'Wake up, damn you!' He shook him harder, and Pomfret emitted a dull groan but nothing more. Then Bolitho's eye fell on the crumpled papers lying on a bedside table. He could see the official seal, the familiar crest at the head of the neat writing.
He walked round the bed and began to read Pomfret's orders from Toulon. Once he stopped and turned his head to look at Pomfret's distorted features. It was all becoming clear now. Herrick's comments about Pomfret's last chance to make good, the admiral's own determination to force the St. Clar invasion to a victorious conclusion. And given help and the expected reinforcements he might have succeeded, he thought sadly.
He continued reading, each line adding to his sense of understanding and despair. There had never been any intention of holding St. Clar longer than necessary to produce some diversion away from Toulon. It was a cat's-paw, nothing more. Had the Toulon invasion proved successful, it might not have mattered so much. But with his own complications, and pressure to contend with, Lord Hood had no time to spare for Pomfret's worries. The orders gave firm instructions about destroying shipping and facilities before leaving, but Bolitho's eye fastened on the final wording, his heart chilling as he read the cold simplicity of the orders. 'In view of limited vessels and the close proximity of enemy forces, no civilian evacuation from St. Clar will be possible.'
Bolitho sat staring at the neat writing until it danced before his eyes like a mist. Pomfret must have sat here reading his orders, he thought. But he would have seen his own ruin as well amidst the formal list of requirements. He would be remembered as the man who had been forced to leave the St. Clar monarchists to their fate, to murder and retribution which was too terrible to contemplate. Bolitho turned again to stare at Pomfret's face. Aloud he said, 'And it was not your fault! God in heaven, it was never intended to mean anything at all!' With an oath he screwed the papers into a ball and hurled them across the room.
He recalled Herrick's surprise at Pomfret's refusal to take a drink. That, too, had given way. The conpleteness of Pomfret's collapse became more apparent and more terrible every moment.
And all the while, as men had died and families had been crushed under their shattered homes, two men had remained helpless and unwilling to act. Downstairs Dash had waited for orders to free him from responsibility, and God alone knew what Cobban was doing, or even if he was still alive.
As he stood up Bolitho caught sight of himself in a gilded mirror. He was wild-eyed and there were deep lines of strain around his mouth. He was a stranger.
He said, 'I was the one who started all this, not you!' On the bed Pomfret groaned and some spittle ran down his cheek.
Then Bolitho strode to the door and saw Fanshawe standing aimlessly beside one of the windows. 'Come over here!' The flag-lieutenant swung round as if he had been shot at. Bolitho faced him impassively, and when he spoke his voice was like ice. 'Go to the admiral and get that room cleaned up!'
Fanshawe's eyes darted nervously past the door. 'The servants have all gone, sir.'
Bolitho gripped his sleeve. 'You do it! When I come back I want to see it as it was. I will send my cox'n to give you a hand, but no one else is to see him, do you understand?' He shook his arm violently to drive home his words. 'Our people out there don't know about all this.' He dropped his voice. 'And God help them, they are depending on us!'
Without another word he walked down the stairs, his mind racing, his ears deaf to the menacing rumble of guns outside the town.
He made himself leave the house to walk round the building to clear his mind. He did not remember how many times he circled the house, but when he re-entered the panelled study the others were there waiting for him.
Labouret was sitting in a chair, chin on chest, but as Boli tho came through the door he rose to his feet and without a word grasped his two hands in his own.
Bolitho looked down at him, seeing too plainly the pain and the misery in his dark eyes. He said quietly, 'I know, Labouret! Believe me, I understand!'
Labouret nodded dully. 'It could have been a great victory, m'sieu.' He dropped his eyes, but not before Bolitho had seen the tears running unchecked down his face.
Captain Ashby said, 'Glad to see you again, sir.' He was nodding grimly. 'More glad than I can say!'
Bolitho looked past him. 'Where is Colonel Cobban?'
A young infantry captain said quickly, 'He sent me, sir. He was, er, not able to get here.'
Bolitho eyed him coldly. 'No matter.' He saw the Spanish colonel sitting in the same chair as before, his uniform as fresh as if he had just been on parade. The Spaniard gave him a curt nod and then stared at his boots.
Captain Dash said heavily, 'Er, if you're ready to begin, Bolitho?'
Bolitho turned to face the others. Dash had not made it public that he was handing over his control to him.
He said quietly, 'There is not much time. We are to begin total evacuation at once.' They looked at each other as he spoke. Surprise? Relief? It was hard to tell. He continued, 'We will make a general signal to the squadron for boats. We can start with the wounded. Are there many?'
The soldier replied crisply, 'Over four hundred, sir.'
'Very well. Get them down to the Erebus and the Welland without delay. Captain Dash will make all the necessary arrangements for extra help from our own seamen.'
He looked quickly at Dash, half-expecting some argument, some small spark of pride. But he merely nodded and muttered, 'I'11 do that right away.'
Bolitho watched him pass. God, he's glad to go, he thought wearily.
Then he forgot Dash as Labouret asked quietly, 'What will I tell my people, Captain? How can I face them now?' It was obvious that he knew or guessed what was in Pomfret's orders.
Bolitho faced him. 'By the time you have enquired how many of your people want to leave with us the boats will have evacuated all the wounded, m'sieu.' He saw the Frenchman's lip quiver as he added, 'All who want to go can get into the boats. I cannot promise you much, my friend. But at least your lives will be safe!'
Labouret stared at him for several seconds, searching his face as if to unlock some inner secret. Then he said thickly, 'We will never forget, Captain! Never!' Then he was gone.
Bolitho said, 'The Harvester will be here soon with the convicts. They can be spread amongst the two transports, too.'
The Spanish colonel jerked upright in his seat, his eyes flashing dangerously. 'What is this you say? Convicts on top of wounded and wretched peasants! What about my horses,. Captain? How can I get them aboard two ships?
The infantry captain added uncertainly, 'And the artillery's guns, sir?'
Bolitho looked through the door as a marine showed Aliday up the staircase towards Pomfret's room. He said flatly, 'They will have to be left behind, gentlemen. The people come first.' He held their combined stares until they looked away. 'Just this once, they come first!'
The colonel stood up and walked towards the door. Over his shoulder he said harshly, 'I think you are a fool, Captain! But brave certainly!'
They heard his horse trotting away through the gates, and Bolitho said, 'Now show me where the soldiers are in position, if you will. This operation will have to be smooth and without any sort of panic, if it is to succeed at all!'
Thirty minutes later he watched the others depart. All except Ashby. 'Well, is there something you need explaining?' Bolitho felt completely drained.
Ashby pulled down his tunic and fumbled with his belt. Then he said, 'I had no time to tell you, sir. But Miss Seton is still here in St. Clan'
Bolitho stared at him. 'What?'
'I tried to put her aboard the Vanessa, sir.' Ashby looked wretched. 'But she insisted; on staying. She's been helping at the hospital.' His eyes gleamed in the dusty sunlight. 'She's been an example to everyone, sir.'