Bolitho ran his hand down her spine and felt her stiffen. He said quietly, “I cannot bear to leave you alone.”
She faced him, her lips slightly parted. “What would they think if they came here and found us . . . well, found us?” She laughed and moved from his reach. “But I love being here with you. Even at home you are still the King’s officer. Here you are forced to stand aside and allow others to do the planning and sail the ship as they must . . . and there is time for us. I see you at peace; you reading your Shakespeare aloud to me in the evenings—you make it come alive. And you smoke your pipe, something you rarely do, even at Falmouth. It stirs me with need and desire at the same time.”
“Are they not the same?”
Her chin lifted and she looked at him straight in the eyes. “I will show you the difference when . . .”
But a boat thudded alongside and shortly afterwards Bezant came aft to report on his visit ashore. He looked troubled, even angry.
“The port admiral would take no refusals and threatened to make his displeasure known to the Admiralty with the next mailpacket.”
He glanced uncomfortably at Catherine who said, “You may speak in front of me, Captain. I am no stranger to bad news.”
Bezant shrugged. “I am ordered to take twelve prisoners to Cape Town. This is no vessel for such miserable work.”
Bolitho asked, “What kind of prisoners?”
Bezant was already rearranging things in his mind. “Oh, just army deserters, Sir Richard, not true felons. They are said to have decided to hide aboard a transport when it left Cape Town. They decided to run, rather than remain out there.”
Bolitho barely remembered the port admiral but knew from his reputation that sending these soldiers back to their regiment would be his idea of justice. It was not his province to imprison them until another ship called, which could better accommodate them.
Catherine asked quietly, “What will happen?”
Bezant sighed. “They’ll be hanged if they’re lucky, m’lady. I once witnessed the army’s idea of field punishment.” He looked at Bolitho and added, “Like a flogging round the fleet, Sir Richard. Few survive it.”
Bolitho walked to the open stern windows and winced as sunlight reflected from the open sea lanced into his injured eye.
“What is it, Sir Richard?” Bezant stared from one to the other. “It is nothing. ” Bolitho tried to soften his tone. “But thank you.” He turned and saw the pain in her expression. She knew. She always knew.
Someone tapped at the door and Bolitho heard the mate, Lincoln, muttering to his captain.
Bezant sent him away and said harshly, “Hell’s teeth! Beggin’ your pardon, m’lady, but I am beset by trouble!”
He calmed himself with considerable effort, and yet seemed strangely glad to be able to share his problems with Bolitho, despite his fame and his rank.
“I sent my second mate ashore to visit the garrison surgeon. He has been in pain since we quit Falmouth. I thought it was caused by too many visits to the taverns or the like. But it seems it may be very serious, something eating at his insides. Jeff Lincoln and me have sailed watch-an’-watch afore when he got sick, but not on long passages like this ’un.” He dropped his glance to the deck, as if he were seeing the cargo glittering with menace somewhere below.
“Jeff Lincoln has brought off a temporary mate until we can make other changes. His papers seem in order, and the port admiral’s aide doesn’t appear ready to discuss that either.” He suddenly gave a broad grin. “But sailors don’t expect things easy, do they, Sir Richard?”
He lumbered away, calling out instructions to his boatswain as he went.
“It won’t affect us, will it, Richard?” She was still watching him for some sign of pain in his injured eye.
Sophie entered with a pile of clean shirts and announced excitedly, “There’s other land over yonder, me lady! I thought this was all the land over ’ere!”
Catherine put her arm round the girl’s thin shoulders. “That’s Africa you can see, Sophie.” They watched her astonishment. “You’ve come quite a long way.”
But the girl could only stare and whisper, “Africa.”
Bolitho said, “Go and ask Tojohns to take you where you can see it with a glass.” As the door closed he said, “I’ll not be sorry to get away from this place.” He almost shuddered. “An unlucky landfall.”
The door opened again but it was Allday. “You wanted me, Sir Richard?”
