Inshore Squadron (24 page)

The pistol was getting so heavy Bolitho wondered how he was keeping it so steady.

He called, “On the other hand, when I kill you, there will be an end to it, for your patron will hardly be likely to admit that he was party to this!”

The second called shakily, “I must insist, gentlemen!” A handkerchief appeared above his head. “When I drop this, you will fire!”

Bolitho nodded. “I am ready!”

Roche's shape narrowed as he turned his right side towards Bolitho, the pistol coming up firmly to point directly at him.

It had not worked. How long now? he wondered. Three seconds?

The handkerchief moved, and then Roche threw himself on his knees, his pistols hurled away into the grass.

“Please!
Please have mercy!
”

Bolitho walked slowly towards him, each step agonizing as his wound tore at the thick dressing. But the pain was more like a spur than a handicap. He did not take his eyes from the kneeling, whimpering lieutenant until he was standing less than a yard away.

Roche stopped pleading and babbling and stared at the black muzzle, afraid even to blink.

Bolitho said coldly, “I have seen better men than you'll ever be die for less reason than you. My nephew, whom you chose to mock, to humiliate without cause, has done things which your sort do not even bother to read about. You sicken me, and I can think of no valid reason to let you live a moment longer!”

His finger tightened on the trigger and then he heard Clinton say gently, “If you like, sir, I'll put the pieces in their case.” He took the pistol from Bolitho's hand and added, “Mr Roche's courage today will be all over Portsmouth by noon. By tomorrow, who can say where the tale will be told and heard,” he swung on the terrified Roche, “
with relish,
damn your bloody eyes!”

Bolitho nodded to the second and then turned towards the waiting carriage.

Clinton strode beside him, his breath like steam in the cold air.

“Scum, sir! I had my heart in my teeth, all the same.”

Bolitho looked down at the blood on his breeches. It was like wet paint in the dull light.

“Yes, Major. Scum. But the really terrible thing was, I
wanted
to kill him. But for you?” He shook his head. “Now I'll never know.”

Clinton grinned with relief. “Neither will he, sir!”

14
B
ELINDA

E
DMUND
Loveys,
Benbow
's surgeon, straightened his narrow shoulders and regarded Bolitho with as much defiance as his profession allowed.

“You have all but ruined my work, sir.” He reached down and dabbed a swab against the raw wound, barely able to conceal his malice. “It's a wonder to me you didn't get gangrene started on the ride south from London, and never mind the duel.”

Bolitho lay back on the bench seat beneath the stern windows and stared up at the salt-stained glass.

As his mind regained some of its control he began to see the madness of his actions. He had ridden from London without a word to the Admiralty, where even now they might be convening a meeting to discuss strategy. By challenging Roche to open combat he had gone against his word to Beauchamp, but even that seemed unimportant.

He said, “I apologize. It was necessary.”

Loveys pouted. “I have heard little else, sir. It is all over the port about your meet with Lieutenant Roche.”

Bolitho sat up slowly.
It would be.
There were no secrets for long in the fleet.

He looked at his thigh, the livid scars which showed around the thick dressing which Loveys was about to secure once more. It was strange, he thought vaguely, but as a young lieutenant he had never thought of a captain, let alone a flag officer, as a mere mortal. Now, here he sat, as naked as the day he was born, with just a blanket across his shoulders, and that was because of the cold and not modesty.

Herrick had been to see him more often than necessary, and he guessed that he was trying to keep up his spirits. With
Benbow
almost ready for sea again, her holds, magazines and water casks filled to full capacity, Herrick had a lot to do. New men were still being gathered and sworn in, a lieutenant named Oughton had arrived to replace Pascoe, all these details which were mainly Herrick's concern were part of his plan to keep Bolitho from brooding.

He wondered how Pascoe was settling in aboard the
Relentless.
The frigate would be standing out into the North Sea by now, another separate world into which Pascoe would soon be as one. It was a pity he had not been able to see him before he had sailed. He had even missed the frigate when she had weighed and spread her canvas in the dawn air. While he had been making plans to bluff Roche or die because of a gesture.

Loveys said, “Try to rest it, sir. You'll have a limp otherwise. If nothing worse.”

“I see. Thank you.”

Bolitho groaned as he lurched to his feet. Ozzard was ready with some steaming coffee, but had learned not to show any concern as Bolitho took his first steps towards his table. His wound felt like fire, as if he had indeed been shot during a duel.

He wondered what Allday was doing. He should have arrived in Portsmouth with the borrowed carriage by now. He recalled his stricken, pleading face and knew he needed him here, if only to reassure him, to prove he was still alive.

