Alexander Kent - Bolitho 26

by Man of War [lit]

  Grace had lived and served this house and all those who depended upon it. They were the family.

  And now more responsibility would rest upon Nancy. Ever since they had returned from the Old Glebe House and received the news of Ferguson’s sudden death, she had not stopped. Now she was at the funeral, separate, but very much a part of it and the world they all shared.

  Like this house. The same family, six generations, and now in the stillness she could imagine any one of those faces alive, perhaps on this staircase, or down in the study with its well-worn books and old carvings. And Adam. She glanced up into the shadows. Would he ever leave the sea? When would they be together again? Lie together?

  ”Is some one looking after you?”

  Lowenna turned and saw the other woman halfway up the stairs. She had seen her only once before, at a distance, pointed out by Nancy: the girl Elizabeth’s governess, Beatrix Tresidder. She could even recall her brief description. Her father was a clergyman over Redruth way, Nancy had said, a poor parish, barely earning his keep. She was educated, and had been glad of the opportunity to put it to good use.

  Lowenna looked down at her, dressed all in grey, her hair tied back severely with a black ribbon. Her own age, perhaps a year older or younger, it was hard to tell.

  She said, ”Nancy said I should wait here,” and was surprised that she should feel almost guilty. ”You are Elizabeth’s governess.”

  ”I do recall now Lady Roxby mentioned it to me. But I’ve had so much to do over the last few days .. . Miss Elizabeth is with me.”

  ”She did not go with Nancy?”

  ”She was upset. It is her birthday tomorrow.”

  ”I know.” She came to a decision. ”May I call you Beatrix? We shall know each other faster and better if so,” and smiled. ”My name is Lowenna.”

  ”Well, as you say.” She seemed taken off guard. ”Shall you be staying long? I understood that you might be returning to London.”

  Lowenna descended, knowing the other woman was watching every move. She had blue eyes, like the sea, and clear, pale skin; she could have been pretty if she had allowed herself to be. A

  defense, a barrier; perhaps she saw her as an intruder, like others she would have to meet if she remained here. She clenched her fist behind her back. Where my heart wants to be.

  Beatrix said, ”Is there anything I can show you? I come here quite often; Miss Elizabeth likes to visit. It was her father’s house after all. She has the right.”

  They had reached the study, and Lowenna paused as she looked at the portrait again. The elusive smile. The young boy looking out, as Nancy had described it, and that she would know better than any one.

  ”Of course, you were employed by the late Sir Gregory Montagu, when he painted this portrait of Captain Bolitho?”

  ”We worked together, yes. I was his ward.” She stifled her sudden resentment, anger, at the remark. The hostility. No smoke without fire. She should be used to it. Ought to have outgrown it. ”He was a fine man. He saved my life. I shall never forget what he did for me.”

  Beatrix nodded slowly, as if in thought. ”I understand. I was so thankful to be given this appointment. My father was glad for me, too.” Only for an instant, her eyes clouded. ”He could have been here in Falmouth today, with a good living, receiving the respect he deserves.” The outspoken resentment was gone as quickly as it had ignited. ”Just rewards do not always go to those who have earned them.”

  Lowenna allowed her muscles to relax, very slowly. Like finding and holding a pose while the initial sketches took shape.

  She said, ”Did you know Elizabeth’s mother?”

  ”Of her. A fine woman too, to all accounts. Killed when she was thrown from a horse. I have tried to shield the child from that, and other memories and implications.”

  There were sounds in the yard, a carriage, dogs barking. Nancy was back. They would leave here soon.

  Her nails were biting into her palm; she had clenched her fist without realizing it.

  / walked here with Adam. I was a part of it. Of him.

  The doors were open; a breeze moved a bell-pull by the great fireplace, as if some phantom hand had called for attention.

  Elizabeth walked across the polished floor, the sound of her riding boots sharp and clear.

  She said, ”I am going for a ride, now that they’re all coming back.” She looked directly at the tall, dark-haired girl with her governess. ”Will you go with me?”

  ”I don’t ride, I’m afraid.” Lowenna could feel the other woman watching her, judging her. ”Perhaps I will learn some day.”

