"We're to fight then?"
"We have to win, Thomas."
Herrick sipped from a mug which Lovelace held for him. "Always the same. Not enough ships where you need 'em. We've known it a few times, eh? They never learn, because they don't have to see it. To do it!"
"Easy, Thomas."
"I know, I know." He moved his head from side to side. "And I'm no use to you either! "
Herrick saw Avery for the first time. "I abused you at Freetown, Mr. Avery." He looked away. "I heard about Jenour as well. No age to go."
Bolitho paused by the door again. Try to sleep. I shall see that you are looked after if…"
Herrick raised his left arm. "If. That has a chilling ring too."
Outside the sickbay the ship seemed at peace. Some midshipmen were crouched in a tight circle, their expressions revealed only by the light of their glims. Like some strict religious sect; but Bolitho knew they were asking one another questions on seamanship and navigation. Preparing like all 'young gentlemen' throughout the fleet for that magic day when they would be examined for lieutenant. To midshipmen it was the first, impossible rung on the ladder, and few could see any further beyond it.
Lovelace left the sickbay carrying two books, and Bolitho recalled what the surgeon had told him.
He asked, "Have you ever thought of taking the big step, Lovelace? To the College of Surgeons? Mr. Minchin speaks very highly of you."
It was the first time he had seen him smile.
"I too would like to own a carriage and pair, Sir Richard! " The smile vanished. "I beg your pardon, sir. I meant no offence."
Avery watched, leaning against the curved timbers at his back. He saw Bolitho reach out for the young man's arm, heard him say quietly, "If we can break the enemy tomorrow, I will sponsor you."
Avery almost held his breath, unwilling to miss any of it.
Bolitho said, "My late flag lieutenant should have studied medicine, not war, like his father and uncle before him.
Instead…" He turned aside. "But Fate decided otherwise, God bless him! "
Lovelace was still staring after them as they climbed the companion ladder together.
"That was a generous thing to have done, sir."
"You reap only what you sow." He gripped a rope hand rail as the hull dipped heavily in a cross-swell. Then he said, "Sup with me tonight. I wish to discuss the signals for tomorrow. There may be little enough time later on."
The meal was a simple one, washed down with some of Catherine's claret from St. James's Street. In Ozzard's capable hands it made a fitting end to the day.
Even as, encouraged by the flag lieutenant, he reminisced, and spoke of men and campaigns he had known, Avery was aware that Bolitho was speaking of others like Jenour, who would be remembered only by the few who had shared those experiences.
He saw Bolitho touch the locket beneath his shirt, his gaze faraway as he said, "I shall add a little more to my letter to Lady Catherine before I sleep. She was very fond of Stephen. He used to sketch her, like the daily scenes he saw around him."
He would not have to tell her what to do when she received the news. She would go to Southampton herself and see Jenour's parents, to spare them at least the brutal formality of an Admiralty letter.
The Secretary of the Admiralty regrets to inform you…
Nobody should have to suffer that.
He said almost abruptly, "If anything should happen…" He looked at Avery directly. There is a letter in my strongbox which you may deliver to…"
"I would prefer that it never need be read, Sir Richard."
Bolitho smiled. That was well said." Without realising what he was doing he touched his eye with his fingertips, so he did not see the concern on the lieutenant's face. "Baratte is a devious man, a trickster who will use every ruse to overthrow us. Whoever loses will be a scapegoat, something too well known to you already. His father was denounced as a hated aristo during the Terror and was beheaded before those howling murderers. He was an honourable officer, and France has had cause to regret his death and the blood on their hands of so many others like him. Baratte has done all in his power to prove his skill and his worth to his country, perhaps to protect himself. It is a weakness that may make him reckless enough to play one trick too often."
"And what of the Englishman Hannay, sir?"
"He will fight as never before."
"No weakness then?" Avery was fascinated as he watched the inner power of this man, the grey eyes full of intensity and emotions as he spoke of his enemies so lucidly that Avery could almost see them. It was impossible to know from his appearance that the vice-admiral was almost blind in one eye. Another secret.
"Only that he is unused to taking orders." Bolitho shrugged. "Especially from a Frenchman! " It seemed to amuse him.
He looked at Avery's serious face. "Mr. Yovell thought well of you from the start, that day in Falmouth. He was particularly impressed with your knowledge of Latin, although at the time I had no idea it would prove so useful! "
"A good deal will depend on your nephew tomorrow, sir."
"Yes. I am very proud of him. He is like a son to me."
Avery did not press the point. "Mr. Yovell tells me that he met Nelson, who spoke warmly of him." He hesitated. "Did you never meet him, sir?"
Bolitho shook his head, suddenly depressed. The same people who now sang the little admiral's praises had been the same ones who had tried to destroy him before he had fallen aboard Victory. And what of his dear Emma? What had become of her? How did those who had made promises to Nelson even as he lay dying manage to face themselves, he wondered?
And Catherine. Who would care for her if the worst happened?
He said, "Go and speak with the first lieutenant. He needs to be reassured."
Avery stood up and felt the ship around him, shivering repeatedly as she thrust the ocean contemptuously from her flanks.
Tomorrow then, sir."
Bolitho nodded, then said, "What did you want to know about Nelson?"
Avery rested his hand on the screen door. "Men who never knew or even saw him shed tears like women when they heard of his death." He opened the door. "I never thought to see it myself until I became your flag lieutenant, sir." Then he was gone.
Bolitho smiled. Avery would think very differently if the day went against them.
After Ozzard had tidied the cabin and had departed thoughtfully to his pantry, Bolitho took a small book from his trunk and turned it over in his hands: not one of Catherine's gifts of Shakespearean sonnets in their immaculate green leather binding, but a much older book, stained by salt air and much handling, one of his few possessions which had actually been carried by his father. It was Paradise Lost. Like Captain James Bolitho, he had read it beneath the scorching tropical sun, or riding out a storm on blockade duty off Brest and Lorient, and in the calm of some unspoiled anchorage.
With great care he covered his left eye with his hand and held the page close to a cabin lantern.
What though the field be lost? All is not lost; the unconquerable will, And study of revenge, immortal hate, And courage never to submit or yield.
Bolitho closed the book and walked across the cabin to the table where his chart still lay.
Perhaps it had already been decided, and there was nothing he could do to change what Fate had decreed.
The ship swayed again and the lantern's yellow glare touched momentarily on the sword that hung on the bulkhead. It seemed to bring the steel to life.
Aloud he said, "All is not lost."
He stared at the stern windows, but saw only his reflection against the darkness of the sea. Like a ghost, or the portraits on the walls at Falmouth.
He felt suddenly calm, as if something had been resolved. It had so often been like this in the past when all that had stood between a victory and disaster had been the courage of individuals on either side or beneath different flags.