He asked awkwardly, `And Nancy? Is she well, Mother?'
Her face lit up, making her appear her old self again.
`Indeed she is, Dick, although she is out visiting, despite the weather.'
Dancer felt strangely relieved. He had heard a good deal about Nancy, the youngest of the family. She would be about sixteen, and something of a beauty, if her mother was anything to judge by.
Bolitho saw his friend's expression and said, `That is good news.'
She looked from one to the other and laughed. `I see your point.'
`I'll take Martyn to his room, Mother.'
She nodded, watching them as they climbed the stairway, past the watching portraits of long-dead Bolithos.
`When the post-boy told us that the Gorgon was in Plymouth, I knew you would come home, Dick. I'd never forgive your Captain Conway if he'd denied me that pleasure V
Bolitho thought of the captain, aloof, impressively calm no matter what the hazards. He had never really pictured him as a ladies' man.
Dancer was studying one portrait at the turn of the stairway.
Bolitho said quietly, 'My grandfather Denziel. He was with Wolfe at Quebec. Grand old man, I think. Sometimes I can't remember if I really knew him, or if it was what my father told me about him which remains.'
Dancer grinned. `He looks a -lively sort. And Rear Admiral, no less!'
He followed Bolitho along the landing, hearing the wind and sleet against the windows. It felt strange after a ship's constant movement, the sounds and smells of a crowded man-of-war.
It was always the same with midshipmen. They were constantly hungry, and being chased and.harried in every direction. Now, if only for a few days, he would find peace, and if Mrs Tremayne had anything to do with it, a full stomach too.
Bolitho opened a door for him. `One of the maids will bring your things, Martyn.' He faltered, his eyes like the sea beyond the headland. `I'm glad you came. Once or twice,' he hesitated, `… back over the months, I thought I would never be coming here again. Having you with me makes it feel complete.'
He swung away, and Dancer closed the door quietly behind him.
Dancer knew exactly what he had meant, and
was moved to have shared the moment with him. He crossed to a window and peered through the
streaming glass. Almost lost in the winter's gloom
the sea was lively and criss-crossed with angry crests. It was out there waiting for them to return. He smiled and started to undress. Well, it could damned well wait a bit longer!
`So, Martyn, what did you think of your first free evening?'
The two midshipmen sat on either side of a roaring log fire, legs outstretched, eyes drooping from the heat and the biggest meal Mrs Tremayne had prepared for some time.
Dancer raised his goblet and watched the flames change colour through the ruby port and smiled contentedly.
`Something akin to a miracle.'
It had been a lengthy meal, with Bolitho's mother and his young sister Nancy both eager and willing just to let them talk. Bolitho had found himself wondering how many tales had been passed across that same table, some embroidered no doubt, but all true.
Nancy had worn a new gown for the occasion, which she apparently had' made in Truro. `The latest
thing in France.' It had been low-cut, and although her mother had frowned once or twice, it made her look younger rather than wanton.
She was much more like her mother than her sister, who took after the Bolitho side of the family, with the same ready smile which had charmed Captain James Bolitho when he had taken a Scottish girl for his wife.
Nancy had made a great impression on Dancer, and Bolitho guessed it was probably mutual.
Outside the curtained windows it was quieter, the sleet having given way to snow, which had already covered the outbuildings and stables in a thick, glistening blanket. No one would be moving very far tonight, Bolitho thought, and he pitied the coach on its way to Penzance.
How still the house seemed, the servants having gone to bed long since, leaving the two friends to drowse or yarn as so inclined.
`Tomorrow we'll go to the harbour, Martyn, although Mr Tremayne tells me there's little anchored in the Roads at present worth looking at.'
The male half of the Tremayne family was the household steward and general handyman. Like the other retainers he was old. Although the Seven Years War had ended ten years back, it had left a lot of unfilled gaps in the villages and hamlets. Some young men had fallen in battle, others had liked the outside world better than their own rural communities and had stayed away. In Falmouth you were usually a sailor or a farm worker, and that was how, it had always been.
`Maybe it will be clear enough for us to ride, eh?' Bolitho smiled. `Ride?'
`We don't go everywhere in London by coach, you know!'
Their laughter stopped in mid-air as two loud bangs echoed from the front doorway.
`Who is abroad at this hour?' Dancer was already on his feet.
Bolitho held up his hand. `Wait.' He strode to a cupboard and took out a pistol. `It is well to be careful, even here.'
Together they opened the big double doors, feeling the cold wind wrap around their overheated bodies like a shroud.
Bolitho saw it was his father's gamekeeper, John Pendrith, who had a cottage close to the house. He was a powerfully built, morose sort of man, who was much feared by the local poachers. And there were quite a few of them.
`Oi be sorry to disturb you, zur.' He gestured vaguely with his long-barrelled musket. `But one o' the lads come up from the town. Old Reverend Walmsley said it were the best thing to do.'
`Come in, John.'
Bolitho closed the doors after them. The big gamekeeper's presence, let alone his air of mystery, had made him uneasy in some way.
Pendrith took a glass of brandy and warmed himself by the fire, the steam rising from his thick coat like a cart- horse.
Whatever it was, it must be important for old Walmsley, the rector, to send a messenger here.
`This lad found a corpse, zur. Down on the foreshore. Bin in the water for some while, 'e reckons.' He looked up, his eyes bleak. `It were Tom Morgan, zur.'
Bolitho bit his lip. `The revenue officer?'
`Aye. 'E'd bin done in afore 'e went into the water, so the lad says.'
There were sounds on the stairway, and then Bolitho's mother, wrapped in a green velvet cloak, hurried down towards them, her eyes questioning.
Bolitho said, `I can deal with it, Mother. They've found Tom Morgan on the foreshore.'
`Dead?'
Pendrith said bluntly, `Murdered, ma'am.' To Bolitho he explained, 'Y'see, zur, with the soldiers away, an' the squire in Bath, the old Reverend turned to you like.' He grimaced. `You bein' a King's officer, so to speak.'
Dancer exclaimed, `Surely there's somebody else?'
Bolitho's mother was already pulling at the bellrope, her face pale but determined.
`No. They always come to the house. I'll tell Corker to saddle two horses. You go with them, John.'
Bolitho said quietly, `I'd rather he was here, with you.' He -squeezed her arm. `It's all right. Really. I'm not the boy who went off to sea with an apple in his pocket. Not any more.'
It was strange how easily it came to him. One minute he had been ready for bed. Now he was alert, every nerve keen to sudden danger. From the look on Dancer's face, he knew he was equally affected.
Pendrith said, `I sent the lad back to watch over the body. You'll remember the place, zur. The cove where you an' your brother overturned that dory an' took a good beatin' for it!' He gave a slow grin.
One of the maids appeared, and listened to her instructions before hurrying away to tell Corker, the coachman, what to do.
