Honour This Day

by Alexander Kent

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

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

  His busy mind recorded a shadow and the click 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 scarce 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 Miss 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 ’er a 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 proper. Poor luv, she could do wiv it an’ all. I burned ’er clothes They was alive.” She opened her red fist. “I found these sewn in the ’em.”

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

  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 yarns 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 street. 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 court-martial, 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.” She laid her head against his and added quietly, “I have done things I am too often ashamed of. But I have never sold my body to another.”

  He reached up and gripped her hand. “That, I know.”

  A carriage clattered past, the wheels loud on the cobbles. At night, this household, like others nearby, had servants to spread straw on the road to deaden the sound. London never seemed to sleep. In the past few days Bolitho had lain awake, thinking of Catherine, the code of the house which kept them apart like shy suitors.

  She said, “I want to be somewhere I can hear about you, what you are doing. There will be more danger. In my own way I shall share it with you.”

  Bolitho stood up and faced her. “I will likely receive orders to return to the squadron very soon. Now that I have declared myself, they will probably want rid of me from London as soon as possible.” He smiled and put his hands on her waist, feeling her supple body beneath the robe, their need for each other. There was colour in her cheeks now, and her hair, hanging loose down her back, had recovered its shine.

  She saw his eyes and said, “Mrs Robbins has taken good care of me.”

  Bolitho said, “There is my house in Falmouth.” Instantly he saw the reluctance, the unspoken protest, and added, “I know, my lovely Catherine. You will wait until—”

  She nodded. “Until you carry me there as your kept woman!” She tried to laugh but added huskily, “For that is what they will say.”

  They stood holding hands and facing each other for a full minute.

  Then she said, “And I’m not lovely. Only in your eyes, dearest of men.”

  He said, “I want you.” They walked to the window and Bolitho realised that he had not left the house since that night. “If I cannot marry you—”

  She put her fingers on his mouth. “Enough of that. Do you think I care? I will be what you wish me to be. But I shall always love you, be your tiger if others try to harm you.”

  A servant tapped on the door and entered with a small silver salver. On it was a sealed envelope with the familiar Admiralty crest. Bolitho took it, felt her eyes on him as he slit it open.

  “I have to see Sir Owen Godschale tomorrow.”

  She nodded. “Orders then.”

  “I expect so.” He caught her in his arms. “It is inevitable.”

  “I know it. The thought of losing you—”

  Bolitho considered her being alone. He must do something.

  She said, “I keep thinking, we have another day, one more night.” She ran her hands up to his shoulders and to his face. “It is all I care for.”

  He said, “Before I leave—”

  She touched his mouth again. “I know what you are trying to say. And yes, dearest Richard, I want you to love me like you did in Antigua, and all that time ago here in London. I told you once that you needed to be loved. I am the one to give it to you.”

  Mrs Robbins looked in at them. “Beg pardon, Sir Richard.” Her eyes seemed to measure the distance between them. “But yer nephew is ’ere.” She relented slightly. “You’re lookin’ fair an’ bright, m’lady!”

  Catherine smiled gravely. “Please, Mrs Robbins. Do not use that title.” She looked steadily at Bolitho. “I have no use for it now.”

  Mrs Robbins, or ‘Ma’ as Allday called her, wandered slowly down the stairway and saw Adam tidying his unruly black hair in front of a looking-gla
ss.

  It was a rum do, she thought. God, everyone in the kitchen was talking about it. It had been bad enough for Elsie, the upstairs maid, when her precious drummer-boy had gone off with a blackie in the West Indies. Not what you expected from the quality; although old Lord Browne had been one for the ladies before he passed on. Then she thought of Bolitho’s expression when she had given him the earrings she had rescued from the filthy gown. There was a whole lot more to this than people realised.

  She nodded to Adam. “’E’ll be down in a moment, sir.”

  Adam smiled. It was strange, he thought. He had always loved his uncle more than any man. But until now he had never envied him.

  Admiral Sir Owen Godschale received Bolitho immediately upon his arrival. Bolitho had the impression that he had cut short another interview, perhaps to get this meeting over and done with without further delay.

