Cross of St George (15 page)

When he looked again, the man was gone. There was no hope, and he would know it. And yet those few words had meant so much, to both of them.

Gulliver said uneasily, “Ready, sir.”

But before the boatswain's chair was swung out to be lowered into the waiting boat, Adam said to St Clair's daughter, “Sometimes, there are no choices whatsoever.”

“Lower away! Easy, lads!”

Then he straightened his back and turned to face the others. He was the captain again.

R
ICHARD
B
OLITHO
leaned away from the bright sunshine that lanced through
Indomitable
's cabin windows to rest his head against the chair's high back. It was deep and comfortable, a
bergère,
which Catherine had sent on board when this ship had first hoisted his flag. Yovell, his secretary, sat at the table, while Lieutenant Avery stood by the stern bench watching two of the ship's boats pulling back from the brig
Alfriston,
which had met up with them at dawn.

Tyacke had made it his business to send across some fresh fruit. Having commanded a small brig himself, he would have appreciated its value to her hard-worked company.

There had been a burst of cheering when
Alfriston
had hoveto to pass across her despatches, which was quickly quelled by officers on watch who had been very aware of their admiral's open skylight, and perhaps the importance of the news
Alfriston
might have brought to him.

Tyacke had come aft, bringing the heavy canvas satchel himself.

When Bolitho asked about the cheering, he had replied impassively, “
Reaper
's been retaken, Sir Richard.”

He glanced now at the heavy pile of despatches on the table. The entire report of the search for, and capture of,
Reaper
was there, written in Keen's own hand rather than that of a secretary. Did he lack confidence in his own actions, or in those who supported him, he wondered. It remained a private document, and yet, despite the seals and the secrecy,
Indomitable
's people had known its contents, or had guessed what had happened. Such intuition was uncanny, but not unusual.

He listened to the creak of tackles and the twitter of a bosun's call as the next net full of stores was hoisted outboard before being lowered into a boat for
Alfriston.
It was difficult to look at the vast blue expanse of ocean beyond the windows. His eye was painful, and he had wanted to rub it, even though he had been warned against disturbing it. He must accept that it was getting worse.

He tried to concentrate on Keen's careful appraisal of
Reaper
's discovery and capture. He had missed out nothing, even his own despair when he had seen the hostages paraded on her deck, a human barricade against
Valkyrie
's guns. He had generously praised Adam's part in it, and his handling of the captured sailors, American and mutineers alike.

But his mind rebelled against the intrusion of duty. In the bag sent over with Keen's despatch had been some letters, one from Catherine, the first since they had parted in Plymouth some three months ago. He had held it to his face, had seen Yovell's discreet glance, had caught the faint reminder of her perfume.

Avery said, “The last boat's casting off, Sir Richard.” He sounded tense, on edge. Perhaps he, too, had been hoping for a letter, although Bolitho had never known him to receive one. Like Tyacke, his only world seemed to be here.

Bolitho turned once more to Keen's lengthy report, rereading the information concerning David St Clair and his daughter, who had been prisoners aboard
Reaper
. Taken from a schooner, but surely no accidental encounter? St Clair was under Admiralty contract, and Keen had mentioned that he had been intending to visit the naval dockyard at Kingston and also a shipbuilding site at York, where a 30-gun man-of-war was close to completion. The final work on the vessel had apparently been delayed by a dispute with the Provincial Marine, under whose control she would eventually be. St Clair, well used to dealing with bureaucracy, had been hoping to speed things to a satisfactory conclusion. Captains in the fleet might find it difficult to regard such a relatively small vessel as a matter of great importance, but as Keen had learned from St Clair, when in commission the new vessel would be the biggest and most powerful on the lakes. No American craft would be able to stand against her: the lakes would be held under the White Ensign. But should the Americans attack and seize her, completed or not, the effect would be disastrous. It would mean the end of Upper Canada as a British province. Just one ship; and the Americans would have known of her existence from the moment her keel had been laid. In the light of this, St Clair's capture appeared even less of a casual misfortune. His mission had also been known: he had had to be removed. Bolitho thought of the savage gunfire, the pathetic wreckage of the
Royal Herald
. Or killed.

He said to Yovell, “Have our bag sent over to
Alfriston
. She'll be impatient to get under way again.” He thought of the brig's gaunt commander, and wondered what his feelings had been when he had heard of
Reaper
's capture, and that her only defiance had been fired deliberately into open water.

Ozzard peered through the other door. “Captain's coming, sir.”

Tyacke entered and glanced at the littered papers on Bolitho's table. Bolitho thought he was probably like
Alfriston
's commander, eager to move.

Without effort he could picture his ships on this great, empty ocean: two hundred miles south-west of the Bermudas, the other frigates
Virtue
and
Attacker
mere slivers of light on opposite horizons. Perhaps if they had not waited, the Americans would have attacked the assembled convoy, their powerful frigates destroying it or beating it into submission, no matter what the escorting men-of-war might have attempted.

A mistake, a waste of time? Or had the Americans outguessed them yet again? The enemy's intelligence sources were without parallel. To know about St Clair and to see his involvement as a direct threat to some greater plan matched the impudent way they had seized
Reaper
and turned the advantage into a shame, news of which would ring throughout the fleet in spite of, or even because of, the punishments which would be meted out to the men who had mutinied against their captain, and against the Crown.

The convoy was well away, and would be standing out into the Atlantic. Their speed would be that of the slowest merchantman, a misery for the escorting frigates and brigs. But safe, in a few days' time.

