Alexander Kent - Bolitho 17

by Honour This Day [lit]

  Bolitho sat down and faced him. ”What are you doing now?” He tried to conceal the anxiety and urgency in his bearing. This man, this tattered memory from the past, was frightened. For some reason it had cost a lot for him to come.

  Vanzell said, ”it will lose me me job, zur.” He was thinking aloud. ”They all knows I once served under you. They’ll not forgive me, not never.”

  He made up his mind and studied Bolitho searchingly. ”I’m a watchman, zur, it was all I could get. They’ve no time for halftimbered jacks no more.” His hand shook as he took another glass from Allday. Then he added huskily. ”I’m at th’Waites, zur.”

  ”What is that?”

  Allday said sharply, ”It’s a prison.”

  Vanzell downed the glass in one gulp. ”They got ‘er there. I know, ‘cause I sawer, an’ I ‘eard what the others was sayin’ about you both.”

  Bolitho could feel the blood rushing through his brain.

  In a prison. It was impossible. But he knew it was true.

  The man was saying to Allday, ”It’s a filthy place full o’ scum. Debtors an’ lunatics, a bedlam you’d not believe.”

  Allday glanced tightly at Bolitho. ”Oh, yes I would, matey.”

  Bolitho said, ”Tell the housekeeper I shall need a carriage at once. Do you know where this place is?” Allday -shook his head.

  Vanzell said, ”I - I’ll show ‘ee, zur.”

  ”Good.” Bolitho’s mind was suddenly clear, as if it had been doused in icy water.

  He asked, ”Would you care to work for me at Falmouth? There’ll be a cottage.” He looked away, unable to watch the gratitude. ”There are one or two old Phalaropes working there. You’ll feel at home.”

  Allday came back and handed him his cloak. Bolitho saw that he had donned his best blue coat with the gilt buttons, and he carried a brace of pistols in his other hand.

  Allday watched him while he dipped on his sword. ”It might still be a mistake, Sir Richard.”

  ”Not this time, old friend.” He looked at him for a few seconds.

  ”Ready?”

  Allday waited for the other man to lead the way to a smart carriage standing outside the door.

  The words kept repeating themselves over and over again.

  She did not run away. She bad not left him.

  The Waites prison was just to the north of London and it was almost dark by the time they got there.

  It was a grim, high-walled place, and would look ten times worse in daylight.

  Bolitho climbed down from the coach and said to Vanzell, ”Wait here. You have done your part.” To Allday he added shortly, ”So let’s be about it.”

  He hammered on a heavy door and after a long pause it was opened just a few inches. An unshaven man, wearing the same uniform as Vanzell, peered out at them.

  ”Yeh? ‘Oo calls at this late hour?” He held up a lantern, and at that moment Bolitho let his cloak fall from his shoulders so that the light glittered on his epaulettes.

  ”Tell the governor, or whoever is in charge, that Sir Richard Bolitho wishes to see him.” He stared at the man’s confusion and added harshly, ”Now!’

  They followed the watchman up a long, untidy pathway to the main building and Bolitho noticed that he was limping. They evidently found it cheaper to employ unwanted ex-servicemen, he thought bitterly. Another door, and a whispered conversat’On while Bolitho stood in a dank room, his hand on his sword, aware of Allday’s painful breathing dose behind him.

  Allday gasped as a piercing scream, followed by shouts and thuds, echoed through the building- Other voices joined in, until the place seemed to cringe in torment. More angry yells, and someone banging on a door with something heavy; and then eventual silence again.

  The door opened and the watchman waited to allow Bolitho to enter. The contrast was startling. Good furniture, a great desk littered with ledgers and papers, and a carpet which was as much out of place here as the man who rose to greet him.

  Short, and jolly-looking, with a curly wig to cover his baldness, he had all the appearances of a country parson.

  ”Sir Richard Bolitho, this is indeed an honour.”

  He glanced at a dock and smiled, like a saucy child. ”And a surprise at this late hour.”

