touch her, to lay his hand on her shoulder. But he had not.

  Admiral Lord James Rhodes was a tall, solidly built man who had once been handsome. His face was dominated by a strong, beaked nose, while his eyes were surprisingly small, almost incidental by comparison. He glanced quickly at Catherine, but was careful to reveal nothing. A man used to hiding his feelings, if he had any, she thought.

  Bolitho said, ‘May I present the Viscountess Somervell, my lord?’ He felt her look at him, sensed the anxiety, in case there would be some lurking insult or rebuff. But Rhodes gave a stiff bow and said, ‘I’ve not had the honour before, my lady.’ He did not take her hand and she did not offer it.

  Catherine walked to a window to watch as yet another carriage clattered across the stones. She could feel the admiral staring at her, but found no pleasure in his uncertainty.

  She thought suddenly and with longing of Falmouth. To be parted again was too brutal to consider.

  She leaned closer to the window and observed the new arrivals. No admiral or politician this time, only a tall lieutenant, removing his hat as he gave his hand to the woman who stepped down beside him. Even in the fading light, she could see the grey in his dark hair, saw him laugh, and the way the fair woman looked at him. So this was George Avery’s lover, to whom he seemed to have lost his heart.

  And yet, when he had brought Sillitoe’s invitation and had warned her of the prospect of Malta, he had said nothing about staying behind when Richard was ordered to sail.

  She heard Rhodes say, ‘I’m giving you Frobisher, d’you know her?’

  And Richard’s reply, his mind already grappling with his new task.

  ‘Yes, my lord. Seventy-four – Captain Jefferson, as I recall.’

  Rhodes sounded relieved, she thought. ‘No more, I fear. Slipped his cable two years back. Buried at sea, poor fellow.’

  Bolitho said quietly, ‘A French prize. She was named Glorieux.’

  ‘Does that trouble you, Sir Richard? If so ….’

  ‘A ship is as good as you use her.’

  Rhodes grunted. ‘New, too, compared with some of your recent vessels. Eight years old.’

  She heard him pick up a goblet and drink noisily. Yes, he was relieved. She turned from the window and said, ‘And when will this be required, my lord?’

  He regarded her warily. ‘Weeks rather than months, my lady. But you need not concern yourself with such matters. I have always found ….’

  ‘Have you, my lord? I am glad to know it. Out there, people are celebrating a victory, the cost of which is still to be calculated, and I am concerned for this man and for myself. Is that so strange?’

  Bolitho said, ‘I have not yet decided.’

  Rhodes looked around as though trapped. ‘You were chosen because of your reputation, because of the honour you have won for your country.’ He regarded Catherine grimly. ‘It should be plain to see why this is of paramount importance.’

  The door opened softly, and Sillitoe entered without speaking.

  She said quietly, ‘All I see is two islands and two men. A tyrant who has fought and murdered his way through Europe on one, and an admiral of England, a true hero, on the other. That is no comfort at all!’ She touched her eyes with her glove, and when she looked again, Rhodes had departed.

  Sillitoe said, ‘I do regret this. Rhodes is a good controller, but he has no tact. If you decide against hoisting your flag in the Mediterranean, Richard, it will be his head on the block, not yours. And he knows it.’ He glared at his secretary again, and then said, ‘Join me presently. There are some people you should meet.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘Including my nephew’s guest.’

  The door closed and they were alone; only the strains of music and the muffled murmur of voices reminded them where they were.

  She lowered her face. ‘I am so sorry, Richard. I spoke like an angry, embittered wife. I had no right.’

  He raised her chin and studied her. ‘If you were my wife in the eyes of the church, I could not love you more. You had every right. You are my life.’

  ‘Then let them see it.’ She tossed the shawl from her shoulders and touched the pendant, and looked at him again.

  ‘And tomorrow we shall leave London.’

