But he forgot Monteith as he watched Bolitho pause and look back at the thatched building with the flag flying above it. They had been together longer than many. He thought back over their talk about promotion, a conversation they had had more than once, and about the life they shared.
Luke Jago was sharing it now. He could see it on the captain’s face, like all those other times.
“Out oars!”
Adam turned toward him until their eyes met.
Another bloody Friday, Jago thought.
9 JUSTICE OR REVENGE
HUGH MORGAN, the cabin servant, lurked behind his pantry door and watched his captain’s shadow move past, pacing toward the stern windows again. After all their months together he thought he knew most of Bolitho’s moods: with Onward cleared for action and shuddering to the crash and thunder of a broadside, or reeling through a storm in Biscay or the Western Approaches. Or simply waiting, like this, on edge without knowing why.
They had entered harbour quite early, in the forenoon watch, with all the usual bustle and what seemed conflicting orders, to the stamp of feet and sound of gear being hauled across the deck above and other shouted demands. Now it was afternoon, and would soon be the first dog watch. Morgan’s ears recorded these things without careful attention; they were part of his daily life.
He had been on deck when they had entered harbour. The experience was always different. Even the harbour itself and the anchorage seemed larger than when they had left it for the outpost optimistically called New Haven. He had already heard several of the sailors suggesting other, less pleasant names for it.
The guardboat had guided them to their new anchorage, closer to the moored flagship, Medusa. Morgan had heard Luke Jago remark that it would be harder for the admiral to launch another surprise attack without being spotted by the duty watch. He had said a few other things too, less polite. Jago might be a brave and loyal friend to his captain, but he would never be asked to wait and serve at the table.
The officer in the guardboat had apparently brought word from the flagship requesting Bolitho’s presence aboard during the afternoon watch. The admiral was otherwise engaged with “important visitors.”
He clucked with disapproval. What did the admiral think he was saying? The landing party, the slaughter at the mission, the sea burials, and the captain was still waiting. Dress uniform coat folded over a chair, sword and belt lying across the bergere where the admiral had sprawled during his visit. I’ll wager his servant could tell a few tales if he ever got the chance…
The shadow stopped moving, and Morgan opened the pantry door.
“Can I tempt you with something, sir? A glass, maybe?”
Adam shook his head, although he appeared more relaxed. “I expect the admiral is reading my report. Unless the officer of the guard dropped it overboard!”
Morgan sniffed and brushed some invisible dust off the small desk. More likely the admiral was still enjoying a lavish meal with his guests. Morgan had made a habit of studying the various officers he had served over the years and considered himself to be quite an expert at it. When he had been on the quarterdeck briefly this morning it had been a case in point. A new frigate was anchored in Onward‘s previous place, a fifth-rate of thirty-eight guns. So new, in fact, that she was not yet fully registered in the Navy List, described only as Portsmouth, building. Her name, Zealous, was shining in the early sunlight. He had heard Bolitho say, “A fine command for somebody. A lucky man, whoever he is!”
Julyan, the sailing master, was more outspoken, as usual. “Has a friendly hand on his shoulder, if you ask me!”
Morgan had seen the first lieutenant’s face at that moment, clearly recalling how close he might have come to being given command of Onward.
Adam walked to the centre of the cabin and glanced up at the partly opened skylight. He could smell fresh paint: one of the cutters was being freshened up after running aground during the landing, Drummond, the bosun, silencing a few audible grumbles with, “Keep you out of trouble for a bit longer, eh?”
So unlike New Haven. Here, the local boats pulled and paddled as close to the warships as they dared, displaying their wares and offering their services. In a couple of craft, each with the sternsheets protected by screens, there had been women, reclining and smiling.
Drummond had said, “You’ll get more than a smile if you take a run ashore with any of that lot!”
Adam had reached the stern windows again, and stared across the water toward the other frigate. To casual onlookers she might appear a twin of Onward. He could remember …
Morgan called, “The surgeon, sir!”
The sentry was holding the screen door wide open, and Adam could see members of a working party lingering and watching as Murray took the young woman’s hand to guide her over the coaming.
Murray said, “I was just told, sir,” and stood aside for her to enter the cabin. “Otherwise I would have waited.”
Adam held out his hands. “A boat has arrived for you. I sent word earlier.” He felt her hands close around his. They were warm now, but she was shivering. “It is what you wanted, isn’t it?”
She nodded slowly, the hair on her forehead parting to reveal the bruise. “It is for the best. My friends there will expect it. After that, I will have to make plans.”
He walked with her to the stern. “I am waiting to present myself to the admiral, otherwise I’d escort you in person.”
She gazed unblinkingly at the waterfront and the buildings shimmering in the heat. “I can see the parent mission from here. My father was once …” She did not finish it. “So, good-bye, Captain Bolitho. I will not forget you, or your men.”
Morgan stood by the screen door, blocking it, and muttering angrily to someone outside. Then he turned and said apologetically, “The lady’s boat is alongside, sir.” He peered around. “Is there anything I can do?”
She was about to say something, then her expression changed. “My bracelet! Your lieutenant found it and put it in the strongbox.” She unfastened her cuff and touched the bandage. “All my worldly goods.”
They walked away from the cabin, toward the shaft of sunlight streaming down the companion ladder.
Adam offered his arm but she said, “I can manage, Captain!” Then she twisted round toward him. “One day …”
The silence was intense, as if the ship was holding her breath.
She smiled. “I am ready.”
Drummond was here now, his silver call swinging from his neck. “Sorry, sir. Took me all aback!”
Adam was still not accustomed to him as bosun, but it was rare to see Drummond disconcerted by anything or any one.
They climbed into the light, where some of the senior hands had formed an impromptu guard of honour to the gangway, and a bosun’s chair had been rigged by the entry port. Somebody ran from the opposite side and slithered to a halt. It was Midshipman Hotham, a signal slate wedged beneath one arm. He could barely take his eyes from the girl in sailor’s garb.
“Signal from Flag, sir! Captain to repair on board.” He swallowed. “Shall I acknowledge, sir?”
Nobody moved, and Adam heard the newly arrived boat being warped closer alongside.
He took her arm and turned her toward the watching faces. He said quietly, “Let him wait.”
Someone had climbed up from the boat, and was holding out some sort of afternoon shawl and a wide-brimmed straw hat with ribbons. Claire spoke to him by name. As she tied the ribbons beneath her chin, she waved the shawl aside. “I feel more suited to this, thank you.” She was still smiling, but very close to breaking down.