Keen looked well, he thought, his fair hair almost white against his tanned features. He showed no sign of strain, and Adam suddenly realised what had changed. Here, in Valkyrie, he had become a stranger.
Keen said, "Much has happened in your absence, Adam. I hear from Captain Deighton that you were most thorough, by the way."
"It was somewhat different from blockade duty, I imagine, sir."
Keen glanced at him curiously. "You disliked him?"
"I have served better men, sir. In my opinion."
Keen nodded. "Honesty is what I would expect from you.
As my flag captain, and as my friend." He moved to the windows again and watched several boats pulling past the stern. "Hard to remember all the snow and ice." He seemed to come to a decision, visibly, like some physical effort.
"I have to tell you now that Deighton's promotion to commodore has been confirmed. I gave him his commission this morning when he came ashore." He swung round, his eyes in shadow. "I shall be leaving soon for England. As my flag captain, you are of course entitled to come with me." He hesitated. "Although with matters as they are in England I cannot make you the promise of a new command. It may take time."
Adam tensed, his mind prepared, like waiting for the first shot in a battle. Or in a duel.
Keen said, "Great matters are afoot. You will know soon enough, but I can assure you that Valkyrie will be in the thick of it. A small but experienced inshore squadron will be needed to defend some of those soldiers you have escorted of late. I should think the Bermudas might well sink under their combined weight!"
Adam said quietly, "And Commodore Deighton, sir?"
"He will be in command of the squadron. Four frigates, including yours."
Adam felt his jaw tighten. Mine. Keen had already decided. It was no choice at all. With Urquhart promoted and gone to command the redeemed Reaper, who of similar experience did Valkyrie have in her company? Dyer, the first lieutenant, was competent and reliable, when he was told exactly what to do. Two other lieutenants had been midshipmen only months ago. The sailing master was a fine seaman and navigator, but sometimes he could barely draw breath because of his wounds, although he would fall dead rather than admit it. And there was a drunken surgeon, George Minchin, who had been serving with Sir Richard Bolitho when Hyperion had gone down.
Keen knew him better than he realised. No captain would quit his command when his ship was on the eve of something dangerous, where skill and experience would count more than anything.
Keen said, "Another captain could be found for Valkyrie. But Commodore Deighton is new amongst us. The burden of his responsibility will be great enough."
No choice at all. "You mentioned the army, sir?"
Keen plucked at something on his coat. "An attack on American soil. It is all I can say."
Adam said flatly, "I shall stay, sir."
He sensed that Keen had been prepared for any decision, but he could not conceal his relief.
"Your presence, your name alone, will make all the difference. And, of course, I shall be following your exploits as closely as I can."
England. The admiral's house at Plymouth, where he had walked with Zenoria. so careful to remain in sight of the other guests. The last time he had seen her.
Keen said suddenly. "My proposal of marriage was accepted, Adam. I wish you could have been here when it was announced."
Adam licked his lips. "Congratulations, sir. i would say as much to Miss St. Clair, as well."
Keen opened a drawer and closed it again. "She is on passage to England with her father at this moment. Yes, I wish you had been here."
Adam wondered if she had told him what he had said about Zenoria, that his absence had been planned.
He looked at Keen's open features. She had told him nothing.
The first lieutenant had appeared in the screen doorway.
"The boat is returning, sir." He spoke to his captain, but his eyes were on the rear-admiral.
Thank you, Mr. Dyer."
Keen glanced around the cabin, remembering perhaps the long days at sea, the boredom of routine, and the sudden fury of danger and battle. "There is nothing of mine here."
As the lieutenant's footsteps faded away. Keen said, "Have the ship fully provisioned, Adam." He hesitated. "Be patient with him. He is an experienced officer, but he is not like us." He tried to smile, but it evaded him. "Not like you."
They went out into the sunshine, and Keen turned once more to look at the watching seamen and marines.
He said simply, "I shall miss you."
Adam removed his hat, and the Royal Marine guard slapped their muskets and bayonets into a salute.
Who did he mean? Me? The ship? The assembled hands would mean little to him; some he would already have forgotten.
Perhaps he was bidding farewell to this life, and exchanging it for higher authority, promotion too, where Adam would be the intruder.
Dyer dismissed the side party and joined him to watch Keen's boat pulling away.
"May I ask something, sir?"
Adam turned to him, surprised, even slightly shocked by the first lieutenant's nervousness.
Have I been so unapproachable? Did I forget the first responsibility of command? The most coveted gift, his uncle had called it.
He reached out and touched Dyer's arm. "I am remaining with Valkyrie. Is that what you were about to ask?"
Dyer could not hide his relief, and a genuine pleasure. His was not a face which could conceal anything.
"I shall pass the word, sir!"
Adam looked towards the land, but Keen's boat had disappeared. Then he gazed up at the gently swaying masthead, where Deighton's broad pendant would soon appear. Not like YOU.
He turned sharply as a chorus of cheers broke from the forecastle, although every one was careful not to catch his eye.
Despite everything, he was glad of his decision. As if the ship had spoken for herself.
"All present, sir." Adam waited for the other captains to be seated, and glanced around the cabin, searching for some sign or hint of its new occupant, a portrait of someone, some memento from a past ship or port of call. There was nothing. The cabin looked exactly as it had when Keen had stood here, moments before leaving it for the last time. That had been three days ago. and in the meantime, while the other vessels of the new inshore squadron had anchored nearby, Commodore Henry Deighton had spent much of his time either ashore or here in his cabin, going through the ship's books and navigational logs, and had made no attempt to meet his captains in advance of this first gathering.
Adam knew them all, Morgan Price, the wild-eyed Welshman who commanded the frigate Wildfire, and Isaac Lloyd, captain of Chivalrous, the second largest frigate in the group, who had held two commands in the West Indies and was burned as dark as any islander.
He saw Urquhart meet his eyes. His ship, Reaper, had been a challenge, but Keen had agreed that he was the obvious choice. There were others who had watched Reaper's return to the fleet with both doubt and mistrust. A ship which had been cursed by mutiny could be seen as a threat, a dire warning to any captain who abused his authority in the name of discipline.
And there was Jacob Borradaile, commander of the fourteen-gun brig Alfriston. His ship had been there when Reaper's mutiny had broken out, and her despairing company had turned on their captain and flogged him to death. Borradaile was probably the most unlikely figure present today, like some gaunt caricature, with sprouting, badly cut hair and deep, hollow eyes. He was no one's idea of the commander of a King's ship, but those who knew him swore by his skills and impressive knowledge of those he was fighting. James Tyacke had once described him as 'a good hand. Came up the hard way'. From Tyacke there could be no higher praise.
Commodore Deighton sat behind his table, shoulders very stiff, fingers interlocked, his restless eyes moving quickly from face to face. Adam introduced them one by one, and in response there was a quick smile, almost a grimace.