12

STORM WARNING

SIR CHARLES INSKIP peered gloomily from a narrow window and shivered as a sudden squall rattled the thick glass.

“This is hardly the treatment I had been expecting!”

Bolitho put down his empty coffee cup and joined him to look across the harbour at some of the vessels which lay at anchor. He had not failed to notice the thick bars across the window, nor the way they had been kept in semi-isolation since they had stepped ashore. Their quarters in what appeared to be a part of a fortress were comfortable enough, but the door was locked at night all the same. He saw Truculent tugging at her cable, her furled canvas quivering as the wind ruffled up the surface of the anchorage and pounded against her hull and rigging. She, too, appeared isolated and vulnerable. The big Danish frigate Dryaden, which had met and then escorted them into Copenhagen, lay some two cables clear. Bolitho gave a grim smile. That was not a sign of trust, but to make sure she would suffer no damage if Captain Poland tried to cut and run. Truculent was lying directly beneath the guns of one of the main batteries. It would be an unhealthy place to be if it was forced to open fire.

Seven days. Bolitho tried not to let his mind linger on it. Inskip had told him repeatedly that they were here at the suggestion of a senior Danish minister named Christian Haarder. A man dedicated to keeping Denmark out of the war and safe from attack either by Franceor England.

Bolitho looked towards the array of anchored men-of-war, their scarlet flags with the distinctive white crosses taut and bright in the stiff wind. It amounted to quite a fleet despite the savage losses in this very harbour some five years back. The Danes had probably mustered all their available warships from the mainland to place them under a single command. It made good sense, no matter what happened.

Inskip said irritably, “I have sent two messages with no effect. Out of courtesy the palace was informed, and my own letters should have made further delays totally unnecessary.”

“People must be wondering about the presence of one of His Majesty’s frigates in the harbour.” Bolitho watched a long-oared galley pulling slowly past the Truculent, the red blades rising and failing gracefully like a relic of ancient Greece. But Bolitho knew from hard experience that they were not simply for decoration. They could outmanoeuvre almost any ship under sail, and for armament they carried a solitary, heavy cannon with which they could maul a vessel’s stern and pound her into submission while her prey was unable to bring a single gun to bear. To be attacked by several at once, as the flagship had been, was like being a beast torn apart by fleet-footed wolves.

Inskip said, “They’ll soon find out if they keep us waiting much longer.”

Bolitho saw Allday gathering up the cups although Inskip’s own servant was in an adjoining room. He glanced at his watch. Jenour should have returned long ago. Inskip had sent him with another letter which he had written himself. Bolitho bit his lip. Too many secrets. Like trying to carry sand in a fishing-net. “Do you think the French may be involved at this stage?”

Inskip wrenched his thoughts into perspective. “The French? Dammit, Bolitho, you see the Frenchman’s fingers in everything! But I believe—” He broke off as Agnew, his long nose red from the cold, peered around the door and whispered, “The lieutenant has returned, Sir Charles.”

Inskip adjusted his wig and glared at the main doorway. “Not alone by the sound of it, by God!”

The door swung inwards and Bolitho saw Jenour, accompanied by the Dryaden’s captain and a tall man in a dark velvet coat whom he guessed was the minister named Haarder.

Bows were exchanged and to Inskip Haarder offered his hand. Like old antagonists, Bolitho thought, rather than friends. A sort of familiar wariness which he guessed was as much a part of them as their political evasiveness.

Haarder looked steadily at Bolitho and said, “You I know from your last visit to my country.”

Bolitho searched for hostility but found none. “I was treated with great courtesy.” He did not add, unlike this time. He did not need to.

Haarder shrugged. “We are under no illusions here, Admiral. The Danish fleet is once again a rich prize to those who would seize it for their own cause.” His eyes flickered in amusement. “Or those who might wish to destroy it for another reason, yes?” He glanced at their faces and said, “My associates are hard to convince. Either way they lose—” He raised one hand as Inskip seemed about to argue. “If, as your government is suggesting, the French intend to demand authority over our fleet, what will we do? Deny them, face them in battle? How could we survive when your own powerful nation has been at war with the same enemy for over twelve years? Think what you are asking before you condemn our uncertainty. We want only peace, even with our old foes in Sweden. Trade, not war—is that so alien that you cannot envisage it?”