Before they had left Bermuda, Avery had gone ashore to visit
Reaper
's first lieutenant at a military hospital in Hamilton. Bolitho himself would have liked to have spoken to the
Reaper
's only surviving officer, who had been with his captain until the incident's macabre and brutal conclusion, but
Reaper
had been one of his own squadron. He could not become personally involved with men whose warrants he might be called upon to sign.

Reaper
's captain had been a tyrant and a sadist, terms which Bolitho would never use without great consideration. He had been moved from another command to make
Reaper
into an efficient and reliable fighting ship once more, and to restore her reputation. But early in his tenure another side of his nature had revealed itself. Perhaps he had, in fact, been moved from that other command because of his own brutality. Any captain sailing alone had to keep the balance between discipline and tyranny firmly in his mind. Only the afterguard, with its thin ranks of Royal Marines, stood between him and open rebellion. And even if provoked, it could never be condoned.

Tyacke said, “Orders, Sir Richard?”

Bolitho turned away from the glare and saw that Yovell and Avery had left the cabin. It seemed a mutual awareness of his desire to confer privately with his flag captain: a loyalty which never failed to move him.

“I want your views, James. Return to Halifax and discover what is happening? Or remain here, and so weaken our squadron?”

Tyacke rubbed the scarred side of his face. He had seen the letter handed to Bolitho and been surprised by his own envy.
If only …
He thought of the wine which Catherine Somervell had sent him, like the deep green leather chair in which Bolitho was sitting, her gifts, and her abiding presence in this cabin. With a woman like that …

Bolitho asked, “What is it, James? You know me well enough to speak out.”

Tyacke dismissed the thoughts, glad that they could not be known.

“I believe the Yankees—” he smiled awkwardly, recalling Dawes, “the Americans will need to move very soon. Maybe they've already made a beginning. Rear-Admiral Keen's information about the shipbuilder, this man St Clair, points to it. Once we have more ships, as Their Lordships say we will when Bonaparte is finally beaten, they'll face a blockade of their entire coastline. Trade, supplies, ships, unable to move.” He paused, and seemed to come to a decision. “I've spoken to Isaac York, and he insists that this weather will hold.” Again he offered a small, attractive smile, which even his disfigurement could not diminish. “And my new purser
assures
me that we are well supplied for another month. The pips might squeak a bit, but we can manage.”

“Remain on this patrol? Is that what you are telling me?”

“Look, sir, if you were some high an' mighty Yankee with good ships, albeit Frogs, at your disposal, what would you do?”

Bolitho nodded, considering it. He could even see the unknown ships in his mind, as clearly as the hollow-eyed Commander Borradaile had seen them through his telescope. Big, well-armed, free of all authority but their own.

“I'd take advantage of this south-westerly and go for the convoy, even at this stage. A long way, and a risk if you are facing the unknown. But I don't think it is unknown to our man.”

There were muffled cheers on deck, and he left the chair to walk to the stern windows. “There goes
Alfriston,
James.”

Tyacke watched him, with affection and concern. Every time he thought he knew this man he found there was something more to learn. He noticed that Bolitho was shading his left eye, and saw the sadness and introspection in the profile against the light. Thinking of his letter in that same little brig, and the endless miles and transfers from ship to ship before Catherine Somervell would open and read it. Perhaps thinking, too, of his own independence as a very young commander, when each day was a challenge, but not a burden. A proud man, and a sensitive one, a man Tyacke had seen holding the hand of a dying enemy in
Indomitable
's last and greatest battle. Who had tried to comfort his coxswain when Allday's son had been killed in that same fight. He cared, and those who knew him loved him for it. The others were content with the legend. And yet his would be the responsibility for sending
Reaper
's seamen to choke from a yardarm. Tyacke had only known
Reaper
's captain by reputation. It had been enough.

Bolitho turned from the sea. “I agree with you, James. We will remain on station.” He walked back to the table and spread his hands on the open despatches. “Another day or so. After that, time and distance can become a handicap.” He smiled. “Even to our enemy.”

Tyacke picked up his hat. “I'll make the necessary signals to our consorts when we alter course at two bells, sir.”

Bolitho sat down again and rested his head against the warm green leather. He thought of May in Cornwall, the tide of pure colour, thousands of bluebells, the sea sparkling … It would soon be June. He felt his fingers tighten on the arms of the chair she had had made for him. So long. So long …

The familiar sounds faded; the sunlight no longer tormented him as wind and rudder guided this great ship like a bridle.

Then, and only then, did he take the letter from his coat. He held it to his face again, to his mouth, as she would have done.

Then he opened it with great care, always with the same uncertainty, even fear.

My dearest Beloved Richard
…

She was with him. Nothing had changed. The fear was gone.

Lieutenant George Avery wedged his feet against his sea-chest and stared up at the deckhead in his tiny, screened cabin. Feet moved occasionally on the wet planking as men hastened to take in the slack of some running rigging.

Outside it was pitch black, with plenty of stars but no moon. He toyed with the idea of going on deck but knew he would be in the way, or worse, those on watch might think that he had been sent to report on their progress. He glanced at his gently swaying cot and rejected it. Where was the point? He would not be able to sleep, or at least, not for long. Then his doubts would come to torment him. He considered the wardroom, but knew there would be somebody there, like himself unable to sleep, or looking for a partner for a game of cards. Like the dead Scarlett,
Indomitable
's first lieutenant when she had ceased to be a private ship and had first worn Bolitho's flag. He had wanted so much to have a command of his own, and outwardly had been a good officer, but he was being driven quietly mad by his mounting debts, his inability to stop gambling, and his desperate need to win. Avery had seen David Merrick, the acting captain of marines, sitting in the wardroom earlier, a book open on his lap to deter conversation, but his eyes unmoving. His superior, du Cann, had died that day with Scarlett and many others, but promotion seemed to have brought him no pleasure.