Tyacke took an envelope from him, and then said, ‘Major-General Valancy requests the pleasure of your company at his headquarters for dinner.’ He looked up from the page in time to see the disappointment and frustration which, in those few seconds, Bolitho had been unable to hide.
Bolitho said only, ‘Make the necessary arrangements, James. It may be important.’
Yovell gathered up his papers. It was time to go.
He said, ‘I will have these copied at once, Sir Richard. I have a clerk and one of the young gentlemen to assist me.’
Avery said, ‘I shall accompany you, Sir Richard.’ He saw the unspoken protest, and added, ‘The army, Sir Richard. They will expect it.’
He left, and Tyacke said, ‘You could refuse, sir.’
Bolitho smiled, rather bitterly, he thought. ‘People think we are inspired by duty. In truth, we are its slaves!’
Later, with the barge alongside, the crew in their best chequered shirts and tarred hats and Allday poised massively in the sternsheets, the marines and boatswain’s mates were ready and waiting. Frobisher’s captain and senior lieutenant saw the admiral over the side.
Allday waited for Bolitho to settle himself beside Avery, and then gave the order to cast off.
He saw it in the eyes of the bargemen as they laid back on their looms. Their admiral, who wanted for nothing.
Allday scowled at the bow oarsman as he stowed his boathook.
How could they ever know? At moments like these, nothing was all he had.
The day after Bolitho’s return to Malta, Frobisher weighed anchor and put to sea. At first light two of the frigates, Huntress and Condor, had also departed with orders to take station outside Algiers, where their presence would be seen and understood.
Bolitho had been on deck to watch them leave, his heart and mind responding to the sight of the two sleek frigates spreading their sails, and leaning obediently to an early breeze. He had wanted more than anything to have an opportunity to know all of his captains, but he was again reminded that time was the enemy. The ships in his new squadron were mostly known to him by name or reputation, even the small brig Black Swan, which was to be the flagship’s only companion.
After Frobisher had cleared the harbour Bolitho went to his quarters, surprised that he felt no trace of fatigue from the previous evening, despite the heavy meal and entertainment by the army. Avery had fallen asleep at the table, but he had not been alone; their hosts seemed to expect it, and made no comment.
He had returned to the ship to find Captain Christie waiting for him in Tyacke’s cabin.
A small thing, a fragment of information, but it was all they had. Of the handful of men who had been released with the Galicia, one had been the boatswain, a Greek who, because of his captors, had feared for his life more than the others. He had described to Christie how they had been attacked and boarded, as if Galicia’s presence had been known to the Algerines. Every man had been robbed and the vessel looted, and two of the seamen had been killed for no apparent reason. The master’s son had been aboard; the attackers had known that, too. Unable to obtain information from the wretched master, they had beaten his son, and then nailed him to a crudely fashioned cross, where he had died. There had been other pirate vessels nearby, which had altered course to the east once the attack had been completed. The boatswain had been certain he had heard someone mention Bona. On the chart it was shown as a small port, little more than a segment of a bay, some hundred and fifty miles from Algiers. Halcyon had sailed past it only days ago, and Christie was probably cursing his misfortune that he had not known it was being used as a base by Algerine pirates.
Tregidgo, the sailing master, had confined himself to saying that Bona was known to be used by fishermen for shelter, and sometimes for trade. It would be a likely choice for ships waiting to pounce on some unwary merchantman.
A show of force, then. Afterwards, they would meet up with the two frigates outside Algiers. It would be interesting to know what Captain Martinez would have to tell his master about that.
He sat down and thought once more of Catherine’s letter. He had read it very carefully when he had returned from his visit to the garrison. With the lantern unshuttered, and the ship silent but for the secret noises in any living hull, he had sensed again the reserve, the unspoken, as if she wanted to protect him from something, like the riots of which she had written earlier.
The roses are at their best just now. I would that they might last for ever.
The summer would soon be over in Cornwall. In his mind, he could see her on the old path, their path. Watching the empty horizon. Waiting. Hoping ….
Ozzard hurried to the door and opened it, although Bolitho had heard nothing.
