Sword of Honour

13

So Private and So Strong

Captain James Tyacke sat in Bolitho’s high-backed chair and watched as his admiral strode from the adjoining cabin, Ozzard trotting behind him trying to adjust the clean shirt, without success.

Tyacke felt vaguely uneasy, uncomfortable seated while Bolitho stood. He paced the cabin, describing what he had discovered at Algiers, pausing from time to time to make sure that his round-shouldered secretary was keeping pace, and that he was not thinking and speaking too quickly for the pen.

It was more than that; Tyacke had felt it within an hour of Halcyon’s return to the Grand Harbour. An almost boyish eagerness to put his thoughts into motion, to be doing something again. But Tyacke knew him well enough now to see beyond it. There was a brittleness, a need, perhaps, to convince himself as well as those in the far-off Admiralty.

Bolitho’s return had been something else Tyacke would remember: order and discipline momentarily forgotten as Frobisher’s hands had swarmed into the shrouds and rigging to cheer Halcyon’s boat, as it pulled alongside and hooked on to the chains with a flourish.

Tyacke had seen the effect for himself on Bolitho’s features when he had climbed aboard, the wild cheering, from men he scarcely knew, echoed by those from Halcyon and the other ships which had joined the squadron during the admiral’s absence.

Tyacke shifted in the chair. He had shared it, and his anxiety and relief had been forgotten in that very personal moment.

”The Dey knows he has a strong position, James. All those guns it would take a fleet, and even then the cost might outweigh the gains.” He paused, and waited for Ozzard to tug his neck cloth into place. ”And had I requested permission to anchor beforehand it would have been refused, or ignored like those of my predecessors.”

Tyacke nodded. It was pointless to remind him of the risk, and the possible consequences. Bolitho might have spoken the words himself. That was then. This is now.

Instead he said, The two frigates are another matter. If they are to fly the Dey’s colours we might take precautions, but if they are corsairs,” he frowned, ‘pirates, it would put a great strain upon our ships.” He glanced at an open gun port ”We now have seven frigates, including Halcyon, under your flag. There are brigs and schooners too, but no match for fifth-rates.” He looked over at the flag lieutenant, who was leaning comfortably across the stern bench. ”If you are sure of it?”

Avery said, ”I am certain, sir.”

Tyacke touched his disfigured face. ”It is said that Spain intended to dispose of some of her men-of-war. It is possible. But this Captain Martinez ... I know nothing of him, as a slaver or in any other role.”

Bolitho walked to the sloping stern windows. The sun was high overhead, the buildings along the shore sandy yellow in a dusty glare. The weather would change soon, and it would take weeks more for a decision to be made. He felt the old restlessness churning within him.

Everything took so long .... He turned his back on the others to study a passing dhow, but his mind was still upon the letter which had arrived with the courier brig. Time. Catherine would be thinking of it also. The ever-present barrier. But it was not even that; it was the tone of her letter, different in some way. Or was it his own fatigue after the fast passage from Algiers? He knew it was not.

Tyacke said, ”The frigates are there for a reason. At anchor they are useless, no threat to anybody.” He was thinking aloud. Did he suspect something? That I am being torn apart?

Suppose Catherine had given up the fight. She was beautiful; she was rich in her own right. She did not need to endure the separations and the anxieties being thrust upon her. Someone else, then? He thought of her last words in that letter.

Whatever you do, wherever you are, remember that I love you and only you, nothing could change that.

He would read it again, slowly, when he was alone. But first .... He said, ”Something from your anti-slavery days, James? Make them come out to us?”

Tyacke smiled, but not with his eyes. ”Frobisher, sir.” He glanced around the cabin, less spacious with the eighteen-pounders returned to their ports. ”They will know she is your flagship. After your visit they might be expecting more to join us. They will not want to risk losing the two frigates.” He shrugged. ”And if their presence is proved innocent, we have lost nothing.”

Bolitho walked away from the windows and the glare, pausing to rest one hand on Tyacke’s shoulder. ”Another bluff!”

Tyacke glanced at the hand on his shoulder, strong and tanned, an extension to this man’s brain and experience. He was not easily moved, and was careful not to show it now.

