She thought of the letter which had been waiting for her upon her return from Fowey. Richard had written it at Gibraltar. She looked suddenly at the window as the rain lessened, and a great shaft of moonlight probed against the house. November, and his first letter. It might mark the arrival of many more.
It was a letter of love and tenderness, which with so many miles between them was all the more moving. He had written little of Valkyrie and her captain, not even much about Adam except to say that they would be leaving the Rock without waiting for Anemone to catch up.
Every day is an obstacle without you, dear Kate, and if you do not come to me in the night watches my whole being aches for you. Some nights ago when we were weathering Cape Finisterre and the winds sought to put us ashore, you did come to me. The cabin was as black as tar, but you stood by the stern windows, your hair waving in the wind although the place was sealed against it. You smiled at me and I ran to hold you. But when I kissed you, your lips were like ice. Then I was alone, a complete man again because of the strength your visit had given me.
She sat on their bed and opened the letters once more. Shy, sometimes over-sensitive, he was a man who gave so much while others demanded more. It is easier to defend an island than to capture it. How strange it had been to hear Keen's opinion. Something he had learned from Richard. Like others she had come to know. Oliver Browne, Jenour, and soon perhaps his new flag lieutenant, George Avery.
Next month they would all be preparing for Christmas. How quickly it had come around again. And all the while she would be craving news, waiting for the post-boy; writing to him and wondering how each letter would reach him.
She stroked the bed with her hand. Where she had given herself, again and again. The bed was turned down, and Sophie had laid out a gown for her as she always did.
How would Zenoria accept this latest parting? She could barely have recovered from the last one, when the devastating news had broken about the shipwreck.
Adam had taken her that news himself. Was that when it had happened?
She got up and walked to the window. Most of the clouds had gone, and those still moving to a wet south-westerly glided from the moon's path like solid things.
Catherine picked up the gown and for a few moments stood naked while she threw her heavy robe on to a chair.
She stared at the tall cheval glass where she had stood with Richard, watching his hand uncover her with exquisite slowness. The strong hand had moved over her body, exploring her as she had heard herself beg him to do.
Then she stood at the window again and flung it open, gasping as the bitter air attacked her nakedness.
"I am here, Richard. Wherever you are, I am with you! "
And in the sudden stillness she thought she heard him call her name.
Sir Paul Sillitoe paused beside one of the tall windows in the Admiralty building and watched the carriages shining like polished metal in the persistent drizzle, and wondered how or why he should tolerate such an existence. He had two estates in England and plantations in Jamaica, where he could soon drive the chill from his bones.
He knew exactly why he did it, and even this momentary dissatisfaction was merely a facet of his own impatient nature.
November and barely three o'clock in the afternoon, and already he could not see clearly across the road. London was wet, cold and miserable.
He heard Admiral Sir James Hamett-Parker re-enter the room and said, "Is the squadron ready to sail, Sir James?" He turned lightly and saw the weight of worry on the admiral's face. Hamett-Parker was finding this project more difficult than he had believed, perhaps. He thought suddenly of Godschale, who was now in Bombay. Even he had been better in some ways; he would certainly have found a woman somewhere to ease his burden. Sillitoe knew that Hamett-Parker's wife had died. He smiled to himself. Of boredom, probably.
"I have sent word today. As soon as Commodore Keen is satisfied, I will tell him to prepare for sea."
He looked at Sillitoe, barely able to hide his dislike. "And what of the Prime Minister?"
Sillitoe shrugged. "When the Duke of Portland decided to resign that illustrious position, owing, he claimed, to ill health, we were prepared to accept changes, in strategy at least. Next month we are to be blessed with another Tory, Spencer Perceval, who given time may make a stronger mark than the Duke."
Hamett-Parker was astonished that Sillitoe found it easy to display his contempt so openly. It was dangerous, even amongst friends. There was worse to come.
"You realise, Sir James, that without proper leadership we have been laid open to all manner of dangers."
The French?"
Sillitoe's hooded eyes gleamed as he answered, "For once, the French are not the enemy. This time the rot is from within." He became impatient again. "I speak of His Majesty. Can nobody see that he is a raving lunatic? Every order of command, at sea or on land, has to be laid out before him."
Hamett-Parker glanced at the closed doors and replied uneasily, "He is the King. It is everyone's loyal duty to…"
Sillitoe seemed to spring at him. Then you are a fool, sir! If this Mauritius campaign is ruined because of his prevarication, do you imagine that he will shoulder the blame?" He watched the sudden anxiety on the admiral's severe features. "By the Grace of God, remember? How can a monarch be held responsible?" He tapped the table with his fingers. "He is mad. But you will be the scapegoat. But then you know all about courts-martial. You will not need reminding."
Hamett-Parker snapped, "I'll have no more of your impertinence, damn it! What you describe is treason! "
Sillitoe looked down at the road again as a troop of dragoons cantered past, their cloaks black with rain.
"His eldest son will be crowned one day. Pray that it is not too late."
Hamett-Parker forced himself to sit upright in his chair. No matter who had the prime minister's ear, or even the attention of royalty, Sillitoe appeared to be at ease with them. He tried not to think of his grand house, which had been Anson's. Like Godschale, he could lose everything. Even the lords of Admiralty were no longer immune to penalties.
"Are you saying that the people do not like their King?"
Sillitoe did not smile. It had cost the admiral a great deal to ask something so indiscreet.
"It would be fairer to say that the King does not know or care about themV
He waited a moment. "Suppose you were to hold a very splendid reception at your London address?" He knew that Hamett-Parker had no other address, but this was the moment for flattery.
The admiral said, "What good would it do?"
"For you, d'you mean?" He hurried on before Hamett-Parker could rise to his casual insult. "Invite guests who are known, cared about, hated even, but not merely the King's officers and officials who have favours to offer."
"But next year…"
"Next year, Sir James, the King will be beyond help or manipulation. His son will take responsibility." He waited and saw the doubts and fears of a man who was said to be little short of a tyrant.
"Invite him, is that what you imply?"
Sillitoe shrugged. "It is a suggestion. I am certain that the prime minister would favour it." He saw the shot go home, like watching a duel list fall when you had believed that your ball had missed the target.
"I will have to give it a good deal of thought."
Sillitoe smiled. The battle was almost won. He said gently, "You have reached as high a position in the navy as any officer might hope. Others would have thought it impossible from the start." He counted the seconds. "It would help nobody, least of all yourself, to lose it."
"I have never sought favours from anybody! "
Sillitoe regarded him impassively. He sounds just like Thomas Herrick. But all he said was, "Admirable."
The same lieutenant entered the room and said, "Sir Paul's carriage is here, Sir James."