  Lieutenant George Avery stared around at the crowd and began to doubt the wisdom of having accepted his uncle’s invitation. Important people all, well known to those who shared this unfamiliar world, politicians, senior officers of both army and navy, and a few diplomats adorned with honours he did not recognise. It was the utter transformation of his uncle’s house which was the most astonishing thing. The silent austerity had been replaced by music, noise and laughter, and liveried servants pushing through the throng this way and that to satisfy the guests and refill the goblets.

  He glanced down at his companion. ‘Perhaps we should have made our excuses, Susanna.’

  She smiled, observing him thoughtfully, like one discovering or seeking some new and unknown quality in him.

  ‘I recognise some of the faces here. I have seen them on other occasions. I suspect that this is where all the real decisions are made, like the turn of a card.’

  Avery felt vaguely jealous, without understanding why. She was used to such affairs, like the one at her own London house, where she had invited him to stay. To be her lover.

  He had seen heads turn to look and compare. The beauty and the lowly lieutenant. The most junior sea officer Avery had seen so far had been a post-captain. They walked through the throng, and he saw her acknowledge one or two people. Most of the women she ignored.

  When he mentioned them, she replied softly, ‘Like the extra footmen, they are paid for their services!’ She had gripped his arm and almost laughed at his embarrassment. ‘Lord, Mister Avery, you still have much to learn!’

  She released his arm now, and said, ‘That is Lady Somervell, is it not? It must be.’

  Avery saw Catherine and Bolitho by a low balustrade, and said, ‘Would you care to meet them?’

  But Sillitoe stepped between them, and held out his hand. ‘Lady Mildmay, what a pleasure. I had been so looking forward to making your acquaintance. I hope everything is to your satisfaction? A great pity you are to be separated from my nephew so soon, but then, I shall never attempt to understand the navy!’

  She looked at Avery. ‘Separated? I thought…. I understood that you would be remaining in England until some suitable appointment could be found.’

  Avery said, ‘I am Sir Richard’s flag lieutenant, Susanna. It is more than a duty, or an excuse. It is what I must do.’

  Sillitoe shrugged. ‘Believe me, I offered him an alternative, Lady Mildmay. I do, of course, admire loyalty but….’ He broke off as one of his footmen signalled to him. ‘We will speak later.’

  Avery said, ‘I was going to tell you. I have been happier with you than I could have believed possible. I love you, I always have.’

  ‘But you’d leave me, because of duty?’

  She turned, startled, as Catherine said, ‘I think we should meet.’

  She offered her hand.

  ‘I do know what you are thinking. I try to accept it, but I shall never do so without pain.’ She glanced around the room, seeing the quick glances, the knowing smiles, recognising
them. Sir Wilfred Lafargue, one of London’s leading lawyers and a friend of Sillitoe’s, who had helped with her unexpected inheritance from her dead husband. And a red-faced city merchant to whom she had been introduced, probably at some similar reception. Men of influence, and authority. Not the kind who fought and died in battle, at sea with Richard’s ships, or those who stood shoulder to shoulder in the line. And those like Lord Rhodes, solid, reliable and unimaginative, who planned their battles behind the desks of Admiralty.

  She said, ‘You must ask yourself, my dear, do I love this man enough? Enough to wait?’

  A man she knew to be Sillitoe’s uncomplaining secretary peered up at her. ‘My lady, I am asked to escort you to the terrace.’ He blinked rapidly as a clock began to chime. The music had stopped, she noticed.

  Bolitho said, ‘I shall find your shawl. It will be cool outside.’

  She smiled and touched his face. ‘No matter. I want people to see us like this, as we are.’

  There were lights on the terrace, but the river beyond the wall was in darkness, like black glass.

  Bolitho looked over the water, his ear picking up the heavy stroke of oars. A barge of some kind, moving steadily against the current with little regard for the oarsmen.

  Sillitoe turned to greet them. ‘Now you will understand why I did not invite the prime minister. The Prince Regent cannot abide the fellow!’ It seemed to amuse him.

  Sillitoe glanced up at a cluster of lanterns, and took Catherine’s arm.