  Elizabeth smiled, for the first time since she had come in.

  Lowenna had seen the entry of her birth in the Bible in the study. Tomorrow she would be fifteen years old. Had nobody else noticed it? She was no longer a child, but a young woman.

  Beatrix said quickly, ”I think we should speak with Lady Roxby first, my dear!”

  Elizabeth ignored her, and said, ”I can teach you, Lowenna.” Her smile broadened. ”It is a nice name. I shall soon show you the rules.” She glanced at her tutor. ”Easy!”

  Beatrix persisted, ”I think we should wait until Lady Roxby .. .”

  ”I’m not having my birthday spoiled because of the funeral, miss! I am a Bolitho - I will not be treated like some of those people out there!”

  Nancy walked up the steps, and said, ”Enough of that, Miss Elizabeth. I’ll not have any showing off, today of all days.”

  Lowenna could not see her expression, as the sunlight was streaming in behind her. But there was no mistaking her tone, and she was suddenly sorry for her. Her children, grown up long since and in London, and nobody to make the decisions but herself. And she owned one of the largest estates in the county.

  She stood in the sunlight, her face quite composed.

  ”Furthermore, my child, I’m glad you remembered that you are a Bolitho. Now try to behave like one!”

  She turned to Lowenna, seeing what many would miss. ”Hard, was it?” She slipped her hand through Lowenna’s arm. ”The others will be here presently. I want you to stay.”

  Lowenna thought of the stares and the unspoken comments.

  ”You mean it, don’t you.” She felt the pressure of the hand again. ”Then I shall stay.”

  Nancy turned her easily toward the newest portrait again, her grip surprisingly strong.

  ”I know love when I see it, Lowenna. Cherish it, and this sweet sorrow will soon pass.”

  They were all arriving now, Daniel Yovell, his round shoulders stooped, his gold spectacles perched on top of his head.

  Young Matthew, the coachman, unsmiling, shocked by the death of his friend. Servants, estate workers somehow unfamiliar in their best clothes, and old Jeb Trinnick, his one eye averted to avoid unnecessary conversation. Nancy introduced her to only a few. The rest could draw their own conclusions.

  And there was one who stood out, big, broad, and shaggy-haired. Nancy introduced him quietly as John Allday, Sir Richard’s friend and seagoing companion. She remembered seeing him the day Adam had been recalled to duty.

  Allday took her hand; it seemed to disappear into his powerful grip, and she felt defenseless under his steady gaze.

  ”I served with young Cap’n Adam as well, Missy, when he was just a lad. I heard about you an’ him, o’ course.” He touched her cheek momentarily with his free hand, and she could feel the strength of the man, and something deeper. She shivered as if she stood in a chill wind, but she remained very still, her hand in his, her skin alive to the roughness and the gentleness, and the years which had left this man so loyal.

  She heard herself ask softly, ”How is it, John Allday? Do I measure up?”

  For a moment she imagined he had not heard, or that he would resent her directness.

  Then he nodded very slowly. ”If I was a much younger fellow, Cap’n Adam wouldn’t get a chance in hell, Missy!” Then the grin came through, as if he had no control over it. ”As it is, I’d say
you’ll be flying with the wind afore you knows it! An’ that’s no error, neither!”

  He looked at the open doors. ”Old Bryan said as much, bless ‘im. An’ he was right.”

  She kissed his cheek, and said, ”And bless you, too.”

  She knew that Nancy was smiling, saying something unheard, and that conversation had broken out again on every side.

  And here was Grace Ferguson, very straight, her emotion contained, perhaps until she was alone and realized that it would be forever.

  She did not resist when Lowenna hugged her, and said steadily, ”John speaks the truth and always did. You’ll be right for young Captain Adam. After this, you come back to us. You belong here, and that’s all about it.” She returned the embrace, suddenly unable to go on. ”You take care, y’ hear?”

  Nancy had called it sweet sorrow. It was far more than that. It was nearly dawn when, in a strange bed, Lowenna finally fell asleep.

