Catherine looked at herself in a great gilded mirror. "I see this woman, and yet I feel another." She seemed to hear what Jenour had said. "Then we shall make ourselves as comfortable as we can. Is his steward still in the house?"
"Yes, m'lady." He glanced at Bolitho as if for assistance. "I found him weeping in his room."
She said coldly, "Send him away. I will not have him here. He will be paid, but that is all."
As Jenour left she said, "This is my house now. It will never be my home."
She crossed the room and put her arms around his shoulders, and kissed him very slowly and with great tenderness. Then she said, "I want you so much that I should feel ashamed." She shivered. "But not here, not yet."
Ozzard padded through yet another door with some fresh coffee. Bolitho noticed the little man was carrying one of the old silver pots from Falmouth. Only he would have thought of that.
Allday glanced in and said, "I think I'll pipe down early tonight if you don't need me, m'lady."
Bolitho smiled. It was easy to forget tomorrow and what the doctor might tell him. He could even forget the corpse which lay upstairs, unloved, and soon forgotten.
She replied, "Please do, Allday. Take something strong to soothe your aches and pains."
Allday grinned at them. "You always knows, m'lady." He went off chuckling to himself.
Bolitho said, "An oak indeed."
"I was thinking." She laid a hand on his arm. "Your friend Oliver. He could have been speaking for us. We Happy Few."
When the servants bolted the front doors and laid straw in the roadway to lessen the din of iron-shod wheels, they were still sitting there, close to a dying fire.
Ozzard crept quietly into the room and put some fresh logs on the fire before picking up the cold coffee pot and padding softly away again. Just once he glanced at the couple who slept together, half reclining on one of the great sofas. She was covered with his heavy dress coat, and her hair hung loose and free across his arm which held her about her waist.
He knew again the sadness and loss that would always stay with him now. At least they had each other; only God knew how long they would be granted such happiness.
He found Allday outside the door and exclaimed, "I thought you'd piped down with a bottle of rum! "
Allday did not rise to it this time. "Don't feel much like sleep. Thought you might share a wet or two with me."
Ozzard regarded him warily. "Then what?"
"You're an educated fellow. You might read somethin' to me till we feels more like turnin' in."
Ozzard hid his surprise. He knows it too. There was a storm brewing. But he remarked, "I've found a book about a shepherd-you'd like that one."
They made for the deserted kitchen, the burly coxswain and the tiny servant who carried his terrible secret like a disease which would eventually destroy him.
But storm or not, they were Bolitho's men, and they would see it through as they always had. Together.
15. Full Circle
CAPTAIN Valentine Keen cast a searching glance along the full length of his new command before turning and striding aft where a group of senior officers, Admiralty officials and their ladies, waited beneath the shelter of the poop.
The Black Prince, a powerful second-rate of ninety-four guns, had been completed here in the Royal Dockyard, Chatham, several months ahead of schedule.
For the latter weeks, after his appointment had been confirmed, Keen had stayed aboard for most of the time. On this bitter November forenoon he was very aware of the long days, and the constant demands on his services. He could feel the wind off the River Medway cutting through his limbs and body as if he were naked. Now all but the formalities were over, and this towering three-decker was to be his.
Lying nearby was an old seventy-four like Hyperion. It was hard to believe that she had been so much smaller than Black Prince, and he found himself wondering if this great ship would ever match her in performance and memory He had been reminded too that it was in this same dock area that Nelson's last flagship Victory had had her keel laid, all of forty-seven years ago. And what might the navy become in the same period which lay ahead?
He doffed his hat to the port admiral and then turned to the man he had come to admire and love.
"The ship is prepared, Sir Richard." He waited, sensing the silence at his back where the ship's company had been piped to witness the official handing over of the new ship. On nearby walls and slipways the dockyard workers waited in the cold wind to watch. Pride of workmanship; and with the war showing little sign of ending it meant that another great keel would be laid down once Black Prince had been worked out to the Medway, and finally to the open sea.
Not so with most of the ship's company he thought. Some had been transferred from other vessels now laid-up for repair or refit without ever being allowed ashore to see their homes or loved ones. The press gangs had gathered the sweepings of the dockside and local harbours. Scum to be made, by example or more brutal methods, into seamen who would, when required, fight this ship with the loyalty of seasoned tars.
The assizes had provided a good sprinkling of poachers and petty thieves, and one or two harder men who chose the King's service instead of the gallows.
Bolitho looked strained and tired, Keen thought. That last fight aboard the frigate Truculent must have demanded a lot from him. But it had not been difficult to picture Bolitho casting down his flagofficer's rank to replace Poland as captain when he had fallen. Keen had served with Bolitho in frigates as midshipman and lieutenant, and had seen him in action so many times that he often wondered how they had survived this long.
Bolitho smiled at him. "It is good to be here on this proud day, Captain Keen."
There was warmth in his voice, and he was probably amused by the formality they must maintain in front of such important visitors.
Keen turned about and walked to the quarterdeck rail, his eyes taking in everything, and marvelling how well his lieutenants and warrant officers had managed to be ready for this day There had been moments when Keen had believed it would never end. The work, the hull full of carpenters and joiners, sailmakers and painters while the newly appointed midshipmen were driven from pillar to post by Cazalet, his first lieutenant. Keen knew little of him yet as a man. But as his second-in-command, appointed from another ship of the line, he was beyond value. He never seemed to be without energy or an answer to somebody's problem. Day by day Keen had watched him striding through the piled confusion of rigging and spare cordage, anchors and stores which descended on the dockside like an endless invasion. He looked up at the crossed yards and neatly furled sails, that same tangled cordage now in position, and tarred-down like black glass. On the forecastle he saw the scarlet square of Royal Marines matching their smart lines across the poop behind him.
The lieutenants in blue and white and in strict order of seniority; beyond them the midshipmen and warrant officers. Some of the "young gentlemen" would see this huge ship as the sure step to a lieutenant's exalted rank, while others, so small they looked as if they should be with their mothers, stared around at the great masts and the double lines of the upper deck twelve-pounders. They would be reminded, no doubt, of the twelve miles of rigging they would have to know by name at first, then by touch if required when called on deck in a raging storm and in pitch darkness.
And there was the company of seamen. Old hands and new, pressed men and vagrants, watching him, knowing that of everyone aboard he could control their lives, while his skill as the captain might well decide if they lived at all.
His voice was clear and steady as he read from the scroll with its round copper-plate writing and the crest of Admiralty at the top. It was like hearing someone else reading it to him, he thought "… and once satisfied you will go on board and take command of captain in her accordingly…"