  “I have received intelligence that the French fleet outran Lord Nelson’s ships. Whether he can still call them to battle is doubtful. It seems unlikely that Villeneuve will be willing to fight until he has combined forces with the Spaniards.”

  Bolitho stared at the admiral’s huge map. So the French were still at sea but could not remain so for long. Nelson must have believed the enemy’s intention was to attack British possessions and bases in the Caribbean. Or was it merely one great exercise in strength? The French had fine ships, but they had been sealed up in harbour by an effective blockade. Villeneuve was too experienced to make an attack up the English Channel, to pave the way for Napoleon’s armies, with ships and men whose skills and strength had been sapped by inactivity.

  Godschale said bluntly, “So I want you to hoist your flag again and join forces with the Maltese squadron.”

  “But I understood that Rear-Admiral Herrick was to be relieved?”

  Godschale looked at his map. “We need every ship where she can do the most good. I have sent orders today by courier brig to Herrick’s command.” He eyed him impassively. “You know him, of course.”

  “Very well.”

  “So it would appear that the reception I had planned must now be postponed, Sir Richard. Until quieter times, eh?”

  Their eyes met. “Would I have been invited to attend alone, Sir Owen?” He spoke calmly but the edge was clear in his voice.

  “Under the circumstances I think that would have been preferred, yes.”

  Bolitho smiled. “Then under those same circumstances I am glad it is postponed.”

  “I resent your damned attitude, sir!”

  Bolitho faced his bluff. “One day, Sir Owen, you may have cause to remember this disgraceful conspiracy. The last time we met you told me that Nelson was not above being wrong. And neither, sir, are you! And should you too fall from grace you will most certainly discover who your true friends are!” He strode from the room, and heard the admiral slam a door behind him like a thunderclap.

  Bolitho was still angry when he reached the house. Until he saw Catherine speaking with Adam, and heard a familiar voice from the adjoining study.

  Then Allday stepped out of the passageway which led from the kitchen, his jaw still working on some food. They were all staring at him.

  Bolitho said, “I am to return to the squadron as soon as is convenient.”

  A shadow fell across the passage, and Captain Valentine Keen stepped into the light.

  Bolitho clasped his hands. “Val! This is a miracle!”

  Beyond his friend he saw the girl Zenoria, exactly as he had remembered her. Both of them were travel-stained, and Keen explained, “We have been on the road for two days. We were already on our way back from Cornwall and by a stroke of fate we met with the courier at a small inn where he was changing his mount.”

  Fate. That word. Bolitho said, “I don’t understand.” He saw the girl’s face as she walked up to him and held him, while he kissed her on the cheek. Something more had happened.

  Keen said, “I am to be your flag captain, Sir Richard.” He gave Zenoria a despairing glance. “I was asked. It seemed right.” He handed Bolitho a letter. “Captain Haven is under arrest. The day after you left in Firefly he attacked another officer and attempted to kill him.” He watched Bolitho’s face. “The commodore at Gibraltar awaits your orders.”

  Bolitho sat down while Catherine stood beside him, her hand on his shoulder.

  Bolitho looked up at her. My tiger. That poor, wretched man had broken under the strain. There was nothing much in the letter, but Bolitho knew the other officer must be Parris. He at least was alive.

  Keen looked from one to the other. “I was about to suggest that your lady might care to share my home with Zenoria and my sister until we return.”

  Bolitho clasped Catherine’s hand; he could tell from the way the dark-haired girl from Cornwall was looking at her that it was a perfect arrangement. God alone knew they both had plenty in common.

  Keen had rescued Zenoria from the transport ship Orontes after she had been wrongly charged and convicted of attempted murder. She had been trying to defend herself from being raped. Transportation to the penal colony in New South Wales; and she had been innocent. Keen had boarded the transport and cut her down when she was about to be flogged at the ship’s master’s command. She had taken one blow across her naked back before Keen had stopped the torment. Bolitho knew she would carry the scar all her life. It made him go cold to realise that the same fate could have been thrown at Catherine, but for different reasons. Jealousy and greed were pitiless enemies.

