She said quietly, not looking at him, her dark eyes veiled by the lashes:
”Do you know what you have done, Graham?” She shook her head, and he saw the gold filigree earrings gleam through her hair, the ones she was almost always wearing when they had met; Richard had given them to her. ”You have laid yourself wide open to blame, and worse, if it becomes known that you have warned me. Don’t you care?”
He answered evenly, ”When you see an enemy, and his gun ports are staring at you like pitiless eyes, it is too late to bargain, or count the costs.” Then the smile came, easily. ”I want you, Kate. No bargains. I have always loved you.”
A door opened and slammed shut. She said, ”My maid, Marquita. I shall ask her to prepare some wine. Surely we can sit together now, and be friends, before you leave?”
Later the little maid Marquita carried a message down to George Tolan.
He was no longer required to stand watch.
He did not return to the ship. Neither did his admiral.
John Bowles, the cabin servant, held up the captain’s discarded coat at arm’s length and exclaimed, ”This will not tolerate many more days at sea, sir! It was a blessing you didn’t go aloft in your best uniform I’m not sure what we could ‘ave done.”
Adam leaned back in the chair and allowed his mind to drift. After Lotus, everything seemed to have changed. As if he had been away from the flagship for months instead of days; or as if he had never taken command. Athena felt so heavy and secure. She could have been aground but for the shifting patterns of reflected sunlight on deck head and screens as she nudged occasionally at her cable.
Troubridge was by the stern windows, watching the harbour and the anchored barque. A different Troubridge from the one in the cabin below when Bethune had lost his temper. That had changed, also, when Bethune had learned about the cargo of gold, and some consignment documents for delivery in Havana.
Adam was surprised that he was not exhausted; he had scarcely slept aboard the barque, even though Lotus’?” tough and experienced second lieutenant had been ready and able for the passage to Antigua.
When he had left the little sloop to be pulled over to Athena it had been a moving and unexpected moment. It seemed that, without planning or prompting, Lotus’?” company had manned the side and the yards to cheer him.
He had said to Pointer, ”The credit goes to your lookout. He had his suspicions from the very beginning. There are not many like that!”
Pointer had been grinning all over his face and had shouted above the wild cheering, ”With respect, sir, I don’t know of any post captain who would shin up the shrouds to hear anybody’s views!”
Troubridge was saying, ”You may not have seen her, but the frigate Audacity anchored an hour before you did.”
Adam stared at him.
”Any messages?”
Jago was standing by the screen, running a cloth up and down the old sword, and frowning as he rubbed. He said, ”Young Mister Napier’ll still be finding his feet after the long haul from Plymouth.”
Troubridge clapped his hand across his mouth. ”I forgot, sir! There was a letter sent across with the despatches. I was kept so busy .. .”
Adam recalled Bethune’s display of temper, and said dryly, ”I’m not surprised.”
Bowles gathered up some empty plates and, with the tar-stained coat held at a distance, said, ”I’ll see about some fresh shirts, sir.”
Troubridge said, ”I must have a word with Paget, just in case .. .”
Adam held the letter in both hands.
”You stay, Luke. Have another wet. The admiral’s ashore, so you can rest easy.”
Jago opened, then closed his mouth again. The letter would be from her. She must have written it almost before Athena’s topsail yards had dipped over the horizon.
He thought about Bethune and a lower-deck rumour he had picked up about his unescorted trip ashore. Unescorted, that was, but for the efficient Tolan. But it was impossible to get anything out of him. Like trying to open an oyster with a feather.
Adam held the letter to a lantern; outside the stern windows it had become quite dark. Lights were already moving on the current, and somewhere on the main deck he could hear water being pumped into the boats on the tier. Heat and sun could open up a boat like a basket without regular soaking in this climate.
The harbour, the unexpected prize, the short, savage fight and the death of a young midshipman seemed to fade; he was with her again.
He recognized the paper, some of Nancy’s, the old Roxby crest another poignant memory.
My dearest Adam, my love .. .
Jago poured himself another measure of cognac. In some ways it was better than grog, he decided. He sat in a chair and studied the old sword, back on its rack once more. So many sea fights, the names and the places too mingled for him to remember; but that sword must have seen ten times as many.
He thought of the slaver, the whining sailors who would now face trial, and very likely a Tyburn jig at the end of it. They were scum. But neither were they worth dying for. He looked across at the tall-backed chair which had some fancy foreign name he could not recall, where the captain sat re-reading his letter. He smiled to himself. In case he missed something.
”Good news, Cap’n?” He still found it hard to credit that he could speak to an officer in this fashion, let alone a captain. Pride was not a term he used easily. But there it was.
Adam said, ”She wrote from Falmouth, but she is going to London very soon.” He glanced at the letter. ”She will be back there by now, I expect. Some legal business.” He pushed his lingers through his unruly hair. ”She wishes us well.”
He could almost hear her. I want you. I feel you. I reach out for you.
Jago asked, ”What d’ you reckon’ll happen to that gold?”
