Bolitho said, `My father died three months ago.' He gave a short, bitter smile. `Hugh went a few months after the Saintes battle. He was killed by accident. A runaway horse, I believe.'
Herrick stared at him. `How do you know all this?'
Bolitho opened a cupboard and then laid a sword on the table. In the firelight it gleamed with sudden brightness which hid the tarnished gilt and well-worn scabbard.
Bolitho said quietly, `Hugh sent this to my father. To give it back to me.' He turned back to the fire. `He wrote that he considered it to be mine by right.'
The door opened, and the fair-haired woman entered with a tray of hot punch.
Bolitho smiled. `Thank you, Mrs. Ferguson. We will dine directly.'
As the door closed again Bolitho saw the question on Herrick's face. `Yes, that is the wife of Ferguson, my clerk. He works for me, too.'
Herrick nodded and took one of the goblets, `He lost an arm at the Saintes. I remember.'
Bolitho poured himself a drink and held it to the firelight. `His wife did not die after all. And Ferguson is quite a hero in the town!' It seemed to amuse him, and Herrick saw the old smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Bolitho added, `Now the war is done, Thomas. You and I are on the beach. I wonder what lies ahead for those like us?'
Herrick replied thoughtfully, `This peace will not last.' He lifted his goblet. `To old friends, sir!' He paused, seeing the memories all over again. `To the ship, bless her!'
Bolitho drained his drink and gripped his hands behind him. Even that unconscious gesture stabbed Herrick's memory like a knife. The screaming shot, the crash and thunder of battle, with Bolitho pacing the quarterdeck like a man deep in thought.
`And you, sir? What will you do now?'
Bolitho shrugged. 'I have the chance to become a landowner, I suppose. And a magistrate like my father.' He looked up at the portraits. `But I can wait. For another ship.'
The door opened, and a man in a green apron asked, 'Will you be requiring any more wine from the cellar, Captain?'
Herrick jumped to his feet. `My God! Allday!'
Allday grinned self-consciously. `Aye, Mr. Herrick. 'Tis me right enough!'
Bolitho looked from one to the other. `After Stockdale died, Allday here said he wanted to change his mind about leaving the Service. He smiled sadly. `So if the chance comes we will go back to sea together.'
Bolitho picked up the sword and held it in both hands. Over his shoulder he added quietly, `When that times comes I will want a good first lieutenant, Thomas.' He turned and looked straight into Herrick's eyes.
Herrick felt the warmth flooding back through his body, sweeping away the doubt and the sense of loss. He raised his goblet. `It is not far to Kent, sir. I'll be ready when you give me the word!'
Bolitho turned his face away and watched the snow whipping across the windows. For a while longer he looked at the grey sky and scudding clouds, and imagined he could hear the wind whining through shrouds and taut rigging, with the hiss of thrown spray rising above the lee bulwark.
Then he faced his friend and said firmly, `Come, Thomas, there is much to talk about!'
Allday watched them go into the dining room, and then with a quiet smile he placed the sword carefully back in the cupboard.
End
