She nodded, pushing some hair from her face, staring at Tolan with clear, grey-blue eyes.
She said in a steady voice, "He saved my life."
Only then, she began to sob.
Yovell reached out to assist her, but dropped his hands as she exclaimed, "I am not a child!"
And Allday still stood near the sprawled body, holding the knife, and watching the others. It had all happened so fast. He had been with Yovell when the alarm had been raised and troopers had been seen searching in the fields for some escaped prisoners; he had heard their dogs baying like wolves.
He said, "They'll soon catch the other bastard, "and looked down at the contorted face and empty eyes. "This one's cheated Jack Ketch."
He tossed the knife down and took another deep breath. No pain. Nothing.
He saw the little pony trotting around the bend in the road, led by one of the stable boys. Everybody was here, it seemed.
Yovell called, "I'll see you back at the house, John. You had something to tell me?"
Allday put his hand on Tolan's shoulder, and knew the girl was watching from the carriage window.
"It can wait! Take care of her!"
Francis, the Roxby coachman, touched his hat and flicked the reins. Allday wanted to force it from his mind. It might have been Unis. It might have been my Katie.
He looked at Tolan; there were bloodstains on the cuff of the smart coat.
"My wife'11 soon deal with that. "He gripped his shoulder and felt him tense. "You an' me need a nice wet! "He grinned.
"An' that's no error!"
They walked to the road together. Once Tolan looked back, but somebody had covered the corpse with an old horse blanket.
A close-run thing, which might have ended with his death.
But, like the storm, it was over. He felt the heavy hand on his shoulder: part of the Bolitho legend. He had found a friend.
15. "No Heroics"
Lieutenant James Squire moved restlessly across the quarterdeck until he stood on the weather side, feeling the wind: light but steady. He had taken over the afternoon watch less than an hour ago, but it seemed like forever. His shoes were snagging on the softened deck seams, and he was thankful for the mizzen topsail's great shadow. He had brushed against one of the squat carronades in passing: so hot you could cook a meal on it. As if it had just been fired.
A week and a day since they had weighed at Gibraltar, back and forth along this same godforsaken coastline, always with a misty blur as their horizon. And for what? He was accustomed to the monotony of those long voyages of exploration and discovery, days, weeks at a time, logging the same course, often without sighting land or another ship of any kind. But there had been a purpose to that, and usually a result.
He gazed along Onward's full length. A few hands crouching, some even lying in patches of shade, if they could find any. Men off watch, still digesting their meal and measures of rum. He could feel their mood like something physical. Boredom and resentment, and more names in the punishment book as a result. A Royal Marine had been posted by the fresh-water cask: another sure sign. Men on watch needed an occasional drink, tasteless or rancid though it might be, but it would all vanish within a few hours in this heat if left unguarded.
There was another frigate patrolling this same area, but they never met. Their only link was maintained by the smart little brig Merlin. They would sight her again tomorrow, then Onward would come about and begin all over again.
He walked aft and saw the helmsman straighten his back as he approached.
"East by north, sir. "He hardly glanced up at the taut canvas.
"Full an' by, sir."
Close to the wind and moving well, the yards braced hard round to catch every puff of wind. But if that fell…
Two midshipmen were sharing the watch, Napier and young Walker, who had not been seasick again, or so he had been told. Squire still thought about the ill-fated schooner. Death at close quarters. It might have been us. He remembered the piece of charred timber, and the captain's face when he had given it to him. The same man he had seen fling his arms around Merlin's new commander when he had come aboard for a few minutes, before he, too, sailed to this barren coastline.
He glanced at the tilting compass card but his mind did not register it, nor the helmsman's resentful scowl.
Merlin would be a fine command. Her commander was far younger than most, and the son of an admiral. Nothing would stop his ascent up the ladder of promotion, whereas… Squire walked back again and stood by the quarterdeck rail. He was lucky, and grateful to be where he was; he had told himself often enough. Now, this might well be the end of the ladder. For me.
A seaman hurried past, giving Squire a quick grin before he vanished down the poop ladder. Most of them seemed to like him, and the younger ones were not afraid to ask his advice when they needed it. Unlike some.
He had never served as a midshipman, and he could still remember some of the comments when he had been promoted directly from the lower deck. "That's what they did for "Bounty" Bligh, and it didn't do him much good. "And worse.
Meredith, a master's mate, cleared his throat.
"Captain's comin "up, sЦ "and stopped with one hand on the rail, the sentence unfinished. Then Squire heard it, too. Far away, impartial.
"Gunfire, sir!"
He saw the captain look up at the masthead pendant, and move to the compass box, and heard him say with a dry little mocking note of disapproval, "And on a Sunday, too!"
It was not something Squire would ever forget.
Then he said, "To the south-east of us. If this wind holds…" He gestured. "Fetch the first lieutenant!"
Squire saw one of the midshipmen hurry toward the companion and heard the captain call, "Walk, Mr. Napier! "and the boy looked around. "I want you to stay in one piece. "He might even have smiled briefly. Then he strode to the quarterdeck rail. "That lookout, TuckerЦ bring him aft, now!"
Squire saw a messenger running along the gangway. Like most of the others on deck, he was wide awake now. He cupped his hands behind his ears, shutting out the regular sounds of canvas and rigging, but the sea was silent. Maybe a ship was testing her guns. Nothing heavy; might even be the brig Merlin. Trying to break the monotony of this endless patrol.
"Ere' 'e is, sir!"
Tucker had appeared at the top of the ladder, jaw still working on the remains of his meal, his eyes, very clear in a deeply tanned face, fixed on the captain.
The master's mate murmured, "What d "you reckon, sir?" would have waited, to be sure. But Squire said only, "The captain thinks there's trouble ahead."
The upper deck seemed suddenly crowded with people. The watch below, off-duty marines, even the cook and his mates.
All staring out to sea, then aft toward the quarterdeck.
Meredith, the master's mate, grinned. "So much for Sunday!"
Adam pointed across the starboard bow. "I shall alter course directly, Tucker. It will put some more power in the sailsЦ give us an edge. "He felt him start with surprise as he reached out and touched his arm. "I know what you can do. Take a glass, mine if it suits. But if there's nothing…" He shrugged.
"Take your time."
Tucker nodded, brushing some dry biscuit crumbs from his cheek without even knowing he was doing it. Every one seemed to be here: old July an the master, even the first lieutenant. He saw Napier with some other midshipmen, and the boy smiled and raised a hand in greeting.
"I'm on my way, sir! "He took the telescope and after a slight hesitation slung it over his shoulder. He turned away, then halted. They all heard it. Five or six shots. Unhurried.
Adam stared up at the masthead pendant until the glare blinded him.
"Please God, let it hold! "And to Vincent, "All hands, Mark.
I want every stitch she can carry. "He ran his hand along the rail. "Let her fly!"
Julyan the master watched him. The captain was speaking to his ship. Maybe nobody else noticed, or understood, but Julyan had served at sea all his life. Since… he glanced at Midshipman Walker, waiting with his slate… was your age. And his oldest brother had been Sir Richard Bolitho's sailing master in the Black Prince. Those were the days…