  Perhaps then, in fantasy, he would come again to her.

  10

  Chasing Shadows

  Adam Bolitho moved his shoulders very slightly and winced as the heat seared his skin, as though he were naked, or his coat had been hanging on the door of a furnace. He had been on deck since first light, when the sun had found them and pinned the ship down as if motionless. It was now almost noon and he felt he had scarcely moved from his place by the quarterdeck rail, watching the land, which never seemed to draw any nearer.

  A landfall was always exciting, to land man and old Jack alike. Few sailors ever questioned how or why it was achieved, or even the reason for arriving in a different place or harbour.

  Adam glanced up at the topsails, barely filling with wind, and flattened occasionally against stays and yards, the flags all but unmoving. English Harbour, Antigua, was the most important headquarters for the fleet which served the Caribbean far beyond these Leeward Islands, a fine, sheltered harbour with a dockyard which could accommodate even the larger men-of-war like Athena.

  Adam shaded his eyes and studied the white buildings beneath the shadow of Monk’s Hill, all shimmering in a heat haze, and small local craft, like insects on the milky blue water.

  June was almost gone, and this was now the hurricane season: old Caribbean hands would know it well. Becalmed one minute and then caught in a roaring gale, with waves which could swamp any lesser vessels or run them ashore.

  Both of Athena’s cutters were in the water, one on either bow, ready to take their parent ship under tow, if only to maintain steerage way should the wind desert them altogether. As it was, she was scarcely moving.

  Adam plucked at his shirt. Like another skin. A good landfall, nevertheless.

  He saw the officer in the starboard cutter stand to peer at the land as it moved out on either beam. It was Tarrant, the third lieutenant. Stirling had detailed him for the task, just in case something had gone amiss on their final approach. He had put an experienced leadsman in the chains for the same reason. Athena might be taken by a freak wind where she was denied the room to manoeuvre or change tack. It would not look well if Bethune’s flagship ran into shallow water within sight of the anchorage.

  Stirling had even checked each flag before dawn had opened up the horizon, fresh and clean to replace the ones worn by weather which they had hoisted the first day out of Plymouth.

  Details, great or small, made up the first lieutenant’s life. Caution, perhaps, was his true strength.

  Adam said, ”My respects to Sir Graham, and please inform him that we are about to begin the salute.”

  He heard the midshipman mumble something and rush away to the ladder, and imagined Troubridge bearing the news to his lord and master. He studied the land again and saw tiny, blinking lights on the foreshore and near some of the buildings, like fireflies braving the harsh glare: sunlight reflected from a dozen or more telescopes. Athena’s arrival would not be unexpected, but her timing would cause some confusion. He thought of the courier brig Celeste, which had blown to pieces, and her sole survivor, the acting sailing master named Rose, who had come from Hull. They had buried him at sea. Adam had never known Athena so quiet; every man in her company had been present. On gangways and in the shrouds, shoulder to shoulder on the main deck. Perhaps the closest in spirit they had yet been.

  Celeste would have been carrying all the details of Bethune’s arrival, both for the governor and the commodore in charge.

  Adam touched the rail, like heated shot, his mind lingering on the burial. He wondered why he had never become used to it. Hardened. He had seen plenty of them, and as captain had committed more men to the deep than he could name or remember. But he was always moved by it, by the sense of community. Of one company.

  ”Ready, sir!”

  He came out of his thoughts, irritated at being caught unaware. All the forenoon they had been creeping toward this mark on Eraser’s chart, and when he should be at his most alert he had allowed his mind to drift. He had been sleeping badly, or not at all.

  He saw Sam Fetch, the gunner, staring up at him, his eyes slits against the relentless sunshine.

  Another voice murmured, ”Sir Graham’s comin’ up, sir!”

  Adam turned and touched his hat.

  Bethune looked around casually. ”Nothing changes, does it?” He walked to the opposite side of the deck. ”Carry on, then, Captain Bolitho.” It sounded like, if you must.

  Adam turned his back and gestured to the patient gunner.

