It sounded almost like an accusation.
'We were lucky in Euryalus.'
'Luck? What has that to do with it? We were at war with a ruthless enemy as we are now. I commanded Cydnus, a two-decker of ninety guns. Well trained, well drilled, she was the envy of the squadron.'
Bolitho saw the hand clench into a tight fist again. Hamett-Parker's one weakness: the incident he could never forget.
There are always rotten apples in some casks. The plan for mutiny amongst my people was fed to those simpletons and knot heads like poison. They defied me me, their captain.' His pale eyes shone like glass in the reflected light. It was as if he could still not believe it. That ordinary, common seamen could demand their rights even at the risk of death by hanging or a flogging around the fleet, which had been the punishment meted out to more than one delegate.
Bolitho said sharply, 'Admiral Broughton was a fool. If he were one of my officers today I would tell him as much! '
They both became calm again, and Hamett-Parker said, 'My record is one to be proud of.' He glanced meaningly around the room. 'I think others must have appreciated that.'
Bolitho said, 'What is expected of me, Sir James?' He was surprised how calm he sounded. Inwardly he was burning like a fire ship angered by this unreachable man, angry with himself.
'We need a plan, one that can be exercised with simplicity, one that will not antagonise the flags of nations not already drawn into the fight.'
'You mean the Americans, Sir James?'
'I did not say that! ' He wagged one finger and gave a stiff smile. Then he said, 'I am glad we met before we meet the others involved.' He pulled some papers towards him. 'My flag lieutenant has the address of your lodgings in London, I assume?'
'I imagine so, Sir James.' Probably half of London knew it. 'May I ask something?'
He tugged out a bright gold watch and glanced at it. 'I must not be too long.'
Bolitho thought sadly of Godschale. One cannot do everything. 'What is intended for my last flag captain, Valentine Keen?'
Hamett-Parker pouted. 'For an instant I thought you would ask about someone else.' He shrugged, irritated. 'He will hoist a broad pendant when all is decided. If he performs adequately I am certain flag rank will be his privilege, as it is ours.'
Bolitho stood up and saw the other man's glance fall to the old sword. 'May I take my leave, Sir James?' It was over; the rapiers were to be laid in their cases again. For the present.
'Please do.' He leaned back in his great chair, his fingertips pressed together like a village parson. Then he said, 'Vice-Admiral Sir Lucius Broughton, the fool you so bluntly described, died doing his duty in the penal settlements of New South Wales.' His pale eyes did not blink as he added, 'His position will, I am certain, be ably filled by your friend, Rear-Admiral Herrick.'
Bolitho turned on his heel and flung open the doors, almost colliding with the hovering lieutenant.
Hamett-Parker had got deep under his skin, out of malice or for some other purpose, he did not know or care. What did he want? He had been careful not to mention Catherine, or 'the scandal' as he would no doubt call it.
He hurried down the stairs, his mind reeling with ideas and memories. Just the mention of the Euryalus: Thelwall coughing out his life, Broughton watching the terrible flogging unmoved. But most of all, Catherine. He had commanded Euryalus when he had first met her. She had been aboard the merchantman Navarra; her husband had been killed by Barbary pirates, and she had cursed Bolitho for causing his death.
'Would the nice sea-officer like a ride in comfort?'
He spun round, half-blinded by the sunlight, and saw her watching him from the carriage window. She was smiling, but her fine dark eyes were all concern.
'How did you know?'
She took his wrist as he climbed into the carriage, and replied quietly, 'I always know.'
Admiral Sir James Hamett-Parker held the curtain aside and looked down as the woman aided Bolitho into the elegant carriage.
'So that is the notorious Lady Catherine.'
Sir Paul Sillitoe, who had just entered by another door, smiled at the admiral's back. 'Never underestimate that lady, Sir James, and do not make her an enemy.' He walked casually to the littered table and added coolly, 'Or you will make one of me. Be assured of it, sir! '
Bolitho sat on a bench in the shade of a solitary tree in the neat little garden behind the house. It was peaceful here, and the clatter of iron-shod wheels and the regular passing of horses were muffled, as if far away. Behind the rear wall were the mews for this row of houses, for horses and a limited number of carriages.
He watched Catherine cutting roses and wondered if she were still missing Falmouth and what must seem the unlimited space of the house there, compared to this small town-house. Her gown was low-cut so that she could feel the benefit of the sun directly overhead, and the darker line on her shoulder where she had been so cruelly burned in the open boat was still visible.
It had been three days since his interview with Hamett-Parker and the uncertainty, the waiting, had unsettled him.
She looked at him and her expression was troubled. 'Is there no way we can learn what is happening, Richard? I know what you are thinking.'
He stood up and crossed to her side. 'I am bad company, dear Kate. I want to be with you and have no senseless burden hanging above me! '
A breeze turned over the pages of The Times and blew it on to the grass. There was more news of enemy attacks on shipping heading for home around the Cape of Good Hope. Each vessel had been sailing independently and without escort. It seemed likely that that had been what Hamett-Parker had been hinting at. Suppose he were ordered back to Cape Town, Golden Plover's original destination when mutiny and shipwreck had erupted like a sudden storm? Were the marauding ships which had carried out these attacks French naval vessels or privateers? Whatever they were, they must be based somewhere.
She touched his face. 'You are worrying again. You hate this inaction, don't you?' She moved her hand across his mouth. 'Do not protest, Richard. I know you so well! '
They heard the street bell jangle through the open door and Sophie's merry laugh as she spoke to someone.
Catherine said, 'She is seventeen now, Richard. A good catch for the right man.'
'You treat her more like a daughter than a maid. I've watched you often.'
'Sometimes she reminds me of myself at her age.' She looked away. 'I would not want her to endure such a life as that! '
Bolitho waited. Like Adam, she would tell him one day.
Sophie appeared at the top of the steps. 'A letter, me lady.' She glanced at Bolitho. 'For Sir Richard.'
He tried to imagine Catherine at sixteen, as Sophie had been when she had been taken into the household. Like Jenour she seemed to have matured suddenly after the open boat and their experiences at the hands of the mutineers.
She gave the square envelope to Bolitho. 'Nice young officer it was, me lady. From the Admiralty.'
Catherine recognised the card in Bolitho's sunburned hands. It was a beautifully etched invitation, with a crest at the top.
'From Hamett-Parker. A reception to mark his appointment. His Majesty will be in attendance, apparently.' He felt the anger mounting inside him, and when she took the card from his hand she understood why. She was not invited.
She knelt down by him. 'What do you expect, Richard? Whatever we think or do, others will believe it improper.'
'I'll not go. I'll see them all damned! '
She watched his face and saw something of Adam there, and the others in the portraits at Falmouth. 'You must go. To refuse would be an insult to the King himself. Have you thought of that?'
He sighed. 'I'll lay odds that somebody else has.'
She looked at the address on the card. 'St. James's Square. A very noble establishment, I believe.'
