Browne spread his hands. 'That is all, sir. The judge is often on the Assize circuit and away from home a great deal.' He swallowed hard under Bolitho's eyes. 'The young lady will be a companion to the judge's wife, sir.'
'Good God!'
Browne recoiled. 'I – I am sorry, sir. Did I do or say something wrong?'
Bolitho did not hear him. A companion. It was common enough for widows these days to be forced into such positions. But surely not her? Young, vital, desirable. His mind reeled to his anger and concern. Rupert Seton had offered to help her, and had in fact arranged passage home for her from India. Seton was a rich man and could easily have made some allowance for her care and protection. It was so unlike the Seton he had known, whose sister he had loved, he could scarcely believe it.
But what could he do about it? One thing was certain, he would not leave things as they were, even at the expense of making himself look a fool again.
The carriage came to a halt outside an elegant building with a broad pillared entrance. Another temporary headquarters, and even if, according to Browne, it was not the fashionable side of the square, it was impressive in its own right.
Browne nodded weakly to two servants who were hurrying down the steps to greet them.
To Bolitho he said, 'Will you be needing me, sir?'
'Go and rest your head. When you are refreshed and restored
from your orgy, I would ask you to take a letter for me.'
'A letter.' Browne nodded again, his eyes vacant. 'Yes. To that judge's house you mentioned.' Browne grappled with it and asked, 'Is it wise, sir?'
'Probably not. But at the moment it seems I am not much
in demand for my wisdom.'
Allday watched him from the door as the servants hauled their chests into the warm hallway.
That's more like it, my captain. They want fire, you give it them, damn their eyes.
He turned as a woman's voice asked, 'Are you ready for some food, sir?'
Allday ran his eye over her approvingly. Must be the cook. She had a very full figure, and her round, plump arms were halfwhitened with flour. But her face was gentle and friendly.
He replied lazily, 'Just you call me John, my dear.' He touched her bare arm and added, 'Here, I'll give you a hand if you like. You know what they say about sailors.'
The kitchen door swung shut behind them.
Captain Thomas Herrick sipped slowly at a tankard of strong ale and ran his eyes over the remaining pile of books and papers which awaited his attention.
It was strange to feel the Benbow so still, which, plus hard work and the excellent ale, was making him drowsy.
Anchored within the sheltered stretch of Portsmouth Harbour was far different from the lively Solent, or that bleak rendezvous he had shared with the squadron at Skaw Point.
He went over the repairs and the replenishments for the hundredth time, looking for a flaw, expecting to discover a forgotten item.
Herrick felt justifiably proud of what he and his company had achieved. It could not have been easy for most of them, working without let-up, knowing all the while that over in the town, and throughout the country, others were celebrating Christmas to the full extent of their means.
From his own pocket Herrick had provided something of a feast for his sailors and marines. Some of them had got so drunk that they had to be forcibly restrained. But it had been worth it, he decided, and when they had turned to for work again he had felt the change run through the ship like a lively shanty.
He thought of his wife, waiting for him to come ashore when he had finished his duties for the day. It was all so new and wonderful to Herrick. A nice, snug little inn run by a friendly landlord and his wife. A parlour of their own when Herrick went to share his dreams and hopes with his Dulcie.
With a deep sigh he turned his attention to,the lists and ledgers. Progress of work book, muster book, details of stores, gunnery equipment, canvas, every fibre and nerve of a fullrigged fighting ship of the line.
Herrick had thought a great deal about Bolitho, had wondered how he was getting on in London. He knew Bolitho had never been at ease in the capital. Streets piled with horse dung, a place being poisoned by its own stench, he had once said. The streets had become so overcrowded with vehicles of every sort that the richer houses had to spread straw on the cobbles to muffle the din of iron-shod wheels.
He often examined his own feelings about the battle with the French admiral, Ropars. Herrick had faced death alongside Bolitho many times, and each threat seemed to get worse than the one before. Without effort he could see Bolitho on Benbow's gangway, waving his hat to torment the French marksmen and give his own sailors heart to continue their fight against odds.
A lot of men had died or been wounded that day. Herrick's lieutenants had roamed the backstreets of Portsmouth and further out to the Hampshire villages and farms in search of men. Herrick had even had some handbills printed and distributed to inns and village halls where they could be read aloud by someone with education to inspire or coax a man to join the Colours.
Relentless had dropped anchor that forenoon, having been relieved on station by the' hastily repaired Styx. Despatches had been exchanged, new hands signed on. The Navy allowed little time for rest or complacency. He glanced at the big Union Flag which the boatswain had brought aft to show him. The new flag, with the additional Cross of St Patrick sewn on it. A lot of those had gone out to the squadron, too. To Herrick's practical mind it seemed a waste of effort to change a flag when the world was intent on destroying itself.
Yovell, Bolitho's clerk, padded into the cabin, a fresh bunch of papers in his hands for signature. With Herrick's own clerk, Yovell had been a tower of strength. Herrick hated paper, the need to form sentences so that no victualling yard or chandler could misinterpret them.
'More?'
Yovell smiled. 'A few, zur. There is one to sign for the London courier.'
Herrick glanced at it uneasily. That was another thing he found hard to get used to. Running his own ship was quite enough. But as flag captain he had to put his thoughts to the affairs of the whole squadron, which included Relentless.
Captain Peel had reported that his third lieutenant, wounded in the leg during the fight with the enemy squadron, had had his leg amputated and was now ashore in the naval hospital at Haslar.
He required a replacement immediately, as none of his midshipmen had the age or seniority for the appointment. Relentless hoped to weigh and rejoin the squadron without additional delay. Herrick thought immediately of Pascoe and dismissed the idea. It might be days, weeks before Bolitho was back. It would be unfair to send the boy away in this fashion.
Yovell watched him impassively. 'Shall I prepare a letter for the port admiral, zur?'
Herrick rubbed his chin.- There were several men-of-war in harbour completing repairs of storm or battle. One of them would have a replacement, a young officer who would give his soul for a place with Captain Peel.
'I shall think about it.'
He knew Yovell was shaking his head sadly. He might have a word with Peel. Invite him to dine with Dulcie. Herrick brightened immediately. She would know what to do. She had given him such confidence he could scarcely believe it.
Herrick stood up and crossed to the side of his cabin. He wiped the damp haze off the glass and peered across the harbour. It was afternoon, but it was almost dark. He could barely see the two great three-deckers which -were anchored abeam, and there were already some small lights bobbing on the water as boats plied back and forth like beetles.
One more day and he would be writing those all important words in his despatch.
Being in all respects ready for sea…
After this stay in harbour it would be hard to stomach.
There was a tap at the door and Speke, the second lieutenant, stepped over the coaming, his eyes glinting in the lamplight.
'What is it?'
Speke shot a quick glance at the clerk and Herrick said, 'Later, Yovell. Leave us just now.' Speke's cold expression had swept away his feeling of satisfaction and comfort like a breaking wave.
