He thought of the noisy celebration to welcome Bellairs to the wardroom. He had made the right decision; Bellairs had all the marks of a fine officer. He recalled the rear-admiral’s interest. Has he family? Connections? But there were many senior officers who thought exactly like Marlow when it came to promotion; he could recall one post-captain who had been quite frank about his reluctance to promote any man from the lower deck to commissioned rank. “All you do,” he had insisted, “is lose a good man, and create a bad officer!”
Midshipman Fielding had the tiller, and Adam guessed it had been Galbraith’s decision. Homey, the midshipman who had been killed, had been his best friend. A good choice for two reasons.
Fielding said, “Boats alongside, sir!”
Sir Lewis Bazeley and his party had arrived in his absence. No ceremony, Marlow had said.
Adam said, “Pull right round the ship, Mr Fielding. I am not yet done.”
Jago was watching Fielding’s performance on the tiller, but his thoughts were elsewhere, on the day when the dead Lovatt’s son had been sent for. Told to collect his gear and report to the quarterdeck. Just a boy, with a long journey before him, to caring people in Kent. Jago had heard the captain dictating a letter to his clerk. And all paid for out of Adam Bolitho’s pocket. There had been a sea-fight and men had died. It happened, and would continue to happen as long as ships sailed the seven seas and men were mad enough to serve them. Lovatt had died, but so had the flag lieutenant who had served the captain’s uncle. And young Homey, who had not been a bad little nipper for a “young gentleman.” He thought of the other one, Sandell. San-dell. Nobody would have shed a tear for that little ratbag.
He looked over at the captain now. Remembering his face when he had torn open his breeches, the dead midshipman’s blood and bone clinging to his fingers. Then the surprise when he had found the smashed watch, pieces of broken glass like bloody thorns. Why surprise? That I should care?
He felt the captain touch his arm. “Bring her round now.” They both looked up as the jib-boom swung overhead like a lance, the beautiful figurehead too proud to offer them a glance, her eyes already on another horizon.
He heard him say, “Fine sight, eh?”
But all Jago could think of was the small figure of Lovatt’s son, his father’s sword tucked under one arm, pausing only to hold the hand of the cabin servant Napier, who had cared for him.
Jago had felt anger then. Not even a word or a look for the one man who had tried to help his father. And him.
He stared over towards the two prizes. They had done it, together…
Adam was watching the Indiaman, already making sail, her yards alive with men, and imagined what Catherine must have felt, leaving Malta for the last time in such a vessel.
Midshipman Fielding cleared his throat noisily. “Bows!”
The side party was already in position. The captain was coming aboard. Adam tested his leg and felt the pain again. The decks of that same Indiaman were probably lined with rich passengers, observing the little ceremony about to take place aboard just another of His Majesty’s ships.
“Toss your oars… up!”
Jago winced, and saw the bowman thrust out to soften the impact alongside. But he would learn. He saw the captain reach for the first handhold, felt his muscles tighten in sympathy as if sharing his uncertainty.
Then the captain turned and looked down at him, and Jago saw the grin he remembered from that day when they had blown up the battery, before the attack on Washington.
Adam said, “Equal strain on all parts, eh?”
Jago saw the young midshipman standing in the boat, hat in hand but grinning up at his captain, all else, for the moment, forgotten.
Jago nodded slowly. “You’ll do me, sir! ” Then he laughed out loud, because he found that he meant it.
Sir Lewis Bazeley was tall, but gave an immediate impression of strength rather than height. Broad-shouldered, and with a mane of thick grey hair which, although cut in the modern style, still singled him out from anyone else.
Adam strode from the entry port and extended his hand.
“I am sorry that I was not aboard to greet you, Sir Lewis.”
The handshake too was strong: a man not afraid of hard work, or of showing an example to others.
Bazeley smiled and waved vaguely towards the open sea.
“I knew this was not one of John Company’s ships, Captain. I’ll expect no special favours. A quick passage, and I can see for myself she’s a fine sailer, and I’ll ask no more of any man.” The smile broadened. “I am sure that the women will endure it for three days.”
Adam glanced at Galbraith. “Women? I was not told-” He saw the quick, answering nod; Galbraith had dealt with it.
Bazeley was already thinking of something else. “I promised to pay a private visit to the lieutenant-governor, Captain. If you can provide a boat for me?”
Adam said, “Mr Galbraith, call away the gig again,” and lowered his voice as Bazeley moved away to speak with one of his own men. “What the hell is going on?”
“I took the women aft, sir, as you would have wished. And I’ve already told Mr Partridge to make sure all working parties are decently dressed, and to mark their language.”
Adam stared aft. “How many?”
Galbraith turned as Bazeley called out something, and said, “Only two, sir.” He hesitated. “I will happily vacate my cabin, sir.”
“No. The chartroom will suffice. I doubt I shall get much sleep, fast passage or not.”
He saw Bazeley waiting for him, feet tapping restlessly. He seemed full of energy, as if he could barely contain it. He appeared to be in his late forties, although possibly older; it was difficult to tell. Even his style of dress was unusual, more like a uniform than the clothing of a successful man of business. Or trade, as Rear-Admiral Marlow would no doubt describe it.
He recalled the discreet wording of his orders. To offer every facility. Bethune would know what to do; he was used to it.
He said, “Perhaps you would care to sup with me and my officers, Sir Lewis. Once we are clear of the approaches.”
It would be a far cry from the Indiaman’s table, he thought, and expected Bazeley to make his excuses. But he said immediately, “A pleasure. Look forward to it.” He saw the gig being warped alongside and beckoned to one of his party. He paused in the entry port. “I shall not miss the ship, Captain.”
Adam touched his hat, and said to Galbraith, “Is everyone accounted for?”
“The purser’s due back on board shortly, sir. The surgeon is at the garrison-there are still two of our people there.”
Adam saw Napier hovering by the quarterdeck ladder. “Call me when you’re ready.” And grimaced as another pain lanced through him. “I’ll not be much of a host tonight!”
He made his way aft, where seamen were stowing away chests and some cases of wine which obviously belonged to Bazeley’s group. Something else for Partridge to keep his eye on.
The marine sentry straightened his back as Adam passed, then leaned towards the slatted screen with sudden interest.
Adam thrust open the door, and stared at the litter of bags and boxes which appeared to cover the deck of the main cabin. A woman was sitting on one of the boxes, frowning with apparent pain while another, younger woman was kneeling at her feet,
trying to drag off one of her shoes.
Adam said, “I-I am sorry, I did not realise…”
The younger woman twisted round and looked up at him.
Woman; she was no more than a girl, with long hair, and a wide-brimmed straw hat which was hanging down over her back. In her efforts to drag off the offending shoe some of the hair had fallen across her eyes, and one shoulder was bare and luminous in the reflected sunlight.
Adam saw all this, and that her eyes were blue, and also that she was angry. He made another attempt. “We were not forewarned of your arrival, otherwise you would have been offered more assistance.” He gestured wordlessly at the disordered cabin. “Your father said nothing to me about all this!”
She seemed to relax slightly, and sat on the deck looking up at him.