He stepped out into the blinding sunlight and touched his hat as some passersby gave him a cheer, and one even held up his child to see him better.
The coach was indeed waiting, and Allday stood beside it, his eyes slitted against the sun as he idly watched the sightseers, his tanned features showing little of the strain which he had endured over the past weeks.
Bolitho asked quickly, "Is everything ready?"
Allday nodded. "All stowed." He gestured with his thumb. "What about him, Captain?"
Bolitho turned and saw the boy sitting on a bollard studying the small ship model which Bolitho had been given at St. Kruis.
He said, "Come here, Mr. Pascoe!"
As the boy walked towards him Bolitho felt both sad and strangely moved. More than that, he was suddenly ashamed. For thinking only of his own loss and hurt when others, many others, had so much to bear with less to sustain them through it. And Hugh was dead, too. Buried at sea with all the rest. Yet this boy, who had faced sights and deeds more terrible than he could have imagined existed, had known nothing of his true identity.
Pascoe stood looking up at him, his eyes clouded and tired.
Bolitho reached out and rested one hand on his shoulder. "We've not got all day, you know, Adam." "Sir?"
Bolitho turned away, unable to watch Ailday's pleasure or the boy's obvious gratitude.
He said harshly, "We're going home, so get in, will you!"
The midshipman snatched up his bag and scrambled after him.
"Thank you, Uncle," was all he could find to say.