Sword of Honour

2

More Than a Duty

Captain James Tyacke sat by the small table in his room and half listened to the muffled murmur of voices from the parlour below his feet. The Cross Keys was a small but comfortable inn on the road which headed north from Plymouth to Tavistock. Few coaches paused here because of the narrowness of the track, and he had sometimes wondered how the inn managed to make a living, unless perhaps it had some connection with the smuggling trade. It suited him very well, however, away from the stares and the swiftly averted glances. The pity, the curiosity, the revulsion.

It was hard, even unnerving, to accept that he had last stayed here all of three years ago. It had been run at the time by a pleasant woman named Meg, who had spoken to him often, and had looked at him directly, without flinching. Three years ago; and when he had left the inn on that last occasion, he had known they would not meet again.

The new landlord was welcoming enough, a little ferret of a man with quick, darting movements, and he had done his best to ensure that Tyacke was not disturbed.

Three years. It was a lifetime. He had been about to take command of Indomitable, Sir Richard Bolitho’s flagship, before they had made sail for American waters. So many miles, so many faces, some already lost from memory. And now that same Indomitable lay at Plymouth, paid off, an empty ship, waiting for a new future, or with no future at all.

He glanced at the big brass-bound sea chest by the bed. They had travelled a long, long way together. His whole world was contained in it.

He thought of the past weeks, spent mostly aboard his ship attending to the thousand and one details of paying off, and worse, the rough farewells and handshakes from men he had come to know, men whose confidence and loyalty he had won by his own example.

And Sir Richard Bolitho; that had been the most difficult parting of all. As admiral and flag captain they had discovered a mutual trust, and an admiration which might never be truly understood by an outsider.

And now Napoleon was beaten; the war with the old enemy was over. Perhaps he should have felt elation, or relief. But as Tyacke had watched the fleet schooner Pickle standing out to sea, taking Bolitho and Allday on to Falmouth, all he had been conscious of was a sense of sorrow and loss.

The port admiral was a friend of Bolitho’s, and had been both cordial and helpful to his flag captain. He had no doubt thought Tyacke’s request to be transferred once more to the anti-slavery patrols off the coast of West Africa, exchanging the comparative comfort of a larger ship, or some well-earned extended leave ashore for cramped quarters and the risks of fever and death, bizarre. Bolitho’s written support had added a great deal of weight. But, as the admiral had explained, the transfer might not be possible for another year or more.

He remembered Indomitable as he had last seen her. Yards sent down, her usually immaculate decks littered with unwanted cordage and spars, her powerful cannon, which had roared defiance at the American Retribution, silent and disarmed. Now she was no longer needed, like the men who had served her so long and so well, men who had been pressed into the navy, for the most part. His mouth softened into a smile. But then, so had Allday been a pressed man. And the wounded, what of them? Cast ashore to try and find their places in a world which had all but forgotten them, to fend for themselves as best they could, to beg on the streets when all most people wanted now was to forget the war.

And Sir Richard Bolitho, the hero and the man. One who could inspire others when all hope seemed lost, and who could not conceal his compassion, or his grief for those who had fallen.

Again he gave the small smile. Bolitho had given him back his own hope, his pride, when he had believed them gone for ever. He touched the side of his face. Scored away by fire, rendered inhuman during the great battle when Nelson had led his ships to the Nile. How the eye had survived was a miracle. He had been so lucky, some said. What did they know? All the years since he had been smashed down by a French broadside, when men had been killed and maimed on every side and even the captain of his ship, Majestic, had died in that bloody embrace, the disfigurement had haunted him. The stares, the way his young midshipmen had dropped their eyes, glanced away, anything but look at him. The devil with half a face, the slave-traders had called him. And now he was asking to go back to that lonely world of solitary patrols, pitting his wits against the traders, until the sighting and chase; the stinking vessels with their holds packed with chained slaves living in their filth, knowing they would be killed at the slightest provocation, their bodies pitched to the sharks. Slavers and sharks were rarely far apart.

