"This way, sir, "the marine was muttering. "Probably all over by now. "He did not offer an explanation.
Napier took off his hat and loosened his hair. He could smell perfume on his cuff. Elizabeth. He flinched almost guiltily, as if he had spoken her name aloud.
The room was long and narrow, and had been used for stores. There was a solitary, barred window at one end, with a shaft of sunlight playing across a few crude chairs and an empty bookcase, which did nothing to make it welcoming. He realized that some one was standing beside the window, half hidden in shadow, his elbow resting on the sill.
Napier heard the marine's boots clicking away, then there was silence.
He said tentatively, "I was told that you're joining Onward. So am I. But I got here so lateЦ it was not my fault. The weather…" He moved closer to the window. "I'm Napier. David Napier."
"I was delayed, too. "An even, unhurried voice.
Disinterested? Wary? Impossible to tell.
He tried again. "They say the admiral is on board. I suppose we shall have to wait until we're told what to do."
The figure had moved slightly, and Napier saw the sunlight playing across his own midshipman's chest. So bright and new, like his uniform, and everything else.
The voice said, "My name is Huxley, by the way. "A pause.
"Simon Huxley. "The shadow moved again. Restless, impatient, waiting for something. On edge.
Then, "Not your first ship? I thought perhaps.
Napier clenched his fist, and pressed it against his hip.
"No. I was in Audacity."
Nothing else would come.
"Audacityl I read about it in the Gazette. Heated shot from a shore battery. Your captain was killed, wasn't he?"
Napier said quietly, "A lot of them died that day. But I could swim. "Like an apology for being alive.
Huxley reached out and tapped his shoulder. "Luck or skill.
Fate decided in your favour, David. "He dropped his arm; the gesture had taken them both by surprise. "I can't swim a stroke!"
He had moved further into the sunlight, turning as boots tramped along the road outside, perhaps from the jetty.
"I shan't be sorry to get aboard, to be doing something useful."
Napier studied him. A year or so older than himself, with a serious, thoughtful face. Onward might be his stepping-stone to promotion, or oblivion. What most midshipmen joked about, and dreaded.
He said, "Were you held up by the weather?"
Huxley did not reply immediately. The marching feet had faded away and it was so quiet in the long, narrow room that he could hear him breathing.
"No."
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry."
"I went to visit my father. Onward might be under sailing orders. Rumours, but there may be some truth in them. "He swung round and stared at the door, listening, but there was nothing. "I wanted him to know…"
"Is he unwell, Simon?"
Napier could not see his eyes.
"He is confined to quarters. "He paused, as if waiting for some reaction. "And awaiting trial by court martial."
"My God, I'm so sorry. "Napier felt shock, pity, anger, and something else he could not explain. He had known Simon Huxley for a matter of minutes. But I am his friend.
Huxley said bitterly, "I thought everybody knew about it!"
There were voices outside.
Napier said, "We can talk about it later. A new ship, remember? A new beginning for us both."
The door banged open.
"Boat's waitin', gentlemen. "A pause. "When you're ready, o "course."
Neither of them noticed the sarcasm. Just a handshake. It was enough.
Captain Adam Bolitho walked past the Royal Marine sentry and into the cabin. Quiet now, and almost spacious after the ceremonial of the forenoon. The admiral and his retinue had returned ashore; the trill of calls and the blare of a trumpet still seemed to hang in the air to mark their departure. His cocked hat was lying on a chair by the desk, but he did not recall tossing it there.
He should be used to it after all these years. Listening to those same words or hearing them issuing from his own mouth, as so many of those aboard today would know them too, by heart. Willing and requiring you forthwith to go on board and take upon you the charge and command of captain in her accordingly… He recalled some of the younger faces staring up at him from the maindeck. There did not seem many in this new company.
He groped to remove his sword belt and a voice checked him.
"Allow me, sir."
It was Morgan. He must have managed to stay hidden during all the "stamp and bustle', as Jago had called it.
Adam unbuttoned his coat.
Morgan was waiting, the old sword held in both hands. "I thought a drink might be in order, sir?"
Adam smiled, and felt his jaw crack. "It is, and thank you."
"Went very well, we thought, sir."
Preparing himself for the days ahead. Where did they find men like Morgan, or Athena''?, cabin servant, Bowles? And what was he doing now? "The admiral seemed pleased."
Morgan laid the sword across the high-backed chair, his eyes darting around as if planning a proper place for it.
"Fine old blade, sir. "He stood, swaying easily to the movement of the deck, as Adam walked right aft to the stern windows. "In your family for years, they say."
If you want to know all about a captain, just ask his cabin servant, he thought.
He peered through the salt-misted glass across the anchorage. He had seen the other ships nearby, the telescopes on their decks levelled at the admiral's smart barge and accompanying boats. Critical but envious too, no matter what they said between decks. A new ship, and a frigate above all else.
There was a sudden burst of cheering. Morgan had opened the cabin skylight an inch or so, and the din seemed to fill the whole poop.
He beamed. "Splice the mainbrace, sir! Hitting the right place, I'd say, see?"
"They've earned it. "No doubt the purser thought otherwise.
Vicary, that was his name. A stooping, desiccated, humourless man: one of those he had met for the first time yesterday evening.
Morgan had placed a goblet on the table. "Cognac, sir. Came aboard today. The guardboat brought it. "He paused, and laid an envelope beside it.
Adam opened it and saw the ribbon, the same colour as the one she had given him, and her writing, like the letter he always carried.
From the Last Cavalier. There was a smudge, kiss or tear.
She was with him.
"Thank you. "He looked away sharply at the water astern, still reflecting the hard light. A few boats were moving or loitering nearby, friends, relatives, hoping for a glimpse or a wave.
It would only make it worse when the anchor broke free and Onward put to sea. Worse than this? How could that be? The sentry tapped his musket beyond the screen.
"Officer o "th "watch, sir!"
"That'll be Mr. Monteith, sir."
Adam saw Morgan's reflection briefly in the sloping glass windows. He was scowling. Then he hurried to the door.
He picked up the card and read it again before slipping it into his pocket.
Voices now beyond the screen. Monteith… When he had boarded Onward, the young lieutenant had been with the side party. And yesterday here in this cabin, with his fellow lieutenants and all the senior warrant officers. Young and very attentive, eager to answer questions about his duties, and today when he had been introduced to the admiral, different again.
Anxious, almost shy.
He put down the goblet; it was empty. Monteith presented another face completely in the punishment book. There were several entries, mostly for trivial offenses, when a sharp reprimand from a senior seaman or a quick slap when nobody was looking would have sufficed. Nothing serious, but wrongly directed they could end at the gangway with two dozen lashes. Or worse. Vincent must have been aware of it, but had offered no comment when they had discussed the ship's affairs.
Charge and command of captain. It would always be the invisible line between them.
He shook himself mentally. He was letting it grow out of all proportion. He was too tired to think clearly.