  Bolitho ignored his out-thrust hand. ”I have come for Lady Somervell. I’ll brook no argument. Where is she?”

  The man stared at him. ”Indeed, Sir Richard, I would do anything rather than offend such a gallant gentleman, but I fear that someone has played a cruel game with you.”

  Bolitho recalled the terrible scream. ”Who do you hold here?”

  The little man relaxed slightly. ”Lunatics, and those who plead insanity to avoid their debts to society.”

  Bolitho walked around the desk and said softly, ”She is here and you know it. How could you hold a lady in this foul place and not know? I do not care what name she is given, or under what charge. If you do not release her into my care I will see that you are arrested and tried for conspiracy to conceal a crime, and for falsifying the deeds of your office!” He touched the hilt of his sword. ”I am in no mood for more fies!’

  The man pleaded, ”Tomorrow perhaps I can discover..” Bolitho felt a strange calm moving over him. She is here. For just a moment the man’s confidence had made him doubt.

  He shook his head. ”Now.” By tomorrow she would have been taken elsewhere. Anything could have happened to her.

  He said curtly, ”Take us to her room.”

  The little man pulled open a drawer and squeaked with fright as Allday responded instantly by drawing and cocking a pistol in one movement. He raised a key in his shaking hands.

  ”Please, be careful!” He was almost in tears.

  Bolitho caught his breath as they walked into a dimly lit corridor. There was straw scattered on the flagstones, and one of the walls was dripping wet. The stench was foul. Dirt, poverty and despair. They stopped outside the last door and the little governor said in a whisper, ”In God’s name I had naught to do with it! She was given in my charge until a debt was paid. But if you are certain that...”

  Bolitho did not hear him. He stared in through a small window which was heavily barred, each one worn smooth by a thousand desperate fingers.

  A lantern shone through a thick glass Port, like those used in a ship’s hanging magazine. It was a scene from hell.

  An old woman was leaning against one wall, rocking from side to side, a tendril of spittle hanging from her mouth as she crooned some forgotten tune to herself. She was filthy, and her ragged clothes were deeply soiled.

  On the opposite side Catherine sat on a small wooden bench, her legs apart, her hands clasped between her knees. He gown was torn, like the day she had come aboard Hyperion, and he saw that her feet were shoeless. Her long hair, uncombed, hung across her partly bared shoulders, hiding her face completely.

  She did not move or look up as the key grated in the lock and Bolitho thrust open the door.

  Then she whispered very quietly, ”If you come near me, I shall kill you.”

  He held out his arms and said, ”Kate. Don’t be frightened. Come to me.”

  She raised her head and brushed the hair from her eyes with the back of her hand.

  Still she did not move or appear to recognise him, and for a moment Bolitho imagined that she had been driven mad by these terrible circumstances.

  Then she stood up and stepped a few paces unsteadily towards him.

  ”Is it You? Really` You?” Then she shook her head and exclaimed, ”Don’t touch me! I am unclean...!”

  Bolitho gripped her shoulders and pulled her against him, feeling her protest give way to sobs which were torn from each awful memory. He felt her skin through the back of the gown; she wore nothing else beneath it. Her body was like ice despite the foul, unmoving air. He covered her with his cloak, so that only her face and her bare feet showed in the flickering lanterns.

  She saw the governor in the doorway and Bolitho felt her whole body st
iffen away from him.

  Bolitho said, ”Remove your hat in the presence of my lady, sir!”

  He found no pleasure in the man’s fear. ”Or by God I’ll call you out here and now!”

  The man shrank away, his hat almost brushing the filthy floor.

  Bolitho guided her along the corridor, while some of the inmates watched through their cell doors, their hands gripping the bars like claws. But nobody cried out this time.

  ”Your shoes, Kate?”

  She pressed herself against his side as if the cloak would protect her from everything.

  ”I sold all I had for food.” She raised her head and studied him.

  ”I have walked barefoot before.” Her sudden courage made her look fragile. ”Are we really leaving now?”