No, they would not let Bolitho leave the navy. To many people who served in the fleet, he was the navy. Between them, Bolitho and his mistress had defied convention and the censure of society. Tyacke touched his face again. He remembered her climbing up Indomitable’s tumble home at Falmouth, disdaining a boatswain’s chair, and arriving on deck with tar on her stockings, raising the loudest cheers from the ship’s company because of it. The sailor’s woman who had come aboard to wish them well: men about to be carried to the other side of the world, torn from wives and families by the relentless press gangs, or felons freed by the local judges provided they were put aboard a King’s ship.

And she had done it because she cared for them. She had even disdained formality that day in Falmouth, and had kissed him on the cheek in greeting. You are so welcome here. He could still hear the words. And then she had looked along the crowded deck at the watching crowds of seamen and marines and had said, They will not let you down. Nor had they.

Perhaps she had been the only one who had truly understood the torment he had suffered when he had agreed to be Bolitho’s flag captain. He might be envied, feared, respected, even hated, but a captain, especially one who commanded a flagship, must be beyond self-doubt and uncertainty. Few could have guessed that those were the emotions he had felt when he had first stepped aboard to read himself in at Plymouth.

His own words then came back to him now, as if he had spoken aloud. I would serve no other.

He glanced around the room. He would have to leave it soon, if only to let them clean it. And suppose the appointment to the anti-slavery squadron was delayed even beyond the port admiral’s estimate of a year? What then? Would it always be like this, hiding in rooms, walking out only at night, avoiding every kind of human contact?

He touched the dress coat which hung over a chair, and bore the twin gold epaulettes of a post-captain; a far, far cry from his previous command, the little brig Larne.

His mind explored the years since the Nile, and his slow recovery from his wounds. Fifteen years had passed since hell had burst into Majestic’s lower gundeck and turned it into an inferno. He had been in Haslar Hospital at Portsmouth for what little treatment could be offered, and Marion had eventually dared to come and see him. She had been young then, and pretty, and he had hoped and expected to marry her.

It had been an ordeal for her, like all the others who had ventured to Haslar in search of friends or relatives. Officers wounded in a dozen or more sea- fights, their faces so hopeful and so pitiful each time another visitor arrived. The burned, the maimed, the limbless and the blind, the living price of every victory, although few ever saw it.

After that, she had married another, an older man who had given her a pleasant house by Portsdown Hill, not far from that same hospital. There had been two children of the marriage, a boy and a girl.

Eventually her husband had died. Tyacke had received a letter from her while Indomitable had been at Halifax, the first news he had had of her for those fifteen years. It had been a letter written with great care, offering no excuses, no compromise, very mature, so different from the young girl he had once loved.

He had written a reply to her, and had locked it in the strongbox before the last battle with Retribution; she would only have received it if he had died that day. Afterwards, he had torn it into pieces and had watched them drift away beneath his ship’s shot-pitted side. When he had needed her,

and had sometimes found himself praying for death, she had turned away from him. He had told himself often enough that it was understandable. But she had not returned. So why had her letter disturbed him so much? The years had been another man’s reward, and, like the two unknown children, were a part of something he could never share.

There was a quiet tap at the door, and after a moment it opened a few inches.

Tyacke said, ”It’s all right. Jenny, I am just going out for a walk. You can see to the room.”

She gazed at him gravely. ”Not that, zur. There’s a letter come for you.”

She held it out and watched him carry it to the window. She was a local girl and had six sisters, and at the inn she often saw the uniforms of army or navy, so that she did not feel so cut off from Plymouth, that bustling seaport which her sisters were always quick to compare with this place.

But she had never met anyone like this man before. He spoke only when it was necessary, although everybody knew all about him. A hero: Sir Richard Bolitho’s friend and his right arm, they said. They said a lot more too, probably, when she was not within earshot.

She studied him now, his head lowered while he held the letter to the light of the window; he always turned his terrible injury away from her. He had a strong face, handsome too, and he was courteous, not like some of the gentry who called in for a glass. Her mother had warned her often enough about the dangers, about other girls who got themselves into trouble, especially with the garrison near Tavistock.

She felt herself flushing. All the same .... Tyacke was unaware of the scrutiny. The note was from the port admiral. To present himself at his earliest convenience. Even addressed to a post-captain, that meant immediately. ,

”I’ll need the carter, Jenny. I have to go to Plymouth.” I

She smiled at him. ”Right away, zur!”

