afterwards!' Her tone changed, pleading but direct. 'That is why I am seated here beside you. Our host thinks me to be a bitch. To him I am just a necessary animal, to be used, or mated.'
'And now…' Swinburne was on his feet, a full goblet in his hand. 'Before the ladies retire I will give you the loyal toast!'
Chairs scraped back again and footmen darted in to shield silk gowns from fallen scraps of food and upturned glasses.
Bolitho was caught off guard, being used to remaining seated as was the naval custom.
'To His Britannic Majesty, King George!'
How solemn they all suddenly appeared, Bolitho thought. Then the mood passed again and the ladies made their departure. Bolitho's companion paused and patted his arm with her fan.
'Later.'
She had been right about one thing, Bolitho thought. Her husband was lying with his head on his arms, his hair daubed with a mixture of trifle and Dutch flummery.
Long pipes were brought and the port was passed slowly around the table. The air was soon heavy with tobacco smoke which mingled with that from the log fire made the eyes smart and sting.
Bolitho pretended to drowse like the others, to let the conversation wash around him. It was mostly talk of farming and shortage, of prices and poor labour. It was their war, the one which was alien to Bolitho as a gundeck would be to them.
He tried to think of his coming visit to the Admiralty. How long would Herrick take to complete repairs? What were the French doing? The Danes, the Russians?
But he kept seeing her face between him and his conclusions. The way she had looked at him before she had gone to her bed. Had gone to escape from his ridiculous fantasies.
She was probably already settled in some fine London house, her mind too full with beginning her new life to remember him for long.
Browne dropped into the empty chair beside him. `That was a fine dinner, sir.'
'Tell me about London. How did the journey go?'
`Quite well, sir. The nearer we got to London the better the road became. We stopped several times, of course, and we were fortunate with our choice of inns.'
The 'we' and the `our' made Bolitho helplessly jealous.
Browne was saying, 'Sir George was his usual crusty self, sir. I think Admiral Damerum had been with him. Something Sir George said made me wonder.'
`What did he say?'
'Nothing much.' Browne fidgeted under his stare. `But the talk in the Admiralty is that the Tsar of Russia has continued to harass our merchantmen in the Baltic. I believe those which you cut out from the French frigate will be the last until this affair is settled.'
Bolitho nodded. 'I hoped for the best, but in my heart I suspected it would end like this. Denmark will have no choice. Neither shall we.'
Browne reached out and grasped an abandoned goblet of brandy. He hesitated and then downedit with a fierce gulp, his.eyes misting over as the fire surged through him.
Then he said stiffly, 'May I speak out, sir?'
'I have always told you…' He stopped, seeing the lieutenant's uncertainty. 'Whatever it is. Tell me.'
'I have never had much to do with sea-going officers, sir. My father insisted I should don the King's coat and used his influence to arrange the appointment.' Browne smiled sadly. 'I have always carried the uniform but have never earned it. My life became that of a courier, a messenger-boy, a privileged onlooker, or whatever my admiral demanded of me. Only since I have been serving you, and I mean this, sir, have I found any real pride in myself.' He gave a wry grin. 'But for the matter of a certain lady, I doubt if I would ever have left Sir George's service!'
He had been using his words and the brandy as a barricade. When he spoke again it was like someone entirely different.
'I was troubled about your appointment, sir, and more so at the way Admiral Damerum quit the inshore station without giving you all the intelligence he must have gathered from his patrols.' He stared at Bolitho as if expecting to be silenced for abusing their new friendship. `Your late brother, sir.' He licked his lips. 'I – I am not sure I can continue.'
Bolitho looked at the floor. So it was back again, not buried after all. Nor would it be.
He said quietly, 'My brother was a renegade, a traitor if you like.' He saw his words hit home. 'He was a terrible gambler, and always had a nasty temper, even as a boy. He fought a duel with a brother officer aboard his ship and the man died. My brother fled to America and eventually rose to command a privateer during the Revolution. He was killed after the war by a runaway horse in Boston.' That final part was a lie, but he had become so used to it, it no longer mattered. He looked at Browne calmly. 'Is that what you were going to say?'
Browne stared at his goblet but it was empty.
`Thank you for sharing it with me, sir.' He fixed his eyes on a point above Bolitho's shoulder. 'Did you know the other officer, the one who was killed?'
'No. I was in the Caribbean. When I got home my father told me. The shock nearly killed him.' Something in Browne's tone made him ask sharply, `Why?'
'His name was Damerum, sir. Sir Samuel's brother.'
Bolitho recalled the first meeting with the admiral aboard his flagship Tantalus. No hint. Not a single sign of memory or connexion with the past.
In just a few minutes Browne seemed to have become very drunk.
In a slurred, confidential tone he murmured, 'An' if you think he wouldn't let his personal- feelings come before duty, then, shir, you are mishtaken!'
Bolitho stood up. 'I think it might be wise to retire.' He nodded to Swinburne, but he, too, seemed barely aware what was happening.
Up the stairway once more, Browne becoming looser and more unsteady with each step.
By the door of his room Bolitho saw Allday sitting on a dainty gilt stool which looked as if it might collapse under him at any moment.
He saw Browne and grinned. 'Bit too much for a poor Tuff, eh, sir?'
'Put him on my bed, Allday' He straightened his coat as Allday thrust one arm round the lieutenant's waist. Another moment and Browne would have fallen on his face. 'I will return to the hall.' He forced a smile for Allday's benefit. 'As the only representative of the King's Navy in attendance, I must not let us down.'
Allday pushed open the door and dragged the limp figure towards the bed.
'Is he to sleep here, sir?'
Bolitho glanced at the clock. `Yes. But I suspect he will not be alone for long. There may be a young lady arriving directly, so do not stand in her way.'
Allday stared at him. 'An' she'll be thinking it's your room?'
Bolitho turned towards the stairs. 'I suspect that neither of them will care, nor will they remember a thing about it tomorrow, I'm sure of that also!'
Allday watched him until he had vanished down the stairs and then sighed with envy. He toyed with the idea of carrying the lieutenant to another room and taking his place in the bed.
Then he thought of the servant girl who was waiting for him at the other end of the house.
He touched his forehead to the door and said, `Sleep well, Mr Browne with an 'e'. You are a very lucky man even though you may never know it!'
12. Love and Hate
Admiral Sir George Beauchamp remained with his back to the high-ceilinged room and stared distastefully at the breadth of Whitehall beyond the window.
It was a cold, wet day, but there were plenty of carriages and traders' carts on the move. Bustling, muffled figures, steaming horses. To Beauchamp with his clear, ordered mind it looked a shambles.