Inskip sat back wearily and Bolitho knew he had given up before he had had a chance to negotiate.

Inskip said, “Then you cannot, or will not help us in this matter? I had hoped—”

Haarder eyed him sadly. “Your hope was mine also. But my voice is only one against many.”

Bolitho said, “On my last visit I saw the Crown Prince, although his identity was kept secret from me until later.”

Haarder smiled. “It is often better for royalty to stay removed from affairs of state, Admiral. I think I will have your agreement on that at least.”

Bolitho knew that Inskip was watching him anxiously, as if he expected him to rise to the bait.

Bolitho replied, “I am a seaofficer, sir, not a politician. I came here to advise, if required, on the balance of naval power in a very small area. But in all honesty I would not wish to see Denmark suffer the same terrible losses as before. I believe I have your agreement on that!”

Haarder stood up and said heavily, “I will keep trying. In the meantime I am instructed to end this attempted interference in Danish neutrality. Captain Pedersen of the Dryaden will escort you to open waters.” He held out a sealed envelope and handed it to Inskip. “For your Prime Minister, from someone far more senior than I.”

Inskip stared at the envelope. “Lord Grenville dislikes being threatened no less than Mr Pitt did.” He straightened his back and smiled, the old antagonist once again. “But it is not over.”

Haarder shook his hand gravely. “Nor is it yet begun, my old friend.”

To Bolitho he said simply, “I have long admired your achievements.” Again the twinkle of a smile. “Ashore as well as afloat. Be assured that my King would have wished to receive you but—” He shrugged. “We are in a vice. To show favour to one is to open the gates to another, yes?”

More bows and solemn handshakes and then Haarder took his leave.

The Danish captain said politely, “If you will permit?” Some armed seamen entered the outer room and waited to collect their belongings. “I will have a boat waiting to take you to your ship. After which,” he spoke haltingly but clearly, “you will please obey my directions.”

The captain walked from the room and Inskip said, “I wonder why they kept Haarder waiting so long. Just to tell me that he could do nothing?” It was the first time Bolitho had heard him sound puzzled.

Bolitho turned as if to watch Allday directing the Danish seamen into the other room for his sea-chest.

But he did not want Inskip to see his face, as his simple remark seemed to explode in his thoughts like a mortar shell.

Was it just imagination, a twist of words? Or had the tall Dane been trying to warn him, knowing at the same time that Inskip would not recognise it, or might challenge even a hint of suggestion?

Lieutenant Jenour remarked quietly, “At least we shall be back in England before the winter gales return to the North Sea, Sir Richard.”

Bolitho took his arm and felt him tense as he said, “I think we were delayed deliberately, Stephen, not the other way round.” He saw the understanding in Jenour’s eyes. “And it is a long way yet to England, remember?” He heard Inskip calling to his secretary and added sharply, “Not a word. Just hurry our departure as much as you can without causing a stir.” He shook his arm lightly. “Something else to tell your parents about, eh?”

Allday watched their exchange. Bolitho’s alertness, like a reawakening, and the young lieutenant’s sudden excitement. Jenour had never been able to hide his feelings anyway.

He walked across and clipped the old sword to Bolitho’s belt. Like the moment when they had prepared to leave Truculent and transfer to the Danish frigate for the final approach to Copenhagen. Something unspoken seemed to pass between them.

Bolitho looked at him searchingly until Allday murmured, “Seems we might soon be needing this old blade again, Sir Richard?”

Inskip bustled into the room. “A good hot tub and a fine English serving of roast beef, that’s what I—” His eyes flashed between them and he asked suspiciously, “I suppose you think it was all a waste of time, what?”

Bolitho faced him grimly, the first elation of danger already contained. “Indeed, Sir Charles, I hope that is all it was!”

The same short journey in a sealed carriage as when they had arrived, and then on to the wet, windswept jetty, where a boat was hooked on waiting for them. Inskip pulled his heavy coat around his body and gave the Danish captain a curt nod before he clambered down into the boat.

His face was a mask, his mind already grappling with what he had heard and probably with what had remained unsaid.

Bolitho waited for the others to fit themselves amongst the baggage in the sternsheets and turned to look across at the city, now blurred with rain like a painting left out in bad weather. He was moved by what he saw. The familiar green spires and handsome buildings, none of which he had been allowed to revisit. Catherine would love it.