It was Tyacke, outwardly relaxed, glad to be at sea again, even if it proved a worthless exercise.
His blue eyes moved quickly to the untouched coffee, and back again to his admiral.
‘Black Swan is taking up her station ahead of us, sir.’
Bolitho nodded. The brig might remind Tyacke of his old command, but her commander was not of his world. A forceful, determined young officer, he might go far, if fate was kind to him. When the fleet was reduced in strength and numbers, he would be only one of many trying to prosper in the career of his choosing.
Tyacke had commented bluntly, ‘A big mouth to match his head, that one!’
Bolitho said, ‘When you hear of slavery even here, does it bring the past back to you, James?’
Tyacke squinted against the sudden glare as Frobisher altered course very slightly.
‘It was different then.’ He did not explain. ‘But where there’s gold you’ll find slavers. In the end they’ll not be so quick to run – they’ll stand and fight. Turks, Arabs, they are always the hardest to control.’ He saw Ozzard by the pantry. ‘Would you fetch a chart for me? The master knows which one.’
Ozzard almost frowned, but hurried away after glancing at Bolitho.
When the door closed, Tyacke said, ‘I am sorry about the trick, sir. I wanted to talk. A ship can be a small market-place where privacy is concerned.’
Bolitho waited. This was the moment.
Tyacke said, ‘Years ago, there was a girl in my life. That was before….’ He hesitated. ‘The Nile. Then I lost her. I never thought I’d ever see her again. Or want to, for that matter.’ He looked at his hands and added simply, ‘So I lost her.’
Bolitho wanted to tell him that he understood, but if Tyacke lost the will to speak now, it would not return.
‘She wrote to me, and I wrote to her, but never posted it.’
Bolitho said nothing. It was the letter he had put in the strongbox before Indomitable’s battle, with another of his own addressed to Catherine. But we both survived that day.
Tyacke turned to look at the door, expecting Ozzard or someone else to be there.
‘Then, in Portsmouth, just before we commissioned, she came to see me.’ He spread his hands, as if he still could not understand or believe it. ‘I knew we would meet one day.’ He looked now at Bolitho, very directly. ‘As you must have known, sir.’
Bolitho said, ‘I hoped.’
‘I had another letter when the courier came. I should have penned a reply, but with you away, and the future uncertain, I thought I would wait.’
‘You still care for her, and for what happened. Do you care enough, James?’
‘That’s it, sir. I don’t know. I have no right…. I’ve lived so much apart from ordinary, decent people for so long that I’m not sure any more.’
He thought of the gown Tyacke had carried in his chest, for the girl who had rejected him. The same gown he had given to Catherine.
‘Did you ever tell her about the gown, James? The way you told Catherine?’
Tyacke shook his head. ‘There are two children to consider, sir.’
Bolitho saw the door edge open. ‘Ah, Ozzard. Some cool wine, if you can lay hands on it!’
Ozzard said, ‘The master didn’t know a
bout a chart, sir.’ It sounded like an accusation. Then he hurried away: always alone.
Bolitho said gently, ‘When you write, James, tell her. About the gown. Tell her.’
Tyacke touched his scarred face. ‘I never see this. I’m always looking out, watching others.’
Ozzard reappeared, without any change of expression. ‘This is cool, Sir Richard.’
Bolitho said, ‘Let me.’ He held the bottle; in the unmoving air it felt almost cold. Ozzard must have stowed it in the bilges somewhere. It was clear Rhenish wine, from that shop in St James’s, in her London. Perhaps she had even held this bottle, before it was packed and sent to Portsmouth.
Tyacke watched, his uncertainty, his inability to speak like this before, momentarily forgotten. Unimportant.
He could never have what this man had and shared with his lovely Catherine, who had kissed him on board Indomitable that day in Falmouth, to the delight of the assembled ship’s company.
He could see it in Bolitho’s grey eyes, the way he shaded the damaged eye to study some detail of the label. So private, and yet so strong that he felt like an intruder.
But aloud he said, ‘I shall try, sir. When I write.’ He stared at the deckhead, and sensed Ozzard placing a glass within reach. ‘Then I shall exercise the gun crews, and blow away these Maltese cobwebs!’
