Jenour made to leave but she waved his apology aside and said, 'It is well. I have my maid with me.'
Bolitho stepped closer but she did not move towards him. She was completely hidden by the cloak, with just the oval of her face and a gold chain at her throat to break the darkness.
She said, 'You are leaving very soon.' It was a statement. 'I came to wish you luck with whatever -' Her voice trailed away. Bolitho held out his hand, but she said quickly, 'No. It is unfair.' She spoke without emotion, so that her voice seemed full of it. 'You met my husband?'
'Yes.' Bolitho tried to see her eyes but they too were in deep shadow. 'But I want to speak about you, to hear what you have been doing.'
She lifted her chin. 'Since you left me?' She half turned away. 'My husband spoke to me of your private meeting. You impressed him. He does not admire others very often. The fact you knew of the frigate's new name…'
Bolitho persisted, 'I need to talk, Kate.' He saw her shiver.
She said quietly, 'I once asked you to call me that.'
'I know. I do not forget.' He shrugged and knew he was floundering, losing a battle he could not fight.
'Nor 1.1 read everything I could, as if I expected that with time I could lose what I had felt. Hatred was not enough…' She broke off. 'I was hurt -1 bled because of you.'
'I did not know.'
She did not hear him. 'Did you imagine that your life meant so little to me that I could watch years of it pass and not be hurt? Years I could never share… did you think I loved you so little?'
'I thought you turned aside, Kate.'
'Perhaps I did. There was nothing offered. More than anything I wanted you to succeed, to be recognised for what you are. Would you have had people sneer when I passed as they do at Nelson's whore' How would you have ridden that storm, tell me?'
Bolitho heard Jenour's shoes as he moved away, but no longer cared.
'Please give me the chance to explain -'
She shook her head. 'You married another and have a child, I believe.'
Bolitho dropped his hands to his sides. 'And what of you? You married him.'
'Him*' She showed one hand through the cloak but withdrew it again. 'Lacey needed me. I was able to help him. As I told you, I wanted security.'
They watched each other in silence and then she said, 'Take care in whatever madness you are involved. I shall probably not see you again.'
Bolitho said, 'I shall sail tomorrow. But then he doubtless told you that too.'
For the first time her voice rose in passion and anger.
'Don't you use that tone with me11 came tonight because of the love 1 believed in. Not out of grief or pity. If you think -'
He reached out and gripped her arm through the cloak.
'Do not leave in anger, Kate.' He expected her to tear her arm away and hurry back to the coach. But something in his tone seemed to hold her.
He persisted, 'When I think of never seeing you again I feel guilty, because I know I could not bear it.'
She said in a whisper, 'It was your choice.'
'Not entirely.'
'Would you tell your wife you had seen me? I understand she is quite a beauty. Could you do that?'
She stepped back slightly. 'Your silence is my answer.'
Bolitho said bitterly, 'It is not like that.'
She glanced round towards the carriage and Bolitho saw the cowl fall from her head, caught the gleam of the lamps on her earrings. The ones he had given her.
She said, 'Please leave.' When he made to hold her again she backed away. 'Tomorrow I shall see the ships stand away from the land.' She put her hand to her face. 'I will feel nothing, Richard, because my heart, such as it is, will sail with you. Now go!'
Then she turned and ran from the shed, her cloak swirling about her until she reached the carriage.
Jenour said huskily, 'I am indeed sorry, Sir Richard -'
Bolitho turned on him. 'It's time you grew up, Mr Jenour!'
Jenour hurried after him, his mind still in a whirl from what he had seen and unwillingly shared.
Bolitho paused by the jetty and looked back. The carriage lamps were still motionless, and he knew she was watching him even in the darkness.
He heard the barge moving towards the jetty and was suddenly thankful. The sea had claimed him back.
At noon on the third day at sea Bolitho went on deck and walked along the weather side. It was like the other days, as if nothing, not even the men on watch, had changed.
He shaded his eyes to glance up at the masthead pendant. The wind was steady, as before, across the starboard quarter, creating a long regular swell which stretched unbroken in either direction. He heard the helmsman call, 'Steady as she goes, sir! Sou' west by west1' Bolitho knew it was more for his benefit than the officer-of-the-watch.
He looked at the long swell, the easy way Hyperion raised her quarter and allowed it to break against her flank. A few men were working high above the deck, their bodies tanned or peeling according to their time at sea. It never stopped. Splicing and reeving new lines, tarrmg-down and refilling the boats with water on their tier to keep the seams from opening in the relentless glare.
Bolitho felt the officer-of-the-watch glancing at him and tried to remember what he could about him. In a fight, one man could win or lose it. He paced slowly past the packed hammock nettings. Vernon Quayle was Hyperion's fourth lieutenant, and unless he was checked or possibly killed he would be a tyrant if he ever reached post-rank He was twenty-two, of a naval family, with sulky good looks and a quick temper. There had been three men flogged in his division since leaving England. Haven should have a word with the first lieutenant. Maybe he had, although the captain and his senior never appeared to speak except on matters of routine and discipline.
Bolitho tried not to think of Hyperion as she had once been. If any man-of-war could be said to be a happy ship in days like these, then so she had been then.
He walked forward to the quarterdeck rail and looked along the upper deck, the market-place of any warship.
The sailmaker and his mates were rolling up repaired lengths of canvas, and putting away their palms and needles. There was a sickly smell of cooking from the galley funnel, though how they could eat boiled pork in this heat was hard to fathom.
Bolitho could taste Ozzard's strong coffee on his tongue, but the thought of eating made him swallow hard. He had barely eaten since leaving English Harbour. Anxiety, strain, or was it still the guilt of seeing Catherine again?
Lieutenant Quayle touched his hat. 'Upholder is on station, Sir Richard. The masthead makes a report every half-hour.' It sounded as if he was about to add, 'or I'll know the reason!'
Upholder was hull-down on the horizon and would be the first to signal that she had sighted Thor at the rendezvous. Or not. Bolitho had placed the brig in the van because of her young commander, William Trotter, a thoughtful Devonian who had impressed him during their first few meetings. It needed brains as well as good lookouts when so much depended on that first sighting.
Tetrarch was somewhere up to windward, ready to dash down if needed, and the third brig, Vesta, was far astern, her main role to ensure they were not being followed by some inquisitive stranger. So far they had seen nothing It was as if the sea had emptied, that some dreadful warning had cleared it like an arena.
Tomorrow they would be near enough to land for the masthead to recognise it.
Bolitho had spoken to Hyperion's sailing master, Isaac Penha-hgon. Haven was fortunate to have such an experienced master, he thought. So am I. Penhahgon was a Cormshman also, but in name only. He had been packed off to sea as a cabin-boy at the tender age of seven years, and had walked ashore very little since. He was now about sixty, with a deeply-lined face the colour of leather, and eyes so bright they seemed to belong to a younger person trapped within. He had served in a packet-ship, in East Indiamen, and eventually had, as he had put it, donned the King's coat as a master's mate. His skill and knowledge of the oceans and their moods would be hard to rival, Bolitho thought. An additional piece of luck was that he once sailed in these same waters, had fought off buccaneers and slavers, had done so much that nothing seemed to daunt him. Bolitho had watched him checking the noon sights, his eyes on the assembled midshipmen whose navigation and maritime knowledge lay in his hands, ready to make a rough comment if things went wrong. He was never sarcastic with the young gentlemen, but he was very severe, and they were obviously in awe of him.