He realised that the Danish captain was waiting. To make certain that he shared no contact with anyone; or was he merely curious to discover more about the man whose cannon had once pounded their ships into submission? Richard Bolitho, next to Nelson the youngest viceadmiral on the Navy List. Now, with Nelson gone—Bolitho shook it from his thoughts. Perhaps this very captain was a part of some scheme to delay them.

The captain said, “I wish you God’s speed, Sir Richard. Perhaps we shall meet again?”

No, he was not part of some sinister plot. Bolitho smiled, remembering his own remark to Haarder. I am a seaofficer, sir.

He replied, “In fairer times, Captajn Pedersen, when you and I are no longer needed.”

He climbed down into the boat, one hand gripping Allday’s shoulder as the hull lurched against the piles.

Apart from an occasional command from the boat’s coxswain, nothing was said by the passengers huddled in the sternsheets. Bolitho glanced at a passing guardboat, the lieutenant rising to doff his hat as he passed. All the correct courtesies, he thought, and was suddenly saddened by it. Like in fairer times. It was more than likely that the next time he met with that captain or any other, it would be across the muzzles of a full broadside.

Captain Poland was waiting with his side-party to greet them as they climbed aboard and the Danish longboat backed away from the chains in a welter of icy spray.

Poland began, “I hope all is well, Sir Richard?” He stared after Inskip as he pushed past the reception and hurried aft to the poop.

Bolitho said, “Prepare to get under way immediately, Captain Poland. We are to be escorted by Dryaden as before, but yours is the faster ship. Once clear of the narrows I want you to sail Truculent like you did to Good Hope!” He wished that Poland would stop staring at him. “I shall explain why, directly, but I believe we may have to fight before we are much older.”

Poland was at last coming out of his daze. “Er, yes, Sir Richard. I shall attend to it—” He peered round for his first lieutenant. “If fight we must then my ship will give good account—” But when he looked again, Bolitho had vanished. He cupped his hands, his voice shattering the stillness of the side-party while they shivered in the intermittent rain.

“Mr Williams! Prepare to get the ship under way! Have the master lay aft!” He swung round, rain water running from his hat. “Mr Munro, be so good as to pipe all hands, unless of course you are too engrossed in staring at the city yonder. I daresay you will see more than that before long!” He watched the lieutenant as he fled from the quarterdeck. Then he snapped, “Once clear of land we shall exercise gun crews, Mr Williams.” He derived some pleasure from the lieutenant’s surprise. “It seems we are a passenger-vessel no longer!”

Lieutenant Williams watched him stride away, his hat and coat shining in the downpour like wet coal. Poland never explained anything until he was himself absolutely certain. Williams gave a wry grin, then picked up his speaking-trumpet as the midshipman of the watch reported that the Danish frigate was already shortening her cable.

Why should he anyway? He was, after all, the captain!

As the calls shrilled and echoed between decks and the seamen came pouring from every hatch and along each gangway, Truculent’s first lieutenant felt the excitement run through him like heady wine. Then he took a deep breath and raised his speaking-trumpet.

“Man the capstan!” He squinted through the rain. “Hands aloft, loose tops’ls!”

He saw his friend gazing at him, grinning despite the captain’s sarcasm. “Remember, lads, they’re all watching us over yonder. Let’s show ‘em that nobody can weigh faster than Truculent!”

In the stern cabin Bolitho paused over the chart, the rain still dropping from his coat and hair on to his calculations.

The clank of the capstan, the surge of water alongside which drowned the sounds of shantyman or violin, and the feeling of life running through the hull like no other sensation.

He knew Poland would be down shortly to report that the anchor was hove short. That part of it was no longer his concern. Bolitho sighed and leaned over the chart again. Then so be it.

Bolitho felt Jenour’s hand on his shoulder and was instantly awake. A second earlier and he had been trudging up the hill towards the house, his eyes searching for her, his legs refusing to carry him any closer. Now as his eyes took in the faint grey light from the stern windows he saw Jenour holding on to the swaying cot, his face wet as if he had been in the rain.

Jenour gasped, “First light, Sir Richard!” He swallowed and clenched his jaws. “I—I’ve been sick, sir!”

Bolitho listened to the roar of water against the side, the heave and groan of timbers as the frigate fought her way through the gale. He could also hear someone vomiting and guessed it was Inskip. Seasoned traveller in his country’s service he might be; frigate sailor he was not.

