Then he did grip her wrist. "Perhaps it was…"
"All for the best? Yes, there were several who said as much, including my young man." She touched her eyes with her fingers. "It is not that. I nearly died. I think I wanted to… then." She looked at him, and even in the carriage's gloomy interior he could feel the intensity of her stare. "I cannot ever bear a child, not even for the man I love above everything."
Disconcerted, he said, "When we reach Chiswick I shall have a meal prepared for you."
She laughed without making a sound. "You will please leave me at Chelsea. I would not wish to compromise you, nor do I desire to create more scandal. You do not ask me why I was so certain about my father's anger and his true motives." She could feel the strong grip on her wrist, but the contact did not seem to matter. She continued, "That man, my own father, wanted to take me to his bed. He tried several times. Perhaps I was too distressed to deal with it properly. Today, I would kill any such man."
She watched the passing houses, more expensive properties now, with the glint of water beyond. Ships, unloading or waiting to make sail to every quarter of the globe. Richard's world, which they shared even when they were parted.
Sillitoe asked quietly, "That woman we found there?"
"Chrissie? She was a friend. We used to mime to my father's reading in the market when things were bad, before he finally gave in to drink. She was faithful to him when I left home." She turned away, her eyes filled with angry tears. "Home. Was it ever really that?" She contained her emotion and said, "You saw her reward. He put her on the streets."
They did not converse again for some while, and then she said, "You always speak so highly of Richard, and yet in my heart I know you would use him to make me surrender to your desires, which are unworthy of you. Do you really believe I would betray the man I love, and risk losing him for that same reason?"
Sillitoe exclaimed, "You do me an injustice, Lady Catherine! "
"Do I? I would not answer for your safety if you wronged me."
Some of his confidence seemed to return as he retorted, "I am well enough protected! "
She released her wrist very carefully. "From yourself? I think not."
Sillitoe felt entirely confused by her calm frankness. It was as if he had been disarmed in a duel, and was having to fall upon his opponent's mercy.
She was speaking again, her eyes on the streaming window as if she were trying to recognise something.
"I have done things in my life which I would tell nobody. I have known warmth and friendship too, and I have learned many things since I danced and mimed on the streets of this great city. But love? I have shared it with only one man. You know him well enough." She shook her head as if she were refuting something. "We lost one another once. We will not do so again." She laid her hand on his sleeve. "Strangely enough, I feel better for telling you these things. You could leave me in Chelsea and share your discoveries with your friends, if you have any. But nobody can hurt me any more. I am beyond it, even though they call me a whore."
She gripped his arm and spoke very slowly. "But do not harm Richard. I beg only that from you."
She saw the river again, the bare trees like scarecrows in the fading light.
"Chelsea, Sir Paul! " The coachman sounded untroubled, perhaps because the mastiff had stayed with Sillitoe's two prize-fighters.
Then she saw Young Matthew peering out at the coach from the doorway of the basement kitchen, his coat black with rain. How long he had been waiting for her safe return she could only guess. She found that she was crying, something she rarely did. Perhaps because his simple loyalty was the cleanest thing she had seen since their return to London.
"You all right, me lady?" That was Sophie, holding the door wide to reveal the bright lights within.
As if from faraway she heard Sillitoe speak her name as he lowered the carriage step for her. She had not even seen him leave her side.
He gazed at her for what seemed a long time. Then he shrugged elegantly, and, stooping, kissed her hand.
He said suddenly, "I shall never feel differently about you. Do not humiliate me by denying me that at least." He did not release her hand. "I will always be at your service if you need me." He turned to climb into the carriage and hesitated. "I will do what I can. You have my word on it." He was looking at her as if he was seeing her for the last time. "I will get your man back for you." Then he was gone, the carriage turning the corner, the horses already aware perhaps of the nearness of home.
She felt Sophie's arm about her waist, hugging her. They stood together in the rain, which had not stopped since she had left here for Chiswick.
She was still holding on to Sillitoe's last words, almost afraid to believe what she had heard.
Then she said, "Let us go inside." She wiped her eyes, and Sophie did not know if it was because of rain or tears.
Catherine said, "Tomorrow we will leave for Falmouth." Together they climbed the steps, then she turned and looked back into the deepening shadows. "There is no place here for me any more."
But stark and clear in her mind she could see the little street and the two young girls at play there.
15. A Feeling
Lieutenant George Avery walked away past the sentry and into the cabin, grateful for the cooler air between decks although he knew that it was little more than an illusion.
"You wanted me, sir?" He glanced round and tried to adjust his eyes to the searing brightness of the sea astern, and another bright shaft of sun that shone down from a skylight. Yovell was sitting on the bench below the stern windows, using some of his papers to fan his streaming face. Bolitho stood by the table, as if he had not moved since their last meeting.
When he looked up, Avery could see the dark shadows around his eyes, the lines of strain by his mouth. It troubled Avery to see him like this. And there had been weeks of it, the endless search of an apparently empty ocean. He could still feel it throughout the ship as it had been felt in the rest of the little squadron when Tyacke's brig Lame had arrived in Cape Town with the handful of dazed and wounded survivors whom his boats had managed to snatch from death. None of the Thruster's officers had lived, and of the rest only a surgeon's mate had been articulate enough to offer some description of the disaster. Two frigates, one obviously the big American Unity, had fallen on the brig and her convoy of prizes. The surgeon's mate had been below in his sickbay and had been spared the first horrific broadside. Fired at extreme range, the weight of iron had smashed the brig almost onto her beam-ends. Masts, spars, rigging and canvas had thundered on to the crouching gun crews, trapping them amidst the wreckage before they could return a shot.
As the surgeon's mate had said, his voice broken with emotion, "We could do nothing. The people were dying. What could we have done?" He had rallied for only a moment. "But our captain refused to surrender. I never saw him after the next broadside. There was an explosion, a magazine I think, and then I was in the water. After that, the boats came. I never really believed in God… until then."
Bolitho said, "No more ships reported attacked or seized. They know every move we make. I've spoken with the man Richie but he had nothing to offer. Where is Baratte? How much does he know of our plans to invade?" He imagined their extended forces as though on a chart, as he had been doing for weeks. "Major-General Abercromby and his army will be sailing from India. Our Major-General Drummond will complete the pincers and sail from Good Hope to Rodriguez, where we will re-form if necessary, and then on to He de France." He stared at the chart until his eye stung like fire. "Then Mauritius. The end of French power across our trade routes."