But he did not feel like smiling. He could not blame the admi-
ral for demanding to know of his whereabouts. After all, flag officers were not accustomed to making excuses for their own lateness, or explaining their reasons to subordinates. But to have the frigate put under the guns of his own flagship was unthinkable.
He made himself walk the last few steps to the admiral’s quarters at a slower pace. To give his mind time to clear for the confrontation.
A marine corporal opened the door, his eyes blank. Even he seemed like a stranger.
Vice-Admiral Sir Lucius Broughton was standing right aft by the tall windows, a telescope trained towards the shore. He was wearing his undress blue coat and gold epaulettes, and appeared thoroughly engrossed. When he turned Bolitho saw that he was much younger than he had anticipated, about forty, the same age as himself. He was not tall, but his body was slim and upright, giving an impression of height. That again was fairly unusual. Once they had attained the coveted flag rank, admirals often tended to run to portliness. Spared the constant demands of watchkeeping, or appearing on deck at all times of day and night, they reaped rewards other than those of high command.
Broughton’s face was neither angry nor impatient. In fact, it was relaxed to a point of complete calm. He had light brown hair, quite short, and tied in a small queue above his collar.
“Ah, Bolitho, so we meet at last.” He was not being sarcastic, merely matter-of-fact. As if Bolitho had just returned from some vague journey.
His voice was easy and aristocratic, and when he walked across a patch of sunlight from the stern windows Bolitho saw that his clothes were of the finest materials, his sword hilt hand-worked in gold facings.
He replied, “I am sorry I was not here to greet you, sir. There was some doubt as to your time of arrival.”
“Quite.” Broughton sat down at the desk and regarded him calmly. “I expect to be receiving news of my other ships very shortly. After that, the sooner we are at sea and working in company the better.”
Bolitho cleared his throat. “The
Broughton pressed his fingertips together and smiled gently. For a few moments he looked almost boyish, his eyes shining with something like amusement.
“By all means, Bolitho, although I would have thought that explanations are hardly needed. Your action to prevent the ship falling in French hands was, to say the least, unorthodox, and at no little personal risk. Your loss to me would have been a hard one, although some might say the loss of the frigate would have been even more serious.” He shifted in the chair, the smile gone. “But the frigate is here in Falmouth, and all such vessels are too short in numbers for us to be over-particular about their past records.”
“I believe her captain should be removed at once, sir. Also her first lieutenant.” Bolitho tried to relax, but for once he felt uneasy, even out of his depth with the new admiral. He added, “It took some courage for the ship’s company to act as they did. But for the Spithead trouble, and the promises made to our people there, it might never have happened.”
Broughton looked at him thoughtfully. “You obviously do not believe that. You think that this Brice caused it himself, and possibly you’re right.” He shrugged. “Sir Charles Thelwall told me of his great trust in your reasoning. I will of course be guided by that.”
Bolitho said, “I gave my word to them, sir. That their complaints would be properly investigated.”
“Did you? Well, of course that would be expected. No blame will attach to you now that you have retrieved the ship intact.”
Again the brief smile. “To lie skilfully and in a good cause is always forgivable.”
“It was no lie, sir.” Bolitho could feel his apprehension giving way to anger. “They were brutally used-worse, they were driven beyond reason.”
He waited, watching for some sign, but Broughton’s face was empty of expression.
He continued slowly, “I am sure Sir Charles would have acted with humanity, sir. Especially in view of the circumstances elsewhere.”
“Sir Charles has gone ashore.” He could have been speaking of an unwanted piece of baggage. “I will decide what is to be done. When I have examined all the facts.” He paused. “Facts, Bolitho, not supposition, then I will tell you what I desire to be done. In the meantime, Captain Brice and his officers will be quartered ashore with the garrison. You will supply a guard watch aboard
He stood up and walked round the desk, his movements easy, almost graceful.
“I hate any sort of unnecessary recriminations, Bolitho!” His mouth tightened. “But I have already had my fill of deputations and degradation at Spithead. I’ll suffer none of it under my flag here.”
Bolitho watched him despairingly. “If I could be given permission to deal with the matter, sir? It will be a bad beginning to take severe action…”
The admiral sighed. “You are persistent. I hope that characteristic is not confined merely to domestic matters. But if you will write a full report I will see what must be done.” He looked Bolitho steadily in the eyes. “You must know that being efficient is not the easiest way to popularity.” He seemed to become impatient. “But enough of that for the present. I will be giving dinner in my cabin tonight. I find it the best way of meeting my
officers!” The smile reappeared. “No objections to that, I trust?” Bolitho tried to hide his anger. He was more disturbed with his own inability to convince Broughton than he was with the admiral’s wishes over dinner. He had managed the interview badly, and blamed himself accordingly. The admiral only knew what he was told, could only act on facts, as he had just explained. He replied, “I am sorry, sir. I did not mean to…” Broughton raised one hand. “Do not apologise. I like a man with fire in his belly. If I had wanted a flag captain who merely said yes all the time, I could have got one of a hundred!” He nodded. “And you have been up all night. That cannot have helped. Now be so good as to send for the purser. I will tell him what I require from the town. I have just been looking at it. Small, but not too rustic, I hope.”
Bolitho smiled for the first time. “I was born here, sir.” The admiral eyed him calmly. “Now
“You are her captain, Bolitho, as well as mine.” He lifted an eyebrow. “You do not approve of my action?”
“It is not that exactly, sir.” It was starting again, but he could not halt the words. “I have been with this ship for eighteen months. This matter of the frigate is bad enough, without their having to fire on their own kind into the bargain.”
“Very well.” Broughton yawned. “You really do care, do you not?”
Bolitho nodded firmly. “About trust, sir? Aye, I do.” “I really must take you to London with me, Bolitho.” Broughton walked back to the windows, his face in shadow. “You would be something of a novelty there. Unique in fact.”
Bolitho reached the sunlit quarterdeck without seeing a foot of the journey.
Keverne touched his hat and asked anxiously, “Any orders, sir?”
“Yes, Mr Keverne. Pass the word for the purser and then…” He paused, still thinking of the
“Then, sir?”
“Then keep out of my way, Mr Keverne, until I say otherwise!”
The master watched him stride to the side and begin to pace back and forth, his brows set in a frown of concentration.
To the baffled Keverne he said quietly, “More squalls, I’m thinkin’. An’ not for the better.”
Keverne glared at him. “When I need your opinion, Mr Partridge, I’ll damn well ask for it!” Then he too hurried away towards the quarterdeck ladder.
Partridge glanced up at the new flag at the fore. Young puppy, he chuckled unfeelingly. Wrath went with rank. Things never changed in the Navy. He turned, realising that the captain had stopped his pacing and was studying him gravely.
“Sir?”
“I was just thinking, Mr Partridge, how nice it must be to have nothing to do in the whole world but stand in the sun grinning like some village idiot.”
The master swallowed hard. “Sorry, sir.”