Herrick entered the cabin and regarded Bolitho's nakedness without expression.

“I'd like to move out to Spithead tomorrow, sir, as soon as we've completed provisioning. The wind's fair, and I'd not wish to wait in harbour.”

“Inform the port admiral, Thomas. I'll not be sorry to return to the squadron. There's nothing for me here.” He relented instantly and said, “Forgive me, I was thinking only of myself.” He shrugged. “Again.”

Herrick smiled. “I understand. I have never known such happiness as that shared with Dulcie. But I'll not save it by staying here. This is a new year, perhaps with peace as part of its promise. To all accounts, the enemy is massing along the Channel ports again, but at least your action against Ropars and the
Ajax
delayed, if not prevented, a full-scale attack from the Baltic. Even those ungrateful dolts at the Admiralty must see that.”

Bolitho sipped his coffee and marvelled how their friendship had endured everything.

“It will be blockade and patrol for us, Thomas. At least until the ice melts in the Baltic and Tsar Paul decides which way he will jump.”

Bolitho crossed to the quarter gallery, his clothes forgotten as he heard someone hailing a boat from the poop.

It was one of
Benbow
's cutters. It contained a few anonymous sacks, same small casks, two frightened looking men who had probably been handed over by the local magistrate rather than deport or hang them, and in the sternsheets, Allday.

Bolitho sighed. With the memory of the overturned coach still fixed in his thoughts he had been worried about Allday's safety.

There was no sign of Browne in the boat, however. He had been in the dockyard all morning to pester the admiral's staff about possible orders from London.

Herrick joined him by the windows and said, “Allday knows already. He's grinning all over his face.” He added more seriously, “I hope there are no more threats against you, sir.”

“There will be, Thomas. But against
me,
not Adam.” His hand shook. “When I think what would have happened but for your prompt actions, Thomas, I feel mad with anger. Never mind that killer, Roche, I'd have called out Damerum himself, God help me!”

Feet pounded along the passageway, and after a hasty knock Allday strode into the cabin, his face reddened by wind and spray.

“You are safe, sir! I knew you had a trick to play!”

“You are a liar, Allday, but thank you.” Impetuously he thrust out his hand. “Very much.”

Herrick smiled, the anxiety slipping from his face. “Did you hand over the carriage in one piece? Mr Browne's friend will have words to utter if you've wrecked it.”

There was a shout from the marine sentry. “Midshipman of the watch, sir!”

Midshipman Lyb entered the cabin and said, “First lieutenant's respects, sir, and may he hoist all but the duty boats in board?” He was careful to keep his eyes averted from Bolitho's nakedness.

Bolitho recalled his own time as captain. Two years ago, and yet he could remember well the internal dramas of his various ships. Like poor Lyb, for instance. Equal in seniority and just slightly older than Midshipman Aggett, but the latter had been promoted to replace the dead Lieutenant Courtenay. It was just a fragment, a mere speck when set against the great strategy of a fleet at war. And yet Lyb's downcast expression revealed so much.

Herrick said doubtfully, “It's a mite early, Mr Lyb. I'd better come up and see what Mr Wolfe intends.” He picked up his hat and said, “I'll leave you in this ruffian's hands, sir.”

The door closed and Allday said, “I'm afraid Mr Lyb may have got that message wrong.”

Bolitho took a clean shirt from Ozzard and slipped it over his head.

“Why is that?”

“I, that is,” Allday looked momentarily off balance, “I wanted to speak with you alone.” He glared at Ozzard, who seemed to shrink in size before he left the cabin.

Bolitho exclaimed, “You
did
wreck the carriage?”

“No, sir.” Allday fiddled with his gilt buttons. “Fact is, after you'd ridden from the house with Mr Browne the lady came.” He nodded to Bolitho's disbelief. “Aye, sir,
the
lady.”

Bolitho looked away. “Tell me. What did she say?”

Allday replied, “I was so bothered by you riding off without me I can't remember exactly, sir. She was most upset. About you, that you'd think her heartless when you had so much on your mind about your nephew. She fired so many questions at me when she found I'd been with you for so long I could barely get the chests packed.”

“When she found out? You mean, you told her everything?”

“I expect so.” Allday looked at him with sudden determination. “I'd better tell you without further delay, sir. I brought her with me. We met Mr Browne by accident an' he put her in The George.” He took a deep breath. “She's waiting there. Now.”

Bolitho sat down in a chair and looked at his hands. “Does she know about the duel?”