  They reached the heavy gate and she saw the carriage, with the two stamping horses.

  She said, ”I will be strong. For you, dear Richard, I -”

  She saw the shadowy figure inside the coach and asked quickly, ”Who is that?”

  Bolitho held her until she was calm again.

  He said, ”Just a friend who knew when he was needed.”

  Chapter thirteen

  Conspiracy

  Belinda dragged the doors of the drawing room shut behind her and pressed her shoulders against them.

  ”Lower your voice, Richard!” She watched his shadow striding back and forth across the elegant room, her breasts moving quickly to betray something like fear. ”The servants will hear you!’

  Bolitho swung round. ”God damn them, and you too for what you did!”

  ”What is the matter, Richard? Are you sick or drunk?”

  ”It is fortunate for both of us that it is not the latter! Otherwise I fear what I might do.” He stared at her and saw her pale.

  Then he said in a more controlled voice, ”You knew all the time. You connived with Somervell to have her thrown into a place which is not even fit for pigs!” Once again the pictures flashed across his mind. Catherine sitting in the filthy cell, and later when he had taken her to Browne’s house in Arlington Street, when she had tried to prevent him from leaving her.

  ”Don’t go, Richard! it’s not worth it! We’re together, that’s all that matters!’

  He had turned by the waiting carriage and had replied, ”But those liars intended otherwise!”

  He continued, ”She is no more a debtor than you, and you knew it when you spoke with Somervell. I pray to God that he is as ready with a blade as he is with a pistol, for when I meet with him...”

  She exclaimed, ”I have never seen you like this?”

  ”Nor will you again!”

  She said, ”I did it for us, for what we were and could be again.”

  Bolitho stared at her, his heart pounding, knowing how close he had come to striking her. Catherine had told him in jerky sentences as the coach had rolled towards the other house, an unexpected rain pattering across the windows.

  She had loaned Somervell most of her own money when they had married. Somervell was in fear of his life because of his many gambling debts. But he had friends at Court, even the King, and a government appointment had saved him.

  He had deliberately invested some of her money in her name, then left her to face the consequences when he had caused those same investments to fail. All this Somervell had explained to Belinda. It made Bolitho’s head swim to realise just how dose to success the plan had been. If he had moved into this house, and then been seen at Admiral Godschale’s reception, Catherine would have been told that they were reconciled. A final and brutal rejection.

  Somervell had left the country; that was the only known truth.

  When he returned he might have expected Catherine half-mad or even dead. Like a seabird, Catherine could never be caged.

  He said, ”You have killed that too. Remember what you threw in my face on more than one occasion after we were married? That because you looked like Chaney, it did not mean that you had anything in common. By God, that was the truest thing you ever said.” He stared round the room and realised for the first time that his uniform was soaked with rain.

  ”Keep this house, by all means, Belinda, but spare a thought sometimes for those who fight and die so that you may enjoy what they can never know.”

  She moved away, her eyes on him as he wrenched open the doors. He thought he saw a shadow slip back from the stairway, something for the servants to chew on.

  ”You will be ruined!” She gasped as he stepped towards her as if she expected a blow.

  ”That is my risk.” He picked up his hat. ”Some day I shall speak with my daughter.” He looked at her for several seconds. ”Send for all you need from Falmouth. You rejected even that. So enjoy your new life with your proud friends.” He opened the front door. ”And God help you!’

  He walked through the dark street, heedless of the rain which soothed his face like a familiar friend. He needed to walk, to marshal his thoughts into order, like forming a line of battle. He would make enemies, but that was nothing new. There had been those who had tried to discredit him because of Hugh, had even tried to hurt him through Adam.

  He thought of Catherine, where she should stay. Not at Falmouth, not until he could take her himself. If she would come.

  Would she see double-meanings in his words because of what had happened? Expect another betrayal?

  He dismissed the thought immediately. She was like the blade at his hip, almost unbreakable. Almost.

  One thing was certain. Godschale would soon hear what had happened, although no one would speak openly about it without appeanng like a conspirator.