Bolitho saw Allday’s dark shadow edging down the cabin towards him, his body leaning over like a tree in the wind.

Allday showed his teeth in the gloom and held out a mug of steaming coffee. He said above the chorus of sea and wind, “Last coffee for a bit, Sir Richard. Th’ galley’s flooded!” He looked unsympathetically at the flag lieutenant. “Nice bit o’ salt pork is what you needs, sir.”

Jenour ran down the sloping deck and disappeared.

Bolitho sipped the coffee and felt it restoring him, driving sleep and dreams into memory.

“What’s happening?”

Allday reached up and steadied himself by gripping the edge of a deckhead beam. “We’re still under reefed tops’ls an’ jib, ‘though the Cap’n was fair reluctant to shorten anything ‘til the main t’gallant blew to ribbons! I heard the master say that the Danish ship is preparing to go about.”

Bolitho slid carefully to the deck as he had done ten thousand times, in so many vessels from topsail-cutter to a lordly first-rate. Allday unshuttered a lantern and held it over the table while he peered at his chart. Poland was doing well in spite of the savage weather which had plagued them since they had left the sheltered narrows. Truculent would now be at the northern limits of the Kattegat and would soon be changing tack to head south-west through the Skagerrak—more sea room, less chance of running afoul of any fishermen who were mad enough to be out in weather like this.

Allday said helpfully, “Wind’s shifted since the first watch, Sir Richard. A real nor’-easter, blowin’ fit to bust every spar. Straight down from the Arctic if you asks me.”

He produced a heavy tarpaulin coat, knowing Bolitho would want to see for himself. As the deck rose and plunged down again, Allday held on to one of the tethered nine-pounders to meet the violent motion. He felt the old wound in his chest come to life, sear his insides until he could scarcely stop himself from calling out.

Bolitho watched him and held out his hand. “Here, hold on!”

Allday felt the pain recede as if it was reluctant to offer him peace. He shook himself like a great dog and forced a grin. “Not too bad, sir. Comes at you when you’re least ready, the bugger!”

Bolitho said, “You know what I told you before. I meant it then, I mean it still.” He saw Allday stiffen, ready to argue. “You deserve it anyway, after what you’ve done for your country.” He dropped his voice. “For me.”

Allday waited for the deck to sway upright again and replied, “An’ what’d I do then, Sir Richard? Stand around the inn tellin’ lies like all the other old tars? Be a sheep-watcher again? Or marry some rich widow-woman, an’ God knows there are enough of them around with this war goin’ on an’ on!”

Bolitho lurched towards the screen door and saw the marine sentry clinging to a stanchion, his face no better than Jenour’s. It was useless to try and convince Allday, he thought.

Water tumbled over the companion-way coaming and down to the deck below, and when Bolitho managed to reach the top of the ladder the wind nearly took his breath away.

Both watches were on deck, the air filled with shredded shouts and the slither of feet in water as it surged over the lee side.

Poland saw him and pulled himself along the quarterdeck rail to join him.

“I am sorry you were disturbed, Sir Richard!”

Bolitho smiled at him, his hair already thick with salt spray. “You cannot be blamed for the weather!” He was not sure if Poland heard him. “What is our position?”

Poland pointed across the lee bow. “The last point of land, Skagen’s Horn. We will change tack in about half an hour.” His voice was hoarse from shouting into the gale and the cold spray. “I have barely lost an hour, Sir Richard!”

Bolitho nodded. “I know. You are doing well.” Always the uncertainty, the search for criticism. It was a pity he did not remember that when he was berating his lieutenants.

Poland added, “Dryaden split a tops’l yard and most of her driver during the night.” He sounded pleased. “We’ll be leaving her soon.”

Bolitho shivered and was glad that he had had the last coffee as Allday had put it.

Poland had done what he had asked of him. Had kept Truculent in the lead all the way. Dryaden was not even in sight now except possibly from the masthead. He stared up through the shining black web of rigging and felt his head swim. Who would be a lookout in this gale?

Poland muttered something as several men ran to secure one of the boats on the tier; they were wading waist deep in water one moment, then seemed to rise higher than the quarterdeck the next.

Poland shouted, “I’ve three men below with injuries. I ordered the surgeon to make certain they were real and proper—no malingerers, I told him!”

Bolitho looked away. I’m sure of that, he thought.