Bolitho raised his glass. ‘Let Mr Kellett do it, James. He admires you greatly, you know.’
Unexpectedly, Tyacke laughed, the tension draining away. Bolitho regarded him for several seconds; his wine remained untouched.
‘I think we shall fight.’ He brushed the rebellious lock of hair from his forehead, and Tyacke saw the livid scar. ‘In fact, I am certain of it.’ He smiled, the man he must have been when he had first met Catherine.
‘I am glad you told me … shared it with me, James. Now we are truly of one company.’
Vice-Admiral Sir Graham Bethune got to his feet, startled by the interruption as the doors of his room were thrown open and Sillitoe, followed nervously by a protesting clerk, strode towards him.
Bethune exclaimed, ‘My lord, I had no idea….’ He tried again, angry with himself that he was so easily disturbed by this man, powerful or not. ‘You were not expected!’
Sillitoe stared around and into the adjoining room, and waited for the clerk to withdraw.
He said, ‘I am here to see Rhodes. I trust that will present no obstacles?’
Bethune gestured to a chair. ‘I shall see what I can do, my lord. At any other time ….’
Sillitoe sat down, outwardly calm, unmoved. ‘At any other time I would prefer not to visit this place. However, I shall use the opportunity to mention a matter to you first.’
Bethune watched him across his desk, dressed all in grey, elegant, assured, with droplets of rain on his coat. He must have walked here from some nearby building. For exercise, or to prepare himself for a meeting with Admiral Lord Rhodes, although Bethune had heard no mention of it; his clerk would have told him.
Lean and sleek; a man who rode, walked and fenced to keep his mind and body sharp. Bethune had heard he used a very respectable house not so far from the Admiralty. Was he like that with women, also, habit rather than need?
Sillitoe said, ‘I have just had news of the attack on Washington last month, the burning and destruction of government buildings and stores, and the sinking of American ships there.’
Bethune felt suddenly wary, uneasy. The Admiralty had only received the information this morning, on the telegraph from Portsmouth. The first person to be informed had been the Prince Regent; Sillitoe must have been with him at the time.
‘I was relieved to know that the attack had been successful. Surprised, too.’ He ignored Bethune’s resentment, and continued, ‘I understand that Captain Adam Bolitho is to be given a new command.’
Bethune swallowed. Sillitoe’s change of tack was like the man, swift and unpredictable. ‘He should have received his orders, and be returning to England as we speak, my lord. Valkyrie was severely damaged. She will be withdrawn from service.’
Sillitoe studied him coolly, his hooded eyes revealing nothing. ‘The squadron commodore was killed? Unfortunate, although it would seem, in my experience, that officers chosen of necessity for this or that command are not always the right ones for the task.’ He raised his hand. ‘There is another matter. One which I would prefer to remain between us only.’ He watched Bethune’s growing discomfort, but felt no triumph; if anything, he sensed anger and contempt.
He said, ‘Lady Somervell. You were there at the reception for the Duke of Wellington. You attended Lady Somervell when I was detained by His Royal Highness.’ He leaned forward as if to emphasise his words. ‘As I requested of you!’
‘She left before your arrival, my lord.’
Sillitoe leaned back, his head resting on the chair.
‘Sir Graham, do not take me for a fool. I know all of that. She left because she was angered by remarks made by Lord Rhodes, his arrogance in introducing Lady Bolitho as an honoured guest. It was an insult.’
‘The last thing I wanted was for her to be humiliated!’
Sillitoe regarded him coldly. ‘She was not. She was angry. Had I been there, I would have spoken out rather forcefully.’
Bethune looked away. ‘I know. I was in no position to prevent it.’
Sillitoe smiled. ‘Had you known about it beforehand, I would not be sitting here now.’ His eyes flashed. ‘And neither, sir, would you!’
Bethune said, ‘I wrote to Lady Somervell, to explain. But she had gone down to Falmouth. I shall endeavour to ….’