He folded the letter carefully. ”All those slaves which have been shipped out to these waters. Hundreds, maybe thousands. Slavers like Cousens take all the risks, but their rewards are greater than anything they could earn in honest trade. And now, because of greed or mistrust, we have that gold under lock and key.” He remembered the boatswain’s mate Todd’s summing up, like a Chatham whorehouse, and found that he could smile. The tiredness was gone. He touched her letter.
And I reach out for you.
The captured barque and others which had been reported were fast and well armed, but to crew and run them without the promise of rich reward was impossible. Bethune and his advisors at the far-off Admiralty were convinced that, without payment, no one would risk mounting opposition and the chance of being captured.
The major slaving countries, the United States, Cuba and
Brazil, would find it even harder to lure men like Cousens, or others willing to face death at the end of a halter.
Outside the screen door, in another world, the marine sentry brought his heels together with a click.
”First lieutenant, sah.r
Adam faced the door. Some one for promotion or two dozen lashes. Taking on stores or re caulking part of the deck. Routine. Maybe the Stirlings of this world were right. Carry out orders and do your duty; leave the risks and the dangerous decisions to others. Perhaps a lesson he had learned the hard way and could never forget.
He remembered Bethune’s casual comment after Celeste’s sole survivor, the only witness to murder, had died.
Don’t become too involved. You lead, they follow there is no room for sentiment beyond that.
He examined his own immediate reaction. Like a witness at a court-martial. Pointer may have suspected it. Jago had known it when he had pushed his captain aside as they had boarded the barque. Duty had nothing to do with it. / am involved. I wanted revenge.
He realized that Bowles had quietly returned and was opening the screen door. Like the flag lieutenant, he had thought it important that he should be left in peace to read his letter.
Stirling waited for the door to close.
The wardroom have asked you to be their guest
tomorrow for dinner in the mess. With the garrison so near, the food might be better than usual.” He did not smile, concentrating, as if to ensure that he had forgotten nothing. ”The wardroom’ made certain that this invitation was not too personal.
”I would like that very much. Please thank them.”
Stirling nodded and produced a sheaf of paper. ”Now, about Mr. Midshipman Vincent’s promotion .. .”
Adam felt the tension slipping away.
It was the closest they had been.
Bethune sat up in the chair and touched his face.
”A good shave, Tolan, as ever!”
There was a taste of fine coffee in his throat, an inner excitement which he was still unable to contain, or come to terms with.
He recalled the consternation on deck when he had returned on board the flagship. Royal Marines taking up their positions, boatswain’s mates moistening their silver calls so as not to scramble the salute as the vice-admiral stepped aboard.
He had spoken only briefly with Captain Adam Bolitho, who had been there to greet him. Clear-eyed and alert, with nothing to show of the sea fight and the unexpected capture.
Now the ship was fully awake, hammers thudding somewhere, while the sail maker and his mates squatted about the main deck, the ‘market place’ as it was termed on most working days, needles and palms going like Maltese tailors.
Tolan was saying, ”Mr. Paget is waiting to see you, Sir Graham.” He was thinking about the quiet house overlooking the harbour, and the woman, and wondering just how much Frogface Paget knew.
Bethune picked up the cup. It was empty. Again.
He recalled the wine, the last glimpse of the harbour and the winking lights. She had known almost from the beginning. He had felt it, as if she had been fighting a battle, against herself, perhaps. And who else?
He had never really believed it would happen. A word or a glance, he never remembered.
She had said, ”You must leave, Graham.” Even his name on her tongue had excited him.
He had held her, like two people frozen in a waltz without music. He had tried to kiss her, but she had turned her face away, had pushed at his shoulders, shaking her head, words lost in her hair, body tensed as he held her, tightly and without pretence. Then she had said, ”I don’t love you, Graham. You know what I said.”
Her arms had fallen to her sides, like that moment on the balcony.
”I have never stopped loving you, Kate!”
He had held her, her waist, her back, her shoulders, had felt her body trembling, as if she were going to break away and run from him.
The room had been almost in darkness, but he had seen her eyes, and her mouth, the lips parted as if she wanted to say something. To explain, to protest; he did not wait.
But she did not resist; her mouth met his. It seemed to be endless, uncovering her, touching her body, her skin, then finding her, taking her.
He was still not certain if he would have pulled away, if she had tried to stop him.
Afterwards they lay together in the humid room, the overhead fan unmoving.
There had been no words, as if each was afraid to shatter the moment.
Tolan said, ”Flag lieutenant, Sir Graham.”
Bethune stood up and faced him. ”Send them both in.” He regarded him for several seconds, lost for words, which was unusual. ”Thank you, Tolan.”
”Sir Graham?”
”I shall not forget.”
He walked to the quarter windows and shaded his eyes, the water hard and bright, unmoving.
And she was over there. And he had once described Adam Bolitho as reckless.
Catherine folded the letter with great care, but hesitated before sealing it.
The house seemed very still, only the fan swaying slowly back and forth to stir the heavy air. The shutters were lowered so that the sunlight crisscrossed the room in fiery bars.