Aloud he said, “Once clear of the Skaggerak we can use this nor’-easterly to good advantage.” He saw Poland nod, not yet committed. “We will have a companion for the final passage across the North Sea. You can reduce sail then if need be to carry out repairs and relight the galley fire.”

Poland showed no surprise that Bolitho should know about the galley. Instead he said bluntly, “You ordered Zest to make the rendezvous, Sir Richard? I make no secret of it—Captain Varian and I do not see eye to eye.”

“I am aware of it. I am also conscious that even with our reinforcements from Cape Town and the Caribbean we are pitifully short of frigates.” He did not add as usual although it had always been so; he had heard his father complaining about it often enough. “So you had best forget your private differences and concentrate on the task in hand.”

In the bitter wind, with sea and spindrift reaching further out on either beam as the grey light continued to expand, it was hard to think of plots and schemers in high places. This was the place which truly counted. If England lost command of the seas she would surely lose everything else, with freedom at the top of the tally.

He was glad all the same that he had taken every precaution he could think of. If he was to be proved mistaken he would have lost nothing. But if not—He turned as the lookout yelled, “Deck there! Th’ Dane’s gone about!”

Poland staggered as another sea lifted and burst over the beakhead, his hands gripped behind him, his body responding to the deck’s pitch with the ease of a rider on a well-trained stallion.

Bolitho moved away, his eyes slitted against the weather as he watched a faint blur of land seemingly far away to larboard. In fact he knew it was probably less than two miles distant. Poland was staying as closehauled as he dared, using the north-east wind to weather the headland, The Skaw as it was respectfully called. He thought suddenly of his own elation when he had been roused by Allday on that other occasion when they had sighted The Lizard; what Catherine had later told him about her certainty that he had been near, although she could not possibly have known.

“All hands! All hands! Stand by to wear ship!”

Red-eyed and sagging with fatigue, their bodies bruised and bloodied by their fight with wind and sea, Truculent’s seamen and marines staggered to their stations at halliards and braces like old men or drunkards.

Poland called sharply, “Get your best topmen aloft, Mr Williams—I want the t’gan’s’ls on her as soon as we are on the new course.” He glared at Hull, the sailing master. “This must be smartly done, sir!” It sounded like a threat.

Williams raised his speaking-trumpet. How his arm must ache, Bolitho thought. “Stand by on the quarterdeck!” He waited, judging the moment. “Alter course three points to larboard!” He gestured angrily with the speaking-trumpet as a wave swept over the nettings and hurled several men from their positions, while others stood firm, crouching and spitting out mouthfuls of water.

“Mr Lancer! More hands on the lee braces there!”

Poland nodded, his chin close to his chest. “Put up your helm!”

With a thunder of canvas and the squeal of blocks Truculent began to pay off to the wind, so that the sails refilled and held the ship almost upright instead of lying over to the mercy of the gale.

Poland consulted the compass and said, “Hold her steady, Mr Hull.”

Bolitho saw the master glare at his back as he replied smartly, “Steady she goes, sir! West-by-north.”

“Deck there!”

Poland peered up at the scudding, full-bellied clouds, his features raw from endless hours on deck. “What does that fool want?”

The lookout called again, “Sail on the starboard quarter!”

Poland looked along the length of his ship where men bustled about amidst the confusion of water and broken rigging, while they carried out repairs as they would perform under fire. Duty, discipline and tradition. It was all they knew.

He said, “Get somebody aloft with a glass, Mr Williams.” Poland darted a quick glance at Bolitho by the weather rail. How could he have known?

Bolitho saw the glance. It was as if Poland had shouted the question out loud. He felt the tension draining out of him, the uncertainty replaced by a cold, bitter logic.

A master’s mate, Hull’s best, had been sent to the masthead, and soon he bellowed down in a voice which had become as hardened to a sailor’s life as a cannon which has seen a world of battles.

“Deck thar! Man-o’-war, zur!” A long pause while Truculent surged and dipped her jib-boom into a mountainous wave. It felt like striking a sandbar. Then he yelled, “Small ‘un, zur! Corvette, aye, ‘tis a corvette!”

Hull muttered, “If ‘e says she’s a corvette, then that she be!”

Poland walked unsteadily towards Bolitho and touched his hat with stiff formality. “Frenchman, Sir Richard.” He hesitated before adding, “Too small to hamper us.”

