Poulter frowned; where there was one, there might also be another. Carefully he scanned the heaving surface of the grey-blue sea surrounding the ship for a further sign of life, but could see nothing. He made himself repeat the process twice, working outwards in a circle of ever-increasing diameter, surveying the scene slowly so that he reckoned to cover every few square feet as the sea writhed and undulated beneath his patient scrutiny. He held in his head a mental chart of the search pattern he had carried out. Although he knew how, from a single central point, a combination of wind, tide and the frantic efforts men might make under duress could spread the debris from a capsized boat, he was as certain as he could be that Vestal had quartered the area in which they might reasonably expect to find the upset crew. Indeed, they had not been unsuccessful, for with Quier they had now found everyone but Sir Nathaniel Drinkwater.
Sadly, the evidence, or lack of it, seemed conclusive, and by now Poulter privately held out no hope for the elderly captain. The shock alone must have dispatched him long since. Pouter's ruminations were brought to an end as a cheer went up from the men waiting at the davit falls on the boat-deck. Quier was being taken aboard the boat, and a moment later the crew had their oars out again and were vigorously plying them as they pulled back towards the waiting ship. Putting the tiller hard over, the coxswain skilfully spun the boat in under the suspended blocks and his crew hooked on to the falls. Seldom had Poulter seen it done smarter. The boat fairly flew upwards as the falls were hove in, plucking her out of the water.
'Mr Forester!'
'Sir?'
'I don't suppose Quier knows anything of Captain Drinkwater, but ask.'
'Aye, aye, sir!'
Potts was waiting at the wheel as Poulter called out, 'Steady as you go! Half speed ahead!' Vestal gathered way and recommenced her search. The lookout had returned from his errand and a moment later Forester joined Poulter on the bridge.
'Sir! Don't go too far away, Quier says Drinkwater was with him a little while ago and that he insisted on leaving the oar to Quier. Apparently it would not support them both.'
'Does Quier think...?'
Forester shook his head. 'I don't think Quier can think of anything very much, sir. He has no idea how long he has been in the water and certainly not of how long he has been hanging on to that oar. But it seems Drinkwater was definitely alive not so very long ago.'
'Very well.' With a sinking heart Poulter was convinced he already knew the worst: old man or not, Captain Drinkwater had been lost at sea in an unfortunate accident. 'We shall continue the search, Mr Forester,' he said formally. 'Tell the lookouts to remain sharp-eyed. We don't give up until there is no hope at all, d'you understand?'
'Yes, of course, sir.'
Two hundred yards away, one cable's length or one-tenth of a nautical mile distant from the Vestal, Captain Sir Nathaniel Drinkwater caught a last glimpse of the ship. It was a dark mark upon his fading perception, no more. It meant nothing to him, for he was disembodied and might have been at Gantley Hall, walking on the soft, rabbit-cropped grass that he always thought of as a luxurious carpet. Elizabeth was there too, and somewhere about the ruins of the priory were the laughing voices of Richard and Charlotte Amelia. He remembered that he hardly knew their children and tried to tell Elizabeth how much he regretted the fact, but somehow he was unable to, although she was beside him and he could see her face quite clearly in the swiftly gathering dusk. He was certain he was holding her hand, but the children had gone.
They had often walked beneath the ruined arch of the priory in the long years they were granted together. Gantley Hall was a modest house, but the ivy-covered remnant in the grounds gave the place a fashionably Gothick aura and had proved a fitting resting-place for Hortense and Edward, two spirits who had never, it seemed to Drinkwater, had anywhere to call their own.
Frey had been right, as Frey so often was, in saying that providence had been good to him.
Providence had been kind to his family too. Charlotte Amelia had married, and had had children, though he could not recall her married name. It bothered him and it bothered him too that he could not remember how many children she had had, or what their names were. Had not one died? Yes, the little boy, the third child. He could ask Elizabeth, but she would think him an old fool for not knowing about his grandchildren. And what had happened to Richard? He had not married, had he?
It was almost dark now and they had turned back towards the house. He felt Elizabeth's hand dissolve from his own and she moved on ahead of him. He wanted to ask her the answers to these terrible questions. She would know and it no longer mattered what she would think of him for having forgotten. Elizabeth would help him, he felt sure, but she was walking away from him and growing smaller and smaller with the distance that seemed to grow inexorably between them...
He tried to call her name ...
'There is no need for you to be on the bridge, Mr Quier,' Poulter said as the Second Officer appeared, wrapped in warm blankets. He was deathly pale and still shaking with cold. 'You should go below; you will catch your death of cold, sir!'
'I'm all right, sir, it's Sir Nathaniel, sir...'
'What about him?'
'We were together, sir. Right up to the end.'
Poulter frowned. 'Mr Quier, while we lay alongside you getting you inboard, I searched the surrounding sea meticulously. I could see nothing.'
'But he gave me the oar, sir. Insisted I had it, though he was clinging to it first. He saved my life, sir.'
'Mr Quier,' Poulter said kindly, 'you are still feeling the effects of your ordeal. You had been in the water for well over an hour. Pray go below and remain there until later. I do assure you we shall continue to look for him, but I fear we are already too late. Console yourself. In due time you will simply recall Sir Nathaniel's last act as one of great selflessness.'
'I thought perhaps the gulls might have found him and have given us a clue,' Poulter said, 'but the wind is getting up again and we will have a full gale by the end of the afternoon.' He raised his voice. 'Hard a-starboard and steady on sou' sou' west.'
Vestal rolled heavily as she turned and the three men on the bridge wing steadied themselves by grasping the rail, their faces stung by a light shower that skittered across the sea.
'I think, Captain Poulter, that we must regretfully conclude that Sir Nathaniel has drowned.' Captain Drew turned and looked aft, raising his eyes to the ensign. 'We had better half-mast the colours.'
'I'll see to it, sir,' Forester said, and he crossed the bridge to where one of the lookouts still stared out over the heaving grey waste of the Atlantic Ocean.
'I shall give it another hour, sir,' Poulter said firmly.
'You are wasting your time. Stand the additional lookouts down now, Captain Poulter,' Drew said, watching Forester dispatch the able-seaman aft to tend the ensign halliards. 'I think we have done all that we can.'
'I command the ship, Captain Drew, and I ran the boat down, God forgive me. The responsibility is mine ...'
'Forester told me the telegraph chain parted. It is what is to be expected from so newfangled a contraption. It was not your fault and I shall not say that it was, if that is what is concerning you.' Drew's tone was testy. 'He was an old man, Captain Poulter. Infirm. Rheumaticky. The shock of immersion has killed him long since. Quier's notions of the passage of time have been distorted by his ordeal. Sir Nathaniel could not possibly have survived for very long.'