Tyacke picked up his coat and brushed the sleeve with his fingers. The walk would have to wait.

He stared around the room, the revelation hitting him like a fist. It was what he wanted. It was the only life he knew.

The carriage slowed, and Bolitho saw groups of idlers and passers-by shading their eyes against the evening sun to peer in at the occupants. Some even waved their hats, although they could not possibly have recognised him, he thought.

He felt her hand on his sleeve. ”It’s their way of showing their feelings.” She raised the hand to the nearest crowd and a man shouted, ”It’s Sir Richard an’ his lady, lads! Equality Dick!” There were cheers, and she murmured, ”You see? You have many friends there.”

The house on the river was ablaze with lights, the chandeliers burning even more brightly than this late sunshine.

How Sillitoe must hate it, Bolitho thought. Wasteful but necessary. Necessary was the word for it. His world.

Catherine said, ”I hear there are receptions all over London tonight to celebrate the victory.” She watched his profile, and wanted to put her arms around him, and let the crowds think what they liked.

He said restlessly, ”I wish it was young Matthew up there on the box, and we were heading down to Falmouth.” He looked at her and smiled. ”I am poor company for one so lovely. Kate.” Strangely, the realisation seemed to give him strength. She was wearing a new gown in her favourite green shot silk, high- wasted, her shoulders bared, the diamond pendant resting between her breasts. Beautiful, poised, and outwardly very calm, and yet the same woman who had given herself to him with such passion, again and again until they were exhausted, in the house on the Walk at Chelsea. around the next great sweeping bend of this river.

She said, ”At least it will not be like that terrible feast at Carlton House. I have never eaten so much in my life!” She watched his mouth lift, the way he smiled when they spoke of such things together.

She peered out at the other carriages turning in Sillitoe’s drive, the crowds of footmen and grooms. Sillitoe must have gone to a great deal of expense.

There were women too, but not many wives, she decided. She never forgot that Sillitoe had helped her when there had been no one else. He had made no secret of his feelings for her after that. Like the man, it had been a statement of fact, cool and deliberate, not something open to doubt.

She glanced down at her gown. Daring perhaps, as some would expect of her. She lifted her chin and felt the pendant shift against her skin: Bolitho’s woman, for the whole world to see.

And then they were there; the door was opened, and Bolitho stepped down to assist her from the carriage.

Servants bowed and curtsied, while here and there Sillitoe’s own men, hard and watchful, reminded Catherine of that last visit to Whitechapel. Some of Sillitoe’s men had accompanied them then; there was always an air of mystery and danger where Sillitoe was concerned.

Bolitho handed his hat to another servant, but she retained the silk shawl, which she wore across her bare shoulders. There were no announcements, no footmen to scrutinise invitations, only waves of noisy conversation, and, from somewhere nearby, music. It was neither joyful nor martial, merely an unobtrusive background for people who quite obviously knew one another, either by sight or reputation.

”You look well, Sir Richard!” Sillitoe appeared from behind a pillar, his hooded eyes everywhere. Then he took Catherine’s hand and held it to his lips. ”As always, my lady, I never find words for such beauty.”

She smiled, and saw several of the other women turning to stare. Sillitoe gestured impatiently as a footman appeared with a laden tray.

Then he said, ”Rhodes is here. I thought you should meet him, in view of the immediate future.”

Bolitho turned towards her. ”Admiral the Right Honourable Lord Rhodes is Acting Controller at the Admiralty, but he is also said to be the most likely contender for the role of First Lord.” He watched her, reading her eyes. She mistrusted the mention of senior officers she did not know, in case they meant him harm in some way.

Sillitoe said, ”I have put him in another room. I think it might be wise to see him.”

She said, ”I shall wait on the terrace, Richard.”

But Sillitoe interjected, This is my house and you are my guests. I see no reason to separate you.” He touched her hand lightly. To divide the legend?”

His small secretary was hovering close by, and Sillitoe said, ”I shall come and disturb you shortly.”

One of Sillitoe’s men led the way to the library, and then into a smaller ante-room adjoining it. There was a chair by the fireplace. Catherine recognised it. As if it had never been moved since she had sat there that day, when she had come for Sillitoe’s help. When he had brushed past her, and she had felt him fighting the desire to touch her, to lay his hand on her shoulder. But he had not.

