Bolitho had seemed preoccupied. 'I do not have the time to call all my captains aboard. I must pray that they know me well enough to respond when I so order.'
I do not have the time. It was uncanny. Bolitho seemed to accept it, as if a battle was inevitable.
Parris said, 'I wonder if we shall see Viscount Somervell again.'
Keen stared at him. 'Why should that concern you?' He softened his tone and added, 'I would think he is better off away from us.'
Parris nodded. 'Yes, I – I'm sorry I mentioned it, sir.' He saw the doubt in Keen's eyes. 'It is nothing to do with Sir Richard's involvement.'
Keen looked away. 'I should hope not.' He was angry at Parris's interest. More so with himself for his instant rush of protectiveness. Involvement. What everybody was probably calling it.
Keen walked to the weather side and tried to empty his mind. He took a telescope from the midshipman-of-the-watch and steadied it on the ships astern.
The three seventy-fours were somehow managing to hold their positions. The fourth, Merrye's Capricious, was almost invisible in spray and blown spume. She was far astern of the others, while work was continued to replace the main topgallant mast which had carried away in a sudden squall before they could shorten sail.
He smiled. A captain's responsibility never ceased. The man who was seen by others as a kind of god, would nevertheless pace his cabin and fret about everything.
A lookout yelled, 'Deck there! Tybalt is signallin'!'
Keen looked at the midshipman. 'Up you go, Mr Furnival. Tybalt must have news for us.'
Later, Keen went down to the cabin and reported to Bolitho.
'Tybalt has the rest of the squadron in sight to the east'rd, Sir Richard.'
Bolitho glanced across his scattered papers and smiled. He looked and sounded tired.
'That is something, Val.' He gestured to a chair. 'I would ask you to join us, but you will need to be on deck until the ships are closer.'
As he left, Sir Piers Blachford said, 'A good man. I like him.' He was half-lying in one of Bolitho's chair. The heron at rest.
Yovell gathered up his letters and the notes he would add to his various copies.
Ozzard entered to collect the empty coffee cups, while Allday, standing just inside the adjoining door, was slowly polishing the magnificent presentation sword. Bolitho's gift from the people of Falmouth for his achievements in this same sea and the events which had led up to the Battle of the Nile.
Bolitho glanced up. 'Thank you, Ozzard.'
Blachford slapped one bony fist into his- palm.
'Of course. I remember now. Ozzard is an unusual name, is it not?'
Allday's polishing cloth had stilled on the blade.
Blachford nodded, remembering. 'Your secretary and all the letters he has to copy must have brought it back to me. My people once used the services of a scrivener down by the London docks. Unusual.'
Bolitho looked at the letter which he might complete when the others had left him. He would share his feelings with Catherine. Tell her of his uncertainty about what lay ahead. It was like speaking with her. Like the moments when they had lain together, and she had encouraged him to talk, had shared those parts of his life which were still a mystery to her.
He replied, 'I've never asked him about it.'
But Blachford had not heard. 'I don't know how I could have forgotten it. I was directly involved. There was the most dastardly murder done, almost opposite the scrivener's shop. How could one forget that?'
There was a crash of breaking crockery from the pantry and Bolitho half-rose from his chair.
But Allday said quickly, Til go. He must have fallen over.'
Blachford picked up a book he had been reading and remarked, 'Not surprised in this sickening motion.'
Bolitho watched him, but there was nothing on his pointed face to suggest anything other than passing interest.
Bolitho had seen Allday's expression, had almost heard his unspoken warning.
Coincidence? There had been too many of those. Bolitho examined his feelings. Do J want to know more?
He stood up. 'I am going to take my walk.'
He could feel Blachford's eyes following him as he left the cabin.
It was not until the next day that Herrick's three ships were close enough to exchange signals.
Bolitho watched the flags soaring aloft, Jenour's unusual sharpness with the signals midshipmen, as if he understood the mood which was gripping his vice-admiral.
Bolitho held on to a stay and studied the new arrivals, the way they and his own seventy-fours lay about haphazardly under reduced canvas, as if they and not their captains were awaiting instructions.
The weather had not improved, and overnight had built the sea into a parade of steep swells. Bolitho covered his damaged eye with one hand. His skin was wet and hot, indeed like the fever which had brought him and Catherine together.
Keen crossed the slippery planking and stood beside him, his telescope tilted beneath his arm to keep the lens free of salt spray.
The wind holds steady from the nor'-east, Sir Richard.'
'I know.' Bolitho tried not to listen to the clank of pumps. The old ship was working badly, and the pumps had continued all through the night watches. Thank God Keen knew his profession and the extent of his complete authority. Haven would have been flogging his luckless sailors by now, he thought bitterly. Hardly an hour had passed without the hands being piped aloft to make or shorten sail. Manning the pumps, lashing loose gear in the uncomfortable motion – it took patience as well as discipline to keep men from flying at each other's throats. The officers were not immune to it. Tempers flared out of all proportion if a lieutenant was just minutes late relieving his opposite number; he had heard Keen telling one of them to try and act up to the coat he wore. It was not easy for any of them.
Bolitho said, 'If it gets any worse we'll not be able to put down. any boats.' He studied his scattered ships. Waiting for his lead. He saw Benbow swaying steeply as she hove-to, her sails billowing and cracking, shining in the filtered glare like buckled breastplates.
Herrick was coming to see him. Face-to-face. It was typical of him.
Herrick's barge had to make three attempts before the bowman could hook on to the main chains.
In the cabin the sounds faded, and only the sloping horizon, blurred by the thick glass of the stern windows, appeared to be swaying, as if to tip the weatherbeaten ships into a void.
Herrick got straight to the point.
'I wish to know what you intend.' He shook his head as Ozzard hovered nearby with a tray in his hand. 'No, but thank you.' To Bolitho he added, 'I'd not want to be marooned here, away from my flagship.' He glanced at the spray running down the glass. 'I don't like this at all.'
Bolitho said, 'No sign of La Mouette, Thomas?' He saw Herrick shake his head. 'I sent Phaedra to hunt for her.'
Herrick leaned forward in his chair. 'Captain Sinclair knows what he is about. He will find the squadron.'
Bolitho said, 'I will use every vessel which can scout for us. It was not a criticism.'
Herrick settled back again. 'I think we should stand towards Toulon. Then we shall know, one way or the other.'
Bolitho rested his hands on the table. He could feel the whole ship shivering through it, the rudder jerking against helm and wind.
'If the enemy intend to re-enter the Mediterranean, Thomas, we could lose them just as easily as Nelson lost contact when they ran to the west.' He made up his mind. 'I intend to head for Gibraltar. If we still have no news we shall proceed through the Strait and join the fleet. I see no other choice.'