”It might succeed.” He looked at Avery. ”At least it will get this ship’s company working again!”

They laughed, the tension gone.

Bolitho thought of the big room overlooking the battery, and the scattered remnants of the corpses. I command out there! He said, ”There are a few of the Galicia’s original company, who were allowed to leave with our prize crew. Captain Christie had them separated. Perhaps they could be questioned, now that their safety is assured.” He recalled Christie’s own description, the terror, the disbelief and hysteria amongst the few sailors who had been spared the’ brutality and eventual death meted out to the master, and others who had ‘resisted’.

Avery glanced at the others, sensing the bond, the quiet understanding. He had seen Bolitho take the letter from the despatch bag, and the expression in the grey eyes as he had read through it. It must be like a hand reaching out, a security which few could understand. He thought of Susanna. Still no letter, but then, he had not hoped for one. He gave a rueful smile. Even that was a lie.

Bolitho said, ”I shall send orders to the squadron, so that each captain is left in no doubt of the kind of enemy we are facing.”

Tyacke watched him. So that you will carry the blame if we are proved wrong.

He was glad about Christie. Majestic had done precious little for anyone else.

The sentry bawled, ”First lieutenant, sir!”

Bolitho looked at his secretary. ”You are frowning.”

Yovell smiled gently, behind his small, gold-rimmed spectacles.

”I was asking myself, Sir Richard, why do the marines always shout so loudly?”

Lieutenant Kellett stood in the doorway, his hat beneath his arm. ”Officer-of- the-guard, sir.” He spoke to Tyacke, but his deceptively mild eyes were on Bolitho.

Tyacke took an envelope from him, and then said, ”Major-General Valancy requests the pleasure of your company at his headquarters for dinner.” He looked up from the page in time to see the disappointment and frustration which, in those few seconds, Bolitho had been unable to hide.

Bolitho said only, ”Make the necessary arrangements, James. It may be important.”

Yovell gathered up his papers. It was time to go.

He said, ”I will have these copied at once, Sir Richard. I have a clerk and one of the young gentlemen to assist me.”

Avery said. ”I shall accompany you, Sir Richard.” He saw the unspoken protest, and added, ”The army, Sir Richard. They will expect it.”

He left, and Tyacke said, ”You could refuse, sir.”

Bolitho smiled, rather bitterly, he thought. ”People think we are inspired by duty. In truth, we are its slaves!”

Later, with the barge alongside, the crew in their best cheque red shirts and tarred hats and Allday poised massively in the stern sheets the marines and boatswain’s mates were ready and waiting. Frobisher’s captain and senior lieutenant saw the admiral over the side.

Allday waited for Bolitho to settle himself beside Avery, and then gave the order to cast off.

He saw it in the eyes of the barge men as they laid back on their looms. Their admiral, who wanted for nothing.

Allday scowled at the bow oarsman as he stowed his boat hook

How could they ever know? At moments like these, nothing was all he had.

The day after Bolitho’s return to Malta, Frobisher weighed anchor and put to sea. At first light two of the frigates, Huntress and Condor, had also departed with orders to take station outside Algiers, where their presence would be seen and understood.

Bolitho had been on deck to watch them leave, his heart and mind responding to the sight of the two sleek frigates spreading their sails, and leaning obediently to an early breeze. He had wanted more than anything to have an opportunity to know all of his captains, but he was again reminded that time was the enemy. The ships in his new squadron were mostly known to him by name or reputation, even the small brig Black Swan, which was to be the flagship’s only companion.

After Frobisher had cleared the harbour Bolitho went to his quarters, surprised that he felt no trace of fatigue from the previous evening, despite the heavy meal and entertainment by the army. Avery had fallen asleep at the table, but he had not been alone; their hosts seemed to expect it, and made no comment.

He had returned to the ship to find Captain Christie waiting for him in Tyacke’s cabin.

