He had added, 'She is not here.'
Antigua was a small island. If she had wanted to see him she could. Unless Somervell had grown tired of the game and had prevented it. Either way it did not matter now. It was over.
There was a tap at the door and Lieutenant Lovering, who was the of ficer-of-the-watch, took a pace into the cabin and reported, 'I beg your forgiveness for this intrusion, Sir Richard,' his eyes flickered between Bolitho and Haven, 'but a courier-brig has been reported running for harbour.'
Bolitho lowered his eyes. Maybe from England. Letters from home. News of the war. Their lifeline. He thought of Adam, in command of his own brig, probably still carrying despatches for Nelson. Another world away from the heat and fever of the Indies.
Haven leaned forward. 'If there is any mail -' He recovered himself, and Bolitho recalled what Allday had said about his wife expecting a baby.
Bolitho signed more letters. Recommendations for promotion, for bravery, for transfers to other ships. Letters to the bereaved.
The lieutenant hesitated. 'Will you have any letters for the shore, Sir Richard?'
Bolitho looked at him. Lovering was the second lieutenant. Waiting for promotion, the chance to prove himself. If Parris fell…He shut the idea from his mind.'I think not.'It came out easily. Was it that simple to end something which had been so dear?
Haven waited until the lieutenant had withdrawn. 'First light then, Sir Richard.'
'Yes. Call the hands as you will, and signal your intentions to Obdurate and the Commissioner of the Dockyard.'
When Hyperion returned to Antigua the Indiaman would have gone. Would they ever meet again, even by accident?
'It will take all day to work out of harbour and muster our charges into a semblance of order. This wind will decide then whether to be an ally or a foe.'
If the treasure-ships and their escort were contained in the shelter of English Harbour for much longer, the Spaniards and perhaps their French allies might even try to counter-attack before the new squadron arrived.
Left alone in the cabin Bolitho drank some more hock, but although his stomach was empty he was unable to face Ozzard's meal. With the old ship swaying and groaning around him, and the duty watch being mustered every few minutes, or so it appeared, to secure and lash down some loose gear, it was impossible to rest.
The hock was good, and Bolitho found time to wonder how Ozzard managed to keep it so cool even in the bilges.
He toyed with the idea of sending a note to Catherine and dismissed it immediately. In the wrong hands it could ruin her.
What it might do to his own career did not seem to matter any longer.
He heard the clank of pumps and remembered what he had been told about Hyperion's age and service. It was like an additional taunt.
He lolled in his favourite chair but was awakened, it seemed within seconds, by Ozzard shaking his arm.
Bolitho stared at him. The ship was still in darkness, the din and movement as before.
'The first lieutenant wishes to see you, Sir Richard.'
Bolitho was wide awake. Why not the captain?
Parris entered, soaked with spray. He looked flushed despite his tan, but Bolitho knew he had not been drinking.
'What is it?'
Parris steadied himself against a chair as the deck swayed again. 'I thought you should know, Sir Richard. The guardboat reported earlier that a schooner left harbour. One of the commodore's own vessels, it seems.'
'Well?' Bolitho knew there was worse to come.
'Lady Somervell was on board.' He recoiled slightly under Bolitho's grey stare. 'I discovered that she intends to sail round to St John's.'
Bolitho stood up and listened to the wind. It was a gale now, and he heard the water surging against the hull like a flood tide.
'In this, man!' He groped round for his coat. 'Viscount Somervell must be informed.'
Parris watched dully. 'He knows. I told him myself.'
Haven appeared in the screen door, his sleeping attire covered by a boat-cloak. 'What's this I hear?' He glared at Parris. 'I shall speak to you later!'
Bolitho sat down. How could Somervell let her do it? He must have known when he had said it was impossible for her to make her farewell. A small schooner could founder if wrongly handled. He tried to remember who commanded Glassport's vessels.
Even in calm weather it was dangerous to make casual passages amongst the islands. Pirates were too commonplace to mention. For every one rotting in chains, or on the gallows, there were a hundred more in these waters.
He said, 'I can do nothing until daylight.'
Haven regarded him calmly. 'If you ask me -'
He fell silent then added, 'I must attend the watch on deck, Sir
Richard.' Bolitho sat down very slowly. I did this to her. He did not
know if he had spoken aloud or not, but the words seemed to
echo around the cabin like a shot.
He called to Ozzard, 'Rouse my flag lieutenant, if you please.' He would send him ashore with a message for Somervell, in
bed or not.
He stood up restlessly and walked to an unshuttered window. If I go myself one of us will surely die.
9. A Sloop Of War
Bolitho strode out on to the quarterdeck and felt the wind lift under his boat-cloak, and the spray which burst over the weather quarter like tropical rain.
He held on to the nettings and slitted his eyes against the gale. It was strong but clammy, so that it did nothing to refresh his tired limbs. Two days since they had clawed their way out of English Harbour to assemble their small but priceless convoy. In that time they had barely logged fifty miles.
By night they rode out the storm under a reefed maintopsail and little else, while the four transports and the smaller vessels lay hove-to as best they could under savage conditions.
Secrecy was now of secondary importance and Hyperion burned flares and her vice-admiral's top-lights to try and hold the ships together. Then as each dawn found them it had taken a full day to reassemble the badly scattered ships and to begin the formation all over again. Everything was wet, and as the men toiled aloft to fight the wind-crazed sails or stumbled to replace their companions on the bilge-pumps, many must have wondered what was keeping them afloat.
Bolitho stared abeam and saw the faint sheen of the sloop-of-war's topgallants. Phaedra was standing up to windward, heeling every so often as the waves lifted her slender hull like a toy. The brig Upholder was invisible, far ahead in the van, and the other brig Tetrarch was an equal distance astern.
Bolitho climbed up a few steps on a poop ladder and felt the cloak stream away from him, his shirt already soaked with spray and spindrift. There was Obdurate, half-a-mile astern, her black and buff bows shining like glass as the waves burst into her. It felt strange to have another third-rate in company again, although he doubted if Thynne was thanking him for it. After a long stay in harbour, repairing the last storm battering she had suffered, it was likely that Obdurate's people were cursing their change of roles.
Bolitho climbed down to the deck again. There were four seamen at the big wheel, and nearby Penhaligon the master was in deep conversation with one of his mates.
The wind had backed decisively to the south-west and they had been blown many miles off their original course. But if the sailing master was troubled he did not show it.
All around, above and along the maindeck, men were working to repair any storm damage. Lines to be replaced or spliced, sails to be sent down, to be patched or discarded.
Bolitho glanced at the nearest gangway where a boatswain's mate was supervising the unrigging of a grating.