  He gave a bleak smile. It would be Gibraltar for orders very soon.

  His busy mind recorded a shadow and the dick of metal. The old sword was in his hand in a second and he called, ”Stand!”

  Adam sounded relieved. ”I came looking, Uncle.” He watched as Bolitho sheathed his blade.

  ”It’s done then?”

  ”Aye. ‘Tis done.”

  Adam fell into step and removed his hat to stare up into the rain. ”I heard most of it from Allday. It seems I cannot leave you alone for a moment.” Bolitho said, ”I can still scarcely believe it!”

  ”People change, Uncle.”

  ”I think not.” Bolitho glanced at two army lieutenants walking unsteadily towards St James’s. ”Circumstances may, but not people.”

  Adam tactfully changed the subject.

  ”I have discovered Captain Keen’s whereabouts. He is in Cornwall. They had gone there to settle some matters relating to Ness Carwithen’s late father.”

  Bolitho nodded. He had been afraid that Keen would be married without his being there to witness it. How strange that such a simple thing could still be so important after all which had happened.

  ”I sent word by courier, Uncle. He should know.”

  They fell silent and listened to their shoes on the pavement.

  He probably did already. The whole fleet would by now.

  Offensive to many, but a welcome scandal as far as the overcrowded messdecks.were concerned.

  They reached the house, where they found Allday sharing a jug of ale with Mrs Robbins, the housekeeper. She was a Londoner born and bred in Bow and despite her genteel surroundings had a voice which sounded like a street trader’s. Mrs Robbins got straight down to business.

  ”She’s in bed now, Sir Richard.” She eyed him calmly. ”I give ‘era small guest room.”

  Bolitho nodded. He had taken her point. There would be no scandal in this house, no matter how it might appear.

  She continued, ”I stripped ”‘er naked as a brat and bathed ‘er. Poor luv, she could do wiv it an’ all. I burned’er clothes. They was alive.” She opened her red fist. ”Found these sewn in the ‘em.”

  They were the earrings he had given her. The only other time they had been in London.

  Bolitho felt a lump in his throat. ”Thank you, Mrs Robbins.”

  Surprisingly, her severe features softened.


  ”It’s nuffink, Sir Richard. Young Lord Oliver’as told me a few yams about when you saved ‘is rump for ‘im!” She went off chuckling to herself.

  Allday and Adam entered and Bolitho said, ”You heard all that?”

  Allday nodded. ”Best to leave her. Old Ma Robbins’ll call all hands if anything happens in the night.”

  Bolitho sat down and stretched his legs. He had not eaten a crumb since breakfast but he could not face it now.

  It had been a close thing, he thought. But perhaps the battle had not even begun.

  Catherine stood by a tall window and looked down at the strect.

  The sun was shining brightly, although this side of the street was still in shadow. A few people strolled up and down, and very faintly could be heard the voice of a flower-girl calling her wares. She said quietly, ”This cannot last.”

  Bolitho sat in a chair, his legs crossed, and watched her, still scarcely able to believe it had ever happened, that she was the same woman he had snatched from squalor and humiliation. Or that he was the man who had risked everything, including a courtmartial, by threatening the governor of the Waites jail.

  He replied, ”We can’t stay here. I want to be alone with you. To hold you again, to tell you things.”

  She turned her head so that her face too was in shadow. ”You are still worried, Richard. You have no need to be, where my love for you is concerned. It never left me, so how can we lose it now?” She walked slowly around his chair and put her hands on his shoulders. She was dressed in a plain green robe, which the redoubtable Mrs Robbins had bought for her the previous day.

  Bolitho said, ”You are protected now. Anything you need, all that I can give, it is yours.” He hurried on as her fingers tightened their grip on his shoulders, glad that she could not see his face. ”It may take months longer even to retrieve what he has stolen from you. You gave him everything, and saved him.”

  She said, ”In return he offered me security, a place in society where I could live as I pleased. Foolish? Perhaps I was. But it was a bargain between us. There was no love.”