  ‘Here, if you please. Trust me.’ She could feel the intensity, the tenacity which he did not try to conceal.

  She stood quite still in the light, oblivious to the others chosen by Sillitoe to be present at this moment, feeling the cool breeze playing over her bare shoulders. She knew Richard was close by, but for just these fleeting moments, she was alone.

  The oars were tossed and the barge came alongside the jetty, men leaping out to make fast the mooring lines, others to lay a scarlet carpet on the pale stones.

  The Prince would pass her without a glance; he would not even remember her. He knew many women, and had an appetite to match.

  She almost held her breath, and thought suddenly of Sillitoe’s enigmatic words. Trust me. When she looked again, she saw the Prince striding towards her, exactly as she remembered him from the evening at Carlton House.

  He was elegantly dressed in the very latest fashion, but even in the flickering lights it could not disguise completely the physical price he was paying for his excesses. His hair was swept forward in a style followed by many of the younger bloods, and no one could doubt his energy or the quickness of his mind.

  She realised that no one was speaking, that the Prince had stopped, facing her, his eyes moving over her face and throat, and to the glittering diamond pendant shaped like an open fan. It was like being stripped naked, like an insistent caress.

  He said, ‘Lady Somervell! Had I known you were to be here, I would have ridden with all haste on the finest charger in the Royal Mews!’ He took her hand and held it. ‘Indeed, I have thought of you often. The lady who is always too busy to become bored, I think you said when last we met?’ He kissed her hand, taking his time. ‘You are very beautiful.’ He released her hand and looked at the others. ‘Ah, Lord Rhodes. I trust you have affairs in order for me?’ He did not wait for or expect an answer. ‘There you are, Sillitoe, you rascal.’ They shook hands. More like conspirators than friends, thought Catherine.

  The Prince saw Bolitho and greeted him warmly. ‘My admiral of England.’ Catherine knew that was for her. What she had said on that same occasion at Carlton House. So long ago. Before Indomitable; before she had forced herself to write and tell Richard of Zenoria’s terrible death. Tell Adam…. Like yesterday.

  He continued, ‘I have studied all your reports on the American war. I agree that the sooner it is settled the better for all concerned.’ He turned and looked at Catherine. ‘And what of Malta, Sir Richard? It is important for our security. And it is important to me. I must know, so what say you?’ He reached out and took Catherine’s arm. ‘Shall you do it?’

  Catherine could sense Richard’s anguish, something like physical pain, just as she was very aware of the others standing nearby. How would they see it, even if they understood? Arrogance, or a display of temperament, when it was neither.

  Sillitoe stepped into the circle of light. ‘A moment, I pray you, sir.’ He held out a piece of paper. ‘This was just delivered to me by Admiralty messenger.’

  Rhodes muttered angrily, ‘First I knew of it!’

  Sillitoe ignored him. ‘May I, sir?’

  The Prince smiled, when seconds earlier he had been angered by the interruption. ‘This is your house, damn you.’

  Sillitoe looked at Catherine but spoke to Bolitho. ‘A despatch from the port admiral at Plymouth, Sir Richard. Captain James Tyacke has withdrawn his request for transfer to the West African squadron and has placed himself at your disposal for his duties as flag captain.’

  Catherine slipped away from the Prince’s grasp, and went to him.

  ‘They have spoken for you, Richard. The need is theirs, too.’

  The Prince Regent pursed his lips in a little smile. ‘Thank you, Lady Catherine. Thank you. I know I have been a witness to something, although I know not what. I am not ungrateful. Something might be arranged to enable you to visit Malta.’ He nodded to himself, as she had seen him do before. ‘Yes, it shall be done.’ He seemed to relax. ‘Now, there was talk of a special claret, Sillitoe. Lead on!’ But his eyes lingered on Catherine, and her hand on Bolitho’s arm. Desire certainly, but there was also envy.

