It had been a clear morning like this one, with the frigate bright and sharp against the Isle of Wight and the cruising ranks of cats' paws.
Then he had covered his uninjured eye with his hand, the eye he had feared had been blinded by splinters, and had looked again.
The ship had appeared to be covered with mist and the sea much darker.
Allday leaned towards him. "Beggin' your pardon, Sir Richard, I think I'll not be wed after all! "
Bolitho stared at him. "How so?"
Allday gave his lazy grin. "Because I think mebbe you've too many worries to be left alone! "
Bolitho looked at his hands. "I don't know what I shall do, old friend." He felt a new elation running through him. "But wed you shall be! " He thrust his head out of the window and called, "Guard! Sound your horn when you see Carrick Roads! "
The horses roused themselves and the brake went down as the carriage rolled on to the sloping road.
At the echoing blast of the horn, clouds of rooks rose squawking from the fields and a few gulls flapped angrily overhead.
Some farm workers repairing one of the low walls turned to stare at the unfamiliar carriage with its coach work caked in dried mud, until one of them pointed and called out something to his companions.
A Bolitho is back. A Bolitho is back. As men of Falmouth had been saying for generations.
Bolitho leaned out of the window, heedless of the sting in his injured eye, all else forgotten while the cold air drove away his fatigue.
Then he saw her: the fine mare Tamara which he had given her coming along the last mile of the coach-road at a gallop. Bolitho called, "Stop the carriage! "
Catherine wheeled the horse around until her face was almost touching his as he leaned from the window.
She was breathless, her hair broken free and whipping in the breeze as the fur-lined hood of her cloak fell away.
He was on the road, and felt her waist in his grasp as she dropped easily from the stirrup.
"I knew, Richard! I knew you were coming to me! "
He tasted the tears on her cold skin, felt the welcome and the longing in her arms while they clung to one another, oblivious to the coachman and guard. To everything but this moment.
A Bolitho is back.
John Allday and Unis Polin were married in the tiny parish church at Fallowfield just a week before Christmas 1810.
Ozzard had proclaimed many times that it was a good thing, if only to stop Allday from getting on everybody's nerves with his anxiety and constant worrying.
The day was fine, clear and bright, and many who came to wish the couple well were able to walk in the pale sunshine to the church, well wrapped up against the sharp south-westerly from Falmouth Bay.
The little church had never known such a gathering, and the young preacher was obviously more nervous than the couple he was about to marry. It was not merely the number of people, for Allday was a popular man and always welcomed whenever he returned from sea, but their variety, from England's naval hero and Falmouth's favourite son and his lovely lady, to the people who lived and worked in the port and on the farms. There were few sailors present, but most of the estate workers, local coast guards and excise men farmers, coachmen and probably a poacher or two filled the place to overflowing.
Fallowfield lay on Lewis Roxby's estate, and although he did not attend the wedding he arranged to have a huge barn decorated with garlands and flags so Allday and his bride could entertain all and sundry with room to spare.
Roxby also provided enough geese and beef out of his own pocket to, as Allday described it, "Feed the whole of the Iron Duke's army! "
Bolitho had felt the eyes upon himself and Catherine as the packed pews had roared out another hymn. Unis Polin had been given away by her brother, proud and straight-backed, striding along the aisle with hardly a limp despite his wooden leg. Allday, supported by Bryan Ferguson, was outwardly composed, and very smart in a new jacket which Bolitho had made certain he had had fitted in good time. He wore gilt
buttons, with a white silk neckerchief to mark this very special occasion.
There would be a few women in Falmouth who might still have hoped Allday would choose differently.
There had been one other sea-officer present. Lieutenant George Avery had come from Dorset as promised to witness the marriage, and to remember how Allday's courage and strength, and his total independence had helped to change his own life. Like James Tyacke when Val Keen had married his Zenoria, Avery had slipped into the church even as the small organ had creaked into life. Withdrawn, even remote as he struggled with his own doubts and loyalties, Avery was still very much aware that he was one of them. The Few.
Once during a lull in the service Bolitho had seen Catherine brush her fingers against her eyes. She had been looking at Avery, his features hidden in the shadow of a pillar.
"What is it?"
She had shaken her head. "For a second only, I thought of Stephen Jenour."
There had been humour too, when the preacher had asked the all-important question, "Do you, John Allday, take this woman…" His words had almost been drowned by Allday's loud, "Aye, Reverend, an' that's…"
There had been a ripple of laughter and a frown of disapproval from the preacher. Bolitho had guessed that but for his bronzed face Allday would have been seen to blush.
And then it was done, and Allday with his smiling bride were towed in style in a carriage, not by seamen and marines, but by the men employed on the Bolitho estate. Many of them had been thrown on the beach after being disabled or crippled in one of Bolitho's own ships. There could have been no escort more fitting, and Allday's face was a pleasure to see.
Bolitho had used Ferguson 's little trap for the journey to the church. He had wanted it to be a day for Allday, one he would always remember. Their day. Young Matthew and the Bolitho carriage had been put at the disposal of the bride and groom.
Catherine had said quietly, "It is so typical, Richard, and you do not even notice. To step down, to avoid the bows and the curtsies… nobody else would do it."
They went to the barn to share in a toast to the bride and her man of the sea.
Bolitho thought now of the cheerful simplicity of the wedding, and wondered if Catherine resented that they could never be married.
As was so often the case she seemed to read his thoughts, just as she had known he was coming into Falmouth in that unfamiliar carriage.
She pulled off her glove and laid her hand on his cuff so that the rubies and diamonds he had given her in the church after Keen's marriage flashed in the filtered sunlight. "This is my wedding ring, Richard. I am your woman, no matter who or what may try to come between us. And you are mine. It will always be so."
Bolitho saw the men preparing to serve the food and drink, a group of fiddlers waiting to strike up for the dancing. It was time to leave. His presence here was like that of a senior officer visiting a wardroom: they were polite, friendly, curious, but unable to be themselves until after the great man had gone.
It was a moment he knew he would remember, and he could feel Catherine watching as he said his farewell to Allday and his wife. But Catherine knew that he was speaking only to his coxswain, the man she had grown to know and respect, even to love for his care and his qualities of courage and loyalty, which he had given her man for over twenty years.
"Good-bye, old friend. Don't be a stranger from now on."
Allday gripped his hand, his eyes suddenly troubled. "But you'll be needing me soon, Sir Richard?"
Bolitho nodded slowly. All those lost faces. Battles and ships he would never be allowed to forget. He had tried not to become too closely involved, to guard against the pain of loss when in his heart he knew there was no such defence. Like the midshipman Dunwoody, whom Adam had wanted to help, and who had died with all the others.
"I shall always do that, old friend. Be certain of it." The handclasp broke. It was done.