He asked quietly, `What is the admiral doing?'
He saw Dash start and some of the colour drain from his face. Then he replied, `Sir Edmund is ill. I thought you knew that?'
– 'I did. Leach told me.' He watched the quick, nervous movements of Dash's hands. `What is the matter with him?'
Dash stood up and walked to a window. 'A brig brought despatches from Toulon. The whole thing is finished. Lord Hood has ordered us to evacuate the port and destroy any facilities and shipping as we go.' He ducked involuntarily as a nearby explosion brought down a pattern of white dust from the ceilingl He added savagely, 'Not that there'll be much left by then!'
'And Toulon?' Bolitho felt the muscles tightening in his stomach. He already guessed the answer.
Dash shrugged heavily. 'The same there. They are pulling out completely in the next few weeks.'
Bolitho stood up and clasped his hands behind him. 'What did the admiral say about it?'
'I thought he was going to have a fit!' Dash turned, his face in shadow. 'He ranted and raved, shouted insults at everybody, including me, and then retired to his room.'
'When was this?' Bolitho was certain he had not yet heard the worst.
'Two weeks ago.'
'Two weeks!' Bolitho stared at Dash with undisguised astonishment. 'What-in God's name have you been doing?
Dash flushed. 'You must see it from my side, Bolitho. I'm no aristocrat, as you know. I pulled myself from the lower deck by my fingernails. To tell the truth, I never expected to get this far,' his voice hardened, 'but now that I have, I intend to hold on to what I've gained!'
Bolitho said coldly, 'Like it or not, you are in charge here just as long as Pomfret is sick.' He banged the desk. 'You must act! You have no choice in the matter.'
Dash waved his arms around the room. 'I cannot take the responsibility! What would Sir Edmund think of me? What would they say in England?'
Bolitho studied him for several seconds. In battle, Dash would fear nothing. With his ship in fragments and outnumbered by the enemy he would fight to the bitter end. But this was quite beyond him.
Then he remembered the battered town, the men like Fowler who had made that first victory possible. He said cruelly, 'Do you really think your career, even your life is so important?' He saw Dash recoil as if he had hit him, but continued, `Think of these people who are depending on you, and then tell me you can still hesitate!'
Dash said tightly, 'I sent for you, I wanted you to know…’
'I know why you needed me, Captain Dash!' Bolitho faced him across the dust-covered map. 'You want me to reassure you, to tell you that what you are doing is right.'.He turned away, sickened by Dash's uncertainty and the cruelty of his own words.
'I’ll not deny that.' Dash was finding it difficult to control his breathing. I've always been one to obey orders. Duty has always been enough. That I could understand.' He stared down at the map. 'I'm lost in all this, Bolitho. In God's name help me!'
'Very well.' Bolitho wanted to ease the hurt he had done to the man, but there was no time. No time at all. 'I am going to see Pomfret. While I'm doing that you must call a meeting.' He tried to clear the bitterness from his mind. 'All the senior officers, here, within the hour, can you do that? And fetch Labouret, the mayor, too!'
Dash muttered, 'Are you sure, Bolitho? If anything goes wrong now…'
Bolitho eyed him gravely. 'You will get the blame. And it will be no consolation to you to know that I am equally charged, I know that, too!'
He walked to the door and then added quietly, 'But one thing is sure, Captain Dash. If you sit there and do nothing you will never be able to face yourself again. It would mean that the responsibility you worked a lifetime. to achieve was too great for you. That you were failing at the one time it all really mattered!'
Then he turned and pushed through the door. To Inch he snapped, 'Report to Captain Dash. He'll be wanting messengers. See to it at once.' Then he ran up the curving stairway to where a marine stood at attention by one of the doors.