Sillitoe said quietly, ‘I thought perhaps you had mislaid her London address?’ He watched, waiting for some sign, some hint. But there was none. Bethune might deceive his wife, but he doubted even that. He held out his hand and opened it slowly.
‘This piece of paper has her address written upon it.’ He saw Bethune’s eyes widen; there was a certain anxiety as well. He felt his anger returning. ‘It was found on a man I now know to be Charles Oliphant, at one time a captain in command of the seventy-four Frobisher.’
Bethune stared at it. ‘She gave it to me. In case I had any news of Sir Richard. I must have mislaid it when ….’
‘When Oliphant came crawling to you to beg for a command before the truth became known.’
‘I do not understand.’ Bethune leaned forward. ‘Please tell me, if anything has happened to disturb Lady Somervell, I must know!’
Sillitoe waited, counting the seconds. ‘Oliphant was waiting for her in Chelsea. The house was empty; she was alone.’ He paused. ‘Mainly because she was allowed to proceed there without an escort.’ He saw the shots slam home. ‘She was attacked, but I had received word about Oliphant. People tell me things. I got to the house in time to prevent ….’
‘To … prevent what, for God’s sake?’
Sillitoe said harshly, ‘Oliphant, the officer chosen to be Sir Richard’s flag captain, is not only a gambler and a thief, he is one so rotten with disease that he wanted only revenge, in the last and only way he knew.’
‘Tell me, sir – is she safe?’
Sillitoe felt his muscles slackening. Had Bethune given a single hint of involvement, he would not have trusted himself.
‘She is safe. With no thanks to those who might have protected her.’
Bethune persisted, ‘And Oliphant?’
‘He is in care.’ His mouth hardened. ‘And under guard. It seems likely he will either die or be driven to the bounds of madness before much longer. If not, he will face a court martial, where the severest penalty will be demanded.’ He dabbed his mouth with his handkerchief. ‘And deserved!’
Bethune thought of the night when it had happened. Weeks ago; he should have suspected something. But his wife had been against his becoming further involved. I should have known ….
Sillitoe added, ‘I have a few small suggestions to make to Lord Rhodes. I am confident that they will be easy to act upon.’
/> Bethune looked at the clock. ‘I fear Lord Rhodes has a prior engagement, my lord. As I explained ….’
Sillitoe said, ‘Announce me.’
Bethune repeated wretchedly, ‘A prior engagement ….’
Sillitoe gave a faint smile. ‘I know. With the new inspector-general.’ He laid the envelope on his desk. ‘Here are my credentials, Sir Graham.’
Bethune stared from him to the buff-coloured envelope with its royal seal.
‘I shall attend to it immediately!’
Sillitoe walked to a window and stared down at the wet streets, the bowed heads and shoulders of people hurrying for shelter. He should feel something beyond the contempt and impatience they afforded him. But all he could think about was the woman, naked and bound in that small, quiet house in Chelsea. Holding her, protecting her. Wanting her.
The doors opened again; Rhodes had come himself.
‘I must congratulate you – I had no idea!’ He darted a quick glance at Bethune, and another officer who had followed him. He smiled. ‘I think our meeting should be recorded, Sillitoe. Everything out in the open, eh?’
Sillitoe did not return the smile. ‘As you wish. There are several items. To begin with, the desertion from duty by your cousin, Captain Oliphant, and the failure to provide medical evidence when you agreed to discharge him. Court-martial offences, you will not dispute. Gambling debts, frequenting premises used by prostitutes and becoming diseased to such an extent that he is all but out of his mind. And an attempted rape.’ He balanced lightly on one foot. ‘Need I continue, Lord Rhodes?’
Rhodes stared around, barely able to speak. ‘I shall not need you, gentlemen.’ When the door closed again he exclaimed thickly, ‘I did not know about the extent of his illness, I swear it! I wanted only the best chance for him to improve his circumstances.’
‘Yes. Under Sir Richard Bolitho, the man you tried to humiliate through another.’
‘What must I do?’
Sillitoe glanced at the painting of a sea fight, Bethune’s old ship. Men fighting and dying. He suppressed his mounting fury. For arrogant fools like this.
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