Allday beamed. “Oh yes, sir. We heard about that before we came through Wymer Parish. I think Mr Roche must have had a lot of enemies!”

Bolitho did not know what to say. She was waiting to see him, here in Portsmouth. When she had heard he was safe she could have gone about and returned to London without seeing him. If it had been only pity, or common courtesy, she would have sent a brief message perhaps, nothing more.

He said, “I will go ashore.”

“Bless you, sir, not like that!” Allday was grinning hugely. “Better put some breeches on!”

Ozzard answered Bolitho's call a bit too quickly for one who had been out of earshot. But Bolitho was too confused, too aware of possible disappointment, and barely noticed.

Allday marched round the cabin issuing instructions. “Best coat, now. Fetch the hat with the black binding, not the gold-laced one.”

Bolitho paused in his efforts to finish dressing. “Why is that?”

Allday regarded him calmly. “Ladies need to see the man, sir, not just the uniform.”

Bolitho shook his head. “You never fail to amaze me, Allday.”

Allday examined him carefully. “About right, sir. Now, if you will excuse me, I'll muster my bargemen.” He stepped aside as Herrick returned.

Herrick said, “Lyb got it all wrong, as usual.” He stiffened as he saw Bolitho's changed appearance. “Hell, sir, you look just fine. If only . . .” He broke off, his blue eyes clearing with understanding. “Allday! He got me away from here! And I think I know why!”

Bolitho took the hat from Ozzard. As ordered by Allday, it was the plain one with black cockade and simple lace edging.

“I am to meet her now, Thomas.” He looked up, his eyes searching. “I will probably make a fool of myself.”

Herrick said, “I think not.” He followed him through the screen door. “I had a feeling about this. And bear in mind I've not yet laid eyes on the lady. But I know you, and I almost understand Allday by now, so the rest was easy.” He gripped his hand firmly. “Good luck, sir.”

They strode out on to the damp deck, Bolitho treading very carefully to avoid disturbing the dressing on his wound. He thought he saw Loveys watching him from a companion, probably cursing him for not heeding his warning.

At the entry port, where the side party was lined up to honour his departure, and below which the
Benbow
's barge rolled impatiently on an incoming tide, Herrick said quietly, “I'm not much of a hand at praying. But I'll be doing the next best thing.”

They stood apart and Bolitho raised his hat formally to the quarterdeck. It was only when he reached down to ensure that his scabbard would not tangle in his legs that he realised Allday had clipped the old sword to his belt.

Where luck was concerned, nobody was taking any chances.

The room was very small and situated right at the top of the old George Inn. As Bolitho paused outside the door to regain his breath after a hasty climb up three flights of stairs he guessed that Browne had had to use bribes as well as influence to obtain it with Portsmouth so crowded with sea officers and the military.

He tapped on the door, his mind suddenly empty of words or conversation.

It opened and he saw her standing very still, one hand around the edge of the door, as if unsure whether to welcome him or shut it in his face.

“Come in.” She watched him pass, her gaze dropping to his leg as he limped towards a small window and looked across the neighbouring roof-tops. “I have sent for some tea. You were very quick. In fact, I was not sure you'd come at all. That you'd wish to come.”

Bolitho studied her as she took his hat and cloak. “It's so good to see you. I've thought a lot about you. I am sorry about my visit to your house. I wanted you to like me so much.” He tried to smile. “Like using too much canvas in a gale, you can lose everything.”

She ushered him to a chair near a fire. “Your Mr Allday told me a great deal. If one man can love another, then he must be such a person. All the way on that journey he kept talking. I suspect it was as much to calm his own fears as to help with mine.”

“Why did you come?” Bolitho reached out as if to touch her. “I am sorry. That was badly put. Forgive my crudeness. I'd give so much to please you, even in a small way.”

She watched him gravely. “You must not apologize. You have done nothing. I did not really understand. Perhaps I was too proud, too sure I could make my way without favours from others. Every smile, each hint I received was like a smirk, a bargain. And I was alone.” She tossed the hair from her face. The brief gesture was both defiant and helpless.

She said, “Your nephew. Tell me about him.”

Bolitho looked at the flickering flames. “His father was named a traitor when he ran from the Navy to America. There, he joined up with the privateers, and by some cruel fate I was captured by his ship during the campaign. His desertion, his acts against his own country, destroyed my father. When I heard that my brother Hugh had died in an accident in Boston I could feel no pity, no sense of loss. Then one day, Adam, my nephew, walked out of nowhere with nothing but a letter from his dead mother. He wanted to be part of his real family. Mine. He had never met his father, nor had Hugh known about his existence.”