strangely relieved at what had happened. The punishment for a man he had known and liked, who had saved Jury’s life, was no longer a threat. And its aftermath of suspicion and bitterness had been averted.
Dumaresq said slowly, “So be it. Mr Bolitho, you will remain. The others may carry on.”
Macmillan closed the door behind Jury and Gulliver. The master’s shoulders were stiff with resentment.
Dumaresq asked, “Hard, you are thinking? But it may prevent weakness later on.”
He calmed as only he could, the rage falling away without apparent effort.
“I am glad you carried yourself well last night, Mr Bolitho. I hope you kept your eyes and ears open?”
The sentry’s musket thumped on the deck again. “First lieutenant, sir! ”
Bolitho watched as Palliser entered the cabin, his routine list of work for the day beneath his arm. He looked gaunter than usual as he said, “The water lighters may come out to us today, sir, so I shall tell Mr Timbrell to be prepared. Two men are to see you for promotion, and there is the question of punishment for the ship’s corporal for negligence and allowing Murray to desert.”
His eyes moved to Bolitho and he gave a curt nod.
Bolitho wondered if it was mere chance that Palliser always seemed to be nearby whenever he was with the captain.
“Very well, Mr Palliser, though I’ll believe those water lighters when I see them.” He looked at Bolitho. “Go and put your appearance to rights and take yourself ashore. Mr Egmont has a letter for me, I believe.” He gave a wry smile. “Do not dally too long, although I know there are many distractions in Rio.”
Bolitho felt his face going hot. “Aye, sir. I’ll leave directly.”
He hurried from the cabin and heard Dumaresq say, “Young devil!” But there was no malice in his voice.
Twenty minutes later Bolitho was sitting in the jolly-boat being pulled ashore. He saw that Stockdale was acting as the boat’s coxswain, but did not question him on this. Stockdale seemed to make friends easily, although his fearsome appearance might also have something to do with his apparent freedom of movement.
Stockdale called hoarsely, “Easy all!”
The oars rose dripping in the rowlocks, and Bolitho realized that the jolly-boat was losing way in order not to be run down by another vessel. She was a brig, a sturdy, well-used vessel with patched canvas and many a scrape on her hull to mark encounters with sea and weather.
She had already spread her topsails, and there were men sliding down backstays to the deck to set the forecourse before she cleared the rest of the anchored vessels nearby.
She moved slowly between Destiny’s jolly-boat and some incoming fishermen, her shadow falling across the watching oarsmen as they rested on their looms and waited to proceed.
Bolitho read her name across the counter, Rosario. One of hundreds of such craft which daily risked storm and other dangers to trade and to extend the outposts of a growing empire.
Stockdale growled, “Give way all!”
Bolitho was about to turn his attention to the shore when he saw a movement at the stern windows above the name Rosario. For an instant he imagined he was mistaken. But he was not. The same black hair and oval face. She was too far off for him to see the violet of her eyes, but he saw her looking towards him before the brig changed tack and the sunlight made the windows into a fiery mirror.
He was heavy-hearted when he reached the house with the age-old wall around it. Egmont’s steward told him coolly that his master had departed, his wife, too. He did not know their destination.
Bolitho returned to the ship and reported to Dumaresq, expecting a further eruption of fury at this latest set- back.
Palliser was with him as Bolitho blurted out what he had discovered, although he did not mention he had seen Egmont’s wife in the Rosario.
He did not need to. Dumaresq said, “The only vessel to leave here was the brig. He must be aboard. Once a damned traitor always a traitor. Well, he’ll not escape this time, by God no!”
Palliser said gravely, “So this was the reason for the delay, sir. No fresh water, no audience with the Viceroy. They had us over a gate.” He sounded suddenly bitter. “We can’t move, and they know it!”
Surprisingly, Dumaresq gave a great grin. Then he shouted, “Macmillan, I want a shave and a bath! Spillane, prepare to write some orders for Mr Palliser.” He walked to the stern windows and leaned on the sill, his massive head lowered towards the rudder. “Select some prime seamen, Mr Palliser, and transfer to the Heloise. Do not rouse the guard-boat’s attention with too much fuss, so take no marines. Weigh and chase that damned brig, and don’t lose her.”
Bolitho watched the change in the man. It explained why Dumaresq had stopped Slade from entering the protected anchorage. He had anticipated something like this and had a trick to play, as always.
Palliser’s mind was already busy. “And you, sir?”
Dumaresq watched his servant as he prepared a bowl and razor by his favourite chair.
“Water or no water, Mr Palliser, I shall weigh tonight and come after you.”
Palliser eyed him doubtfully. “The battery might open fire, sir.”
“In daylight maybe. But there is a lot of so-called honour at stake here. I intend to test it.” He turned away, dismissing them, but added, “Take the third lieutenant. I shall require Rhodes, even if his head is still falling apart from his drinking, to assume your duties here.”
At any other time Bolitho would have welcomed the offer gladly. But he had seen the look in Palliser’s eyes, and remembered the face at the brig’s cabin windows. She would despise him after this. Like the dream, it was over.
7. The Chase
LIEUTENANT Charles Palliser strode to the Heloise’s compass box and then consulted the masthead pendant.
To confirm his fears, Slade, the acting-master, said dourly, “The wind’s backed a piece, but it’s also falling away.”
Bolitho watched Palliser’s reactions and compared him with Dumaresq. The captain was in Rio aboard Destiny, outwardly dealing with the ship’s affairs, even to the extent of seeing two seamen who had been put up for promotion. Fresh water, the prospect of a summons from the Portuguese Viceroy, it would mean nothing to most of the frigate’s company. But Bolitho knew what was really uppermost in Dumaresq’s thoughts: Egmont’s refusal to yield and his sudden departure in the brig Rosario. Without Egmont, Dumaresq would have little choice but to seek higher naval authority for instructions, and in that time the scent would go cold.
Slade had said that the brig had been steering north-northeast as she had cleared the roadstead. Egmont was heading along the coast, probably all the way to the Caribbean. In a small trading vessel like that it would be extremely uncomfortable for his lovely wife.
Palliser crossed to his side. On the brigantine’s confined deck he looked like a giant, but unusually content, Bolitho thought. Palliser was free of his captain’s word, could act as he pleased. Always provided he did not lose the Rosario. And with the wind dropping fast, that was a possibility.
He said, “They’ll not be expecting a chase. That is all we have on our side.”
He glanced up, irritated, as the forecourse boomed and flapped, empty of wind and allowing the heat to seek out the men on deck.
“Damn!” Then he said, “Mr Slade says the brig will stay inshore. Unless the wind shifts, I accept that. We shall continue as we are. Change the lookouts as you think fit, and have the weapons which are still aboard this vessel inspected.” He clasped his hands behind him. “Don’t work the people too hard.” He saw the surprise on Bolitho’s face and gave a thin smile. “They will have to take to the oars shortly. I intend to warp Heloise with the boats. They’ll need all their muscle for that!”
Bolitho touched his hat and walked forward. He should have guessed. But he had to confess admiration for Palliser’s preparations. He thought of everything.
He saw Jury and Midshipman Ingrave waiting for him by the foremast. Jury looked tense but Ingrave, who was a year older, could barely conceal his delight at being freed from his task of acting-clerk for the captain.
Beyond them were other familiar faces amongst the hastily selected hands. Josh Little, gunner’s mate, his
