10.Harbour
Two weeks after Phaedra's capture of the pirate brigantine and the release of the captives, Hyperion and Obdurate returned to Antigua.
The island was sighted at dawn, but as if to taunt their efforts, the wind all but died completely and it was nearly dusk before they edged their way into English Harbour and dropped anchor.
Bolitho had been on the quarterdeck for most of the afternoon, idly watching the hands trimming the sails while the island seemed to stand away at the same distance.
Any other time it would have been a proud moment. They had met with ships of Sir Peter Folliot's squadron, which even now would be escorting the treasure convoy all the remainder of the way to England.
The lookouts had eventually reported that there were three ships-of-the-line in harbour and Bolitho guessed they were the other vessels of his squadron, with each captain doubtless wondering about his immediate future under Bolitho's flag.
That too should have been like a tonic, after the strain of escorting the treasure and fighting a daily battle with the weather. Now, Bolitho was somehow grateful that it would not be until the next day that he could meet his new captains and while they studied him, he would measure the men who would be serving him.
When both the two-deckers finally dropped their anchors Bolitho had gone aft to his quarters where the great cabin was already transformed by several cheerful lanterns.
He walked to the stern windows and leaned out over the darkening water to watch a full-blooded sunset, but his mind was still hanging on to that moment when Catherine had been hoisted up the ship's side in the rough tarpaulin coat.
It did not seem possible that she had been here in this same cabin, alone with him.
Alone with him and yet still at a measured distance. He walked around the cabin and looked at his sleeping quarters, which he had given her during her brief stay on board. There should still be some sign of her presence. A breath of her perfume, a garment forgotten perhaps when she had been carried over to Admiral Folliot's flagship when the two formations of ships had found each other.
Bolitho crossed to the fine mahogany wine cabinet and ran his fingers along it. Made by one of the best craftsmen, it had been her gift to him after he had left her in London, where he had last seen her until Antigua. He smiled sadly as he remembered his old friend Thomas Herrick's disapproval when the cabinet had been brought aboard his Lysander, after he had been appointed Boli-tho's flag captain.
Herrick had always been a loyal friend, but had mistrusted anything and anyone he thought might damage Bolitho's name and career. Even young Adam had been involved because of the so-called liaison between them for that short, precious time. He had fought a duel with another hot-headed lieutenant at Gibraltar in defence of his uncle's reputation. It seemed as if everyone Bolitho cared for was hurt or damaged by the contact.
He turned and looked along the cabin, and saw the marine sentry's shadow through the screen door. She had stood here, quite still, only her breathing rapid and uncontrolled as she had stared around, the coat bunched to her throat as if she was cold.
Then she had noticed the cabinet, and for just a moment he had seen her mouth quiver.
He had said quietly, 'It goes everywhere with me.'
Then she had walked right up to him and had laid her hand on his face. When he had made to put his arms round her she had shaken her head with something like desperation.
'No! It is hard enough to be here like this. Do not make it worse. I just want to look at you. To tell you how much it means to be alive because of you. God, Fate, I know not which, once brought us together. And now I fear what it might do to us.'
He had seen the great rent in her gown and had asked, 'Can I not have it mended? Your maid, where is she?'
She had walked away but had kept her eyes on him. 'Maria is dead. They tried to rape her. When she fought them with her bare hands they killed her, cut her down like some helpless animal.' She added slowly, 'Your little ship came just in time. For me, that is. But I made sure that some of those filthy pigs never breathe the same air again.' She had looked at her hands, at the soiled fan which she still grasped in one of them. 'I wish to God I could be there when they make those vermin dance on their ropes!'
The screen door opened slightly and Jenour looked in at him.
'The Commodore's boat has been sighted, Sir Richard.' His eyes moved around the cabin. Maybe he could see her too.
'Very well.' Bolitho sat down and looked at the deck between his feet. Glassport was the last man he wanted to see just now.
He thought of that final moment when he had accompanied her across to Sir Peter Folliot's big three-decker.
The admiral was a slight, sickly man, but there was nothing wrong with his quick mind. Despite the poor communications he seemed to know all about the preparations for the raid on La Guaira, and the actual amount of booty down to the nearest gold coin.
'Quite an escapade, eh?' He had greeted Catherine with lavish courtesy, and had announced that he would place her in the care of one of his best frigate captains, who would make all speed to return her to her husband in Antigua.
Maybe he knew something about that as well, Bolitho thought.
He had watched the powerful forty-four gun frigate making sail to take her away from him for the last time, and had stayed on deck until only the topgallant sails showed above the evening horizon like pink shells.
The big Indiaman had gone from the harbour, and he had pictured Catherine with her husband drawing further and further away with each turn of the glass.
The door opened again and Captain Haven took a few paces into the cabin.
'I am about to greet the Commodore, Sir Richard. May I signal your captains to repair on board tomorrow forenoon?'
'Yes.' It was all so empty, so coldly formal. Like a great wall between them.
Bolitho tried again. 'I did hear your wife was expecting a child, Captain Haven.' He recalled how tense Haven had been since he had received his letters from the courier brig. Like a man in a trance; he had even allowed Parris to manage the ship's affairs for him.
Haven's eyes narrowed. 'From whom, Sir Richard, may I ask?'
Bolitho sighed. 'Does it matter?'
Haven looked away. 'A baby boy.'
Bolitho saw his fingers clench around his cocked hat. Haven was driving himself mad.
'I congratulate you. It must have been on your mind a great deal.'
Haven swallowed hard. 'Yes, er, thank you, Sir Richard -'
Mercifully, shouted orders floated from the quarterdeck and Haven almost fled from the cabin to meet Commodore Glassport as he came aboard.
Bolitho stood up as Ozzard entered with his dress coat. Was it really Parris's child, he wondered? How would they settle it?
He looked down at Ozzard. 'Did I thank you for taking good care of our guest while she was amongst us?'
Ozzard brushed a speck of dust from the coat. He had mended Catherine's torn gown. There seemed no end to his skills.
The little man gave a shy smile. 'You did, Sir Richard. It was a pleasure.' He reached into a drawer and pulled out the fan she had brought with her from the sinking schooner.
'She left this.' He flinched under Bolitho's stare. 'I -1 cleaned it up. There was some blood on it, y'see.'
''Left it?' Bolitho turned the fan over in his hands, remembering it, seeing her expression above it. He turned aside from a lantern as his eye misted over very slightly. He repeated, 'Left it?'
Ozzard watched him anxiously. 'All the rush. I expect she forgot.'
Bolitho gripped the fan tightly. No, she had not forgotten it.
Feet tramped towards the door and then Commodore Glassport, followed by the flag captain and Jenour, entered the cabin. Glassport's features were bright scarlet, as if he had been running uphill.