"Dead?" Bolitho pulled his hands free and walked to the rail. Around him the dismissed marines walked chatting to their mess, and high above the deck a seaman was whistling while he worked on the mainyard. Through a mist he saw Allday watching him from the top of the quarterdeck ladder, his shape shortened against the clear sky and his face in shadow. It was not happening. In a moment he would awake, and it would be all as before.
Herrick called, "Allday, see to your captain!"
And as Inch came aft, his face startled and curious, he rapped, "I must have audience with the commodore, wounded or not!" He held up his arm as Inch tried to reach Bolitho's side. "At once, Mr. Inch!"
Allday walked slowly beside Bolitho until they reached the chartroom, then as Bolitho sank into a chair by the bulkhead he asked quietly, "What is it, Captain?"
"My wife, Allday! Cheney… "
But the mention of her name was too much. He fell forward across the chart table and buried his face in his arms, unable to control the agony of his despair.
Allday stood stockstill, stunned by his grief and by his own inability to deal with it.
"Just you rest here, Captain." The words seemed to flood from him. "I'll fetch a drink." He moved to the door, his eyes on Bolitho's shoulders. "We'll-be-all right, Captain, just you see.." Then he ran from the chartroom, his mind empty of everything but the need to help.
Alone once more Bolitho prised himself from the table and leaned back against the bulkhead. Then, very carefully, he opened the front of his shirt and took out the locket, and held it in the palm of his hand.
16. A PERSONAL THING
Allday walked slowly into the stem cabin and stood the big coffee pot carefully on the table. The early morning sunlight threw a bright pattern of shimmering reflections across the beamed deckhead, and for a moment longer he was unable to see Bolitho.
"What do you want?"
He turned and saw Bolitho lying on the bench seat below one of the open windows, his back propped against the heavy frame so that his face was thrown into silhouette by the glittering water beyond. His shirt was crumpled and open to the waist, and his black hair was plastered across his forehead as he stared listlessly towards the distant hills.
Allday bit his lip. It was obvious that he had not slept, and in the clear light he could see the shadows around his eyes, the absolute despair on his tanned features.
He replied, "Brought you some coffee, Captain. I've told Petch to arrange your breakfast just as soon as you're ready for it." He moved carefully around the table. "You should have turned in. You've not slept since…"
"Just leave me alone." There was neither anger nor _ impatience in his tone. "If you must do something, then fetch some brandy."
Allday darted a quick glance at the desk. Beside a crumpled letter was one empty glass. Of the decanter there was no sign at all. "It's not wise, Captain." He faltered as Bolitho turned his head towards him. "Let me get some food now."
Bolitho did not appear to hear him.
"Do you remember what she said when we left Plymouth, Allday? She told us to take care." He pressed his shoulders against the frame. "Yet while we were out here, she died." He brushed vaguely at the rebellious lock of hair above his eye and Allday saw the savage scar white against his skin like the mark of a branding iron. The gesture was so familiar, as was everything about him, that Allday felt strangely moved.
"She wouldn't have wanted you taking on, Captain." He took a few more steps. "When she was aboard the old Hyperion in the Mediterranean she had more courage than many of the men, and never once did I hear her complain when times got bad for us. She'd be distressed to see you all-aback now."
"Then there were those times at Plymouth when we were fitting out, Captain. They were good days." Allday rested his hands on the desk, his voice suddenly pleading. "You must try and think of those times, Captain. For her sake, as well as yours."
A marine rapped on the cabin door and Allday whirled round with a muffled oath. "Get out, damn you! I gave word that the captain was to be left alone!"
The marine's face was wooden. "Beg pardon, but I'm to inform the captain that there's a barge shovin' off from Impulsive."
Allday strode across the cabin and slammed the door. "I'll tell him!" Then he rubbed his hands on his thighs, his mind busy with what he must do.
A quick glance at the sealed door and the sleeping cabin told him that the commodore was still asleep. His lip curled angrily. Or drunk, more likely. Captain Herrick was coming aboard, and he was a friend. And as far as Allday could see it seemed as if Herrick was the only one who could help Bolitho now.
He set his jaw in a tight line. But not even Herrick would see Bolitho like this. Crumpled and unshaven, with his stomach more full of brandy than he was used to.
He said firmly, "I am going to shave you, Captain. While I'm getting the water from the galley you can be starting on this coffee." He hesitated before adding, "It was packed by her when we left Plymouth."
Then he hurried from the cabin before Bolitho could answer.
Bolitho lowered his feet to the deck and then thrust out a hand to steady himself as the nausea flooded through him. He felt dirty, and tired enough to collapse, but something in Allday's last words made him move across to the table.
He gritted his teeth as he poured some coffee into the cup. His hand was shaking so badly that it took two attempts, and he could feel the sweat running down his spine as if he had just emerged from a nightmare. But it was no nightmare, and it could not be broken, now or ever.
He thought of Allday's desperate attempts to rouse him from his anguish, of the glances thrown his way whenever he had shown himself on deck during the night. Some had been pitying and full of compassion, as if, like Allday, they shared his grief in some private fashion of their own. Others had watched him with curiosity and unveiled surprise. Did they imagine that because he was their captain he was beyond suffering and personal despair? That he was above such human feelings, just as he was beyond their world of common submission?
During the night he had moved restlessly about the upper deck, only half aware of what he was doing or the direction his feet had taken him. He had felt some small security from the night sky and the ship's high web of rigging above him, and while he had wandered aimlessly on her deserted decks he had sensed the ship all about him, as if she too was hushed by his torment and loss. It had been then he had returned to the empty cabin and had sat by the open window, drinking the neat brandy without tasting it, knowing of the letter on the desk, yet unable to find the courage to read it. Her last written word. So full of hope and confidence, not just for them, but for the future and for the men who shared his everyday life.
Allday padded into the cabin and laid his razor on the desk. "Ready, Captain?" He watched as Bolitho moved wearily to his chair. "Impulsive's captain'll be aboard shortly."
Bolitho, nodded and leaned back in the chair, the absolute tiredness rendering him helpless as Allday rubbed his face with soap.
Feet moved overhead and he heard the steady sluice of water as the daily routine of swabbing down commenced. Normally he would have listened, finding strange content in the familiar. noises, and would have pictured the men who called to each other, even though they were hidden from view. He felt the razor moving swiftly across his cheek and knew Allday was watching him. Now it was all changed. It was just as if the closed cabin door was not only cutting him off from the ship, but from the world and everything in it.
The razor halted in midair and he hard Inch call from the doorway, "Captain Herrick is come aboard, sir. The other captains will be arriving at eight bells."