Admiral Lord James Rhodes was a tall, solidly built man who had once been handsome. His face was dominated by a strong, beaked nose, while his eyes were surprisingly small, almost incidental by comparison. He glanced quickly at Catherine, but was careful to reveal nothing. A man used to hiding his feelings, if he had any, she thought.

Bolitho said, ”May I present the Viscountess Somervell, my lord?” He felt her look at him, sensed the anxiety, in case there would be some lurking insult or rebuff. But Rhodes gave a stiff bow and said, ”I’ve not had the honour before, my lady.” He did not take her hand and she did not offer it.

Catherine walked to a window to watch as yet another carriage clattered across the stones. She could feel the admiral staring at her, but found no pleasure in his uncertainty.

She thought suddenly and with longing of Falmouth. To be parted again was too brutal to consider.

She leaned closer to the window and observed the new arrivals. No admiral or politician this time, only a tall lieutenant, removing his hat as he gave his hand to the woman who stepped down beside him. Even in the fading light, she could see the grey in his dark hair, saw him laugh, and the way the fair woman looked at him. So this was George Avery’s lover, to whom he seemed to have lost his heart.

And yet, when he had brought Sillitoe’s invitation and had warned her of the prospect of Malta, he had said nothing about staying behind when Richard was ordered to sail.

She heard Rhodes say, ”I’m giving you Frobisher, d’you know her?”

And Richard’s reply, his mind already grappling with his new task.

”Yes, my lord. Seventy-four Captain Jefferson, as I recall.”

Rhodes sounded relieved, she thought. ”No more, I fear. Slipped his cable two years back. Buried at sea, poor fellow.”

Bolitho said quietly, ”A French prize. She was named Glorieux.”

”Does that trouble you, Sir Richard? If so .. ..”

”A ship is as good as you use her.”

Rhodes grunted. ”New, too, compared with some of your recent vessels. Eight years old.”

She heard him pick up a goblet and drink noisily. Yes, he was relieved. She turned from the window and said, ”And when will this be required, my lord?”

He regarded her warily. ”Weeks rather than months, my lady. But you need not concern yourself with such matters. I have always found ..”

”Have you, my lord? I am glad to know it. Out there, people are celebrating a victory, the cost of which is still to be calculated, and I am concerned for this man and for myself. Is that so strange?”

Bolitho said, ”I have not yet decided.”

Rhodes looked around as though trapped. ”You were chosen because of your reputation, because of the honour you have won for your country.” He regarded Catherine grimly. ”It should be plain to see why this is of paramount importance.”

The door opened softly, and Sillitoe entered without speaking.

She said quietly, ”All I see is two islands and two men. A tyrant who has fought and murdered his way through Europe on one, and an admiral of England, a true hero, on the other. That is no comfort at all!” She touched her eyes with her glove, and when she looked again, Rhodes had departed.

Sillitoe said, ”I do regret this. Rhodes is a good controller, but he has no tact. If you decide against hoisting your flag in the Mediterranean, Richard, it will be his head on the block, not yours. And he knows it.” He glared at his secretary again, and then said, ”Join me presently. There are some people you should meet.” He gave a wry smile. ”Including my nephew’s guest.”

The door closed and they were alone; only the strains of music and the muffled murmur of voices reminded them where they were.

She lowered her face. ”I am so sorry, Richard. I spoke like an angry, embittered wife. I had no right.”

He raised her chin and studied her. ”If you were my wife in the eyes of the church, I could not love you more. You had every right. You are my life.”

Then let them see it.” She tossed the shawl from her shoulders and touched the pendant, and looked at him again.

”And tomorrow we shall leave London.”

Lieutenant George Avery stared around at the crowd and began to doubt the wisdom of having accepted his uncle’s invitation. Important people all, well known to those who shared this unfamiliar world, politicians, senior officers of both army and navy, and a few diplomats adorned with honours he did not recognise. It was the utter transformation of his uncle’s house which was the most astonishing thing. The silent austerity had been replaced by music, noise and laughter, and liveried servants pushing through the throng this way and that to satisfy the guests and refill the goblets.

He glanced down at his companion. ”Perhaps we should have made our excuses, Susanna.”