A small thing, a fragment of information, but it was all they had. Of the handful of men who had been released with the Galicia, one had been the boatswain, a Greek who, because of his captors, had feared for his life more than the others. He had described to Christie how they had been attacked and boarded, as if Galicia’s, presence had been known to the Algerines. Every man had been robbed and the vessel looted, and two of the seamen had been killed for no apparent reason. The master’s son had been aboard; the attackers had known that, too. Unable to obtain information from the wretched master, they had beaten his son, and then nailed him to a crudely fashioned cross, where he had died. There had been other pirate vessels nearby, which had altered course to the east once the attack had been completed. The boatswain had been certain he had heard someone mention Bona. On the chart it was shown as a small port, little more than a segment of a bay, some hundred and fifty miles from Algiers. Halcyon had sailed past it only days ago, and Christie was probably cursing his misfortune that he had not known it was being used as a base by Algerine pirates.

Tregidgo, the sailing master, had confined himself to saying that Bona was known to be used by fishermen for shelter, and sometimes for trade. It would be a likely choice for ships waiting to pounce on some unwary merchantman.

A show of force, then. Afterwards, they would meet up with the two frigates outside Algiers. It would be interesting to know what Captain Martinez would have to tell his master about that.

He sat down and thought once more of Catherine’s letter. He had read it very carefully when he had returned from his visit to the garrison. With the lantern unshuttered, and the ship silent but for the secret noises in any living hull, he had sensed again the reserve, the unspoken, as if she wanted to protect him from something, like the riots of which she had written earlier.

The roses are at their best just now. I would that they might last for ever.

The summer would soon be over in Cornwall. In his mind, he could see her on the old path, their path. Watching the empty horizon. Waiting.

Hoping .... Ozzard hurried to the door and opened it, although Bolitho had heard nothing.

It was Tyacke, outwardly relaxed, glad to be at sea again, even if it proved a worthless exercise.

His blue eyes moved quickly to the untouched coffee, and back again to his admiral.

”Black Swan is taking up her station ahead of us, sir.”

Bolitho nodded. The brig might remind Tyacke of his old command, but her commander was not of his world. A forceful, determined young officer, he might go far, if fate was kind to him. When the fleet was reduced in strength and numbers, he would be only one of many trying to prosper in the career of his choosing.

Tyacke had commented bluntly, ”A big mouth to match his head, that one!”

Bolitho said, ”When you hear of slavery even here, does it bring the past back to you, James?”

Tyacke squinted against the sudden glare as Frobisher altered course very slightly.

”It was different then.” He did not explain. ”But where there’s gold you’ll find slavers. In the end they’ll not be so quick to run they’ll stand and fight. Turks, Arabs, they are always the hardest to control.” He saw Ozzard by the pantry. ”Would you fetch a chart for me? The master knows which one.”

Ozzard almost frowned, but hurried away after glancing at Bolitho.

When the door closed, Tyacke said, ”I am sorry about the trick, sir. I wanted to talk. A ship can be a small market-place where privacy is concerned.”

Bolitho waited. This was the moment.

Tyacke said, ”Years ago, there was a girl in my life. That was before. .” He hesitated. The Nile. Then I lost her. I never thought I’d ever see her again. Or want to, for that matter.” He looked at his hands and added simply, ”So I lost her.”

Bolitho wanted to tell him that he understood, but if Tyacke lost the will to speak now, it would not return.

”She wrote to me, and I wrote to her, but never posted it.”

Bolitho said nothing. It was the letter he had put in the strongbox before Indomitable’s battle, with another of his own addressed to Catherine. But we both survived that day.

Tyacke turned to look at the door, expecting Ozzard or someone else to be there.

”Then, in Portsmouth, just before we commissioned, she came to see me.” He spread his hands, as if he still could not understand or believe it. ”I knew we would meet one day.” He looked now at Bolitho, very directly. ”As you must have known, sir.”

Bolitho said, ”I hoped.”

”I had another letter when the courier came. I should have penned a reply, but with you away, and the future uncertain, I thought I would wait.”

”You still care for her, and for what happened. Do you care enough, James?”

”That’s it, sir. I don’t know. I have no right.. .. I’ve lived so much apart from ordinary, decent people for so long that I’m not sure any more.”

