"It's no use. The punishment goes ahead." He shrugged helplessly. "But he will see you."
The surgeon stood his ground, his eyes angry. "The cap'n insists on the bosun's mates using the lash with the heavier knots! No man can stand up to that! "
Urquhart said, "I can do nothing." Secretly he agreed with him, but to show what amounted to disloyalty at the beginning of a commission was nothing short of madness. This ship was luckier than many, and the captain must know it. She had fewer pressed men than most, and had been fortunate in collecting some twenty new hands who, although not seamen, were tough and fearless Cornish tin miners who had been thrown out of work by a pit collapse.
The sentry brought his heels together and called, "Surgeon, sir! "
The door was opened by the cabin servant and closed instantly.
"You wish to see me?" Trevenen was standing with his broad shoulders towards the windows and the glistening panorama of water and shipping beyond.
"Aye, sir. About the land man Jacobs. I'll not vouch for his surviving punishment. It's his second flogging in two weeks, sir."
"I am aware of it. The man is an ignorant lout. I'll not tolerate insubordination nor will I see my subordinates' authority undermined." The servant padded over the black and white checkered deck covering and placed a tall glass of wine within reach of his captain.
The surgeon said, "He is an ignorant lout, sir, I'm not defending his…"
The captain held up one hand. "I have something to ask you." He saw the surgeon's raddled face watching the tall glass and added, "You were surgeon at one time in the Hyperion, Sir Richard Bolitho's flagship, I believe?"
George Minchin stared at him, caught completely off balance by the question.
"Well, yes, sir. I was in Hyperion when she went down." Some of his weary despair seemed to vanish as he said with a certain pride, "I was one of the last to leave the old lady."
"It is confidential, of course, but we shall weigh anchor once our passengers are on board. To suit the purpose of admiralty this will no longer be a private ship. Your Sir Richard Bolitho is hoisting his flag over us."
He saw the emotions chasing each other across the surgeon's face. How could a man allow himself to decay like this?
Trevenen asked, "How did you find him?"
Minchin looked into the distance, so far now beyond the cabin and the ship. The thundering roar and recoil of the old seventy-four's artillery, the unending stream of wounded and dying who had been dragged down to him on the orlop deck, the 'wings and limbs' tubs as the Jacks termed them overflowing with grisly relics of saw and knife. Arms, legs, pieces of men Minchin had once known, and all the while the deck had shivered to the fury of the battle above and around them.
"The finest man I ever met. A gentleman, but only in the true sense. I've seen him shed a tear when some poor lad lay dying. He was not too proud to stoop and hold his hand for his last minutes." He glared at the captain with sudden dislike. "Not like some! "
"Very commendable. But the punishment will be carried out at four bells this forenoon and you will attend it, sir. I have long discovered that authority and severity must often go hand in hand! "
He waited for the door to close after Minchin's shabby figure. The man was a fool. As soon as possible he would try to have him replaced, although surgeons with experience and the stomach for their butcher's work were difficult to find.
He touched the wine with his tongue. His hardest task would be to conceal and suppress the old animosity born when his father and Captain James Bolitho had become enemies. Trevenen came from Truro and he resented hearing Bolitho proclaimed Cornwall 's greatest son. He frowned, his mouth setting in a thin line.
We shall see about that.
At exactly four bells the calls trilled between decks and along Valkyrie's gangways while the marines took up their station across the quarterdeck.
"All hands! All hands! Hands lay aft to witness punishment! "
The first lieutenant came to the cabin again but Trevenen said calmly, "I heard, Mr. Urquhart. This is a quiet ship and I intend it should remain so! "
Then he picked up the folder that contained the Articles of War, and after a slow scrutiny of his quarters walked out.
Unmoved? Urquhart sighed. It was not that. There was no sign of feeling at all.
Lady Catherine Somervell stood by the tall windows of the room they had shared for only one night. The windows opened on to a small balcony and faced south across Plymouth Sound. It looked as if it might remain fine for her journey to Falmouth. She felt a shiver run through her. Perhaps she should have returned to London, the city she had once known so well. In the same breath she knew she needed to go to the old grey house below Pendennis Castle. She could keep busy amongst people who, for the most part, kept to themselves and did not stare at her wherever she went. She would always be a foreigner in Cornwall; even Yovell was, and he came from no further than Devon. But they respected her now, and she found that it mattered. Most folk probably thought she was above it, that she was used to the gossip and the lies, but she was not. And the man she loved more than life itself, who was prepared to risk everything for her and because of her, would soon be gone. Back to that other world which she had shared for a while at the mercy of the sea's cruelty, and the danger which had drawn them even closer, if that were possible.
A carriage had been sent from the dockyard with some porters to carry Bolitho's chests and cases to the ship. The wine-cooler she had given him to replace the other that lay on the sea bed in his old Hyperion would remain at Falmouth until the future had made itself clear. It would be a ready reminder whenever she saw it. Something of his.
Allday had gone with Ozzard and Yovell to make sure that nothing was stolen in the dockyard on its way to the ship, as he had bluntly put it. The serious-faced flag lieutenant, Avery, was somewhere downstairs in this inn, The Golden Lion, the best in Plymouth.
She had said good-bye to Bolitho's little crew as he called them, but Allday had lingered to say his own piece.
"I'll take good care o' Sir Richard, m'lady. Have no fear o' that." He had seemed subdued, even sad.
She had said, "Is it harder this time?"
He had given her his steady stare. "Aye, it is. When we gets home again, will you come an' see us wed?"
She had almost broken at his use of the word home.
"Nothing will keep us away." She had hugged him. The true sailor with his special scent of rum, tobacco and tar: the smells of the sea. "And take care of yourself, John. You are very dear to me."
She had seen his surprise at her emotion, the easy use of his name. She could read his thoughts. The woman who had been married to the lowest and the highest, who had stripped naked to don a man's clothing while the ship had been bearing down on the reef, who had half-killed a mutineer with a Spanish comb: how could she feel like weaker souls?
She heard Bolitho coming in now from the adjoining room, patting his pockets as she had seen him do so many times.
He was watching her gravely, his uniform and gleaming epaulettes like a barrier between them. He was wearing the beautiful presentation sword, and she knew Allday had been entrusted with the old family blade.
When they had arrived they had stood by this same window and he had remarked, "They used to have a telescope mounted here so guests could see the shipping in the Sound." He had tried to make light of it but there was something in his voice, some indefinable sadness. "I expect some rogue stole it."
"Secrets?" she had said.
"I was leaving then. I was captain of Hyperion. So long ago, it seems now. Nearly fifteen years."
She had thought of the portrait of his first wife, Cheney, found dusty and forgotten where Belinda had hidden it. She had had it cleaned and replaced on the wall.