shaken his head.

'Just a servant, sir. It was so glum there, it was like a tomb.'

Bolitho could now understand Browne's brief description. The house was a twin of the one alongside it. Tall, elegant and of fine proportions. There was no other similarity. It looked cold and unwelcoming, and yet he had the distinct impression it was watching him, as if the whole square was holding its breath to see what a visitor was doing here.

After his walk, the bustle and noise around the many shops and wine merchants, he felt less sure of himself.

It was ridiculous. He strode up the steps and reached for the bell-pull, but the door opened before him as if by magic.

A miserable-looking footman regarded him curiously.

'Sir?'

Bolitho was in no mood for argument. He released his cloak from his throat and handed it to the footman, then his hat.

'My name is Richard Bolitho. Mrs Laidlaw is expecting me.'

As he examined his appearance in a tall, heavily framed mirror, Bolitho saw the man backing up the hallway, staring from the hat and cloak to the visitor with something like awe. Bolitho guessed that they had few guests here, and certainly not any uncouth junior flag officer.

He straightened his coat and turned to face the interior.

Everything looked old and heavy. Owned once by people now long dead, he thought.

The footman returned empty-handed. Bolitho tried to remain impassive, to hide his relief. He had expected she might refuse to see him, if only to avoid embarrassment.

The man said in a doleful tone, 'This way, sir.'

They reached a pair of fine inlaid doors on the opposite side of the house, and with great care the footman opened them together and closed them soundlessly as Bolitho stepped into the room.

It was vast, and again filled with grand furniture and imposing portraits, mostly, it appeared, of senior judges.

In a gilded chair to one side of the fire was the judge's wife. She had to be, Bolitho thought grimly. She was massive and well upholstered, like one of her chairs, and her pale features were deeply lined with disapproval.

Nearby, an open book on her lap, was Mrs Belinda Laidlaw. She wore a plain, dove-blue gown which was more like some kind of uniform than Bolitho would have expected. She was watching him steadily, as if by showing some sign of pleasure or sudden animation she would shatter the peace of the room.

Bolitho said, 'I am temporarily in London, ma'am.' He looked at the judge's wife but meant his. words for the girl. 'I asked to call, for in my profession we never know when we may touch land again.'

It sounded heavy and pompous, like the room. Perhaps it had that effect on visitors, Bolitho decided.

The old lady's arm came out from her skirt and directed Bolitho to an uncomfortable-looking chair opposite her. She pointed with a thin black stick, very like the one carried by Major Clinton.

There were some windows facing Bolitho, empty of houses or trees, so that the hard light changed the girl into a silhouette without face or expression.

The judge's wife said, 'We shall have tea presently, er…' She peered at Bolitho's epaulettes. `Captain, is it?'

The girl said quickly, 'Rear-admiral, ma'am.'

Bolitho caught the tension in her tone and knew that the judge's wife had been told all about him and probably a lot more beside.

'I am afraid such things are beyond our calling.' She nodded slowly. 'I gather you stayed at Lord Swinburne's Hampshire estate?' It sounded like an accusation.

Bolitho said, 'He was very helpful.' He tried again. 'It seems likely I shall be rejoining the squadron directly.' He turned towards her silhouette. 'I trust you are settled in, as we sailors say?'

'I am comfortable, thank you.'

And that was how it continued. A question from Bolitho which was immediately parried. A mention of some place he had been or the animals, ships or natives he had seen in far-off countries which was politely ended with a nod or a patient smile.

'The judge is so often called away to administer the law that we rarely find the time to travel.'

Bolitho shifted his leg carefully. She always spoke of the judge. Never by name or as a husband. Her remark about travel made Bolitho's descriptions of life at sea seem like idle enjoyment.

She was saying in the same dry voice, 'The war brings so much lawlessness. The judge is hard put to complete his work. But he is dedicated, and duty should be reward enough.'

Bolitho could pity any man appearing before thisparticular judge for sentence. If he was anything like his wife there would be neither mercy nor compassion.

A bell chimed, the sound echoing down the passageways like a funeral lament.

The old lady poked a log on the fire with her stick and said coldly, 'More visitors, Mrs Laidlaw? We are becoming popular.'

The footman crept soundlessly through the door and said, 'I crave pardon for disturbing you, ma'am.' He sounded as if he was used to being cowed. 'There is another naval gentleman here.' He shifted his gaze to Bolitho. 'He is asking to see you, sir.'

Bolitho got up from the chair. He could almost feel the girl watching his efforts to appear relaxed and free of pain.

'I am sorry. It must be urgent.'

As he left the room he heard the old lady say, I do not think we will need tea, Simkins.'

Browne was standing in the lower hall, his cloak spotted with droplets of rain.

Bolitho asked, 'What is it? The French, are they at sea?'

Browne glanced quickly around him. 'It concerns your nephew, sir.' He reached out as if to reassure him. 'He is safe, but it was a dose-run thing. Captain Herrick sent a fast rider to let you know at once.'

In short, disjointed sentences Browne explained about Pascoe and his meeting with Lieutenant Roche.

Browne said, 'When I read Captain Herrick's message I was appalled, sir. Roche is a bully and a professional duellist. Pascoe met him while he was on some personal mission ashore. Roche made a remark to him and Pascoe struck him.' He shrugged wearily. 'Captain Herrick did not elaborate but bade me tell you that he has dealt with the matter.' He forced a smile. 'Relentless had a vacancy for third lieutenant. It has now been filled.'

Bolitho was looking round for the footman.

'You do not understand. It is not finished, nor will it be until…' He stopped as he saw the girl moving from the shadows towards him. 'I am sorry. But I must leave.'

Browne insisted, 'But he will be safe now, sir.'

'Safe? Have you already forgotten what you discovered about my family? It will never be settled until the truth is out.'

He said in a calmer tone, 'I apologize for all this bother, ma'am. I expected we might talk. I had even hoped…'

He watched her face as if to fix it in his mind. The brown eyes, the perfectly shaped mouth, her lips slightly parted with concern at his anxiety.

She said, 'I am sorry, too. After all you did for me, and you were made to sit there like a tradesman. I felt ashamed.' Impetuously Bolitho reached out and took her hands in his.

'There is never any time!'

She did not remove her hands but said in the same low voice, 'For what? What is it you wish to tell me? That I am so like your dead wife that you wish me to replace her?' She shook her head slowly. 'You know that would be wrong. I would have to be wanted as me, not as a memory of someone else.'

Browne said awkwardly, 'I'll wait outside, sir.'

Bolitho faced him. 'I shall want a.fast horse and a list of post-houses along the Portsmouth Road. Tell Allday to follow with the carriage and our chests.'

Browne stared at him with disbelief. 'Horses, sir?'

'I can ride, Browne!'

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