expected, and his cousin had not been heard of since.
He looked at the heavy coat again. And I was ordered here. In command of a small group of frigates entrusted with patrol and search operations, too late to relieve Sir Richard Bolitho at Malta, nor even in England when the news of his death had broken. No wonder he had changed. He had once imagined himself comfortably, if not happily, married to a woman who suited his role and shared his ambitions. Now even their life together had been soured by those events, and he suspected his wife had been a willing partner in Rhodes’ attempt to humiliate and insult Catherine at that reception for Wellington.
He crossed to the opposite quarter and shaded his eyes against the glare to gaze at the mainland. Spain. It was hard not to think of it as the enemy; in Algeciras there had always been eyes watching for the arrival of a new sail, with riders ready to gallop to the next post where the message could be relayed. Another ship from England. Where bound? For what purpose?
And there were many who still believed Spain harboured enemies who had already taken advantage of Napoleon’s downfall to settle old scores in these waters, to resume piracy and the running of slaves to a ready market in America and the Indies, despite the laws so piously passed to forbid it. The new allies. Would it last? Could they ever forget?
A cutter pulled strongly past the counter and the crew tossed oars in salute, a midshipman in charge rising to remove his hat within the shadow of the flagship. His Britannic Majesty’s Ship Montrose of forty-two guns was little different from any other frigate to the casual observer, but Bethune knew that his blue command flag at the fore made her unique.
He heard voices beyond the screen door. His flag captain, Victor Forbes, was a brisk, no-nonsense man who was very aware that this was no longer a private ship, and that flag had made all the difference to him in particular; he had even had to vacate these quarters for his admiral. Bethune had seen the seamen and marines glancing at him when he took his regular walks up and down the quarterdeck. A far cry from the Thames Embankment or the London parks, but it was better than nothing. He touched his stomach. He would not let himself go to seed like some of the flag officers he knew. In case… In case what?
Tomorrow Montrose would weigh and return to Malta, unless new orders came to direct otherwise. It was becoming ever more difficult to keep a part of his mind in the world of the Admiralty, to assess or disregard the next possible strategy, which had once been so clear to him. Even to know the true deployment of the allied armies, or whether Napoleon was indeed fighting a rearguard action.
Today he might receive fresh information. That was the irony of it. The ship which had been sighted just an hour ago was Unrivalled. He had felt a certain involuntary shock when he had seen his flag lieutenant’s report in the log, Unrivalled (46). Captain Bolitho. Not like a step forward; rather, looking back. The names, the faces…
And now Adam Bolitho was here. In a new ship. At least I was able to send word of that before he was struck down.
He clenched his fists. He had heard one of the seamen saying to his mate when they had been splicing below the quarterdeck:
“I tell ’ee, Ted. We’ll ne’er see his like again, an’ that’s God’s truth!”
The sailor’s simple tribute, shared by so many. And yet, like so many, that unknown sailor had never laid eyes on Richard Bolitho.
The door opened and he saw Captain Forbes looking around the cabin, probably to ensure his admiral had not changed it out of all recognition.
“What is it, Victor?”
The reflected sunlight was too strong for him to see the captain’s expression, but he sensed it was one of uncertainty, if not actual disapproval.
We are about the same age, and yet he behaves like my superior officer. He tried to smile, but it would not come.
Captain Forbes said, “Unrivalled has anchored, sir.” Then, as an afterthought, “She’s big. We could have done with a few more like her when…”
He did not go on. There was no need.
“Yes. A fine ship. I envy her captain.”
That did surprise Forbes, and this time he was unable to conceal it. His vice-admiral, who was both liked and respected, and would no doubt rise to some even more exalted post when the Admiralty directed, lacked for nothing. He could use favour or dislike as he chose, and no one would question him. To profess envy was unthinkable.
“I shall make the signal, sir.”
“Very well. Captain repair on board.” How many times he had seen it break out at the yard, for himself and for others. And now for Adam Bolitho. Every new meeting like this one would be an additional strain. For us both.
Forbes was still here, hand on the screen door.
“I was thinking, sir. Perhaps we might entertain Unrivalled’s captain. I’m sure the wardroom would be honoured.” He hesitated under Bethune’s stare. “You know the way of it, sir. Word from home.” He added warily, “You would be our guest too, of course, sir.”
“I am certain Captain Bolitho would be delighted.” He looked away. “I would also be pleased. None of us should ever forget how or why we are here.”
He heard Forbes marching across the quarterdeck, calling for the midshipman of the watch. Bethune had not even seen him leave the cabin.
Unrivalled was joining his squadron. This was the best way. He thought of Bolitho again. No show of favouritism.
But they would have a glass together first, while he read his despatches from that other world. He smiled again, and it was very sad. No looking back.
Adam Bolitho sat in one of the cabin chairs and crossed his legs, as if the action would force him to relax. He had been greeted very correctly when he had climbed up Montrose’s tumblehome, amid the twitter of boatswain’s calls, the slap and crack of muskets being brought to the present under a cloud of pipeclay. All due respects to a captain, and he wondered why it surprised him. He had been so received aboard many ships large and small, and in all conditions. When it had been hard to prevent his hat from being blown away, or with a boat-cloak tangling around his legs. He had never forgotten a story his uncle had told him about a captain who had tripped over his own sword and pitched back into his barge, to the delight of the assembled midshipmen.
Perhaps, like the vice-admiral sitting opposite him, turning over the pages of his despatches with practised speed, he too had changed. On his way across to the flagship he had glanced astern at his own command. Above her reflection, sails neatly furled, all boats in the water to seal their seams, she would make any would-be captain jealous. And she is mine. But as of this moment she would be a part of a squadron, and, like her, he would have to belong. He watched Bethune’s bowed head, the lock of hair falling over his brow. More like a lieutenant than a Vice-Admiral of the Blue.
It had been an awkward meeting, which even the din of the reception could not hide or cover. Friends? They were hardly that.
But they had always been a part of something. Of someone.
He had mentioned the brigantine and his suspicions to Bethune. It would be in his report, but he felt he should use it to dispel the lingering stiffness between them. Instead of dismissing it, the vice-admiral had seemed very interested.
“It is the kind of secret war we are fighting out here, Adam. Algerine pirates, slavers-we are sitting on a powder keg.”
Bethune looked up suddenly. “It seems the lords of the Admiralty are as much in the dark as we are!”
Adam said, “You would know better than most, sir.” They both laughed, the tension all but gone.
He liked what he saw. Bethune had an open, intelligent face, a mouth which had not forgotten how to smile. He knew from Catherine’s letters that she had trusted him. He could understand why.
Bethune said, “I almost forgot. When we reach Malta I should have more information to act upon.” He was making up his mind. “There is a Lieutenant George Avery at my headquarters there. You will know him?”
“Sir Richard’s flag lieutenant, sir.” He felt his muscles tense, but made another attempt. “They were very close, I believe. I thought he had returned to England in Frobisher.”
“I did not force him to stay, but his knowledge is very valuable to me-to us. He was with Sir Richard when he
