Penrose would have been astonished had he known that the admiral had been watching Tireless since first light with equal anxiety.
In Frobisher"-, great cabin, the man in question listened to the bark of orders and the tramp of hardened, bare feet, as the flagship altered course slightly to meet the schooner and afford her some protection, although the sea was little more than a gentle swell. He clenched his fists. Weeks of it, of lack of news, of uncertainty, and of this sense of no purpose. There had been some activity when Barbary corsairs had attacked other small and defenceless vessels, but they had fled before any of Bolitho's thinly-stretched squadron could find and destroy them. And until more ships were released from the Channel Fleet and the Downs squadrons, it seemed unlikely that matters would improve.
Tireless might bring something. He tried not to hope for it. Perhaps a letter from Catherine… So many times, he had recalled every detail of their reunion, the ache of parting after the big Indiaman Saladin had returned from Naples, in what must have been record time. He had thought of it again when Tyacke had come to report the sighting of Tireless, remembering with anguish how the Indiaman's pyramid of canvas, gold in the sunset, had remained becalmed outside the harbour as if to taunt him. He had watched the ship until darkness had hidden her. And he had known, even before her letter from England, that she had done the same. She had written to him about Adam, and the confirmation of his new command. Of the dazed reaction to the combined attack on Washington, and the burning of government buildings in retaliation for the American attack on York. As Tyacke had once said, and for what? He had watched Tyacke while he had trained a glass on the approaching schooner. Remembering his own first command, perhaps, or the powers of fate which had brought them so close together, as his friend and flag captain? And Avery. He would remember his own service in the schooner Jolie, which had ended in disaster and court martial. The tawny eyes gave little away; he might even have been thinking of the letter for which he waited. The letter that never came.
The strain of weeks at sea without activity was telling on Frobisher's people. Ships and men being paid off: a sailor's dream rather than a safe reality, but it gave rise to flarings of temper and outbreaks of violence, even in a well- disciplined company. He could hear Gilpin the boatswain, bawling out to some of his working party. A grating was to be rigged immediately after the despatches had been passed across, and Frobishefs own mail sent into Tireless in exchange. It was anyone's guess when those letters would reach their destinations.
He knew Tyacke hated the ritual of punishment, as much as he did himself. But he, more than most, knew the dangers of sailing alone when the ringing phrases of the Articles of War were not always enough. The Royal Marines of the after guard and the lash, were the only known alternative.
Yovell stood by the other door, his spectacles on his forehead.
"Everything has been signed and sealed, Sir Richard. I've had the satchel sent on deck." Unruffled, unchanged, and yet the one man he might have expected to remain a misfit. Amused, gentle, devout: they were not qualities common in a man-of-war.
Allday was there, too. Pretending to examine the two swords on their rack, but obviously fretting more than ever about the possibility of a letter from that other, quiet world of the Helford River. Avery would read it to him as usual, if it arrived; theirs was an odd and a warm relationship, upon which neither of them ever remarked. Avery would be thinking of the fair Susanna. In vain… And Sillitoe, the one man he had never expected to become involved on his behalf. He could hear Catherine's voice in the darkness, remember her warm breath on his shoulder, while she had spoken of that night in Chelsea. distancing herself from it. more like an impartial witness than one who had been face to face with terror. He had wanted to feel doubt, suspicion, even hatred. But Sillitoe remained as before, remote, even in the desire he so obviously felt for Catherine.
And all the while I remain here in the Mediterranean, waiting. Probably with no less intolerance than the seaman who would be flogged at six bells of the forenoon watch.
Avery entered by the screen door and removed his hat.
"Tireless is shortening sail, Sir Richard." He glanced briefly at Allday. "She has signalled that her captain is coming aboard." He added. "Penrose, Lieutenant." And then, more lightly, "I would have thought he'd be here and gone, in case his admiral finds him some errand!"
Bolitho laughed. Avery had not forgotten.
"Very well. Bring him aft, and I'll speak with him myself."
It took another hour for the ships to draw close enough for a boat to be put down and pulled over to the flagship, where young Lieutenant Harry Penrose was received with no less respect than if he were a post-captain.
Two seamen carried the satchels of mail and the despatches, and when Allday finally returned to the great cabin Bolitho knew that he had been lucky. Just a nod. That was all it took.
Lieutenant Penrose had a small bag of letters for Bolitho.
"From the courier-brig when I was last at the Rock, Sir Richard." He became almost confidential. "Her captain made me promise that I would deliver them personally."
Bolitho took the letters; there seemed to be four of them. The link, the lifeline. He would make them last.
Penrose was saying, "I fell in with the frigate Halcyon, Sir Richard. Captain Christie was making for Malta, but sent word to you in case I found you beforehand."
He raised his eyes from the letters.
"What "word"?"
"The two frigates reported in Algiers have put to sea." Penrose looked suddenly troubled, as if it were his fault.
Avery watched Bolitho as he slit open the first, crumpled letter, saw the way he turned his head as if to read it better, the damaged eye now obviously useless. By his appearance, one would never guess, and to share the knowledge was both moving and terrible.
He recalled the moment when Catherine had left Malta. He thought it had been Tyacke's idea; they had sent Frobisher's barge for her, each oar pulled by a captain or one of the squadron's officers, with the admiral's own coxswain at the tiller.
As people saw them, and remembered them; as they spoke of them in the alehouses and the coaching inns from Falmouth to London. The admiral and his lady.
Bolitho looked up at him. "I thought we might learn something of their intentions, but we were unlucky. They could be anywhere, under any flag. It would take a fleet to break into Algiers, not merely this squadron, and even then……"
Avery said, "Even then, nobody would thank you for beginning another conflict, though it would seem inevitable, whichever aspect presents itself."
Penrose coughed politely. "I must take my leave, Sir Richard. The wind favours me, and……"
Bolitho held out his hand. "My best wishes to your company, Mr. Penrose. When next we meet, I shall expect to see epaulettes on your shoulder."
The door closed as Avery led the schooner's captain away.
Yovell remarked, "That was kindly said, Sir Richard. That young man will remember this day."
He heard the trill of calls, and imagined the schooner's gig pulling away from the flagship's side. Tireless would soon be gone. Meeting and departure. Their world.
Then the calls shrilled a different tune.
"All hands! All hands lay aft to witness punishment!" The immediate response of hurrying feet, the boots of the Royal Marines as they took up their stations across the poop.
Allday passed him without a word to close the cabin skylight, so that the sound of the punishment would be muffled.
It was a strange fact about Allday, Yovell thought. He loathed officers who abused their authority, but showed no sympathy for any man who raised his hand against it.
Bolitho said, "I shall dictate orders for the squadron. Some will already know, but if the two frigates intend to reinforce the Barbary corsairs against allied commerce, it is essential that each captain recognises them as the enemy."