Browne stood his ground his face determined. 'With all respect, sir, your wound is barely healed, and then there may be a conference at the Admiralty which would require your presence.'
'Blast the Admiralty, Browne, and damn their politics!' He gave a brief smile which failed to reach his eyes. 'And should you care to arrange for two horses, I'll show you whether or not my injury will prevent my beating you to Portsdown Hill!'
Browne hurried away, leaving the front door open in his confusion.
Bolitho said, 'Excuse the language. I forgot myself.' He regarded her searchingly. 'I'll not lie to you, I was overcome by the likeness. I have been too long with hope, or perhaps too long with none at all. But I needed the time for you to like me. I could not bear the thought of your being here. Now I have seen the place I am even more convinced it is not for you, even as a temporary remedy.'
'I have to stand on my own feet.' She brushed some hair from her face. 'Rupert Seton wished me to take money from him. Other men made varying offers. As my circumstances worsened so their offers became less delicately put.'
He took her hand and raised it to his lips. 'Please remember me. I will never forget you.'
She stood back as the footman appeared with Bolitho's hat and cloak.
'Your aide was anxious about you riding to Portsmouth. Must you go?'
'It is something which has been haunting me for years. And time is running out.'
He looked at her gravely. 'I wish you all the luck in the world. Happiness, too.'
He did not remember leaving the house, but when he looked back the front door was shut. It was just as if he had imagined all of it. That he was still preparing what he would say when he met her.
When Bolitho reached the house in Cavendish Square he saw two powerful looking horses waiting outside. Browne had a lot of friends and no little influence, he thought.
Inside the hallway there was complete confusion. Browne trying to pacify Allday, the cook weeping in the background although she could barely know what it was all about.
Allday turned towards Bolitho, his voice pleading. 'You can't go without me! It's not fair. You know I can't ride, sir.' He looked brokenly at the floor. 'It's not right, Mr Browne here is a good man, sir, but he don't know you!'
Bolitho was deeply moved by Allday's despair.
'I have to ride. It will be much faster. You follow in the carriage.'
Allday had not heard. To Browne he said imploringly, 'You stop him, sir! I know him of old. He's going to fight that bugger.' He looked desperately at Bolitho again. 'With pistols!'
Bolitho said, 'You should not have told him!'
Browne replied quietly, 'It seemed only right, sir.'
Allday stepped between them. 'You're a fine swordsman. One of the best I've ever seen, an' that's no error.' He gripped Bolitho's sleeve. 'But you're no hand with a pistol, sir. You couldn't hit a man at thirty paces, an' you know it!'
'If we're to change horses at Guildford, sir.' Browne looked meaningly at his watch. 'We should leave now.'
Bolitho nodded. 'Wait for me.'
He could not walk away from Allday and leave him like this. They had been together so long, perhaps too long. Like the man and his loyal dog, each worrying for the other, and the one who would eventually be left behind.
He said, 'Listen to me, my friend. If there was another way I'd take it. But Adam is being used to destroy me. If not now in England then elsewhere at some other time. We can't have that, can we?'
'It's not fair, sir. I should be with you.'
Bolitho touched his arm. 'You are. And you will be.'
He walked out into the growing drizzle and climbed up into the saddle.
Browne glanced at him questioningly. 'All done, sir?' 'Aye. How far is it?'
Browne tried not to show his concern. 'Sixty miles and a bit, sir.'
'Let's be about it then.'
Bolitho nodded to the groom who released his grip on the bridle. He thought of Allday's words. No hand with a pistol. So what chance would Adam have stood against a professional killer?
The thought seemed to give him added strength and he snapped, 'At least when you are fighting another ship you know where the shots will come from. It seems it is not so easy when you are among civilized people!'
As the guard-boat pulled lustily across the swirling currents of Portsmouth harbour Bolitho had to grit his teeth to prevent them from chattering with cold. The ride from London had been like part of a nightmare, confused and seemingly unending. Small inns, a few moments to gulp down a hot drink while weary-eyed ostlers led the horses away and saddled fresh mounts for the next stretch of the journey.
Winding coach roads, bushes standing darkly by the side like hunched groups of footpads, cold wind and the stinging cut of rain to keep his mind awake.
Now it was almost dawn, and in the dull grey light even Portsmouth looked like a dream's interpretation, without reality.
The boat's coxswain swung the tiller and headed towards a solitary top-light which Bolitho knew to be his flagship.
Browne had said very little during the hard ride, and was slumped beside him, either too tired to speak or immersed in some plan of his own.
The officer of the guard snapped, 'Show the lantern!'
He was a lieutenant with a terrible facial disfigurement from some sea-fight in the past.
The bowman slid the shutter of his lantern and held it above his head.
Bolitho could imagine Benbow's drowsy watchkeepers, the marine sentries on the forecastle and poop, the pandemonium which would begin as soon as they realized he was returning.
Across the dark water came the age-old challenge. 'Boat ahoy?'
The coxswain cupped his hands, probably enjoying the chaos he was about to cause.
'Flag! Benbow!'
Bolitho said, 'I hope to God Captain Herrick is aboard.'
He despised himself immediately for thinking otherwise. Of course he would be here.
Like a rounded cliff Ben bow's side loomed over the boat, and high above, more starkly etched against the dull sky, her masts and yards made a black pattern all of their own.
`Toss your oars!'
The boat glided the last few yards to the main chains, but when Bolitho made to rise from his seat he almost cried out with pain as his leg buckled beneath him.
Browne whispered urgently, 'Here, sir, let me help!'
Bolitho stared up at the entry port, his vision misting with pain. What had he expected? A ride like that was enough to break any wound. His sense of urgency, his need to get here had made him lie to Browne. He had barely ridden a horse, and certainly not so hard, for several years.
He said, 'No. I must manage. Must.'
The lieutenant raised his hat, and the oarsmen sat in their boat, panting with exertion, as they watched Bolitho climb slowly up the Benbow's side.
Herrick was there, dishevelled and anxious as he hurried forward to meet him.
Bolitho said huskily, 'Later, Thomas. Come aft with me now.'
Startled figures moved from and then retreated to the shadows. Acting Lieutenant Aggett, in charge of the hated morning watch. Perhaps he was already regretting his unexpected promotion after the death of the sixth lieutenant.
Others, too, but Bolitho had thoughts only for his cabin. To reach it and find the peace to think.
The marine sentry outside his cabin stamped to attention, his uniform very bright beneath the solitary lantern.
Bolitho limped past him. 'Good morning, Williams.' He did not see the pleasure on the man's face that he had found time to remember his name.
Ozzard was in the stern cabin, bustling and muttering as he lit the lanterns and brought life to the green leather and the heavy-beamed deckhead.
Herrick stared at Bolitho as he sank into a chair and gasped, 'Get my boots off, Ozzard.'