  He said, “What say you, Kate?” The others seemed to fade away as if his damaged eye would only focus on her. “Will you do it?”

  She said nothing but nodded very slowly. Only a blind man would have failed to see the light, the communion, between them.

  “It’s settled then.” Bolitho looked at their faces. “Together again.”

  It seemed to include them all.

  Lieutenant Vicary Parris sat in his cabin only half paying attention to the ship noises above and around him. Compared with the upper deck the cabin with its open gunport seemed almost cool.

  The fifth lieutenant, Hyperion’s youngest, stood beside the small table and stared at the open punishment book.

  Parris asked again, “Well, do you think it fair, Mr Priddie?”

  It was chilling, Parris thought. The vice-admiral had barely quit the Rock in Firefly when Haven had gone on the rampage. At sea, fighting the elements and working the ship, men were often too busy or desperate to question the demands of discipline. But Hyperion was in harbour, and in the hot sunshine, work about the ship and taking on fresh stores made its own slower and more comfortable routine, when men had the time to watch and to nurse resentment.

  “I—I am not certain.”

  Parris swore under his breath. “You wanted to pass for lieutenant, but now that you share the wardroom you seem prepared to accept any excuse for a flogging without care or favour?”

  Priddie hung his head. “The Captain insisted—”

  “Yes, he would.” Parris leaned back and counted seconds to restore his temper. At any other time he would have requested, even demanded a transfer to another ship, and to hell with the consequences. But he had lost his last command; he wanted, no, he needed any recommendation which might offer the opening to another promotion.

  He had served under several captains. Some brave, some too cautious. Others ran their ships like the King’s Regulations and would never take a risk which might raise an admiral’s eyebrow. He had even served under the worst kind of all, a sadist who punished men for the sake of it, who had watched every breath-stopping stroke of the cat until the victim’s back had been like seared meat.

  There was no defence against Haven. He simply hated him. He used the weapon of his complete authority to punish seamen without proper consideration as if to force his first lieutenant to challenge it.

  He touched the book. “Look at this, man. Two dozen lashes for fighting. They were skylarking in the dog watches, nothing more; you must ha
ve seen that?”

  Priddie flushed. “The Captain said that discipline on deck was lax. That eyes ashore would be watching. He would tolerate no more slackness.”

  Parris bit off a harsh retort. Priddie had not yet forgotten what it was like to be a midshipman. As first lieutenant he should do something. He could appeal to no one; the other captains would see his behaviour as betrayal, something which might rebound on their own authority if encouraged. Right or wrong, the captain was like a god. Only one man cared enough to stop it, and he was on passage for England with trouble enough of his own if he did not bow down to threats. It seemed unlikely that Bolitho would bend a knee to anyone if he believed what he was doing was right.

  Parris considered the ship’s surgeon, George Minchin. But he had tried before to no avail. Minchin was a drunkard like so many ships’ surgeons. Butchers, at whose hands more men died than ever did because of their original injury or wound.

  Hyperion was supposed to be getting a senior surgeon, one of several being sent into the various squadrons to observe and report on what they discovered. But that was later. It was now he was needed.

  Parris said, “Leave it to me.” He saw the lieutenant’s eyes light up, thankful that he was no longer involved.

  Parris added angrily, “You’ll never hold a command, Mr Priddie, unless you face up to the rank you carry.”

  He climbed to the quarterdeck and watched the seamen swaying up new rigging to the mizzen top. There was a strong smell of fresh tar for blacking-down, the sounds of hammers and an adze as Horrocks the carpenter and his mates completed work on a new cutter, built from materials to hand. They worked well, he thought, would even be happy, but for the cloud which always hung over the poop.

  With a sigh he made his way aft and waited for the Royal Marine sentry to announce him.

  Captain Haven was sitting at his desk, papers arranged within easy reach, his coat hanging from the chairback as he fanned his face with his handkerchief.

  “Well, Mr Parris? I have much to do.”

  Parris made himself ignore the obvious dismissal. He noticed that the pens on the desk were all clean and dry. Haven had written nothing. It was as if he had prepared for this, had been expecting his visit despite the hint of rejection.