“Big enough to seek us out, Captain Poland, to hang to our coat-tails until—” He shrugged and said, “Whatever it is we shall soon know.”

Poland digested it and asked, “Orders, Sir Richard?”

Bolitho looked past him at the listless exhausted seamen. Poland was right. No corvette would dare to challenge a thirtysix-gun frigate. So her captain must know that he would not be alone for much longer; and then …

He heard himself reply, “Have the boatswain’s party clear out the galley and relight the fires immediately.” He ignored Poland’s expression. His face was full of questions; the galley had obviously not been high on his list. “Your people are in no state to fight—they are worn out. A good hot meal, and a double ration of rum, and you will have men who will follow your orders and not give in at the first whiff of grape.” He saw Poland nod and said, “I must see Sir Charles Inskip. I fear he is in for another unpleasant surprise.”

Allday was standing close by and saw one of the seamen nudge his companion with a grin. “See, Bill? Our Dick’s not bothered, so why should we be, eh?”

Allday sighed. Our Dick. Now they were his men too.

Then he thought about the rum and licked his lips in anticipation. A good “wet” was always welcome. Especially when it might be your last.

Catherine paused at the foot of the steps and glanced along the street with its tall elegant houses and leafless trees. It was late afternoon and already dark enough for the carriages to show their lamps. She had been shopping in some of the adjoining streets with Yovell as her companion, and sometimes adviser, especially on matters concerning the man he served so loyally.

She waved to the coachman, still called Young Matthew even though his grandfather Old Matthew, who had been the Bolitho coachman for many years, was long dead. It was good to have the light, elegant carriage here, she thought. A part of home. It seemed strange that she could think of Falmouth and the old grey house as home.

“You can go to the mews, Young Matthew, I’ll not need you again today.” He grinned down at her and touched his hat with his whip. “Very well, m’lady.” One of Lord Browne’s servants had come down the steps and she curtsied, her apron ribbons whipping out in the cold wind, before going to help Yovell with their many parcels.

“Oh, m’lady!” The girl called after her but Catherine was already in the hall. She stood stock-still with surprise, even shock, as she saw a uniformed figure standing inside the booklined library, his hands held out to the fire.

She waited a few seconds, her hand to her breast, until her breathing became steady again. It was foolish, but just for a moment she had believed—But the tall captain had fair hair and blue eyes: a friend for so many reasons. Captain Valentine Keen took her hand and kissed it. “I beg your pardon, m’lady, for coming unannounced. I was at the Admiralty, too near to miss the chance of seeing you.”

She slipped her hand through his arm and together they walked towards the fire.

“You are always welcome, Val.” She studied him thoughtfully. He too had known Richard a long time and had served him as midshipman and lieutenant, until he had eventually become his flag captain. She said quietly, “Please call me Catherine. We are friends, remember?” She seated herself opposite and waited for him to follow suit. “What ails you, Val? We have been worried. About you and Zenoria. Is there something I can do?”

He did not reply directly. “I heard about Sir Richard at the Admiralty.” He glanced around as if expecting to see him. “He is not returned yet?”

She shook her head. “It is far longer than we supposed. Four weeks today.”

Keen watched her as she turned to stare into the fire. A beautiful, sensuous woman. One whom men would fight over, one who could excite the one she loved to do almost anything. But she was deeply troubled, and was not trying to hide it.

He said, “I was told by one of Lord Godschale’s aides that he had been on a mission of some importance. But the weather is foul, especially in our waters. I daresay they are riding it out.” He felt her gaze settle on him and he said, “Zenoria was staying with my sisters. Perhaps they smothered her with too much kindness … maybe she felt she no longer cared about me—”

Catherine said, “The marriage—is it not agreed upon?”

“She left to return to the West Country. There is an uncle, apparently, in whom she used to confide when she was a child, before he went to the Indies. Now he is back in Cornwall—I know not where. She is with him.”

Catherine watched his despair. She knew it, remembered it.

“But you love her?” She saw him nod. It made him look like a young boy. “And I do know she loves you, for many, many reasons. You saved her life, you cared for her when others would have turned their backs. Believe me, Val, I know about such matters at first hand!”

“That is partly why I came. I received a letter from Sir Richard. Did you know … Catherine?”

