Davy asked casually, 'Is it true this sort of mission often leads to permanent appointments in the realm of colonial government, sir?'
Bolitho nodded. 'Rear Admiral Conway's appointment is such.'
He watched Davy's tanned features gravely. He was worried about something. It was showing now, just like the time when he had selected Soames and not him for the raiding party.
'I was thinking…'Davy faltered. 'I am of course well content with life as a King's officer. It is what I want. I am the first in my family to follow the sea. My father was a city merchant and had no use for service life. He was loath to allow me to enter the Navy.'
Bolitho wished he would get on with it. He said encouragingly, 'Mr. Herrick is like you. The first sailor in his family.'
'Yes.' Davy looked suddenly desperate as Soames emerged from the cabin hatch, yawning and consulting his pocket watch. 'Well, it is not exactly what I meant, sir.'
Bolitho turned and faced him. 'Mr. Davy, I would be obliged if you would come to the point. In an hour it will be an'oven again. I would like to take my walk before breakfast, and not wait until after dinner tonight.'
Davy bit his lip. 'I am sorry, sir.' He nodded firmly. 'Yes, I will try to explain.' He lowered his eyes. 'May I speak of your brother, sir?'
Bolitho tensed. 'My late brother?'
'I did not mean to offend.' Davy looked up and allowed the words to come out in a flood. 'I heard somewhere that he quit the Navy.'
Bolitho waited. Always it seemed to catch up with him. Now even his second lieutenant was risking a rebuke to satisfy his own curiosity. But he was wrong in Davy's case.
Davy said quietly, 'It was because of his gambling, I was told?'
He looked so strained, so pleading, that Bolitho forgot his own bitterness and asked, 'Is that what bothers you? Gambling?'
'Yes, sir. Like a fool I tried to win back my losses in London. With my father dead I am responsible for my mother's welfare, and that of the estate.' He looked away. 'In time of war I might have gained early promotion, and all the prize-money which went with it.'
'You could have just as easily been killed.' Bolitho added gently, 'Am I to be told how much you owe?' 'Twenty, sir.'
Bolitho stared at him. 'In God's name, you could pawn your dress-coat for more, man!'
"I', Davy gritted his teeth. 'Twenty thousand, sir.'
Bolitho ran his fingers through his hair. 'Undine and the brig yonder would cost about that sum. And I thought you had more sense.'
'Perhaps I should have kept my secret, sir.' Davy was shamefaced. Wretched.
'No. It is better shared. At least you are safe from your creditors out here.' He watched Davy grimly. 'But twenty thousand. It is a small fortune.'
Soames clumped past and beckoned to a bosun's mate. 'Have the watch piped aft, Kellock.' He was careful to keep to the lee side of the deck.
Davy hurried on, well aware that Soames was waiting to relieve him. 'You see, sir, I thought that on a voyage such as ours I might gain some new standing.'
'I see. However, this is a mission of protection, not of discovery, or the capture of Spanish gold.' He nodded to Soames and added softly, 'But I will keep it in mind.'
He began to pace the deck while the two lieutenants conversed over the compass.
Undine had gathered all sorts within her slender hull. It was not only the lower deck which sported its fortune-hunters, it seemed. He saw Midshipman Keen walking along the larboard gangway with Armitage, and prayed he would never be left in Davy's predicament, or in one such as his brother Hugh's.
In family background Davy and Keen were similar. Both had wealthy parents who had gained promotion in trade rather than in the King's service. Davy's father had died leaving his son and heir totally unprepared for the temptations which he had managed to overcome. Keen on the other hand had been sent to sea because of his father's riches and influence. Her-tick had said that Keen had confided in him during a night watch in the Indian Ocean. To make a man of me. It had seemed to amuse him, Herrick had said. But Keen's father must be a remarkable man, Bolitho thought. There were not many who would risk a son's life or limb for such a goal.
He saw Noddall scurrying aft along the gun deck with a can of boiling water from the galley. Conway must be up and about, waiting to be shaved. It was surprising how little Conway's presence aboard had interfered with daily life. He had explained it himself. Informal. That did not mean he was disinterested. Quite the reverse. Whenever a ship had been sighted, or the hands had been called to reef or make sail, he had been there, watching. Once, when becalmed for half a day, the seamen had streamed a seine net in the hopes of getting some fresh fish. Just a few flounders, and some flatheaded fish which Mudge had knowingly described as 'foxes' were the entire result of their efforts, but Conway could not have been more pleased if they had caught a whale.
It was as if he was living out every hour, like a prisoner awaiting sentence. It was not pleasant to watch.
Bolitho was not quite twenty-eight years old, but as a postcaptain with two previous commands behind him he had learned to accept, if not agree, with many of the Navy's judgements.
Conway's experience had come out at dinner, one evening in the cabin. It was the second day out of Madras, and Bolitho had told Noddall to fetch some of his special wine to make it an occasion. It was madeira, the most expensive he had ever purchased in his life. Conway hardly seemed to notice. Had he been offered cider, Bolitho doubted if he would have remarked on it. But he had become very drunk. Not slowly, or by accident, or even out of bravado. But with the firm determination of one who has been too often alone, and wishes to blur the realisation without delay.
It had all happened two years back in these same waters, when the French admiral, Suffren, had captured Trincomalee and very nearly toppled Britain's power in India for good. Conway had started to tell his story as if Bolitho had not been there. As if he just wanted to make sure he could still remember it.
He had been in command of an inshore squadron and employed on the protection of supply ships and military convoys. A sloop had brought news of a French squadron off the coast of Ceylon, and without ado he had set off to engage or cripple the enemy ships until help arrived to complete the victory.
Unbeknown to Conway, another sloop was already searching for him, sent by the Commander-in-Chief with new orders for the defence of Trincomalee. Conway reached the area where the French had been sighted, only to find them gone. Fishermen informed him they had sailed towards the very position he had just left, and with an anxiety which Bolitho could only imagine, he had put his ships about once again. He managed to find and bring the French rear to a brief but unsatisfactory action before losing contact in the night. When dawn united his small squadron again, Conway found the supply ships which he had been guarding had been captured or destroyed, and when the admiral's sloop contacted him, she, too, had fresh news to cancel all previous instructions. Trincomalee had been taken.
In the silence of the cabin Conway's voice had risen suddenly, like a dying man's cry.
'Another day and I've have brought them to grips! Not Suffren, nor any other admiral, could have got us out of Ceylon then!'
Bolitho looked up as the first working parties swarmed aloft for the constant round of repairs, splicing and stitching. It was all too plain. Conway could have emerged a hero. Instead, he was seized upon as a scapegoat. He must still have influence
somewhere, he thought. A governorship, no matter where it was, represented reward rather than a continuance of disgrace.
He halted in his stride, his mind suddenly very alert. But suppose there was a second, more devious reason? Another scapegoat perhaps?
He shook his head. What would be the point of that?
Bolitho turned as Allday walked along the quarterdeck towards him.
'Breakfast's ready, Captain.' He squinted his eyes towards the brig. 'Still with us then?' He smiled calmly at Bolitho's steady gaze. 'That's good.'