Bolitho said, "I believe that the French will intensify their attacks on our supply lines."
"Do you?" He raised an eyebrow. "That is most interesting. The Duke of Portland said as much to me quite recently."
The prime minister. Bolitho felt his lips relax into a smile. He had all but forgotten who it was. Moving from one campaign to another, watching men die and ships torn apart, the final authority beneath His Britannic Majesty too often seemed unimportant.
"It amuses you?"
"I beg your pardon, Sir James. I am out of touch, it seems."
"No matter. I understand he is of a sickly disposition. There will be a new hand on the tiller before too long, I fear."
Bolitho winced as a sharp line of sunlight passed over the admiral's shoulder and made him turn his head to one side.
"The light disturbs you?"
Bolitho tensed. Did he know? How could he?
He shook his head. "It is nothing."
Hamett-Parker returned slowly to the table, his steps, like his words, measured, un wasted
"You are wondering why you were withdrawn from your command?"
"Of course, Sir James." He saw the admiral's eyes for the first time. So pale they were almost colourless.
"Of course? That is strange. However, we need to discuss possible French interference with our shipping routes. One frigate, a privateer even, could tie down men-of-war we could not spare even if we had them. It is widely believed that more attacks are already being planned they will be hastened if,
as we anticipate, Wellesley drubs the French army on the Peninsula. The prime minister will wish to know your thoughts, as will Sir Paul Sillitoe." He saw Bolitho's surprise and said calmly, "Something else you did not know, it would appear. Sillitoe is senior advisor to the prime minister and certain others in high places. Even His Majesty is not unaware of him."
Bolitho looked for some sign of sardonic humour or even sarcasm. There was none. In his mind he could see the man quite clearly: tall and slender with the quick, sure movements of a duel list A dark, interesting face with deceptively hooded eyes. He was as quick and as sharp as steel, and he had been both charming and gracious to Catherine at one of Godschale's ridiculous receptions when she had been deliberately snubbed by the Duke of Portland. A strange, remote man, but not to be underestimated; perhaps not to be trusted. Bolitho had heard that Sillitoe had travelled all the way to Falmouth for the local memorial service after the loss of the Golden Plover and the reported deaths of all those aboard. He did not need to warn Catherine of any other intentions Sillitoe might have.
He thought of her this morning, warm in his arms, holding him, watching him later while Allday shaved him, and sharing a quick breakfast downstairs. In a rough shawl or in gleaming shot-silk like the night they had been reunited at English Harbour, she would never pass unnoticed. No, Catherine would recognise any ploy, subtle or otherwise.
"You were well known for the energy of your performance when you were a frigate captain, Sir Richard." Hamett-Parker continued in the same curt manner. "The line of battle has been my lot in life." He changed tack again. "I seem to recall that you were flag captain to Sir Lucius Broughton in Eury-alusT
"I was flag captain to Rear-Admiral Thelwall until he was relieved due to ill-health. Broughton hoisted his flag in Euryalus after that."
"I deduce from your tone that you disliked him. I always thought him to be an excellent flag officer. Like me, he would never allow sentiment to blur the needs of duty and discipline." He clenched his fist as if he had allowed himself to say too much, and continued, "You were involved in the Great Mutiny?"
It sounded almost like an accusation.
"We were lucky in Euryalus."
"Luck? What has that to do with it? We were at war with a ruthless enemy as we are now. I commanded Cydnus, a two-decker of ninety guns. Well trained, well drilled, she was the envy of the squadron."
Bolitho saw the hand clench into a tight fist again. Hamett-Parker's one weakness: the incident he could never forget.
There are always rotten apples in some casks. The plan for mutiny amongst my people was fed to those simpletons and knot heads like poison. They defied me me, their captain." His pale eyes shone like glass in the reflected light. It was as if he could still not believe it. That ordinary, common seamen could demand their rights even at the risk of death by hanging or a flogging around the fleet, which had been the punishment meted out to more than one delegate.
Bolitho said sharply, "Admiral Broughton was a fool. If he were one of my officers today I would tell him as much! "
They both became calm again, and Hamett-Parker said, "My record is one to be proud of." He glanced meaningly around the room. "I think others must have appreciated that."
Bolitho said, "What is expected of me, Sir James?" He was surprised how calm he sounded. Inwardly he was burning like a fire ship angered by this unreachable man, angry with himself.
"We need a plan, one that can be exercised with simplicity, one that will not antagonise the flags of nations not already drawn into the fight."
"You mean the Americans, Sir James?"
"I did not say that! " He wagged one finger and gave a stiff smile. Then he said, "I am glad we met before we meet the others involved." He pulled some papers towards him. "My flag lieutenant has the address of your lodgings in London, I assume?"
"I imagine so, Sir James." Probably half of London knew it. "May I ask something?"
He tugged out a bright gold watch and glanced at it. "I must not be too long."
Bolitho thought sadly of Godschale. One cannot do everything. "What is intended for my last flag captain, Valentine Keen?"
Hamett-Parker pouted. "For an instant I thought you would ask about someone else." He shrugged, irritated. "He will hoist a broad pendant when all is decided. If he performs adequately I am certain flag rank will be his privilege, as it is ours."
Bolitho stood up and saw the other man's glance fall to the old sword. "May I take my leave, Sir James?" It was over; the rapiers were to be laid in their cases again. For the present.
"Please do." He leaned back in his great chair, his fingertips pressed together like a village parson. Then he said, "Vice-Admiral Sir Lucius Broughton, the fool you so bluntly described, died doing his duty in the penal settlements of New South Wales." His pale eyes did not blink as he added, "His position will, I am certain, be ably filled by your friend, Rear-Admiral Herrick."
Bolitho turned on his heel and flung open the doors, almost colliding with the hovering lieutenant.
Hamett-Parker had got deep under his skin, out of malice or for some other purpose, he did not know or care. What did he want? He had been careful not to mention Catherine, or 'the scandal' as he would no doubt call it.
He hurried down the stairs, his mind reeling with ideas and memories. Just the mention of the Euryalus: Thelwall coughing out his life, Broughton watching the terrible flogging unmoved. But most of all, Catherine. He had commanded Euryalus when he had first met her. She had been aboard the merchantman Navarra; her husband had been killed by Barbary pirates, and she had cursed Bolitho for causing his death.
"Would the nice sea-officer like a ride in comfort?"
He spun round, half-blinded by the sunlight, and saw her watching him from the carriage window. She was smiling, but her fine dark eyes were all concern.
"How did you know?"
She took his wrist as he climbed into the carriage, and replied quietly, "I always know."
Admiral Sir James Hamett-Parker held the curtain aside and looked down as the woman aided Bolitho into the elegant carriage.
"So that is the notorious Lady Catherine."