Adam waited. It was not a question. Herrick had been busy since his arrival in Freetown.
Herrick walked to the table and poured a glass of ginger beer. "Albatroz is a slaver, make no mistake on it. But she is owned by Portugal, and she is not hampered by the equipment clause which our government is trying to make universal. Manacles are an indication, but no longer, it would appear, a proof." This time he did not attempt to contain his contempt. "Piracy is a very different matter, but I don't have to tell you that. People in England do not begin to understand the misery and depravity of this foul traffic. Like the highwayman, who may appear a hero to some, but not to those who suffer at his hands! I used to warn…" He stopped abruptly and walked back to the window, leaving the ginger beer untouched.
Adam felt pity for the first time. He had almost said her name.
Herrick said, "I'd never shed a tear when they dance the Tyburn Jig!"
Adam recalled the bitterness his uncle had shown on one occasion, when Herrick had displayed his disapproval of his "liaison" as he had called it, with Catherine.
And yet when I lerrick's wife Dulcie had lain dying of typhus, which she had caught when trying to help Spanish prisoners of war from some nearby hulks, she would have been alone but for Catherine. Yovell, who was even now out there in the harbour, had been with her when she'd called at the house to see Herrick's wife; she had refused to allow him to stay and risk his own life, but had sent him to fetch help and medical assistance. And Catherine had remained to the end. Caring for her every need, washing and changing her soiled clothing, knowing as she did so that every hour was putting her in greater peril.
His uncle had spoken of it with both anxiety and pride. Now, in this dim, airless room, with a fan swaying hack and forth overhead to the pull of some unseen hand, it seemed like yesterday.
Adam said, "We have taken on a tremendous task, sir."
Herrick looked at him directly, perhaps suspiciously. "I accepted it because I could stand the inactivity no longer!" His voice was stronger, as he relived something still too close to put aside. "Their lordships suggested my name for the position. An officer who could be trusted to perform the task without fear or favour, as I have always tried to do in my duty." He swung away, his pinnedup sleeve all the more apparent against the filtered sunshine. "And a suitable scapegoat, of course, should the need arise!"
There were voices in the passageway, and Adam could imagine the lieutenant listening outside the door.
Herrick said, "You will receive your orders from the commodore within two days. At no time will you discuss the proposed exercise except with your officers, and then only the bones of your instruction."
"They are all experienced, sir." He felt unreasonably irritated. With himself for sounding so defensive.
Herrick said, "I know your record. The Algiers affair, and your fight with the renegade frigate, did you credit. But you chose to ignore your admiral's signals, to interpret them as you thought fit. As a result you carried out the rescue of a valuable merchant ship, and more to the point some very important passengers. As hostages, at best they could have brought disaster to any future bargaining with the Dey of Algiers."
"I did what I thought was right, sir."
Herrick glanced at the door. "You were lucky. You would not find me quite so understanding."
The door opened an inch but Herrick said sharply, "Wait." It closed.
Then he walked across the room, one shoulder hunched unconsciously, like so many veterans Adam had seen in the seaports of England.
He said quietly, "I did not intend our meeting to be like this." He held up his hand. "No, hear me. Perhaps I am alone too much. I did not mean to speak of it-not here, not now. But you will know, more than anyone, what your uncle meant to me. He never forgot, and neither shall I. Like all great men, and he was a great man, although he'd be the last to admit it, he made enemies, far more cunning and treacherous than those who use powder and shot for one cause or another. So be warned. Hatred, like love, never dies." Then, suddenly, he thrust out his remaining hand.
"I'd ask for no better captain." He smiled. "Adam."
It was the saddest thing Adam had seen for a long time.
He left the darkened room without even noticing the vague figures who were waiting their turn for an audience.
Like a stranger. It would have been far better if he was. He paused by another window and touched the old sword at his hip. Herrick had once told him how he had returned to Falmouth with Bolitho, and had been present when Captain James Bolitho had given this sword to his son. A captain and his first lieutenant…
What had happened to that tough, stubborn young man?
Commodore Arthur Turnbull came out of another doorway and stood gazing at him. Adam guessed he had been waiting for this moment.
"Rough, was it?"
Adam regarded him calmly. "He was frank with me, sir."
Turnbull might have smiled. "That says a lot, Bolitho." He glanced towards the other door, where the lieutenant was already poised with another list.
"Then I shall he equally frank. RearAdmiral Herrick is here to advise us. But never forget, I command."
Adam listened to his shoes tapping unhurriedly back along the passageway, self-assured and confident.
He picked up his hat from the table and jammed it on to his unruly hair. And ruthless.
He saw Jago by the entrance, and the same two sentries as before. Only the shadows had moved.
What would John Allday have said, had he heard Herrick just now?
Then he saw Unrivalled, swinging at her cable, a shipbuilder's dream. People changed, ships did not.
And for that, he was suddenly grateful.
Adam lay back in the deep chair and listened to that other world beyond the white-painted screen, with its ever-present sentry.
It was evening, another of the changes of colour and texture which seemed common in Freetown. An intense ochre sky, crossed with long ragged banners of dark cloud, moving even as he watched. Cristie had said there was a better chance of a favourable wind. Coming soon. Tomorrow perhaps, when Unrivalled weighed and left harbour.
Through the thick glass of the stern windows he could see the riding lights of other moored vessels, growing brighter in the shadows. Tomorrow, then.
Perhaps Cristie was right in his prediction. He thought of Tyacke's Kestrel; it had taken her hours just to work clear of the anchorage, and at one time boats had been lowered to offer a tow and give her steerage-way. Outside the approaches she had remained motionless, or so it seemed, as if becalmed. It must have been a test for every man aboard, especially James Tyacke. Commodore Turnbull had sailed earlier, without his broadpendant flying above the graceful topsail schooner Paradox. Adam had wondered how her company felt about the deaths of their fellow seamen. Galbraith had told him he had heard that another officer had already been appointed to replace the dead Finlay. It would be even harder for him, on his first passage amongst strangers.
Adam glanced at the folder on his lap: facts and figures, and three possible locations where slavers might be expected to rendezvous. Much of the intelligence had been gleaned from trading vessels, as well as the hard-worked brigs and schooners of the patrol flotilla, and he knew from frustrating experience that most of it was pure speculation. He thought of Herrick again. He had often spoken of his faith in Lady Luck. It was hard to believe now.
Ile picked up the letter, and turned it over in his hands. Well travelled, it must have left Cornwall about the same time as Unrivalled had quit Penzance.
He had already read it twice. IIe had been able to picture his Aunt Nancy writing it, pouting every so often as he had seen her do when composing a letter. Nancy… he could never think of her as Lady Roxby, as the crest on the notepaper proclaimed.