had paced the deck as a harassed lieutenant, or even when he had taken command of his first ship.
She was watching him, her chin raised, her fingers clasped as if to contain her thoughts and words.
'You look so handsome, Richard.'
'That 'e does, ma'am.' Allday patted the lapels into place and made certain that each bright epaulette with the twin silver stars was exactly right.
At sea it would be different, Allday thought. But here in the big house they had given him a real home. He looked away, unable to watch their faces. He was one of the family. Almost.
She said quietly, 'I could come as far as Hampshire with you.'
Bolitho held her again. 'No. The ride to the Beaulieu River would take a lot out of you. Then there is the return journey. I'd be sick with worry.'
This time she did not argue. Although neither mentioned it, each knew that a wrecked coach had once destroyed his happiness, another such accident had given both of them this new life.
Bolitho was grateful that he had to join his ship where it was too far for her to follow and risk an accident with their first child. It was bad enough to be leaving her when she most needed him, without that. Ferguson, his trusted steward, would be here in the house, and the doctor was within easy call. Bolitho's sister Nancy had been more at the house than in her own palatial residence with her husband the squire, who was known throughout the county as the King of Cornwall.
And next week Thomas Herrick's wife Dulcie would be coming all the way from Kent to keep Belinda company at the time of the birth.
Herrick, almost embarrassed by his promotion to rear-admiral, had been given command of a small squadron and had already sailed to Gibraltar for orders.
There would not be many familiar faces this time, Bolitho thought. Maybe it was just as well. No reminders. The doubts, like the successes, were best left in the past.
She said, 'Take good care of yourself, Richard. I hate your leaving, but at the same time I understand why you must go.'
Bolitho held her against him. Why were there never the right words until it was too late?
Ever since his return from the Admiralty with his secret orders she had somehow contained her disappointment, her dismay. Only once during the night had she exclaimed, 'Why you? Must you go?' Then, like part of a bad dream, she had lapsed into an uneasy sleep, her question still unanswered.
He heard Allday's voice beyond the door, supervising the loading of some final piece of luggage aboard the carriage. Poor Allday, he thought. Off again after all he had endured with him as a prisoner of war in France. He was always there when he was needed, the relationship stronger than ever, and when Bolitho needed someone to confide in outside of his officers and the chain of command, Allday would be ready to speak out.
Often Bolitho had felt badly about Allday's loyalty. Beyond his service as his coxswain and friend he had nothing. No wife to keep house for him and await his return from the sea, no home beyond these walls. It did not seem fair to drag him off yet again when he had more than earned the right to put his feet firmly ashore for all time. But Bolitho understood that Allday would be resentful and hurt by the suggestion he should not accompany him.
I must leave now.
They walked together to the big double doors, quietly determined, dreading the actual moment.
The sunlight engulfed them like an enemy, and Bolitho looked at the carriage with something like hatred. He had already said his farewells to his sister, to Ferguson, his one-armed steward, to the many familiar faces who worked in and around the big grey house below Pendennis Castle.
He said, 'I shall send word by the first available courier brig. When I reach America I shall probably be required to return home immediately.'
He felt her arm stiffen against his and despised himself for giving her hope.
Admiral Sheaffe had left him in doubt that the mission was important. To sail for Boston, 'neutral ground', as he had called it, and there meet French and American officials to formalize the handing over of an island as part of the agreement made under the Peace of Amiens.
It all seemed wrong to Bolitho. To hand back an island to the old enemy which had been won with British blood. He had blurted out as much to Admiral Sheaffe. 'We gained a peace, Sir Hayward, we did not lose the war!'
Perhaps in that cool Admiralty room it had sounded childish.
Sheaffe had replied calmly, 'And we do not wish you to provoke a war either, sir!'
As if to finalize the moment of departure, one of the horses stamped its hoof on the cobbles.
Bolitho kissed her hard on the mouth and tasted the salt of her tears.
'I shall return, Belinda.'
Very gently they prised themselves apart and Bolitho walked down the worn steps to the waiting carriage.
Allday was standing with a groom, but Bolitho gestured to the open door.
'Ride with me, Allday.'
He turned and glanced back at her. Against the grey stone she looked strangely vulnerable and he wanted to hold her just once more.
The next instant he was in the carriage and the wheels were clattering over the cobbles and through the gates.
It was done.
Allday sat with his fingers clasped and watched Bolitho's grave features and tried to measure the depth of his mood. Seven months ashore seemed a lifetime to Allday, although he knew better than to suggest as much to Bolitho. It was probably the longest he had been away from a King's ship since that first time when he had made his living here in Cornwall as a shepherd, when a man-of-war, one commanded by Bolitho, had dropped anchor and landed her press-gang to scavenge for hands. There had been several local men caught that day. Allday had been one, the steward Ferguson another. Poor Ferguson had lost an arm at the Saintes but, like Allday, had stayed with Bolitho ever since.
The warm air, the heavy scent of the countryside were making him drowsy, and he knew that although Bolitho wanted companionship for the long haul to the Beaulieu River in Hampshire where their next ship was lying, he did not want to gossip. There would be time enough for that in the weeks and months ahead.
Another ship. What would she be like? Allday was surprised that he could still be curious. In his strong position as the vice-admiral's personal coxswain he had nothing to fear from anyone. But he was too much of a seaman not to be interested.
Not a great first rate of a hundred guns or more, not even a new seventy-four like Benbow, Bolitho's last flagship, but the smallest ship of the line still in commission.
His Britannic Majesty's Ship Achates of sixty-four guns was one of a dying breed. More like an oversized frigate than a massive line of battleship which could withstand the pounding and destruction of close action.
She was twenty-one years old, a true veteran, and had seen every kind of combat in her time. She had spent most of her recent years in the Caribbean and had sailed countless leagues from her base in Antigua to the far south along the Spanish Main.
Allday wondered uneasily why she had been allotted to Bolitho as his flagship. To his simple reasoning it seemed like one more slur. He should have been given a knighthood for what he had done and endured for England. But always there seemed to be someone in authority who nursed some dislike or hatred of the man for whom Allday would willingly die if need be.
He thought of the parting he had just witnessed. What a fine pair they made. The lovely lady with the long chestnut hair and the youthful vice-admiral whose hair was as jet-black as the day Allday had joined his ship as a pressed hand.
From the opposite seat Bolitho saw Allday's head loll into a doze and felt the strength of the man, was grateful for his presence here.
Allday had thickened out and looked as if nothing could ever break him. The oak. He smiled to himself in spite of his sense of loss at leaving Belinda when she most needed him.
He had known Allday like a raging lion on the reddened deck of one ship or another. And he had seen him in tears as he had carried Bolitho below when he had been badly wounded in battle. It was impossible to imagine any place without Allday.