It was probably noon. She propped the letter against the inkstand and plucked at the loose robe which covered her body from throat to ankle. Beneath it she was naked, still damp from bathing herself, as if to wipe away the feel and touch of each vivid memory.
She could open the blinds and go out on the balcony, and the view would be the same. The ships, the harbour’s unending panorama of coastal and local trading craft.
And yet everything was changed, and she could not believe it.
She ran her hand inside her robe, across her shoulder, then down and around her breast. Forcing herself to relive it, confront what she had allowed to happen.
/ do not love him. She did not even know if she had spoken aloud. Nor did she care. Perhaps it had been inevitable, and yet she would never have believed it of herself. She had become used to it, the stares, the hints, the lingering grip on her hand.
She was stronger than any of it. She believed.
She thought of Adam, out there in the flagship, doubtless fretting over his lost freedom as a frigate captain. As Richard had done, and had shared it with her.
How would Adam take it when he heard about Bethune, and their liaison?
She was on her feet, the tiles cool to her bare soles. // was not like that . She picked up the ring from the table, so brilliant even in this shadowed room, rubies and diamonds. She could remember the little church in Cornwall where Richard had slipped it on to her finger. All so clear despite the years, and the pain in between. Where Valentine Keen had married Zenoria. She could still hear his voice. In the eyes of God, we are married. And that other memory, of Adam’s despair as he had watched Zenoria, whom he had loved, become the wife of another man.
Adam’s heart had been broken; he more than any one would understand what had happened here, within a mile of that other, grander house where she had seen Richard’s ship coming to anchor, when they had been reunited against all odds.
She had even pulled off this ring before Graham Bethune had arrived. Shame? Guilt? / do not love him.
She knew it was impossible. It would ruin Bethune. He was young for his Admiralty appointment, and she knew enough about the navy to realize what envy might create. His wife would do the rest, and destroy him.
She looked at herself in a tall glass. Heard herself say, but I’m not young any more, not just a girl who wanted to love and be loved. Even in the dim light she could see the mark on her shoulder, where he had pressed against her, and she had given in. Her eyes flashed. Willingly .. .
A door opened slightly; it was Marquita.
”You rang the bell, m’ lady?”
Catherine had already forgotten.
”I want you to take this letter to Mr. Jacob down by the jetty.” She waited for the girl to hold it. ”Give it to nobody else, Marquita. You understand?”
Marquita nodded slowly. ”Mister Jacob, m’ lady.” She looked around. ”You not eaten?”
Catherine put her arm around the girl’s slender shoulders. ”Tell Cook to go home. I shall not need anything.”
She clasped her shoulder, taken off guard, as the noon gun crashed out across the harbour.
”Big trouble, m’ lady?” The girl’s eyes were studying her anxiously. Both her mother and father had been slaves. It reminded her of Sillitoe, and Bethune’s warning. Sillitoe, the man of power, feared by almost every one, who had cherished and protected her ever since that hideous night in Chelsea. Who had never touched her. She would not desert him now.
Perhaps when they returned to England .. . But the picture refused to form.
All she could see was the door of that Chelsea house, and what some one had carved on it. Whore!
She called out, but the room was empty.
13
The Only Ally
After the oppressive heat in the harbour the commodore’s headquarters seemed cool by comparison within its thick, white-painted walls, with commanding views across the anchorage and main channel, and out toward the hazy blue horizon. There were old cannon along the bastion, probably Spanish, a hundred years old or more, with Commodore Swinburne’s broad pen
dant hanging limply overhead.
As the gig had pulled out from beneath Athena’s great shadow, Adam had felt the sun on his shoulder like something physical. He had seen Stirling on the forecastle, watching while the second anchor was swayed out to its cathead, ready to let go without a moment’s notice if a storm should break over the island.
Fraser the sailing master had said cautiously, ”Glass is steady enough, sir. But out here .. . you know how it is.”
Troubridge had accompanied him, pleased, Adam thought, to get away from Bethune and his mounting impatience.
The gig had passed abeam of the captured barque, and it was hard to believe she had ever been raked by Lotus’s broadside; the dockyard workers had patched and painted over most of the damage. Adam felt there was hardly a piece of the Villa de Bilbao he had not examined. The metal bars to keep the slaves secure, and long planks, like shelves, in the holds, so that more living bodies could be stored in ranks, one above the other, like books in a case with hardly room to breathe or move. A nightmare.
Cousens had said nothing, and was locked in solitary confinement under military guard. He would go to the gallows in silence, perhaps more afraid of his employers than the hangman. And there was always the chance he might escape the fate he justly deserved. He had not been carrying slaves, and he might claim that he fired his guns in selfdefense, in the belief that Lotus was a pirate or privateer under false colours. It was not unknown.
He had destroyed his charts minutes before being boarded, or thrown them overboard in a weighted bag with any other evidence close to hand.
Bethune had sent despatches by courier to the Admiralty, insisting on more ships for his command, frigates most of all. Nothing changed. Adam had never forgotten how Lord Exmouth had wanted Unrivalled in the van for his attack on Algiers. There were never enough frigates, peace or war.
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