She smiled, observing him thoughtfully, like one discovering or seeking some new and unknown quality in him.

”I recognise some of the faces here. I have seen them on other occasions. I suspect that this is where all the real decisions are made, like the turn of a card.”

Avery felt vaguely jealous, without understanding why. She was used to such affairs, like the one at her own London house, where she had invited him to stay. To be her lover.

He had seen heads turn to look and compare. The beauty and the lowly lieutenant. The most junior sea officer Avery had seen so far had been a post- captain. They walked through the throng, and he saw her acknowledge one or two people. Most of the women she ignored.

When he mentioned them, she replied softly, ”Like the extra footmen, they are paid for their services!” She had gripped his arm and almost laughed at his embarrassment. ”Lord, Mister Avery, you still have much to learn!”

She released his arm now, and said, That is Lady Somervell, is it not? It must be.”

Avery saw Catherine and Bolitho by a low balustrade, and said, ”Would you care to meet them?”

But Sillitoe stepped between them, and held out his hand. ”Lady Mildmay, what a pleasure. I had been so looking forward to making your acquaintance. I hope everything is to your satisfaction? A great pity you are to be separated from my nephew so soon, but then, I shall never attempt to understand the navy!”

She looked at Avery. ”Separated? I thought.... I understood that you would be remaining in England until some suitable appointment could be found.”

Avery said, ”I am Sir Richard’s flag lieutenant, Susanna. It is more than a duty, or an excuse. It is what I must do.”

Sillitoe shrugged. ”Believe me, I offered him an alternative, Lady Mildmay. I do, of course, admire loyalty but.. ..” He broke off as one of his footmen signalled to him. ”We will speak later.”

Avery said, ”I was going to tell you. I have been happier with you than I could have believed possible. I love you, I always have.”

”But you’d leave me, because of duty?”

She turned, startled, as Catherine said, ”I think we should meet.”

She offered her hand.

”I do know what you are thinking. I try to accept it, but I shall never do so without pain.” She glanced around the room, seeing the quick glances, the knowing smiles, recognising them. Sir Wilfred Lafargue, one of London’s leading lawyers and a friend of Sillitoe’s, who had helped with her unexpected inheritance from her dead husband. And a red-faced city merchant to whom she had been introduced, probably at some similar reception. Men of influence, and authority. Not the kind who fought and died in battle, at sea with Richard’s ships, or those who stood shoulder to shoulder in the line. And those like Lord Rhodes, solid, reliable and unimaginative, who planned their battles behind the desks of Admiralty.

She said, ”You must ask yourself, my dear, do I love this man enough? Enough to wait?”

A man she knew to be Sillitoe’s uncomplaining secretary peered up at her. ”My lady, I am asked to escort you to the terrace.” He blinked rapidly as a clock began to chime. The music had stopped, she noticed.

Bolitho said, ”I shall find your shawl. It will be cool outside.”

She smiled and touched his face. ”No matter. I want people to see us like this, as we are.”

There were lights on the terrace, but the river beyond the wall was in darkness, like black glass.

Bolitho looked over the water, his ear picking up the heavy stroke of oars. A barge of some kind, moving steadily against the current with little regard for the oarsmen.

Sillitoe turned to greet them. ”Now you will understand why I did not invite the prime minister. The Prince Regent cannot abide the fellow!” It seemed to amuse him.

Sillitoe glanced up at a cluster of lanterns, and took Catherine’s arm.

”Here, if you please. Trust me.” She could feel the intensity, the tenacity which he did not try to conceal.

She stood quite still in the light, oblivious to the others chosen by Sillitoe to be present at this moment, feeling the cool breeze playing over her bare shoulders. She knew Richard was close by, but for just these fleeting moments, she was alone.

The oars were tossed and the barge came alongside the jetty, men leaping out to make fast the mooring lines, others to lay a scarlet carpet on the pale stones.

The Prince would pass her without a glance; he would not even remember her. He knew many women, and had an appetite to match.

She almost held her breath, and thought suddenly of Sillitoe’s enigmatic words. Trust me. When she looked again, she saw the Prince striding towards her. exactly as she remembered him from the evening at Carlton House.

