Raymond was slumped in a chair by the stern windows, apparently dozing, and his wife sat on the bench seat, fanning herself, and watching Noddall's preparations, a look of complete boredom on her face.
Bolitho made to go but she called, 'Come along, Captain. We barely see you from day to day.' She patted the bench seat with the fan. 'Sit awhile. Your precious ship will survive, I think.'
Bolitho sat down and leaned one elbow on the sill. It was good to feel life in the wind again, to watch the lift and swirl of foam as it surged freely from the counter, or came up gurgling around the rudder.
Then he turned slightly and looked at her. She had been aboard all this time and yet he knew little of her. She was watching him now, her eyes partly amused, partly questioning. Probably two or three years older than himself, he thought. Not beautiful, but with the aristocratic presence which commanded instant attention. She had fine, even teeth, and her hair, which she had allowed to flow loosely across her shoulders, was the colour of autumn. While he and the rest of his officers had found difficulty in keeping cool, or finding a clean shirt after the sun's tyranny or some fierce squall in the South Atlantic, she had always managed to remain perfect. As she was now. Her gown was not merely worn, it was arranged, so that he and not she looked out of place against the stern windows. Her earrings were heavy, and he guessed their value would pay most of his marines for a year or more.
She smiled. 'Do you enjoy what you see, Captain?'
Bolitho started. 'I am sorry, ma'am. I am tired.'
She exclaimed, 'How gallant! I am sorry it is only weariness which makes you look at me.' She held up the fan and added, 'I am mocking you, Captain. Do not look so depressed.'
Bolitho smiled. 'Thank you.'
He thought suddenly of that other time. In New York, three years ago. Another ship, his first command, and the world opening up just for him. A woman had shown him that life was not so kind, nor was it easy.
He admitted, 'I have had a lot on my mind. I have been used to action and sharp decisions for most of my life. Merely ~to make sail and face an empty sea day by day is something alien to me. Sometimes -I feel more like a grocery-captain than that of a man-o'-war.'
She watched him thoughtfully. 'I can believe it. I should have realised earlier.' She gave a slow smile, her lashes hiding her eyes. 'Then maybe I would not have offended you.'
Bolitho shook his head. 'Much of it was my fault. I have been so long in ships of war that I have become used to expecting others to share my dedication. If there is a fire I expect all close by to quench it. If a man tries to overrun authority by mutiny or in an enemy's name I would call for others to strike him down, or do so myself.' He faced her gravely. 'That is why I expected you to aid the men injured in the wreck.' He shrugged. 'Again, I expected it. I did not ask.'
She nodded. 'That admission must have surprised you, as much as it did me, Captain.' She showed her teeth. 'It has cleared the air a little?'
'Yes.'
He touched his forehead unconsciously, plucking at the rebellious lock of black hair which clung to the skin with sweat.
He saw her eyes widen as she caught sight of the livid scar beneath and said quickly, 'Forgive me, ma'am. I must go and examine my charts before we dine.'
She watched him as he stood up and said, 'You wear your authority well, Captain.' She glanced at her sleeping husband..'Unlike some.'
Bolitho did not know how to reply. 'I am afraid that is hardly for me to discuss, ma'am.'
He looked up as feet thudded across the deck and shadows flitted above the open skylight.
She asked, 'What is it?'
He did not see the annoyance in her eyes.
'I am not sure. A ship perhaps. I gave orders I was to be informed so that I can take avoiding action.'
Noddall paused, two forks in his hand. 'I 'eard no 'ail from th' mast'ead, sir.'
There was a rap at the door and Herrick stood in the entrance, his chest heaving from exertion.
'I am sorry to burst in.' He looked past Bolitho towards the woman. 'It would be better if you came with me, sir.'
Bolitho stepped from the cabin and pulled the door behind him. In the doorway which opened on to the ship's wardroom he saw a small group waiting for him. They looked confused. Stricken. Like strangers. There was Bellairs, accompanied by his towering sergeant. Triphook, his horse teeth bared as if to snap at an unseen attacker, and cowering just behind him was the ship's cooper, a small hunched petty officer named Joseph Duff. He was the second oldest man aboard, and wore steelrimmed spectacles at his work, although he usually managed to hide them from his messmates for much of the time.
Herrick said quietly, 'Duff has reported that most of the fresh water is undrinkable, sir.' He swallowed under Bolitho's stare. 'He was doing his usual inspection and has just reported to the ship's corporal.'
Triphook was murmuring fervently, 'In all my days. Never, never have I seen the like!'
Bolitho beckoned to the cooper. 'Well, Duff, I am waiting. What is this find which you have discovered?'
Duff blinked at him through the oval glasses. He looked like a grey-haired mole.
'Me usual inspection, sir.'
He grew smaller as they crowded round him. Soames had come from his own cabin, and loomed over Bellairs' shoulder like a cliff.
Duff continued shakily, 'The casks was all good 'uns, I saw to that, sir. First thing I always looks for. I learned me work under a fine old cooper in the Gladiator when I first took on, sir, an'-'
'For God's sake, Duff!' Herrick sounded desperate. 'Tell the captain!'
Duff lowered his head. 'Most of the casks is foul, sir. They 'as to be.'
Sergeant Coaker stepped forward, his boots creaking as the ship tilted in a sudden trough. He was holding a small bundle, but keeping it away from his tunic as if it were alive.
'Open it.'
The sergeant unfolded the parcel very carefully, his face set like stone.
Bolitho felt the deck, soaring violently, tasted the vomit clawing at his throat. Screwed up, as if at the instant shock of amputation, it was tL human hand.
Soames choked, 'In the name of Christ!'
Duff said in a small voice, 'In all of 'em, sir. 'Cept the last two casks by the bulk'ead.'
Triphook said heavily, 'He's right, sir. Bits of flesh.' He trembled violently, his face breaking out in sweat. 'The work of a demon!'
There was a sharp cry of horror, and Bolitho stepped in front of the cooper as Mrs. Raymond gasped, 'I'm going to be sick.' He saw her leaning against the marine sentry, her face like chalk as she stared fixedly at the group by the wardroom.
Bolitho snapped, 'Get rid of that object!' To Noddall's hovering shadow he added, 'Call that damned maid and attend to the lady!' His mind was reeling from Duff's gruesome discovery. What it meant, and what he now had to do. 'Fetch the surgeon.'
Bellairs dabbed his lips with a handkerchief. 'Carry on Sar'nt Coaker. Pass the word for Mr. Whitmarsh.' He glanced at the others. 'Though I doubt he will be able to assist, what?'
Herrick asked, 'Would you care to come in here, sir?' He stood aside to allow Bolitho to enter the wardroom.
It was small and compact, the table laid for a meal, and at odds with the twelve-pounders which were lashed at each open port. Bolitho sat down heavily on a sea chest and stared through the nearest gun port. The fair wind and dancing water held no more attraction. Danger was within the ship. His ship.
Herrick prompted, 'Some wine, sir.'
When he turned Bolitho saw the others watching him. Soames at the top of the table. Bellairs and Triphook seated on the opposite side. In those fleeting seconds he recalled his own life as a junior lieutenant in a frigate. The wardroom was the place you shared not merely your food and your life, you shared your doubts, and drew on your companions for help whenever it was needed. Aft, behind his bulkhead, the captain had been a remote, godly character beyond reach. At no time that he could recall had he imagined a captain required anything but obedience.