She smiled despite her anxiety. “That is better. Yes, I knew. About his new flagship, the Black Prince. He wants you as his captain, but I will lay odds that he spoke only of your hoped-for marriage?”

“You know him well.” He smiled ruefully. “It is why I went to see Lord Godschale. He was becoming impatient.”

She touched her throat and remembered what Bolitho had said about it.

“That is not so unusual, I believe.”

Keen faced her resolutely. “I have made it clear. I will serve as his flag captain.” He was surprised at her reaction, as if some sort of threat had been removed. “Are you pleased?”

“Of course I am. Who better to stand by my man’s side in times of peril? He loves you in the same way he cares for young Adam. I was afraid he would have some stupid captain like—” She dropped her eyes. “That is another matter.” When she looked up again her dark eyes were flashing. “And have no fear about your Zenoria. I will find her, although I suspect she will find me first once I am returned to Falmouth. We understand one another. She shall be your bride, Val, but you must be gentle with her. I know from what Richard tells me that you are a decent man, and have only loved one other in your life.” She watched the memories clouding his eyes. “This will be different, more wonderful than you can conceive. But as she will learn to accept your calling as a sailor, so must you be patient with her.” She let each word sink in. “Remember what happened to her. A young girl. Taken and used, with no hope, and nothing to live for.”

He nodded, seeing her naked back as the whip had laid it open from shoulder to hip. The way she had withdrawn when he had spoken of marriage and how it would be for them.

“I never thought. Or perhaps I did not want to think about it. How she would feel, or if she was tormented that she might never be able to accept—” He could not continue.

She stood up and walked to his chair, and laid her hand on his shoulder, touching his epaulette. Each time she saw a seaofficer she thought of him. What he might be doing; whether or not he was in any danger.

“There, Val. You feel better now? And so do I.” She made light of it. “After all, I cannot rely on Mr Allday for everything!”

The door opened and she felt a chill draught from the hallway, although she had heard no bell or knock at the street entrance.

“Who is it, Maisie?”

The girl stared at her, then at Keen.

“Beg pardon, m’lady, but ‘tis a gentleman for the captain.”

Keen stood up. “I mentioned I would be here a while. I hope that was acceptable?”

Catherine watched him, her gaze very level. “What is it? Something has happened.”

He said only, “Please wait here, Catherine.”

The servant girl gaped at her. “Would you like some tea, m’lady?”

She realised only vaguely what she had asked. “No, but thank you.”

The door closed, reluctantly or so it seemed, as if the servant had wanted to share what was happening.

Keen came back, his handsome features grave as he shut the door behind him. He strode across the carpet and took her hands in his. They were like ice. “It was a messenger from the Admiralty.” He gripped her hands more tightly as she pulled away. “No, hear me. He will want you to know.” He saw a pulse beating in her throat, saw the way she lifted her chin. Dread, defiance; it was all there.

“There has been a sea-fight. Richard’s ship was involved but they know little more as yet. He must have been returning to England from his mission. A schooner brought the news to Portsmouth, and the telegraph sent word from there to the Admiralty.”

She stared round the room like a trapped animal.

“Is he hurt? What must I do? I must be there if—”

He guided her to a chair, knowing it was not strength or courage she was lacking, but a direction to point herself.

“You must wait here, Catherine.” He saw the anxiety change to resistance and refusal, and persisted, “He will expect you to be here.” He dropped on one knee beside her chair. “You have helped me so much. Let me at least try to do the same for you. I will remain at your service until we learn what is happening.”

“When?” One word, which sounded as if it was torn from her.

“It must be soon. Tomorrow, the next day. I felt something was wrong, and yet—” He looked past her into the fire. “I was too beset with my own troubles.”

Catherine looked at the gold lace on his sleeve. Was this how it was? How it would be? After all their hopes. Their love. So many women must have known it.

She thought suddenly of Nelson, of Bolitho’s bitterness at those who had hated him the most but who had mourned his death the loudest. Nobody spoke of Emma Hamilton any more. It was as if she had never been, even though she had given him the things he had lacked and had needed more than anything. Love and admiration. It was rare to have one without the other.

She said quietly but firmly, “I will never give him up.”

Keen was not certain how it was meant, but he was deeply moved.

She stood up and walked towards the door where she turned, the lights reflecting from her dark hair.

“Please stay, Val.” She seemed to hesitate. “But I am going to our room for a while. So that we may be together.”