  The bang of the first shot sounded like a clap of thunder in the broad harbour. Gulls and other birds rose screaming and flapping across the smooth water, the smoke hanging almost motionless below the gangway. He pictured the people ashore seeing this ship, his ship, probably wondering what had brought her to Antigua. Trouble with slavers, pirates ... Perhaps war had broken out again and this was the first they would know of it. Or, more likely, they would regard her with more than a touch of warmth, even sadness. A ship from England. England .. . for some of them it would seem almost an alien land by now. For some .. .

  Fetch walked slowly along the deck, measuring the interval between each shot in the salute, pausing briefly inboard of each gun. ”Number Three gun, fireV and doubtless muttering to himself the old trick of timing of his trade. If I wasn’t a gunner I wouldn’t be here. ”Number Four gun, ire If I wasn’t a gunner I wouldn’t be here. ”Number Five gun, fir el

  Each shot echoed across and back over the placid water, so that it was almost impossible to distinguish the salute from the response of the battery ashore.

  Adam thought again of the Celeste. Bethune had made a point of reading his report of the unprovoked attack on the brig, and had remarked, ”You must emphasize that every effort was made to intercept the vessel described by the one survivor. We had only his word for the description.”

  Adam remembered the man’s hard grip on his hand, his mute stare as he died. His last words, most of all. Tell ‘em how it was.

  He had left the log entry unchanged, and wondered why Bethune had not mentioned it.

  He was here now, beside him, composed and apparently untroubled by the heat and the blinding reflections from the harbour.

  ”Not much of a show of force here today, eh, Adam? Three frigates all told, I am informed. And a whole collection of smaller vessels. Well, we’ll soon change things.” His tone hardened slightly. ”Or I shall know the reason!”

  He walked toward the ladder, dismissing it from his mind. ”I shall want the gig as soon as we’re anchored.” He glanced around the figures on the quarterdeck. ”Your fellow Jago, isn’t it?” He did not wait for a reply.

  Adam saw Stirling watching him. ”We will anchor directly. Recall the boats but hold them alongside. We can rig winds Is as soon as the ship is secure.” Stirling looked as if he were about to protest. ”It will be foul enough between decks in this heat, Mr. Stirling. Our people need some air to breathe in.” He smiled, but the barrier remained, like a breakwater.

  Stirling strode away, his heavy voice dropping orders an
d calling names as he went.

  Adam saw the various groups of seamen and marines, waiting, as if Athena herself would decide the time and place to drop anchor.

  The starboard anchor was already swaying gently at its cathead, ready to fall, the forecastle party appearing to watch a loitering guard boat but more likely their eyes were on the land. Different colours and smells, new faces, not those you were forced to look at every day and throughout each watch. And women, too.

  Adam tried to imagine it as it must have been for his uncle when he had anchored here in the old Hyper ion. Like this ship, she had worn a vice admiral flag. Sir Richard’s own.

  When he had met Catherine again, after losing her. It must have looked very much the same then, that year before Trafalgar .. . How could it be so long ago?

  ”Standing by, sir!”

  Adam glanced up at the loosely flapping topsails, and right forward to the jib sails with Lieutenant Barclay’s anchor party waiting, looking aft at their captain.

  He thought, too, of his uncle’s medal, for his part in the Battle of the Nile. Catherine had sent it to him, given it to him, perhaps because it reminded her too much of the man she had loved, and had lost forever.

  He looked over at the nearest helmsman, the one with the strange tattoo. Never look back, they always said. That was the oddest part. When he thought of all the faces he had known so well in Unrivalled, most of them had already lost substance, except for the few. They would never leave him.

  He stared up through the shrouds and beyond the maintop to the curling pendant.

  ”Hands wear ship, Mr. Stirling.”

  Calls trilled and bare feet pounded across the hot planking and the melting tar of the deck seams. The helm was going over, spokes creaking, the seaman with the tattoo very aware of his captain only a few feet away. Who wanted for nothing .. .

  Landfall. If only she were here to greet me.

  The sun moved across his face, then his shoulder.

  ”Let go!”

  Boats were putting off from the shore now, visitors, sightseers, traders; it was all beginning.