Their eyes met. How did he know? Bolitho said, “I want to issue some pistols. A brace each. Do it when the hands are turnedto for weighing anchor.”
Allday glanced at Catherine’s figure by the open stern windows. He said casually, “Already done, an’ me an’ Tojohns have got a piece each.” He grinned. “No sense in trusting Mr Yovell with one—he’s likely to kill himself!”
Catherine said, “I have my own little toy in the cabin.” Her voice was suddenly husky. “I nearly used it once.” Bolitho looked at her, remembering the drunken army officer who had made a play for her in the Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens. Bolitho had called him out, but the soldier’s friend had dragged him away, offering frantic apologies as he went. Afterwards Catherine had opened her reticule and had shown him the tiny pistol inside. Barely enough to do more than wound a man. But certainly it would have laid low the drunken soldier if things had gone against her man.
Once during that last night she had said aloud, “If anyone tries to hurt you ever again, they will have me to reckon with. Your pain is mine, just as my love is always yours.”
And now she was here with him, and danger was once more closing in. He heard the plaintive tune of a fiddle, and the steady grate and clatter of the windlass. Men bustled about overhead, and in the Golden Plover’s shadow he could already see her sails being loosened. Ready to make the passage south along the African coast, skirting Tenerife where Spanish men-of-war might be resting until they knew what their feared ally might intend.
A longboat pulled beneath the stern and turned hastily towards the inner harbour. He saw discarded leg-irons in the sternsheets, and some marines, talking and laughing now that they had got rid of the admiral’s unwanted prisoners.
As an example to others. It made Bolitho think of Herrick’s court martial. Where was he now? Had he already left for the West Indies, without even a word? Bolitho often thought of Captain Gossage’s incredible change of evidence and attitude. His was the evidence which could have damned Herrick. But he was also the most important witness, almost the only one, who as flag captain on that terrible day would have known the true state of affairs. But why? The question was still ringing in his mind when Golden Plover’s windlass finally hauled anchor, and her bowsprit swung around to point at the open strait with the great ocean shining beyond.
When most of the vessel was in darkness and the middle watch had taken over the deck, they made love as she had promised him. They took and received one another with deliberate slowness, as if each knew there might be no other time when they could forget the need for vigilance.
7 CONSCIENCE
THE TWO RIDERS came to a halt by a low wall and once again faced the sea which reached away from the foot of the cliffs. They could have been brother and sister. They might have been lovers. The sun blazed down on them from a cloudless sky and the air was filled with the sound of insects, and the ever-present gulls on the ledges far below them.
Adam Bolitho climbed down from his horse and said, “It’s not safe to ride any further.” He held up his hands and slipped them around her small waist to assist her to dismount.
A girl with misty brown eyes, her hair loose in the warm inshore wind, her companion without any sort of uniform, wearing only a shirt and seagoing white breeches tucked into his boots.
“Here, Zenoria, take my hand.” He felt hers in his grasp and tightened his grip without realising it. Together they scrambled and slithered down the wind-ruffled grass until they reached a long flat rock, from which they could look directly down to a small
cove. The sound of the sea seemed to embrace them as it hissed through the scattered fragments of fallen cliff to sigh against the small crescent of sand.
They sat on the warm stone side by side. He said, “It is good to be back.”
“Can you tell me what happened? You did not leave me much time to get ready!” She held her hair from her face and studied him: the young man who resembled his uncle so much it was uncanny.
Adam pulled a long strand of grass through his teeth. It tasted of salt. “We were chasing a schooner off Lundy Island. The weather was brisk.” He smiled at some memory, so that he looked like a young boy again. “Maybe I was too eager. Anyway we sprung the fore-topmast and I decided to come to Falmouth for repair. It is better than languishing for weeks in some Royal dockyard, in line behind all the senior captains and the admiral’s favourites!”
She looked at his dark profile, the Bolitho hair and cheekbones. As the spring had given way to summer she had hoped he might call on her, as he had twice before. They rode and walked; they talked, but rarely about one another.