He thought of the gown Tyacke had carried in his chest, for the girl who had rejected him. The same gown he had given to Catherine.

”Did you ever tell her about the gown, James? The way you told Catherine?”

Tyacke shook his head. There are two children to consider, sir.”

Bolitho saw the door edge open. ”Ah, Ozzard. Some cool wine, if you can lay hands on it!”

Ozzard said, ”The master didn’t know about a chart, sir.” It sounded like an accusation. Then he hurried away: always alone.

Bolitho said gently, ”When you write, James, tell her. About the gown.

Tell her.”

Tyacke touched his scarred face. ”I never see this. I’m always looking out, watching others.”

Ozzard reappeared, without any change of expression. This is cool, Sir Richard.”

Bolitho said, ”Let me.” He held the bottle; in the unmoving air it felt almost cold. Ozzard must have stowed it in the bilges somewhere. It was clear Rhenish wine, from that shop in St. James’s, in her London. Perhaps she had even held this bottle, before it was packed and sent to Portsmouth.

Tyacke watched, his uncertainty, his inability to speak like this before, momentarily forgotten. Unimportant.

He could never have what this man had and shared with his lovely Catherine, who had kissed him on board Indomitable that day in Falmouth, to the delight of the assembled ship’s company.

He could see it in Bolitho’s grey eyes, the way he shaded the damaged eye to study some detail of the label. So private, and yet so strong that he felt like an intruder.

But aloud he said, ”I shall try, sir. When I write.” He stared at the deck head and sensed Ozzard placing a glass within reach. Then I shall exercise the gun crews, and blow away these Maltese cobwebs!”

Bolitho raised his glass. ”Let Mr. Kellett do it, James. He admires you greatly, you know.”

Unexpectedly, Tyacke laughed, the tension draining away. Bolitho regarded him for several seconds; his wine remained untouched.

”I think we shall fight.” He brushed the rebellious lock of hair from his forehead, and Tyacke saw the livid scar. ”In fact, I am certain of it.” He smiled, the man he must have been when he had first met Catherine.

”I am glad you told me .. . shared it with me, James. Now we are truly of one company.”

Vice-Admiral Sir Graham Bethune got to his feet, startled by the interruption as the doors of his room were thrown open and Sillitoe, followed nervously by a protesting clerk, strode towards him.

Bethune exclaimed, ”My lord, I had no idea....” He tried again, angry with himself that he was so easily disturbed by this man, powerful or not. ”You were not expected!”

Sillitoe stared around and into the adjoining room, and waited for the clerk to withdraw.

He said, ”I am here to see Rhodes. I trust that will present no obstacles?”

Bethune gestured to a chair. ”I shall see what I can do, my lord. At any other time .. ..”

Sillitoe sat down, outwardly calm, unmoved. ”At any other time I would prefer not to visit this place. However, I shall use the opportunity to mention a matter to you first.”

Bethune watched him across his desk, dressed all in grey, elegant, assured, with droplets of rain on his coat. He must have walked here from some nearby building. For exercise, or to prepare himself for a meeting with Admiral Lord Rhodes, although Bethune had heard no mention of it; his clerk would have told him.

Lean and sleek; a man who rode, walked and fenced to keep his mind and body sharp. Bethune had heard he used a very respectable house not so far from the Admiralty. Was he like that with women, also, habit rather than need?

Sillitoe said, ”I have just had news of the attack on Washington last month, the burning and destruction of government buildings and stores, and the sinking of American ships there.”

Bethune felt suddenly wary, uneasy. The Admiralty had only received the information this morning, on the telegraph from Portsmouth. The first person to be informed had been the Prince Regent; Sillitoe must have been with him at the time.

”I was relieved to know that the attack had been successful.

Surprised, too.” He ignored Bethune’s resentment, and continued, ”I understand that Captain Adam Bolitho is to be given a new command.”

Bethune swallowed. Sillitoe’s change of tack was like the man, swift and unpredictable. ”He should have received his orders, and be returning to England as we speak, my lord. Valkyrie was severely damaged. She will be withdrawn from service.”