  Later, much later, when they were leaving Sillitoe’s house, there were still several carriages waiting in the drive. The Prince Regent had disappeared in his barge as quietly as he had arrived.

  Bolitho looked up at the stars, and thought, again with disquiet, of Catherine and the Prince.

  She said, ‘I left my shawl behind!’

  ‘I shall fetch it.’

  He was surprised at the strength of her grip. ‘No. Let us go to Chelsea. Be together. Lie together. It is all I want.’

  Bolitho turned quickly. ‘Who is that?’

  It was Avery.

  ‘Still here, George? What is it?’ Although he thought he knew. Like Tyacke. The Happy Few.

  ‘I wondered if I could ride with you to Chelsea, Sir Richard.’

  Catherine stepped between them, her shoulders pale in the reflected lights.

  ‘Did she leave without you, George?’ She saw him nod. She slipped her arms through theirs, linking them; she was almost as tall as they.

  ‘Then ride with us. And tomorrow, you will come to Falmouth with us.’

  He smiled, the sadness held at bay. ‘Willingly, my lady.’

  From his study window Sillitoe watched the carriage move out on to the road. He frowned. There were still too many overstaying their welcome. He would do something about that.

  He picked up the thin silk shawl, which she had left in the ante-room by the library. He could smell her. Like jasmine.

  Then he kissed it and folded it inside his coat and strode out to do what he must.

  3

  Adam

  CAPTAIN ADAM BOLITHO flattened the chart across his cabin table and glanced at the final calculations of the passage, although he knew them by heart. Around and above him the frigate, His Britannic Majesty’s Ship Valkyrie of forty-two guns, held steadily on course, her reduced sails barely filling. It was early May but there was still an edge to the wind, as he had discovered during his customary morning walk on deck.

  It was a time he usually liked. A ship coming to life, with the first glimpse of a horizon. Decks swabbed and holystoned, the boatswain and the carpenter comparing their lists of work for the new day. Sails to be brought down and repaired, rigging inspected and spliced wherever necessary. Water casks scoured out and prepared for refilling, and the end of stale, monotonous food, for the moment. Valkyrie was returning to h
arbour, to the main naval base at Halifax, Nova Scotia, the last real British foothold on the North American coast.

  And what would they feel when they reached there? He stared around the cabin, at the lively wavelets falling astern beneath the frigate’s counter, feeling again the resentment and impatience he tried so hard to conceal from his ship’s company.

  For Valkyrie was no ordinary or private ship; she was still officially the flagship of Rear-Admiral Valentine Keen, his uncle’s friend. And yours also, a voice seemed to insist.

  Somehow they had grown apart, even since the total destruction of two American frigates with the loss of only one man, a midshipman. Not so long ago, yet Adam could scarcely recall his face. Keen spent more and more time ashore concerning himself with the transport of troops. Valkyrie was returning from yet another such convoy. And for what purpose, he wondered. The news from England was optimistic; the war in Europe would soon be over, so that more ships could be released to fight the Americans. But for how long? The build-up of military strength here had to be for some reason.

  He heard the marine sentry outside the screen door tap his musket on the deck and call, ‘First Lieutenant, sir!’

  He straightened his back as Lieutenant William Dyer stepped into the cabin.

  It still came as a surprise, as if he expected John Urquhart to be presenting himself. Urquhart had gone to a command of his own, one for which he had been little envied. He had been promoted at Keen’s suggestion to command the frigate Reaper, a ship torn apart by mutiny, inhuman discipline, and murder.

  Adam had known that Urquhart could do it, and had been rewarded by the occasional news of Reaper’s performance and various successes. A rebirth. But Adam was missing him now.

  ‘Ready?’

  Dyer looked at a point above his captain’s left shoulder. ‘The master says that we shall be up to the anchorage within the hour, sir. If the wind holds steady from the nor’east, we should be in before six bells.’

  A pleasant enough officer, and one who had made good use of his experience in this ship, one of the largest frigates on the station since Indomitable’s departure for England. But it went little beyond that.