She looked at her escort and pressed her hand against his arm. She was ready, but the tears had been very near.
Walk with me.
Adam stood below the high altar with his back to the reflected sunlight, glad of the shadows. The church was as crowded as he could ever remember. There were even some additional benches near the nave, which had been occupied when he had arrived.
Nancy and Herrick were sitting close by, and young David Napier. He remembered his face, his surprise and obvious delight when he had told him that of course he was invited. One of the family.
He looked around at the carvings and the tablets. So many of Falmouth's sons were remembered here.
Like the day he had stood in this church, beside Catherine, when the flags had been lowered to half-mast, and Unrivalled had fired a salute to the memory of Sir Richard Bolitho. And years before, when he had escorted his uncle's bride up to this same altar. Belinda, Elizabeth's mother, who had died after a riding accident. Had she been trying to prove something even then? And now there was Elizabeth, no longer a child. She had already proclaimed that she would never marry a sailor, who would put the sea before his wife.
He looked through the church, his eyes accustomed to the cool shadows. Like taking over a watch before dawn…
He thought of Onward, her wounds entrusted to the care of the builders, and of the action and its aftermath, Nautilus now awaiting her fate in Gibraltar. And the Turk, Mustafa Kurt: killed in the whirlwind of his own sowing, or vanished in some new guise to join or ferment further rebellion elsewhere? He heard the discreet cough, and knew the clergyman had received some message or signal.
Lowenna was arriving now.
He glanced around. All the faces, some so well known, part of himself. Allday and his Unis; Yovell, spectacles balanced on his forehead, as Adam could imagine even if he could not see them. Grace Ferguson, despite all the memories this church would evoke. Perhaps she had nothing now but the Bolitho family.
There were uniforms here in plenty, naval, and red coats from the garrison. But mostly they were local folk.
He saw a hand move and raised his own to Jago, standing in his special place for today. He and Allday would have a few yarns to share before the day was over.
There were sudden cheers outside, and a few late arrivals hurried across a shaft of sunlight to be guided clear of the aisle.
Then he saw Lowenna, with Troubridge beside her, flowers on her arm, and more following close behind her in Elizabeth's hands. Every head turned to her, the air quivered as the organ breathed into life, but her eyes were on his, and remained so until their hands joined and together they faced the altar.
At the very back of the church, one of the ushers managed to find a seat in a crowded pew for a latecomer. And that was only because he was limping badly, obviously recovering from an injury or wound. And he was a foreigner, and Cornish folk prided themselves on making strangers welcome.
"Are you a guest of the Bolitho family?"
Capitaine Luc Marchand smiled, and shook his head.
"He is my friend."
It was enough.