“May I ask you something?”
He rolled on his hip, his face propped in his hand. “You can ask me anything. ”
“How old are you, Adam?”
He looked serious. “Twenty-eight.” He could not keep up the pretence. “As of today!”
“Oh, Adam, why did you not say?” She leaned over and kissed his cheek very lightly. “For your birthday.” She put her head on one side. “You don’t look very much like a captain.”
He reached out and took her hand in his. “And you don’t look very much like someone who’s married.”
He released her as she stood up and walked nearer to the edge.
“If I have offended you, I can only beg forgiveness.”
She turned, her back to the sea. “You do not offend me, Adam, you of all people. But I am married as you say—it is as well to be reminded.”
She sat down again, and wrapped her arms around her legs and her long riding skirt.
“Tell me about your father. He was a sailor too?”
He nodded, his eyes very distant. “Sometimes I think I am very like him, as he must have been. Too easily hurt, too quick to consider consequences. My father was a gambler . . . much of the estate was sold to pay his debts. He fought on the other side during the American Revolution, but he did not die as everyone thought. He lived long enough to learn he had a son, and to save my life. One day I shall tell you the whole story, Zenoria. But not now . . . not today. My heart is too full.”
He stared out to sea and asked abruptly, “Are you truly happy with Captain Keen? This in return for asking me a question, eh?”
She said gravely, “He has done everything for me. He loves me so much it frightens me. Perhaps I am different from other women . . . at times I begin to believe that is so. And I am quietly going mad because of it. I have tried so hard to understand . . .” She broke off as he took her hand again, very gently this time, and covered it with his like someone holding an injured bird.
“He is older than you, Zenoria. His life has always been the navy, as mine will be, if I live long enough.” He watched her hand in his, so brown in the sunlight, and was not aware of the sudden anguish in her dark eyes. “But he will return, and if I am right, he will hoist his own flag as an admiral.” He squeezed her fingers and smiled sadly. “It will be another change for you. The admiral’s lady. And there is no captain who deserves it more. I learned so much from him, but . . .”
She watched him steadily. “But—I have come between you both?”
“I will not lie, not to you, Zenoria. I cannot bear to see you together.”
She took her hand away very carefully. “You had better stop, Adam. You know how much I enjoy your company. Anything more is a delusion.” She watched her words bring more emotions to his face. “It has to be. If anyone discovered . . .”
He said, “I have told nobody. I may be a fool, but I am an honourable fool.”
He stood up and helped her to her feet. “Now you will dread the next time Anemone drops her anchor in Carrick Road.”
For a long moment they stood facing each other, their fingertips still touching.
“Just promise me something, Zenoria.”
“If I can.”
He held her hands more tightly and said, “If you need me, for any reason at all, please tell me. When I am able I shall come to you, and God help any man who ever speaks ill of you!”
As they mounted the grassy slope and climbed through the old wall, so that the sounds of the sea amongst the rocks below became muffled and then lost, she saw his sword hanging from his saddle.
“You must never fight on my behalf, Adam. If anything happened to you because of me, I don’t know what I would do.”
“Thank you. For saying that and so much more.”
She twisted round in his arms when he made to lift her to the stirrup. “There can be no more!” Her eyes widened with sudden alarm as he tightened his hold around her. “Please Adam, don’t hurt me!”
He looked into her face, understanding, and suddenly full of pity. For them both.
“I would never hurt you.” He put his mouth to hers. “For my birthday, if for no other reason.”
He felt her lips part, the sudden beat of her heart against his body, and the pain of his need for this strange girl was unbearable. Then he released her very carefully, expecting her to strike him.
Instead she said quietly, “You must not do that again.” When she lifted her head her eyes were wet with tears. “I shall never forget.”
She allowed him to raise her to the stirrup and watched as he walked back to the wall, still overcome with disbelief at what she had just permitted.
