tenant of mine. He lived just outside Helston, a stout, reliable yeoman. He'll be sorely missed, not least by his family, I'm thinkin'.'
Bolitho watched his mother, seeing her hands gripping the arms of her chair, the relief on her even features. She was glad Sir Henry had come. To restore security and kill the dangers of rumour. Bolitho had heard plenty of that on their two days of leave. Tales of smugglers, and spine-chilling talk of witchcraft near some of the smaller fishing villages. She was also relieved that Vyvyan and not her youngest son was to carry the responsibility.
Vyvyan took the steaming tankard from Mrs Tremayne and said approvingly, `God swamp me, ma'am, if I didn't hold Mrs Bolitho as a dear friend I'd lure you to Vyvyan Manor all for meseif! There's none in the whole county who can mull wine like you.'
Dancer cleared his throat. `What do you intend, sir?'
The solitary eye swivelled towards him and held steady.
`All done, me boy.' He spoke cheerfully and offhandedly, like one who is used to making and following through decisions. `Soon as I heard the news I sent word'to Plymouth. The port admiral is a friend.' The eyelid dropped in a wink. `And I'd heard that your people have been active of late against the smugglin' gentry.'
Bolitho pictured the big two-decker, Gorgon, laid up for repairs, her decks probably covered in snow. It would take longer than anticipated. Captain Conway might well see fit to grant extended leave to his junior officers. After all, when she put to sea again it could be several years before the Gorgon touched England once more.
Vyvyan added, `The admiral will send a ship to deal with this matter. I'll have no murderin' scum working my coast!'
Bolitho remembered that some of Vyvyan's land ran down to the sea itself, from the dreaded Lizard to somewhere near the Manacles. A' dangerous and cruel coastline. It would take a brave smuggler to try and land a catch there and face Vyvyan's rough justice at the end of it.
Bolitho turned as his mother said softly, `I'm grateful for your trouble, Sir Henry.' She looked pale, more so in the reflected glare from the snow outside.
Vyvyan regarded her affectionately. `But for that damned husband of yours, ma'am, I'd have set me cap at you, even if I am a cut-about old villain!'
She laughed. `I'll tell him when he returns. It may make him quit the sea.'
Vyvyan downed the last of the wine and waved another ladle aside. `No, I must be off now. Tell that fool of a coachman to get ready, if you please!' To the room at large he added, `No, don't do that, ma'am. England will need all her sailors again afore long. Neither the Dons nor the French Court will rest until they have bared their metal against us for another attempt.' He laughed loudly. `Well, let 'em!' He faced the two midshipmen. `With lads like these, I think we can rest easy at night!'
With a hug for Mrs Bolitho and heavy slaps on the back for the midshipmen he stamped out into the hall, bellowing for his coachman.
Dancer grinned. `His man must be deaf!'
Bolitho asked, `Is it time to eat, Mother? We're starving!'
She smiled at them warmly. `Soon now. Sir Henry's visit was unexpected.'
Two more days passed, each full of interest, and neither spoiling their escape from discipline and the routine life of shipboard.
Then the postboy, as he called at the house for something hot to drink, confided that a vessel had been sighted standing inshore towards the entrance to Carrick Roads.
The wind had veered considerably, and Bolitho knew it would take all of an hour for the incoming vessel to reach an anchorage.
He asked the postboy what she was, and he replied with a grimace, `King's ship, sir. Cutter by the looks of ' er.'
A cutter. Probably one of those used by the Revenue
Service, or better still, under naval command.
He said quickly, `Shall we go and see her?' Dancer was already looking for his coat. `I'm ready.'
Bolitho's mother threw up her hands. `No sooner back and you want to go looking at ships again! Just like your father!'
The air was keen-edged, like ice, but by the time they had walked through the town to the harbour they were glowing like stoves. Good food, with regular sleep and exercise, had worked wonders for both of them.
Together they stood on the jetty and watched the slow-moving vessel tacking towards her anchorage. She was some seventy feet in length, with a massive beam of over twenty. Single-masted, and with a rounded, blunt bow, she looked cumbersome and heavy, but Bolitho knew from what he had seen elsewhere that properly handled cutters could use their great sail area to tack within five points of the wind and in most weathers. She. carried a vast, loosefooted mainsail, and also a squared topsail. A jib and fore completed her display of canvas, although Bolitho knew she could set more, even studding sails if required.
She was now turning lazily into the wind, her canvas vanishing deftly as her hands prepared to drop anchor. A red ensign and masthead pendant made the only colour against the pewter sky, and Bolitho felt the same old feeling he always did when seeing a part, even a small part, of his own world.
Blunt and clumsy she might appear, lacking the glinting broadsides and proud figureheads of larger men-of-war, she was nevertheless somebody's own command.
He saw the anchor splash down, the usual bustle at the tackles to sway the jolly boat up and over the bulwark.
Across the choppy water they both heard the twitter of calls, and pictured the scene on board. In that seventy feet of hull they carried a company of nearly sixty souls, although how they managed to sleep, eat and wdrk in such cramped space was hard to fathom. They shared the hull with anchor cables, water, provisions, powder and shot. It left few inches for comfort.
The jolly boat was in the water now, and Bolitho saw the gleam of white breeches beneath a blue coat as the vessel's commander climbed down to be pulled ashore.
As the tide and wind swung the cutter to her cable Bolitho saw her name painted across her raked quarter. Avenger. The dead revenue man would have approved, he thought grimly.
A small knot of onlookers had gathered on the wall to watch the newcomer. But not too many. People who lived by and off the sea were always wary of a King's ship, no matter how small.
Bolitho started as the boat hooked on to the jetty stairs and a burly seaman hurried towards him and knuckled his forehead.
`Mr Midshipman Bolitho, sir?'
Dancer chuckled. `Even out of uniform you are recognized, Dick!'
The seaman added, `My cap'n wishes a word, sir.'
Mystified, they walked to the stairs as the cocked hat and shoulders of Avenger's commander appeared above the wet stones.
Bolitho stared with amazement. `Hugh!'
His brother regarded him impassively. `Aye, Richard.' He nodded to Dancer, and then called to
his coxswain, `Return to the ship. My compliments to Mr Gloag, and tell him I will signal when I require the boat.'
Bolitho watched him, his feelings mixed and confused. Hugh was supposed to be in a frigate, or so he thought. He had changed quite a lot since their last meeting. The lines at his mouth and jaw were deeper, and his voice carried the rasp of authority. But the rest was unchanged. The black hair like his own, and like some of the portraits in the house, tied above his collar with a neat bow. Steady eyes, strained after long hours of sea duty, and the same old air of supreme confidence which had brought them to blows in the past.
They fell in step, Hugh thrusting past the onlookers with barely a glance.
As they walked he said,. `Is Mother well?' But he sounded distant, his mind elsewhere.
`She'll be glad to see you, Hugh. It will make it a real Christmas.'
Hugh glanced at Dancer. `You've all been having a time for yourselves in the old Gorgon, I believe?'
Bolitho hid a smile. There it was again. The barb, the hint of disbelief.
Dancer nodded. `You read of it, sir?'
`Some.' Hugh quickened his pace. `Also I saw the admiral at Plymouth and spoke with your captain.' He stopped by the broad gateway, his eyes examining the house as if for the first time. `I may as well tell you now.