Sillitoe studied him coolly, his hooded eyes revealing nothing. The squadron commodore was killed? Unfortunate, although it would seem, in my experience, that officers chosen of necessity for this or that command are not always the right ones for the task.” He raised his hand. ”There is another matter. One which I would prefer to remain between us only.” He watched Bethune’s growing discomfort, but felt no triumph; if anything, he sensed anger and contempt.

He said, ”Lady Somervell. You were there at the reception for the Duke of Wellington. You attended Lady Somervell when I was detained by His Royal Highness.” He leaned forward as if to emphasise his words. ”As I requested of you!”

”She left before your arrival, my lord.”

Sillitoe leaned back, his head resting on the chair.

”Sir Graham, do not take me for a fool. I know all of that. She left because she was angered by remarks made by Lord Rhodes, his arrogance in introducing Lady Bolitho as an honoured guest. It was an insult.”

”The last thing I wanted was for her to be humiliated!”

Sillitoe regarded him coldly. ”She was not. She was angry. Had I been there, I would have spoken out rather forcefully.”

Bethune looked away. ”I know. I was in no position to prevent it.”

Sillitoe smiled. ”Had you known about it beforehand, I would not be sitting here now.” His eyes flashed. ”And neither, sir, would you!”

Bethune said, ”I wrote to Lady Somervell, to explain. But she had gone down to Falmouth. I shall endeavour to .. ..”

Sillitoe said quietly, ”I thought perhaps you had mislaid her London address?” He watched, waiting for some sign, some hint. But there was none. Bethune might deceive his wife, but he doubted even that. He held out his hand and opened it slowly.

This piece of paper has her address written upon it.” He saw Bethune’s eyes widen; there was a certain anxiety as well. He felt his anger returning. ”It was found on a man I now know to be Charles Oliphant, at one time a captain in command of the seventy-four Frobisher.”

Bethune stared at it. ”She gave it to me. In case I had any news of Sir Richard. I must have mislaid it when .. ..”

”When Oliphant came crawling to you to beg for a command before the truth became known.”

”I do not understand.” Bethune leaned forward. ”Please tell me, if anything has happened to disturb Lady Somervell, I must know!”

Sillitoe waited, counting the seconds. ”Oliphant was waiting for her in Chelsea. The house was empty; she was alone.” He paused. ”Mainly because she was allowed to proceed there without an escort.” He saw the shots slam home. ”She was attacked, but I had received word about Oliphant. People tell me things. I got to the house in time to prevent .. ..”

To .. . prevent what, for God’s sake?”

Sillitoe said harshly, ”Oliphant, the officer chosen to be Sir Richard’s flag captain, is not only a gambler and a thief, he is one so rotten with disease that he wanted only revenge, in the last and only way he knew.”

Tell me, sir is she safe?”

Sillitoe felt his muscles slackening. Had Bethune given a single hint of involvement, he would not have trusted himself.

”She is safe. With no thanks to those who might have protected her.”

Bethune persisted, ”And Oliphant?”

”He is in care.” His mouth hardened. ”And under guard. It seems likely he will either die or be driven to the bounds of madness before much longer. If not, he will face a court martial, where the severest penalty will be demanded.” He dabbed his mouth with his handkerchief. ”And deserved!”

Bethune thought of the night when it had happened. Weeks ago; he should have suspected something. But his wife had been against his becoming further involved. I should have known .... Sillitoe added, ”I have a few small suggestions to make to Lord Rhodes.

I am confident that they will be easy to act upon.”

Bethune looked at the clock. ”I fear Lord Rhodes has a prior engagement, my lord. As I explained

Sillitoe said, ”Announce me.”

Bethune repeated wretchedly, ”A prior engagement .. ..”

Sillitoe gave a faint smile. ”I know. With the new inspector-general.” He laid the envelope on his desk. ”Here are my credentials, Sir Graham.”

Bethune stared from him to the buff-coloured envelope with its royal seal.

”I shall attend to it immediately!”

Sillitoe walked to a window and stared down at the wet streets, the bowed heads and shoulders of people hurrying for shelter. He should feel something beyond the contempt and impatience they afforded him. But all he could think about was the woman, naked and bound in that small, quiet house in Chelsea. Holding her, protecting her. Wanting her.