He stooped and picked several sprays of wild roses from where they tumbled over the wall, and wrapped them carefully in a clean handkerchief before bringing them to her stirrup.
“I am not proud to admit it, Zenoria. But I would take you from any man, if I could.” He handed her the roses and studied her as she lowered her face to them, her hair blowing in the wind like a dark banner.
She did not look at him. She knew she could not, dared not. And when she tried to find security from the foul memories of what she had once endured, there was nothing. For the first time in her life she had felt herself respond to a man’s embrace, and she was stunned by what might have happened if he had persisted.
They rode on to the old coaching track in silence. Once he reached between them to take her hand, but nothing was said. Perhaps there were no words. When a small carriage approached they reined in to let it pass, but the coachman pulled the horses to a halt and a woman looked out of the window. A gaunt hostile face, whom Adam recognised as his uncle’s sister.
“Well, well, Adam, I didn’t know you were back again.” She stared coldly at the girl in the rough riding skirt and loose white blouse. “Do I know this lady?”
Adam said calmly, “Mrs Keen. We have been taking the air.” He was angry: with her for her arrogance; with himself for troubling to explain anything to her. Never once had she treated him as a nephew. A bastard in the family? It could not be accepted.
The cold eyes moved over Zenoria’s body, missing nothing. The flushed cheeks, the grass on the skirt and riding boots. “I thought Captain Keen was away.”
Adam calmed his horse with one hand. Then he asked evenly, “And what of your son, Miles? I understand he is no longer serving the King.” He saw the shot go home and added, “You can send him to my ship if you wish, Ma’am. I am not my uncle— I’d soon teach him some manners!”
The carriage jerked forward in a cloud of sand and dust and Adam said, “I cannot believe she is of the same blood, damn her eyes!”
Later, as Zenoria stood in the garden, in the same place from which she had watched her husband depart some seven weeks ago, she could feel her heart beating wildly. If only Catherine were here. If only she could tear her mind from the thoughts which still pursued her.
S
he heard his step on the path and turned to watch him, now changed again into his uniform and even his unruly hair tidied, his gold-laced hat jammed beneath one arm.
She said, “The Captain once more!”
He seemed about to come towards her, but checked himself. “May I call again before we sail?” There was anxiety in his eyes. “Please do not deny me that.”
She raised her hand, as if she were waving to someone a long way off.
“It is your home, Adam. I am the intruder.”
He glanced at the house like a guilty youth. Then he touched his breast. “You intrude only here, in my heart.” He turned and walked from the garden.
Ferguson, who had seen them from an upstairs window, let out a deep sigh. The nagging thought still persisted. They looked so right with each other.
Admiral the Lord Godschale shook the small bell on his table and tugged impatiently at his neckcloth.
“God damn it, it is so hot in this place I wonder I do not fade away!”
Sir Paul Sillitoe sipped a tall glass of hock and wondered how they managed to keep it so cool here in the Admiralty.
The door swung noiselessly inwards and one of the admiral’s clerks peered at them.
“Open these windows, Chivers!” He poured some more wine and said, “Better to have the stench of horse dung and be deafened by all the traffic than sweat like a pig!”
Sillitoe gave a small smile. “As we were saying, my lord . . .”
“Ah yes. The readiness of the fleet. With the extra vessels taken from the Danes, and the return of others from Cape Town, we shall be as prepared as anyone can expect. The yards are working as hard as they can—there is hardly a decent oak left in the whole of Kent apparently!”
Sillitoe nodded, his hooded eyes revealing nothing. In his mind he saw some great chart: the responsibilities entrusted into his care by the government. His Majesty the King was becoming so irrational these days that Sillitoe seemed to be the only adviser he would listen to.
Where was the Golden Plover now, he wondered? How long before Bolitho and his mistress were back in England? He often thought of his visit to her. The nearness of her, her beautiful throat and high cheekbones. A glance that could burn you.
Beyond the Reef Page 11