Inside the room it was dark enough to be night, and as Bolitho groped his way towards some curtains he felt something roll under his shoe and clink against the wall. But his nose had already told him the nature of Pomfret's illness, and when he opened the curtains and stared round the room he felt a sudden nausea rising to this throat. Pomfret lay spreadeagled across the big bed, his mouth wide open, his breathing slow and painful. Around the bed and across the rich carpet were empty bottles, broken glasses and various items of clothing and furniture which looked as if they had been torn apart with the admiral's bare hands.
Bolitho tightened his jaw and leaned forward across the bed. Pomfret's face was unshaven and waxy with sweat. There was vomit on the sheets, and the whole room stank like some filthy hovel. He took his shoulder and shook it, no longer fearing the consequences or caring for Pomfret's anger. It was like shaking a corpse.
'Wake up, damn you!' He shook him harder, and Pomfret emitted a dull groan but nothing more. Then Bolitho's eye fell on the crumpled papers lying on a bedside table. He could see the official seal, the familiar crest at the head of the neat writing.
He walked round the bed and began to read Pomfret's orders from Toulon. Once he stopped and turned his head to look at Pomfret's distorted features. It was all becoming clear now. Herrick's comments about Pomfret's last chance to make good, the admiral's own determination to force the St. Clar invasion to a victorious conclusion. And given help and the expected reinforcements he might have succeeded, he thought sadly.
He continued reading, each line adding to his sense of understanding and despair. There had never been any intention of holding St. Clar longer than necessary to produce some diversion away from Toulon. It was a cat's-paw, nothing more. Had the Toulon invasion proved successful, it might not have mattered so much. But with his own complications, and pressure to contend with, Lord Hood had no time to spare for Pomfret's worries. The orders gave firm instructions about destroying shipping and facilities before leaving, but Bolitho's eye fastened on the final wording, his heart chilling as he read the cold simplicity of the orders. 'In view of limited vessels and the close proximity of enemy forces, no civilian evacuation from St. Clar will be possible.'
Bolitho sat staring at the neat writing until it danced before his eyes like a mist. Pomfret must have sat here reading his orders, he thought. But he would have seen his own ruin as well amidst the formal list of requirements. He would be remembered as the man who had been forced to leave the St. Clar monarchists to their fate, to murder and retribution which was too terrible to contemplate. Bolitho turned again to stare at Pomfret's face. Aloud he said, 'And it was not your fault! God in heaven, it was never intended to mean anything at all!' With an oath he screwed the papers into a ball and hurled them across the room.
He recalled Herrick's surprise at Pomfret's refusal to take a drink. That, too, had given way. The conpleteness of Pomfret's collapse became more apparent and more terrible every moment.
And all the while, as men had died and families had been crushed under their shattered homes, two men had remained helpless and unwilling to act. Downstairs Dash had waited for orders to free him from responsibility, and God alone knew what Cobban was doing, or even if he was still alive.
As he stood up Bolitho caught sight of himself in a gilded mirror. He was wild-eyed and there were deep lines of strain around his mouth. He was a stranger.
He said, 'I was the one who started all this, not you!' On the bed Pomfret groaned and some spittle ran down his cheek.
Then Bolitho strode to the door and saw Fanshawe standing aimlessly beside one of the windows. 'Come over here!' The flag-lieutenant swung round as if he had been shot at. Bolitho faced him impassively, and when he spoke his voice was like ice. 'Go to the admiral and get that room cleaned up!'
Fanshawe's eyes darted nervously past the door. 'The servants have all gone, sir.'
Bolitho gripped his sleeve. 'You do it! When I come back I want to see it as it was. I will send my cox'n to give you a hand, but no one else is to see him, do you understand?' He shook his arm violently to drive home his words. 'Our people out there don't know about all this.' He dropped his voice. 'And God help them, they are depending on us!'
Without another word he walked down the stairs, his mind racing, his ears deaf to the menacing rumble of guns outside the town.
He made himself leave the house to walk round the building to clear his mind. He did not remember how many times he circled the house, but when he re-entered the panelled study the others were there waiting for him.