The doors opened again; Rhodes had come himself.

”I must congratulate you -i had no idea!” He darted a quick glance at Bethune, and another officer who had followed him. He smiled. ”I think our meeting should be recorded, Sillitoe. Everything out in the open, eh?”

Sillitoe did not return the smile. ”As you wish. There are several items. To begin with, the desertion from duty by your cousin, Captain Oliphant, and the failure to provide medical evidence when you agreed to discharge him. Courtmartial of fences you will not dispute. Gambling debts, frequenting premises used by prostitutes and becoming diseased to such an extent that he is all but out of his mind. And an attempted rape.” He balanced lightly on one foot. ”Need I continue, Lord Rhodes?”

Rhodes stared around, barely able to speak. ”I shall not need you, gentlemen.” When the door closed again he exclaimed thickly, ”I did not know about the extent of his illness, I swear it! I wanted only the best chance for him to improve his circumstances.”

”Yes. Under Sir Richard Bolitho, the man you tried to humiliate through another.”

”What must I do?”

Sillitoe glanced at the painting of a sea fight, Bethune’s old ship. Men fighting and dying. He suppressed his mounting fury. For arrogant fools like this.

”Continue as before, my lord, what else might you expect? Your cousin will not disturb you. You have my word on it.” He reached down and took his hat from a chair. ”I am the new inspector-general, not judge and jury.”

Rhodes made a final attempt. ”When I am offered the post of First Lord ..”

Sillitoe waited for the doors to open for him.

”Be assured, Rhodes.” He gave a cold smile. ”You will not.”

He walked out of the building, and was suddenly glad of the wet pavings and the cool, damp air on his face. He could walk for a while, and think. He recalled Bethune’s wife on the night of the reception when he had arrived late, to find Catherine gone; it was the closest he had ever seen her to elation. A conniving woman, who would use her husband when he believed it was the other way about.

He nodded to himself, and was unaware of the scrutiny of passers-by. That was it. It would be better for Bethune, for all concerned perhaps, if he was sent to a new appointment. Somewhere a long, long way from England.

Grace Ferguson watched as a housemaid placed a vase of freshly cut roses by the window and gave them her approval.

”Saw you cutting them yourself, m’lady. Did my heart good.”

Catherine smiled. ‘1 hate it when they are finished.” She glanced at the window, to the grey-blue line of the horizon beyond the headland. ”I shall try to make them last, in case .. ..”

Grace busied herself tidying some books which did not require it. She had mentioned her thoughts to her husband several times, but Bryan had insisted that her ladyship was well enough, missing Sir Richard, but otherwise the same.

Grace was not so sure, but Bryan was like that. All men were. Lady Catherine was a lovely woman. But she was a human being, for all that. Of course she missed her lover, as she herself had fretted over Bryan all those years ago when he had been snatched up by the hated press gang, along with John Allday. And now look at us .... She thought of Catherine’s eventual return from London, the strain and tension in her face. One night Grace had arranged a bath for her, and had seen the bruises on her arm, the healed cut on her neck. She had said nothing, not even to Bryan.

Catherine said, ”Lady Roxby will be coming this afternoon, Grace.”

Lady Roxby she might be to the outside world, but as Richard’s sister she could never be anything but Nancy to Catherine. With only the servants for company, she still lived in the big house, with a steward taking care of the estate. Lewis Roxby’s presence was still very tangible whenever Catherine had visited, and she thought that Nancy, in her way, was less lonely than herself.

Grace Ferguson faced her, having made up her mind. ”You’m not eating right, m’lady. You’ll fade away if you don’t eat! When Lady Roxby comes I shall bring some of those little cakes you like, I made them myself.”

”I don’t mean to worry you, Grace we’ve all had enough of that in the past few years. All I want is to have him here, with me, with us. He’s done so much can’t they see that?”

She seemed suddenly troubled by the watching portraits. ‘1 want to be strong, to be patient, like all the others must have been.”