He was elegantly dressed in the very latest fashion, but even in the flickering lights it could not disguise completely the physical price he was paying for his excesses. His hair was swept forward in a style followed by many of the younger bloods, and no one could doubt his energy or the quickness of his mind.

She realised that no one was speaking, that the Prince had stopped, facing her, his eyes moving over her face and throat, and to the glittering diamond pendant shaped like an open fan. It was like being stripped naked, like an insistent caress.

He said, ”Lady Somervell! Had I known you were to be here, I would have ridden with all haste on the finest charger in the Royal Mews!” He took her hand and held it. ”Indeed, I have thought of you often. The lady who is always too busy to become bored, I think you said when last we met?” He kissed her hand, taking his time. ”You are very beautiful.” He released her hand and looked at the others. ”Ah, Lord Rhodes. I trust you have affairs in order for me?” He did not wait for or expect an answer. ”There you are, Sillitoe, you rascal.” They shook hands. More like conspirators than friends, thought Catherine. ‘

The Prince saw Bolitho and greeted him warmly. ”My admiral of England.” Catherine knew that was for her. What she had said on that same occasion at Carlton House. So long ago. Before Indomitable; before she had forced herself to write and tell Richard of Zenoria’s terrible death. Tell Adam.. .. Like yesterday.

He continued, ”I have studied all your reports on the ; American war. I agree that the sooner it is settled the better for all concerned.” He turned and looked at Catherine. ”And what of Malta. Sir Richard? It is important for our security. And it is important to me. I must know, so what say you?” He reached out and took Catherine’s arm. ”Shall you do it?” ‘

Catherine could sense Richard’s anguish, something like physical pain, just as she was very aware of the others standing nearby. How would they see it, even if they understood? Arrogance, or a display of temperament, when it was neither.

Sillitoe stepped into the circle of light. ”A moment, I pray ; you, sir.” He held out a piece of paper. ”This was just delivered to me by Admiralty messenger.”

Rhodes muttered angrily, ”First I knew of it!”

Sillitoe ignored him. ”May I, sir?”

The Prince smiled, when seconds earlier he had been angered by the interruption. ”This is your house, damn you.”

Sillitoe looked at Catherine but spoke to Bolitho. ”A despatch from the port admiral at Plymouth, Sir Richard. Captain James Tyacke has withdrawn his request for transfer to the West African squadron and has placed himself at your disposal for his duties as flag captain.”

Catherine slipped away from the Prince’s grasp, and went to him.

”They have spoken for you, Richard. The need is theirs, too.”

The Prince Regent pursed his lips in a little smile. Thank you, Lady Catherine. Thank you. I know I have been a witness to something, although I know not what. I am not ungrateful.

Something might be arranged to enable you to visit Malta.” He nodded to himself, as she had seen him do before. ”Yes, it shall be done.” He seemed to relax. ”Now, there was talk of a special claret, Sillitoe. Lead on!” But his eyes lingered on Catherine, and her hand on Bolitho’s arm. Desire certainly, but there was also envy.

Later, much later, when they were leaving Sillitoe’s house, there were still several carriages waiting in the drive. The Prince Regent had disappeared in his barge as quietly as he had arrived.

Bolitho looked up at the stars, and thought, again with disquiet, of Catherine and the Prince.

She said, ”I left my shawl behind!”

”I shall fetch it.”

He was surprised at the strength of her grip. Wo. Let us go to Chelsea. Be together. Lie together. It is all I want.”

Bolitho turned quickly. ”Who is that?”

It was A very.

”Still here, George? What is it?” Although he thought he knew. Like Tyacke. The Happy Few.

”I wondered if I could ride with you to Chelsea, Sir Richard.”

Catherine stepped between them, her shoulders pale in the reflected lights.

”Did she leave without you, George?” She saw him nod. She slipped her arms through theirs, linking them; she was almost as tall as they.

”Then ride with us. And tomorrow, you will come to Falmouth with us.”

He smiled, the sadness held at bay. ”Willingly, my lady.”

From his study window Sillitoe watched the carriage move out on to the road. He frowned. There were still too many overstaying their welcome.

He would do something about that.

He picked up the thin silk shawl, which she had left in the ante-room by the library. He could smell her. Like jasmine.

Then he kissed it and folded it inside his coat and strode out to do what he must.