Grace said. ”You’ll be strong, m’lady. I knows it.”

Later, when the Roxby carriage rolled on to the cobbles. Catherine saw that there were two visitors. Nancy was accompanied by a young woman with fair hair. She was neatly but plainly dressed, a servant, or perhaps a companion. She heard Grace Ferguson greeting them and then went to the door, hoping her anxiety and lack of sleep would not be as apparent to Nancy as it obviously was to her housekeeper.

Nancy embraced her, and said, ”This is Melwyn. Her mother is a dressmaker and seamstress over in St. Austell. I’ve known her family for years, since I was a child.”

Catherine looked at the girl, for that was all that she was. Serious, almost grave features, but when she smiled she had an elfin prettiness which would soon draw some young man’s attention.

”Melwyn has been staying at the house with me for the past few days. She works hard, and is pleasant company. A fine seamstress too, like her mother.” She smiled, and Catherine saw Richard’s warmth in it. ”As you have lost your Sophie, I thought you might consider taking her into your service.”

Catherine said, ”Melwyn. What a pretty name.”

Nancy said, ”It means ”honey-fair” in the old Cornish tongue.”

Catherine asked quietly, ”Do you want to leave home, Melwyn?”

The girl seemed to consider it. ”I - I think so, m’lady. I need the work.” She looked at one of the portraits, her eyes distant. ”My father went for a soldier, to the West Indies. He died there. I do still think about him.” She turned again. ”Do ‘ee know the West Indies, m’lady?”

Nancy said with unusual severity, ”Don’t ask so many questions, my girl.”

But Catherine said gently, ”Yes, I know them. Where I found my love again, after losing him.” She felt the girl’s shoulder tremble slightly beneath her hand. As I once was.

”They do say that you travelled all over the world, m’lady.”

Catherine patted her shoulder and smiled at her. That story grows in the telling!”

Nancy watched, quietly satisfied. Melwyn was not like most of the local girls who served the big houses and estates. She was a dainty worker; her fingers could skim over a piece of silk or linen as if enchanted, and she was sometimes withdrawn, and a bit of a dreamer. Like her remarks about her dead father: a sergeant in the Eighty-Seventh Foot, true enough. But a foul-mouthed braggart until the army had recruited him. probably while he was drunk. Perhaps it was safer to be a dreamer.

Catherine said, ”If you want it, Melwyn, I would be happy to employ you.”

The girl smiled, beautifully. ”Oh my dear life! Wait till they hear about this,”

Catherine looked away. Her voice was reminiscent of Zenoria, although she was completely different in every other way.

The door opened slightly; Grace, she thought, to tempt her with her little cakes.

But it was Bryan. She kept her hand on the girl’s shoulder, feeling the sudden chill in her body in spite of the room’s heavy warmth.

”What is it?”

”A letter, m’lady. I told the post boy to wait, in case.. ..”

He looked round, relieved as his wife entered and took the letter from his hand.

Nancy spoke, saying that she would remain, but Catherine did not hear her. She picked up a knife and slit the envelope; her hand was quite steady, and yet she felt as if her whole body was shaking. The girl made to move away but Catherine said, ”No. Stay with me.” She dashed her hand across her face, angry with the sudden tears. The writing was blurred, unfamiliar. She persisted, turning it to the light, hardly daring to draw breath.

Then she said, ”Bryan, have you heard of a ship named the SaladinT

Bryan watched her, seeing the strength and determination, and something more.

”Aye, m’lady. She’s a big Indiaman, fine-looking vessel. Put into Falmouth once John Allday an’ me went down to see her.”

”The Saladin sails from Plymouth next week.” They were all waiting, listening, but she was speaking to him. To Richard. ”She sails for Naples, but will stop at Malta.. . Will you come with me, Melwyn?”

Nancy exclaimed, ”Malta? How is it possible?” She was near tears, and also proud that she was still a part of it, of them.

”It has been arranged. By a friend.” She stared around the room, seeing it come to life again. The loneliness, which she had been forced to share with the memory of that night when she had known raw terror, would now be gone.

A friend. She could almost sense Sillitoe’s amusement.